#I finally had inspiration to draw again and of course they’d be my muse for right now 😔🫶

[hiyyihrts]

“Colin could think of a hundred different reasons why kissing Penelope Featherington was a very bad idea, the number one being that he actually wanted to kiss her.”

[hazelnut-u-out]

Up Again

here's the ao3 link

after the finale, i couldn’t get the song 'up again' by typhoon out of my head.

it suits the boys so well, especially the arc we ended on, so i had to write a fic inspired by it, of course.

i think this kind of spiraled into its own thing, but what can i say? i just go where the fic leads me lol.

'Here you thought you’d put the past behind you Why does it all keep coming up again? Doubled over in the bathroom crying Why does it all keep coming up again?

Like a tourist coming home everything how you left it.'

-2912 words

-------

Morty hated puking. 

It was a fear that he often forgot about before he was saddled with the fact that– yes… he was going to puke. 

There were a lot of things that Morty tried to bury within himself. He’d always been the type of boy to prefer burying things. Himself, for instance. 

Twice. 

He didn’t like to trod the graves of the dead. He wasn’t an angry person. He wouldn’t be like– like… 

Rick.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

So, Morty learned to love a shovel– to covet dirt. For all it covered, it was good. For all it buried, it was wanted. 

Morty didn’t like the smell of rot. So, if his flesh was fleeting, he’d rather be oblivious. 

He couldn’t shake the thought as he hoisted his boyish form over the toilet and inhaled. He willed himself to stop drooling– for that knot beneath his tongue to stop swelling– but spit ran freely from his lips, tethering him in a disgusting display to the toilet water. 

It was dark in the bathroom, and he closed his eyes. It was all too much to focus on– the way the room felt too hot; the bite of the porcelain into his fingers; the churning in his gut; the gentle whir of heated air hissing through the vent at his right. 

His head was spinning as he beckoned the darkness to surround him.

His knees hurt. 

It reminded Morty of the way they’d burned in his dream– the jagged concrete of the garage floor nipping at them; drawing blood. 

He couldn’t shake the way Rick’s face had contorted in a sinister display of sadism as he’d pulled back his foot to hurl it forward into Morty’s awaiting jaw. He’d watched as Rick’s eyes became wide and black, and something sweet and metallic had swept over his tongue as he’d sputtered. 

He felt guilty for thinking of Rick that way– for dreaming of him in a way that was… frightening. 

Morty’s stomach careened again, flipping over itself, and he swallowed thickly– barely containing the burning wetness lapping at his throat. 

It was an odd sort of longing, Morty mused. When he’d been younger, he’d had this childish faith in his mom. Never, in all the years he’d been alive, had Beth nurtured him. 

Don’t get him wrong, his mother had comforted him. Every now and then, when he’d fall or some kid at school had decided today was the day to call him some out-dated slur, she’d rush to his side; defend him. 

At first, Morty placed newfound hope in these brief moments of hostility that weren’t directed at the world, her marriage, his father, or… himself. 

Even now, Morty still wasn’t sure what allowed Beth’s light to shine through on these rare occasions other than validation from others. Beth supported her son in what made her look good, and, unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be an awful lot these days. 

It was just enough to keep him hooked.

Even so, every time Morty was sick, or injured, or had a nightmare, he just wanted his mom. 

He’d spent so long fantasizing about the concept of his mother doting over him that he could picture it in his head, even if he logically knew that she’d never actually put in the effort to make him feel… loved.

He could almost feel the sensation of her soft, warm hands along his sweat-trickled back. He knew mothers usually wiped away their children’s stray hairs– brought cool rags along their little ones’ skin; whispered comforting words to them and held them as they were sick. 

Tears cascaded down his cheeks as the vomit surged upward with such force that he could no longer contain it. 

God, he just wished he could love her. It was enough, wasn’t it? If he wanted to be loved, then shouldn’t he be able to love her? If he wanted her love for him to be unconditional, shouldn’t his heart treat her with the same benefit?

He hated himself for hating her. Shouldn’t the good outweigh the bad? 

He took her for granted– it all for granted. He was ungrateful, just as she’d said. 

He couldn’t get the pictures out of his head– all the lives he’d taken; the orders he’d blindly followed; his self-awareness that he was being corrupted. Corrupted and allowing it. 

Why did this all keep coming up again? Why? Why– after he’d tried so hard to force it beneath the earth? 

He coughed and whispered encouragements to himself when he had enough of a moment to draw air back into his aching lungs. 

Even now, he longed for his mother. 

Morty had only ever wanted to be enough to be loved. 

Something putrid plummeted in his gut, and he collapsed over the toilet. 

Why would anyone have a child just to leave them like this? 

Loved. Loved. Loved. Loved. Loved. 

He slammed his fists down into the tops of his legs as his damp cheek rested along the cool edge of the toilet seat. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

Dutifully, Morty filled his pattern, matching the blows to the order– finally able to think one thought at a time. He was able to breathe deeply through his nose. At long last, as he counted, the sensations and sounds around him gradually slowed to something manageable– processable. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Fuck– 

Another wretch.  

It was horrible.

Violent. 

A mixture of snot and vomit streamed from his nose as he fumbled fruitlessly in the dark for the toilet paper. 

Shivering as his fingers haphazardly clenched around a bundle of two or three squares, Morty tore it off in a frenzied tug and pushed the tissue harshly against his nose. 

It was as he was blowing his nose that the light of the bathroom flickered to life overhead.

Morty jumped, startling as he threw the tissue into the toilet. The boy pressed himself firmly against the edge of the bathtub, the cold surface kissing the bare skin of his back. 

His grandfather stood in the doorway– tall, sinuous, pallid. A looming, walking ghost that never failed to make Morty’s heart drop. 

Morty felt sick again as he blinked slowly, trying to squint as his eyes adjusted and assessed Rick’s state. 

Rick wore a loose indigo tee, the stench of booze wafting over to Morty from the man’s bewildered position near the sink. His lithe index finger still hovered over the switch, the other splayed along the neck of a bottle of cognac. The elder donned a pair of dark green plaid boxers– only a shade or two darker than Morty’s own– and disheveled ankle-length socks that his grandson assumed were originally intended to be white, but were now a sullied shade of dark gray at the toe. 

Rick’s brow quirked up on one side as he looked Morty over, his lips pressing into a tight line as he lumbered forward a few paces. He lowered his shoulders minutely, crouching down just enough to peer over the lip of the toilet, before reeling back just a bit. 

He didn’t seem to notice when Morty flinched at his sudden movement– or, if he did, he didn’t mention it. 

Placing one trembling hand on the edge of the sink to balance himself, Rick slumped forward slightly, looking in the mirror before turning the cold tap on with the end of his bottle. 

Morty recognized, now, what his grandfather’s appearance meant. 

His hair wild; his clothes sweaty; the skin of his face barely draped over his harsh bones; shadows teasing in the hollows of his visage; dried spittle accompanying his stubble. 

He’d had a nightmare. 

He’d vomited– somewhere in the house– and Beth would yell at Morty for it in the morning, as if he were his grandfather’s keeper. Babysitter. He’d have to clean it up. 

Rick leaned forward, and Morty watched his adam’s apple bob as he drank from the faucet as if he’d never be able to drink again. 

Finally, Rick turned to him, narrowing his eyes as something Morty could’ve mistaken for concern swept the elder’s features. 

“Jesus, man– are you… puking? Was it another nightmare? C’mere–” Rick’s half-hearted grumble was almost gentle as he made a too-sudden movement towards Morty, his fingers outstretched as if he were going to press them against the boy’s forehead. Morty jolted backward, his head bouncing off the tub with a distinct ‘pang,’ and he winced. “What the fuck, Morty?!”

Rick’s features twisted themselves into a combination of that lingering concern and shock as he withdrew his hand, stumbling and nearly toppling over. 

“J–Just… please, Rick… Please, don’t–don’t touch me…” Morty’s voice was small as he shimmied further away, into the corner. He almost felt guilty as he saw hurt flash briefly along Rick’s face, quickly replaced by poorly feigned disinterest.

“I just– I don’t get it,” Rick mumbled, waving one hand in the air mindlessly and taking another swig from his bottle. 

“What?” Morty croaked, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the lip of the tub. He tried to focus on qualming that torrent threatening to rise once again. 

“I–I–I don’t get it. This. I don’t get this. This attitude; the sulking. You won’t even tell me what the dreams are about, but you wanna pull this shit every other night, for what? Two weeks? It’s–It’s like… I know it’s tough, Buddy, but– but you wanted this, ya know?” Rick was nearly yelling now, but there was little cut to his words. “I bet you’ve got a fever.”

There was a shuffle of fabric, a ‘clink,’ and then Morty jolted as a rough palm gingerly caressed his temple. He brought his hands up in a frantic swipe, his chest threatening to cave in on itself, and swatted the hand away. 

“Don’t touch me!” Morty barked, lurching for the toilet and gripping the rim as he slouched over hopelessly. He willed himself to hold it in. Swallow it down. 

“Morty!” Rick exclaimed. Morty could see, now, that Rick had sat himself cross-legged on the floor opposite the younger, his glass bottle to his right and nuzzled snugly against the wall. 

“Just– Goddamnit, just fucking… leave it,” Morty whispered pathetically, waving one hand in fruitless dismissal. 

Morty knew he wouldn’t. 

Rick was the kind of person who couldn’t help digging up corpses where they rested. Rick was never someone who could let a sleeping dog lie, or the dead stay dead. 

He’d dig them up– and bury them. Dig them up– and bury them. Dig them up–

But there was one thing Rick could never seem to remember, and it killed a part of Morty every time:

Corpses rot. 

They bloat. Their skin sloughs away. They fill up with maggots. Their entrails liquify. 

There were only so many times you could wrench a dead body out of the ground without it falling apart in your hands. 

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. 

Just like always, Rick didn’t notice the final crest of putrefaction– that last surge of decay– tumbling from his tongue as he spoke again. 

He didn’t smell the rot that clung to Morty’s withering husk like a thirsty tick to a rawboned dog. 

He didn’t see the boy’s skin disintegrate– didn’t notice the larvae that wriggled their way out of his body.

Rick didn’t feel that sickening chill when Morty’s gut sloshed in one last sweep of corrosion. 

Morty felt like a corpse as the tile bit into his palms– his knees– and Rick’s soft voice rang in his ears. 

“The nightmares– What… What are they?” Rick gulped audibly after he spoke, his murmur rebounding off of the walls like a piece of downy velvet scrapped from a seamstress in a flurry of work. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. I taught you better than that.” Rick’s tone was so forebearing that Morty found it within himself to glance up and meet the old man’s gaze. His grandfather looked grave, something heavier than dread pulling on his brow.  “Li–Listen, Slugger. If you’re dreamin’ about–about that Prime fucker, I get it, you know? I mean… I do, too. I see him with Summer or–or… you. Actually, tonight, I–”

“It’s not Prime, Rick.” Morty cut Rick off with a hiss, but he softened his next utterance at seeing how quickly Rick relinquished control of the conversation back to his grandson– the elder’s lips snapping shut in considerate silence. “It’s… It’s you. They’re about you.”

Rick blinked, his expression deadpan as if he didn’t understand what Morty was saying. “W–What?”

“It’s been longer than two weeks. I think you just started to notice. It’s– When you were better– Well… when RickBot…” Morty swallowed, his voice wavering, before continuing. “It was only every now and then. Not every night. I’m– It’s getting worse, but it’s still better than at first… I guess. I think– I think maybe it’s been about a year now? Since they started, I mean.”

“Oh…” Rick lowered his head to look at his hands, picking absentmindedly at a stray piece of skin on his thumb. “I’m stupid, Morty, but you… you know I–I’d never… hurt you, right?”

No answer. 

“Right?” Rick asked again meekly, his eyes flickering back up to the limp body in front of him.

Morty’s tongue felt heavy– like a leaden deadweight swelling as his body quivered with the urge to wretch again. He sat with the inquiry. 

Was it genuine? Was it real? 

Was this even… Rick? Or–Or some robot he’d sent to comfort him when the lights went out? Some glorified security camera making sure he didn’t wander too far out of Grandpa’s manipulation?

Morty didn’t even know if he cared— but that doubt sticks with you. 

If you’ve ever been desperate enough for approval– for any ounce of fabricated worth– you’d understand why Morty was willing to push aside his care in exchange for that bittersweet… doubt. 

Morty realized… He didn’t know. 

Rick had hurt him. Not just the accidents and poor decisions.

Rick had slapped him– punched him; kicked him. Pushed him down stairs. Laughed at his pain. 

So why, now, did Morty accept this pained look of ‘not-quite-regret’ as apology enough? Why did he accept that being broken was enough of an excuse, even if he didn’t believe it did away with guilt? 

Morty thought, for a moment, that maybe he’d spent so long trying to make Beth into the hero and Rick into the villain that he’d forgotten that real life doesn’t work like that. 

Even if he were fictional, no character had ever gotten the pleasure of writing their own story. 

Like honey-soaked cyanide, the words bubbled out of him. 

“Yeah, Rick… I know.”

Morty watched as Rick’s face softened. Relieved. 

The elder reached behind him, long limbs allowing him the privilege of not shifting his bottom, and pulled open the cabinet beneath the sink. He rustled around for a moment, shoving things this way and that noisily before letting out a little huff of approval. There was the crinkling of plastic as he removed a small bag from beneath the sink, flicking the door closed with a light ‘thud.’

Rick’s fingers popped the seal on the bag, reaching in and pulling out a tiny powder-blue pill. He placed the baggie on the ground and scooted forward, bringing the pill up between his front teeth and cupping his hands beneath his jaw. He squinted, biting down until the pill broke in half, and he let the two halves fall into his awaiting palm. 

“Here,” Rick said tenderly, gesturing down and holding his hand out. “Take half. We–We’ll split it.”

Morty poked at one of the little semi-circles with a flaccid finger. 

“What is it?”

“Benzo,” Rick stated casually, but Morty made a face, withdrawing his hand. “Jesus, kid. I’m not makin’ a habit of it. J-Just… it’ll help. I usually start with three, but… you’re little, n’ you’ve got no tolerance. Just–Just half. Don’t be a pussy.”

He was slurring. 

Morty sighed, thinking it over and deciding anything– anything– was better than feeling like this. He plucked one half of the pill and rested it between his teeth as Rick threw back the other. Rick took one swift drawl from the cognac, then held it out in offering to Morty. 

Morty’s body begged him not to drink the molten liquid, but he used it to down the medication, anyway, and let it set a fire in his tummy with a wince. 

As the room spun, he fought every urge to pull away when blistering bile once again spurted past his teeth and calloused hands gently– so uncharacteristically, chillingly, foreignly gently– rubbed circles along his clammy back. Smoothed stray curls from their sweaty purchase on his forehead. Wet a cool rag and ran it along the edges of his cheeks. 

Every touch felt like acid– ten times worse than the vomit burning the inside of his nose– but Morty was okay with it. 

He’d grit his teeth and let Rick play the Grandpa. He’d accept the possibility that any affection here, too, could be nothing more than programming. Ones and zeroes. 

Because, for now, Morty was… loved. 

Maggots and all. 

Morty shook the hand of death. 

He could be ashes if Rick were dust. 

Powdery skeletons in their tile-lined tomb. 

He closed his eyes and welcomed a mother’s touch.

-----

[panvani]

Mochizuki Jun The Case Study of Vanitas Anime da Vinci Interview - pt. 1 -

An interview with MochiJun about Vanitas was uploaded to Anime da Vinci, and while I’d seen a lot of partial translations, I haven’t spotted a full one. This is my attempt. Corrections and suggestions are gladly accepted. The link to the original is at ddnavi, appended with interview/808972/a/. Since the interview is pretty long, I’ll be breaking it up into three parts.

The opening paragraphs of the article are just the same summary/promotional lines from every other official Vanitas source, so I won’t bother translating them again.

To summarize its contents: Mochizuki talks about inspiration for Vanitas and her time in Paris, how she wants to make people want to go to Paris, and a little spoiler.

She conceived the character of “Vanitas” during her first trip to France...

- Please tell us the details of how The Case Study of Vanitas was born. What kind of idea created this work?

Mochizuki Jun: Aahh, how far should I go back... ahaha...? For my next work [after Pandora Hearts] I’d been thinking, “I want to draw either vampires or a school setting~” and I conceived the character of “Vanitas” during my first trip to France. While sightseeing in Mont Saint-Michel, I mused on drawing “the story of a single vampire who’d watched over an island for something like one hundred years.” Everything else about The Case Study of Vanitas came from that one idea, and the general forms of Vanitas and Noé were born there.

MJ: There were a ton of things I thought about doing for my new serialization after Pandora Hearts, like increasing the number of romance and battle elements. With regards to battle scenes... to be honest, when I was drawing Pandora Hearts, the head editor told me to cut down on them since “you kind of suck at this,” and I wanted to give up. I started thinking, though, like “I don’t draw them so of course they suck! If I drew them more, they’d be good!” and frantically studied to improve with every volume. I have to get way better at anatomy and the composition of fight scenes in comparison to my last work... is what I thought.

- What drew you to vampires in particular? If there are any vampire stories you especially like, please tell us.

MJ: I don’t remember exactly what the first vampire I ever saw was, but when I was little I was really impacted by the movie Interview with the Vampire [based on the novel by Anne Rice.] When I watched it, I was captivated by the tragic and fleeting existence of vampires, as well as the blood sucking scenes, so those ideas were planted firmly in my mind. Plus, it probably had an effect on my fondness for stories with a dynamic between a young man and a girl. This is a little off-topic, but it’s actually where I got the name for the Crimson-Shell protagonist. [The two main characters of Interview with the Vampire are Louis du Pont, a young vampire man, and his adoptive daughter Claudia.]

- Why did you choose to set the story in 19th century Paris? What sort of impression did your first visit to Paris leave?

MJ: Paris was the first place I’d ever visited outside of Japan, so I thought it was huge. I’d been invited as a guest to Japan Expo, and my heart wouldn’t stop pounding the entire time I was on the plane. Everything I saw seemed so new. Noé and I shared our kind of joy for Paris.

MJ: Since then, when taking personal trips overseas, I’d pay really frequent visit to this on-site publishing house in Paris. Their accompaniment for every question or problem I had when it came to any aspect of French culture was really helpful. Since I’d been so blessed to have them, I was able to go into writing ready, thinking “yeah, I’m gonna draw a manga set in France!”

- Yamaguchi Ryuu-san, who got his start designing for Final Fantasy, produced some fantastic drawings of the Paris Catacombs and Notre Dame Cathedral for The Case Study of Vanitas. That being said, it’s interesting how your Paris has not the Eiffel Tower, but a huge “Tower of the Sun” in construction to conflict with the real Paris. Please tell us about any difficulties you’ve experienced when drawing Paris.

MJ: I’m always troubled by the balance between “where I should stay true to the Paris of this time,” and “where I should create a false Paris.” I’d be super happy if this manga made someone take the chance to go to Paris. So, I had a strong passion to invite favoritism for Paris, and wanted that “the manga backgrounds should be the same as Paris!” There are falsehoods in my Paris, but the designs were taken from the real, present day world.

- With such names as the unresolved Beast of Gévaudan Incident, the Marquis de Sade, and Dr. Moreau, never before has Paris been made to adopt such an uncanny and bewitching atmosphere. If you have anything that might be a little bit of a spoiler, please let use hear it.

MJ: The Paladins of the Catholic Church draw their motif from the legend of Charlemagne. The characters from Vanitas aren’t actually the same people as those in the legend, but I like to play around with the shared relationship dynamics and character traits. [”Paladins” refer to the twelve highest ranking Knights of Charlemagne from French mythology collected in what is known as the Matter of France- the most famous of these stories is called the Song of Roland.]

MJ: Then, all of the Malnomen have their motifs taken from fairy tales or famous works of fiction [i.e. Loup Garou, based on Little Red Riding Hood, and Naenia, based on the story of Faust.] At first I thought “well, it’s set in France, so I’ll limit myself to stories documented by Charles Perrault,” but by the second volume I’d expanded my boundaries to the Brothers Grimm and was getting my hands on other stories too.

Pt. 2 here.

Pt. 3 here.

[neverdoingmuch]

now hear me out,,, an au where lan wangji is an editor who works for an erotica publisher and wei wuxian is essentially chuck tingle. (also lwj writes romance novels on the side)

wei wuxian didn’t plan to write erotica he wants to make that really clear, he was actually studying like biomed or something equally “oh wow my parents can brag to the other parents about this”

but, as frequently happens in wwx’s life, he got drunk with nhs, like really drunk and they woke up the next morning with a laptop on the floor beside them and loose paper strewn everywhere

they don’t really remember what they were doing or thinking last night but they’ve both drawn a bunch of really shitty and weird porn (the less said about the anthropomorphic version of wen chao’s pet turtle the better) and wei wuxian has like 20,000 words of an erotica story on his laptop

when he starts reading it, at first he’s like haha what the fuck this is so weird but then it turned out to be really good??? and nhs blushed at some of the ~sexy~ scenes so that’s how wwx knew he was writing the good stuff

anyway they’re sitting there, eating their hangover food and wei wuxian goes so uh my story was good right? and nhs is like yeah it was, top stuff i would buy it and wei wuxian goes what if i actually wrote it,,, haha just kidding,,,,, unless?

and in his defence he doesn’t actually write anything for the story for another like three months but then he finds himself in the middle of exam season and he’s like fuck it stress relief let’s write some erotica

he finishes the book and his exams (which he does well in but whatever) and then spends his summer holidays editing the book

when he comes back, he slaps down a paper copy on nhs’ desk and is like i finished it. nhs, thinking he meant his latest lab write up, opens it up to a random page and starts reading it out loud which was a Mistake

he trails off mid-sentence, and whips around to glare at wwx with all the wrath he can muster. it’s raunchy nhs says and just read it wwx tells him so nhs does

like 2 hours later nhs turns to him and says if it wasnt for you and the librarian staring at me the whole time i definitely would’ve felt something and wwx is like so it’s good? and nhs is like fuck yeah it is but i dont get what you want from me?

pretty much wwx passed out after exams, slept for like 20 hours and then woke up and went i should publish this and decided that nhs should draw the cover art.

nhs agrees of course and a month later wwx self-publishes bc there’s no way he can walk into a publishing house with his porn and not just combust on the spot and he decides to go by the name yiling patriarch

wwx clicks the final button to upload the fic and nhs just toasts him and goes yknow what,, this is the closest you’ve ever gotten to having sex and i’m proud of you

wei wuxian is the man who guarded his first kiss for the first twenty years of his life for someone special,,,, wwx definitely wants his first time to be special and there’s no way he’s putting out for someone he doesn’t think is important & despite having dated before, he’s never gotten close enough to someone to go yeah let’s do it so our boy is still a virgin

so wwx’s entire erotica writing inspiration comes from porn, nhs’ way too in-depth answers as to how his latest date went and uh more porn

wwx blusters about a bit bc how is he meant to respond to that and nhs is like maybe you’ll finally move on from reading those trashy romance novels and read something more exciting and wwx is like how dare you call them trashy!! hanguang-jun is a master of the romance novels!! he understands the heart in a way that no other person has ever!! 

and nhs just chugs a bunch of wine and is like yeah hon okay, do you still blush when the main characters hold hands? and wwx is like no! of course not! (it’s a lie, he blushes a lot)

so nothing really happens with the book at first and wwx forgets about it for the most part but then he wakes up one morning and he’s got an extra like RMB 1000 (i dont actually know much about currency so it’s roughly $200 if my quick interneting is legit)

wwx is like wtf? and once he finds out it’s from his novel he’s doubly like wtf? but then he finds out that someone had purchased his book and did a dramatic reading on youtube bc wwx decided that regular erotica was boring and decided to make it satirical or whatever and people loved it??

he’s got nothing better to do so he just goes hm yeah remember that Author i dated who had an “incredible idea that would absolutely amaze The Critics and helped explore his own convoluted mind” let’s make something of that and he writes another book kinda mocking that idea in a very horny way.

he publishes it and someone writes a review of his two books on their blog and now he’s actually starting to get popular - he’s got more money from those two books than he did by working at the local cafe for the whole week

wwx is poor and broke and semi-disowned anyway by this point so he goes fuck it and spends every moment he’s not studying writing erotica. 

he publishes another like five books by the time the year is out (i know the maths isnt working here but this is a book world where wwx can just do that via the power of loneliness and friends who egg you on)

also?? he varies his books. some of them are porn parody things a la chuck tingle and some of them are genuine porn and one book was just him writing a recipe book but making it sound as horny as possible

by the time he’s published his like 8th book or so he starts getting reviews that are critiquing his book and most of them boil down to the fact that he needs an editor or something 

he ends up asking nhs for help and he’s like oh sweet my brother’s boyfriend works for a publisher who does that sort of thing

cloud recesses actually specialises in erotica and i hate the idea that lqr has spent years reading and editing erotica but sacrifices must be made

(side note that i know nothing about the writing or publishing process so pls don’t judge me too harshly)

wwx goes in with his latest manuscript and ends up arriving like ten minutes late, he rushes into the room sweaty and hot, takes one look at the guy sitting on the other side of the desk, flushes an even brighter red and runs back out of the room. he checks the plaque on the door and walks back in slowly and goes hm i didnt expect you to be so hot

cue lan wangji

lwj has always enjoyed being an editor. what do editor do specifically? idk? edit? regardless, he enjoys it. 

while most of the time he’s happy working from this side of things he also likes writing

lwj fucks. he deserves it tbh. but, while he’s had a tonne of one night stands and fuckbuddies, he’s never actually dated someone. so the fact that he’s writing romance novels under the pseudonym hanguang-jun makes his friend jzx laugh a lot

he tried writing porn once and he just couldn’t do it. it was always too clinical or vague and lacked any actual passion bc he was always going oh okay mc sucks a dick but the guy i slept with last week was like a 6.4/10 when it came to sucking dick so maybe mc should also be bad at it or whatever and it just ends up falling apart,,,, but romance he can do

as an editor lwj has pretty high standards for good erotica but he’s really found himself enjoying yiling patriarch’s work even though he’s clearly just been editing himself so when the guy sent cloud recesses an email asking whether they’d be interested in his latest book lwj was ecstatic. 

he also didnt expect wwx to be so hot

anyway,,, we now get to enjoy a week of lwj thinking that wwx is super hot but even more annoying and then him deciding that annoying is hot and now wwx is just absolutely amazing and wwx is just panicking the entire time 

i want my publisher to rail me so hard wwx texts nhs and nhs just responds has he read the bdsm scene with the alien who has a tentacle dick and a knot yet? and wwx is like no??? nhs just goes shame, it will give him so ideas for if you ever grow a backbone and just ask him out

they publish one book together and nothing happened between them the entire time other than yearning and horniness,, of the heart and body. 

when wwx realises this means that he won’t get to see lwj again he immediately writes a new book and like a month later he’s back in lwj’s office, lying on his couch while whining about the cafeteria prices at university

lwj is very enamoured by the fact that wwx is writing erotica and studying biomed bc wow

they do this for like another three books and wwx’s eroticas evolve from here’s a dinosaur man fucking a politician while a mary sue watches on to be like here’s a dinosaur man with black hair and golden eyes and a stern look to his face fucking a politician while a mary sue watches on

and hanguang-jun’s latest book?? i dont want to say that this au’s version of wangxian is hanguang-jun finally finding inspiration to write porn (his muse is wwx of course) and writing the most amazing porn with feelings and plot novel ever,, but it is. 

wwx read it five times in the first week and when nhs finally tried to read it he was like uhhh wwx are you a narcissist, the love interest is exactly like you? and wwx is like ??? no???? he’s nothing like me??

anyway one day wwx gets called into lxc’s office and lxc is like so i’ve read your latest book (not the dinosaur man, a serious one with like normal people and not overly humorous thank fuck but still full of lwj yearning) and wwx is like okay? and lxc goes yes, see i was worried that you didn’t care very much for my brother but after reading your book i’m not so sure and wwx gets the weirdest shovel talk ever which is interspersed with like compliments for his porn writing skills

anyway lxc accidentally mentions that lwj writes books too and before he can take it back wwx is like who??? and lxc is like are you fucking stupid?? you told lwj to his face that you loved his books,,, he broke his theme of tender romance to write kinky sex with a character that’s a lot like you and wwx is like .,,,,,,,,, hanguang-jun??? HANGUANG-JUN???!!

lxc barely manages to confirm it before wwx is sprinting out of his office and across to find lwj.

regretfully for everyone else, lwj is in the lobby so thirty people get to hear it when wwx comes in and shouts LAN ZHAN!! back then, i really wanted write porn about you! ... i think i have actually? but i want to write porn about you and i want to be able to do the research to make it accurate! and i also want to go on dates and hold hands and feed each other food! and i love you a lot! 

lwj is dying inside bc his brother’s bf is there, his uncle is currently waiting for the elevators and a whole bunch of staff are also there but also wwx likes him??? dinosaur man was lwj??

he goes over and they make out for a really long time right there in the middle of the lobby but no one wants to get between them when they’ve been pining for so long

after that they start dating and they do all the romantic stuff but also,, let’s just say that the next book wwx publishes is a lot more creative than all of his previous books

and they become some writing power couple with horniness of the heart and body and sometimes wwx will be like hey lwj i don’t really know how the logistics of this sex scene will work and lwj will be like we could try it out ourselves? and wwx just pats him on the head and is like im sorry but you dont have enough dicks for it to work ),: better luck next time

[ampleappleamble]

—

It was a simple platitude, and one he'd heard quite often growing up: "Be ever honest, forthright, and true, and ne'er shall Woedica frown upon you." The rhyme was reductive and childish, but the sentiment was understandable enough– Honesty is a virtue, and one that should serve any good, upright citizen of Aedyr well.

Of course, Aloth knew better.

He'd known better since he was fifteen years old, clutching his face in his hands and choking on his own tears while his mother tried to soothe him, brushing back his smooth, black hair and holding him close, careful to avoid the bruises, all the while imploring him you must never tell a soul of this, Aloth, never, for even I could not help you then. He'd known better after running to the proctor about the incident with the spellwrights gilde and their damned machine, trying to bring it all to light, and instead of finding himself languishing in a dungeon for the atrocity he'd taken part in, he was instructed to continue to meet with them, to keep his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. No matter the rewards honesty promised, the people in his life always seemed to reinforce the lesson that deception and secrecy were the true keys to success.

Until now. Until her.

Since their very first meeting outside the Black Hound Inn, as far as he could tell– and he considered himself a decent judge of character, most of the time– Axa had not uttered a single lie to anyone she'd spoken with, had not suppressed nor sugarcoated a single truth, no matter how painful. The closest she'd gotten to lying was her reluctance to discuss the chain of events that had lead her to relocate to the Dyrwood, and even that had come out eventually, and entirely of her own volition. In fact, she seemed to not only practice honesty in her words and her deeds, but to relentlessly pursue the truth, to champion it, to draw it out of others like venom from a wound and leave both parties happier for it. Hel, she'd even managed to get him to open up.

How did she make it look so easy?

Practice, I reck'n. Isnae easy fer ye, tellin' sooth, coz yer nae accustomed to it, are ye, lad? Iselmyr's unwanted commentary was almost constant, now, and Aloth could not tell whether it was due to his control over himself deteriorating further, or if she had simply been emboldened by their secret finally being out after all these years. Either way, it was wearing on his nerves, and he worried that it was starting to show. It certainly didn't help that the others were as curious about Iselmyr as he was eager to be rid of her, and only about half of them seemed to possess the decorum to recognize his discomfort and drop it. Even Axa had asked if it were possible for her to speak directly to the horrid little pest, although to her credit she'd only had to be told "no" once, unlike Edér and Kana who seemingly only deigned to speak with him in order to badger him about his "friend," trying to trade jokes with her or learn Hylspeak from her or– Berath take him– flirt with her.

"Jealous," she'd smirked, and Aloth had gone bright red when Edér had laughed in response, only then realizing that she'd made him say it out loud.

Am only out 'n' jawin' wie kith cozza yer wee burd, laddie. If ye've aught t' complain about, tell it t' her. As much as he hated to agree with Iselmyr, he had to admit that she had a point– if he'd been left to his own devices, he might never have told anyone about his Awakening and simply lived his whole life suffering in silence. But since he'd started following Axa, talking with her, fighting alongside her, earning her trust and starting to trust her in return, he'd found that opening up about himself– and Iselmyr– was far easier than he'd ever expected it would be. The clever little woman had had him halfway figured out by the time he finally told her anyway, which had certainly helped speed things along. She had even suggested a method by which he might finally learn more about his condition, although the thought of letting some jackleg animancer strap him to a table (don't think about the spellwrights the experiment don't think about Targun his eyes empty and lifeless and dull don't think about it don't) and peer into his soul made his skin crawl.

But it didn't seem quite so dismaying when he reminded himself that she'd be there with him.

The events of the day thus far had only served to reinforce this notion. She'd broached the topic over breakfast, suggesting that after they finish their business with the Knights, they make the sanitarium their very next stop of the day– "May as well get it over with, right?"– but he had deflected and redirected, stating that he'd hoped to read up on animancy a bit more before making the plunge– "After all, I've waited fifty years, I can wait a few more hours"– while reminding her that she had expressed a desire to parley with the Eyeless Face sometime soon. A little nudge in the right direction was all it had taken for Kana to commandeer the conversation, excitedly gushing about banned books and Waelite secrets, and Aloth had sighed with relief even as he'd winced at the knowing look Sagani had given him. But Axa had not seen fit to press the matter, and so they'd agreed on their plans and headed for Crucible Keep, turning over the research for their new Forge Knights without any issues.

And upon arriving at the Hall of Revealed Mysteries, the distractions had quickly accumulated, as they tended to do. The forgemaster at the Keep had done little to assuage his worries about animancy in general, and every book about animancy he'd half-heartedly attempted to peruse only ended up making him more anxious, so instead he'd spent most of his time leafing through old favorites, comforting himself with the certainties of the classics, repetitively tracing his slender fingers over ancient runes in arcane treatises he'd practically memorized years ago during his training. It was a surefire method of calming himself down, helping him to collect his thoughts– or it would have been if he hadn't been continually interrupted by Iselmyr's whining, Edér's yawning, Kana's incessant attempts to "help" him with his research.

Aloth had just suffered yet another of these intrusions (Kana had jokingly shoved a primer on orlan physiology and anatomy under his nose, opened to a page with some... detailed illustrations) when the messenger from the palace had arrived, summoning Axa to court. He'd have been pleased for such a convenient excuse to continue the deferral of their visit to the sanitarium, but the scene at the Hall of Records had been far from a pleasant one.

"This is she?" Arledr Gathbin had glared down at the little woman, naked contempt on his sneering face. "This little varlet, she's the one who murdered my kin and now clings like a leech to my ancestral land? I'd thought she was just some servant, a wench from the scullery."

"This wench," Axa had snapped back, "claimed that land– a keep abandoned by your noble line for well over a hundred years, I'll remind you– by strength of arms, and with the assistance of the few good men and women standing alongside me."  Sagani and Pallegina had blinked in surprise at her words, but raised no objection. "And in any case, I didn't see your name on the door."

Gathbin had reared back as though she'd spat at him. "Never speak to me so brazenly again, cur," he'd hissed, "or you won't have time enough left in your miserable life to regret it."

Chancellor Warrin had been quick to bring the meeting back to order, but the calm had not lasted long. Upon learning that Caed Nua would only be his upon the condition that he pay reparations to Axa for services rendered in recovering it, Gathbin had flown into an even greater rage, going so far as to raise his hand to the Chancellor. And although he had effectively just declared Axa homeless, she had still leapt between the two men to defend the Chancellor, her eyes blazing as she'd roared at Gathbin to stay his hand.

"You dare to issue orders to me, you hairy little wretch!?" He'd whirled on her, his face beet red, and the captain of his personal guard, a sharp-featured elf in gleaming black plate, had grinned eagerly as her hand flew to her pistol. Aloth had been surprised to suddenly feel the spine of his grimoire under his fingertips, his heart racing. And he hadn't been alone: all of Axa's allies had prepared to draw arms as well, Pallegina's blade already halfway out of its scabbard by the time Marshall Forwyn had stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his weapon, calmly but firmly suggesting that Gathbin contain himself.

After Gathbin had stormed off, after the dust had settled and Axa was officially declared thaynu and roadwarden of Caed Nua, she'd still had enough composure to ask the Chancellor to invite his lordship to settle their differences over dinner sometime– in her halls at Caed Nua, of course– before immediately turning to the record keeper who'd seen it all and asking him if she was now "established" enough to access the records from the Saint's War she'd inquired after previously. Edér's eyes had gone wide, his jaw rigid with apprehension as he'd accepted his prize at last, and as he'd flipped anxiously through the casualty listings, Aloth had mused on the little woman's fortitude, her quick wit, the loyalty she inspired in those who followed her.

And that loyalty was not misplaced. Even now as he struggled to gather the resolve to say what he needed to say, he couldn't stop thinking of the lost, haunted expression on Edér's face as he'd found his brother's name, looked up into Axa's eyes, asked her as though she'd known all along: "Why'd he fight for Readceras?" She hadn't hesitated for even a second when he'd beseeched her to go with him to the battlefield where Woden had died, laying her small, fuzzy hand on the blond man's shoulder and assuring him she'd do whatever it took to give him peace of mind.

Be ever forthright, honest, and true–

Maybe it was bearing witness to all that– her ironclad resolve in the face of a daunting foe, her powerful devotion to those who placed their trust in her– that made Aloth face Axa now, standing outside the Ducal Palace, and tell her he was ready to head for the sanitarium. "If you're still amenable, of course," he added quickly. If you'll help me stay strong enough to see it through, he thought.

If ye'll held me haund, kiss me wee arse–

She blinked in surprise, recovered, smiled warmly at him. "Of course," she replied. "We can go there now. As long as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Oh," he sighed, smiling pleasantly, "I'm not, no. But to be frank, I'll almost certainly never be more comfortable with the idea than I am right now, so honestly, it's now or never. I'm... simply choosing now."

"I can get behind that," she nodded, turning to the road before them. "Shall we, then?"

She lead, and he followed, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

—

[jaskiersvalley]

hello! first of all I absolutely love your work, thank you so much for all this geraskier content! so it's not really a prompt, but one of the tropes I'm obsessed with is definitely the first kiss. would you write some more of this? maybe in a modern au? (or not!! whatever inspires you) anyway, thank you again for your writing and have a good day :))

First kiss in a modern AU, you say? It’s almost like you reached into my heart and pulled out one of my weaknesses. Plus, I could never say no to such a sweet request. I hope you’ve having a good day, Nonnie!

When Jaskier signed the lease on his apartment, he was a little dubious but money was tight and something about the Kaer Morhen block of flats was appealing. The landlord lived on site, there was a promise of round the clock help for emergencies and issues with the flat. Sure, it was old and looked a bit shoddy but the flat itself was sturdy and the residents all seemed quiet judging by the couple of times Jaskier went to view the place before deciding to sign a year long contract.

Moving in was quite a mundane affair. He had Priscilla and Valdo helping move his boxes but Jaskier was moving from one furnished flat to another so other than boxes of books, trinkets, clothes and kitchen stuff, there wasn’t much else. Still, it would have been an ego boost to have a musclebound man or two gallantly offering to help. Or even for a new neighbour to stick a head out and greet him. Alas, Jaskier was going to have to live without either of those things happening.

What he did end up having was a knock on his door in the evening when he was staring at his boxes, willing them to magically unpack themselves while he drank his wine. He couldn’t fathom who it was, maybe Valdo had left his phone somewhere yet again. Idiot always had it on silent and kept putting it down in places. Last time, they’d found it in Priscilla’s bathtub. Opening the door, Jaskier blinked at the weathered, older man before him.

“Mr. Pankratz. I trust moving went smoothly. I’m Vesemir, your landlord and wanted to say hello. I trust the flat is to your satisfaction and moving went smoothly. Any issues, I’m on the second floor, feel free to knock.”

A personal call by one’s landlord while sweaty and dirty from a move and pleasantly buzzed from the wine that was clutched in one hand was not Jaskier’s idea of an ideal occurrence but he nodded gratefully. The flat was indeed to his satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t the absolute shithole he’d fears things would turn out to be.

Of course things don’t go as stunningly well as Jaskier had hoped. Because while the flat was better than most, it was still cheap. Which meant that the washing machine broke down a few weeks into his life in his new home.

Knocking on the door on the second floor, Jaskier felt a little sheepish but Vesemir opened up with a gruff “yes?” that helped words come easier.

“My washing machine is giving me trouble, any chance you could have someone look at it please?”

“I’ll send Lambert this evening.” That was that. Jaskier nodded and returned back home, wondering whether Lambert was the handyman or someone Vesemir trusted.

It turned out, Lambert was one of the most terrifying people Jaskier had ever met. He was spiky and sharp, almost every sentence was punctuated by swearing. It only got worse when Jaskier showed him to the washing machine and left. Initially, it was just grunts and muttered curses but they progressively got louder and more inventive.

“Get to work you bucket of rust and bolts! Or I’m drop kicking your sorry corpse to the nearest tip!” The screaming was followed by loud banging, as if the machine was being punched repeatedly. After a minute of sudden silence, Lambert appeared. “It’s working,” he said and let himself out of the flat.

Almost hesitant to go into the bathroom, Jaskier was stunned to find that the washing machine was merrily chugging away as if it hadn’t been making a death rattle earlier that day. The fist shaped hole in the plaster behind the door was a whole different matter. It was going to be an awkward conversation to have in the morning with Vesemir and Jaskier dreaded to explain that his washing machine worked like a dream but now he had a hole in his wall. How he was going to get the old man to believe it wasn’t Jaskier’s doing was beyond him.

All worries were swept away when, first thing in the morning there was a knock on Jaskier’s door. He was suspicious, especially when he came face to face with a burly, scarred man who looked like he ripped the heads off dolls for living.

“Lambert mentioned you’ll need a bit of plastering. I’m Eskel.”

Too stunned to do anything other than step aside and let man in, Jaskier watched him walk into the bathroom. Half an hour later he was given an almost cheerful wave and the promise of coming back to paint it in a couple of days.

As promised, Eskel was back three days later. Jaskier felt a little braver and trailed after him. Strangely, Eskel seemed shy, he always twisted and turned so the scarred side of his face was hidden from Jaskier. Somehow, it seemed like a habit rather than a conscious decision and it made Jaskier wonder just what had happened to land Eskel with such habits, not to mention such scars. Then again, Lambert had scars as well. Maybe Vesemir had some kind of weird scar fetish he indulged with the handymen he employed.

It didn’t take long to paint the patch and Jaskier was impressed at how well it blended into the surrounding paint. He watched Eskel duck his head shyly at being praised. That was something to file away for later.

The later came a lot sooner than expected because not a month later, Jaskier’s tap gave up the ghost. First on the scene was, as before, Lambert. He looked at the tap like it was offending him on a personal level and Jaskier decided to leave him to it. A wise decision, especially when the clanging of a tap and sink having the ever loving shit beaten out of them started up.

“I could smack my cock and get more of a dribble from it than you piece of shit!” Lambert raged. 

It sounded like Jaskier’s whole kitchen was going to be collateral. Quietly, he just hoped the neighbours don’t think ill of him, surely they all knew Lambert’s unique style of DIY. There was a soft knock on the door and Jaskier was surprised to find a tired looking Eskel offering a soft apology.

“I’ll send Geralt up in a minute. He’s better at plumbing. Let me just get my little spark out of your hair.”

Silently, Jaskier stood aside and gestured for Eskel to make himself at home. He got to watch as there was zero hesitation in Eskel as he stepped into the kitchen with a soft “hey Sparky”. For a few minutes there were only soft murmurs from the kitchen. When the door finally opened again, Jaskier tried not to stare at the linked hands or worry about the fact Lambert seemed to be wearing the hoodie Eskel had arrived in.

A quick peek into the kitchen and it looked surprisingly intact. Deciding to leave it and opt for a delivery for food, Jaskier closed the door. Not half an hour later there was a firm knock on his door. Opening it, a few things flitted through Jaskier’s mind. One, Vesemir definitely had a thing for facial scars. Two, Jaskier had found his muse. Three, he believed firmly in lust at first sight.

“I’m here about your tap. Eskel said Lambert didn’t have much luck with it.”

This must have been Geralt. Jaskier trailed after him into the kitchen and ended up hopping onto the counter to watch him work. Not the most verbose of men but Jaskier found that beauty didn’t come from words.

“I couldn’t quite gather what’s wrong with the tap,” he began, trying to make small talk. “Lambert didn’t say much. Well, he said a lot but nothing of value.”

“That’s Lambert for you,” Geralt rumbled as he shimmied under the sink to look at a pipe. “He usually does electrics and machines, Eskel general decorating and odd jobs while I’m more for plumbing.”

Which was good to know because Jaskier wanted to see Geralt again. It took a couple of hours before water flowed from the tap again but Jaskier was happy to wait. It meant more time watching Geralt get sweaty in small, tight spaces.

From then on, Jaskier had a lot of plumbing issues. As many as he could make up and engineer. Nothing to actually damage the piped but enough to warrant calling Geralt out for them. It also meant he learned a lot about his landlord and the family who owned Kaer Morhen. They were an adoptive family and nothing to do with blood. Ex-army, all served together which explained the scars. While the three younger men called each other brothers, it didn’t stop Lambert and Eskel sharing a flat. It seemed to be a running joke that they all called it saving money and generating more income by freeing up another flat to rent out. However, Jaskier had seen just once how freely affectionate the two were with each other and there was no doubt that the jokes were an old habit while everybody and the world knew just how much those two were very much in love.

Despite all his attempts to draw Geralt out and spend more time with him with artificial problems, Jaskier still found his bathtub was clogging against his will. It was becoming impossible and he had to call Geralt out once more. This time, for a serious matter.

After half an hour of Geralt humming flatly at the issue, he straightened up and looked at Jaskier.

“You need to stop jerking off so much in the bathtub. Your jizz is clogging the pipes. Just use tissue, condoms or even a sock from now on.”

Flushing bright red, Jaskier gawped. “I have never! I mean-” Geralt gave him a half amused look. “Fine. But if you’re so worried about where my come lands, maybe you’d be a willing receptacle for it instead.”

He’d said it out of annoyance rather than anything else but it was too late to take it back. Especially when Geralt kept staring at him.

“I would prefer a dinner date first,” Geralt drawled and stepped closer. They were almost nose to nose.

“Tonight. What time do you finish work?” Jaskier was demanding but he had also had enough of pining from afar. Now was a moment for action rather than dillydallying.

“I have just one job for today. Very annoying resident who keeps calling out for problems he’s obviously created. Once I’ve finished with his bath’s plumbing, I’m off the clock.”

Grinning, Jaskier leaned in. “Well, make it a rush job and don’t be late. I have got my hopes up.”

There was no telling who leaned in first but it didn’t matter. The most important thing was that Jaskier was finally kissing Geralt.

[kessielrg]

[Kingdom Hearts AU] That One Love Letter Trope

Summary: In which Ventus's kid writes a love letter for a school assignment, and it ends up being misinterpreted thrice. Dedicated to @chibi-mushroom because A) without her, Neige wouldn't even be a concept and B) she reminded me of the trope. Written over the course of the day without much beta. Enjoy!

(As of Feb 14, 2021, it's also my longest oneshot!)

Rating: K+ (alcohol mentions)

Word Count: 4,323 words

---

Neige had been looking at her word processor for a solid minute before looking up at Ventus. The 7 year old's father was getting some silverware together for a Valentine's brunch they were holding for a few friends. No kids but Neige were allowed, of course- they'd kick her out of her own house if it wasn't for the little fact that her preferred babysitters were coming over.

“Dad, do I have to do this assignment?” she whined. One of her fingers absently going over the middle row of her keyboard, leaving behind lines of gibberish. “This is hard.”

Ven paused for a moment, then came over to her to see what she had accomplished for far. It wasn't much- just that previously mentioned line of gibberish.

“You'll figure something out.” he assured her, even pressing his lips against her temple for a moment. “You always do.” And with that, he went back to his business.

“Because that's helpful.” Neige mumbled under her breath with a quick roll of her eyes. She looked back at the screen of her clam shell shaped laptop and huffed. Why'd her teacher decide to give them a weekend project anyway? No one wrote love letters to anyone anymore. It was stupid. What was Ms. Tremaine's only hint toward the project? 'Write what you know?' What did Neige know about love when the boys in her class preferred to nearly kill themselves every recess to try to jump the school's fence? She honestly just wanted to be homeschooled instead of being at that ritzy private school that was so good at teaching Neige all the stuff she needed to know before graduating. It was dumb. And stupid. She hated it.

Then, in thinking about how she'd much prefer her grandparents to teach her and how she'd gladly help her father with chores instead of stupid assignments, the girl was hit with a stroke of inspiration. Clearing her word processor of her nonsense from earlier, Neige started to carefully type out the thoughts as they came to mind.

What is love?

I want to write a story on our love but I do not know where to begin.

I want to write a story about a thing I see every day in you.

Love is distance. Both near and far. Hoping to calm a storm with only patience.

Love is always being next to you. Taking my hand to the next challenge with out asking.

Love is not cat and mouse. Love is cat and bunny with lots and lots of kisses.

Love is finding light in the dark. The strongest to protect the one that matters the most.

Love is to give up what you love because you love. It will not be easy for us.

What is love? I do not know. Can you show me?

I want to learn more from you and you alone.

She looked it over once, tweaked a bit of it, then gave herself a firm nod. This would do for now. If Ms. Tremaine didn't like it, then bully for her. With a spirited mouse click, Neige sent the document off to the printer. When the printing screen confirmed that it was done, the girl shut the laptop lid and took it with her back into the office. Neige set her computer down on the office desk to gloriously snatch the paper from the printer's feeder. She proudly looked over her handiwork as she walked back out to the kitchen.

“Why are you still inside?” a voice asked her as she made it past the counter. Neige jumped a good foot in the air as she looked around wildly for the source of the voice. She let out a sigh of relief in realizing that it was just Terra. Not long after, the girl's face immediately soured.

“Homework.” she spat in utter contempt.

“They give you guys stuff to work on the weekends too?” he wondered as he absently scratched the back of his neck. He then gave a shake of his head before telling her, “Head on out anyway. You know how rare it is to see Sora around here- better talk to him before your mom finds a reason to kick him out.”

“Right.” Neige agreed with a nod and a wide grin. She set her homework on the counter and quickly made her way out the door. Terra watched her for a moment with a fond grin on his face. She was growing up before their very eyes- and with how little they got to see Sora, Kairi, Riku, and Namine, it would have been a crime for her to be cooped up indoors all day.

Now, what had Terra been doing before getting sentimental over his adoptive niece? Oh yeah, he came in with a mission. Ortensia had pulled him aside and told him that she had left a surprise on the kitchen counter just for him, over by the recipe books. The old cat just gave Terra a sly smile when he had tried to ask what she meant. It had felt a bit weird, honestly. Usually Ortensia was more upfront about what she was thinking. Must have been some surprise if she wasn't going to tell him.

Terra let out a thoughtful hum as he started to go through the recipe books. Ortensia didn't say which book it was, unfortunately, so Terra dug through them all. As he searched, Terra accidentally knocked over a paper that had been resting on the counter.

“Oops.” he mumbled under his breath as he bent down to get it. As he set the paper back down on the counter, he noticed that something was written on it. Terra looked over the paper with curiosity then a jolt of shock coursed through him.

Was this the thing Ortensia wanted me to see? A love letter? Why would she want me to read a love letter?

Terra scratched his head as he tried to figure it out. This didn't mean that Ortensia had a crush on him, right? That was just ridiculous- she and Oswald had been together for how long? Then again, Ortensia was a cat…

“Whatcha looking at, Terra?” the playful voice of Sora said from behind the older man. “You look like you've found something horrifying.”

“Oh!” Terra remarked, quickly folding the paper in half so Sora couldn't read it. “It's nothing. Just something that Ortensia wanted me to find, apparently.”

“Oh really?” Sora bemused with a teasing grin. He then leaned forward a bit, tapping his nose in a mischievous manner before telling Terra, “Well whatever it is, I'll find out eventually.”

“Sure you will.” Terra retorted with a roll of his eyes. He tried to get past the weird man as he said, “Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a party outside and it's rude to leave guests alone for too long.”

“Uh huh.” Sora smirked. He snickered even more as Terra fumbled his way out of the kitchen, almost directly running into the table before placing something there as he finally headed on out. Sora let out one last chortle before going on to do what he had come in for- to steal food!

. . .

Admittedly, Neige didn't know what to do now that she was outside. She just kinda wandered between the adults, gave a polite hello to Kairi as she talked to Sabrina, Neige's mother, about how Kairi's first kid was doing. Apparently Dez had moved out to go to college. It didn't look like Sabrina was paying much attention though; she slowly drank from her small wine glass and nodded every now and again to whatever Kairi had to say. Neige looked away from her elegant mother to something else, spotting Namine a good distance away.

Namine was sitting on a plastic lawn chair with one leg folded over the other -which remained on the ground- to be a makeshift easel for her drawing pad. It kinda looked rather uncomfortable, which made the girl all the more curious about what the woman was doing. As Neige leisurely made her way over to Namine, she realized that she wasn't wearing any shoes. Maybe it helped to keep her one leg propped up?

“Hey Namine.” Neige happily greeted as she rested her arms on the plastic chair's armrest. “Whatcha drawing?”

Namine jumped a little, like she hadn't seen Neige come up, before looking over at the girl and giving a small smile.

“Would you like to see?” she offered, moving her drawing pad a bit so Neige could get a better look. The drawing that Neige saw made her recoil a little. Namine had been drawing a side view of Sabrina in a regal looking pose, holding her small white wine glass to the front a little. The face Namine had given the girl's mother was neutral, but still had an air of commanding authority to it. Neige noticed that the artist hadn't started to draw in the chair yet- probably to rework it into something more befitting to the way Sabrina was sitting. Namine had already taken liberties with what Sabrina was drinking; the liquid was quite clearly a pale pink color in real life, but Namine had instead made it a blood red.

“It's pretty.” Neige admitted, even though she shrunk a little- burying her mouth in her arms. Namine didn't seem to notice.

“I'm going to do a new portrait of everyone today.” Namine said. “I've been meaning to work on side profiles for awhile.”

“Even of me?”

“Of course!” Namine grinned as she leaned forward to give Neige a little bunny kiss. “You want one all by yourself, right?”

“Yes!” Neige happily agreed, giving a bright, wide smile. Her smile faded for a moment as she looked back to Namine's drawing of Sabrina. She wondered if Namine would draw her just like that- regal, and pretty, and…

“Hey Namine!” Sora hollered from the kitchen. “Can I borrow your far more dexterous hands for a minute?”

Namine giggled as she got up from the chair. She hugged her drawing pad a bit as she took it with her. What she didn't expect to see as she entered the kitchen was Sora struggling to open up a Mason jar filled with salt water taffies. Sora happened to spot her out of the corner of his eye- he gave her a nervous laugh as he offered the jar up to her.

“Please?” he sheepishly asked.

“Are you ever going to grow up?” she teased as she placed her drawing pad on the table.

“'Course not!” he mused with a boasting grin. “I'll be hitting the old 4-0 is the next few years. I'm practically set in my ways now.”

“Of course.” Namine laughed with a small shake of her head. As she took the jar from him, she ventured to ask, “Why didn't you ask Kairi to help you?”

“Kairi's distracting Sabrina for me.” came the answer, simple as day, combined with a roll of his shoulder. “I like being here, you know, even if certain people do not.”

Namine let out another light laugh before giving the jar lid a quick twist. Just like that, the lid came off with a satisfying little pop.

“Namine, you're a lifesaver.” Sora happily declared as he took the jar from her again, even moving a bit close to give her a small peck on cheek. “Without you, Riku, and Kairi, I'd be an absolute disaster.”

Now Namine started to blush. She shied away from Sora to go get her drawing pad again now that his crisis had been solved. She frowned when she noticed a loose paper by her drawings. Was it one of hers? Not thinking much about it, Namine stuck it in her drawing pad. She was about to take it and head back outside before she remembered something.

“Oh, Sora,” she said, looking back over at him. She had to hold back her laughter as the adult already stuffed three salt water taffies in his mouth, and was working on a fourth one. “I did something special earlier. It's in with my drawings- I'd love for you to see it.”

“You bet!” Sora agreed, his voice muffled slightly from the sticky candy. Namine laughed at him once more before going outside. Sora grinned as well, chewing on the taffies a bit more before swallowing them down. Good thing he did daily exercises to keep his metabolism up- otherwise Kairi would be up in his case about having to watch his blood sugar, or something.

Picking out one more salt water taffy for good luck, Sora popped it into his mouth before heading on over to the table. He happily chewed away as he opened up Namine's drawing pad to see a paper right there. Sora gave it a curious tilt of his head before picking it up. What he read on it nearly made him choke.

A love letter? Why would Namine give me a love letter? Yeah, sure, I might have have a crush on her some time ago. But that was, like, 20 years ago! We have kids now! Happily married too! At least, I thought she was happily married. This must be a mistake. Right? How often has she hung around Riku today?

Panic clouding most of his instinct, Sora blindly looked around to hide this obscene letter. He spotted a rather thick book on the shelf behind him. The man let out a noise of happy surprise before snatching it and shoving the paper inside a random page.

“What's got you all jumpy?”

Sora all but screamed before turning to see Riku near him. He even let out a surprised, “Riku!” that almost came out in a shrill squeak. “Didn't see you there!”

Riku looked back at Sora with a neat raise of his eyebrow. No matter how old he was, Sora hated when Riku would just stare at him until he spilled the beans. Thinking quickly, and not at all rationally, Sora quickly shoved the book in Riku's hands with a quick, “Here, take this!”

“Why?” Riku wondered, still giving Sora the Stare(TM).

“Because it's for Aqua!” Sora sputtered. “Y-yeah, super important that she gets it, you hear?”

“Uh huh...” came the least of assured responses. Sora sheepishly laughed in return as he started to sneak around Riku to head back outside. Riku did not stop staring at Sora with a suspicious glare. When Sora got to the door, he turned back to Riku with a rather pale face.

“Hey buddy, we're still friends, right?” Sora asked, trying to play off whatever fear he had with a weak smile. Riku wasn't buying any of it.

“Ye-eah…” he agreed as he placed a hand on his hip. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason. None of all. Carry on wayward son! Er, Riku!” and with that, the eccentric personality of Sora had left the room.

Riku only shook his head before starting to look around for Aqua. She hadn't been outside, and she wasn't in the kitchen, so he casually wandered into the living room. Sure enough, there was Aqua sitting on the couch as she talked to Oswald.

“Hey Aqua,” Riku greeted, earning the duo's attention, “Apparently it's super important that you get this.”

He presented the book to Aqua with very little flair, and the look on her face was easily confused. “Thanks?” she said as she took it. Riku only gave her a less than helpful nod before leaving. Oswald peered over Aqua's shoulder a bit to get a look at the book.

“Why was it super important for you to get 'Pride and Prejudice'?”

“Not sure.” Aqua admitted. She looked over the book for some sort of clue before noting that a piece of paper was sticking out from the book. Curious, Aqua opened the book up to find a folded letter inside. She carefully took it and started to read it over.

“Well?” Oswald asked as Aqua's face started to contort into further confusion.

“It's a love letter.”

“From Riku?”

Aqua simply shrugged as she handed the letter over. The rabbit looked over it, and eventually a bemused grin started to cross his lips.

“You mind if I take this for a bit?” he asked her. Aqua quickly shook her head.

Oswald let out a small laughter as he got off the couch and went into the kitchen. As he entered, so was Sabrina with her now empty wine glass.

“How much wine have you had today?” he teasingly asked her.

“Not enough.” came the sharp answer as the woman went undeterred to the refrigerator. “If Kairi keeps going on about how she and Sora are worried about Dez leaving the house, I'm going to chug the whole bottle then pop open a new one.”

“You're on the road to do that anyway.”

There was a disgusted scoff that Oswald couldn't help but chuckle at. Annoyed at her adoptive parent's amusement to her constant annoyance, Sabrina noticed that he was holding a piece of computer paper.

“What'd you find, old man?” Sabrina asked as she pulled out a moscato bottle from the fridge.

“Something Neige wrote.” the rabbit told her, holding up the letter with a little wave. “Aqua seems to think that Riku wrote it for her.”

“Really?” the woman snorted as she started to refill her empty glass. “Here I thought she was smarter than that. Maybe being over 40 really starts making those braincells die off.”

“I think I should tell her.”

“Why?” came the prudent question before Sabrina took a rather generous sip of wine. “This could be fun to watch.”

Oswald looked up at Sabrina, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“I'm not sure if I should be impressed or disturbed that your sense of humor hasn't waned these past twenty years.”

Sabrina only smirked as she started to fill her wine glass almost to the brim.

. . .

The adults were starting to act really weird all of a sudden. And there were a lot of weird things Neige came to know adults to do. This kinda felt like a 'keeping secrets' kinda weird, but that didn't make much sense. Not that anyone was going to actually tell her about it. Still too young, apparently. What a bore, and no less concerning. When it came time for everyone to eat, it didn't take make much for the 7 year old to note that certain people were very careful on where they sat. Not that she was going to complain- she ended up happily sandwiched between her parents.

“How much wine have you had today?” Ventus curiously wondered as he eyed Sabrina's mostly empty wine glass.

“Not you too.” she replied with a groan. “There's still half a bottle in the fridge. Besides, why are you complaining? This just means that it'll be easier to tease me later on.”

Ven's face lit up a scarlet red at the suggestion.

“Gross!” Neige indignantly hollered, knowing full well what 'adult talk' was like between her parents, however rare it occurred. The two of them looked at her, then back up at each other. A teasing smirk crossed Sabrina's lips as Ventus quickly looked away again.

Things got even weirder when they started to pass food around. Aqua tried not to brush hands with Riku when he passed her the butter dish. Terra refused to look Ortensia in the eye while they talked about some topic Neige couldn't keep track of. Sora kept changing the subject to flat out ignoring her whenever Namine tried to talk to him, which was really odd in the child's mind. She wasn't the only one picking up on this weirdness, thank goodness. Kairi was also starting to have some suspicion on what was going on.

When Kairi finally ventured to ask, “Sora, is something wrong?” it was only the beginning of one large dam bursting.

Sora had jumped in his seat, looking over at Kairi with a wide, exaggerated grin. “What ever do you mean, my love?” he playfully asked. It only served to make Kairi even more suspicious.

“Oh, it's nothing.” Kairi delightfully decided, leaning close to him. “Just the little factor that you're a terrible liar, darling.”

The spiky haired man only offered his spouse a nervous laughter as he started to scratch the back of his neck. “Look,” he nervously try to say, “Sometimes you get a love letter from Namine that kinda makes you over think things that are already decided and...”

“What love letter?” Kairi wondered, giving Sora an odd glance before looking over to Namine. The pupils in Sora's eyes shrunk when he realized his mental flub too late. Namine, who had heard her name, was also giving him a funny look now.

“I didn't give you a love letter.” Namine insisted. Sora's face started to pale- most of the conversations at the picnic table slowly going to a halt to overhear this new drama.

“S-sure you did!” Sora nervously said. “It was in your sketchbook.”

The look Namine was giving him was becoming even more confused as she slowly shook his head at him. “I didn't...”

“That's funny,” Aqua spoke up, “Riku also gave me a love letter.”

“No I didn't.” Riku almost spat back. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“For the same reason that Ortensia would give me one.” Terra said, almost blurting it out like he had been holding it in all day.

“What?!” Ortensia nearly screeched in her own surprise. Her reaction almost making her spill the wine she was about to drink. “Terra dear, have you lost your mind?”

Now it was Terra's turn to sheepishly scratch the back of his neck. “You said you left me a surprise by the cookbooks.”

“Sweetie, it was a recipe- not a love letter.”

“Just like how I wanted you to see a drawing I made of you and Kairi,” Namine pointed out to Sora.

“Wait,” Kairi objected, holding her arms out to get everyone's attention. “So if Terra, Aqua, and Sora got a love letter from Ortensia, Riku, and Namine, but they weren't the ones to write it, then who really did?”

The accusatory glares the adults gave each other caused a sudden spike of realization to hit little Neige. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that her mother took a rather amused sip from her wine glass.

“I know who wrote it.” Neige timidly spoke up. She shrank even more when she found that all the adults had their eyes on her now.

“Who?” half of them even asked. Some were more demanding than others, which only furthered the girl's guilt.

Neige felt herself flinch as she admitted. “I did.”

A hush fell over the adults now. It was Sora who gave a bewildered, “Why?”

“It was homework.” she said in a small voice. “I set it on the counter. It's due on Monday.”

The sigh of relief was almost unanimous between the adults and for a moment, Neige feared that she was going to get in trouble.

“That was where I found it.” Terra agreed. “Then when I was trying to stop Sora from seeing it, I set it on the table.”

“And I thought that paper was from one of my drawings!” Namine realized. “Which means Sora would have found it...”

“And I panicked. Stuck it in a nearby book and gave it to Riku.”

“Which I then gave to Aqua...”

“So I assumed it was from Riku.” Aqua paused for a moment before turning to Oswald. “You knew Neige had written it, didn't you?”

“Guilty as charged. You guys didn't notice that she wrote each verse about us?”

“But why didn't you say anything?”

“That would be my doing,” Sabrina spoke up, delightfully swirling her moscato. It was Sora who leaned over a bit to glare at her.

“Why must you always incite anarchy?” he asked- his voice almost boarding on annoyance.

“Because it's fun.” she replied with a charming grin. “I just gotta say though, the deduction skills in this family are simply outstanding.”

On that note, the atmosphere almost changed back into something completely normal again. Not that it stopped Neige from still wondering if she was going to be in trouble for accidentally causing the chaos. Sora was the one to pick up on her uneasy face.

“Sorry for totally wigging you out, kiddo.” he genuinely apologized. “We should have known better.”

“Some of us more than others.” Sabrina mumbled into her wine glass. Sora looked and her a gave her a scrunched face of dislike before looking back at Neige to give her a determined nod. Seeing the change so quickly did allow the girl to smile a bit. Pleased with the result, Sora reclined back and started to dig into his food.

Suddenly exhausted from this weird turnabout, Neige sagged against Sabrina. She felt her mother flinch but she didn't tell her to get off. Instead, Sabrina brought a hand around to stroke Neige against her cheek then absently twisting her hair in her finger.

“Here,” Sabrina offered as she leaned forward to get an empty shot glass. “You deserve this more than anyone.” With that, her mother reached for the white grape juice and the fruit platter. Sabrina filled the shot glass about half way with the juice, then picked out a strawberry from the fruit platter. Neige watched as her mother skillfully cut the strawberry in two and carefully started to squeeze its juice in the shot glass. She kept squeezing until the liquid was roughly the same color as the wine that sat in her wine glass.

Neige sat up a little as she carefully took the shot glass. At the same time, Sabrina picked up her glass and gave her daughter a nod. Neige nodded right back before the duo downed their drinks with a single gulp.

[kpopfanfictrash]

The Supers and the Not

Member: Jimin (BTS)

Prompt: Okay. The original request was for Cyborg!Jimin, but I made a few tweaks. I’ve been recently intrigued by this Stephen Hawking excerpt, where he warns about the future of designer genetics v. humanity. So.... Jimin is not a cyborg, but a genetically engineered superhuman. AND, GO. (OH, + this dialogue: “Are you warm enough?”)

Rating: PG-13

WC: 3,637

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

The term superhuman has held many meanings throughout history.

In comic books, superhumans are superheroes. They are beings who use their powers for good, who protect society from unnatural adversaries. The term has changed greatly since then. When science grew bolder and human curiosity surged, the word superhuman began to transform. It became a label; one which separated a new category of human from old.

The supers from the not.

Back in the old days, designer babies (as they were called) were edited merely for defects. Scientists easily identified potential genetic diseases like sickle-cell or Huntington’s, sending in nanotech to modify and fix the code. Obviously, there was debate around this and obviously, humans were wary – but the benefits were proven to outweigh the cost.

Scientists did not stop there. No longer did they research disease, but the human psyche itself. As the map of human DNA filled in its corners, their research became riskier, more complicated and far more exciting. Once all human defects were eliminated, what else remained but the good traits?

Good traits – which could become great.

The first superhumans were not called super. Super was a nickname generated by an overenthusiastic media before they grasped what their existence truly meant. The supers were a class of human beings all on their own – able to see further, hear better, run faster. They were taller, more beautiful and far more intelligent. This was the real kicker – humans have survived extinction based on their wit alone. The appearance of supers meant regular humans could no longer compete.

The so-called supers were turned against the not.

You are not super. Your parents could not afford you to be. While many your age were conceived in a tube; their embryos tested, operated on and perfected; you were conceived the old-fashioned way, with a virtual roll of the dice.

Still, you have always done well for yourself. In a world where you were born at a natural disadvantage, you have always managed to survive. Survival is truly the best-case scenario given your circumstances. Always, you have harbored the unique ability to assess a situation, determine its risks and choose the right outcome. Some call it luck, others skill, but you know it for what it truly is – the only option.

Take now, for instance.

Currently you sit in a white, pristine lobby on a white, pristine couch in front of a white, pristine receptionist. She keeps glancing your way, wrinkling her nose as though you have a strange smell. Warily, you shift in your seat and wonder if somehow you do. Maybe her sense of smell is so acute she can pick up on an aroma you cannot.

Or maybe she is only an ass. This option seems more likely to you.

When the door to the waiting room swings open, you look up. A woman holds it ajar with her hip, checking the hologram hovering above her wrist. 

“Y/N?” she asks, sounding utterly bored.

“That’s me,” you say, rising to your feet.

Swiftly, she looks your way and wrinkles her nose. “Follow me.”

She turns, the door nearly falling shut behind her. You are forced to run in order to catch it, barely grasping its edge before it closes on your hand. From behind you, the receptionist snickers and, glowering, you step through the door. The hallway beyond it is equally pristine and white.

The assistant is already halfway down the hall.

“So,” you pant, practically jogging to keep up with her stride. “The ad didn’t mention what specifically I would be doing. Do you have an overview?”

For the first time since meeting, the woman smiles. Paused in the middle of the hall, she looks at you as though you are something to be pitied and you repress the urge to slap the look from her face.

“And yet you still answered the ad. Most peculiar.”

Drawing yourself to your full height – which is still several centimeters below hers – you glare. “As though I have a choice,” you say coldly. “There aren’t many jobs left which accept normals.”

“Pity.”

She walks past you, opening a doorway you had not yet noticed. The seams of it blend into the wall, barely even noticeable unless you have super vision. The room beyond seems darker than the hall. Finally, the walls surrounding you are not white – it takes you a second to adjust to the lighting.

“He’s waiting,” the assistant says, as though you are a gigantic waste of her time. Maybe you are.

Walking forward, you hear the door fall shut behind you. The new room is utterly silent, nothing to be heard but the sound of your breathing – and his. Your potential employer stands behind a large desk, as though this were a formal gathering of businessmen, and not a rather sketchy job interview.

Fuck, supers are beautiful. 

It is hard not to be dazzled by his outward appearance. A sculpted jawline, bright gaze and sharp nose – standing before him, you feel rather meek in comparison. Before you can speak, the man clears his throat.

“Sit,” he says, waving at the chair opposite. “Please, Y/N, sit. Are you warm enough? Sometimes the temperature of this room is far too cold.”

Of course, he would need confirmation of this. Most supers can sustain greater temperature fluctuations than normals. It is one of their many improvements.

Warily, you take a step closer. “You know my name.”

He smiles politely. “You did fill out an application, you know.”

“I know.” Stiffly, you pull the chair back to sit.

Silence stretches between you, both of you staring and trying not break first. Finally, he speaks. 

“How silly of me.” Chuckling good-naturedly, the man ducks his head. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Park Jimin, but you may call me Jimin.”

“Most supers prefer to be addressed by their surname.”

Jimin’s smile falters. “Yes, well… Ah. All the same, I prefer to be called Jimin.”

“Alright.” You say this as though it is neither here nor there. “Jimin, it is.”

“Wonderful.” Jimin flicks a hand over his desk. A blue hologram appears. “Down to business, then. You’re probably wondering why my ad was so cryptic.”

Uncaring, you shrug. “Not really.”

“Why not?” Jimin pauses. “That would have been my first question.”

He seems genuinely curious and in response, your gaze narrows. The underlying implication is obvious – you normals do not think things through before acting. Not in the same way they do. Normal thought is somehow ages behind that of the supers.

Gritting your teeth, you lean forward. “The ad didn’t surprise me because, based on prior experience, supers tend to be vague about illegal requests.”

Jimin’s cheeks color. Slowly, he lowers his hand and the blue hologram fades. “I see.” Quickly, he glances at the door you entered from. “You’ve answered this kind of ad often, then.”

“Not a question.”

“No, merely an observation.” His gaze becomes shrewd. “I can see you don’t trust me.”

Not wishing to implicate yourself any further, you remain silent.

Jimin arches a brow. “Well, do you?”

“No,” you say simply. “I do not.”

“I can hardly blame you for that. My kind can be… well, cruel to yours.”

Again, you say nothing. Part of survival is knowing when to hold your tongue. Part of survival is knowing when to play the part of the lower, sub-species and when to let them know you understand.

“I need you to trust me, though,” Jimin says quietly. “I need you to trust me, since I’m going to be very, very honest with you.”

Despite your best interest, his words pique your curiosity. Supers do not often care about honesty. 

“It will be difficult to undo years of training,” you note.

Jimin laughs. The noise escapes before he can help it. “Yes,” he muses, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose so. Perhaps it would be good, then to tell you who I am.”

“You’re Park Jimin. You’re a super.”

His eyes are dark brown with flecks of gold at the center. The effect inspires warmness, emotion and you trust absolutely none of it. Everything about this man is designed to draw people in. Idly, you wonder how much his father paid for it.

“True,” Jimin says. “But I am also Park Jimin, of Park Enterprises.” Launching into what can only be assumed to be his Wikipedia biography, he continues, “My father is Park Jiwoo, researcher and entrepreneur. I have no siblings. I am 169 cm tall, which is considered below average for a super and I –”

“Okay, none of that matters to me,” you interrupt, waving your hand. Jimin ceases talking immediately, blinking owlishly and you wonder if this is the first time he has been interrupted. “God,” you groan, slouching low in your seat. “You supers are all the same, aren’t you? Listing facts and figures like that’s all people care about.”

Jimin bristles. “That is what most people care about.”

“Not normals,” you say, softening a tad. “Not humans, really. Tell me something different. Tell me something personal.”

The blue light from his desk makes him seem almost haunted. Likely, the lights in his room are intelligent; designed to reflect his mood and adjust appropriately. You wonder what they glean from him now, since he seems stressed in your gaze. Dark circles shadow his eyes, his grip tense on the table before him. Uneasily, you wonder what a super could have to be worried about.

“I don’t really know what you mean.” His brow puckers. “Do you want my government ID number, or something? That’s personal.”

“God, no,” you choke out, trying hard not to laugh. “If you gave me that, they’d just think I stole it.”

His lips lift in a ghost of a smile. “You’re right, they would.”

“I know I’m right. I want something different. I want to hear about…” Glancing around, you wonder what could possibly make you trust this man. What could possibly make you relate to this super. There are photographs on his desk – a family photo, which is interesting. Looking up, you meet Jimin’s gaze. “Tell me the last time you cried.”

“The last time I… cried?”

“Or, can you not?” Politely, you cross one knee over the other. “Are you supers so far removed from humanity that you no longer feel? Were your tear ducts removed along with your defects?”

“I can still cry,” Jimin mutters, gaze heated.

“Then, prove it. Tell me.”

Slowly, he leans back in his seat. “Last Thursday. 10:12 AM.”

“And what happened to make you cry?”

“I learned information which scared me.”

His honesty catches you off guard. Either Park Jimin is a very good actor, or he is telling the truth. He truly does look fearful, which does not bode well for you. Fearful people tend to make bad decisions – and fearful supers tend to make cataclysmic ones.

“What information?”

Jimin shakes his head slowly. “I can’t tell you that. Not without you trusting me. Not without me trusting you.”

“Then, trust me.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Jimin slowly exhales. “Meeting you like this goes against everything I stand for. There are so many things which could go wrong... I have done the probability calculations over and over – twice while we were sitting here – and it is ludicrous to think I might find the solution, when –”

“Jimin.” Quietly, you interrupt.

He pauses before he looks up.

You meet his gaze. “Why am I here?”

Jimin’s expression morphs from stoic to helpless. “Because... you’re normal.”

“And?”

“And,” Jimin says, closing his eyes. “That means you are immune to the problem.”

The way he says problem sends a chill down your spine. He speaks as though he has exhausted every option and this is his last resort – and likely, you are. That is what tends to come from meetings like this.

This is not your first meeting from an unlisted number. This is not your first interaction where a person has disguised their voice while answering the phone. It isn’t your first time meeting someone in an unknown location and receiving details of a task said person needed performed. 

You do what you must. You receive payment. You survive.

This seems different, though – Jimin seems different.

With his eyes closed, Jimin looks almost human. You suppose that he is, but not in the same way you are. His skin is flawless, the milk of it dusted with blue veins and dark lashes. When he opens his eyes, you expect the illusion of his beauty to fade. It does not.

“What’s the problem?” you say, pushing these distracting thoughts aside.

“It’s easier… if I show you.” Reluctantly, Jimin reaches out to pull up a hologram. Blue strands of DNA twist before you in mid-air. “There have been many accepted edits of the human genome. Some are more progressive than others. The ampliointelligens procedure, for example, is the most widely known. It is where –”

“A person’s intelligence is increased,” you interrupt, bored. “I know. It’s Latin.”

Jimin quickly covers his surprise. “Of course. Anyways, the procedure was considered the first of the… super procedures. The ones which diverted from genetic correction to genetic improvement. And, as with any new field… there were errors.”

“Errors?”

This fact is news to you – nothing about mistakes was reported to the public, which explains Jimin’s trepidation on the matter. In the entire history of the supers, there has never once been any admittance of error. Their strength is their narrative, after all. The supers deserve their positions, their wealth and their influence because they are better. Because they can foresee things normal humans cannot. All of this fails to be relevant if they are proven to be imperfect.

“The concept of intelligence.” Jimin uses air quotes on the word. “Is hard to understand and even harder to change. Gene editing is simple. Take something like Huntington’s disease – we know the genetic defect which causes it. We can simply screen the DNA, cut out the harmful bit and replace it. That’s an over-simplification of the procedure of course, but – there’s low risk of something going wrong.”

“If you say so.”

“However, with something like intelligence… there’s still debate about which portions of the human genome are the most impactful. There are several accepted versions of the ampliointelligens procedure because of this disagreement.”

Hearing him say this, you blink. Again, this is news not known to the general public and you wonder why Jimin is telling you this – any one of these tidbits would be worth a fortune if the supers have covered them up for so long.

The surprise on your face must be obvious, because Jimin then sighs. “The variables increase with intelligence. There isn’t one DNA strand to consider, but millions. Trillions. Each tweak a surgeon makes has far-reaching repercussions; ones which geneticists admitted were impossible to know definitively at the time. And yet…”

“And yet, people underwent the procedure.”

“People were greedy. They are greedy,” Jimin corrects with a tick to his jaw. “Once a reasonable procedure was created, people wanted it – no matter the cost, no matter the risk. If there was a chance their children could be super, they took it.”

You notice Jimin says the word super with a bitterness usually reserved by your kind. This surprises you, if nothing else. He doesn’t seem to enjoy what he is any more than you do.

“So.” You tap your fingers against your knee. “Back to the problem you mentioned.”

You assume this problem is why you’ve been asked here. There’s something Jimin needs and the sooner he asks it of you, the sooner you can leave. The sooner you can cease sitting before him, becoming oddly charmed by a man you despise.

He nods. “We’ve known about a mutation for years, but it has recently transformed into something insidious. One of the ampliointelligens procedures is the cause of this mutation. The DNA edit takes over, it spirals out of control and overpowers the human ability to empathize. This leads to rash decision-making, high levels of narcissism and the inability to relate to others. It can be… crippling.”

“Narcissistic and unable to relate?” Pressing your lips together, you keep them from twitching. “However will you separate them from the rest of the supers?”

“It isn’t the same,” Jimin says, a bit heated. “Supers can empathize, even if they place less value upon emotion than normals do. Supers still factor in an emotional response.”

“How noble.”

“You don’t understand.” Jimin leans forward. “Those afflicted by the mutation are incapable of decision-making – and what’s worse, they control every major resource in the country. Yes,” he says, spotting the look on your face. “The problem is bigger than just supers versus normals. If this disease spirals out of control, there won’t be a world left to save.”

“Is that what you intend to do?” you ask, unable to help yourself. “Save the world?”

“I intend to try,” Jimin says quietly.

Maybe it’s this that convinces to you how serious this is. Jimin stares, brow furrowed, and you get the idea he doesn’t lie very often. Slowly, you tilt your head and observe him.

“How many?”

His brow furrows. “I’m sorry?”

“How many supers are afflicted?”

Staring at you, Jimin seems to sag in his seat. If he had a glass of alcohol in his hand, you imagine he would drink it. 

“About half the existing supers underwent the affected procedure,” he admits. “And it does not seem to be a question of if, but of when.”

“Oh.”

“Take my father, for instance,” Jimin continues, not looking away. “He began to exhibit symptoms last Thursday morning. I, on the other hand, have yet to show any.”

“How…” You pause, licking your lips. “If the procedure is as certain as you say, how does the public not yet know? How has it been kept quiet so far?”

“Those in power have methods of silencing.”

Not wanting to know more than that, you glance away. “I take it you think these methods will not remain effective for much longer?”

“I do not.”

“So, then why am I…” Glancing sharply upwards, understanding dawns. “You want me to be your guinea pig. You want to perform experiments on me because I’m immune. Because I’m normal.”

“Lord, no.” Jimin winces. “At least – not in the manner you speak of. I would like to compare samples of our DNA, yes. I’d like intelligence testing, brain scans – all of that would be on the table, but what I need you for most is observation.”

“Observation. Like, me in a glass room and a strait jacket?”

“It’s the other way around, I’m afraid. I need you to observe me.”

“You?” 

“Like I said.” A sliver of desperation seeps into his tone. “I have no idea when my mind won’t be… my own. I’m seeing firsthand how my father has changed. I need someone neutral – someone not prone to the problem themselves – to weigh in.”

“And that person… is me?”

“Based on this meeting, I think so.” Jimin meets your gaze. “Y/N, has your intelligence ever been tested?”

“Are you serious? Intelligence testing is reserved for supers. Surely, you know that. Normals have no need to be tested.”

“And yet,” Jimin says calmly. “Since you entered this room, you’ve corrected me multiple times, synthesized complicated arguments and even translated Latin to English. Whatever you are,” he says, leaning forward. “It is more than what you let on.”

He sounds so self-assured in this statement, you almost believe him. Pushing the idea away, you glance at the door and gather your thoughts. No matter what choice you make, there’s no good way out. You were stuck from the moment you agreed to this meeting. Jimin has revealed too much to you – and yes, information is power, but not the kind that you hold.

Knowing weaknesses about the supers places a target on your back. Slowly, you return to him. 

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” you say softly. “If I don’t agree to your terms, you’ll just send people after me when I leave.”

“No. I won’t.”

“Why not? I would, if I were you.”

“Because.” There’s something hard, something unreadable to his gaze. “I really need you to trust me.”

Variables flash through your mind, a fight or flight instinct warring in your bones. Eventually, you ignore all of it and instead, listen to the voice which whispers in the back of your mind. 

“Find,” you say slowly. “I’ll do it.”

Jimin sags into his chair. “Thank the fucking gods.” He sighs. “I didn’t really have a Plan B.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” Jimin says. “I’m afraid this is my final resort.”

“Then, why –”

“I think that’s enough chit-chat for today.” Pushing back his chair, Jimin stands from his desk. Pressing a button on the side, a noise buzzes in the hall. “I think it’s time you reviewed the terms of the contract. One of my assistants will show you to your rooms.”

“Rooms?” 

Without thinking, you stand as well.

“Of course,” Jimin shrugs. “You’ll be staying with me for the duration of the work period. Everything is outlined in the contract – which you will have until the end of this week to make amendments to. Will that be that satisfactory?”

“I…” Blinking at him, your mind reels. “Yes.”

“Good.” 

Clasping both hands before him, Jimin morphs back into the image of super. Banished is the distressed man you saw briefly but still, he lingers around the edges. 

“I look forward to working with you, Y/N,” he says quietly.

The door opens to reveal the tall assistant from earlier. She glances in surprise from you to Jimin, as though she did not expect you to stay.

Seeing her reaction, your smile broadens. “I look forward to working with you, too, Jimin,” you announce, walking towards the door.

It is mainly for the benefit of the assistant, but you cannot help but realize there is some truth to the words. Despite all you have said, that voice still exists deep within you. The one which usually warns you of danger is unusually silent in his presence. This unsettles you for a moment and then you walk past, stepping into the hall.

  © kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[twiceinadream]

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

Requested: Nope

a/u: Hey, guys! So, my mini series is on a Harry Potter AU for Twice, I’ll release more background info on them later and was inspired by the artwork of @tonidoodles on Twitter. A friend of mine inspired this fic and I hope you all enjoy and there will be a lot more to come! Thank you, I love you guys! And thank you so much Z!

Background: Chaeyoung and Tzuyu are both 3rd years.

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

“Come on guys! We aren’t gonna beat Ravenclaw if the Beaters can’t keep bludgers from flying at my head!” Jeongyeon yelled as she ducked again, another bludger nearly knocking her off her broom. The captain sighed in frustration as she flew down from the goalposts, “Practice is over. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow.”

Her team nodded as they went to gather all their equipment, whispering amongst themselves when Jeongyeon left, “What’s got, Yoo, so tense? She’s never this mad during practice.”

The Gryffindor looked at her teammate in shock, “You haven’t heard?” She looked around to make sure no one was listening before whispering in their teammate’s ear, “Im Nayeon called the Captain’s girlfriend a Mudblood.”

The questioner’s eyes went wide, “No way, no one disrespects, Park Jihyo. No wonder Jeong’s so mad.” Her teammate smirked.

“That’s not all, Cap was so mad she dueled Nayeon on the spot and…” Before she could finish, someone behind them cleared their throat, shocking the two talking.

“Stop talking about other people’s business when it doesn’t concern you.” The two turned to find Chaeyoung standing behind them, Gryffindor’s star Seeker. The third year scowled at her teammates, “Don’t let me catch you two again or Jeong will be informed.” The two nodded.

“Of course Chae, won’t happen again.” The Seeker let out a dismissive hum before picking up her bag and leaving the Pitch, beginning the trek down to the lake.

-

Chaeyoung sighed as she finally made it down to the banks of the lake, setting down her bag against a fallen log before sitting against it as well. The smell of the forest filling her lungs as she pulled her sketchbook out of the bag along with a pencil and a sandwich, her sketchbook rested on her leg while she took a bite of the sandwich; her eyes searching for something to draw along the banks, but seemed to find nothing but the waves lapping at the shore. The third year shrugged as she began drawing the lake again, outlining the shore in front of her when she suddenly saw something dart out from the corner of her eye.

Blinking as she looked up from the paper to the edge of the lake where a great white dog now stood, its black eyes finding her’s and Chaeyoung couldn’t find it in herself to take her eyes off it. However, it was the dog who finally looked away and began to turn away from her when Chae suddenly called out to it.

“Wait, come here!” The Gryffindor put on her softest smile as she held out a piece of her sandwich in the direction towards the dog. The creature seemed to contemplate the benefits of walking towards her before opting to go anyway, a look of relief on Chae’s face when the dog approached her. ‘You’re a lot bigger up close.’ The Gryffindor mused, and she wasn’t just thinking that because she was short.

She smiled as she held out the sandwich to the dog, it took it and sat beside her eating the food she had offered. While the dog was distracted for the moment, Chae switched to a blank page in her sketchbook and picked her pencil up to begin sketching the dog next to her, assuming it must be someone’s pet. She smiled as she gave the dog the rest of her sandwich to keep it distracted while she drew, she reached a hand out to pet the dog which it didn’t seem to mind, occasionally leaning into her touch.

The dog’s head eventually found its way into Chaeyoung’s lap as she continued drawing the animal, smiling to herself as she petted its head, “I wonder why I’ve never seen you before? Maybe you’ve met my friend, Tzuyu? She loves animals.” The dog’s ears perked up at the name, but Chaeyoung didn’t seem to notice as she continued to draw, a bittersweet laugh leaving her lips, “Friend.” The Gryffindor sighed sadly as she kept stroking the dog’s head, “With a Pureblood family like the Chou’s they’d never let her be with a Half-blood, no less one that grew up in the Muggle world. And who am I kidding? She’d never like me back to begin with.” Chaeyoung seemed to deflate after that, but continued to pet the dog while she drew and before she knew it, the dog was fast asleep in her lap. The dog’s breathing the only sound beside the rustling of the leaves in the wind or the water coming onto the shore.

The Seeker continued to stroke the dog’s head as it slept, its puffy and slightly coarse hair passing between her fingers as she attempted to draw the texture of the dog’s hair on the paper. Getting lost in her work, Chae didn’t seem to pay attention to her hand on the dog until the hair between her fingers began to feel soft and sleek, opposed to the coarse and puffy hair she had been petting for the past hour. Only then did she dare to look down at the dog.

Chaeyoung’s eyes widened when instead of being greeted by the sight of the great white dog, she looked down to see that Chou Tzuyu had taken its place. The Gryffindor had to physically suppress her gasp of shock so as to not wake the sleeping girl and scare her off, but Chaeyoung still couldn’t help the thoughts that raced through her mind, ‘Oh my god! She’s an Animagus!’ The Half-blood let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding when a thought dawned on her, ‘I told her I liked her!’

Chae felt the urge to facepalm when she felt Tzuyu shift in her lap, petrifying the Gryffindor before the Slytherin seemed to find a comfortable position and fell back asleep. Chaeyoung let out a sigh of relief as she attempted to calm her heart rate and continue drawing, her hand hesitantly going back to stroke Tzuyu’s hair.

-

Another half-hour passed when Tzuyu finally woke, stretching out her arms in front of her face blinking when she saw hands instead of paws. The Slytherin immediately felt panic flood her body as she shot up to a sitting position, startling the living daylights out of Chaeyoung. The two friends met each other’s eyes.

Much like before, Tzuyu was the first to break their staring contest as she started scrambling to get up and run away from Chae, when the Gryffindor suddenly lunged and grabbed her by the wrist to keep her from going, “Tzuyu, wait! Please don’t go.” The Pureblood looked at her friend with worry in her eyes but nodded, “Okay, sit.” Tzuyu sat almost immediately, scowling at the shorter girl, “Sorry.”

Chaeyoung sighed, letting go of her friend’s wrist, “Well, I know you’re an Animagus. And I won’t ask how it happened, but just know; your secret’s safe with me.” Tzuyu gave her a small smile as she nodded, she was always a girl of few words. The Slytherin then got up and began walking towards the path that led back to the school, but suddenly stopped and turned back around to face her friend, “Hey, Chae,” the Seeker’s head shot up at her name, meeting Tzuyu’s eyes, “I like you too.”

The Gryffindor’s mouth fell open in surprise as her brain didn’t seem to register what she had just been told, she couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips as she looked to the ground for a second, letting the information sink in, ‘Tzuyu liked her too!’ When Chae looked back up she was met with the sight of the great white dog staring back at her, they both shared a knowing look before the dog turned and ran towards the path. Leaving Chae alone and smiling like an idiot.

[ryrycaptain]

Lets See Where This Goes

Description:

Dan and Phil go to the same high school, with Phil a year older than Dan. Phil’s aesthetic is more 80’s/retro, whereas Dan’s is a grunge e-girl aesthetic with makeup. Ever since Dan’s freshman year, Phil admired him for embracing individuality and slowly started to fall for him. However, they never talked except for Phil being nervous and clumsy around Dan. Little did he know that Phil had feelings for him but didn’t show it.

Notes:

Hello! Thu is my very first fic for the PRB, and I'm excited for you all to read. My piece was inspired by the lovely art futurebunnyfluff made. My amazing beta was supermariohbrothers! . I hope you enjoy the fic.

ao3 link

When Phil first saw Daniel Howell, the younger boy had been talking to Phil’s new maths teacher for directions. He quietly slipped past the pair, but it didn’t stop him from noticing the younger boy's style. Dan had been wearing a black shirt with a small logo of an upside-down smiling face. The shirt was worn over a black and white striped shirt and tucked into black shorts that were adorned with white ruffles. The belt cinched around his waist pulled the outfit together and highlighted Dan’s curves. Although the outfit was bold, Phil was surprised to see the purple lipstick that coated the younger boy’s lips.  He also noticed the slight blush on his cheeks and the purple eyeshadow coating his eyelids. Overall the younger boy looked absolutely breathtaking with his brown curly hair and chocolate eyes.

His attention had been stolen by the way the boy stood confident by the teacher and how he moved his hands while talking. Dan was confident, and he knew he was special. Phil couldn’t help be inspired by the way the younger boy presented himself when there were so many threats for being different.

Phil’s style wasn’t too out there, but it still stole attention from all the wrong people. He liked the 80’s aesthetic he’d come to life over the year. It helped represent his old soul. He'd been bullied on multiple occasions, and his sexuality had been a popular topic amongst his classmates for a good half of last year. He couldn’t imagine being as confident as Dan was. Needless to say, Phil had been distracted for the rest of the day.

It didn’t get much better after that though. He was often caught sneaking glances at the other boy, and it became a hot topic at his lunch table. He was sitting with his food in front of him staring at the younger boy when PJ dropped into his seat across from Phil. The other boy followed Phil’s gaze, “Have you talked to him yet?”

Phil shook his head. “Every time I try I get too nervous and back out.”

It was true. In a way, Dan had become his idol, and Phil looked up to him like he looked up to Muse. It was stupid, but Phil couldn’t stop his mind from creating situations where Dan would run away or think he was obnoxious. Just as he was about to spiral, Pj interrupted him, “Stop overthinking it, Phil. He’s just another teenager.”

PJ had been his friend since the day he accidentally stepped on the other boy's sandcastle at the park. They’d grown close quickly, and PJ could somehow read his mind at this point.

“I’m trying, Peej.”

Pj sighed “What could go wrong?”

Phil didn’t even need to think before he started listening off all of the reasons introducing himself to the younger boy could go wrong. “-might think I’m weird and hide from me for the rest of my life. Really there are a million ways it could end badly.”

“I wasn’t being serious,” Pj said glaring, “Seriously though, you should go talk to him. I don’t think I can stand you looking at him like a lost puppy for the rest of the year.”

Phil huffed, “Fine.”

He stood up and made his way to the other boy’s table, walking with confidence he didn’t know he had. When he actually gets to the younger boys table, he loses it immediately. He can feel the blood rush from his face, and his lips are moving but no words are coming out.

Dan looks flawless yet again. The younger boy has a purple crop top that stops just above the band of his black ripped jeans and he sports clunky Doc Martens. He’s wearing makeup again, and it sparkles against his eyelids. Phil’s pulled out of his reverie by a small cough. “Hi,” Dan says.

His voice isn’t as high as Phil imagined it, but it’s still smooth. “Hi,” he responds, “I’m- um- Phil. Yeah, that’s right. That’s my name. Phil. Phil Lester.” He laughs awkwardly and then he’s taking off, away from the table and back to the one friend he has.

When he flings himself into his chair, Pj jumps and he looks at Phil with caution in his eyes. “Did everything go down well?”

Phil feels like he’s about to cry and he has to blink a few times to clear the unshed tears from his eyes. “God I screwed everything up,” he groans.

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Pj reassures him.

“I promise you it was that bad.”

Pj snorts, “Not everything is as bad as you think it is.”

After that, Phil lays low and he doesn’t talk to anyone but Pj. He wouldn’t say he was a social butterfly, but he made an effort to talk to people most of the time. He’s worried that Dan’s going to start rumors about him and it’s not implausible.

Dan had become quite popular a few days into the school year. He’d made a lasting impression on most of the popular girls, and he seemed to get along well with them. Phil was pretty sure a few of the girls even had crushes on him. The only thing keeping Phil’s hopes alive is the rumor that Dan’s gay. The younger boy hasn’t commented on it yet, and for all Phil knows, the younger boy could be dating one of the most influential people in the school.

The only thing keeping Phil from worrying about the girls themselves whispering about him is the fact that Dan sits away from them with his friend Louise. Louise was nice with curly blonde hair dyed pink at the tips. She seemed like a mother hen, and Phil constantly caught her fixing Dan’s hair or lecturing the younger boy.

Phil’s pretty sure he should try talking to the other boy again to quell his fears, but he still hasn’t convinced himself to do so. He ends up going to talk to Dan on several occasions before chickening out.

He spends the rest of the year giving Dan longing looks and wishing he wasn’t socially inept. His wishes don’t come true though so he stays away and sulks. Pj confronts him multiple times and he ignores the other boy’s advice every single time.

—

The next school year, Dan starts dating one of the football players at school and it confirms one thing for Phil. [ Dan likes guys. ] After his hopes are confirmed his crush gets worse and he’s desperate for a relationship with Dan whether it’s a friendship or something more.

When he finally gains the courage to talk to the other boy, he trips right over an outstretched foot, and he can’t stand to look at Dan for days.

He’s always been clumsy and he doubts he'll ever be able to get away with hurting himself in front of Dan. This time rumors spread, but he doubts Dan was the one who started.  He’s only giving Dan the benefit of the doubt because everyone saw it.

His avoidance of Dan spans the rest of the school year, and Phil spends most of his summer listening to Muse and complaining to Pj about his lack of social skills. He also finds Dan’s social media and stalks it for days mesmerized by his makeup looks. He’s seen Dan in makeup before but those are simple looks that don’t draw too much attention, but the looks he posts online are extravagant and eye-catching.

It inspires Phil and he spends a lot of time painting eyes and other random designs onto thrifted clothing that he finds on his shopping spree. By the time he’s done being inspired, he has enough new outfits to last him the first two months of school.

He’s amazed by what the younger boy brings out him, and they don’t even know each other. It makes him think about how much more inspiring Dan would be if they were friends but he pushes that thought away and distracts himself with something new.

—

The first day of school this year was the last and Phil was excited by the idea. He dressed in a black button-up that had a retro pattern scattered across in and threw a pair of stared overalls he painted over top of the shirt. The patterns meshed well but still provided a neat look. He lastly threw on his battered pair of converse and headed off to school.

His day starts off well but it gets better when he finds out Dan is in the same AP art class as he is. He’s honestly surprised the other boy likes art but then he remembers the amazing makeup the younger boy does.  He realizes he barely knows anything about the younger boy. He knows things from rumors and social media, but half of it could be fake.

Phil spends most of the class sulking over the fact that he isn’t near Dan, but his luck pulls through a few weeks into the school year. They’re doing a partner's projects and the teachers picked the pairs. He usually picks Pj, and most of the time, the teacher pairs them up as well. She must have noticed the way he smiled at Dan though because she makes them partners.

He gives Pj an apologetic look and makes his way over to Dan’s desk. “Hi. I’m-”

“Phil. Phil Lester,” he teased, “I remember.”

Phil groans, “Sorry I’m so awkward. I’m surprised you didn’t run away when you found out I was your partner.”

Dan laughs at that. “Why?”

“I’ve been so weird in front of you.”

“That just made you all the more interesting. I’ve been trying to get to know you for years, and you’ve just now noticed.”

“You have?”

“I’m mean- of course. You really inspire me.”

Phil’s caught off guard by that. He’s never seen himself as an inspirational person. He runs away from most of his problems, and he avoids human connections like the plague. He isn’t popular, in real life or online. It makes him feel awkward, and he wonders what Dan knows about him.

What happens if he doesn’t rise to Dan’s expectations? Phil can’t imagine disappointing the other boy, and he becomes self-conscious immediately. Besides, he’s borderline obsessed with the younger boy and he starts to worry if Dan has seen the internet stalking that Phil does. It would be even more embarrassing if Dan knew about Phil’s tendency to stare at the other boy.

“Why?” he asks Dan. It’s the only way he can find out what Dan thinks about him.

Dan hums and sits in thought for a few moments. “You seem happy with what you have. I have all of these friends and I’m treated like I queen by half of my dates, but I’m still not sure I’m the happiest I can be,” Dan sighs. “I’m sorry if that was too deep.”

“I don’t think it was,” Phil reassures him. “I had a lot of trouble at first. People aren’t the best at handling differences, and some people tried to change me. It made me stronger in the end though.”

The bell cuts off their conversation then, and Phil realizes they never discussed the project. He doesn’t even know what the prompt is. “Do you want to exchange numbers?” He asks Dan,

“Uh- sure,” he sputters, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Phil takes a few seconds to type in his number and hands Dan the phone. “Text me?” Phil asks, “To talk about the project and stuff.”

“Yeah of course.”

—

Phil is stuck staring at his ceiling. He can’t seem to sleep and his brain is repeating the conversation he had with Dan earlier. It was weird to know that Dan looked up to him in the same way Phil looked up to Dan. Somehow they both comforted the other even though they barely knew anything about each other. He feels slightly guilty for not telling Dan about his admiration. He wishes he had Dan’s number so he can clear his conscience, but the younger boy still hasn’t texted him. It makes him worry he creeped out the other boy, and he doesn’t know how he’d get through the project if he has.

It’s like Dan’s reading his mind because the next thing Phil knows, his phone is brightening up with a message.

From Dan

Hey. It’s Dan :D

Phil can’t help but smile at the smiley face at the end of the message. It fits perfectly with Dan’s personality.

To Dan

Hey, stranger. What are you doing up so late?

From Dan

I couldn’t sleep. You?

To Dan

Same. I can’t stop thinking.

It feels weird to actually talk to Dan outside of school. He wants to run away from the awkward vibe the messages are giving off, but he isn’t risking a low grade in the class. Then again he doesn’t know the prompt so he’s probably doomed to a failing grade in the class anyways. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Dan, but he’s a bit wary about working with someone other than Pj.

At least Pj is working with someone he knows. The girl’s name is Sofie, and Pj had mentioned her multiple times at lunch. Phil’s surprised he hadn’t noticed the look in Pj’s eyes when he talked about her before. Phil’s definitely jealous, but he’s happy knowing that Pj is living the dream.

From Dan

That’s never good.

To Dan

I suppose so.

He watches as the three dots in the corner of his screen move and waits for Dan’s reply. It’s awkward. Phil doesn’t like talking about himself that much, but he’s finally having a conversation with Dan. After a few minutes, the bubble disappears, and Phil is left alone again.

—

When he wakes up the next morning his eyes hurt from leaving his contacts in. He must have fallen asleep after Dan and he stopped talking. He stretches out and makes his way to the bathroom, relieving himself and trading his contacts for his glasses. His reflection looks exhausted and it makes him realize how tired he actually is. He tries to sort out the bird's nest that his hair has become and pushes it into a quiff.

His closet is a mess of colors and patterns, and he can’t seem to focus on any of the pieces. He ends up throwing on a random sweater and a pair of pants that he’d painted over the summer. He remembers his phone and picks it up. It’s completely dead and he can’t help but chastise himself for not plugging it in last night. He throws it on the charger and finishes his morning routine.

When he gets back to his room, his phone is back on and he has another text from Dan. [I can’t wait to work with you].

—

As soon as he meets up with Pj, the other boy is rambling about Sofie and how much they’ve talked. Apparently, they share multiple interests, and Pj thinks he’s found his soulmate. He can’t seem to talk about anything else, and Phil mopes in silence. He needs Pj’s advice on the whole Dan situation, but he can’t bring himself to interrupt his cheery mood.

At lunch, Sofie joins the duo at their table and Phil can't help, but feel like a third wheel.  The other two can’t stop talking, and Phil gets annoyed quickly. Dan must notice the bored look in his eyes because he calls him over at lunch. “What's up?” Phil asks.

The other boy is wearing yet another black shirt, this one decorated with the print of an ouija board, and his classic Doc Martens, but the piece that surprises Phil is the skirt that Dan’s sporting. The piece that pulls the outfit together is thigh high socks that hug Dan’s long legs. Phil can’t help but stare for a few moments. He’s interrupted by Dan’s voice, “You looked bored.”

“I feel like a third wheel with them,” Phil shrugs. He turns to Louise. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Phil,” he states, sticking his hand out.

“I know,” she replies simply.

At that comment, Dan blushes. “Do you want to sit with us?” he asks, “We can talk about the project if you want.” Phil grimaces. “Or we don’t have to. Just sit with us.”

Phil slides into the seat next to Louise so he doesn’t have to turn to see Dan’s face. “What were you guys talking about?” he asks.

“Makeup,” Louise chirps.

“We can talk about something else if you want to though,” Dan adds.

“I don’t mind,” Phil answers.

Dan shakes his head. “Come on Phil. I want to get to know you better.”

“I’m not that interesting,” Phil replies.

“I don’t care if it’s boring. What’s your favorite band? favorite color? Do you have any hobbies?”

“My favorite band is Muse-”

“I love Muse!” Dan exclaims, cutting him off. “What’s your favorite album?”

“I guess Origin of Symmetry,” Phil replies.

“No fucking way.”

“What?”

“That’s my favorite too. You must have an amazing taste in music.”

Phil blushes at that comment. He never gets compliments, especially not from cute boys. “As for my favorite color. It’s blue, and I paint. A lot. I also play video games sometimes. What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you have a favorite color? Hobbies? This isn’t going to be one-sided, Dan.”

“I guess my favorite color would have to be black, but I love pastels too,” he says gesturing to his outfit. “As for hobbies, I like makeup, though you probably already know that since you follow my Instagram page.”

With that comment, Phil’s face turns bright red. “I’m sorry. I just think it’s really pretty,” Phil mumbles.

“Don’t worry. I’m just glad you aren’t an asshole who thinks boys shouldn’t wear makeup,” Dan states. “Though I also like video games. I’ve been getting into Animal Crossing recently.”

“Good choice.”

They sit and talk with each other for the rest of the period, and Louise butts in from time to time. He feels bad for putting her in the same situation he was in with Pj and Sofie, but she seems caught up studying for a class for most of the conversation.

It’s weird getting along with someone so well. Even though their styles and friend groups differ, their hobbies and interests are almost the same. It’s easy to talk to Dan. He’s sarcastic and witty, and it makes Phil fall in love with him a little more.

—

When Phil finds out what the project is, he immediately relaxes. It’s a symbolic portrait. All he has to do is create a portrait that reveals parts of Dan’s personality. He’s looking forward to learning more about the younger boy, and he can’t wait to see what Dan does to represent Phil.

It’s hard coming up with an idea at first. Dan has so many layers that Phil has learned about over the past couple of days and it’s hard to choose the most important aspects. He wants to pick something that most people don’t know about Dan, but it’s hard when Dan is so popular. That’s when he thought of a plan.

——

They were up next and Phil was a mess. He was half-convinced he was dying even though he knew it was just an anxiety attack. His palms were incredibly sweaty, and he felt his chest constricting. He could barely focus on the duo presenting in the front of the classroom. They were talking about fish or something similar.

He was jolted out of his dream-like state when he felt a hand being rested on his shoulder. He turned his head expecting Pj, but he wasn’t surprised when he was met with Dan’s doe eyes. “You ok?” the younger boy asked, “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m swell,” Phil breathed.

“We both know that’s bullshit, mate. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the nurse or something?” Dan pressed.

“It’s just another anxiety attack. It’ll be over soon.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or breathe together? I don’t know what you like to do, but anxiety attacks suck.”

“I just need to calm down.”

“Let breath then.”

Phil was reluctant but Dan eventually convinced him it would make the edge of the attack go away, so they took a few breaths. After a few seconds, Phil’s head felt much clearer and he was suddenly aware of everyone staring at his and Dan. He blushed before shrugging Dan’s hand off his shoulder.

“You good now?” Dan asked.

“Yeah. I feel a lot better. Thanks.”

——

Phil was walking down the hall a few days later when Dan ran up to him. They’d texted briefly over the past couple of nights, but they weren’t having as many conversations as they had when they were working on the project together. Phil had gone back to sitting with Pj and Sophie which was extremely awkward at times. Overall he missed the bond they’d formed and he really regretted losing it.“Oh my god, Phil! Did you see our grade?”

“Yeah,” Phil chirped, “100%”

“I’m glad. It took me a long time to finish.”

“You definitely deserved it, Dan.”

Phil was being honest. When he’d first seen the outcome of Dan’s hard work his jaw had dropped. Every color seemed to jump off of the page and they seemed to move in a strange way. Dan had managed to capture so many of his quirks and interests that it blew his mind.

Phil thought his project had been less interesting though. His picture was grayscale with hidden shapes dotted throughout the landscape. Phil wanted to capture the hidden layers of Dan’s personality, and he had tried to portray it with the colorful shapes breaking through and symbolizing a different part of him. It seemed like a shitty metaphor, but somehow their teacher had loved it.

“You did too,” Dan replied, “I like how much thought you put into it.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Of course. I just love the idea that everyone has a hidden personality and that you never know everything about someone.”

“Yeah.”

“You took Trig already. Right?”

“What’s with the sudden change of topic?”

Dan blushed, “I’m struggling a bit on the new lesson and I need some help.”

“Oh. Of course, I can help! At least I’m assuming that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah,” Dan replied, “Can we meet in the library after school? Around 3?”

“That sounds good to me.”

——

“You seem to be doing really well with this lesson. Are you sure you need help?” Phil asked.

They’d been in the library for about twenty minutes, and Dan had answered every problem right so far. It honestly wasn’t bothering Phil because he enjoyed spending time with Dan, but it was a bit strange. “Maybe I’m better than I thought?” Dan said though it came out as more of a question than anything else.

“I think you’re fine,” Phil reassured him. “I think you just need to be a bit more confident in your math skills.”

“Me? Not confident? You wish, Lester.”

Phil laughed. “Ok, maybe I choose the wrong words. But if you ever feel like you need help again I’m here for you. Unless it’s history, I’m horrible at remembering dates.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dan nodded.

They sat there in awkward silence for a few seconds. Phil didn’t want to leave Dan and risk never hanging out again. He panicked and before he knew it, he was blurting out a set of questions. “Do you want to come over to my house and play video games? Like right now? I got the new Mario Kart and I’ve been waiting to test out my skills.”

“I don’t know. I have a ton of work due tomorrow.”

“Shit I forgot about homework,” Phil groaned, “Do you want to go back to my place and keep each other company while we do it?”

“Sure. Sounds good to me.”

——

“I’m sorry it's a bit of a mess,” Phil said while he was kicking his shoes off. “My mom's been busy at work and I’ve been busy at school so we haven't been able to clean up recently.”

“It’s fine,” Dan said with a shrug, “Where are we going?”

“Up to my room,” he pointed up the staircase, “You’ll probably be able to tell which room is mine.”

Dan scampered up the stairs, and Phil followed shortly after with a sigh. He didn’t know how much longer he could spend with Dan before he broke out into a crazy story about how perfect Dan is.

When he arrived at the top of the steps he found Dan staring at his door in awe. “Did you paint this,” Dan asked.

“Ah yeah,” Phil said, “I did it a few years ago so it’s not the best piece I’ve done.”

He’d painted an array of vegetation along with his door with various small items hidden through them. A few of his favorites were the stars and eyes scattered throughout, but he really appreciated the piece as a whole. “Do you want to head in?”

“Yeah.”

As Phil walked in front of Dan, their shoulders brushed and he felt a jolt of electricity run through him. They’d touched before but none of those had felt as electrifying. He pushed open the door and flung his backpack onto the ground. “You can take the desk and I’ll take the bed?”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Just let me grab my laptop real quick and I’ll get out of the way. And sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really planning on having company and that’s where I plan my paintings and stuff.”

“It’s fine. My makeup desk is a mess too,” Dan smiled.

“Well I’ll let you get to work,” Phil said before situating himself on his bed and opening his laptop.

——

Phil felt a jab against his shoulder and he rolled over with a groan. “Phil,” someone whispered.

“It’s too early for this, Mum,” he mumbled.

“You’re not telling me I sound like an old lady right now, are you, Lester?” said a voice that was definitely not his mother’s.

He opened his eyes a bit to see who it was before springing up. “Oh my god Dan, I’m so sorry, I fell asleep. I’ve just been having a stressful day and I can-“

“Calm down, Phil. I’m not mad,” Dan rolled his eyes. “I was going to let you sleep but your mom wants to know if you’re hungry. She shouted up.”

“Oh shit, I forgot she comes home early on Thursdays.”

He rushed down the stairs quickly and into the kitchen where he found his mother stirring a pot of noodles. “Sorry, Mum. I forgot what day it was.”

“That’s fine, sweetie,” she said before glancing over his shoulder. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, that’s Dan.”

“Ahh. The elusive Daniel. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she hummed to Dan.

“All good things I hope,” Dan said, easily slipping into the personality Phil saw him use around their teachers before.

“Of course dear. Are you staying for dinner?”

“Only if you’ll have me. I’m assuming my visit wasn’t run past you.”

“No,” she sighed, “But dear Philip is a bit scatterbrained so I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

“Hey,” Phil mumbled in mock offense.

“She's right you know.”

“That’s a very mean thing to say to your host.”

“Ah like falling asleep isn’t a mean thing to do to your guest. Was I really that boring, Phil?”

“No, I already told you-“

“I’m joking, Phil.”

Phil turned back to face his mother and saw a quick flicker of fondness in her eyes. “You’re sure it’s not an issue if Dan stays? I don’t want to put any pressure on you. We can go eat out.”

“He’s fine, Dear,” she laughed. “Besides I need a new person to gossip about you with.”

“What does gossiping about Phil entail? Do I get to see baby pictures?”

“Shush he’s not supposed to know about that part,” she laughed, “but yes dear I suppose that can be arranged.”

Phil blushed in embarrassment knowing that Dan would finally figure out that his hair was naturally a strange shade of orangish brown. He hadn’t been keeping it a secret on purpose. Especially since his roots took to peaking through every once in a while. “Please don’t show him,” he muttered.

“Why not?” Dan frowned.

“Philip was an adorable baby. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want anyone to see his squishy face.”

“Very funny, Mum.”

“I’m being serious,” she laughed. “Dinner is finished though. It’s nothing too fancy. Just some spaghetti.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lester.”

“Oh, dear, you can call me Kath.”

“Ok, Kath.”

——

Dinner went by smoothly and Phil was sat listening to his mother telling Dan what he was like as a baby for what seemed like ages. The worst part was when she brought out the baby books and started to show Dan his pictures.

“Your hair is naturally orangish? Why’d you dye it?” Dan asked.

“I like it better this way,” Phil responded. “Though one time I did try to dye it blonde. Let’s hope she doesn’t show you that picture though because I look like a literal highlighter.”

Dan giggled. “I’m sure you were a cute highlighter.” Phil watched Dan’s cheeks turn bright red and then he was off in another conversation with Phil’s mother.

He came up with a plan then. He would ask Dan out. He didn’t know when, but the new Avengers movie was coming out that weekend, and he knew they’d both enjoy it. He just hoped he was reading Dan’s messages right.

——

They’d ended up back in Phil’s room after some ice cream, and Dan was packing his stuff into his backpack. It was the perfect time to ask but his nerves were everywhere, and he didn’t know if he could get the words out. Dan’s voice broke him from his thoughts, “I really like your mom.”

“Yeah,” Phil replied. “She's pretty cool.”

“She wasn’t as judgemental as some of the other parents I’ve met. Most of them make assumptions and stuff.”

“I think I’ve trained her well enough not too.”

Dan laughed at that. “You can’t take the credit for her lovely personality. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“I’m pretty sure I can, Daniel. Besides, Who said she wasn’t just as naive as everyone else’s parents before I- you know- came out.”

“Yeah. She tried though. Not everyone’s parents do.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

Phil watched as Dan’s face twisted into a scowl. “My Dad wasn’t the best. He was very picky about what we could do, and he forced us into sports early on. He was concerned that we wouldn’t be manly enough because people started to accept others more. I was rebellious so I started stealing my mother’s skirts and messing around with her makeup. It made me feel like myself,” Dan said. “My parents divorced when I was just starting secondary school. My mom tried to help us move away from the idea that men had to be a certain way. I started incorporating more stereotypical feminine items into my style.”

“Your dad sounds like a shitty guy, but I’m glad you found yourself.”

“Yeah,” Dan mumbled, “He's not in our lives anymore. He has a new family and I guess that’s okay with me. I never really had him so it's not like I miss him.”

“I get what you’re saying. Look I know this is pretty shitty timing, but do you maybe want to go see the new Avengers movie with me?”

“Oh yeah. I forgot that was coming out. What day do you want to see it?”

Phil internally groaned. Dan wasn’t seeming to get that Phil was trying to ask him on a date. Sure he had bad timing but he thought the excessive nerves would clue Dan in. “Friday’s good for me.”

“That’s perfect.”

“It’s a date then.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. I’ve liked you forever, Dan.”

“Why didn’t you ask sooner?” Dan said punching him in the shoulder. “You had to have seen that I liked you too.”

“I didn’t really notice it until we started working on that project together. Why didn’t you ask me?”

“I thought you didn’t like me and I wasn’t going to be an annoying underclassman.”

“Oh my god we’re both so stupid,” Phil laughed.

“We really are,” Dan agreed. “I'm really excited to see where this goes.”

[jadekitty777]

Baker’s Dozen, Part 2

Final day, final day, final day!

Day 8: Free Day @taiqrowweek

Rating: K

Words: 1,800

Summary: When a desperate escape from fans leaves Qrow seeking shelter in a nearby restaurant, he expects little of the rundown, failing business that offers him a table. One bite is all it takes to change his mind. [Actor and Chef AU]

Ao3 Link: Part 2

~

Mornings at the Qrow’s Nest were blissfully silent. With opening still hours away and the kitchen completely empty, Taiyang had all the time and space he needed to do the various prep work that would carry the lunch and dinner teams throughout the day. The things like soups, breads and desserts that needed a more delicate and mindful touch that would easily be lost under the hustle and bustle of the rush crowds.

It also gave him plenty of opportunity to experiment. He wasn’t used to the more trend-following patrons his new restaurant tended to draw in, but as head chef, it was his job to decide what went on the menu, while also finding new, exciting things to cycle in every season to stray from a stagnating selection. It was a challenge to imagine up different recipes rather than fall into his old, tried-and-true routines, but he’d never been one to quit when things got difficult and instead jumped headfirst into the work.

Thankfully, his business partner was a rather inspiring muse, with an entire filmography page to pull ideas from. Designing meals around whatever hotshot flick or program Qrow happened to be appearing in worked like a charm for both of them. There was less chance his creativity would tank and it drummed up excitement for the upcoming release.

This Fall would see the premiere of The Grimm Adventure, a dark and gritty fantasy-action flick. Though he wasn’t taking a leading role, Qrow still seemed positively beside himself for it to come out (Tai suspected it had something to do with the fact he got to run around for two-thirds of the film with a sword). From what he understood, the story took place in a dystopian world ruled by shadow creatures and followed the journey of a young maiden tasked with saving her dying world. Qrow would appear in it as her mentor, guiding her during her more difficult trials.

The low-lit sets seen in the trailers belayed a morose, almost gothic aesthetic, and had Tai leaning towards garnishes that matched, such as brisket and black-bean chili, forbidden rice and chicken stir fry, southern pork with a side of black-eyed peas and blackberry cobbler and black forest ham with leafy asparagus and roasted potatoes peppered with black garlic. He was most proud of that last one, as it was meant to match the fire-burnt thickets Qrow would save his apprentice from.

The menu was mostly complete and ready to be revealed. The only thing he had left to decide on was the final dessert.

So, Tai flipped on his old cassette player, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

~

Two hours later found him flourishing on the final touches to the cake he’d crafted while belting out the lyrics to whatever western-inspired ditty was managing to come out of the ancient machine.

“Country roooads, take me hooome, to the place I belooong. West Virginia, mountain llama. Oh take me home, country roads.”

No one was around to hear the lyrics he didn’t quite remember right.

So, of course that was the moment someone decided to walk through the door.

“Mountain llama?”

Tai jumped, completely butchering the strawberry he was trying to cut precisely in half. He swiveled around, greeted by the amused smile of his partner. “God’s almighty Qrow! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He chuckled, holding up his hands in peaceful surrender. “Sorry ‘bout that. It’s just – llama??”

“Oh put a sock in it.” He turned off his player before reaching for another strawberry. As he chopped down, he said, “Surprised to see you here. I thought you were staying in New Zealand a few more days?”

“The reshoots went better than expected, so I caught an early flight.” Qrow explained. “Though I would kill for some coffee right now.”

“Pot’s on for the taking.”

The offer was graciously accepted, and soon enough the other man had a mug in his hand and a seat on the counter, watching as Tai shaped the strawberry halves into hearts. He took a sip of his coffee – black with barely enough cream to color – and asked, “What are you working on?”  

Focused on getting the cut just right this time, his response was distracted. “Dessert, for you.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t have.” Like the thespian he was, Qrow absolutely played it up, putting a hand to his heart and fluttering his eyelashes like a lovestruck debutante.

“You know, they say the first sign of an actor’s career going south is when they start to overact.” He ‘tsk’ed pityingly. “And you were still so young too.”

“Hm, funny,” There was a clear smirk in Qrow’s voice, “Because the only way ‘south’ I intend to go is with you.”

Tai missed the next cut too. Ears burning red, he shot the other a look. The only response he was offered was one brow raised in challenge as he smugly drank his coffee.

As much as he wanted to give back as good as he was given, nothing decent would form in his mind. So, he just grumbled, “Snake”. He’d have felt defeated, if not for how nice on the ears Qrow’s chuckles were. “If you’re all done with your games, I’d appreciate it if you’d have a taste of this cake.”

“You sure you want my opinion on that? You know I’m not much of a dessert guy.”

“Don’t worry, I made sure to temper the sweetness for your tender palate.” He said as fetched the cake from the adjacent workstation’s display shelf. Beyond its stark black frosting, the two-layered cake did not look like much. The decoration was left simple, only a standard spiral design bordering the top and bottom edges. Even the addition of the strawberry slices in a simple ring on top only added a bare hint of color.

The trick was within.

As Tai sliced through the cake, it revealed the marble design inside. Made with a mixture of chocolate and red velvet, the two batters blended together in a swirl like pattern. The layers were neatly divided by a scarlet-bright raspberry filling, bringing all the dark colors and bright reds together. He might not be the most outstanding baker there was – that honor had gone to his late wife – but he still felt a sense of pride as he held out the slice to his partner.

Qrow whistled as he got a proper gander at it. “You really outdid yourself this time.”

“The truth is in the taste, not the view.” Tai handed him a fork next.

“Beg to differ.” He said, eyes never leaving him even as he dug in. “The view’s pretty nice from where I’m looking.”

The flush was back, spreading like a fever across his cheeks.

When they had first met, he had told Qrow he was no fool, unblinded by the trickery of the successful and silver-tongued. He’d like to maintain that eighteen months later, that was still the case. But the game Qrow was playing now was more devious than his first – and one Tai didn’t entirely mind losing.

He could not say quite when it started, all the flirting that grew bolder by the day and lewd comments that left him redder than a rose. At first, it had overwhelmed him; yet before long, he had found himself trying to return those notions. It had been quite some time since anyone had taken a fancy of him but settling down had not left him entirely rusty. Every time he managed to leave Qrow speechless or shy left a pleasant warmth in his belly, like a fire just starting to burn.

So yes, he absolutely knew where all this hemming and hawing was leading them. He just never fathomed in his wildest dreams he’d be heading there with someone like Qrow. On a surface level, he could never imagine they were even compatible.

Like the cake, the trick was on the inside.

As was typical for a man of his class, Qrow hid a lot to save face and that was what most saw. A successful, rich, socialite who barely had time to look down his nose at the common folk. Yet, Tai had learned the compassion he truly held. The gesture that saved his restaurant was only one act of many. He saw it again, when Qrow quietly requested if Tai would apprentice Lie Ren, the son of his driver who wished for a future in the kitchen. And again, in his visits to the children’s hospital to read them stories whenever he was in town. Once more with the various gift and food donations he’d make around the holidays so fewer homes had to go without.

That isn’t to say the man didn’t have his edges. He could be too caustic at times and if politics was even hinted at as a topic of conversation, Qrow’s voice was louder than anyone’s in just what he thought about their current president’s policies. He liked to drink, sometimes in excess, and when he was in a poor mood he either took to isolating himself or just sulked about like a teenager.

Yet for all his bad, the good still shined through. His smiles and laughter were treasures. He declined to live in excess, finding peace in the quietness of a quaint home. He was strict in never telling lies to those he trusted. He was brilliant, and funny, and hard-working. It was also a plus that Qrow was nicer to gaze upon than any fancy painting in the most prestigious museum.

There was so much Tai had grown to appreciate about the man behind the actor. With it, his feelings were starting to bud, close to blooming. He knew it was much the same for Qrow – though he knew not how precisely he viewed him, he at least could determine with confidence that it was a mutual romance beginning between them.

The real question was, which of them would be the one to make the final play on this game they’d started?

“Mmm, this is really good.” Qrow’s voice broke him from his thoughts, already halfway through the cake. “You’re right, it’s not too sweet.”

“And the berries add that tartness you like.” Tai added.

He chuckled, forking another piece. “You keeping track of my food preferences?”

That was, perhaps, the best hand he was ever gonna get dealt.

“A’course.” He lent his hip against the counter, “How else will I make your favorites when I invite you to dinner?”

Qrow froze, utensil halfway to his mouth as he stared beyond it and right at him. After a heated second of silence, he asked, “Is that a request for a date?”

Tai hid the shake of his hands by crossing his arms. “It is, if you’ll have me for one.”

“Believe me, I’d happily have you for dinner any day of the week.”

“Yeah?” A laugh mixed with embarrassment and pleasure left him. “How ‘bout Thursday then?”

Qrow smiled one of those treasured smiles and blushed one of those gut-warming blushes, and said, “Sounds just perfect.”

[warmau]

{Special} College!AU Shinwon

*this post was commissioned | find all my college aus here | commission info

major: media management 

minor: rhetoric 

sports: brags about how his long legs are perfect for volleyball, but screamed bloody murder when hongseok spiked the ball in his direction once so you could say,,,,,,,,shinwon’s not a sports person

clubs: drama club (less for the acting, more for the strutting), public speaking, and of course - it’s not a club per say - but the fashion department always loops him into helping them out as an impromptu model

shinwon,,,,,,,,,,really didn’t think he’d even end up going to college,,,,,,,,,,,,,

really he was sort of set on debuting as a model and working it out from there 

but after a while, waiting around for work just got boring

so he left the agency he’d signed up with when he was still in highschool and applied to college

much to everyone's collective shock, his parents, sister, and himself included

hui: im so proud he took this step, you know shinwon is bright and im sure he’ll use his brain for good.

shinwon: exactly! 

shinwon five seconds later: actually i just realized i have to do homework again and i think im going to drop out?

hongseok: i knew it

shinwon’s reputation is all over the place - he’s kind of known as being messy, beautiful beyond comprehension sure,,,,,

but he’s messy messy

from his dorm room 

cluttered with magazines he’s been featured in, his guitar stands, vinyls which no one understands why he buys like this is the twenty-first century ......, and clothing strewn from the lampshade

to his dating history 

pretty sure he’s had a hook up with someone from every department available on campus like pre-meds, literature, music, hell even someone in egyptology was smitten by his good looks

and of course ,,,,, his personality 

from playing childish tricks on tired masters student jinho, to owning the student held fashion shows with impeccable grace and posture

yuto affectionately refers to shinwon as a rubix cube made of spikes, flowers, and a little bit of hot sauce

shinwon thinks it’s such a compliment, he tries to lean over and grab yuto in for a kiss 

(which is refused with an almost punch to the face)

he’s definitely a force on campus and is famous for different reasons with different people

but if there’s one thing shinwon has learned from life it’s that he really cannot stand to give two shits about what people say about him behind his back

not like he’s going to hear it anyway

and he’s blunt to the point where it’s sometimes too much and hongseok on occasion (many occasions) has had to just pick shinwon’s six foot tall body up

and carry him out - as shinwon continues to spew well-deserving facts at whoever it is that tried to start with him

(or any of his friends. someone once made an offhanded comment about yeoone who is way too nice to say anything and shinwon just stopped in and turned on his gucci boots heel to be like “come again?”)

loves when cute shy freshmen get all nervous around him like 

“oh my god, he looks like a marble statue! wasn’t he on that one magazine? he’s so pretty~ he must be so cool~”

shinwon: basking in it

hongseok: trying so hard not to tell them about how shinwon is nothing close to cool

has the worst diet imaginable - lives on fast food

and he does NOT work out which adds more confusion

pre-meds will be like “hey,,,,,,so,,,,,,,,,do you have like ibs or something? or is your stomach literally made of iron?”

and shinwon just slaps his scrawny tummy and is like “i don’t know man, but this machine runs smoothly!”

more clothes than he knows what to do with - likes brand names, but cannot afford them unless he has gigs - says he doesnt but totally owns a cheap tracksuit that he lazes around in during campus holidays

backpack covered in old rock band pins

always steals his classmate's pencils

notes stained with coffee 

binders unorganized, lost his textbook at a nightclub 

really again - does not look like he belongs in college LOL

does media management because it still keeps him in the loop of fashion, but without all the actual drawing and sewing

because no one trusts him near a sewing machine or fabric scissors

the rhetoric minor was a big surprise - but shinwon just goes

“i get grades for talking good”

jinho, twitching: “talking well. you can’t say “talking good”

shinwon: “talking sexy ;) hahaha”

jinho: ill kill him

he is an enigma with a shit-eating grin ,,,,,,, 

but he’s also hot. and has perfect proportions,,,,,,,,,,

you,,,,,,,are a fashion major,,,,,,,,who knows the legends about ko shinwon

about how he’s nothing but fire to play with 

that being said

you are absolutely, utterly, one hundred percent, totally infatuated with him

he’s been your muse since you first stepped into the fashion building and saw him making his way down the hall

half of someones finished project still pinned to his shoulders, messy orange hair pulled up with bobby pins and that smile

almost,,,,,, angelically,,,,,, twisted? 

you had no idea how to describe it - but you had remembered him and even though you knew no one else's name yet 

he was the person you could visualize in an instance

you’d learned his name at your first student held fashion show, where to your dismay he had already been picked by someone else to be their model 

and they’d skipped past calling out for him 

“shinwon~”

you repeated it again on your lips in a small whisper “shinwon”

it was unique, it was different, and you really really started liking it

everything about him was unique, different, and you can guess,,,,,,,,you were really starting to like him

not like you would ever act on it though

shinwon seemed untouchable, not because he was standoffish - actually he seemed like he’d be super easy to get along with

it was because he was just,,,,,,,,he was just so ,,,,,,, unusual 

and you wouldn’t consider yourself a shining star, you were like everyone else

waking up, doing your schoolwork, trying your best to breakthrough in fashion 

you had a small group of friends - you had your regular hangout spots - your favorite kind of coffee flavor

you were simple, you would say, and shinwon was not

that’s why he gave you so much inspiration

if you were one speck in the galaxy, he was like a whole milkyway 

you had started off just admiring from afar, but as time went back you started sketching too

at first it was what you could conjure from your memories of him

the flashes of him around the fashion department, when you saw him in the library, the orange hair - the sparkling oak brown eyes - the over-the-top outfit he pulled off effortlessly

and when you think you’d filled up half of your sketchbook with stills of him

you started to envision him in your designs

actually, you had lied, you were a simple person

but your mind was not - you might have stuck to simple tones and patterns in your wardrobe 

but when it came to clothes you made, you were vibrant and loud and risky

some of your professors had initially mixed up your work, thinking your submitted designs were someone elses

because well ,,,,,,,,,,,,, they just didn’t match

your designs were for someone,,,,,,,,,,,,,,someone like shinwon

bursting with confidence, immune to shame, always ready for a thrill

your goal had quickly went from being able to saying hi to him in the hallway 

to one day having him wear an original creation of yours

but getting shinwon as your model was a feat

either he wasn’t doing the show at all, or he was everyone elses number one pick

with long, lithe limbs and an almost wonderland like face

that is ,,,,,,,,,,,,,, until the final project for the semester came up

you were expecting it all to go as usual

the older fashion majors would get first dibs on their models - someone would pick shinwon (if he was even showing up)

and you’d only have to go back to drawing him with your designs rather than seeing them come to life

but to your almost painstakingly obvious shock

that was not the case

shinwon did volunteer to model for the final project - but,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,no one was picking him

actually - everyone was actively avoiding him

and when your turn came around you couldn’t believe you were finally getting to say it

“i’ll pick ko shinwon.”

suddenly there was a swarm of muffled whispers - you couldn’t hear anything clearly but as shinwon strode over to you 

he gave you a once over and winked - and the was enough to make your entire body flare up

after everyone got settled with their models, you were shaking with anticipation as shinwon slipped into the seat across from you 

“are you cold or am i just so handsome you can’t help shivering?”

he jokes, running a hand through his hair for added effect

“y-yes”

you answer, stupidly unsure of what else to say

he lets out a laugh, leaning over to pat the top of your head which once again sends you into a blank

“cute, so - let’s see what you’ll be dressing me up in huh?”

he leans over and you flounder as you flip to the page with the outfit you’ve chosen to create for your final

it’s inspired by 80s punk and glam - rhinestones, spikes, rainbows 

shinwon’s eyes light up when he sees it and he looks at you with a giant smile

“where have you been all my life - this is totally my style!”

i know,,,,,i made it thinking about you,,,,,,,,,,,

is what you want to say - but you just stutter over your words instead

“o-oh, im glad you like it,,,”

he nudges at your elbow and you think electricity rides up your spine

“can’t wait to wear it! by the way-”

he moves his body, gracefully around the table so he’s standing beside you now

it makes everything else melt away as he leans in closer to your face with his own

“don’t listen to what people say about me - and trust me, ok?”

it’s,,,, cryptic - and in the moment you had no clue what he was talking about - but he’s your muse

and he’s inches too close to you 

so really - it goes over your head as you nod with moonstruck stars in your eyes

shinwon says his goodbyes and tells you to text him when you want to do measurements

you only realize after he’s gone that,,,,,,,,,,you don’t have his number 

so you approach an upperclassmen who usually works with him and politely ask if she might have it

she stops what she’s doing and sighs

“you really picked shinwon for your final project - you’re crazy!”

you look around - not sure if she’s really talking to you - until she huffs

“this is the final - you can’t rely on someone like him!”

someone like him?

“wh-why not, he’s done other shows?”

she shakes her head

“other shows aren’t the final project. he might just not show up on the day or he might get the clothes dirty. he’s fun when there are no consequences but you know this is worth fifty percent of our grade right?”

you’re left sort of speechless and she just mutters that she pities you as she scribbles down the number in your sketchbook and hands it back to you

you turn and realize other students are eyeing you from their station

a lot of them are already doing measurements on their models, while yours 

well shinwon just left

you hadn’t stopped him - he just said he had to go

you feel something twist in your stomach but you ignore it

he had said it right - not to listen, and to trust him

the first couple of weeks go by,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, perfectly

you finally suck it up after typing and deleting a text to shinwon about measurements

spending nearly half a day trying to come up with a casual and cool way of asking 

and all you get in response is a misspelled “yeha” from him when you make a date and time

you think it’s goofy and cute

and shinwon does show up 

charming, joking, making you embarrassed and happy all in the same breath as you take his measurements

wiggling his eyebrows when you ask him to take his shirt off for the chest measurement 

excitedly rambling about this underground show he’s seeing on the weekend 

mind you - you and him haven’t ever had a conversation before this

shinwon just naturally opens up - having no problem doing the talking as you either 1) stare at him like a puppy or 2) nod enthusiastically in agreement to whatever he’s saying

you’re pretty sure he can tell how much you admire him and with anyone else you’d be dead from the shyness

but with him it’s like,,,,,,,,,it’s like he’s a celebrity to you 

so it’s not that bad to be so so so enamored 

his flirting doesn’t come off as anything romantic either, just part of his persona

and despite those doubts from other students

“he could just now show up” “he isn’t super reliable” “he might go to a party and just forget in the morning to show up!”

it doesn’t happen - when you need him, shinwon is there

and it’s like a dream come true - watching your outfits slowly come to life on his perfect figure

there is a hiccup at some point

shinwon agrees to meet you on a thursday evening for some help - you had initially been shy about asking him to come and look at fabrics with you

you don’t really ask models for that kind of advice

but when you’d mentioned - he’d been the one to get all giddy at the thought

and, with your heart over the moon, you waited outside the fashion building

for two hours

your phone was barren of any texts - any calls 

and even though it hit 10 pm and the store was closed - you stuck it around for a little while

but he ,,,,,,,,,, didn’t show up

it’s fine! he probably had to cram for an exam or something - he seems like the type to push studying to the last minute

you make up the excuse and nod to yourself, happy with the conclusion you’ve drawn

pushing down any doubt that might have tried to bubble up

and it’s just a hiccup - because shinwon bumps into you three days later and snaps his fingers 

“AH! we were supposed to go shopping right? i totally forgot! please forgive me! shinwon has been a bad boy!”

he clasps his hands together and pouts and you laugh, telling him it’s totally fine

yuto and jinho who are beside him look confused and so shinwon introduces you as you shyly hand over your sketchbook 

because shinwon insists you show his friends your outfit planned

“wow, you’re so talented - these look so much like shinwon.”

yuto compliments, flipping to some of the old drawings you had of shinwon

you forgot about them and try to stutter out an excuse but shinwon is already sticking his nose between the pages with wonder

“woah! you’ve drawn me so much!”

you clasp your hands together - awkward and shy 

jinho takes note of the way you can’t help but smile as shinwon continues to muse about how much he likes your drawings

and when you finally get your sketchbook back - shinwon promises he will never forget when you ask him to do something again

he does this by taking your hands in his own and giving them a squeeze

you’re so happy you can’t even speak and again,,,,,,,,,,,,jinho takes note of that

as you scurry past them - realizing you’re late for class now, he turns to shinwon with a tilt of his head

“they seem really sweet. are you sure you’re being nice to them?”

shinwon rolls his eyes

“im always nice”

“no - you did forget to go shopping with them.”

shinwon puffs out his chest with a whine

“because i woke up on the roof at like 5pm - i didn’t remember my own name hyung. now stop grilling me about it - they weren’t mad and so why are you?”

jinho pulls his lips back into a tight line - yuto breaks the tension with a question about lunch and shinwon ignores the side glances jinho still throws his way

you really aren’t mad, just like shinwon said

because he shows up when you ask him to for some extra measurements and test runs on the runway 

he’s the same silly, weird, and lovely boy as usual 

playing with the sleeves of the half-finished top piece you’re working on -

showing you the new candy bracelet he got 

putting his arm around you when he leans over to look at your new sketches

knowing damn well your head goes spinning

“you’re cute when you get all nervous - do you really think im that handsome?”

he makes the joke again and you try to answer but all you can squeak out is “yes?”

he even offers to make it up to you for not showing up - the offer is to go to mcdonalds but it’s still sweet - and you assure him it’s fine, you’re not angry - not at all

but ,,,,,,,, the happiness of those moments with him dulls as more and more hiccups begin to happen

he texts you that he can’t make it to the practice runway - he’s sick

you understand

then he doesn’t text you or tell you anything on the next one - you don’t have your model and all the students shake their head with pity at you

the final date approaches faster

and shinwon,,,,,,,,,,,,,goes ghost

you don’t want to be that person and over text him - but you have to, this is about your grade

suddenly the worries you’d been told about in the beginning of all this start coming true

maybe he got super sick - i should ask his friends, but i don’t know them that well - did i do something wrong?

you don’t get it - every day without word from him is another day closer to the final runway

it stresses you out and you notice the acne coming in - the refusal to eat because it makes your stomach sick 

you’re running across campus because you’ve pulled another allnighter working on your designs and fell asleep on accident

when you slam right into someones chest

your books go flying, the yogurt you had bought falls and explodes somewhere behind you

and when you look up you see ------- what was his name ------ jinho?

“oh gosh, im so sorry”

you mutter, leaning down to get your things

jinho realizes you’re scrambling and he helps you - for which you bow over ten times and apologize again for bothering him

but before you continue on your run he asks you, much to your shock

“have you seen shinwon?”

your face pales and you can’t move forward even though you know class has started

you shake your head slowly and jinho lets out a sigh

“how long has it been?”

“maybe two weeks....”

“ah. ill talk to him.”

you perk up - and then just as instantly your shoulders sag - you shouldn’t be so excited over someone whose been ignoring you for no apparent reason

“no it’s ok-”

“isn’t he supposed to be helping you with your project. it’s not ok - he’s being a brat.”

you don’t want to argue because jinho is older and closer to shinwon, but you also don’t want it to seem like you’re begging for his help

“please,,,,,just ask him if i did something wrong?”

you look into jinho’s eyes and it clicks for him

“you like shinwon don’t you?”

your books fall out of your hands again and this time it’s not because you’ve been knocked over

you just don’t know how to answer the sudden question - because you really,,,,,,,,,,,,don’t know

“he’s my muse.”

you start

“and im just,,,,,,,i just don’t want to lose that.”

jinho leans down to help with your books again, he gives you one last look before turning and heading toward the dorms

you don’t even bother getting to class anymore - you just drag yourself to the workrooms in the fashion department and sit beside your final project

it looks much less extravagant on the mannequin then it does on shinwon

and when you open your sketchbook it flips to one of your first drawings you ever did of him

it hurts to think about him.....not even because of my grades......but because........

you shake your head and lay it down on the table

no, you always have to remember what you say. you’re a small tiny star - that boys a milkyway.

jinho finds shinwon in the bathroom of the dorm, the ramones are blasting from his phone and he’s got his hands covered in black hair dye

jumping when he sees his older friend, shinwon grumbles that jinho should at least knock 

but jinho crosses his arms, stern gaze unwavering on shinwon

“why are you ignoring that sweet fashion major who obviously idolizes you?”

“im not ignoring them - they’re ignoring me.”

shinwon points a finger

“and no one ignores me, you know this.”

he turns to look at himself in the mirror - making a face as the old orange goes back to his natural thick black

jinho cocks an eyebrow

“really? i just bumped into them and the poor kid looks like a mess.”

“are you saying im lying - look at my phone!”

jinho picks it up from where it’s charging on the bathroom sink 

“this isn’t your phone........ is it new?”

“yeah - my last gig gave it to me along with some free clothes, my old ones on my desk but im using this one now”

he scrolls through the texts messages, gagging at some of them, and he finds what he can only assume is your number

it doesn’t have your name - all it says is 

“cutest fashion major ive met in a hot minute”

jinho opens the messages and ,,,,,, it’s true - shinwon has sent an abundance of texts to you but ,,,,,,, none of them are answered

it takes three minutes for jinho to figure out what’s going on

he picks up shinwon’s old phone - find your contact (saved with the same corny name) and opens it

shinwon typed your number in..................wrong

and in his old phone are the messages from you that going unanswered

jinho groans

“ko shinwon - you’re an idiot.”

shinwon pokes his head out of the bathroom - “i know that, but what did i do this time?”

you pick your head up after what seems like hours - drool embarrassingly on the edge of the workroom table

did i fall asleep here? guess i missed more than one class.......

you stretch and look down at your sketchbook with tired eyes

“oh you’re awake?”

you jump at the sound of the voice and nearly fall out of your chair when you see shinwon sitting across from you

he’s,,,,,,,,,he’s got black hair now - and he’s not wearing his usual outrageously expensive outfits

he’s just got a flannel over some simple jeans

the sleeves are rolled up and you see those candy bracelets he loves making, the silver rings you’ve sketched on his hands a million times over

“sh-shinwon?”

“wanna hear something hilarious?”

he pulls his phone out and grins

“i was texting the wrong number for a whole two weeks - the person must think im insane! well,,,,,,,,they wouldn’t be wrong.”

you don’t understand - you look down at the screen and see the  contact name

“cutest fashion major-”

“ah ah ah don’t look at that - look at the texts.”

he waves his hand and you read them one by one

“hey - do you need me for measurements? you know my body is always ready!” “hey hey hey” “doesn’t a designer need their model?” “are you mad at me? did i do something dumb when i was drunk and i dont remember?” “heeeeeeeelllllllllloooooooo?” “ill make it up to you~ shinwon was a bad boy wasn’t he?” “hey, is everything alright?”

you still don’t really understand - you look up and shinwon is resting his cheek on his palm

“i got a new phone which is why i wasnt getting your texts and you weren’t getting mine.”

something that feels better then relief washes over you

“o-oh, i thought you just ,,,,,,,,, you just didn’t want to help me anymore?”

shinwon makes a dramatic noise and jumps up from his seat - pointing at the outfit on the mannequin

“and miss out on wearing THAT masterpiece, never!”

he rounds the table

“it’s the best design ive ever seen - from the people here and from the magazine shoots ive done.”

he looks at you and for the first time they’re not those crazy, sparkling with mischief eyes

they’re almost,,,,,,,,,,,,soft

“i really love it. i won’t let you down.”

suddenly the stress and the tiredness that had hung over you seems to vanish

you get up to and smile up at him 

“well then - i should finish it quick. i won’t let you down either!”

shinwon grins and when he reaches over to ruffle your hair like he’s done many times before

it’s like gravity refuses to let him - instead all the wires in his brain connect and he puts his hand on your shoulder gently

tugging you into his chest and into a hug

he smells like ,,,,,,,, fresh laundry and there’s the residual lingering from the hair dye

but there’s also the smell of his skin and the warmth of his tall frame

it sends an earthquake through you - but it makes you feel safe too 

and shinwon,,,,,,,,,,,,shinwon can’t believe that there’s someone on this earth who fits so perfectly into his arms

for the first time in...............ever ...........shinwon pulls away and misses the feeling instantly

he doesn’t show it - he starts blabbering to forget the mess starting up in his brain

and you are content, as always, to go along with him

shinwon feels like something has taken him over when he offers to walk you to your dorm and you think nothing of it

waving goodbye as you go inside and some students pass by shinwon in awe

ko shinwon,,,,,,,,walked someone home? and is staring at the spot they just stood in with - is that - is that -?

this time shinwon keeps to his promise - actually he probably goes up and beyond that

he even starts asking if he can come over and see your progress

sitting beside you as you work - much to the shock of everyone else

because,,,,,,,, shinwon is never one to sit still

he’s there for measurements, the show, and then he’s out

doing whatever it is he does on campus

someone asks you about it - but you just go “he wanted to come!”

it doesn’t seem all that remarkable to you - you’re just happy to see he’s proven everyone who doubted and didn’t pick him wrong

you start to talk more too, you get excited as the final project comes to a close and the day of the fashion show approaches

you explain to shinwon the colors you chose, the fabrics, the inspo 

and he stares at you in wonder this time

but you just can’t wait to see him under the lights - glittering like the beautiful model he is

on the day of the show - you’re excited to see your friends and even some of shinwon’s show up 

and as you get ready behind the stage - tailoring the pieces to sit just perfect on shinwon 

he watches your fingers work and your concentration and you apologize when you lean in to apply some makeup to his eyes

but he just welcomes it - your touch which was just like everyone elses when this started

feels like heaven all of a sudden

you hear your professor call out the order for the models - shinwon is last and it makes you nervous but you’re also happy because

this outfit is showstopper - it’s shinwon to a T 

and it deserves to be the best, so it should be saved for last

you fix one of the lapels and make sure shinwon’s accessories are in order before you take his hands in yours

you look into his eyes - it’s dark behind the curtains but shinwon sees you clear as day

“thank you - you’re the only person who could wear what i’ve made. shinwon, you’re my muse.”

you breathe as you say the word - the word you’ve wanted to say for so long now

“im your muse?”

“yes, im honored to make this outfit for you. and im so happy you worked with me. i couldn’t have done it without you. you look so beautiful-”

shinwon can’t stop what comes over him 

it’s not stupid lust like it usually is with him - it’s another worldly force this time

it’s what they sing about in all those love songs - all those songs about wanting to be connected to someone 

“no - you look beautiful.”

he presses his lips to yours before you can finish your sentence

and his name is called out for the order

he rushes to the line and you 

you are frozen - unsure of what just happened

am in a movie? did shinwon just ,,,,,,,,,,,, kiss me?

you can’t even process it - one of your classmates comes and tugs you toward the audience

you look over your shoulder and shinwon is staring at you from the line

oh my god - i think shinwon just kissed me for real.

the fashion show is a haze - you want to pay attention, but you keep touching your lips 

it’s not until the shinwon steps out into the limelight and struts with everything he’s got 

flaunting your design, making it move and sparkle just like you had seen in your vision

the crowd all let out a wave of oohs~ and the professors who are judging seem to be impressed

and when he makes his way to the turn - he spots you - the background music seems to stop 

the people seem to disappear

he was fucking right - you are beautiful

you get rave reviews on your outfit - people flock to you after the show to ask about it 

you want to answer questions and thank everyone - but you are looking for him

you’re looking for shinwon

who is in turn, looking for you - ignoring the people who try to get in his way

he pulls you out from the conversation - waving off the complaints of others 

and tugs you through the crowded stage until you guys are alone - stuffed into a corner of costume racks and abandoned makeup stations

“shinwon why did you-”

“am i just your muse? am i just someone you idolize - or do you - do you -”

he has never struggled this much in his life

you’re looking at him with such purity that it feels overwhelming as he puts his hands on your face and kisses you again

you melt into it and he eats it up - until you’re caught by stagehands who usher you annoyingly back out into the mess of people

jinho, yuto, hongseok and hui who came to see shinwon spot you guys and jinho’s eyes avert right to your hand - in shinwon’s

he smiles - he knew all along

because yes, you looked at shinwon like he was the only man in the world but 

jinho had never seen shinwon text someone seven times in a row

and he sure as hell had never seen shinwon reject an oncoming hookup like he had for the past couple of weeks

“so - something you want to tell us?” 

hongseok asks, and hui looks at you and then at shinwon

shinwon shrugs

“nah not really, just that ,,,,,,,,,,, well,,,,,,,,,,,”

he shakes your hands a little and you go red

“looks like ko shinwon is off the market! sorry ladies and gentlemen - i think ive found,,,,,,,,,,,,what’s a word for it,,,,,,,,,,,,,, my muse?”

so dating shinwon,,,,,,,,,is like a whole new world for you

you were always so sure you’d be a secret admirer - at most someone who got to work with him 

but now you were like ,,,,,,, you were his significant other ,,,,,,,,,,

you were basically like an overnight star

you showed up the next morning after the fashion show and everyone was just like

“YOU LOCKED DOWN SHINWON? KO SHINWON? HOW? WAS IT MAGIC?”

shinwon is so dramatic you know he opened up his contacts and deleted nearly everyone he’d ever fooled around with and you’re like

that’s not necessary and he’s like

“once im committed im committed. i should delete hui’s number too i think he has a crush on me”

hui in his composition class: my shinwon senses are telling me im being clowned 

no one knew,,,,,,,shinwon could love someone so hard

for most of his life he’s taken everything happy-go-lucky, he’s always just lived by the flow

but now he’s like ,,,,,,,,,, he’s like a changed person

you are the only thing he seems to put real effort into 

which you actually know isn’t true, shinwon takes modeling seriously and although his studying is slacking

you are there to encourage him 

because jinho and hongseok poking at him for never doing his homework is not going to get shinwon a degree

so you offer to help him study and your first dates consist on you trying to get him from a D to at least a C+ in most of his classes

he probably doesn’t even know how to properly use excel so you’re like babe let me 

as you date him, you realize that the uniqueness you fell for in the first place stays true with shinwon

there’s so much more to him - like his musical talents and his secret nerdiness

and also the anxiety that sometimes spikes in his throat and that he plays off but that now,,,,,,,,,now he has someone who’ll take these thing seriously

you can see it - when he can’t figure out his schoolwork or when a gig gets canceled on him

the furrow of his brow - the silliness gone from his face and in the beginning he tries to keep up appearances

but you just pull his long body down to yours and you tell him that nothing in this world is going to stop him from being successful

“you were born to shine, shinwon. it’s why i saw you for a second and never forgot”

“babe.............omg you had a crush on me from first sight?”

“im trying to be serious ko shinwon”

him wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you in closer “i know but like oooo a crush on me hehe you’re so cute”

you: rolling your eyes but also it’s true,,,,,,kinda

he gives you a tour of the infamous madhouse dorm - stock full of vinyls, his guitar, and brand name clothes on the floor

you’re kinda like “ooo this is cute” picking up a sweater off the floor and he’s like that’s versace i think?

you: and it’s on the floor

shinwon, shrugging: i ran out of hangers

oh my god shopping for anything with shinwon is a trip he somehow always tries to buy something that’s shiny and not useful and you’re like hey hey no 

you become his impulse control - like at least 75% of it. the other 25% is jinho yelling at him over the phone

he’s such a cutie pie he loves making those candy bracelets with little rainbow charms and he makes some for you with your favorite song lyrics

which he hums as he puts on your wrist

and you promise not to take it off - which shinwon is more proud about then he should be

gives you nose kisses a lot - ruffles your hair a lot - asks you to sit on his lap and you’re like no we’re in public 

loves it when you sit behind him and put your hands in his hair as he flips through the tv channels or plays a video game

won’t admit how much it kinda turns him on when you tug it - but you learn 

you once are making out and shinwon keeps trying to tug at your shirt and you’re just like “listen to me shinwon, stop rushing me.” and oooooooooh my gooooooooooood

he thinks he sees stars

you most of the time: his precious angel who he can make all blushy with just some cheesy words

you also: bosses him around and points out his bullshit (which he is very into)

you and shinwon probably rock halloween parties - even though you’re not to big on the whole scene - you make the costumes and they’re killer and shinwon is just like

“they made this. for me. only me. only i get to wear the clothes they made”

complains about how when you’re a rich famous designer everyone else is gonna get to wear your masterpieces

makes you promise you’ll make exclusive outfits just for him

he does the MOST embarrassing thing ever

he marches into the fashion dept workroom one afternoon and he’s like “everyone, psa: when im a model i want to by chosen by ONE person and ONE person only - you know who!”

he winks your way and the whole room (including you) groans

like no one was planning on it anyway shinwon - he just lives for theatrics doesn’t he

his modeling gigs usually last a long time and go late into the night and he doesn’t expect you to stay up or anything

maybe send a text and a photo or whatever

but when he comes back to the dorms and you’re waiting in his bed wearing one of his led zepplin tshirts he just 

he just gets all giddy - can’t keep his hands to his damn self

but also shinwon is a bad texter to everyone 

but you

you get constant updates and constant photos which are demanded to become your phone background now

hongseok told you to change it to hui as a joke once but you guys were both like 

no,,,,,,,shinwon might actually cry 

jinho basically adores you because you actually do your work and try to help improve shinwon 

but he’s also big brother mode where he’s like shinwon you better not screw this up or i will end you :) 

yuto silently agrees - so does basically everyone else

jealous shinwon is ,,,,,,, like a yappy baby puppy

wooseok visits campus - a younger friend of the groups and he doesn’t know you’re dating shinwon

but he thinks you’re SOOOOOOO cute and tells everyone and shinwon just goes huffy like

“no. mine.” and wooseok is like oh ok- 

shinwon: “see my phone wallpaper - it’s us kissing. see these sneakers - it was a gift from them on our anniversary - see this bracelet on their wrist? i made it and -”

everyone: OK SHUT UP

you finished your old sketchbook and you wanted to throw it out - but shinwon salvaged it and sometimes he opens it and traces the sketches you did of him

and he just,,,,,,,,,,feels so good knowing you’ve loved him for a while - and he thought he’d never have something so real and powerful 

you once jokingly tell shinwon as you’re sitting cross-legged across from him in the park that you used to say you were a tiny star and he was a milkyway

and he just blinks and shakes his head

“no - if im a milkyway, you’re my entire galaxy.” 

and then hung his head because OK CORNY but it’s true,,,,,,it’s so true

shinwon is always opening up the world for you - from music to art to whatever 

he’s still your muse - even if he’s your boyfriend

but now instead of having to see him from all these miles away - like he’s some untouchable force

he’s sitting beside you

strumming on his guitar, hair messy and only an arms length away

you lean over and kiss his neck and he chuckles as he continues to play and you continue to sketch

only to realize some things never change

the page full of shinwon, and his heart is full of you ~

[ruensroad]

and then inspiration walked in

For @this-solaris-life as encouragement for her upcoming works! She asked for art model Jiang Cheng becoming the muse to artist Lan Xichen. Hope this inspires you to keep on working hard! :D ---

He’d taken the class on a whim, given he was a landscape artist and learning figure drawing was very much not landscaping. But it was something new, something to experience, and Lan Huan had found himself greatly enjoying it.

They drew from life, for one, which he could appreciate. He was often drawing and painting in his gardens, so being able to reference a physical object made learning his new skill a little more easier, given it was rooted in a familiar foundation.

What he hadn’t quite expected, though he should have been, was when they finally got into the actual people drawing. Drawing bowls of fruit the first month was only to practice techniques and gain some confidence, after all, but this was, in the end, a figure drawing class, and that meant models.

Usually nude, very interesting to look at models.

Lan Huan wasn’t such a prude that he couldn’t handle the nudity portion. All parts were important to the whole and that too was a good lesson to have. He never spent a good amount of time in those areas, to be fair, but he wasn’t so shy he couldn’t do what he was asked. He was here to draw, so he drew what he had to, and very much enjoyed the entire experience.

That was, at least, until model number three.

They’d drawn a plump woman just before and one of the student athletes the time before that, also a woman. Because of this, Lan Huan was wholly caught off guard when what had to be the most beautiful man he’d ever seen walk into the room with a bored frown on his face and in a purple pea-coat. The only consolation to all his drooling as the man walked to the professor to talk in a low voice was that he was not the only one staring at him so shamelessly.

And Lan Huan knew he shouldn’t stare as the man undressed, knew it was a job and he’d only make the man uncomfortable with his open leering, but something in him could not look away, was utterly caught in those dark eyes, the sharp jaw and cheekbones, the way his long lashes fluttered. When he sat on the modeling stool, he sat straight and proper, but still relaxed, and his gaze focused on a point on the floor, heavy lidded and inky black.

When the professor clapped her hands, nearly all of them jolted back to reality. “Everyone, places. Jiang Cheng, you just let me know when you need a break.”

“Of course, Professor Luo,” the angel - Jiang Cheng, clear river, how poetic! - told her, and shifted just a little on the seat. Then he was a perfect statue, warm and marble and dotted with surprising moles across his chest and shoulders.

Lan Huan picked up his pencil, drinking in every detail, and began. He’d never drawn so quickly before, gesturing in the pose, before going back to fix in the details. Over the hour long session, he managed a decent sketch, but the most detailed portion was Jiang Cheng’s face, which Lan Huan carefully rendered.

He wasn’t meant to be so detailed, but he couldn’t help it. Like someone possessed, he dotted in the moles, the sharp lines of Jiang Cheng’ body. He was lean and toned, like an athlete, but sat still like a lawyer. Lan Huan’s mind buzzed with questions, and wants, and for the first time he stuttered when his pencil moved down.

Thankfully, Professor Luo called an end to the session and Jiang Cheng’s statue moved back into life, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck as he slid off the stool and grabbed his clothes.

Logically, Lan Huan knew this wasn’t the last time Jiang Cheng would be in. The models were hired for at least a full week’s worth of classes, which meant he’d see Jiang Cheng in two days.

But his heart said something else, and in a daze of fear and something he had no name for, he approached Jiang Cheng once the man had wrestled his pants back on. He was still shirtless, which was distracting to the extreme, and his eyes were even more dangerously deep up close. Lan Huan felt his words die the moment a perfectly arched brow cocked up at him in question.

“Yes?” Jiang Cheng asked, frowning in a way that should not work on his beautiful face, but only made him more lovely. “Can I help you?”

“Do you do private modeling?” Lan Huan remembered how to use words and they all fell out in a rush before he could forget how to speak again.

“I…” Jiang Cheng looked startled by his question, which was all shades of wrong. How could no one have asked for a private moment of his time before? “I don’t, but I mean… sure?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking confused and hesitant, but thinking Lan Huan’s offer through. “Why?”

“Mid term project,” Lan Huan said, wanting to cry that he actually had that excuse, though it’d only come to him now. Goodness, but when had he gotten so reckless? “We have to draw a scene that shows what we’ve learned so far and I need more practice with drawing people.”

At a very adorably furrowed brow, he elaborated with a soft laugh, “I’m actually a background illustrator. This is the most I’ve drawn people in my whole life.”

Amazingly, Jiang Cheng huffed a laugh too, and if he was beautiful with a frown, he was devastating with a smile. He gave a shrug that made those moles he had dance. “Alright, sure. Why the hell not?”

He dug into his jacket, still draped over a chair, and fished out a marker. He gestured for Lan Huan’s hand and wrote his number on his wrist, smirking a little all the while.

“Text me the details and I’ll see what i can do,” was his promise. Lan Huan barely remembered to breathe as he nodded.

“Of course, thank you.”

His hand again, this time for a shake. “Jiang Cheng.”

“Lan Huan.” He found a smile as he introduced himself, a bit too happy and wide, and shook the model’s hand. Oh, but he was in so much trouble. “And I very much look forward to working with you.”

[mintymiknow]

Muse [Bang Chan]

Summary: [College AU] You were the Fine Arts major, and he was the Music Composition major. Normally, you’d have nothing to do with the cutie, but as it turns out, you were each other’s muses [WC: approx. 5k words]

Genre: Fluff

A/N: Chan’s my bias wrecker for a reason :’)

GIF credit here!

Being a Fine Arts major was fun, even when you had a ton of paintings, drawings, and whatever works to be submitted. Inspiration always came to you no matter what. It was rather easy for you to find the perfect idea to paint or sketch. You could just sit on the field and stare at flowers, and an idea would form in your mind. You could order a simple iced americano and from that, you’d already envision a masterpiece.

But not today.

You sat on the bleachers of your campus’ outdoor stadium, watching the track and field athletes run their daily exercises around the oval. Maybe a painting of these athletes would be good? You groan as you frustratedly tap on your sketchbook. What would be the meaning behind it then? “Oh, he’s a cutie so let me just paint him”? Yeah, your professor was going to whack you on the head with a paintbrush if you dared say that.

Just then, you heard a rather high-pitched scream from a few feet away from you. You turn your head and see a bunch of boys huddled together. “For the last time, Jisung, screaming isn’t the same as hitting a high note.” Kim Woojin laughs at his friend’s random outbursts of screaming.

Han Jisung shurgs, “Feels the same to me.”

“Chan would be disappointed then.” Kim Seungmin laughs.

Just then, a male with ivory skin and dark messy hair walks up to the group, a goofy smile on his lips. “Guys, guess what?”

“Felix, Minho, and Hyunjin got in trouble again?” Woojin laughs.

“What? No,” the male says, pausing to reassess Woojin’s statement, “I slept. For four hours last night. Yes, that’s right. The one and only Bang Chan finally slept for more than two hours.” He says the last bit triumphantly, his hands on his hips as he nods.

His circle of friends erupts in laughter and applause, with Woojin patting his friend on the back. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop or meddle with them, but as you continued to watch their little scenario, you couldn’t help but smile. If you told your few friends that you got an extra few hours of sleep, they’d just nod and say “good for you” or something like that. But with these boys, they were acting as if Chan had won a championship or graduated with the highest honors. Chan’s smile was so bright and filled with joy, you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself. While the other boys were busy making a ruckus and saying things like “I want to sleep for a month” and “you’d be in a coma then”, Chan senses someone’s eyes on him and turns to your direction, catching you off-guard. You internally yelp and freeze up – if you looked away too quickly, wouldn’t it be suspicious? But then again, if you continued to stare, it would still be weird. Thankfully, Chan doesn’t take it wrongly and simply offers you a small smile – perhaps a little shy and sheepish – before turning back to his group of friends.

Amazing. Just great. Your cheeks burn red as you fixate your gaze on the sketchbook that lays on your lap. You’ve only heard the stories – stories of the charming and handsome Music Composition major named Bang Chan. Girls from the university’s pep squad would giggle about him despite him not actually being an athlete. The richest kids in campus envied his effortless popularity. You’ve only heard people talk about how ethereal and princely he looked, and to see him in person certainly proved their points. He was unreal, like a perfectly sculpted statue that came straight from heaven, if that even made sense.

And just like that, an idea popped into your mind like a cooked popcorn kernel. Grabbing your pencil from the pencil case, you quickly started to sketch your project idea, smiling triumphantly to yourself.

Meanwhile, while Chan was busy messing around with his friends, he would often sneak a quick glance at your direction. Sometimes you’d have a frustrated look on your face with lips pouted unintentionally. Other times, you were smiling like a victor. You twirled your pencil a lot, and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear was a pretty frequent habit. Wow, was Chan really observing all that? Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed, and Jisung lightly shoves his older friend, “Hyung, who are you staring at?”

“Staring?” Chan panics as he looks away from you, “I’m not staring. What are you talking about?”

Woojin turns his gaze towards your direction before cracking a smirk at his best friend, “Chan seems to have taken an interest in y/n y/l/n/.”

“Shhh! Woojin!” Chan hisses.

Jisung snorts, “He didn’t deny it.”

“Ah…” Seungmin nods before turning his voice down into a whisper, “Y/n? The Fine Arts major?”

“How’d you know her?” Chan asks shamelessly, causing Woojin and Jisung to smirk.

Seungmin explains, “I have a photography class with her. She’s super shy but extremely talented.”

“Van Gogh level of talent?” Jisung jokes.

“Jisung.” Woojin sighs.

“Anyway,” Seungmin starts, “I think she’d make a great match for you, hyung.”

Chan narrows his eyes at the younger male, “Don’t even think about it, Kim Seungmin.”

Seungmin raises his hands in surrender, but a playful smile remains on his lips. “How’s your song coming along?” Woojin changes the topic.

Chan shrugs, “Eh. I want it to be special since I’m submitting it to the competition, but…I don’t know what to do.”

“What?” Jisung gasps, “Bang Chan is stuck on his song?”

Chan chuckles at his friend’s display of shock, “A little, but I’ll get by, don’t worry.”

“We can always go bowling if you need a breather for some inspiration.” Seungmin smiles.

Minutes later, their group disperses as they head to their respective classes. As Jisung and Seungmin jog ahead, and Woojin walks slowly as he speaks to someone on his phone, Chan takes one last glance at you. Your hair was now tied in a neat ponytail. You frantically erased a few lines from your sketch, and Chan could sense the determination in your eyes. After all, he was the same. He’d have the same look in his eyes every time he had to compose a song.

He smiles to himself and catches up to his friends. Perhaps he already found inspiration.

It’s been several days since Chan laid his eyes on you, and you on him. You weren’t counting on seeing this boy-next-door type of cutie any time soon; you did have a big campus, so what were the odds of bumping into him again? You started to think about him – and his damn dimpled-smile – a lot since that fateful encounter at the bleachers. Maybe this is what they called a crush? Pffft. You scoff to yourself. As if. He was Bang Chan, the most sought-out male on campus. You shouldn’t be wasting your time thinking of him.

Of course, that was easier said than done. You had just finished painting the sketch from a few days ago, and sadly, the sink in the art room was broken, so you had to wash your brushes at the bathroom down the hallway. You absentmindedly walked down the hall, paintbrushes sitting atop your palette like you were serving food. Absentmindedly walking while thinking about Chan was much more accurate. You were so dazed, you didn’t realize that you bumped into a person. Only when you felt the impact did you snap out of your thoughts, “Oh my, I’m so sorry!” you panic.

You panic even more when you’re met with Chan’s brown eyes. He looks just as surprised as you before cracking a smile, “Oh, it’s ok.”

You both look down to his shirt – oh no. His white shirt now had paint splotches on it since your brushes came into contact with him when you bumped each other. You gulp and internally scream. Could the ground swallow you whole now? Chan notices your panicked expression and lightly pats his shirt, “Ah, no. Don’t worry about this. I have a lot of white shirts, believe it or not.” He adds a chuckle at the end of his sentence.

You stare up at him I disbelief, “No, no. I’m really sorry, this is my fault I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll make it up to you or something. Ah, I’m so sorry!”

Chan stifles a laugh, finding your frazzled state rather endearing. “Ok then,” the male starts, proceeding to take one of your paintbrushes. He gently swipes the paint-covered bristles on your cheeks, effectively painting a bright red heart on the skin. “Now we’re even.”

He returns the brush to you before flashing you another dimpled-smile. Did he just wink? Wait, he was walking away already? You stand there, heart pounding violently against your chest. Like a tiny mouse, you quickly scurry to the female’s bathroom. Chan walks opposite your direction, a rather proud smile playing on his lips. “She’s cute.”

In the bathroom, you frantically wash your brushes while trying to get your heart to calm down. Looking at the mirror didn’t help as you saw the red heart Chan painted on your cheek. You squeal inside as your guts become nothing but butterflies. You didn’t even know the guy that well…why was he doing this to you?

But somehow, it made you smile. A big one at that.

Back at the music room, Woojin was playing the piano when Chan walked in, a certain happy skip in his step. His best friend smirks as he asks, “Saw her again?”

“Yep.” Chan smiles, popping the “p”.

“Gosh, you’re hopeless.” Woojin laughs, “Ask her out or something.”

Chan blushes, a shy grin forming on his face, “I feel like it’s too soon, Woojin.”

Woojin smirks, “Seungmin can set you up.”

“Don’t.” Chan laughs, “I’ll do it myself when I feel like it.”

“Well, I can’t sing for you if there’s no song.” Woojin teases his best friend. “So, now that you’ve found your muse and all, you should probably get back to working on it.”

Chan throws a small pillow at Woojin’s direction before pulling out his laptop. “My muse, my muse.”

You worked part-time at the university coffee shop. It was started by a Business major who graduated years ago, and ever since then, it had become a hit in the campus for all students. You worked twice a week during the mornings when you had classes later in the afternoon.

The early morning schedule usually had little customers, probably two to three, so it wasn’t very busy. Once the last customer received her drink, you leaned against the counter and pulled out your sketchbook and started to draw some of your ideas. You don’t hear the door open, but when the person walks up to the counter and happily says, “good morning”, you freeze at the familiar voice.

You cough and put your sketchbook down before steeling yourself. You turn around with a bright grin, but upon seeing Chan’s own smile, your confidence goes down the drain and you feel your knees go weak. “Good morning.” you manage to smile.

“Yeah, I’ll just have one iced americano.” Chan smiles.

You nod and punch in his order. When he hands over his payment, he chuckles, “I didn’t know you worked here, Little Miss Painter.”

“Oh, um, I do. Part-time…since last week.” you mumble as you write his name down on the cup.

Chan chuckles, “I see.”

You try your best to focus on making Chan’s drink. It’s simple, actually, to make an iced americano, but with your brain in a frenzy thanks to Chan, making an americano suddenly becomes a challenge. You squeal as you knock over the cup, spilling the contents all over the counter. Chan stops typing on his laptop and looks up from where he’s seated. He sees your panicked expression and holds back a smile. Cute. He liked how you pouted as you wiped the counter clean, throwing the rag towards the sink. He found it endearing when you giggled at your co-worker’s teasing, sheepishly scratching your nape as your co-worker ruffled your hair. You made another drink and proceeded to call out, “One iced americano for Chan.”

Hearing you say his name did things to his mind, and he felt giddy all of a sudden. The male stands up and collects his drink from you. He looks at the cup and giggles at the small heart you’ve doodled next to his name. “What’s the heart for?”

You blush and fiddle with the bunch of straws, “You painted a heart on my cheek yesterday…I’m just paying you back.”

“Cute.” Chan smiles, “This ought to get me through the day.”

“Ah, excuse me?” you say, confused.

Chan winks before waving at you, “See you around, Little Miss Painter.”

He returns to his seat, and you feel like running straight into the pantry to scream and smile like an idiot. You instead stare at the cash register. Your co-worker smirks next to you, “I didn’t know you and Bang Chan had a thing going on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say too quickly.

“Pffft.” she laughs, “Tell me if you’re going to bang Chan, ok? I’d like to know the juicy details.”

“Please don’t say it like that.” you groan.

Chan, oblivious to your wonderful conversation, sips his iced americano and feels a certain bliss in knowing that you crafted his beverage. He looks at the heart doodle once again and smiles to himself. He pulls his phone out and texts Woojin.

BANG CHAN: I found it. Or…I found her.

KIM WOOJIN: Great, good for you. You now have the perfect muse to work on the song~

You walk out of the photography room with Seungmin, chatting about things like vintage cameras and polaroid films. When you reach the doors to the campus quadrangle, you are about to part ways with Seungmin when he says, “Wait, y/n.”

“Hm?” you hum.

“Can you come with me for a while? My friend…wants to ask you something.”

“Oh?” you tilt your head, “Alright then.”

You and Seungmin walk to the farther part of the quadrangle where the area is more quiet and the grass is greener and softer. Seungmin stops at an area under a tree where two figures are lying down on the grass. You look at Seungmin with wide eyes – Bang Chan, again? Did Seungmin mean that Chan wanted to ask you something? Oh gosh. Maybe he actually wanted to ask for payment since you put paint all over his shirt. When Suengmin mirrors your clueless expression, you shift your gaze to Chan. His eyes are closed shut, and the wind rustles his curly hair. You resist the urge to just sit down and run your fingers through his hair. Or caress his ivory skin. Or kiss his plump, slightly parted lips. Stop it, y/n.

Seungmin clears his throat, “Hyung, y/n’s here.”

Chan and the other sleeping figure, Woojin, sit up on the grass. Woojin smiles and waves at you, and you shyly return the gesture. Chan smiles, showing both his dimples and teeth, and you feel your knees go weak. Seungmin smiles, “Chan, Woojin, this is y/n. Y/n, this is Chan, and that’s Woojin.”

“Hello.” you manage to squeak out.

“I know you.” Chan chuckles, and you nearly panic, “You’re Little Miss Painter from the other day. And from the bleachers. And the coffee shop.”

You flush pink and force a smile, “Yeah, I guess that’s me.”

“What brings you here?” Chan asks curiously.

You turn to your friend, and Seungmin smirks at Chan, “Channie here has a question for you.”

Chan, who is always cheerful and confident, suddenly feels panic in his blood as he looks at Seungmin, then you, then Woojin. Woojin laughs before nodding, “Yeah, Chan wanted to ask about your inspiration.”

“My...inspiration?” you suddenly feel your heart beat faster again. It’s actually you, nowadays.

Woojin nudges his best friend and coughs. Chan is quick to think and nods, “Y-yeah. I need to write a song for that annual university composition contest, and I needed inspiration. Seungmin mentioned that you’re a Fine Arts major and you never seem to run out of inspiration when you paint.”

“Ah…” you stutter, “I could probably…give you some tips? I guess. I mean, if you want, you know…”

“Ok!” Woojin gets up and pats you on the shoulder, “You two go do that, and Seungmin and I will go check on Jisung and make sure he doesn’t burn the science lab down.”

Without another word, the two start walking away and high-fiving each other. “Kim Seungmin! Kim Woojin!” Chan exclaims before sighing.

He sees you staring at the grass, all awkward and nervous. He pats the spot next to him and smiles, “You’re free to sit you know?”

“Ah, yeah.” you laugh nervously.

You sit on the grass and fiddle with your fingers. Chan types something on his phone before turning his attention to you, “So, y/n, how do you do it?”

“Oh, um,” you start, “I honestly don’t know either. It just…comes to me.”

“Oh? I wish I was like that.” Chan laughs, “I have to squeeze my brain to come up with something good.”

“But didn’t you win last year’s music composition contest?” you say shyly, avoiding his gaze.

Chan tilts his head, “You know about that?”

You giggle, a hint of pink on your cheeks, “Everyone on this campus talks about you, Chan.”

“Huh.” Chan smiles, “Thanks…I guess.”

A moment of silence stretches between you two. Chan sees your sketchbook beside you and decides to break the silence, “Are those all your sketches?”

“Oh, yes.” you nod, “I paint on it sometimes.”

“That’s nice. May I?”

“Ah, it’s not that good.”

Chan reassuringly smiles at you, and you feel a million stars explode in you. “Nonsense. I’m sure they’re great.”

You hand the sketchbook to Chan, his fingers brushing against yours for a split second. It causes your heartbeat to quicken for the hundredth time that day. Chan flips through your sketchbook, saying “wow” or “whoa” or “oooh” every now and then. He halts at a certain page as a small smile forms on his lips, “I like this. It’s cute and simple.”

You look at the watercolor painting of a girl opening a jar full of stars, and it expands into a starry sky. You smile and nod, “Ah, that’s my favorite too.”

Chan continues to go through your sketches, asking you about several ones. You don’t realize that you’ve both moved closer to each other and were practically leaning against each other. When Chan turns to face you, you’re taken by surprise at how close his nose is to yours. Chan’s eyes widen as well, before he slowly scoots a little back. You bite your bottom lip and play with the hem of your skirt. He clears his throat, “Are you participating in this year’s art gallery? Doesn’t the university hold something like that every year?”

“Yeah, I am.” you answer, “I need to make four paintings in total, but I only finished three. I’m stuck for the last one.”

“Guess we’re on the same boat then.” Chan teases, and you giggle a little.

“What’s it like writing songs?” you inquire, a little curiosity giving you the confidence, “Like, how do you write yours?”

Chan leans back, eyes looking towards the clouds, “Well…I usually write using my own experiences or feelings.”

“I think it’s fair if I could hear a few of your songs, don’t you think? I showed you my paintings.” you smile.

He laughs and unlocks his phone. “If you say so.”

He puts one earphone in his ear and hands the other one to you. Soon, a song starts playing, and you calmly listen to it play out. The melody was so serene and relaxing that you could literally fall asleep right there and then. When it finished, you gently clap your hands, “That was beautiful.”

“It was the very first song I wrote.” Chan sheepishly grins. “Woojin and I sang.”

“No way. That was really good.” you giggle.

Chan plays another tune, this time a much more upbeat and sunny melody playing out. You couldn’t help but smile when the song finished, “Seungmin sang, didn’t he? I know his voice too well. He sings a lot in class.”

“Bingo.” Chan laughs. “The one rapping was our friend, Hyunjin.”

“You’re really good, I admit.” you smile.

He shakes his head with a shy smile, “Woojin and the rest of the boys give me a lot of ideas too. It’s just that…I can’t get any ideas for this particular song that I need to write.”

He continues, “But…after I saw your painting…of the girl with the jar? I think have the inspiration I needed.”

Lies. You were the inspiration he needed, and this moment you shared with him was just a big bonus.

You blush, “Well, I’m happy I could give you the inspiration you needed.”

Chan smiles at you, “And you? What about your painting?”

“Oh,” you giggle, “I think I know what to do.”

Chan flashes you a bright grin before giving you a soft high-five. “Can’t wait.”

It was safe to say that hanging out under the shade of the tree became something regular between you and Chan. Whenever the two of you had the time, you’d meet up under the tree and sit on the grass. He’d share a song or two with you, and you’d do the same with your paintings. You would both just talk about anything – sometimes serious things like what inspired the masterpiece, or random things like what you ate for lunch or if you fell asleep in class.

You were surprised, honestly, to see yourself opening up to Chan. You’ve always been introverted with only one or two close friends. Even then, it was sometimes hard for you to really open up and be comfortable with people. Yet, here you were, talking to Chan about how a dude broke your heart in high school, leading you to paint a rather gloomy but beautiful picture. There was something about Chan – perhaps it was his charm – that made you feel at ease. It made you feel like you could do or say absolutely anything and Chan would be there for it all. He made you smile like no one could.

Chan found himself falling for you even more. You were cute, yes, but also very passionate and hard-working. You were certainly quiet and reserved, but Chan has witnessed firsthand your more playful and joking side. He remembered that one time you tripped in front of him and played it off as a joke, confidently strutting after you stood up. You were like a blank canvas at first, but the more Chan spent time with you, the more your colors started to show, and the more your whole image came into play.

Chan was already by the tree, lying down oh-so-blissfully on the grass. You carefully walked over and saw that he had his earphones in, so you gently pulled one out. “Hi, Chan.”

Chan opens one eye before closing it again and smirking, “Hello, beautiful.”

“Funny.” you lightly slap his arm, giggling as you sit next to him.

Chan sits up pulls his earphones off. “Tomorrow’s the big day! Why won’t you show me the painting?” he pouts.

“You said you’re going to the gallery, right?” you raise an eyebrow.

Chan nods, and you continue, “Exactly. You’ll see it there like everyone else.”

“Fine, fine.” Chan chuckles. “You’re not hearing my song until the contest then.”

You scoff playfully, “Ok, fine.”

Chan looks at you softly, his smile melting your fragile heart, “I can tell you this, though. It’s really nice, and I really love it. I’m sure you’ll love it too.”

You mirror his expression, “I know I will.”

Chan lies back down on the grass, but this time, he pulls you with him. You squeal as your head lands on Chan’s firm chest, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulder. You look up at him and see that his eyes are already on you, the softest warmth swirling in his brown orbs. He smiles before closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. He starts to rub your arm soothingly, and somehow, you feel like you belong with him like this. You shyly smile to yourself, repressing the urge to giggle out loud. Instead, you snuggle closer to the male and listen to his steady heartbeat. “Thank you, Chan.”

Thank you for what, Chan doesn’t really know, but he smiles nonetheless as his fingers now play with your hair, “Thank you too, y/n.”

Students and visitors flood the gallery as several paintings from various Fine Arts majors are exhibited on the walls. A few murmurs here and there, with professional photographers taking photos of the artworks. You stand by your paintings, answering questions from a few younger students. When their group moves to the next painting, your smile widens as Chan’s figure comes into sight. He opens his arms wide, and for some reason, you knew what to do. You hug him on instinct, and his arms envelope you in the warmest hug ever. “Glad you could make it.” you smile.

“I did promise you, didn’t I?”

You lead Chan to your paintings, not realizing that the two of you were holding hands. Chan looks at every masterpiece, admiring every color, detail, and texture of each painting. “You’ve told me the meaning behind all three of these – what about that fourth one?” Chan asks, eyebrows raised, “This was the surprise one.”

You smile and look at the painting. It was a painting of two people’s silhouettes – lovers perhaps – dancing together. Their surroundings were gray and dull, but their silhouettes weren’t your typical black; they were colored like a stunning galaxy. “Well, when I heard one of your songs, I immediately came up with this in my head. Like, despite the world being dull and dead, as long as you have everything you love, you’re good to go. You’ll be fine, and you’ll still shine like the stars. At least, that’s what I got from your song.”

Chan looks at you with fondness, and when he stares at you, you feel a blush creep onto your cheeks again. You look down and nibble on your lip. Chan tucks a strand of hair behind you ear before slowly caressing your skin to cup your cheek. With your eyes meeting his, Chan smiles, “It’s beautiful, y/n. I think it’s my favorite. Scratch that. It is my favorite.”

“Yay.” you quietly giggle, earning a pinch on the nose from Chan.

At around 6:00 PM, the university’s radio announcer speaks through the speakers across campus. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to have the annual music composition contest! Head over to the auditorium to watch the songs played live!” he announces.

You were with Seungmin and Jisung at this time, since Chan, Woojin, and a friend named Changbin were getting ready. Suengmin loops his arm around yours, “Ready to watch your boyfriend, y/n?”

Jisung ruffles your hair and jumps excitedly, “Boyfriend, ay?”

“He’s not my – oh, forget it.” you pout, “Let’s go.”

Seungmin chuckles as the three of you find good seats in the auditorium. One by one, the contestants perform their self-composed songs live, and you find yourself bobbing you head along to one of them. Finally, Chan, Woojin, and Changbin were called on stage. You, Seungmin, and Jisung clap your hands and shout your cheers for them.

The song starts slow and Woojin sings so gently, it’s almost like the auditorium was made of glass and any loud noise would cause it to shatter. The chorus plays out, and Chan’s soulful voice fills the air. You stare in awe, eyes twinkling with admiration. Changbin raps his part, a deep and dark tone resonating throughout the room. Towards the end of the song, Woojin and Chan harmonize as Changbin raps a few backing lines, and you feel goosebumps tickle your skin. Jisung dramatically sways his hand, and Seungmin has the biggest smile on his face. When the song ends, the three of you stand up and clap. Chan catches your eyes on him and casts a quick wink, causing you to smile wider.

Apparently, Chan and his team won by a landslide, something that didn’t happen the last time he was chosen as winner. His friends crowded around them and started jumping around in a happy circle. Their exclaims of “yay”, “congratulations”, and “we’re proud of you” made you smile. Woojin pats his best friend on the back, “You deserve it, Chan.”

Chan shakes his head humbly, “We all do.”

“And your muse.” Jisung wiggles his eyebrows, “We’ll leave you two to it.”

He and Woojin drag the other boys out, giving you playful smiles and friendly waves. When they’re gone, you and Chan simply stand there, smiling at each other. “Well, what did I say? I knew you’d reign winner again.” you smile, hands behind your back shyly.

Chan smiles as he walks closer, “Yeah? I had a great team.”

“I know. You’re lucky to have them.” you giggle as Chan’s arms wrap around your waist.

“Yeah?” Chan tucks a strand of hair behind your ear – something you’d never get tired of. “I’m also lucky to have you.”

You playfully fiddle with the collars of his leather jacket, “You are?”

Chan surprises you by placing a chaste kiss on your forehead, “Very much. You’re my muse, the inspiration behind my song,” He proceeds to kissing the area between your eyebrows, then your nose, then a soft peck on the lips, “but you’re also someone very special to me. I really like you, y/n.”

You look down, unable to stop the flustered smile that spreads across your face. After a few seconds of silence, you finally look up to meet Chan’s gaze, “I like you too, Chan. You’ve brought so much happiness into my life in so many ways.”

Chan smiles as he releases his hold on you, but is quick to lock his fingers with yours. “How about we go on a little celebratory date? Right now?”

You grin, “Yes, please.”

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 15

Read along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter <<     >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Vah’nya and Ezra meditate. Ivant and Ar’alani discuss what it means to be a warrior.

Next time: A moment of balance between Thrawn and Eli.

-/

“He has been in his quarters for... days. That cannot be healthy,” The Admiral said after Thrass notified them that Ivant would not be joining them for the first meal of the day. Under her breath, she added, “Human or otherwise.”

Thrass rolled his eyes. “You do know he’s an adult, right? He can take care of himself.” Then, he added sarcastically, "It isn't as though he takes much - or any - time off. I wonder which one of you he learned that from…” Feigning an innocent glance between Ar’alani and Thrawn, he mused, “Or perhaps he just loves his work that much."

Further down the table, Ezra eyed the pale pink beverage Thrass was drinking, wondering if it too contained some kind of alcohol. He didn’t doubt it, first meal or not. Belatedly, he snuck a glance at Vah'nya, displeased that she had dragged him here for the proceedings. He suspected it would have been a far quieter and more comfortable meal out on the terrace with the rest of the Navigators.

“I’ve instructed my staff to bring him meals,” Thrass relented, fixing the Admiral with a helpless look. Ezra wondered briefly if he missed something the Admiral said, but that didn't seem to be the case. She was just fixing Thrawn's brother with her deadpan gaze as he said, “You know how he is when he’s onto something.”

"He knows his limits," Thrawn interjected mildly, drawing everyone's eyes but Vah'nya's. The eldest Navigator of the Chiss sipped a sweet smelling dark tea, listening politely but not engaging. She met Ezra's eyes and smiled behind her teacup. He had learned that she was not much of a morning person, which made her desire for them to be here even more confusing.

Thrass smirked, as if he knew something his brother did not. "You might find yourself surprised."

"You are a menace, Syndic," Ar'alani gestured to the Navigator and Jedi. "Tease him on your own time."

"Tease him about what?" Ezra asked innocently.

Vah'nya bit back a snort. She hid it well though, only earning the beginnings of a glare from her Admiral.

“Oh, nothing,” Thrass said, his attempt at innocence sounding more like gloating. “I would never tease about my friendship with Eli.”

"Your friendship is hardly anything other than acquaintance and mutual concern," Ar'alani reminded the Syndic. Her words were chosen carefully, Ezra could tell. To his right, Thrawn did not seem offended or flustered. In fact, since his discussion with Captain Ivant following Ezra's… incident, Ezra had noticed that Thrawn seemed a lot more balanced. Steady. Pensive and withdrawn, for sure, but not scattered and angry like he'd been before.

"Yes, yes, nevermind the countless months he spent here after his brush with death-"

Ar'alani shook her head. Ezra knew that look from previous experience with the Admiral. If Thrass wished to inspire Thrawn's attention, on his own head be it. "Yes, and you spent all that time at his bedside, did you?"

"Hardly. But I did check in on him."

"Why bring him here?" There it was, Ezra thought. Thrawn regarded Thrass coolly, but with that single-minded intensity. It was hard not to see Thrawn's luminous red eyes as anything but furious, but he'd had time to understand some of the nuance. There was suspicion there. Wariness, too. No doubt stepping into this conversation with Thrass was akin to wandering through a field full of landmines.

"Regardless of the several alternative reasons he no doubt gave you," Thrass said, "Eli’van’to did ultimately save your life. At least, that’s the part I cared about, anyway.” He shrugged. “And if you were willing to part with him despite his career at your back, I suspected you might prefer 'alive' to 'a warrior's death.'"

"What Syndic Mitth'ras'safis means," Vah'nya finally interjected, "Was that sending him to the military hospital on Csilla would have been asking for someone ill-meaning to assassinate him." She blinked up at Thrass, demurely awaiting his response. None came. She let her eyes wander over to Thrawn, seated to his left, next to the head of the table. "Under the syndic's protection was the best place for him to recover safely."

Thrawn frowned, but didn’t comment.

Vah'nya didn't flinch. "Of course," she looked at Ar'alani, "The fleet was stationed out this way and it was far easier to smuggle in human medics, too. Though they hardly did anything," She muttered, at the end.

"I do wonder why that is," Thrass tutted at Vah'nya, intent to invite her to share in some of Thrawn's ire. He knew how much his brother loved not being in the know.

"Enough squabbling," Ar'alani pressed. "Stop holding it over his head," She instructed the syndic, as if she were superior in rank. She wasn't, though it was all somewhat ambiguous as to how it lined up between military officers and political officials within the Ascendancy. It also didn't hurt that Thass knew she could rip him to literal and metaphorical pieces without difficulty. She considered Thrawn for a brief moment, almost protective, before moving on. "And you," She chided Vah'nya, "Really need to work on your gossiping."

"That was hardly gossip, Admiral. Gossiping would include me mentioning how you frequented his bedside to achieve the necessary solitude in order to catch up on your reading."

Ezra couldn't help it. He snorted, trying to hold back his laughter and failing. It was infectious though, and Vah'nya found herself joining in, much to the Admiral's disapproval.

“Enough,” Ar’alani sounded terribly annoyed, though it was hardly Vah’nya and the alien Jedi that bore the brunt of her irritation. Syndic Mitth’ras’safis was a thorn in her side. Still, if she could alleviate some areas of origin... “Leave us,” She ordered both Ezra and Vah’nya. “Enjoy your day. Do not bother me.”

“Do you have reading to do, Admiral?” Vah’nya quipped.

“Some. If you’d like,” She said, a slippery note to her voice, “I could arrange for you to assist me with the after action reports I need to review and approve.”

The Navigator was stone-faced and on her feet in seconds, the remaining food on her plate long forgotten. She hated those damn reports. “Come, Ezra’Bridger,” She said, already making for the door.

Ezra looked mournfully at his unfinished plate, but did as he was told. In the doorway to the grand dining room, Vah’nya took his wrist and dragged him not toward the terrace and the other Navigators, but towards the gardens. He could hear Thrass laughing behind them, the sound of the Chiss elite’s voice echoing down the extravagant corridors.

Vah’nya led them to a sunny place in the easternmost gardens on the estate, a greenhouse with giant, arching glass ceilings and sun-bleached glass ceilings and large white-stone flecked pillars. In the center was a beautiful, burbling fountain that spilled into a pond with strange, exotic fish that hung to the bottom peacefully.

Releasing his wrist, she spun around to face him, then gestured at two pillows laid upon the ground in the very center of the floor’s elaborate mosaic tiling. “What do you think?”

It looked… not quite natural, but Ezra took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was far enough away from the rest of the manor, serene and calm. “I think it’s perfect.”

“Good.” The Chiss smiled.

Meditation wasn’t a key tenant of the Chiss Navigators’ training or practice. More often than not, they suffered from overstimulation that was only alleviated by sensory deprivation, allowing the body and mind to disconnect and then come back to each other naturally. Ezra likened it to a sort of hard reset, a power down and restart. He’d tried it when they’d initially tested him, a training exercise to see how he fared. Whatever they wanted from him, he likely hadn’t done it, but no one had ever said a word. Instead, they simply told him he didn’t have to attempt somnia again if he didn’t believe it was helpful, so he didn’t.

Vah’nya was interested in the way Ezra’s powers worked. Not impressed easily, like Thrass who found it interesting that Ezra could leap exceedingly high or levitate things - even people, if he wanted - in the air, manipulate things with his mind. Ezra had drawn the line at the classical ‘Jedi mind trick,’ though it was Thrawn who debunked the mystery: the Chiss were not a people who could be manipulated in this way.

He waited for Vah’nya to select which of the cushions she wished to sit on. She did so cross-legged, the backs of her hands resting open, palms up on her knees. Once she was settled, he kneeled atop the second, grateful not to bear his weight only on the marblesque tiling. Vah’nya took a deep breath in, held it, then exhaled.

“Is this all there is to it?”

“Sort of,” Ezra said. “Part of it is clearing your mind, but you’re not actually doing that. You’re supposed to be focused, but not. It’s kinda hard to explain. I usually try to feel my connection to everything around me and kind of let it guide me from there.” He rubbed the back of his head, sheepish. “My training was good, but it wasn’t… I’m not a real Jedi, like the ones from before the Empire,” Ezra admitted. “My master was trained until the Empire wiped out his master, but,” He sighed. “It wasn’t a traditional Jedi education. A lot of what I learned with Kanan, we learned together.”

“I see,” Vah’nya said. “He meant a lot to you.”

“He’s family,” Ezra answered. “I owe him everything.”

She nodded once, and they stayed silent a moment, their breathing syncing without much effort. Slowly, the Navigator asked, “Your feelings for him - for your family - do you believe it makes you strong?”

“The Jedi warned about attachment, Kanan told me. It was something he said he struggled with, and something that he thought hurt the Jedi more than it helped. But he taught me attachment and love are two different things. Attachment is selfish. It’s what you want. Real love isn’t selfish at all.”

Vah’nya considered that, shifting to get comfortable and closing her eyes. “Describe to me what your Force feels like, Ezra’Bridger.”

-/

Eli Vanto was not a man who thought highly of himself. He was a man who, in terms of his life overall, had only recently started dictating his own destiny. Sometimes he still felt every bit of the bright-eyed cadet Thrawn had decided to uproot and reshape to his own devices. That was good, though. It was important to remember where one started from.

He looked at the data and exhaled. They needed definitive results that the data supported. Only time would tell. It was already out of his hands in a lot of ways, but he was confident he’d found compelling metrics. More than that, he believed in his Navigators.

A knock interrupted him from his thoughts. Without his approval, the door opened slowly, the hall backlighting behind his visitor so that all he could see was the outline of a woman’s silhouette and glowing red eyes.

“You have been concerning our hosts with your absence,” Admiral Ar’alani said. She would never admit to being openly worried about him herself and Vanto would never want her to. He’d seen that attention and concern pressed upon him once in his life, and that was more than enough. She was a good commanding officer. She was close to Thrawn’s level of mind-reading but without that same intensity, well rounded and seasoned in other ways that he was not. Her empathy, even towards those outside of her species, was impressive and rare for a Chiss.

Ivant beckoned her over, knowing she would feel better about his choice to devote himself to analysis once he brought her up to speed."I know what data we need to collect," He informed her.

"You do?" She stepped around the desk and stood behind him, looming just behind his right shoulder. "Show me."

"In Vah'nya, the data is spotty, since it wasn’t know beforehand what kind of data we’d be looking for." He pulled up and highlighted a line in a table, and on another holoscreen, a chart corresponding to that data appeared. "See where it jumps out of the steady decline? That's her neuro eval on Csilla, after our time in captivity."

"It hasn't dropped since," Ar'alani said. “And it has been two years.”

"I don't think it will," Ivant answered. "A medical professional could probably explain it better, but the short version is that a part of her brain has become more active." He pulled up comparisons of other Navigators. "These are ones who trial out of Project Compass."

"They dip significantly," Ar'alani commented. "And this correlates directly with their abilities?"

"Yes," Vanto confirmed. "These are Navigators in their mid teens, ages fourteen to seventeen. The numbers don't actually have to be high for them to possess and use Third Sight, but the downward trend is indicative of their abilities fading, until they eventually match those of a Sightless Chiss." He pulled up another. "These are the younger ones."

"They are rising." She motioned with a rolling wave. "And Sightless children?"

"Here are the comps."

"Sightless children are elevated more than an adult, but their numbers are not even half that of a Navigator. If what you are saying is correct, we could hypothetically test for Sight at a younger age, rather than waiting for it to manifest."

"Correct, Admiral." Ivant pulled up another screen and the chart switched to color code and match specific lines of summary data. "Now, we just need to prove these findings aren't a fluke."

"You've identified candidates?"

"Several."

"Un'hee," She presumed first, "And how many others?"

"Four." Anticipating her next question, he added, "The youngest is seven. The oldest is fifteen."

"The oldest in her decline?"

"Yes, but she's plateaued. Since being brought on board the Compass, it has not fallen-"

"Even if we can prolong it," She said. "That would be a miracle in itself." Then, she looked down at him, her cold, thin fingers squeezing his shoulder. It was a firm grip, almost painful, though she meant it as encouragement. "You have something else."

"It's a working theory," Ivant began, "Based on how Vah'nya's breakthrough manifested and the girls we've seen progress with."

She stepped back, and Ivant powered down his console, removing the data cards and locking them securely in a black box within the desk itself. "Speak your mind," She said, moving to the chaise.

"I can give you numbers to prove it, when it happens," Ivant said. "I - at least, I think I can show you what the connection is, so we can show the Admiralty it's real and not some fluke. But you or I can't make it happen."

"You believe it is individual?"

He nodded. "Maybe there's a future where that won't be the case," Ivant said, "Vah'nya is working to learn and hone skills she thinks will help. She thinks the Jedi can help her to understand, so I told her to pursue that lead."

"And what do you think the catalyst is? A brush with death? Overcoming fear?"

"No," He said. "I think it's actually a lot more simple than that."

Ar'alani inclined her head, leaning back against the plush backrest of the lounge while keeping her back entirely straight in the process. She looked regal like this, and she knew it. Also, it was far more comfortable than her command chair. "Simple how?"

"Thrawn always went on about the ways of the warrior-"

"Yes," She interrupted, "That is culturally... significant to our people.”

“Which is why I think it’s important. Vah’nya has given Un’hee old navigator texts. They spoke often and fondly of Warrior’s Fortune.”

“The account of one centuries-dead Chiss shouldn’t be enough-”

“It’s not just one. It’s listed in at least a thousand other memoirs left by different Navigators, then stops right around the time of an ancient war that I think had something to do with the Sith.”

Ar’alani frowned, the expression sharp with concern. “Explain yourself. You do not have access to their archives. It is only accessible by Navigators.”

“Vah’nya allowed me to compile data under her supervision.”

“That is a crime, Captain Eli’van’to,” She rebuked. “There are sacred articles that protect the Navigators’ texts and archives from access by those who lack the Sight, Chiss or otherwise.”

Eli took a breath and braced himself. There was no easy way to say this. “I think that the real crime is that the Chiss have been stamping out their own Navigators,” He replied, never looking away from her deep red eyes. “The articles that protect the Navigators’ works from being publically accessible went into effect after they found themselves on the losing end of an alliance. From what I could tell, the Aristocra nearly destroyed itself in the process in the midst of some political feud at about the same time. One of the end results of their squabbles was that the Navigators were forced into more combat-forward positions and likened to soldiers in training, not children.”

“I know my people’s history,” Ar’alani pressed. “To accuse our ancestors of such a thing is a very serious accusation to make. It will not be taken lightly, should it become known.”

“I know,” Ivant agreed, his shoulders rounding for only a second before he straightened again. “But I believe it’s the truth.” He regarded her for a careful moment. “Of all the Navigators you’ve ever seen, can you tell me you’ve seen another as emotionally open or expressive as Vah’nya?”

“I have not,” She answered. “She has always worn her heart on her sleeve, for better or worse. Even when society has dictated otherwise.”

“The warrior’s downfall is pride, Admiral.” He fixed her with a heavy gaze. “The Chiss are a proud people. Most are too proud to show emotion or admit fear because it’s considered weakness. And, seeing it that way, they’re-” He sighed, “For a lack of a better term, ma’am, they’re blinding the Navigators. They’re not making the connections they need to fully unlock their abilities. At least, not like they used to, millennia ago.”

“If you were to say this to the Aristocra, they would throw you out, no matter how many numbers or navigators you provided to them,” Ar’alani said. “You would be lucky to escape without being fired upon.”

Ivant smirked. “Then it sounds like I’m onto something.”

“Perhaps,” She allowed. “Do not utilize the archives without me next time,” She said. “It is not only current Navigators who may access the ancient texts and I would like to know what aspects of our past will help to secure our future.”

Message received, Ivant dipped his head in a respectful nod. “Understood, Admiral.”

Satisfied, she continued. “If what you say is true, Eli’van’to, we will face difficult odds,” Her expression was grim, but held the slightest undercurrent of hope. “The words of an outsider will not be well received, no matter how true they are.”

“I know. That’s why Vah’nya should be the one to present them, when the time comes. She is the one who started all of this.”

Tsking, Ar’alani said, “I hardly believe that. This started because she felt compelled to protect you.”

“This started,” Ivant said, “Because protecting others is a warrior’s duty. And the Chiss, above all else, are warriors at heart.”

Ar’alani smiled. “I do not believe it is only Chiss who possess the heart of a warrior.” Her gaze narrowed, but there was no malice in it, only cool understanding. “Not always.”

[ghostlykay]

You write for Nubbins?? If so, could you write Nubbins x (female) S/O cuddling, or anything fluff? Thank you!

I will ALWAYS write for Nubbins because he is SUCH a guilty pleasure. Thank you so much for sending this in, @slashxr !!

Warning(s): nothing atypical of Canon. Long post under ‘read more’!

There were sparse moments when the house fell into utter stillness. Even evenings usually were interrupted by something. Bubba’s steps fell with power, his staggering pace sounded unabashed as he tended to one of the household tasks regardless of hour. Drayton, on the other hand, rarely interrupted the night. Having perhaps the only set work hours out of the entire family, he’d bark at the others to “shut their yaps” and “mind his beauty sleep”. It’d occasionally earn him your silent approval as you preferred to sleep undisturbed too. 

Nubbins, however, was at all odds with his sleep, his labors, his everything. At some forsaken hour, he’d once enter the home with all the grace of blundering cattle, howling for Bubba, who thundered over to meet him with squealing giddiness. Drayton, shortly thereafter, had been screaming at them, the threat of beating them both high in the air. Whether they succumbed to the promised bludgeoning, you never found out. Sadly, just as your muscles eased back into a molding mattress, an erratic rapping sounded at your door. 

                                                           Record timing. 

You momentarily considered ignoring the knocking in lieu of some well-deserved rest, but as the tapping began to crescendo, you figured it would be better to answer than risk Drayton’s temper. It wasn’t uncommon for one of the brothers to inevitably wind their way up to your room anyways; after all, as a technical victim of the Sawyer family, you weren’t exactly in a position to deny their visits. Sometimes, it was Bubba, simply dropping off a twisted trinket with a happy babble. Every now and again, it was Drayton himself. Rarely, though. It only seemed he felt the need to pervade your room when his paranoia had unjustly spiked. And, at odd times, it was the visitor who graced your doorway now: Nubbins, as he twitched and grinned unabashedly at your arrival. 

“Good evening, Nubbins,” you murmured, a tired smile splitting your features at his anxious demeanor.

“Oh, hey--hey there. You ain’t busy, right? Got somethin’ I need to show you.” 

Beady eyes darted seemingly anywhere but at you, twitching eyelids blinking rapidly while fingertips jerked and twisted with unseen thoughts. 

“For you? I’m always free,” you replied kindly, already reaching for the sheer robe to cover the thin flannel of your sleepwear. Folding the stolen fabric over your body, you found the Sawyer man had risked a glance at you before turning away. Arching arms beckoned for you to follow. You stifled the urge to giggle at his theatrics, and as directed, trailed after him. Although he seemed nearly playful in his erraticism, you couldn’t shake the inkling that he was trying his best to not look at you. Peek at you, yes, but whenever his own twitchy gaze met yours, it flustered him; actions turned even more nervous. So much so that when you caught his side-stare while pulling the attic’s ladder down, he almost startled, hands suddenly finding the simple latch very difficult to grasp and pull. 

“Nubbins, let me---” You offered, only for him to shove your raised hand from him, muttering unintelligibly under his breath. While your lips pursed, he seemed far more agitated at himself than your offer. Despite his erratic nature, you couldn’t help the admiration for him you harbored close. 

From a young age, you’d always a hunger for the…..odd. Rather, you were fascinated by the grotesque, the occult even. When your original art piece was shown to your parents, they’d been disgusted by the morbid colors, the unsightly sprawl, and overall abstract imagery of what you’d titled as “Death”. Though no solid shapes had formed on the canvas, as it was a school project, your inspiration was clear. You recalled fondly the research that had been put into that piece; the wonderful, gritty photos stolen from the library of picked apart bones, plucked eyes, and even the morbid, partially censored criminal shots of victims long passed. “Anthropology” had been your cover-up field for the darker passions behind these interests. In reality, it was just a warped pleasure of yours. 

                   A pleasure Nubbins encouraged with giddy delight and relished. 

Despite his previous dismissal, crooked hands grasped wildly at yours, dragging you up into the dusty space before leading you through another hatch, and then finally settling you onto the roof beside him. You’d expected the motive behind his clutching interest to be another art piece. After all, he’d been surprisingly quiet for a spell. The alarming change from the week prior, where he’d been threatened to be belted by Drayton personally for all his spastic energy, to this one where he’d sat through dinner with only drumming fingertips and absent staring was offputting. You’d meant to ask him what had been on his mind. You really had. But, every time you’d sought him out, he’d disappear into thin air. Bubba, bless his heart, had yammered out various reasons when you’d asked his whereabouts, but whether he was informing you of his location or covering for him, you never knew. 

                                       “You ain’t ever leavin’.” 

You arched a brow at that. This was nothing new to you; they couldn’t risk you outside their watchful eye. Period. You’d honestly long abandoned the idea of escaping anyways. What point was there to return to a world where your passions were discouraged?

“And---and, well, since you’s not goin’ nowhere---well, you know, ain’t nowhere out of here---without us---I been thinkin’. Well, not us.You know, not them, but just us, y’know?” 

You didn’t know. It didn’t help that, while he spoke in a stuttered afterthought, he was desperately pawing at himself. He must have finally found the object of his frenzied searching because, after a long pull of silence, a thin box was forced into your hands. Though the tilt of confusion never left your features, you slowly brought the parcel up to your gaze. Under the moonlight, you noted that it must have once been a silver shade, the metallic paint on it having long since faded. You supposed the scrawl along the front must’ve been your name, and although the spelling was somewhat off, you felt your cheeks flush at the sentiment. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, already beaming at the fact he was giving you a gift. 

                   “Don’t th-thank me. Not--not yet! Open it!” 

You obliged, gasping. Inside, folded on top of parchment, a thin, iron chain ended with a heavy pendant. Encased in ivory bone fragments, the locket held a polished, tawny stone in its center. It reflected the starry night’s dazzling eyes beautifully. While carefully cut bone-fragments circled the center jewel in a pattern akin to a ribcage, gentle fingers flicked it open, wonderstruck that it opened with such ease. Protected by the elements, a single photo was crammed haphazardly under the rim. With a little maneuvering, you were able to pull it free, unfolding it quickly, and feeling a warm surge of adoration at the image in hand. 

                                       By first glance, it meant nothing. 

However, the atmosphere told a domestic tale. Drayton sat comfortably, if begrudgingly in the corner. His grizzled features rarely strayed from that disgruntled look, but for Nubbins’ amusement, he had flashed him a wry, side smile. Bubba was poking bits of meat through the chicken’s cage, and though no sound could be heard, she was certain he was cooing (as he did) at the clucking bird. Unlike Drayton, he seemed unaware of the photography session. Probably for the better, you mused. Poor Bubba got so flustered when it came to his picture being taken. Then, there was Nubbins, the camera man himself. While part of his face was cut off, his wild-eyed grin was unabashed, present, and peering directly into what must’ve been a blinding flash.

Then, there was you in the background. A member to the madness. Apart of the family. 

You vaguely remembered him taking the photo, but you couldn’t recall your thoughts in the moment. You could feel the flush of heat rise to your cheeks, a sudden wave of sentiment stinging your eyes.

“ I--I been thinkin’, since you’re not goin’ nowhere, and neither am I, thought....well, I thought you’d be my girl? I’m the best lookin’ one of these sorry sons of a----”                       

He didn’t finish. You didn’t let him. In an instant, you pounced on top of him, one arm looped around his neck while the other clutched his present into your chest. He startled at the feeling of your lips upon his, hands scrabbling to grasp at your shoulders in obvious surprise. 

                                       His hesitation didn’t last. 

Lips moved against yours in clumsy passion. His fingertips found purchase in your hair, knotting in their grasp and desperately pulling you closer, drawing you partially onto his scrawny lap. Breaths stuttered. His tongue lapped at yours, begging to deepen the kiss, in which you parted your lips, allowing him to. You were oblivious to the cutting edge of cardboard into your bosom, the need for air, everything. It wasn’t until Nubbins withdrew a hair’s breadth away to plant a series of feather-light pecks to your throat did you remember anything, remembered he needed an answer. Despite your keening desire, you pushed him away. 

“Is that not a-a ‘yes’?” He huffed against your skin, hawk nose settled in the crook of your neck.  

“Of course, it’s a yes,” you laughed before pulling him to yet another kiss.