#I wish I had the time to write something like that for my favorite lads and lasses as well

[cerise-on-top]

Haiii! I love your work :D

Could you possibly do a gaz x reader? When him and reader are celebrating their anniversary:), that would be really cute :’))

Hello! Thank you, I hope this is enjoyable as well! I went with a more fluffy route this time, I just wanna see Gaz happy and healthy and as far aways from any and all danger as possible! This request was really cute, I love Gaz! I'm glad there are several of us who do! Though I think I went a bit overboard with this, but how could I not when people are requesting best boi!

Celebrating Your Anniversary with Gaz

For the sake of this request, we’re gonna go with the idea that Gaz was able to be with you during your anniversary and didn’t end up being somewhere in the world, having to fight tooth and nail for his survival. We’re gonna go the fluffy route with this!

His memory is really good, Gaz would never forget something as important as your anniversary. Doesn’t matter if you’re together, doesn’t matter if you’re married. He has it memorized, he wrote it down on his phone, he noted it on several loose papers lying around just about anywhere. Trust me when I say he’s the last person to ever forget something like this. Although he would appreciate it if you remembered as well, he’d probably love it even more if, just once, you forgot about your anniversary, that way he could properly surprise and absolutely spoil you rotten. He wants to make your anniversaries days you can remember, so he will tailor them to your liking. You like going to arcades or amusement parks? A bookshop date? You just wanna go to McDonald’s? It’s all yours, and don’t you dare even think about paying, your wallet will not be strained on such a holy and sublime day.

The day would start off simple. You’d sleep in, if you can, cuddling for as long as possible, until one of you needs to get up for whatever reason. He’ll nuzzle into you, holding you as close to him as possible. He wants you to feel his warmth, how alive you make him feel, he wants you to feel how his heart beats for you and only you. Gaz has a beautiful voice, it’s fairly low and very calming to listen to. He’d hum your favorite tune that’s a bit calmer. He wants you to be as relaxed for him as possible, maybe even fall asleep in his arms again, even if he definitely wouldn’t mind you staying up to chat a bit with him as well. He’s gonna be all over you, making sure to touch you wherever he can so you feel secure with him. And when you’re drifting off to sleep again, that’s when his plan begins.

Gaz will plant a kiss on your neck or your forehead, whatever he can reach as he excuses himself to the bathroom. However, this sly dog will actually head for the kitchen to make you some breakfast. He’s a good cook, so whatever it is you like, he’ll make it. French toast? Scrambled eggs? Eggs and bacon? Your wish is his command, even if you never uttered a single order. He just hopes you won’t wake up or, even if you do, will at the very least stay in bed. This breakfast isn’t for you to enjoy in the kitchen or the living room, you’re to eat it in your bed. He even got you a nice tray so he can carry it to you without making a mess. Orange juice and all. You will be spoiled.

It’s then that he’ll wake you with another soft kiss to your temple, maybe shaking you awake a bit, so you can enjoy your breakfast together. Might even feed you a bit, just to be embarrassingly cute while he’s at it. The more content you look, the better. Afterwards, he’ll leave for the kitchen again, putting the tray away and decorating the living room a bit. There will be the most gorgeous roses you’ve ever seen in a vase, alongside several other flowers, each of which tells of a different kind of adoration. And when you finally follow suit and spot the flowers, he’ll just smile and claim that they looked very pretty. If you understand flower language, then you can tell he just really wanted to say he loved you in as many different ways as he could.

It’s then that he’ll ask you to get ready for the day, to brush your teeth and hair, and put on some clothes. You don’t need to look particularly fancy, he wants you to be as comfortable as you could possibly be. This is when he’ll take you to a place you like which, as mentioned before, could be just about anything. Waterpark, roller skate rink or just a lovely walk in the park, he’s open for everything. You will be accommodated accordingly. Those places are where you’ll be spending the majority of your day, grabbing something simple to eat for the time being, such as some fries or maybe some toast at a good cafe or pub.

When day meets night, he’ll take your hand in his, taking you to a fancy restaurant you’ve been to a few times. Preferably one where the both of you can look down at the city and see all the beautiful lights it has to offer. You’ll spend another two hours or so there. At the very least, you’ll be there until it gets dark, eating good food, having a good drink, maybe some wine as well. It doesn’t matter what you choose, all Gaz wants is to see the twinkling city lights dance in your eyes afterwards. When the evening is starting to roll over into night, he’ll take you to a ferris wheel. A big one where you can see the entire city from.

He’ll watch you as you excitedly look everywhere, taking in as many sights as you can, hoping that the ferris wheel stops at just the right time. Ideally, that would be right at the top. But he won’t be too picky if it’s somewhat to the side as well. As long as he gets to see your mouth agape at all the pretty lights, he’s content. While the ferris wheel stops, he’ll shoot his shot. If you’ve been together for a few years but aren’t married yet, he’ll propose to you. If you’re already married, he’ll still get down on one knee, take your hand in his and kiss its back tenderly, like a knight in shining armor. It’s embarrassingly sweet, but he knows no one but you is going to see it, so he does it anyway. You’re royalty in his eyes, you’re his to protect and care for, and he needs to show his loyalty however he can. Once he’s done kissing your hand, he’ll get up, holding your hand still and pulling you up with him, just so he can hold you close once again. Another tender kiss to your lips, and then he’ll get out a small box. Either the proposal ring or, if you’re married already, he’ll gift you a lovely little necklace made of pure silver. Something you can wear that will always remind you of him.

Once you’re down on the ground again, he’ll take your hand in his and lead you home, conversing with you about how much he loves you, how happy he is to have you in his life and how he hopes he gets to spend many, many more years like that with you.

If it’s not too late yet, you might watch a movie and cuddle on the couch. But you’ll likely both be tuckered out after today and just snuggle up in bed, ready for the next day.

And this is how Gaz’ ideal anniversary would go.

[rookiesbookies]

Seeing your hc of greek god!ghost made me think of how much of a disaster it'll be if he found someone he's into only for them to get cold easily and wears like 5+ layers everywhere they go

So I have bad circulation and a neurological condition that makes my extremities get very cold, which is why I believe I am qualified to write this. There’s nothing I love more than grabbing my partner with my cold fingers or touching him with my cold feet, my friends are also victims. As I write this one of my hands is ice cold and the other is a completely normal temp. Wish he was here so I could rub my hands over where he’s ticklish and make him shiver (im evil)

I had a lot of fun writing this ask, I do want to do more with this AU later so I love getting asks about it but I do need to clean up my master list😭

Fic under the cut

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

Price was sent a younger maiden one other time. She had been just under the age he liked and he truthfully believed she would work better with someone else.

SO he delivered her to Simon’s doorstep in the underworld. Simon looked through the peep hole to see you holding a pie and a note from Price. When he opened the door and read the note (something along the lines of : she’s too young for me but seems more like your type) he tried to shut the door. Luckily for you, the future mother in law was there - Persephone was not having any of her son’s shit.

She quickly read the note herself and set you down, sending Simon to go make tea while she got a good look at you. Poor thing, so nervous, dropped on this doorstep, she wasn’t having any of it.

Then she noticed how cold your hands were and cursed her husband for giving their son such cold hands, he was always so clammy he just had to pass it on.

She quickly yelled for Simon who rushed in with the tea, telling him to start a fire.

You tried to tell her it wasn’t a problem with a nervous smile and laugh but she wouldn’t listen. So you told both you didn’t want to be a bother.

“Ya think yer cold?” Simon said sharply before grabbing your ankle with an ice cold hand from the floor where he was sitting trying to start the fire, the sudden chill made you let out a soft shriek. He giggled behind the mask.

Persephone saw that. She heard it too.

“I'm calling Hades and we’re planning the wedding!”

Simon’s eyes bulged out of his head.

“I can’t marry someone I’ve just met,” you awkwardly laughed between sips of tea.

“Well it takes time to plan a wedding, you’ll both know each other quite well by the time it comes around!”

Simon groaned, “just because you and Hades-”

“Shush!” And Simon shut up quickly.

And with that, Persephone fled the house.

“I would have thought because of how she was taken by Hades-”

“Stockholm syndrome, I'm sure of it,” Simon grumbled. Pulling off his fur cloak and throwing it over you. “I’ll sleep on the couch until I can sort this out.”

“Oh but I can’t take your bed from you-”

“Did I ask?”

You shake your head and quietly sip your tea.

Now lets time jump just a bit. Assume they both bond at some point and a month or so passes, they’re trying to cuddle, right?

There’s nothing that brings Simon more joy than torturing you with his cold hands. Making you whine and shove them under your arms to warm them.

“You’re colder than a dead body!”

“Why do ya think the lads call me Ghost, love?”

After more time, he chooses a new favorite place to warm his hands.

“Simon, we are at dinner! You can’t do that in front of others!” You hushly yelled at him.

“Come on, they’d be jealous that's all, not judgin ya!” He laughed.

“Simon this is so embarrassing,” you mumbled. His hands gently holding your tits. One hand over each.

“It’s my favorite place to warm em.” He shrugged then grumbled. “Plus Johnny made a comment about ya rack and I gotta remind him whose it is.”

You let out a whine, “your hands are so cold! I didn’t sign up for temperature play!”

He chuckles, “here, I’ll distract you. Two goldfish are in a tank-”

“You’ve told me this one so many times,” you giggled as he massaged your chest with his cold hands. You smacked his hand, “I'm only doing this to warm up your hands, this isn’t touchy time.”

He groaned in disappointment. “Price wouldn’t notice or care!”

“Oh he definitely would, especially if it was at his dinner table!”

“What are ya love birds whisperin on about?” Johnny holard from the other room.

“SHUT.” Was all Simon had to yell back.

[agaypanic]

The Fella Part 9 (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

Main Masterlist

The Fella Masterlist

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Summary: The girls have been waiting for months to see Take That in Belfast. When a polar bear is on the loose and Mary forbids them from going, they have to take matters into their own hands.

A/N: only took a million years but i finally wrote a new part lol BIG thanks to @crumpets-are-better-with-jam for writing out the episode’s script for me, without them I probably would’ve never found the time to be able to write this. Also the word g*psy is censored and used as little as possible because it’s considered a slur but some say that if you say it with the right context it’s ok, but i don’t wanna take any chances, you know?

***

The weekends were always the best part of the week for Y/n. No school or work, no obligations except for church on Sunday, and being able to sleep in late. Y/n wished to be an adult, so her life could be like this every day.

But this was going to be the weekend of all weekends. Months ago, the girls and James scrimped and saved every coin and bill and were able to buy concert tickets to see Take That in Belfast. And today was the day of the concert. The girls sat all squished together on the couch, watching said band on the TV, with James perched on the arm of the sofa, subtly clinging to Y/n. Their relationship was still a secret somehow, today marking their third month together. They were honestly surprised nobody noticed how their affection was more than friendly.

“God Almighty.” Grandpa Joe spoke in horror, glaring at the screen. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. Bloody perverts.”

“You’re overreacting, Da,” Mary said from the kitchen. Joe scoffed in disbelief.

“Overreacting? That lad’s got no trousers on, for Christ’s sake.” Michelle grinned at the detail that had been pointed out.

“He’s wearing too much still, if I’ve anything to say about it.” She muttered to the girls, who giggled apart from James and Clare.

“Why do they keep touching themselves?” Grandpa Joe asked the telly, as if it would provide any answers.

“‘Cause they’re artists, Granda,” Erin said, but he just grumbled.

“Dirty English bastards is what they are.” He turned to look at James. “No offense, son.” Although he didn’t really sound like he cared whether or not he had offended the boy. Y/n patted James’ thigh in comfort as the scene on the TV changed from the girls’ beloved boy band to a news anchor. 

“Come on, girls. Time to hit the road here.” Gerry announced as he came in. He gestured at James. “Have they roped you into going as well, son?” Y/n laughed, leaning against James to look at her father.

“Hardly. He’s practically riding Gary Barlow. Aren’t ya, Jamie?” He rolled his eyes at the statement, as if they had had this kind of conversation a hundred times.

“I’m not! I just respect him as a songwriter, that’s all.” Michelle rolled her eyes at him, as if she had also had this kind of conversation a hundred times.

“Aye, dead on, James, so you do.”

“Will we need our passports, Gerry?” Orla asked, giving her lungs a break from blowing on her mother’s spray tan.

“For Belfast? I don’t think so, Love.”

“Belfast?” Joe asked, but was ignored.

“Are we not a bit early, Daddy?” Erin asked, checking the time on the wall.

“It’s a two-hour drive with traffic, love.”

“This thing’s in Belfast?” Sick of not being acknowledged, Grandpa Joe stood from his favorite chair to stand with the girls and Gerry.

“Da, it’s eight hours till the doors open,” Y/n said, almost laughing at her father’s sense of urgency.

“I know. We’re cutting it fine.” He seemed completely serious about the matter, which just made Y/n want to laugh more.

“Belfast?” Joe said again, now effectively catching the room’s attention. “Sure, why didn’t you just sell the wains into white slavery and be done with it?”

“Gerry will be with them, Da.” Mary tried to reason, but that just seemed to set him off even more.

“Well, that’s worse. Sure, they hate his kind there.”

“My kind?” Gerry asked, not knowing what Joe could possibly be talking about.

“Pricks.” Y/n laughed, shrinking in her seat when Gerry whipped around to look at his daughter in offense. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“That is enough!” Mary finalized, still working in the kitchen. “They’re going to the concert, Da, and that’s the end of the matter.”

The news switched to another topic again. Something about how a polar bear escaped from Belfast Zoo. Hearing the name, Y/n started to worry.

“Now, will you see sense?” Grandpa Joe asked his daughter, pointing at the TV. Erin snorted.

“Aye, Granda, ‘cause an escaped polar bear’s gonna track us down and kill us. As if Mammy’s bothered by that.” There was a beat of silence, and suddenly, all the girls were panicked.

“Wise up, Mammy!” Y/n squealed frantically, shooting up from her seat on the couch to get a good look at her mother. “As if a polar bear’s gonna rock up a Take That concert!”

“He wouldn’t get a ticket for a start,” Orla added. “They sold out months ago.”

“You’d be surprised, girls,” Mary said.

“The concert’s nowhere near the zoo.” Gerry tried to reason. As usual, Joe countered him.

“But he’s not in the zoo anymore, is he, Simple Simon? He’s sauntering about Belfast without a care in the world!”

“Aye, keep up, Gerry,” Sarah said, blowing on the wet tan that coated her fingers. 

“What I’m saying is that it would be quite a lot of ground for him to cover.”

“They’re quick on their feet when they wanna be, love,” Mary said. Y/n sped to her father, grabbing him by the shoulders to make him face her.

“Daddy, please, don’t listen to her.” She pleaded. “We should go now so we’re not late. Please, Da!” Gerry put his hands on his daughter’s wrists, rubbing his thumbs over the joints while giving her a sympathetic look.

“Oh, love, I’m sorry, but I’d rather keep my head.”

“Come on, Mary.” Michelle pleaded with the girl’s mother. “If you don’t let Y/n and Erin go, then our ma’s won’t let us go.”

“Well, neither they should, and I’ll be ringing them to say as much.” The teens looked at Mary in despair as she went to the phone, likely to ring everyone’s mothers. While dialing, Mary looked back to the living room. “Look, girls, I know how much you were looking forward to seeing This and That.”

“Take That.” Erin corrected.

“But there’ll be other concerts.” Y/n laughed humorlessly, resting her head on her father’s shoulder momentarily before letting go of him completely. 

“No, there won’t.” She felt hysterical. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. Months of looking forward to this concert just to be banned by her mother because of a polar bear. Only something like this would happen to her. “The fact that this one’s happening is a miracle ‘cause no one good comes here ‘cause we all keep killing each other!” James shifted on the arm of the couch to make room for Y/n to sit next to him. He rubbed her back as she leaned against him for support, devastated.

“And now we’re overrun with polar bears.” Sarah sighed, pulling out a cig.

Frustrated, Y/n stormed up to her room, the girls and James close behind. They had found her face down on her bed, screaming into a pillow. James sat beside her, pulling the pillow out of her grasp before she could suffocate herself. While everyone settled in Y/n’s room, she rested her head on James’ thigh. Her anger and sadness were slowly washing away from James rubbing her back.

“This is so fucking unfair.” She muttered.

“I know,” James responded, brushing hair out of her face.

“Well, I dunno about you lot, but I’m not letting that fat furry fuck ruin the biggest day of my life,” Michelle announced harshly, pacing the floor.

“What can we do?” Erin asked, lying across her sister’s legs.

“Right, listen, girls.” Michelle drew their attention. They hoped that she had come up with a plan to save the day, but were quickly let down. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but… sometimes, when Robbie’s being interviewed, it’s like he’s sending me messages through the TV. You know, like telepathically or whatever, It’s like he’s saying…” She sighed, clearly in a dreamy daze. “We’re meant to be together.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Aye, maybe don’t tell that to anyone again, Michelle,” Erin said. “Ever.”

“I think she might be more cracked than Orla,” Y/n muttered to James, who snorted.

“What?” Orla looked at Y/n after hearing her name.

“Nothing, love.”

“Look, this is too important,” Michelle said. “I’m going to that concert. I’m not afraid of a fucking polar bear!” Everyone enthusiastically agreed. They shouldn’t pay mind to a random bear or what their parents have to say about anything. Nothing would stop the girls and James from seeing Take That.

“I’ll kill it with me own two hands, if I have to.” Orla declared. 

“Bring it on!” Erin egged on.

“Okay. We seem to have gone down a weird road here, people. I think we just got a bit confused.” Ever the realist and anxiety-riddled girl, Clare tried stopping her friends from the odd discussion. “We don’t actually have to fight a polar bear, and if we did, I wouldn’t fancy our chances because, well, they’re massive.” Orla looked around, confused.

“But there’s six of us.”

“Aye, I think we’d have a real chance,” Y/n said, albeit slightly sarcastically.

“The point is, the polar bear’s not the one stopping us from going to the concert. It’s our mothers, and we’ll never get them to change their minds.” Y/n gasped, sitting up suddenly, seeming to have an idea.

“So we fight Mammy.”

“No, definitely not.” James shot down the idea immediately and welcomed his once again pouty girlfriend to rest in his lap. Michelle leaned toward the group like she was gonna tell them a secret.

“We’re not gonna try and change their minds.” She smirked, and everyone became slightly fearful because Michelle always had less than bright ideas that she’d have them execute. “We’re gonna do something else.” 

“What?” James asked.

***

“I’m still trying to figure out whether or not this is a good idea,” Y/n muttered to James, who she clung to while sitting on his lap. Michelle had somehow convinced everyone to sneak away and get on a bus to Belfast. The group sat in the back of the bus to avoid anyone who may be suspicious of six teenagers traveling by themselves. There wasn’t enough seating for all six of them to sit together, so everyone squished together, and Y/n sat on James’ lap. No one said anything about it besides the comment from Michelle about how James must be giddy to be so close to a girl. He told her to fuck off.

“Same here.” He sighed, hands gripping her closer as the bus crossed a few bumps on the road.

“We’re gonna get caught; I just know it,” Clare said anxiously to the group.

“We’re not gonna get caught, Clare, because as far as our ma’s are concerned, me, you, and James are ’round Erin’s, and Erin, Y/n, and Orla are ’round mine,” Michelle explained, trying to calm Clare down.

“But we’re not ’round yours, Michelle,” Orla responded, confused. “We’re on the bus to Belfast.” 

“Christ.” Y/n rolled her eyes, having heard her cousin say this multiple times since they left the house.

“I cannot explain it to her again. I’m gonna scream.” Michelle looked away from Orla, probably because she would strangle her if she had to deal with the confusion for another second.

“What’s in the suitcase, Michelle?” James asked, staring at the case his cousin had set on the remaining seat near the group. Y/n could’ve sat there, but Michelle wanted a close eye on whatever was in the suitcase without holding it in case they got caught. Everyone stared, curiously waiting for an answer. There was a beat of silence.

“Vodka.” You brought an entire suitcase full of vodka?” Erin asked incredulously.

“Jesus, Michelle, you’ve got a problem,” Y/n added.

“No. There’s mixers as well. I’m not a savage.” Michelle took a second to think, looking down at the case. “You can mix vodka with cider, right?”

“God, I am boiling.” Clare sighed, fanning her face.

“Gee, I wonder why, Clare.” Y/n laughed, looking at her friend who was completely bundled in jackets and scarves.

“What are you wearing?” Erin asked.

“Yeah, you look like a fucking Provo.”

“I don’t want anyone recognizing me, okay?” The bus paused its venture, opening the doors for people to come in and out.

“No one’s gonna recognize you, Clare.” Michelle chastised.

“Clare Devlin, is that you?” Panic ran through everyone. The voice sounded very familiar and fear-inducing. The girls looked towards the front. Sister Michael was moving past the seats and right for them.

“Jesus Christ.” Clare squeaked, trying to hide in her mountain of clothes. Erin leaned into her.

“Relax, Clare.” She said. “She has no authority over us at the weekend. She has no right to question us, and if she tries to, I’ll tell her as much.”

“Aye, I’d like to see you try, Erin.” Y/n hissed to her sister before Sister Michael reached the group.

“Morning, girls.” She said.

“Morning, Sister Michael.” Everyone said in unison.

“What takes you to Belfast?” There was a heavy pause. The girls were silently trying to decide who would speak and what they would say. Erin volunteered herself, speaking quietly from nervousness.

“I’m not really sure that’s-”

“Speak up.” Sister Michael interrupted her. Erin gulped.

“I’m not really sure that that’s any of your business…” Sister Michael stared blankly at her. Everyone waited for her to jump and murder Erin for saying such a thing. Soon, she found words.

“I’m going to assume that was an ill-judged attempt at humor, Miss Quinn.”

“Yes,” Erin whispered, sinking into her seat. Y/n silently prayed that the bus would start moving so Sister Michael would be forced to leave and find a seat somewhere. But God never seemed too kind to the girls.

“Now, answer the question.”

“... We’re going to the museum.” Erin devised a good lie; the girls just hoped they could keep up with the inevitable follow-up questions.

“Which museum?”

“Ulster Museum,” Clare answered.

“What for?”

“A project,” James responded.

“A history project.” Y/n amended. Sister Michael looked at the two. It seemed like she was about to ask why Y/n was in James’ lap, but she decided against it, not wanting to go through the trouble.

“What about?”

“Ulster,” Erin answered once again. Sister Michael gave an unconvinced hum and turned around to find a place to sit. Everyone sighed in relief as the bus started to move again.

“A history project,” Clare said in disbelief. “This web of lies we’re spinning is getting out of control now, girls.” Y/n put a hand on her friend’s shoulder to take her attention.

“If it makes you feel any better, Clare, I actually have a history project due soon.”

“I thought we finished that,” James said quietly to her. She turned to him.

“Yeah, but now I’ve gotta put it all together.”

“It’s grand, Clare,” Michelle said, rolling her eyes at Clare’s constant anxiousness. “I think she bought it.”

“Of course, she didn’t buy it. She’s onto us, I’m telling you. Oh God, I’m sweltering here.”

“Then take it off,” Erin said.

“I can’t take it off; I’ve nothing underneath it.” Everyone paused, looking at her confused.

“What, not even a bra?” Erin asked.

“Jesus, Clare, you’ve no bra on?” Michelle asked incredulously.

“I haven’t got a bra on,” Orla commented.

“Aye, me neither,” Y/n said.

“What?” James practically choked. Suddenly aware of his girlfriend’s body and this new information, he moved his hands down to sit at her hips. Y/n shrugged.

“They dig.”

“What’s she doing now?” Clare asked, and everyone looked at Sister Michael, who sat a few rows ahead of them. She was reading a book, laughing every now and then.

“Reading her book,” James answered, as if they all couldn’t see it. She suddenly turned to the woman in the seat next to her. She had a look of disgust while the woman ate a sandwich. “Now she’s looking at the woman beside her.” Sister Michael stood from her seat. “Now she’s getting up.” She moved towards the back of the bus, closing in on the girls. “Now she’s coming this way.” Soon enough, Sister Michael stood before the group, staring at them. “Now she’s standing right in front of us.”

“What’s he doing?” Sister Michael asked, looking weirdly at James.

“Now she’s-” James’ words were halted by Y/n putting a finger to his lips.

“Stop narrating, Jamie.”

“I want to sit here.” Sister Michael said with finality, pointing to where Michelle’s suitcase sat. Michelle started to panic.

“What? Why?”

“Well, you’re just such wonderful company, girls, what with your stimulating conversation and razor-sharp wit.” Everyone knew she was being sarcastic. Except for Erin.

“Really?” She asked, seemingly flattered. Sister Michael rolled her eyes.

“No, not really. The woman next to me is eating an egg and onion sandwich, and the smell is enough to turn an Orange March.” The girls cringed at the description. Sister Michael grabbed the suitcase, trying to move it. But she was evidently struggling. “Christ, but this is heavy.”

“Sister, no, let me,” Michelle said, leaning over to grab the case.

“What do you have in here, girls?”

“It’s not ours!” Clare quickly responded with a shriek. Everyone glared at her lie.

“Not yours?”

“We have never seen it before in our lives, have we, girls?” It was better to just agree, so that’s what the girls did. They nodded, giving different mutters of confirmation. 

Sister Michael turned to look at everyone else on the bus.

“Excuse me, everyone. Can I have your attention, please?” She raised her voice to get everyone to listen. Confused, the passengers looked at her while she pointed to Michelle’s suitcase. “Does anyone own this red suitcase?” No one claimed it. “Now, let me be clear. No one can claim this bag, is that correct?” Everyone confirmed her question. She looked down at the suitcase. “I think we have a Code Red on our hands. Driver, pull over!”

***

The girls were definitely fucked. Everyone had to evacuate the bus while they waited for the military to come and extract the suitcase. Now, a crowd watched as a military robot examined the case.

“Jesus Christ!” Clare squeaked in a panic.

“Aye, this isn’t great,” Erin said, watching the commotion. Michelle shrugged.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“They’re about to blow up an entire suitcase of vodka, Michelle.” 

As Michelle and Erin quietly argued, Y/n leaned into James’ ear.

“And here I thought Clare’s paranoia would be our biggest problem.” James rested his head on Y/n’s, eyeing the situation in front of him in disbelief.

“Why is this place so mental?” He asked. Michelle scoffed.

“That’s enough, James. You have serious fucking anger management issues. Do you know that?” Before anyone could give a rebuttal, there was an explosion. The robot had successfully eliminated the threat in the red suitcase, which was the girls’ ticket to a good time.

There were lots of talks among the soldiers over the radio. The girls silently celebrated when one said they could pack everything up. Soon enough, they’d be back on the way to Belfast.

“Powerful smell of vodka down here, over.” The girls froze in their places as they heard the soldier over the radio. God really did seem to have it out for the teens.

“Vodka, did he say?” Sister Michael asked, slowly turning to her students. “Interesting.” The girls gave her nervous smiles. Suddenly, Y/n pointed over Sister Michael’s shoulder.

“Oh my God, Sister! What’s over there?!” Sister Michael whipped around, and Y/n made a break for it. All of her friends followed after her. 

They ran like hell, not knowing where they were going. After a while of wandering around, they slowed to a walk down a dirt road, all trying to catch their breath. The girls debated whether or not they could reach Belfast on foot, especially with that polar bear on the loose. But the conversation dwindled as some men came into view on the side of the road.

“Is it just me, or is that g*psy an absolute ride?”

“As usual, I think it’s just you, Michelle,” Y/n said, groaning at her sore legs.

“Michelle, you cannot say that.” Erin scolded.

“What?”

“They’re called ‘travelers now. Y’can’t say ‘g*psy’ anymore. It’s insulting.”

“Okay, but you just said it, Erin.” Y/n pointed out. Michelle and Erin continued arguing over the correct word to use for the men. It continued for a while, and only stopped when they had gotten closer to the men.

“Howya, girls.” One of them said, with a bit of a slurred speech. The girls politely greeted him and continued walking. They got a few feet past them when the one who greeted them started calling after them. “Hey, hold on.”

“What does he want?” Clare asked in a panic.

“I don’t know,” Erin replied, just as nervous.

“I’m talking to you!” The man shouted. The girls ignored him, but he kept walking after them. “Hey, are you deaf or what?”

“Just keep going.” Y/n urged her friends, grabbing James’ hand to yank him along while she pushed her tired body to go faster. The teens started walking more quickly, and soon enough, the shouting man and his friends were all tailing after them. 

“Get back here!”

“Faster. Walk faster.”

“Am I gonna have to come after you, am I?”

“Jesus Christ, he’s following us,” James muttered, now being the one to pull Y/n further.

“Run!” Y/n yelped, breaking into a sprint and out of James’ grip because the sudden change in pace had caught him off guard. Everyone ran after her, the teens to catch up with Y/n and the travelers to catch up with the teens. The girls were terrified, except for Orla, of course, who could always find the fun in a fucked up situation.

“Piss off!” Erin went to the edge of the dirt road and came back to the strange men waving a giant stick around. They backed up in alarm, and the girls stopped to stand behind Erin.

Except for Y/n, who was still running like hell. James yelled for her, but she couldn’t hear him over the thumping of her feet and heart. She didn’t even notice that her friends had all been left in the dust behind her.

“Jesus fuck!” Y/n screeched when she was grabbed suddenly by the shoulders and yanked back into someone’s chest. The person who caught her breathed heavily, slightly using her as a crutch. Y/n immediately recognized the whines and groans of exhaustion and smacked the man in the arm. “Scared the fuck out of me, James.”

“I know, ‘m sorry.” James brought her closer to him, back pressed against his chest as he rubbed her arms up and down to comfort her. “Can’t run off like that, love. Could’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.” She apologized sheepishly, and James kissed her head to show she shouldn’t be. When the couple regained strength, they turned around and started walking back to the group that was currently arguing with the strange couple of men when they abruptly ran to the side of the dirt road. A van sped past them as if they weren’t even there, honking the horn and stopping in front of the stand-off of travelers and teenage girls. Y/n and James hesitantly watched, not knowing what was happening.

Soon, Erin stuck her head out from behind the van so her sister was in her view. She waved her over frantically.

“Y/n, come on!” Erin then disappeared, likely into the strange van. Knowing everyone else was probably in there, and not wanting to be left stranded, Y/n broke out into another sprint, leaving James in the dust once again.

“Not again.” He mumbled.

***

When Y/n had snuck away from her family and hopped on a bus to Belfast with her friends, she obviously didn’t expect the bus plan to go to shit, and she and her buddies would be riding around in someone’s van. Yet here she was, jostling around in the back, surrounded by half-assed Take That shirts. Erin was trying to converse with the driver; Rita was apparently her name. Meanwhile, Michelle hogged a cardboard cut-out of Robbie Williams, and Clare and Orla were sifting through all the different merchandise.

“Robie?” Clare said to herself as she held up one of the shirts to look at before frantically digging through the rest of the boxes. In the driver’s seat, Rita seemed to have some type of drunken meltdown. Clare turned to Y/n, panicked like always. “Y/n, what are we gonna do?”

“Pray.”

“She’s spelt ‘Robbie’ wrong on every single t-shirt.”

“Huh?” 

“How are we gonna break it to her?” Y/n snorted. That was not what she expected her dear friend to be worried about.

“Clare, we’re being driven around by some crazy tipsy woman, and I bet she doesn’t even know which direction Belfast is in. And yet you’re worried about a spelling mistake?”

“I find it disturbing.”

“I find your priorities disturbing.” Rita continued talking in her drunken, weepy state, leading to another discussion between Erin and Michelle about the correct label to use for the intimidating men they had run into.

But everything was cut short by the van ramming into something, causing everyone to jerk forward. There was a moment of silence as everyone tried to figure out what had just happened.

“Jesus Christ.” Michelle groaned, rubbing her head as she sat up.

“What was that?” Erin asked no one in particular.

“Did we hit something?” 

Orla opened the sliding door of the van and stuck her head out. Everyone heard a gasp of both surprise and delight.

“Oh my God, it’s the polar bear!” The sentence made everyone, excluding Rita, who smoked her cigarette in the driver’s seat, jump out of the van and surround the body. 

“Orla, this is not a bloody polar bear.” Y/n sneered, looking down at the dead sheep that lay before her feet. Everyone slowly looked over at her.

“You’re soundin’ like James,” Michelle said in slight disgust.

“Shut up.”

“Get it shifted, girls!” Rita commanded from the van, taking another drag. Reluctantly, the girls grabbed the sheep carcass and tried carrying it to the side of the road to clear their path. There was a lot more struggling than they intended.

“Why’s it so heavy?” Erin said with a strained voice. “Aren’t they meant to be ninety percent wool?”

“Just put your back into it. The sooner this is done, the sooner we’re back in the van and on our way to see Robbie.”

“Shut it about Robbie, Michelle!” Y/n groaned, trying to pull the sheep. There was much more arguing, and after a very short while, the girls decided they were officially over this task.

“Fuck this!” Michelle shouted. “Let’s just make James do it, the lazy bastard!” Everyone dropped the sheep on the ground and waited for James to do all the work.

But he never did. It was just the girls on an empty road with a dead sheep and a crazy woman. 

“Wh… Where is James?” Clare asked, looking around, hoping he’d suddenly pop out of a bush or something. 

Y/n thought long and hard. She might have been the last one to be with James. Backtracking to her last known moments with James, Y/n gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. The girls looked at her expectantly, waiting to find out where he was. Her response was an embarrassed and horrified whisper.

“I left him with the travelers.”

***

It took much persuasion, mainly for Michelle, but the girls had gotten Rita to go back for James. It was primarily the revelation that James was the one who had the concert tickets. After a long drive, the van skidded to a stop in front of the traveler’s stands of vegetables and fruits. James was among the men, helping them. Y/n yanked the van door open, relieved that her boyfriend hadn’t been mugged or stranded or something else of the sort.

“James!” She yelled in delight, immediately catching his attention. He grinned but stayed stuck in his place.

“What are you playing at? Get in the van, fucko.” Michelle commanded, less thrilled to see James than Y/n was. The man who first chased the girls put a hand on James’ shoulder.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, James.”

“With all due respect, this has nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah!” Y/n added, desperately waiting for her boyfriend to get into the van.

“The way you treat this fella, it’s disgraceful.” The traveler reprimanded.

“Fucking excuse me?” Y/n felt beyond insulted.

“What’s going on, James?” Michelle asked.

“Jonjo and the lads…” James looked at said lads with a smile. “They just get me. And it turns out, I’m a really good salesman.”

“He’s a natural,” Jonjo said.

“So, what, you’re a g*psy now?” Michelle asked, clearly thinking this was an unfunny prank.

“Traveler.” Erin and Y/n corrected in unison, Erin louder than her sister.

“Actually, g*psy’s fine,” Jonjo said. Michelle smirked, finally being able to prove to Erin that she was right. Rita yelled at everyone to hurry up, and Michelle nodded.

“Right, get in the van, come on. And do not test me ’cause we’ve already missed PJ and Duncan.”

“Is that who was supporting them?” Clare asked. When confirmed, she pouted. “Oh, I really like them!”

“I’m not leaving, Michelle,” James said with finality.

Y/n sighed, stepping out of the van. The tense gaze James had for his cousin softened when his girlfriend walked up to him.

“Not even for Gary Barlow, Jamie?” Y/n knew she made the right move because now James looked unsure of himself.

“I don’t really rate him as a, as a songwriter, y’know?” Jonjo said. The horrified look James suddenly had painted on his face made Y/n smile, both because she knew that the girls would now be leaving with him and because he looked so adorable. 

James took off his fanny pack and handed it to Jonjo in disappointment, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry, Jonjo, but you’ve just crossed the line there.” 

Y/n wrapped an arm around James’ back and guided his sad self to the van, where the door was just behind them. She brought him to the back of the van so he could mope a bit in peace. The girls all talked excitedly amongst themselves about the concert.

“I’m sorry I stranded you,” Y/n said quietly, moving her hand down James’ back to squeeze his hand. He squeezed it back and smiled softly down at her.

“I’m just glad you came back.”

“Of course, I came back. You have the concert tickets.” James shoved Y/n away and couldn’t hide the growing grin from hearing her laugh. “Kidding, kidding.”

After a long drive, long lines, and a big fight to get to the barricade, the Derry girls were finally able to enjoy Take That in all its glory. They screamed the lyrics, jumped to the beat, and danced all together in excitement. They didn’t care about the consequences when they would get home to their parents, who were probably worried sick. They didn’t worry about how they’d get home that night. All that mattered was that they were currently in the presence of one of their favorite bands of all time.

Somewhere in the middle of the set, the excitement winded down a bit as a piano intro played. Y/n squealed, tugging on James’ sleeve, as she recognized what was dubbed as her and James’ song, A Million Love Songs. James grinned at her excitement.

“Oh my God! I have something for you!” Y/n exclaimed over the music, digging around in her pockets. James looked down curiously as she brought out a folded piece of paper. “If it’s bad, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“What is it?” James leaned down so he was closer to eye level with Y/n, making her blush. She pinched the edge of the paper, creasing it a bit.

“Do you remember when Erin became magazine editor, and we were going through those essays and… and Michelle found mine?” James nodded, remembering the day clearly because he was devastated when he heard the title of her little essay. “Well, I figured, since it’s our third month together and all… I wanted to give it to you.” He was gentle when taking the paper from her, so incredibly curious about what she had written. “Especially since my fancy isn’t so one-sided as I thought.”

All Y/n could focus on was the beautiful song in the background and the beautiful boy in front of her, reading words that had come straight from her heart when she thought her love for James was just a hopeless crush. She didn’t know if it was a good sign, seeing him become more flustered and blushy as he read on. When he was finished, he slowly and carefully folded the paper back up while Take That started to play a more energetic song.

“Again, you can’t make fun of me if it’s bad!” Y/n shouted over the noise. “I know Erin’s the writer or whatever, but- oof!” She was interrupted by James pulling her to his chest, arms wrapped tight around her and face buried in the crook of her neck. She immediately returned the affections. 

“It’s amazing.” He said in her ear. “Amazing, and lovely, and perfect. Just like the girl who wrote it.” Unable to help herself, Y/n brought James’ face to hers and kissed him with such passion, a passion he reciprocated instantly. It was as if it was only them existing at that moment.

Of course, it wasn’t. Clare would later tease and squeal at the two and interrogate them about when they had finally gotten together and why they didn’t tell her. Too enamored with the men just feet away from them, the rest of the girls didn’t even notice the couple.

And somewhere in Derry, while the rest of her family was fighting, Y/n’s father Gerry smiled fondly at his television where he saw his daughter having the time of her life at a Take That concert with her best friends and boyfriend. A boyfriend he’d absolutely be asking her about in private when he had the chance.

~~~

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[treysimp]

Violent Delights (Part 1)

GN!Reader/Yandere!Cater Diamond (Explicit)

Part 1 (This Part!) // Part 2 // Part 3 (Coming Soon)

Well, I tricked myself into another one lads. Pour one out for me thinking that I can control myself around anime boys. This might end up having at least a part two because I am a mess.

Tags: smut, yandere, masturbation, unhealthy behavior, obsessive behavior, reader's body not described nor are pronouns used.

Want more twst? Here's my masterlist!

It felt like fate, really. 

His life had been black and white, monotone and bleak. It was a constant game of hiding his feelings, and his intentions, masking every thought with a giggle and a smile. 

It was like a game, but not a fun one. The kind of game you get stuck playing to keep someone else distracted long enough to pass the time with less idle conversation. A distraction. Not an unwanted one, just bland, boring, and mostly useless.

That was until you burst into his life. 

At first glance, you did seem so normal. 

There was nothing that clearly set you apart from any other Night Raven student. You were cute of course, there was no denying that. However, as soon as Cater saw the ripple effect that your arrival had on the school as a whole, his idle interest turned into fascination.

Life was finally worth paying attention to. The lifeless day-to-day he had been trudging through his whole life had become a flurry of color and excitement. It was fascinating and exhilarating, and somehow you were always at the center of it. 

A person probably couldn't get into more trouble if they tried. You were constantly making enemies and friends. The poor magic-less Prefect of the Ramshackle Dorm always seemed to tangle themselves into yet another carefully constructed web of lies, resentment and deceit on the daily. Your action ultimately unraveling even the most carefully designed plots.

Cater was thinking of you constantly. Wondering what you were doing, who you were talking to, wishing that you were talking to him instead. 

He found himself idly checking your MagiCam account for updates whenever he had nothing to do. His fingers would automatically type in your username to see if you had posted something new in the last five minutes. 

Whenever you add another gorgeous snapshot of you and your infectious smile, your sardonic sense of humor, he felt hypnotized. He would stare at the ways your eyes crinkle when you smiled, the way you knitted your brows in disapproval in candid shots, and how you covered your mouth with your hand to hide your laughter during a particularly chaotic moment. Heavenly, all of it was.

He was the first to admit that whatever these feelings could truly be called, they weren’t a good look. If someone else heard all of the thoughts that passed through his head they would wonder what was wrong with him. That was okay, he only needed you. He had decided to call these feelings ‘love’, regardless of what anyone else might think. It was romantic after all, like a fairy tale.  

Daily, he would regularly spend time obsessing about how he would ‘accidentally’ run into you today. Luckily for him, you spent a lot of time with his underclassmen, so you were in Heartslabyul often. Unluckily for him, you knew his underclassmen and they were the reason you visited so often. 

He restrained a frown when he would see one of tweedle-dumb and tweedle-dumber touch you, or call your name too familiarly, or look at you too long, or talk to you for more than a minute at a time. No one else knew that you two were soulmates yet, but that’s okay because he did. 

Cater had devoted his time memorizing your habits, likes and dislikes. It would be worth it when you had a bad day and he could surprise you with your favorite dessert, when you were sad he would know exactly why, and someday he would buy you every gift you had your eye on, just to prove that he knew you so well.

One day he noticed that you weren’t using your favorite pencil to write. Your pen strokes were less sure and steady and your brows knit into a frown of concentration. 

Thankfully he prepared for these kinds of eventualities. 

Cater silently walked behind your seated form, holding a pencil identical to your favorite in hand. Kneeling down to the ground and then pretending to pick the pencil back up with an audible clatter, he quietly cleared his throat to get your attention.

“Did you drop this, Prefect?” He asked, extending the pencil to you. You had lost this pencil the other day, left it somewhere probably. That was okay though, he was here for you.

Your eyes lit up when you saw your pencil, gently taking it from Cater's hand.

“Oh my gosh! I thought I had lost this! Thank you for picking it up.” Your smile was sweet and breathtaking. 

Cater felt himself reaching to stroke your cheek, but he was able to divert his hand to clap you on the shoulder at the last second instead. 

“Any time! You know I’ve got you!” Cater said with a wink. 

He took the opportunity of his hand being so near your head to mess up your hair and laugh at your grumbles of dissatisfaction and half-hearted attempts to swat his hand away. Despite all of this, you were still smiling.

“I know, Cater. Thank you.” 

Cater gave you a final ‘yeah, yeah’ while he walked away, covering his face with a sleeve to hide the flush that had spread from his nose to his ears. 

You were something else. It was too early to tell you that he loved you, but it was getting harder to resist every day. He just needed to bide his time for the perfect moment. 

You deserve no less.

Any time he was lucky enough to get a glimpse of you in the halls he felt like his breath was taken away, every other person and thing dimming from his view as if a spotlight had shone itself on you and you alone. His heart would beat like crazy the whole time, but he had to take the opportunity to talk to you. Missing a single second of your attention seemed unthinkable. 

Today you had done something different to your hair and something else was implacably off about you as well. It looked like you tried to look nice for someone. 

Shoving down the stab of fear and anger that thought elicited from him, he knew he needed to go say hi. Cater had no idea why you looked so gorgeous today, but you were truly perfect. He knew that you wouldn’t betray your future love like that, he was just overthinking it. Clearly, there was a reasonable explanation.  

Plastering on a smile, Cater ran up behind you, swinging an arm around your shoulders as he snapped as many pictures of your surprised face as he could manage. 

How could he help it? You were just so cute.

"Smile for the cam!" He giggled, taking the opportunity to quickly peck on your cheek for the photo op. He was going to save this one in particular.

You yelped but quickly settled back into laughter as you played along with him and mirrored his pose. After he stopped snapping pics, you turned towards him and poked him in the side. 

"Cater!" You admonished him, crossing your arms and lips forming into a pout "You scared me!"

"Aww, but you look so cute when you're scared! How can I resist?" He replied, scrolling through the tens of pictures he took and sorting them into 'good', 'okay', and 'delete'. 

Cater's bright gaze flicked back up to you with a wink, reveling in the way your own eyes slightly widened at his action. 

You slapped him on the arm, pursing your lips and smoothing your hair back into place. 

Cater arched a brow, maybe you were trying to look good for something after all. 

“You’re looking extra done up today, finally decided to confess to me?” He teased, praying in his heart that the answer was ‘yes’. 

He knew you would never admit that though. You were far too shy to make the first move on him, and that was another reason he trusted you so much. Even if another pretty face caught your eye, you wouldn’t be the one coming onto them. He just needed to look out for anyone that got the silly idea in their brain that they were allowed to come on to you. 

"You're such a tease." You said, sticking out your tongue at him and crossing your arms. “Crowley is forcing me to tour some VIPs on the campus later today, and he told me that if I ‘stopped looking like Cinderella’s cleaning rag’ he would add a good chunk of Thaumarks to my food budget for the month.” You said with a sigh, voice leaking out the bitterness you felt at being forced to play a chipper student that wasn’t forced to comply by circumstance. 

While Cater had felt a wash of relief in his heart upon hearing the very practical reason you dressed up, he also had lost his brain in a dreamy fugue upon peeking at the soft muscle of your tongue. Thinking about all the things you could do with said tongue made him bite his lip. You really had no idea what you did to him, huh?

"Is that so?" He said with a smirk, taking the opportunity to poke you in the ribs in the same spot you had jabbed him. "Then how about we go somewhere this weekend? Just you and me? It sounds like you need a break." 

"Oh, like a date?" You teased, slowly evolving your pokes into an all-out poking war as you and Cater giggled trying to dodge the movements of the other. “Are you confessing to me?” You threw back coyly, imitating the same intonation he had used just a moment earlier.

"If you want it to be a date, I guess I could consider telling you about my undying love." Cater said, not joking in the slightest.

You seemed to still for a moment in thought. After a split second of staring a bit too deeply into Cater’s glimmering green eyes, as if searching for something, you forced yourself to stare at a far away cobblestone instead as you answered with a wavering voice.

"Might as well?" You hadn’t meant it as a question, but it came out as one.

Cater all out squealed as he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. Just as quickly as he glommed himself onto you, he released you in a dizzyingly burst of conflicting energy, eyebrows furrowed at the face of his watch. He was suddenly reminded that he had a class to get to (sadly) and while he didn’t mind being late for class, he would feel bad if you got in trouble because he was distracting you. 

He had briefly reconsidered this thought process in the beginning as he wanted to offer to tutor you, but you were doing well in school on your own, and if you get detention all that did was take more time out of your day that he could be potentially spending with you. 

Even if it was just you, your little firstie-friends, and himself being quiet in the lounge, as long as you could be near him, it was worth it. Once again shaking that tangent from his mind, Cater grabbed your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before he began running down the hallway, yelling over his shoulder at you before he got too far.

"I'll text you the deets, 'kay? Come by my room later!" Cater hollers as he takes off at a full sprint for his next class.

You stood in the hallway feeling stunned. You could feel that your face was burning, your eyes felt defocused and glassy and you nervously wring your hands together, looking down at where Cater’s hand had touched yours just a second prior.

"...a real date?" You mumbled aloud, hugging your arms around yourself in flustered nervousness. He was just being friendly like he was with everyone... right?

Cater's heart was beating out of his chest. Not only was he able to touch you multiple times and in multiple places today, but you had also agreed to a date AND to visit his room. 

He had initially run off to go to class, but the incessant beating of his heart and burning of his body alerted him to another problem he had to address before anyone noticed.

Spotting the nearest lavatory, he stepped inside, intentionally slowing his gait and trying to catch his breath to be as inconspicuous as possible. Taking a beat, he saw no one and heard nothing. Perfect.

Slipping into an empty stall, he closed the latch as quickly as his shaking hands could allow. Biting his lip to the point it risked breaking skin, he unbuckled his belt and flipped his phone open. His gaze was met with the pictures he had just taken of the two of you in the hall. Your mouth was making a flattering little ‘O’ in surprise to the cheek kiss he had been able to plant on you. 

Your skin was so soft under his lips. You smelled like the earth after the rain and freshly bloomed lavender in the spring. 

Being so close to you was addicting. By the time you had escalated to playfully poking him, he had to consciously keep every muscle in his body coiled tight to keep from touching every inch of you he could.

He wondered how the rest of you would feel under his hands, what sounds you would make, and what words you would say. He imagined you saying his name, breathless between hurried kisses and shivering from need as he pulled every garment from your body.

Pulling himself out of his boxer briefs with a hiss, it was clear that he was painfully hard. Beginning to softly tease and stroke the skin of the head of his dick, Cater shivered slightly while imagining that it was you doing it. 

You would look shyly up your lashes as you repeatedly asked him ‘is that okay?’ or ‘does that feel good?' and he would nod in agreement while placing his hand over yours to make you go faster, grip tighter. 

Biting his lip as he scrolled through more photos he had taken of the two of you, he paused on one that had caught you with your shirt partially unbuttoned, clavicle exposed, looking so so perfect to sink his teeth into. 

He imagined gripping his hand around your neck to restrict your breathing as he dug bruises into your skin with his mouth, groaning at how good he was making you feel and how much you loved him. Loved him more than anyone. He felt the same, he loved you more than everyone, and everyone else needed to know that too before they got any funny ideas in their heads.

His hand had sped up to a messy beat. 

In a moment of desperation, he pulled the collar of his dress shirt into his mouth to stifle his moans. He felt the coil inside of him grow tighter and tighter, his legs shook, his arm cramped, and then relief came in a burst of bliss so strong that he was seeing stars behind his lids. 

It felt good, but he knew that it was nothing compared to you.

Wrinkling his nose as he wiped his release off of his hand, Cater threw the paper in the toilet and flushed. 

Slowly tucking his tender length back in his pants, he fixed his clothes and washed his hands, mentally making a list of what he needed to prepare for your visit tonight and your ‘date’ on the weekend.

He was going to do anything to have you. He was going to do everything it took to make those dreams a reality if it killed him.

This fic was inspired by the incredibly hot fanart below.

Please give @simpingseafood a like or a reblog (or a million compliments) if you are so inclined, they deserve it!

(Also I hope you don't mind me brain-rotting at length over your gorgeous concept!)

Thank you so much for reading! Love you, reader!

Requested tags: @readinganas, @yandere-kou, @buckketboy, @aikochan4859, @kumiko-desu @star-gods, @sarahyumiko2, @sappyisyourpappy, @rosalie-in-twisted-wonderland, @naniky, @kashasenpai, @the-mermaid-of-the-stars

And @ravenlutionary (because you seemed excited at the prospect haha)

[niiine]

Consequences

My current favorite characters (because no one would write it for me, dear) and the consequences of their actions.

Angst

No comfort

Ft. Xiao, Scaramouche, Children + Todoroki and Bakugo

Part 2

Xiao (as someone who’s misunderstood.)

- You think it’s because you’re weak, because you have no vision, because you can’t fight, that the Yaksha will never be fully interested to you. But you can’t help your admiration towards him. Aside from his looks— which is unarguably attractive, his tenacity and focus is something you loved more. If someone looks at you while you’re fixated at the anemo vision holder, they’ll know in a second that you’ll give your life for him.

- But it’s never the same for Xiao. At least that what you’re seeing. It’s Liyue before you. It’s his duty before you. Sometimes you wonder how you made him agree to date you. Or if he even considers it or just played along to make you stop bugging him— you never know.

- Nights spent waiting for his return, only to be rejected of love. Mornings with him leaving, not even saying anything to you.

- Come on! You came so early despite living so far just to see him and he’ll leave without saying anything? You’re used to it though. The self-satisfaction of being Xiao’s so-called girlfriend. How pitiful.

- You’re used to it. But it doesn’t mean that you will never grow tired. Cue, you did.

- It’s started with you coming late at inn, unusual from the normal time of your arrival. Xiao notices, but he brushed it off. Maybe you realized that it’s inconvenient for you to come so early, he thought. But then it happens every day. He barely has time to wait for you, just so he could see you before he goes on his patrolling duty.

- His heart tugged a little, are you losing interest? Still, he brushed it off.

- After your late mornings, you start going home early. You’re not waiting for him for too long anymore. One time, he barely made it home to see you off, and you only offered the lad a soft smile.

- And it happens again, and again, and again.

- Until one day, you never came. Xiao wonders why, but maybe it’s because you’re busy.

- No, you’re never busy when it comes to him.

- He waited for hours, he never left. He wants to see you before he goes.

- Hours turns into days, days turns into weeks, and then a month. You never came. Xiao always leaves a little late, hoping that you’ll be at the inn this time. He always returns early, hoping he’ll find you home when he does so. That you will be there, waiting.

- But you’re not. He even asked Verr Goldet if you’re passing by sometimes, which the Inn owner answered with a shake off her head.

- It’s as if a cold bucket of water was splashed to the Yaksha when the realization dawned at him. He will not be able to see you again.

- He can’t breathe. He wants to see you. He wants to hear you calling him again. Just like what you always do. You’re not gonna abandon him without notice, right? You’re not gonna leave him, right?

- Every time, when someone would knock at his doors, he would hope it’s you. When he can smell almond tofu downstairs, he would wish it’s you who’s cooking his favorite, when he’s at town, surrounded by people, he’s searching for you. A glimpse would be enough.

- You didn’t have to say you’re still in love with him, you didn’t have to hug, or kiss, or cling to him, you didn’t have to talk to him, Archon’s, you didn’t even have to look at him. He wouldn’t ask for it, it’s too much, he just wants to see you.

- But he never did. You left Liyue, as one of your friends have told him. You’ve gone somewhere he couldn’t follow.

- He wonders, if he had shown you how much he cares, how much he wants to be with you, to keep you safe, would you still be with him, waiting?

- Xiao blames his karmic debt, if only he wouldn’t bring harm to you, he’d be free to show his feelings. If only he can explain it to you, if only...

Scaramouche (as someone who wants you to fear him.)

- “I told you, leave.” Scaramouche’s low, and silent voice echoes throughout the whole room, his palms on your neck. It’s cold and dangerous, but still, “Not until you’re fine.”

- Scara’s wounds weren’t fatal, but he still needs medical attention, which leads to your current exchange with the lad. He wants you out of the room, his pride too much to accept he needs help. It’s always like this though, him being harsher to you, than others.

- All because you said you love him.

- “I am not someone to love. I should be feared, you should be scared.” You remembered his words, and then his expression. Eyes widening, electricity swirling. Truly terrifying, but something’s really wrong with you because Archon’s, you’re head over heels with the man.

- And Scaramouche doesn’t take it well. For him, it’s an insult. So, he abuses you. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He’d punch you here and there, verbally hurt you, and more. Just because he wants you to take back your confession.

- You wouldn’t lie, though. You’re hurt, but you can’t help it. You’ve seen him suffer; you’ve seen him crave for something that even you aren’t sure about. You’ve seen him soft and strong. You can’t help it. You love him, and it’s real. But he doesn’t know it.

- Scara just wants to scare you away. Because he himself Is a coward. What if you’re just going to use him? What if you’re just planning to end him this way?

- He notices you. He’s watching you. He also wants you. But he didn’t want to be with you. Because he’s so complicated, he’s so hard, he’s so damaged beyond repair. He wouldn’t be able to protect you if you’re together, so it’s better this way. It would be better if you’re scared of him.

- That’s what his mind wants, to keep you safe from his enemies, he has to be someone you will never want.

- And he just had the perfect chance.

- Despite working for the Tsaritsa, you’re one of the very few that isn’t part of the bloody jobs. Because you’re scared of blood. You’re scared of killing, and being killed. And Scaramouche used it against you.

- It happened so fast. He brings you in a place where he will meet with the enemy, and there he slaughtered them all. A one-sided massacre. Blood splattered here and there. Lifeless bodies decorated the area as he laughs. His eyes the fixed on you.

- “If you will not leave me alone, you’re next” His eyes were cold, and it looks like murder. His Arms were reaching out to you and you slapped it instinctively. Fear eating your whole body.

- Scaramouche looks at you. You’re trembling, shaken that you couldn’t even speak. And he sees your eyes,

- Finally

- Your tiny orbs of life now scared to death. Terrified at the sight of the man you said you love. With all the strength you could muster, you ran back to the headquarters. Away from the killing machine Scaramouche is.

- He couldn’t sleep that night. And the night after that. His nightmares were you, looking at him the fear he yearns to see for months, and now there’s regret in his heart.

- He hadn’t seen you for weeks now. He knows that you’re avoiding him at all cost. So when he sees you one time, when you crossed a corner and met eye to eye with him, everything his holding back crashed down. No, he doesn’t want you scared of him.

- You’re trembling still. Knees stiffened and lips closely tight. Weeks ago, under these circumstances, you would have offered him a warm smile.

- There’s no way in hell this is warm. He tried to reach out to you, he wants to take it back.

- You love him, right? Say it again. Please. Please.

- Childe came, and you instantly hide on the ginger head’s back. With that, Scaramouche knew, he lost the only warm thing he could run to.

Childe (as someone who loved you a little too late.)

"You're just a rebound, you know"

"Yeah, I know."

"There's no guarantee I'd really love you"

"Again, I know. But I promise, I'll stay until you do"

- Childe remembered the short conversation between the two of you. It was night, and the air was cold. He just got his heart broken and he knows that you're into him, so he jumped at you.

- You know he didn't love you. But you still agreed to date him.

- Your relationship with the man is so complicated. You'll wait and wait and wait until he returns your feelings, but all throughout your time with him, he never did, and he's hurting you at the same time.

- "At least respect me!" your voice resounds throughout the room. Anger and sadness laced in your voice.

- "What do you want me to do? settle with you?"

- Yes. you want to say, but you kept your mouth shut.

- "At least try to love me"

- "I am. I am trying. But you promised, right? that you will be with me until I do..."

- Childe probably just want a home to return to, but it can be anyone, it just so happens that it's you that is convenient, because you accept him every single time. It's always like this. And the bottle inside you can no longer handle it.

- It was night, and the air was cold. The same time you promised him that you will always be waiting. But he did it again.

- His lips on another girls, his arms on her waist. You dropped whatever your holding, and ran. Ran so far, he couldn't reach.

- It's been two? three? Months that Childe hadn't heard anything about you. Regret washed all over his body every time he thought of your name.

- He already had you. You. Who loved him with everything you have.

- God, he wants to see you so bad it hurts. He wants to say sorry, to say that he already loves you and he’s just a coward who’s afraid that you might leave by the time he confesses.

- He wants to hear your laugh again; He wants to see you again.

- And he did.

- He's on a shop in the midst of Liyue, people are swarming but he swears it was you. And he's right, you're there, laughing with someone he couldn't recognized, someone he couldn’t care enough to know.

- He couldn't think of anything though, anything but you. So, he made his way towards your direction. He missed you so much.

- You noticed him, but couldn't react at his hug. Kaeya was about to rip you two apart when you did it yourself, and Childe was surprised, you never declined any physical touch from him.

- You excused yourself and the ginger head. Promising Your companion that you would be back in a short while.

- Childe feels ecstatic, You're back. After so long you're back. "I missed you. I miss you. I'm sorry, I will never do it again. Please, please forgive me"

- You sighed, keeping the distance between the two of you. "Childe, listen... I'm not in love with you anymore"

-Upon hearing your words, the man’s world crashed. Unfair. So unfair. How can you say that when he's been patiently waiting for your return?

- He reached out for your cheeks, but you slapped it away. His heart sinking even further.

- "One more chance, please. Take me again. Please" His sobbed were loud. He's serious, he's broken. But it's not your fault.

- "I told you, I don't love you anymore"

- "I know, I know... But I will make you love me again. Please" he begs and begs, but it falls into deaf ears. You straddled away from him, and he reached out for your hands, at least let him feel your skin for the last time, but once more, you threw it away.

- You're not running this time, but still, Childe's too weak to follow, and he remembers what you said;

- "You said you'll stay with me"

- "I'm sorry, I couldn't keep my promise"

- It was night, the air was cold, and Childe wished he had loved you a little bit earlier.

Todoroki (as someone who never considers your feelings)

- It was never his intention to hurt you. He never even thought of doing so, it’s just that, he realized things too late.

- Your confessions of love and adoration for the lad is a daily show for 1A, if not for the whole UA. Mornings, where you try to walk with him, breaks that's spent you forcing your tiny body beside his, lunches with you offering him a box of meal, and a whole day of you showering him with gifts and sweets.

- But God, he never reciprocates. His monochromatic eyes always look pass you, never at you. He brushes your actions with silent treatment or a "(f/n), please stop". Not once did he consider your feelings.

- You can take it, though. Thinking that maybe, he's just embarrassed, or he simply just don't know how to address it right. I mean, you always see a glimpse of worry and concern in his eyes whenever you’re involved on something unfortunate.

- Or so you thought—coz you're wrong. Oh, so wrong.

- "If you're not there then I might have won! It's a one opportunity to show my father that I don't need him!"

- Todoroki Shouto never shouts at any of his classmates. None until you.

- Your tears threatened to fall as the grips of his palms loosen, gaining his composure.

- "I let the villain escape, because I have to save the incapable you" He speaks once more, voice low and silent. And your heart cracked at his next words— "You're a nuisance"

- You ran towards your other classmates. You wouldn't be able to face the half-and-a-half bastard for a while.

- It was a normal day, or at least to the other students at the dorm. But Shouto feels something is amiss. He hadn't heard of you for two days now. Sure, he's seeing you in the hallways, on the lounge, on the classrooms, but you never look at him.

- He thought it might be because of his words on your last exchange, and he plans on apologizing, he just can't see an opportunity to.

- So he waited. Thinking that it may pass, that you will forgive him even without him saying anything. You said you love him, right? By tomorrow you will be following him again.

- But it never came. Days, weeks, a month has now gone by, but you never even once spare a word for the young man.

- His body aches for the brushing of your skin against his, he yearns for your smiles directed at him, and the I love yous he never wished for before. Now he wants it all back

- But he can't say a word. Every time he will settle at the couches in the common room, you'd be standing up, or when he'll try to catch up with you on walks towards the learning facilities, you'll start talking with the other student. You leave him no space for apologies.

- It frustrates him. Isn't it your fault? You really did hinder him that time, right? But as he looks at you skipping steps happily, away from him, as if he never exists, his heart falls. You're done with him loving him.

Bakugo (as someone who's always harsh on you)

- You don't remember how the two of you started dating. It's always a wonder— for you, and for your friends.

- And you don't know if you will regret it or not.

- You never miss a chance to show the lad your love. Not once did you lose a chance to support him all throughout his dreams. But you couldn't say the same for Bakugo.

- It is known how rough and prideful he is. How hard to handle his attitude and patience, and he's not holding back even if it's you.

- "Shut up! I don't need your opinion ya' know" he snorts at you, who's only concerned at his well-being.

- "You're being too reckless! What if something happens and you wouldn't be able to recover? What if you hurt your arms fatally?"

- "I said shut up! You're just my girlfriend, stop acting more than that you piece of trash".

- With cracked voice, the only words you can muster was "I would stop caring for you then"

- Your Voice caught him off guard, that's why he couldn't react when you turn your heels and walked away. He thought of following you, but then maybe you want sometime alone, so he didn't.

- The next morning, he was ready to apologize and admit his mistake, it’s a once in a blue moon circumstance, but you're his girlfriend after all, you deserve it.

- But when he was about to speak after he drag you to a secluded room, you beat him to it.

- "I'm breaking up with you"

- Bakugo looks at you in disbelief. Surely, he's not hearing you right.

- "Stop joking around shorty" He tried to brush it off. There's no way in hell he'd accept that.

- You're the only one who can handle him, he's not losing you.

- But as he looks at your eyes, eyes that he's used to seeing with sparkles and love— that's now gone, he knows he fucked up bad.

- "I'm sorry for being a hindrance, I'm sorry for doting on you too much" your words never registers at him, he couldn't hear anything. He wishes that you're not saying anything.

- He buries his face unto your neck. Hoping once more that his apologies would be accepted. But your hand gently raises him up, with tears staining his usually stern face, you're decided. You're not going to stay with someone who never know how to love right.

- With this, you started walking away, just like last night, when he told you to stop worrying, and he can only look at your back as you do so, tears blurring his eyesight.

- Bakugo's memory wanders months ago after you started dating, "How can you stand my words" he genuinely ponders.

- "Becausee, I love you"

- His back slides against the cold wall of the empty classroom. So, you're not in love with him anymore?

A/N: Not proof read! Written in a short period of time. Please don't judge me. Ik it could be better, just wanna write the idea. Enjoy!

[twistedtummies2]

Ranking Twisted Wonderland - Part 1

In August of 2020, I joined Tumblr for the first time. That same year, I posted a very early version of a ranking/countdown of my favorite characters from Twisted Wonderland: a game that has basically come to define my page. I write about a lot of things on here, but Twisted Wonderland is my “flagship fandom,” as it were.

I have revisited this idea of ranking my favorites from the game’s main cast of twenty-two students from Night Raven College a couple times since…but I was never happy with any of those attempts. I decided that, to celebrate my 3rd year anniversary here on Tumblr, and just as many years in love with the game, to do something special and try to rectify this issue: a comprehensive, two-part countdown/ranking of ALL those twenty-two characters, listing them from my least favorite to my most favorite, and - furthermore - explaining WHY they had they place they did and what I loved about each character. That, dear readers, is what you are looking at now: the first part of that ranking. (The second part will be posted tomorrow.) Each half will cover eleven options; this first half will cover choices 22 through 12; tomorrow will follow the top eleven. I based my decisions on a number of things. One, obviously, is just personal bias, and that’s naturally something one simply has no control over: sometimes you’ll like certain characters more than others “just because,” and one just has to deal with that fact. The remaining factors, however, are slightly more technical: for example, how excited do I get when Cards featuring the characters come up? Are they ones I always go for, or ones I always skip? Also, in my writing, how much do I like playing with that character, or how much do I want to play with them? For those who know my page, I’m specifically talking non-kinks there…although I should add that I will be taking kinks into account. That sort of just gets lumped into “personal bias.” On one final note there, this is a list of my favorite CHARACTERS, not my favorite CRUSHES: for me, personally, there is a difference. This was not easy to make, and there are multiple characters here where I honestly wish I could rank them higher, or where it’s all a matter of my mood (like, some days I like them more than others, if that makes sense). The fact is that I genuinely and truthfully love ALL of these lads; there really are no bad characters in the entire bunch, at least in my humble opinion. Also, again, I’m specifically talking the 22 “Main Students,” so no side characters, no staff members, and certainly no Grim. With that said, let’s begin. Here is the start of my rankings of the central cast for Twisted Wonderland: From “Least Good” to Best!

22. Cater Diamond.

Cater is a fun character with a lot of energy, who represents a common dichotomy that runs through most of the characters in this cast. At first, he seems like a typical social media junkie: obsessed with self-image, overly cheerful, practically speaking a language made up of hashtags, and seemingly ready to take a selfie with everyone and everything in breathing distance. However, underneath this, there are other sides to Cater he seems to try and keep hidden: he has a rather sneaky side to him, and there’s also hints of something terribly sad beneath his mask of smiling enthusiasm. At times I think that superficial side gets a bit annoying, which may or may not be the point…but it’s never enough to make me hate him. Unfortunately, it is enough to make him place at the bottom of the ranks.

21. Silver.

Silver ranks low because he’s sort of a cypher to me. There’s a sort of mysterious quality to the character, perhaps unintentional, as I find him to be one of the hardest characters to fully get a grasp on in a lot of ways. It’s telling that he is the only major character in the cast (minus Grim) whose last name is never given; he’s simply known as “Silver.” However, again, this doesn’t make him a character I dislike: for one thing, I enjoy that sense of mystery, because it feels like - with what we DO know about the guy - there’s a lot of interesting things waiting to be discovered still. He’s also one of the more unique characters in the cast, since he’s one of only two who is based not on a Disney Villain, but on a Disney Hero: the character is inspired by Princess Aurora herself, with a dash of Prince Philip thrown in, which makes him all the more intriguing when you realize his master (and adoptive big brother, by all accounts), Malleus, is based on the nemesis of those characters. I’m curious to see how that fact plays into the story; at the moment, Chapter 7 is not available in English, and I’m trying to avoid spoilers as much as I can. I know that Silver gets a big boost as a character due to the events of that chapter, but since I haven’t seen it yet…right now, he gets lower points. I am 90% sure that, when I see that Chapter, this fact will change and he will be given much higher placement. As it stands…this is where he sits.

20. Sebek Zigvolt.

Poor Sebek. I actually want to like this guy more than I do, but no matter how hard I try, I just don’t. Sebek definitely has his appealing qualities, and he’s probably one of the funniest characters in the game. It’s rare that scenes with Sebek don’t leave me snickering and rolling my eyes with amusement at his over-boisterous, Malleus-obsessed personality. His ego is a funny thing, and there’s a lot of humor that comes from seeing his pomposity punctured. However, at times those same qualities, much like with Cater, can be a bit grating. It was actually hard to choose between him and Silver, as far as which of the two I liked most. I ultimately decided to put Sebek over Silver simply because I think he’s a bit easier to understand and get into the head of.

19. Trey Clover.

The great paradox with Trey is that what I like about him is also what lands him so low in the ranks. Trey is the single most level-headed character at NRC. He’s sort of an encouraging big brother figure, and his more mild-mannered, practical personality makes him a great contrast to Riddle, as well as many of the other characters in the game. While he’s ostensibly inspired by one of the Card Guards, he actually seems to be based largely on the King of Hearts: a humbler figure than his housewarden, but with his own sneaky side, a trait he shares with Cater. However, the problem with Trey’s generally more “normal” personality is that, by being a character who, by design, tends to fade into the background a bit…he does exactly that, especially when you consider all the wild and colorful characters who surround him. As a result, I can’t really rank him any higher than this.

18. Rook Hunt.

Rook is one of the most oddball characters in the game…and as you can imagine, that’s saying quite a lot. He’s also probably one of the creepiest. He’s inspired by the Huntsman from “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,” but you probably wouldn’t guess it at first glance. He arguably changes the most from his source material: Rook is a fashionable Frenchman with a flamboyant personality. He’s a poet and a seeker of things of beauty, with more romance in his heart than a dozen Harlequin novels. He’s also seemingly fearless, which is part of what makes him occasionally unsettling: you can snarl at him, threaten him with all sorts of horrible forms of destruction, show off muscles and claw and fangs…and he just reacts with some over-the-top variation of, “That’s magnificent! Show me more!” But perhaps the thing that makes Rook truly unnerving is that he seems to adhere to the logic of “The Most Dangerous Game.” Rook is OBSESSED with hunting; he uses it as an analogy for almost everything he does, and he seems to treat just about everyone he finds interesting like a hunter stalking their prey. He has many secrets, and a lot of them are to things we don’t WANT the answers to. He’s equal parts fun and frightening, and I’ve come to like him more over time (something that can be said for a lot of characters in the game), but he still ranks fairly low in my books. He’s just not a character I’m that interested in writing for.

17. Ortho Shroud.

It’s about this time in the ranking that I start to feel REALLY bad about placing some characters particularly low. As I said before, I love all of these lads, but I naturally like some more than others. Ortho is unique among the cast just due to the simple premise of his entire existence: he’s an android who has been programmed to behave like the little brother of Idia Shroud (the Hades character of the game). This means he’s not only the youngest character of the cast - an eternal child who presumably never grows any older (Peter Pan sympathizes) - but he’s also the only one of the crew who isn’t an organic being of any kind. Ortho is another example of the dichotomy of darkness and light that most of these characters have: on the one hand, he’s an adorable little sweetheart who just wants his big brother to be happy and have more friends to play with. He’s inquisitive, enthusiastic, and somehow manages to be innocent while literally being a walking Internet browser at the same time. On the other hand, Ortho is armed to the teeth with weapons of mass destruction and all kinds of crazy gizmos and gadgets, which can lead to some…alarming situations, since he doesn’t always emotionally process issues properly. He seriously sees no issue with blowing annoying people to smithereens. Equally split between scary and sweet, Ortho is the most adorable little murder machine you could ever meet.

16. Lilia Vanrouge.

Much like Epel, Lilia is someone whose outer appearance - a seemingly youthful, self-admittedly adorable, and rather spritely young lad - is the polar opposite of who he really is deep down.The difference is in how that is expressed. Beneath his Puckish exterior, Lilia is a wise old man…who if you will pardon my French, gives nary the slightest of f#cks. He’s an ancient warrior, older than ANYONE at Night Raven, who comes to the school for purposes of his own. He’s forgotten more about history, human and fairy alike, than any textbook author will ever know. He’s practically a father figure to both Malleus and Silver, and - just like Epel - he knows how to use his appearance to his advantage. He lures people in with his slight looks and eccentric personality, or uses them to throw people off the scent, before promptly showing them just how wicked he can really be. He reminds me a lot of characters like Sans from “Undertale” or the Doctor from “Doctor Who”: to paraphrase the latter show, Lilia has the demeanor of a prattling jackanapes…but inside, it’s a whole other story. He’s one of Night Raven’s fascinating characters, as a result, but I simply enjoy others a lot more.

15. Epel Felmier.

Speaking of characters who can be scary and sweet, Epel is the definition of that classic meme, “Looks like a cinnamon roll, could actually kill you.” Well…maybe not KILL, but certainly beat the tar out of your wagon. Epel, at first glance, is an effeminate, childlike lad with big baby eyes and a graceful physique. This is the total opposite of who he is inside: Epel is a country boy, born and bred, who’s used to rough labor and a rugged lifestyle. He has a thick Southern dialect, loves action and fast vehicles, and can whoop your arse in about three seconds flat if you let him. Epel’s whole story arc in the game, in fact, is learning how to balance his inner fire with the doll-like appearance of his face and form…sometimes a bit against his will. He wants so badly to be seen as a Manly Man of Manly Man Manness, but he’s always finding people who underestimate him based on his girlish demeanor, or who try to teach him to be more refined and reserved than he truly is under the surface. He’s the living embodiment of the Poison Apple: a tempting, beautiful, delicate-looking thing with a hard, thick, juicy, and downright dangerous undercurrent. The result is honestly pretty funny, as well as interesting.

14. Idia Shroud.

Like I mentioned earlier, Idia is the character based on Hades in this game. This flame-haired computer genius is probably one of the most interesting twists on their respective source you’ll find in “Twisted Wonderland.” When people think of Disney’s Hades, they think of a confident, fast-talking, Mephistophelean figure with a smarmy attitude and a wry sense of humor, whose attempts to be smooth and slick are contrasted by a raging inferno of a temper. Idia is interesting in that he’s actually none of these things…or, at least, not at first glance. Idia is a reclusive, anti-social misfit who literally is afraid of people EXISTING anywhere NEAR him. He prefers to stay shut in his lair playing video games and watching anime or old horror movies than to be anywhere close to another living being, for fear that he’ll BREATHE wrong around them. (No, that is not an exaggeration.) Online, however, Idia actually shows another side to his personality, which is much closer to Hades, and he can be very passive-aggressive or downright mean-spirited when he feels he has some security to be. Idia appeals on two different levels, as a result: he’s one of the most sympathetic and at times downright cute characters in the game, but his nasty side - where his inspiration really shows - is just as entertaining, especially in the unique way it’s presented.

13. Vil Schoenheit.

Vil is another case of a character I’ve come to enjoy and understand more as time has gone on. In fact, when I look back on older stories I wrote featuring Vil, I sort of cringe because I feel like, when I wrote those, he was one character I didn’t really understand well enough to properly handle. Nowadays, I think I’d do a few things differently…but I digress. Vil is based on the Evil Queen, and he lives up to his predecessor well. He is vain, without question, but it isn’t a vanity usually played up for comedy: just like the Queen, Vil is cold and authoritative, not easily fazed by fear or agitated worry. He keeps a stiff upper lip, presenting himself with poise and elegance that virtually no one at Night Raven can surpass. Even when he is overcome with emotion, he tries to rein it all in. All of this is a well-sculpted mask to hide his personal insecurities and professional stresses. Vil is one of the few major characters in the cast with a big job to do outside of the school: he’s a CELEBRITY, and a multi-talented one, at that. He’s a skilled actor, singer, dancer, model, photographer, costume and makeup designer, beautician, AND director of both film and theatre. Top it off with martial arts skills, a talent for poisons and potion making, and the fact he somehow juggles all of that ON TOP of trying to attend a prestigious college and keep his grades in the upper ranks…and I think it’s fair to say Vil is the definition of an absolute unit. But despite all his success and all his accomplishments, hiding under his painted lips and flowing robes, Vil has personal esteem issues he tries to keep tucked out of sight. He’s just as paradoxical and fascinating as his source material, and a wonderful reinvention of the Evil Queen in his own right.

12. Ace Trappola.

It was difficult to decide who would rank higher/lower between Ace and Deuce. These two are the MC’s best friends in the game, and as such, they’re pretty prominent figures throughout the entire run. They have some part to play, to varying degrees of size, in every chapter of the Main Story, and they appear quite frequently in the various Events that branch off of the same. Because we spend so much time with them, we know more about them than a lot of other characters, and they often help to act as voices of advice (sometimes good, sometimes bad) for the player. Ace lost the battle, but do not misconstrue that to mean I dislike him. Ace is a cunning trickster who is skilled in sleight-of-hand magic tricks, and is an expert card player. In direct contrast, however, Ace is also a person who lacks what might be called a “shut up filter.” He always speaks his mind, without hesitation or holding back, very rarely trying to sugarcoat or hide anything. Even when he tries to be a bit more crafty and weasel his way through things, he usually gets caught. You might say that Ace is a person who starts fights, while Deuce is a person who simply chooses to try and finish them.

PART TWO: TBA

[focsle]

So your post about the kids thinking you were the only person left from the 1800's ended up in my dash and I loved it, do you have any more stories like that in your personal experience?

Ah, is that making its rounds again haha? I've got notes blocked on it so I never know.

I have many kid stories. I mean, if you're working with kids under the age of 9 (and the child in that post was 7-8) they have no concept of time so when you're talking about something in the past they assume that you've personally experienced it. That one was just the funniest instance of age-typical time confusion. I don't know if that's the sort of thing you're looking for or just like, sweet kid stories.

I used to teach kids about 19th/early 20th c. life on a ship and this one 9ish year old lad was so ready to be a sailor even with all the hardship we were discussing. He loved trying to break the hardtack. He loved hauling on ropes and going around the capstan. He was SO enthusiastic about singing shanties--it was sometimes hard to get kids on board with singing, but he was thrilled with them. And also asked if I could share the lyrics to the full songs so he could teach his parents, to which I was like uHHHH THAT'S ALL OF IT! THAT'S THE WHOLE SONG! cos I'd only teach them the choruses. One because it's easier for them to learn call and response with just the chorus, but also because it's hard to find a shanty that doesn't have some combination of...sexism, racism, alcohol consumption, sex, or wanting to die. He loudly shouted out to the water that he loved the smell of it (a brine and diesel combo, which I also love, I was like ME TOO KID). He was such a kindred spirit lol. Shouted 'Bye Captain!' to me after the program. Extremely sweet. I'd also get a lot of kids trying to tell me pirate jokes at that job. The joke was often 'what's a pirate's favorite letter' and the punchlines were either 'Arr' or 'The C' but I had to pretend I didn't know every single time.

I also used to teach comic making to kids aged 11-18. And that was when they were all fully in their edgy anime demon stage (I get it man. Been there. Middle school and high school's rough). And towards the end of the program one of them came up to me and quietly asked if all comics had to be about action or violence, because that's what everyone seemed to be writing but those weren't the stories he liked telling. And I said they absolutely don't have to be about action or violence, they can be about anything he wanted, and I asked if he wanted to share a story he was thinking of. He said he wanted to write a story about a candymaker who explored the world trying to find new kinds of candy. I thought that sounded lovely. I hope he got to write it, or another such story. That was around 10 years ago at this point. I always wonder where these kids end up. I wish em well. If anything gives me hope for the future, it's consistently The Kids.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

He was only somewhat familiar to Arthur, as Alfred had been on his best behaviour lately, studying hard to fling himself off the planet again. No one serious had been given the post for some time.

Again, very intrigued by the implication that Alfred's behavior needs to be managed and that controlling him when he's not feeling cooperative requires "serious" people (and that they're in contact with Arthur???) If you have anything else about this, I would LOVE to read it!

“I haven’t heard from my son, your chief responsibility, in some time.” Arthur had not sat. He ran a finger through some dust on a shelf holding official-looking framed certificates and made a face—Corcoran sweat. Arthur squashed his pleasure. “Now, why would that be?”

Good lord, this is threatening. The image of Arthur calmly asking why he hasn't heard from Alfred while he subtly investigates to see how Corcoran will respond to their plans... it's terrifying and also incredibly cool. I am SO EXCITED about seeing Arthur "in action", as it were - we know he raises hypercompetent children who can do this sort of thing, but it's so cool to see him doing it.

“You’re dead, they dragged you out of Hudson Bay!” Oh, this was going to be fun.

"Is that right?" Arthur glanced at Matthew. It was more difficult to keep him alive now that he was grown, overgrown; he took in the lad's height. But it was more challenging than when he was small. They would have to talk about that.

“Well, that would explain how uncontrollable he’s become! Made quite a mess. Come back wrong, did you lad?”

HELP I AM SHORT CIRCUITING. I just... the switching between Arthur registering something he can use, then worrying about Matt, then back to task... it's killing me. The empire side and the parental side at war, and as usual the empire wins (though, justified. They're in an active interrogation.)

Also killing me in an entirely different way - "Come back wrong, did you lad?" HE'S SO FUCKING NONCHALANT. Like... the thought process involved there. "Okay, this man knows Matt was dead. Matt looks dead. Revenants scare people. I'm going to imply that the kid is a revenant on a rampage." Like... I'm not sure 'chutzpah' fully applies here but that's all I can come up with. Only Arthur Kirkland has the something needed to hear "Matt got dragged out of Hudson Bay" and immediately and casually use it to turn up the terror in an interrogation.

That section is probably one of my favorite things in all of your writing - the softness of Arthur thinking about how it's so hard to keep Matt alive now and how they'll have to talk about it vs. him casually asking Matt if he came back wrong to scare the human they're threatening feels like the most weirdly perfect encapsulation of their relationship, and their relationship is one of my favorites.

It was Matthew’s favourite grapple. The maneuver didn’t require strength, and he efficiently used his stronger left hand and great height. Smart lad.

Middle of breaking into a secure facility and threatening a US government employee with exsanguination in order to find Alfred - "Ah, Matt is so smart and efficient at this. Good boy." Arthur's parental pride is... quite a thing.

"I'm afraid the lad is rather handy with his whittling." Arthur added as if noting the weather was particularly pleasant that day. He pulled the points of his waistcoat down and leaned over. “Won medals when he was a lad. I suggest doing as asked.”

I wish to take a moment to acknowledge Corcoran's perspective. A super-old-money Englishman in a waistcoat just turned up and politely asked for answers as to his son's whereabouts, then brought in his other son - who's supposed to be dead - asked his dead son if he's been "making quite a mess" because he came back wrong, and is now nonchalantly adjusting his suit and suggesting that he cooperate because the dead-and-came-back-wrong son is really good with the knife being held to Corcoran's throat. Like... fucking points for holding out past Matt appearing, honestly. The fact that it took until Matt threatening his family is super impressive.

Shot through with pride, Arthur suppressed a smile and clicked his tongue in a scolding way, and shook his head, like Matthew was being petulant about naptime. “Just answer a few questions, and this will all go away.”

Seriously, the good-vigilante bad-vigilante routine they've got is killing. me. Have they done this before??? Is this a bit they've practiced? Or can they just play off each other that well? I love it. I hate Arthur's pride in Matt's violence, but I love how well they're working together.

“You did something to my brother. My brother. His laughter was the first thing I knew of humanity. And you’re going to tell me where the fuck he is or you will never hear another laugh. Neither will your wife or your children. Anyone who ever knew you will know nothing but the silence I have endured. There will be nothing but winter where you once knew joy.”

Sobbing screaming dying Poor fucking Matt. I was so caught up in the spy thriller type stuff, but Matt's in so much pain. Alfred's a neglectful brother a lot of the time, but he's still Matt's big brother who took care of him when they were little and comes through when Matt really needs him. And he's gone. This passage harmed me.

Jesus Christ. Arthur blinked for a moment. Well, the boys had always been fond of each other.

YEAH, "FOND". YOU COULD FUCKING SAY THAT. English understatement is a hell of a thing.

I am so very, very, very in love with this chapter. Excellent piece by an excellent writer who's even better with her pen than Matt is with his knife.

(Also, I hope you're feeling as okay as you can and taking care of yourself! You've been in my thoughts a lot <3)

Again, very intrigued by the implication that Alfred's behavior needs to be managed and that controlling him when he's not feeling cooperative requires "serious" people (and that they're in contact with Arthur???) If you have anything else about this, I would LOVE to read it!

None thats in coherent prose format but I’ve got a feverish jumble of thoughts in my brain.

Seriously, the good-vigilante bad-vigilante routine they've got is killing. me. Have they done this before??? Is this a bit they've practiced? Or can they just play off each other that well? I love it. I hate Arthur's pride in Matt's violence, but I love how well they work together.

They have done this a few times before. The first time I wrote it was 3 years ago, but it was Matt and Arthur working to locate Francois in occupied France ahead of the 1944 Normandy invasions. Arthur is very good at being a controlled, polite sadist, and Matthew is very good at looking about 10 seconds from having the more violent mental breakdowns. Matt’s a better hunter than he is a soldier, too, so… rest in piss any nazi he came across in the 40s. A real case of “would you please cease your murdering of all the possible interrogation targets, matthew!”

And thank you it's been rough. <3

[covetyou]

get to know me tag game

SO many people tagged me in this and they're all buried now (I've been ignoring the universe and pretending I don't exist, sorry bbs) so thank you @futuraa-free and everyone else who tagged me

1. Were you named after anyone?- no! they didn't know my sex pre-birth but my parents had names planned for it they had a girl then a boy. they had a boy then a girl, and so Connor became me.

2. When was the last time you cried?- technically today when I hurt my own feelings with a daydream but properly because of something else, a few months ago. I generally don't cry that often tbh.

3. Do you have kids?- no, and I never shall 😌 let me be the eccentric aunt

4. What sports do you play/have you played?- rugby as a kid into my teens. as an adult I'm more into activities that seem less sport like. dancing, indoor cycling, lifting, yoga, running badly and very slowly.

5. Do you use sarcasm?- arguably too much in person but generally avoid it like the plague on the internet

6. First thing you notice about people?- I wish I could say hair, eyebrows, mouths. but realistically it's what you last touched in my field of view and if you're about to touch me. and smell.

7. What’s your eye color?- grey/green.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?- happy endings. I am a coward and I don't want to experience sad or traumatic things in media so I go for mostly happy endings 99% of the time.

9. Any talents?- I am mediocre at a whole host of random crafts, but I don't excel at any of them (knitting, crochet, embroidery, sewing, painting, several others). I'm a good cook.

10. Where were you born?- the UK, soz lads.

11. What are your hobbies?- going for walks, looking at places I want to travel to, cooking, playing games (chill non-threatening games only pls), and I guess reading and writing, that latter of which was totally accidental.

12. Do you have any pets?- a dog! technically my ma's dog but psssshh.

13. How tall are you?- 5ft5+ (166cm)

14. Favorite subject in high school?- chemistry until 16. linguistics and ancient history 16-18.

15. Dream job?- literally nothing. give me money to do nothing. someone needs to just pay for me to exist. I will go to the gym when I want. do all my silly walks. travel to all the places. cook and dance and do silly things and just be.

I'm going to be an asshole and not tag anyone because I've seen most people do this now and knowing me I'd tag one of the people who tagged me in the first place 🥴 once again, the tag dies with me, but pls join in and tag me if you'd like to play too 💛

[moophinz]

How was your experience getting into this series? Did you find Majima's transition from 0 to Kiwami jarring or did you start somewhere else? And which game did you like the most and why?

Funny story really. My cousin had been telling me about the series for like a half year after a video they watched and had jumped into the franchise through it. I, on the other hand, kept trying to process these hyper realistic character models doing such absurd things. And I ESPECIALLY could NOT comprehend Majima in his entire design. Like imagine throwing this guy at a non-fan who’s only laid eyes on the series through miscellaneous meme images and gifs. Alongside my vague memory. Just me going “Oh god what the fuck is that???” Kaoru was right to ask what is he

It wasn’t until I went over to their brother’s place for almost 2 weeks in the summer two years ago that I truly experienced Yakuza for the first time with my own four eyes. Saw so many ridiculous but amazing videos and pictures and posts of all sorts in a short amount of time. I also watched my cousin play three or so of the games, saw some of the clips on YouTube, and something just immediately pulled me in. Really, the two things I saw story of where the ending of 2 and the start of 3. Crazy for me to still be here considering the ending of the second game. I really wanted to stay longer and watch all of 3 even though we got spoiled on that ending in the most overly comedic way. (the magic number in this paragraph is two)

Later that year, I wound up getting a PS4 and 0,K1, and K2 on physical CDs. Even bought the remastered collection thanks to a Christmas sale on the PS store. Through this and that, I already knew the plots of like half the games so I ended up playing them out of order. I think I played Kiwami or 3 first. Either way, the last game I completed was 5, and I still actually have a bit of 7 left. I’m not the best at picking favorites of any sort though. I really enjoyed 0, aspects of K1, 3, and 5 a lot. LAD of course has also been extremely fun. Haven’t played a lot of RPGs before, or at least it’s been years since I have so there was a bit of a curve for me in the switch from brawler to that. The characters really manage to pull you in the most with this franchise tbh

Answering this out of order, but since I was introduced to the series the way that I was, I didn’t have the same problem a lot of other people had with going from 0 to K1 and seeing Majima’s behavior. I managed to learn a lot about how different things are when you look at things through the lens of game order and chronologically starting from 0. It made everything about my experience change. Information about this and that and how the writing advanced over the years. I do, however, wish that his character merged better between the games. It’s the original Majima vs the Majima they decided on later who isn’t really like that. It gives a strange jump from one to the other, and really made me confused on what they were trying to go for altogether. But I guess Zhao is that character they were going for, more refined and polished in that field of pretend crazy guy who’s secretly a marshmallow

[zoophagist]

Oh! I am desperately waiting your review!

ooc;; alright, i held off since i saw it a day before it was wildly opened and didn't want to detail thoughts about the thing no one had really experienced yet. i'm hoping the renfield girlies are all unhinged enough to have gone opening night and now we'll be on the same page.

overall take - it was fine. just pretty middling. i had some laughs, and there were a few scenes i thought were really solid. it didn't do anything deep and it really didn't want to, and that's the vibe, fair enough. mostly i had a feeling of like... that's objectively renfield but is not recognizably renfield to me. i said this to a friend and i'm upset that the tumblr nonsense words are the best way to articulate it, but basically they made him a wet cat when they should have made him skrunkly. i'd say 6/10, didn't change my life, not my renfield, but a some silly fun!

more thoughts below cut, but i'm not doing a blow-by-blow, lads, simply too tired from real life. but if you or others have specific questions i'm happy to answer :) spoilers below!

went into the theater worried the pop psych angle all about 'narcissism' and everything would be overbearing (i'm begging people to relearn how to use any other, non-therapizing language to talk about mean or unpleasant people. like did we need the psych angle? did it enhance the story in a way saying 'dracula is just an asshole' wouldn't have done? mini rant over) but when i watched it i will say the second half of the movie (underrepresented in trailers) moved away from that and was more fun for it.

i saw a themed costume screening so the audience was obviously at a higher level of investment and more willing to have a good time. the movie seemed to go over really well with the group there

the love story wasn't as big a focus as i feared it would be, and that was very nice. rebecca as a character also did meaningfully play into renfield's character drive of wanting to stand up for himself. she just. well. i just didn't like her that much. the cop thing didn't help because it made moments i imagine were intended to be quirky fun for her read to me as "cop points gun at person in rage to cow them / cop has anger issues / cop disrespects or demeans others on the job." especially with her particular backstory and her tension with her fed sister, i think she'd have been a more fun character if she was just some lady, outside the system, trying to solve her problems. but anyway. yeah, not as huge a problem as it could be, but wasn't rooting for it

they needed to let nicholas hoult of the leash they kept him on this whole movie. he is capable of so much more unhinged energy and they really had him "i'm just a little guy"-ing his way through the whole thing. the 5 minutes where he got to beat dracula's face in and got a little too excited about it were the best for his character in the whole movie

what was the LORE? i love lore, and this movie was lore-light, playing vast and loose with vampires. vampire blood is a heal-all, so drinking it can't turn you into a vampire i guess? nor a familiar? in the course of the movie several people become familiars but we never see how it's done and i wish they let us play with and understand the magic there a little more! especially if you're just going to hand-wave away the bugs = power thing. i craved more lore. in general the writing was always like... there were just enough bits of development to get a job done but i kept wanting something deeper? maybe it's just the genre priorities since i'm not an action/horror fan.

i said it before and i'll say it again - teddy lobo was more renfield-ish than renfield was. i think his desperation to please, his manic energy, and his "i need you to know i'm dracula's favorite or i'll DIE" swag were very fun! everyone said nicolas cage would steal the show, but i honestly think ben schwartz as teddy was the show-stealer to me. if you like any other iteration of renfield's character, i really think teddy will be more interesting to you than the I Just Want To Be Normal edition of renfield this film is serving.

action and gore was fun sometimes. i'm not squeamish and none of it bothered me, but not being an action fan the fights weren't that much of a draw for me. just not my taste, but they looked pretty good!

there's one scene where dracula confronts renfield about betrayal, and honestly i thought that was the best performance both nicks gave in the whole movie. i thought it did a great job really driving home what this take on the drac/renfield relationship is like and how good dracula is at twisting renfield's will until it snaps. the one sour note about it was how it of course hinged on the whole 'narcissist' thing and like.... so, here's my hot take. the film and this scene spceifically would have been better if they didn't lead so heavy on all the group therapy jokes about narcissism. if you had just framed it as dracula's a selfish jerk who knows how to make things about him and let the writing/interaction tell the story (good ol' show, don't tell) this scene would have said EVERYTHING we need to know about this drac by being descriptive instead of prescriptive. (i hope that point makes sense. like i said, we're tired out here fellas, trying to make the brain do words right.) but as it stands, the scene is really good, sheds new light on their relationship, and makes renfield doubt his victimhood which is good for the plot.

renfield bought those clothes from a macy's and babyboy should not be allowed to shopping by himself is all i'm saying

renfield had a wife and daughter pre-31!dracula?? canon?? barbara hambly is somewhere out there feeling so valid for her book rn. for me it was just like... you really want us to think this man is straight, huh? but all you've done is make him a man who left his wife to be with a sexy male vampire so. the gays stay winning with renfield.

generally i was surprised by how mild and complex by reaction was to this. like with all the build up i really thought it was either going to suck or catch me off guard by being really good. but it really, truly, is just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ okay! i think i was harder on it than most general audiences would be though, and again i'll reiterate the audience at my showing was really having a good time with it! on the whole, i'd call it a fun, silly little vampire romp, and say it's for popcorn viewing but not for deep thinking.

that "last voyage of the demeter" trailer tho 👀👀👀 that looks sick as fuck.

[keepingupwiththehistorians]

ask game: i challenge you to answer all of them

Thnk you!

What do you guys usually fight about, if anything?

Placidus loves ketchup on chicken. I hate it. Motherfucker keeps using ketchup. Asshole. 2. Shit about sleeping vs. staying up

2. What are everyone's fashion tastes?

Anything casual for me. Runo likes pastel, Sanity likes cats, Ilmari and Casimir like anything. Placitrio likes punk stuff. Antti is all for camo.

3. Who's the best at dealing with stress?

Casimir. Definitely.

4. Who has the weirdest music taste?

Military marches for Antti. And Plac secretly listens to bubblegum pop.

5. Do you see your system members as individual people, parts of a whole, or something else? Do other members see things differently?

Sometimes I tend to see them as me. We are vastly different, but weren't we all one person when I was a young child? We are individuals, that's the truth.

6. Is there anything everyone can agree on or have in common?

Mambo Italiano SLAPS! 

7. How long have you known you're part of a system? Has it taken other members a longer or shorter time to come around?

It was the longest for me, as a fucking host. I had people in my head and personality shifts and all, I just fucking ignored it until Sanity just erupted out of place lol

8. What was the discovery process like for you?

"I think I have people in my head" and I named them at 6th grade but gave no fucks afterwards because "they cant be real lol". Then Muse said that I might be a system, so it was like lifting off the veil and oh my.

9. What do you feel your origins are, if you feel comfortable sharing?

Traumagenic. 

10. If you could wake up tomorrow and have everyone be in separate bodies, would you?

Oh God yes. Though, Sanity has a catchphrase, "All would do well but us, Karl. We would fall like flies, Karl."

11. Do you have a favorite plural character or headcanon? 

I sometimes hc Dr. Gears from SCP Foundation as plural. What a lad.

12. Does anyone like any video games? What about books or TV shows? 

Antti: Battlefield 1. We all like it + SOMA + Bioshock. I, Val Pax, Plac, and Sanity love French Revolution related stuff.

13. Who's the most outdoorsy, if anyone? Who likes to stay inside the most, if anyone?

Sanity likes to take walks at night, even at 1-2-3 AM. I am such an introvert.

14. What is religion and spirituality like for your system, if applicable?

We are grateful and try to pray. Casimir, Runo, and Ilmarinen are the best at that.

15. Who, if anyone, are you out to? Are they supportive?

Out to a few old friends and Muse! They are very supportive.

16. Do you see multiplicity as more of a spectrum that everyone's on, or something that only effects some people? 

I have no idea. I mean, there are differences between singlets and systems I guess.

17. Any nonhuman members?

Ilmarinen sometimes imagines himself with wings. So does Casimir. And Sanity doesn't like being a human.

18. Do you have introjects? If so, where do they come from?

We don't talk about the introjects.

19. Do you consider yourself disordered? Do other members feel any differently about this? 

We keep forgetting shit, barely fucking alive at times. But the disorder is trying to protect us. We wish to be much more than a disorder.

20. What are everyone's favorite hobbies?

I like drawing. Sanity loves drawing and doing research. The Historians love research and writing. Placitrio likes music and arguments. Casimir and Ilmarinen like organising things. Antti likes writing. IX and XXI just like peace.

21. How do you resolve in-system conflicts? 

No fucking ketchup, Plac. Though, he always eats some when he fronts. We just shout and talk out loud until we reach a conclusion.

22. Do you dissociate often? What is dissociation like for you, if applicable?

All the fucking time. I barely remember the day. It's zoning out. Also, not registering the memories. I lived a day but I don't ever think about it again, register it as a dream-like state and it doesn't exist in my brain.

23. Do you wish you had more or less members, or are you happy with what you've got now?

I think we are okay. Plac wants to kill me, Sanity, and XXI though. Sanity actually begs for it.

24. How active are your other members? Who's around in headspace the most? Who fronts the most? Who's dormant, if anyone?

Sanity, Val Pax, Casimir, Runo, and the Placitrio are very active. Placidus is usually very vocal in the headspace. Introjects are dormant.

25. Do different members have different art or handwriting styles? Feel free to show examples! 

Sanity's handwriting is CHAOTIC. Runo and Casimir have the best one. Will post sometime.

26. Do you ever feel NOT multiple? Like a singlet, or somewhere in the middle of the spectrum? Do you ever forget you're part of a system?

Not this but somehow like the opposite. I accidentally use "we" while talking to people I'm not out to sometimes...

27. Do you guys have different tastes in food? What are everyone's favorite foods?

Fuck you Plac. I said no ketchup! Who the fuck eats ketchup like that, man?

28. Have you ever struggled with denial?

Oh boy a lot.

29. Does your typing style differ depending on who's fronting? 

I use the British English variant most of the time. Sanity keeps making typos. Casimir types very formally.

30. Do you have any amnesia? What's it like for you?

We forget every fucking thing we do. Brain doesnt register shit as memories. Like dreams.

31. Do any system members have a different gender or sexuality? How do you guys handle this?

Yeahhhh. Mostly we respect my decisions. However, female or enby members are free to express their gender identity when they front.

32. How has your system changed over time? 

We had the introjects go dormant and a split. (Welcome XXI)

33. Who's the oldest member? Who's the youngest?

Hermit is the oldest, like 60-80. Olive is youngest, around 5.

34. Do you see your system more as family, more as friends, more as roommates, or anything else?

Some of us are a family. We are altogether like roommates!

35. What would your perfect life or dream job look like? How does this differ between members? 

I, Val Pax, and GHJ want to be historians. Others are okay and glad. Runo could be a therapist. Plac could be a gardener. Casimir could be an architect. Ilmarinen could be a religious worker. Antri would love to be a soldier if we were healthy lol

36. Name your favorite quality of all the members you can think of! Including yourself! ;)

Im the host, i like that. Sanity's art is perfect. Runo has good taste of music. Casimir and Ilmarinen protect our body and soul. Placitrio are energetic as hell. Val Pax writes a lot. GHJ honours history. Olive is so cute. Antri writes helluva military stories. IX is very calm. XXI protects San.

37. What's the most awkward experience you can have that you attribute to plurality?

Forgetting ENTIRE people and conversations. Or lashing out on someone (thanks Plac)

38. Is it easy for you guys to be co-conscious?

For some of us. Plac is co conscious often. And Casimir just waits just in case ae is needed.

39. Are you blurry often? How do you deal with blurriness?

Man I live life in a blur and cant deal with it fkkvsklcd. We actually have a discord server though so we note things down

40. Do you know a lot of details about your system members, or is it more hard for you to parse out?

I know what they share about themselves

[rfhusnik]

April, Wish Me Really

     Written By:  George Jennifer, Anonymous and Orlon Braem

                                                        Part One        

           Today I have no option but to fulfill an assignment given me by those who sanction my leadership of this city. And one might suppose that supervision of a city’s most basic needs and wants would be challenge enough for any mayor, yet, that’s not the case here. Here apparently the city’s leader must also search for possible truths and falsehoods associated with supplied literary imaginings! Oh, but maybe I only received this task because it’s April!

           Nonetheless, this discourse concerns two wishing to be mortals of apparently youthful years – two innocents evidently seeking a realness which, without the assistance of supernatural entities, cannot be granted to fictional characters. But in my imagination I can see them. And the girl is but a thought in someone’s mind, while the boy was perhaps once a real lad, photographed many years ago standing near his now classic automobile. And if he’s living an actual life yet still, then today he’s certainly a much older man. He’s much older than the man in the picture from long ago. And, because she never had a basis in reality, and therefore never really aged, we know he’s also much older than the girl who appears on a second picture with him. And don’t ask how supposed people from pictures, literature, and mental impressions expect to become real human beings. I don’t know. I’m only a mayor!

           But I guess just as I’ve been selected to introduce this piece, so has my friend Orlon Braem been asked to summarize its possibly useful deductions. And I remember reading once that in the opinion of one of my favorite writers, April was assumed to be the most significant of the twelve entities to which it belonged, the same as Peter arguably had been, and as the juror who finally persuaded the other eleven of supposed innocence or guilt also no doubt had been.

           Still, April’s innate importance must stem from its function as a bridge between the harshness of winter, and the rebirth of spring; with spring’s rebirth of course hopefully leading to renewed expectations. Yes, but how often must we admit that many of our new formed determinations will slip away down the canals of time? And I think you know it’s true; all of our actions are judged, temporally at least, as a result of both our own and someone else’s opinions of right and wrong.

           And my responsibility as mayor of this unconventional city leads me into areas of unknown and unexpected occurrences. And thus I’ve been asked to present, in three parts, both a possible love affair, and my city’s defense of its love of April. And I’m just now ending the first of the three parts.

           But I’ll not tell you who the writer of Part Two is. Yet, I’ll say this:  She’s not a real girl. She came to life in the mind of a teller of tales; and that person isn’t me, although as I’ve already said, I can see her in my imagination. And hers is the second portion of this discourse, written by someone unknown to me, but then submitted to me by my overseers for inclusion herein. And Part Three was written by Orlon Braem. And his was the task to form some sort of synthesis out this dichotomy of what’s unreal and what wishes it weren’t.

                                                              Part Two

             I didn’t want to write this. My dad said I should put in a written form what had happened to me last week. And dad said he’d turn over my words to our city’s mayor then.

           I guess I probably should do something about what happened to me. Actually, if you wanted to be real literal about it, I suppose it was close to kidnapping. But, you know, I understand I was taken, or maybe I could say summoned by forces of long ago – forces that are only part of all the people and groups who attempt to add a bit of strangeness to our city.

           And I’d heard already when I was in grade school that this city was like no other. I’d been warned that literally anything could happen here. But of course I’d never really paid much attention to those warnings. I guess I figured if something bizarre was going to happen, it would happen regardless of whether or not I believed it could or couldn’t occur.

           So that’s my story up until a week ago. My dad and the mayor don’t want me to tell you my name. But I want you to believe what I’ll write here. It really happened!

           I’m seventeen now. It won’t be long until I’m eighteen. And now my senior year of high school is coming to an end. I haven’t decided upon my college yet! But I grew up on the north side of our city. And I attend the North side high school here. The South side has a high school too.

           Well, anyway, I’d just gotten home from school last Wednesday when, as I was walking into the house, I noticed a strange type of car pull up at the curbside. I’d never seen a car like that before. It was bigger than most of the vehicles I see on the streets here, and it had a large white fin-like part on its side. And as I looked at the driver of it, I also noticed something strange in his appearance, His clothes seemed to come from another era, and, I guess, it looked to me as though he probably did as well.

           He waved at me. He wanted me to come over by his car. I didn’t want to go there, yet, somehow, I couldn’t stop myself. I walked over to his driver’s door and asked “Who are you, and what type of car is this?”

           “This car is a Chevrolet from 1957” he said. “And I’m a still young man who’s today, along with my car, been allowed to leave the lifelessness of the portrait which, together we’ve shared since 1958.

“I’m afraid of you” I said.

“Come over here and stand next to me by the car” he said. “I think it’s time for you and I to be recast as real mortals, or at least as characters of a new picture.”

“But I’m already real” I said. “I don’t need to come to life.”

“You’re mistaken” he said, “For almost eighteen years now you’ve existed as a prisoner of literature, kept alive only in the passing thoughts of someone who may someday ask his Supreme Being to give you a real mortal life. In other words, you’ve always been a lot like me; except that I’ve sought true life from the confines of a picture, while you’ve unknowingly searched for it amidst the creative whims of an author’s mind.”

So I walked over to his car then. He got out of it. We stood together near its driver’s side, and suddenly a middle aged man came along and snapped our picture. Then that man left, and I got into the Chev, and the boy and I drove off.

                                                        Part Three

 Well, I guess it had been a while since I’d been asked to write for the mayor; and that was fine with me! It was an April evening, and I was getting tired. I’ll go to bed now I thought. Suddenly my phone rang, and of course it was Mayor Jennifer. And he had another of his always seemingly unbelievable requests. “Earlier today I received a very strange call” he said. “It was from a young couple who said they wanted me to grant them a real life! And I might add that they both spoke to me, yet somehow their voices didn’t seem to belong to real people! But they didn’t sound like those scamming robots either”!

‘“We’ve both been confined in unreality for many years’ they said. The girl said she was the figment of a writer’s imagination, and the boy said he was existing as an unreal human portrayed on a picture.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about them?” I asked the mayor.

“I’d like you, through your use of words, to give them not only a real life, but also a real love affair; after all, it’s time for April love”!

“Yeah, and maybe it’s time our city gets a new mayor too” I replied. But then I continued “Well George, as with all your other bizarre requests, I’ll give this one the old Braem try. But first let me be sure I understand this; I’ve got a girl who was conceptualized by a writer, and a boy who appeared in a picture long ago, and now the two of them want a real life, and a chance to become lovers.”

“You’ve got it” said the mayor.

So we ended our call then. And some may wonder why we don’t text. But we do, yet I guess not in matters of such bizarreness. Anyway, I went to bed then. “I’ll worry about this foolishness tomorrow” I told myself.

And it must have been some time then, when, from inside the confines of slumber, two images, one a young male , and the other a young female, appeared to me. And I saw them inside a mirror! And I surmised they weren’t humans I knew, and perhaps not really humans at all! And they were standing near an old car – probably one from the 1950’s I thought.

And the young man spoke then. “Are you capable of good writing?” he asked.

And I answered him thus:  “I always try to write away all wrongs.”

“Then bring us forth out of this mirror” he said.

And then the female said “Give us a chance to be lovers in a real world.”

And I answered them, “Well, I don’t know that the two of you are ready yet (or ever will be) to be brought forth out of literature and pictures. And, I’m a writer, not a sorcerer! Still, who knows what is capable of occurring in this city! But I’d admonish the two of you; don’t be so anxious to become real mortals. Remember, a wise lady once said that one can’t hurry love. Thus, I’m thinking it might be better if the two of you would, from inside the reality of a real person’s dream, ask the Master of the Universe if He could fashion other mortal examples of you who could fall in love in the real world. In other words, I think the two of you had better return to your fictional abodes.” And then I awakened. It was a nice April morning!  

And I texted the mayor then that, with the aid of apparently the same overseers (or whoever they are) who’d brought this wished for love affair to him in the first place, I’d now been able to write Part Three of this discourse. And I notified him that since I needed to visit his part of the city that day, I simply drop off my words at his home/office. But before I left to do that, I had some moments of reflection at home.

I think I know now what one of my favorite writers meant some time ago when he wrote “I love you in fragments passing by.” He must have been speaking about how love continues although a ceaseless struggle between good and evil carries on all about it. And in his contemplation of that struggle he must have been led to ponder why so many humans strive to do what’s right, while so many others try to commit actions only harmful to themselves and mankind as a whole. But I’m thankful that most mortals find comfort in the peace of everyday necessities. Yet, of course there are some who need to justify their wars. Nonetheless my prayer today is:  April hold me! Prepare me for what may befall me in May and in other months and years to come.

[sdaomine]

Today, Tomorrow, Until the End of Time.

In 1815, a von Hagen prince meets a silver-haired boy. In 2030, a young heir witnesses an uncanny resemblance. Marius falls in love with Vyn one way or another.

A/N: Big thanks to my little sister who proofread this fic! She’s my brain’s (and brainrot) special amplifier and I couldn’t have written this w/o her brilliant ideas. Cannot wait to write our Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU! (Will buy her Welkins and Monthly Card for this). She demands payment.

Pairing: Vyn Richter x Marius von Hagen, Reincarnation AU. Honestly, this started off as a reincarnation story but I feel like it’s more of a regency era marivyn instead (minus the Stellis part). I was thinking of just deleting the 2030 part, but I want a happy ending...

Estimated Word Count: 12k.

1815, England.

At midnight along the dimmed hallways of The Royal Hall, little Marius saw a head full of silver hair.

He was sneaking around, on his way now to the kitchen; the young von Hagen’s tummy coiled in hunger having only eaten roasted chicken last night. But he wanted sweets, bread, and his favorite chocolate milk.

Marius, clad in his adorable white sleeping gown that reached past his ankles and almost touched the floor, quickly followed the silver-haired lad’s footsteps. He caught up despite his tiny feet; he wouldn’t let this person, whoever he was, slip away from his sight. It was Marius’ first time seeing locks of beautiful silver, after all.

Little Marius then extended his arms towards the boy and, with his tiny hands, tugged on his coat.

The boy abruptly stopped in his tracks, but he did not turn around. His back was still Marius’ view from behind, and Marius pulled on the lad’s coat another time.

Silver-haired boy finally looked over his shoulder, and Marius couldn’t help but stare in awe. He’s beautiful was the first thing that came to mind, magnificent in a way he was incomparable to any piece of art hanging on The Royal Gallery’s walls.

And so he kept on staring at the lad’s features: his furrowed silver brows, a pointed nose, pretty lips… and eyes of champagne-gold.

Marius said in his little voice, “You have beautiful golden eyes. Like a prince’s!”

The boy of silver hair secretly scoffed at the compliment. He wanted to roll his eyes at the child’s rather absurd comparisons that certainly came from overly-fantastical fairy tales. However, the lad stared him down and said with a honeyed voice, “And yet you and your brother bore amethyst eyes.”

The boy watched as Marius’ brows knitted into a frown—he thought it adorable of him, but he wouldn’t say that out loud—and soon the young von Hagen’s eyes lit up as if he thought of something brilliant. “Then, I’ll just say you have pretty golden eyes. Without the ‘like a prince’s’.”

Silver-haired boy raised a brow, slightly amused. He thought Marius would let go of his coat already, but alas, the little one’s hold on his clothes only grew tighter. The prince asked him, “What’s your name?”

“Vilhelm,” answered the older boy, still unfazed and uninterested. “Now that I have given you my name, would you let go of me now?”

The younger boy’s grip on Vilhelm certainly did not falter. Amethyst eyes stared at golden ones ever so appreciatively, and Vilhelm scowled, “Whatever do you want from me, brat?”

Marius pondered, then tilted his head to look at Vilhelm, whose scowl had turned deeper for his coat was crumpled by the little boy’s intense grip. “Papa said art existed to preserve beautiful things,” he said, “that’s why the drawings in the, uh, Art Royal—

“Royal Art Gallery.”

“—Royal Art Gallery are beautiful to look at! It’s because... they’re beautiful...”

“Then draw something beautiful,” snapped the older boy, taking hold of Marius’ small hands and pulling them away from his coat. “Return to your chambers and paint however you wish. It is inappropriate for a prince like you to amble around late at this hour.”

“But—”

“Ah uh. Go back to your chambers,” came Vilhelm’s interruption to the younger boy’s protests, and soon, he witnessed Marius tiptoe back to his room.

While Vilhelm made his way to his chambers, Marius rummaged through the massive drawers in his room: there, he found paintbrushes, vellum, canvases, charcoal. In the corner of his bedroom stood a child’s easel, and there was an old box filled with various colour pigments.

In the depths of the evening, amateur strokes and sketches filled the blank canvases.

Inside the mind of a little prince—a space pervaded by a silver-haired boy—he only thought of preserving Vilhelm’s divine image, and so he kept on mixing the pigments despite his ignorance in painting, not knowing it was to ignite a hidden passion.

Then draw something beautiful was what Vilhelm said, so Marius painted him—the most alluring muse he had ever seen.

1816.

It was months before Marius saw Vilhelm again. The little von Hagen was to visit his father, the king, at The Royal Hall; Marius lived in a different manor, away from Austin and Giann who resided in England together. He was told he’d live with them too, once he’s old enough to be trained; to be trained with what, he didn’t know.

It was the 27th of September, and Marius had brought a gift. After pestering Giann about his friend Vilhelm—his birthday included—Marius was able to prepare a few surprises he knew the recipient would adore: a crimson rose in a glass bell jar and of course, a painting of him, which Marius made himself.

When Marius entered the lounge, the first person he saw was Vilhelm. “Vilhelm!” he called excitedly and ran up to him, gifts in hand. “I brought you presents! I wish you the happiest birthday ever!”

Vilhelm was surprised, to say the least. Clearly he did not expect gifts from the young von Hagen; did he matter that much to the boy?

“Thank you, Marius.” Vilhelm took the glass-covered rose, the astonished gleam in his eyes more palpable now. “I... did not anticipate any presents from you. These are appreciated.” He then caught a glimpse of the coloured sheet in Marius’ hands and asked, “Is that me?”

The little von Hagen’s cheeks blazed red. “Yes,” he said, and extended his arm, gesturing for Vilhelm to take his art of him. “I painted you.”

Austin and Giann were to enter the lounge soon; Vilhelm perched on the chaise couch and crossed his legs, admiring the rose, then Marius’ painting of him. There was no admiration towards the latter, though. “You painted this, yes?”

Marius squealed, “I did!”

“...” Vilhelm’s lips thinned, but a smile curled across his lips shortly after. “I like the rose very much,” he said.

“What about my painting?”

“Your painting,” Vilhelm’s barbed criticisms towards the art halted midway as Marius looked at him expectantly. He sighed, “Is satisfactory. It can still be improved. You need to hone your skills more if you really wish to become an esteemed artist.”

It is hideous was what he initially wanted to say, but he wasn’t too cruel to throw such sharp criticism toward an eight-year-old boy.

“Then I’ll practice harder!” claimed Marius, and it wasn’t long before the other von Hagens joined their family reunion.

They relished tasty dinner and dessert; Marius discovered Vilhelm’s love for pastries. Shortly after, the von Hagens—and Vilhelm—immersed themselves in a game of chess, and Marius wondered how Vilhelm defeated them all, every single time.

It’s not that Marius was inadept at chess—he was merely occupied with a silver-haired boy’s hypnotizing presence.

1820.

If there were one thing the von Hagen brothers so loathed, it would be playing the piano.

Giann had an advantage, though: he was the firstborn, the heir to the throne, and so he was allowed to focus on far more important things than music. Marius, on the other hand, wasn’t lucky enough. He didn’t carry the same burden as his older brother, meaning he had less responsibilities, which would also equate to having plenty of time to practice playing the piano.

However, painting aside, Marius chose not to do well in the skills he needed to learn. As long as he complied, he was alright with that—as long as he could nock an arrow, memorize notes, and apply the rules of fencing, he didn’t bother performing much better. It was until Giann asked particularly Vilhelm’s assistance in shoving Marius into music, and since Vilhelm was that bored and had plenty of time to spare, he instantly agreed.

Definitely not because of Marius, right?

Right?

Vilhelm was exceptional, to say the least. He excelled in countless instruments: the violin, cello, and flute, among many others. However, the boy was extraordinarily skilled with the piano.

He’s good at other instruments, but nothing comes close to his adept talent with the keys—Marius was supposed to be learning from him, but instead of observing Vilhelm’s techniques in playing the piano, the younger prince took pleasure in the way Vilhelm’s slender fingers meandered across the keys, hitting each note with confident precision, creating music most pleasant to his ears.

Marius had already accepted the fact that he’s not improving this skill in the near future because every time his tutor—his alluring tutor—tried to demonstrate, Marius would end up basking in the way Vilhelm passionately played.

Furrowed silver brows, mouth on a thin line; golden irises in deep focus towards the grand piano’s keys.

Oh, the prince was head over heels—if his tutor did not smack him with a violin’s bow, that is. And it happened so very often. No one could blame Vilhelm for wanting to hit his mischievous student; a twelve-year-old’s unpredictable, carefree behavior was too much for an eighteen-year-old’s patience.

“Again,” Vilhelm would say, and Marius would scurry to the piano’s chair; at his first few attempts in practicing Claire de Lune, the student would find himself thwacked with yet another violin bow.

“That’s a violin bow you’re hitting me with!” he’d protest, but his tutor’s features would remain impassive and he’d respond with, “Yes, a violin bow. The very bow you yourself ruptured for you found it fun to imitate a fencing move with it.”

“Again,” his tutor would once again command, and the young prince would have no choice but to strain his fingers the entire afternoon.

Unbeknownst to Marius, Vilhelm suffered as much as he did; it was a challenging feat not to die from Marius’ cacophonic performance.

1822.

Whoever said one could hone their skills in time, they were certainly mistaken. Or it only did not apply to Marius.

Because even after two years, he was still as inadept as he was when it came to music. Proof of that is Vilhelm’s first visit to The Royal Hall after having returned home to Svart.

Right after meeting with His Majesty and his best friend, Giann, the silver-haired lad proceeded to the music room and played the piano. It was a part of his daily routine.

Vilhelm attempted to find Marius—in fact, the youngest von Hagen was the first one he’d intended to see, however he would never, never admit that—but The Royal Hall was anything but massive, and Marius was way better than him when it came to hide and seek. Thinking about it, Marius always managed to find him despite this maze of a palace.

For the very first time, though, Vilhelm immediately discovered where Marius was.

And all it took was a minute into playing the piano.

Marius was in the room adjacent to the music lounge, and Marius thought it entertaining to play the violin the way Vilhelm would the piano, and so Marius, despite his utter lack of musical talent, let the bow hair meet the strings.

It was disastrous.

Vilhelm found himself sighing every now and then, cringing at the apparent discordance of two instruments; Marius was that bad at playing the violin that even Vilhelm’s play seemed to lose its harmony. The silver-haired lad noted the von Hagen’s skill in maintaining a beat, though, but that’s it. That’s it.

The young prince’s violin finished before Vilhelm’s play did. For a few seconds, the pianist was able to relish the quiet space in peace, sighing in relief as his fingers pressed softly against each key, perfecting every note, but as he neared the piece’s culmination, someone barged inside, the wooden doors producing a disturbing thud.

Vilhelm was caught unawares that he flinched, his fingers hitting the worst keys, and his eyes screwed shut when he heard those screeching notes that were supposed to be the piece’s climax. He clenched his fists and sucked in a breath, and let it out.

He wanted nothing but to punch Marius in the gut.

“So? How did I do?” Marius inquired anticipatingly, and Vyn wondered, what do you mean, how did you do?

A rather irritated sigh ran past his lips. “You can maintain a good beat.”

“And?”

“And,” Vilhelm emphasized, “I am relieved you pursued art, because you have no future in music.”

1826.

At eighteen, Marius was off to Florence to pursue art.

At the time, Vilhelm was twenty-four and a student of science and politics; he ought to be His Majesty’s Royal Advisor in the future. Besides, he wanted this more than participating in social banquets and the likes. Being with his best friend, Giann, and his… best friend’s brother, Marius, was only a perk to the job.

The king had essential business with a neighboring domain, and Giann had his princely duties, so Vilhelm was the one who escorted Marius to the Royal Port. They were always chatty with one another—who would’ve thought Vilhelm would become so close with Marius—but the carriage journey to the port was unsettlingly quiet. Even the prince, who never ran out of stories or jests to pester Vilhelm, didn’t bother to run his mouth.

Marius broke the silence when they reached the port. “You’re not going to insult me before I leave?” he jested, however Vilhelm was too sharp to notice the fake mirth in the prince’s eyes. Those amethyst irises, Vilhelm thought, does this mean I will not be seeing them so often now? I guess so…

“Heh.” Vilhelm scoffed. Marius noted the way he suppressed a smile; knowing he could make him happy, that he was the one who prompted Vilhelm to even smile was more than enough. For now.

“I will not criticize you this time,” Vilhelm said, “since we will not be seeing each other every day from now on.”

“Then this is goodbye?”

“This is goodbye.” Vilhelm swept a graceful bow and turned to leave.

He did not want to witness Marius board that ship, did not want him to see his breaking facade. Vilhelm did not wish for him to go in the first place, for a reason he couldn’t—and probably wouldn’t want to—quite place, and so he continued to walk back to the carriage, his steps pulling him farther away from Marius, because who knows? Vilhelm was not as icy as he appeared; he had a soft spot, and it’s because of this soft spot that his eyes were threatening to shed tears, and—

“Wait.” Marius. “Vilhelm.”

The older man did not turn to face him, and instead told the prince, “You will be late. What did I tell you about punctuality—”

Only for Marius to embrace him from behind, rendering him speechless. “Wait, I...” he breathed against Vilhelm’s neck, and the man was grateful for the thick collar of his coat, lest the young prince’s hot breath tickle his skin… “I don’t want to leave.”

The skies were painted a darker shade of gray now, and the rain was threatening to pour. “I do not want you to leave, either,” Vilhelm said quietly. His hands must have their own will for his palms reached for Marius’ own, their fingers subtly interlacing.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I want you,” said Vilhelm, “to pursue what you love most.”

Vilhelm meant art, but Marius thought of him.

1828.

Letters were exchanged. In parchment, quills imprinted memories.

In Florence, the von Hagen prince lived a different life. A more thrilling one, Vilhelm had once mentioned in his letters: “I am certain life there is more thrilling. Have you met new friends? Ladies eligible for your future marriage, perhaps?”

An inquisition in which Marius so nonchalantly brushed away, writing how he loved it more in England than in Florence, that he only sailed to Italy for his craft. In return, Vilhelm told him of his experiences during his study: political issues he’d encountered, his mastery of a new hobby that was hypnosis (is that even a hobby was Marius’ first impression), and even his triumphs whenever he played cards with the other advisors.

While Vilhelm honed his brilliance, Marius refined his craft. Every day he got only better, and better, until he bested even some of his professors in class. He focused on creating portraits, using Vilhelm—the image of him in Marius’ mind—as his inspiration so constantly that even his classmates pestered in curiosity about who the beautiful man was.

Marius’ sketches were Vilhelm, his practice paintings were all Vilhelm, and everything had Vilhelm on them. And when his fellow artists asked him of his muse, he’d only smile and say he’s the most beautiful thing he’d ever known.

1830.

Marius returned to England a day earlier than expected.

Neither Giann nor Austin were home, since the young von Hagen’s arrival was expected tomorrow. Marius was well-aware of that, and he knew Vilhelm won’t be here until the next day as well, and so he immediately unlocked the doors to his beloved atelier to work on his special opus.

He had to make the most out of this day.

The young prince missed a certain someone most, more than the others, and tomorrow he’d be seeing him again after years of separation. In fact, Marius wanted to shove himself in a carriage and visit Vilhelm in university, however his special piece was about Vilhelm, for Vilhelm—his magnum opus in the making is Vilhelm, so Marius couldn’t succumb to his longing at the moment. If the man was here, the prince wouldn’t be able to focus.

Unfortunately for him, the man was present in the manor.

It was fair for the both of them, though; no one had anticipated such an early meeting, one too unexpected neither was able to at least pamper themselves with their finest fabric, comb their locks with quality brushes. Vilhelm appeared rather exhausted in his crumpled coat of green, which was covered in grime along with his leather boots for he had just finished hunting with the king’s finest men.

On the other hand, Marius only bore a plain shirt, its laces on the chest part freely dangling, untied; the top was tucked in his rather tight-fitting breeches. The prince’s face and hands were evidence of his activity, messy and covered with pigments; his locks of midnight blue were disheveled.

They were dazed, to say the least, freezing in their spots. The older man was at a disadvantage; it was understandable Marius was in his atelier, but what of Vilhelm? Why did he come here?

“Marius—”

“Vilhelm—”

They spoke at the same time, then looked away. Vilhelm was quite skilled at simmering his emotions, however Marius’ cheeks were in a deep shade of red, and he knew Vilhelm had noticed. “You…”

“You have returned already? Why did you not inform me?” interrupted the older man, “and you are a mess.”

Wow. That’s cold. Ouch.

“Ehh? We see each other for the first time after years, and you decide to scold me?” The young prince pouted with his trick of a puppy's eyes. Heh, Vilhelm thought, he is childish despite being a grown man. “You hurt my feelings.”

Vilhelm still couldn’t quite comprehend the sight before him. This… is Marius? He questioned his image repeatedly; the prince left not a few inches taller than Vilhelm, his body the average of a boy’s and now he’s taller, well-built and impossibly attractive—

“I… welcome you home.” He smiled, and despite his words coming out stiff—which is unusual for a refined man like him—Marius knew well enough Vilhelm was just as surprised as himself.

Darn it! Marius suddenly realized he was in the middle of working on his special opus, and he almost stumbled as he used his torso trying to conceal the half-accomplished canvas, a canvas that was only a piece to a massive puzzle of a portrait. “Don’t look!”

“What is that?”

“Definitely nothing that concerns you!”

Vilhelm frowned, gently crossing his arms. “Do you not think you are being too suspicious?” he asked. “I am not the Royal Advisor for nothing.”

Another realization dawned on Marius. “You’re the Royal Advisor now?” he said, his eyes lighting up with sheer happiness. “Congratulations are in order!”

The older man was brimming with pride, but he certainly wouldn’t admit it. Seeing Marius overjoyed with the news of his ascension as His Majesty’s highest-ranked advisor was all he could ever ask for—oh how he missed that youthful smile, however did he survive without the sight of it every day?

It was excruciating.

“Ahem, yes. Thank you—”

“This means a celebration!” Marius draped his arm around Vilhelm’s shoulder, leaving him dazed yet again. Marius took the opportunity to lead the older man to the lounge so they could catch up while having their favorite pastries and tea…

Sigh. Not before Vilhelm scolded him to clean up.

==

The von Hagen family gathered around for a special lunch the next day, in celebration of the youngest’s most-awaited return. Marius missed the mouthwatering dishes his favorite cooks made, the pastries Vilhelm himself baked. The delightful company that is his family.

Talk about Marius’ travels was lively: he told them of his explorations in the neighboring countries, even the journeys he went on with his friends. Giann gave him a knowing smile and winked, “Tell us of the ladies. Did you relish their company?”

“Giann.” Austin gave his eldest a look, but Marius chuckled and said, “Oh, the ladies were spectacular. Especially the French girls. Very flirty and straightforward.”

“Is that so?”

Marius’ gaze flitted to the silver-haired man who was gracefully cutting meat with a sharp knife. “Ahm—”

“Do you fancy a French woman?” Vilhelm asked quietly, in his usual dulcet voice. His finger was pressed rather intensely against the knife’s handle. “It would be thrilling if you are to wed someone of French blood.”

Marius smirked. “Indeed. It would be nice to make French babies.”

Austin once again sighed, “Marius—”

But he was interrupted by the heavy clink of a silver knife against plate, Vilhelm’s blade plunging far deeper than the thickest of meat. All the von Hagens were now looking at him—in worry or unease, no one knew—but Vilhelm elegantly cleared his throat and let out an apologetic smile. “My apologies. Today’s hunting must have made me utilize such brute force,” he said, sweetly, “continue with your tale, Marius. Please, do not let me interrupt.”

Austin gestured to his youngest. “You should accompany Vilhelm to the Royal Gardens. He requires leisure; he’s been working hard lately,” he said, “the roses in his greenhouse are beautiful.”

==

“You have your own greenhouse?” The young von Hagen inquired incredulously as they strolled along the rows and rows of bright crimson roses and white lilies, Marius noting how very well-tended they were. Was it him who cared for these flowers? “My father never even gave me one.”

Vilhelm gently knelt on the ground, his fingers reaching to feel his beloved roses. They were already in full bloom; their scent was lovely, the sight of them pleasing to the eyes. “The pitiful flowers would wither if you were to be their owner,” he remarked sharply, “request anything but a greenhouse. And musical instruments. It is but a waste of space and coin.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the reminder.” Marius hid a smile as he, too, knelt beside Vilhelm. His gaze traversed across the patches of blood roses before it fixated on a much alluring one; the older man did not notice how Marius was admiring him, too preoccupied with the welfare of his flowers.

Still busy checking on his roses, Vilhelm told Marius, “You are free to paint them if you wish. The roses are in full bloom this season; they would certainly make perfect subjects for your next piece.”

The crown prince merely said, “I would rather paint a different rose.”

“A different rose?”

“Nothing.” Marius extended a hand to him. “Come. Let’s go see the other plants you got here.”

“Ah. Very well.” Vilhelm willingly took his hand, but Marius still wouldn't let go even if he was already standing on his feet. He raised a brow at the younger man, but soon he found himself being tugged closer, until there was little to no space left between them. “Marius, what are you doing?”

His eyes widened in surprise as Marius leaned forward—it went by too swiftly and their lips would've touched if Vilhelm wasn’t quick to pull himself backward. “What do you think you are doing, brat?”

“Did you miss me?” asked Marius, amethyst eyes prying into golden hues. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

A smirk tugged shamelessly across his lips when Vilhelm was left speechless, and he huffed with pride as he looked down on the older man, literally. He’d gotten a lot taller during his stay in Florence, and even Vilhelm, admit it or not, has still yet to accept the significant height difference. “Hehe, I knew it.”

“And if I did?” This time, Vilhelm tipped on his toes to lean closer, greeting Marius by surprise. If Marius, too, was not swift to pull his head back, he… Darn it, I wish I didn’t pull back.

It was Marius’ turn to be bewildered now, and Vilhelm relished the sight of a furious blush creeping across the young von Hagen’s face and neck, the shade even comparable to the crimson roses surrounding them. The Royal Advisor wore a smug grin, and Marius didn’t like it one bit.

“And did you miss me, Marius?” His grin had now turned into a sly smirk. When Marius still couldn’t think of an answer, Vilhelm sank on his heels and reached out to run his thumb against Marius’ chin, “Were you always this flustered with your French women, hm?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “There were no French girls.”

“Heh,” scoffed Vilhelm, his eyes brimming with unadulterated triumph. “I thought so, too.”

1831.

“You want to marry me off that bad?” Marius grimaced. He watched Vilhelm take off his coat, leaving him only in his shirt and golden vest. In front of him stood an easel, some color pigments, and paintbrushes; the prince ought to teach him basic painting techniques today, all because of a deal.

“If I were the only one who could shove you to a ball the next social season, do I have a choice?” Vilhelm gently folded his arms, his features impassive, as always. Marius needed to accomplish several things before the upcoming ball, but the man wouldn’t show up in dance lessons, would disappear in the middle of training.

Austin sought Vilhelm’s assistance and now the older man was in Marius’ atelier, for the deal was, “Fine, I’ll attend my lessons and join the next banquet, only if you let me teach you paint.”

Soon, Marius was perched just behind Vilhelm, who was attempting to paint a rose. A rose, seriously. What’s new? He must be a rose-addict, Marius thought, or whatever. Something like that.

“Your hand’s too stiff. Relax.” Marius’ fingers closed over Vilhelm’s slender ones, and Vilhelm was about to reprimand him, but for some reason he found himself loosening up—comfort was the word he’d use to describe the feeling of being so close to the young von Hagen. “See? Much better, yeah?”

“Mm, yes.” Vilhelm dipped the soft brush in red pigment, one which Marius mixed himself. Vilhelm then proceeded to create gentle strokes on canvas, tinting the rose’s sketch with dark crimson hues. “Apologies. I am inadept in the arts.”

“And I, in music,” said the prince, eliciting a quiet chuckle from Vilhelm. “Are you having fun?”

“Fun?” Vilhelm repeated, almost in a mocking tone. There was a slight smile on his face, and his usual inscrutable eyes were hinting at something that could only be described as mischief—and mischief it was, for Marius soon felt cold tingles on his nose.

Vilhelm thought it fun to put paint on the younger man’s skin.

“Now I am having fun.” The older man dipped his brush in purple paint and reached for Marius’ cheek. “Ah, who knew painting would be this entertaining—”

But he, too, now had fresh pigment on his chin, and Marius couldn’t help but let out a mirthful laugh. Vilhelm appeared utterly clueless and startled with golden paint on his face, and he all but looked so adorable. “Entertaining, you say?”

Vilhelm smirked. “I said,” he whispered, and if Marius didn’t know him well enough he would’ve been frightened with his voice a few octaves deeper, “entertaining.”

Supposed painting sessions then turned into a playful fight, a bond, some fierce competition as to who’d be able to paint all the colours on the other’s skin, however so soon it escalated into a precarious situation: Vilhelm lying on his back on the chaise couch, all disheveled, and the prince too comfortable on top of him.

If someone were to witness where their bodies were almost entwined, it would make a scandal…

The buttons on Vilhelm’s shirt were, for God-knows-how, loose, and the skin on Marius’ chest enticing as it was exposed by untied laces. The prince’s arms were propped on Vilhelm’s either side as support, but should he lower himself they’d be… impossibly close…

But Marius leaned forward, ever so slightly that he could almost share the same heartbeat with Vilhelm. As he did, he studied those golden irises, how they dilated; Vilhelm showed no reaction nor exhibited objection, but very soon enough the prince heard him whisper, “Marius.”

And it wasn’t a call for command, wasn’t laced with hints of sharp remarks. Instead, his voice was soft, and kind, almost sounding like a request, a plea for more... “Vilhelm,” breathed the young prince.

Marius’ body settled lower, and Vilhelm’s breathing hitched. Is this the part where we kiss was what roved in the younger one’s head; he thought of what Vilhelm might do should he overstep, but Vilhelm’s eyes fluttered closed, his luscious lips slightly ajar, waiting…

Waiting for that kiss.

But when the prince’s lips almost brushed against Vilhelm’s, a knock sounded from outside the atelier. “Good afternoon, Sir Marius. Please inform us should you know of Sir Vilhelm’s whereabouts; Prince Giann is looking for him.”

“I am here.” Vilhelm stood from where he lay on the couch, leaving Marius there rather swiftly. He skillfully wore his coat, and before he left the quarters, he gave Marius a gentle bow. “I shall take my leave now.”

They hadn’t kissed, yet the prince’s heart skipped a beat.

1832.

The Royal Hall’s ballroom glowed in golden hues, embellished with clusters of wildly-flickering chandeliers. Violin concertos traversed the aisles, the dancefloor; it had been quite a while since the palace hosted a social party so grandeur, not since Giann became king-regent and Marius pursued art in Florence.

The brothers did not miss any of it. Except for the chocolate cake, perhaps. All because Vilhelm loved pastries.

Ah, yes. Vilhelm. The poor man already wished to retire for the evening despite mingling with the guests for only a short time. If they weren’t scheming nor with hidden intentions of snatching the youngest von Hagen’s hand for marriage, they were all but dull and uninteresting to converse with.

But he forced himself to do so, lest he be distracted by a sight so striking: Prince Marius von Hagen, clad in his dark lavender coat, adorned with the von Hagen’s insignia along with royalty’s trappings. The young heir, too, knew there was no turning back once he indulged in Vilhelm’s presence, and so the two stayed far away from each other for the first few hours of the night.

It wasn’t long before Vilhelm became exhausted and utterly bored. He bid his farewell and let his feet guide him to the exit, out to the Royal Garden.

Marius, the star of the night, was surrounded by the young ladies who hid half their faces with luxurious fans, who giggled in high-pitched voices and blushed like full-bloom roses. At first, the prince was in a conscious effort not to unknowingly flirt with the women—a flirty attitude was innate with the von Hagens—for he was well-aware of how Vilhelm is when jealous, but as time passed, he got (unfortunately) comfortable.

There was this pretty young lady, namely Lady Rosa from a neighboring ally, who remained quiet despite being within the circle as him. She appeared to be distracted, to say the least. Like she wasn’t having fun at all, and was only coerced to attend…

He shared the same sentiments, and so he instantly felt a connection with her. “You are radiant tonight, Lady Rosa,” he said and took her hand, pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

Said woman bowed her head, flustered, before she curtsied. “You flatter me, Your Highness. Enjoying the evening so far?”

But then a familiar head of starlight hair walked past them—no, the man gracefully stopped in his tracks and turned to smile at the young woman and purposely ignored Marius. “Indeed, Lady Rosa. You are looking rather lustrous this evening,” he complimented, “truly a rose in its full bloom.”

“Sir Vilhelm!” Lady Rosa swept a bow and oh how exquisite she was, he noted, from the way she moved like a delicate flower to her speaking voice that was very sweet and feminine. If a prince were to search for a wife, Lady Rosa would be a perfect choice. “Thank you, Sir. How is your evening? I hope it is all but delightful?”

Vilhelm spared Marius—whose features were a mixture of unease and remorse among many other negativities—a quick glance, one that the prince could easily comprehend: he was dead jealous. “My night, Lady Rosa,” said the Royal Advisor, “is perfectly splendid.” And then, he walked away.

Lady Rosa wasn’t given a chance to respond for Vilhelm had already walked out of the premises, and the ladies, despite trying their best, couldn’t hinder Marius from going after him. “Ehehe, ladies, let us calm ourselves, shall we?” he managed to say with made-up delight, “I shall be back in a few. I realized I needed something from my advisor.”

“Prince Marius—”

“Er, Goodbye!”

==

“Vilhelm!”

The older man’s quick steps didn’t once falter, leading him farther from the prince who chased after him. He didn’t even acknowledge the younger man’s presence. Instead, he proceeded to enter the greenhouse where his precious roses lay.

“Vilhelm, wait!”

Marius’ long legs were enough to catch up with Vilhelm’s unfair head start. Once the older man was within reach, the prince’s fingers immediately closed around his wrist, halting him in his tracks and forcing Vilhelm to turn and face him. “Vilhelm, what the hell? Look at me.”

“Stop following me.” Vilhelm forced his hand away from Marius’ hold but to no avail. His grip was firm, and he wasn’t planning on letting go. “Marius, do not forget that your father hosted this ball in your name,” he reminded, “return immediately.”

“Oh? You expect me to just go back when you’re clearly angry at me? This is ridiculous.”

“You seem to be relishing the ladies’ company. Especially that of Lady Rosa’s.”

“I’m not! For God’s sake, Vilhelm,” Marius let out a burdened sigh, running his fingers through his midnight hair. “You said it yourself. This party was meant for me. What do you want me to do, glare at the guests? Ignore the ladies? What would that make me?”

But Vilhelm only furrowed his silver brows and argued quietly, “I did not say anything like that.”

“Just because you play mind tricks on others doesn’t mean you can do that to me.” Marius took a step closer, and Vilhelm retreated, only to end up at a dead end. Behind him were his rows and rows of roses and lilies, and he couldn’t take another step backward lest he wished to kill his flowers.

He looked trapped—this wasn’t how Marius had meant for this confrontation to go. The prince released a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, extending a hand. “Let’s go back there, Vilhelm.”

“You go back to Lady Rosa,” the man of starlight hair casually rejected the offer. He looked away, setting his sights far from Marius’ piercing gaze. “Tonight must be a success. Tonight is all about you finding a wife.”

Marius’ patience was hanging on a thread, and Vilhelm’s sharp words were enough to cut it loose. The prince snapped, “Wife? Did you ever ask me if I wanted a wife? I don’t care about a wife!

“I care about you, I want you. It’s you who I want to be with.”

“You…” Vilhelm's golden eyes widened in surprise in his disbelief at the prince’s impulsive, risky, blatant confession. “You do not know what you are talking about.”

“Oh I know what I’m talking about,” Marius said, “and I’m pretty sure you do as well.”

“You are being impulsive—”

“What?” It was Vilhelm’s first time witnessing the prince’s features turn furious. He had seen him angry before, but that anger was never towards him or because of him… “I’ve been pining for you for years, and you say that? Do you even hear yourself?

“Do you not want me, Vilhelm?”

“Marius—”

“Don’t play dumb. Look me in the eye and say you don’t want me.”

Ah, a wrong move from the young von Hagen. If anything, Vilhelm was the most capable of denying his emotions—the jealousy this evening was a deliberate decision—and so the older man tilted his face to meet Marius’, his will all but resolute. As if he still had an idea whatever it was he was up to.

He thought it would be easy. It had always been, with Marius: hiding his true feelings. However, when golden eyes met unwavering amethysts, Vilhelm found himself at a loss for words.

His mind was hazy at the realization that the person in front of him was already a grown man and not a boy he could so easily deceive, that it was this lad he’d always wanted, a prize he so yearned to claim for the longest time.

And, for the first time, Vilhelm could not deny any of these.

He bowed his head, slowly, as tears rolled past his pale cheeks.

Marius noticed his shoulders sag slightly; he couldn’t see Vilhelm’s features for he was facing the cobblestones, but soon, soft sniffs and light, barely-suppressed whimpers echoed in the empty greenhouse. Panicked, Marius instinctively held Vilhelm’s shoulders and gave him a few gentle shrugs. “Hey, hey,” he called softly, “Vilhelm? Hey, look at me.”

His words were quiet, calm, certainly not exhibiting the sheer panic that made his heart thunder. There was a coil down the pit of his stomach, and he was clueless as he watched the older man shed tears. “Vilhelm, hey,” he called again, “I’m sorry, I—Vilhelm!”

Hands tight around Vilhelm’s waist, Marius was swift to prevent the older man from collapsing. His body seemed weaker, almost as if all his strength was sucked out of him, and now he’s frail inside the young von Hagen’s arms. 

Marius found himself in distress with how the older man seemed to so easily lose the strength in his knees—had half a mind to inwardly scold his father, berating him because whatever could have went on inside that man’s head? He left for Florence, only to come back and find out his father had been sending his darling advisor away to the yearly hunting events despite how delicatre his Vilhelm was.

Marius easily supported Vilhelm’s smaller frame, and he quietly guided the two of them towards the nearest bench, one that provided the scenery of bright, full-bloomed roses.

With careful hands, the prince cupped the advisor’s face and oh, how long I’ve been wanting to do this. He let his fingers glide over petal-smooth cheeks, wiping away the crystalline tears that waterfalled down his beloved’s face and against his better judgement, kept wanting to lick them away instead.

“There you go. Here.” Marius laid Vilhelm gently down the bench, and he took the empty space beside him once Vilhelm was comfortably seated. He placed a hand on the man’s thigh, “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I am sorry for making you worry.”

“No, I’m sorry for pushing you too hard.” Marius looked at him. “I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable,” he said, “but I want you to know that everything I told you was true.”

I know that, Marius. I know that...

“It wasn’t out of impulsiveness, or the heat of the moment or whatever you call that—”

“Marius.”

“I love you,” confessed the prince. “I love you, and I have loved you ever since.”

Despite being well aware of the feelings Marius harbored for him, Vilhelm was still stunned enough not to speak nor spare him a glance. His gaze remained fixated on the scenery of his roses, all vivid, much like the young prince’s profession of his love.

Marius seemed to realize he was being pushy again, that he was committing the sin of making Vilhelm uneasy; he suddenly cleared his throat and blabbered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up again. I’ll stop now—”

The young von Hagen’s words halted abruptly.

For one, the dimmed skies suddenly gleamed with countless, radiant fireworks. And two,

Vilhelm’s lips pressed against mine.

It was swift, yet unhurried; chaste, yet uninnocent. The prince’s heart stirred in its pleasant feeling.

But unlike the fireworks which still pervaded the night sky, Vilhelm’s kiss was fleeting.

Vilhelm pulled away just slightly. Their lips weren’t touching, but they shared the same breath, the tip of their noses still brushing against one another. It’s almost as if Vilhelm longed for another kiss, but was too shy to claim the young prince’s lips the second time…

The prince, however, did not like such a short-lived kiss.

And so Marius, overwhelmed by the utter bliss Vilhelm’s kiss had gifted him, seized all the chances he could get.

Marius kissed like he played his instruments, Vilhelm noted. Somehow both rough and soft, lapping up at his mouth so hungrily, and yet with the practiced grace of a prince, still. A kiss so quick yet unhurried—Marius really did have a knack for keeping in rhythm.

He rested one hand against the back of Vilhelm’s neck, the other wrapped around his waist as he pulled the man closer, and he leaned in, closing the space that set their lips apart. Vilhelm’s hands then settled on Marius’ chest, and soon the soft, lustful sounds of wet kissing were all that pervaded the prince’s ears.

Perhaps he himself had already thrown his remaining sobriety out of the window—Vilhelm, whether or not he still had an idea what he was up to at the moment, draped his legs over the prince’s thighs while keeping their lips intact, tasting the sweetness of chocolate on Marius’ tongue.

Oh, it was delectable.

Marius was the one to pull away and good lords, he was grateful that he did—Marius was able to witness for himself the love of his life catching his breath, the entirety of his face flushed red; Vilhelm’s beautiful silver locks were all disheveled, the buttons of his vest loose.

I want to paint you, was all Marius could ever think of. “Ethereal,” he mindlessly whispered.

Yes, ethereal, his muse. All pretty and sultry, draped all over him—Marius would get drunk over Vilhelm’s beauty alone, and he’d do it over and over again.

Vilhelm must’ve simmered his fervent affection by now, because he shyly cleared his throat and immediately pulled himself away from Marius. “I am sorry,” he said, the blush across his face now more intense, “I… was carried away.”

Marius’ brows furrowed. “Carried away—”

“I did not say I regretted it. Do not assume so easily.” The reassurance came before Marius could even shape his lips into the sound of his worries—as always, Vilhelm seemed to always know what ran through the prince’s mind before he himself did.

“Heh.” The prince stood from his seat and clasped his hands with Vilhelm’s, leveling them to his chest. “You’re so moody, you know. You just made out with me.”

Golden eyes looked up to meet violet irises. That’s it. Look at me. Keep looking at me.

“We must return inside,” said Vilhelm. His voice was impassive, but it was conspicuous he hid a smile. “Marius.”

“Alright.” Marius slipped a hand around Vilhelm’s waist, eliciting a low gasp from him. “Only if you indulge me with another kiss.”

When Vilhelm wrapped his arms around Marius’ neck and tiptoed to reach his face, the prince found himself claiming tonight’s third kiss.

==

As the ballroom was filled with dancing guests, two lovers stole sweet, lingering glances. Standing on the glistening staircase opposite Vilhelm was Marius, surrounded by Austin and their subordinates.

If Marius had done that a few years back, stealing glances at a woman so shamelessly with his father just beside him, Vilhelm would’ve planned an hour-long scolding for the prince. But it was Vilhelm the prince was eyeing the entire evening, and despite avoiding his gaze, he couldn’t help but succumb to his urges and meet those amethyst eyes every now and then.

There were no regrets. He loved it when Marius looked at him, smiled at him, winked at him like that. Sweet, playful gestures meant for him, and only him.

“You seem joyous tonight.” Giann offered him a glass of French wine; the Royal Advisor mumbled his thanks as he let the liquid elegantly swirl around the glass’s rim.

A smile painted across his features, and Vilhelm hoisted the glass to his lips and said, “I am.”, and rarely did his words ever truly carry its meaning.

He caught the prince’s eye once again. Vilhelm flitted his gaze elsewhere—to Giann, who was closest to him—and Vilhelm only hoped the eldest von Hagen didn’t notice his heated cheeks.

“I understand,” said Giann, “why you are happy. I share the same sentiments.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

The eldest prince sipped from his glass, then turned to smile at him. Vilhelm resisted the urge to swallow; something felt wrong. He hoped it had something to do with tonight’s wine. “You should celebrate tonight,” he said, “it is because of you and your brilliance, after all, that my brother found a worthy spouse.”

Vilhelm’s blood ran cold. His face paled, and he couldn’t utter a word. He had to force some wine down his throat before he managed to say, “Shed light on the matter, please. I do not seem to understand.”

“Marius,” said Giann, “is betrothed.

“Our years of great effort towards Princess Rosa’s kingdom have not gone to waste. This is going to be the most-anticipated wedding of the century, and it’s all because of you, Vilhelm.”

Oblivious as he was overwhelmed by his brother’s betrothal success, Giann hoisted his glass and clinked it with Vilhelm’s. “Cheers!”

However, Vilhelm’s attention was entirely on Marius; the youngest von Hagen still had that mischievous, smitten smile plastered across his lips, but that smile quickly dissipated when he discerned the desolate look on his beloved’s face.

His brows knitted into a frown, and Marius instinctively made his way towards Vilhelm, walking through the central balcony to reach the opposite staircase, but the cheery announcement coming from his father halted him in his tracks.

Vilhelm’s world had already come crashing before his eyes, for he was the first to know of the news; Marius has yet to get his heart broken tonight.

Despite the dreary discomfort brought about by something he still was not aware of, Marius pulled himself to keep on getting closer, closer to where his beloved stood pale and somber.

But then Austin spoke of his gratitude: towards the guests, their allies, the neighboring domains. He thanked them for their time, their efforts; he then told them of tonight’s very purpose.

A purpose which the prince was well-aware of: to find himself a wife. However, a prince’s search for a spouse usually took countless balls and banquets and repetitive, double-faced dates. His brother Giann spent months, almost a year before he found himself a worthy partner. Surely their father hadn’t come up with someone—

And then he heard it. Princess Rosa.

That name, that young woman he so openly flirted with because he knew she too, did not wish to be a part of this glitzy ball; the only woman he decided he’d genuinely converse with for he saw she was feeling uneasy. It wasn’t something else. It was all but a genuine act.

But he was sure he heard it, yes, of course he did—his father’s next words weren’t clear for the prince’s ears rang in static noises, and all he could discern were happy gestures and smiles, pats on his back, and guests clinking their glasses together.

Soon, the static noise gradually disappeared, and he caught sight of his beloved trying to leave the premises.

“The most-anticipated wedding in history!”

Marius did not care as he forced his way across waves of people, his eyes only trained on that head of beautiful silver.

“A celebratory toast for Prince Marius and Princess Rosa’s betrothal!”

He could feel his chest tighten. Vilhelm’s movements were swift, but he stumbled every now and then, sometimes bumping on guests. He seemed so desperate to get away.

“And now, for the betrothed’s first dance...”

The von Hagen prince caught up with his lover.

Long fingers grasped tightly on Vilhelm’s coat, stopping him from any more movement; the man did not turn around to face the prince who so longed for him, and Marius did another desperate tug on his lover’s coat.

“Vilhelm.” A low, forlorn cry. “Please...”

Years ago, when little Marius pulled on the silver-haired boy’s coat, the older lad turned to face him. This time, however, the same person would not budge at all, even when Marius tugged again, and again, and another time.

No matter how desperate he was, the prince certainly couldn’t cause a scandal right then and there. Despite being the youngest, he still carried the burden of the royal family’s name and reputation; all he could do now was try to stop Vilhelm from leaving altogether, in the subtlest, most inconspicuous ways possible.

And it shattered him, knowing how hurt his beloved must be. To think they’d just kissed in the greenhouse a few minutes ago…

This must be some kind of joke. Or maybe all the odds were against them. Did Marius commit an unforgivable crime in his past life to be cursed like this?

“Marius,” came a restrained, dulcet voice. Cold, slender hands took hold of the prince’s own; Vilhelm’s touch was gentle, too gentle that Marius compliantly lowered his hand, removing itself from the coat he once clung desperately on. “Please,” came Vilhelm’s whisper, utterly pained and helpless, “let me go.”

“Vilhelm, please—”

It was too late when Marius realized he wasn’t holding onto Vilhelm’s coat anymore, and Vilhelm was swift to escape from his grasp, his sight. Marius was to follow him yet again, but Giann’s call snapped him back into reality, “Marius.

“Don’t keep her waiting. First dance, remember?”

His mind an utter void, the prince was shoved towards the centre of the dance floor. Glittery and gold, and all Marius could think of was how the ballroom’s hues were very much like the man he loved. Gold was his colour, after all.

Waiting for him there, in the middle of the dance floor, was the lustrous Princess Rosa herself. The way she carried herself, from her smile all the way down to how she positioned herself to maintain a good stance only proved her as an epitome of grace and beauty, but then again all Marius had in his mind was Vilhelm, Vilhelm, Vilhelm, and that he was a man of elegance and poise, much like Princess Rosa.

And how beautiful he would have been as the prince’s husband.

“Your Highness.” Princess Rosa swept a graceful curtsy, and Marius tried his best to mirror the action. “Prince Marius, it is an honour...”

Marius merely took hold of her hand, then rested his other hand on her upper back, before he guided her smoothly around the dance floor.

It was Vilhelm who taught him the steps.

“Prince Marius—”

“I’m sorry,” the prince cut her off, still taking the lead for a romantic dance, “I’m really sorry.”

He pulled the princess closer to him before he gently dipped her body close to the floor. Rosa wrapped her arms around his neck and asked him, “Your Highness, whatever for?”

He once thought of leaving her alone on the dance floor as he ran off to find Vilhelm, though he realized he, a gentleman, couldn’t possibly do that.

Marius twirled her beneath his hoisted arm, then slipped a hand around her waist as the princess’ back made contact with his front. “You deserve better than me,” he then whispered into her ear.

The princess surprised him when instead of following his lead nor performing the next step, she reached to cup his face and pulled him towards her.

As the onlookers gasped and gossiped of Rosa’s sudden seductive gesture, the princess breathed against the prince’s ear, “You ought to pursue what you love most, Your Highness, the same way I should have.”

Rosa entwined their hands together. There was only burning resolve in her bright olive eyes. “Let us get out of this stuffy place,” she said, and led Marius away from the crowd.

Gasps filled the entirety of the ballroom; guests were torn between thinking it a scandalous act or a sweet fairytale-came-to-life.

The betrothed couple would’ve laughed—a fairytale? It was nothing close to that. A nightmare, Marius would dare say.

Rosa must’ve known something; did she learn of Marius’ secret affair with Vilhelm? She led him to the depths of the dimmed halls before she halted their running. “Your Highness,” she called, “where do you think Sir Vilhelm went?”

It was then Marius saw the path leading to his atelier, his special place with Vilhelm, and its doors that were slightly ajar.

==

Vilhelm’s Departure.

God knows why he ended up within the comfortable confines of his prince’s atelier. Was it his instinct? Or was it because deep down, he wanted to grasp some semblance of Marius before he disappeared altogether?

The atelier was their special, secret place. It was the prince’s art studio and yet a grand piano stood sturdy across the room, out of place in the middle of the mess of brushes and tubes of paint; a grand piano whose keys were well-used despite everyone’s knowledge of the prince’s horrendous skill. 

During free days, Vilhelm accompanied Marius as he painted; Vilhelm would play soothing notes, his own way of easing the prince’s mind from bothersome things. But Marius did not have to know that.

And Vilhelm did not also need to know that it was him who Marius painted every single time.

Vilhelm, his muse of moonlight hair.

Canvasses, blank or splattered with pigments alike, were scattered across the dimmed space. There were paintings of roses, lilies, landscapes of the mountains and the seas—however, Vilhelm yearned to see a different work. A special one, he’d heard Marius say. Definitely nothing that concerns you but it was evident that masterpiece was himself—Vilhelm—and he knew that ever since Marius slipped on his words.

Ever so soon, Vilhelm had already looked halfway across the room. Still nothing.

Perhaps Marius wasn’t able to finish it. Or maybe, Marius decided not to work on it at all. Those thoughts roved his mind, and Vilhelm wanted to berate himself for having such dreamy expectations. Where did he think he was, a children’s fairytale?

And he was about to cross the threshold that would forever cut their ties, when Vilhelm noticed something else inside their secret space.

Something like a portrait, a massive one, leaning against the wall, concealed by an enormous, white cloth. Massive enough that one would have had to be blind not to notice, however he was certain he didn’t see this a few days ago—or the weeks before that, or the months that followed.

Or perhaps because all the other times he’d been here, a certain prince warranted the entirety of his attention.

Vilhelm tugged on the heavy cloth despite his numbing hands, and what was underneath the covers made his heart stir.

And sure it was Vilhelm de Haspran in this utterly magnificent portrait.

On a thin line, yet those luscious lips hid a secret smile. Fiery golden eyes that held gentleness. A sharp, pointed nose so perfect, and creased, sleek silver brows. Vilhelm wore his usual golden suit and coat in the portrait, a white cravat around his neck tucked underneath his clothing; he was perched on his favorite chaise lounge with crossed legs, his hands elegantly resting atop his thighs looking suspiciously like one would in a Queen’s portrait.

He bit his lip. Stifled a cry. “Marius...” Is this how he sees me?

Even Vilhelm himself was mesmerized by his beauty in Marius’ portrait. The prince painted him and suddenly he looked a hundred times more beautiful. Is this his image in the prince’s mind, ever so heavenly?

Vilhelm’s chest felt heavy; whether from affection or pride, he could not tell. On one hand, this was the work of the once young boy who had handed him a paper filled with what looked like scribbles of white and yellow and admiration—at the same time, the work of his lover, dedicated once more to him. Always to him.

On the portrait's lower right, a few words could be read. They were obscure, but Vilhelm knew the prince's handwriting well enough that these very words made him shed yet another tear:

My rose, my muse.

“...I love you,” came his solemn whisper as he took a quill and dipped it in dark ink, “and I am truly sorry.”

==

When the betrothed couple reached the atelier, Vilhelm had already gone.

The Princess could only watch as Marius drowned himself in despair. One glance at the empty room and he was on the floor, leaning against his massive artwork that was Vilhelm, his sobs getting much louder every second that it prompted Rosa to close the doors.

How quickly the tables turn, she thought. Earlier this evening he was that charming lad all the women pined for, so witty and handsome even Rosa herself was drawn, and now he's here, slumped against a most precious art which was the most precious person in his life. Rosa realized he was all but a young boy walking around in a grown man’s skin.

And she knew exactly how that felt, having experienced one of the same misery. Romancing her crown shield, Luke, was all rainbows and butterflies until it was not. It was all sneaking in through her room’s veranda and secretly intertwining their hands until it was not.

Rosa watched, with olive eyes that bled of understanding. Sympathy.

If it wasn’t for the vast difference in their statures, Rosa would have thought she was staring right through a mirror. One that starred a young lady who sobbed silently in her room.

The prince was slumped on the floor, head craned up as he stared, worshipped, the massive portrait. At least there, Marius thought, Vilhelm wouldn’t be able to leave him. He’d stay there, sat pretty on his much favoured seat and always, always looking down at him with his eyes of brilliant gold however empty they might be. Devoid of the love Marius spied in Vilhelm’s eyes as they redezvoused in his greenhouse, surrounded by his blood-red roses. As they shared their first and last kiss…

Rosa rushed to Marius and wrapped him in her gentle embrace and Marius finally realized he’d been violently sobbing, gaze manic. “There, there,” she hummed against his ears, “shh.”

“...Is he gone?” cried the prince. “He's gone.” Marius clung to the young woman, his face now buried in the crook of her neck.

At this moment he was not a prince, but an unfortunate boy—stripped out of his only happiness and denied of a love he cherished most. Burdened by a duty he certainly did not ask for.

“You cry it all out, Marius. I'm here,” reassured the princess. Her soft fingers combed through the prince's locks to soothe him. “I won't leave you.”

The prince seemed to trust her enough, and so he slumped even more against her body, his hold on her now more desperate. He sobbed, hard, and hot tears trickled down Rosa’s bare shoulder.

Marius retracted a hand to wipe his tears, and she held that hand afterward, entwining their fingers. And only then she noticed a piece of parchment; he must've been clutching it for it was crumpled.

Rosa sensed a hot, stray tear roll past her cheek.

I have always loved the way you played Claire de Lune for me, Marius. In another lifetime, perhaps, you could play it for me more?

“Claire de Lune,” the princess said suddenly.

Marius’ sobs halted for a second, and he whispered, “Moonlight.”

“I truly get it now, why you like the piece so much.” Rosa stifled a sob of her own, and she tightened her embrace on Marius, hoping to alleviate the aching he suffered from. “Moonlight,” she said again, “for your lover of moonlight hair...” It must remind him of Sir Vilhelm so much.

He and the Royal Advisor make a good match, she thought. They even look so well together...

But even Rosa knew Vilhelm left for good. She had met him a few years back, and one thing was for sure: Vilhelm, despite his love for Marius, would never sabotage the Royal Family's decision. It had always been them before himself. 

He was the von Hagen’s Royal Advisor before he was Vilhelm, after all.

He knew he stood no chance when the betrothal announcement was made. No, Vilhelm knew he and Marius were impossible even before that.

The Royal Advisor only chose to succumb to his long-suppressed desires tonight, and now he was off to a place farthest from the love of his life.

The prince and princess were never to be seen again that night. It was only after a year that they once again appeared—on the day that was deemed the most-anticipated wedding of the century.

Even if it was a mere business contract and never a romantic affair.

And as pretentious I do’s were exchanged in the altar—no matter how it was all one make-believe in the eyes of the Lord—Princess Rosa, now von Hagen, only had one wish in mind:

I wish, she’d thought as she looked at the prince’s cold, dull eyes: empty amethysts despite him trying to appear as a deserving husband. I wish fate would be kinder to us, soon.

==

2030, Stellis Art Museum.

“You’re late, Missy.”

Rosa sighed. Marius had his arms folded as he eyed her—his Missy Lawyer, Rosa—who was his date for the art museum’s soft opening. It was not owned nor managed by PAX, much to the von Hagen’s dismay, but it was an art museum, and Marius loved art more than anything or anyone else—

Or maybe there was an exception. It could be Rosa, who Marius could love more than his craft, or perhaps...

“Vyn?”

“Dr. Richter! You’re here!” Rosa calling for Vyn snapped Marius out of his reverie. She practically sprinted towards the psychiatrist who now wore a gentle smile on his face upon seeing Rosa. “I’m glad you made it here today, Dr. Richter.”

“However could I disappoint you? I agreed to be your date, after all,” said Vyn, taking her hand and brushing his thumb against her soft knuckles before placing on it a featherlight kiss.

Marius snorted. “Yeah yeah, I know, you’re the gentleman,” he said, “but uh, what does this mean, Missy? You have two dates? I wasn’t informed that I’d be sharing you with this guy who loves to kissy kissy ~”

Vyn threw him a glare. “Do you also wish for me to kiss your hand?”

Marius’ cheeks blazed red. He had to look away for his two companions not to take notice. “Shut up, Vyn,” he said. “Don’t want your saliva on me.”

“Are you certain about that?”

“Hey, you guys...” Rosa stepped in between the two bickering men. “Stop fighting, just for today. Come on, let’s see some paintings? Marius...?”

The young von Hagen cleared his throat. “Y-yeah, let’s see some paintings.” He shot her a smile before he walked towards the entrance.

Meanwhile, Rosa suppressed the grin—or the smirk, rather—that threatened to form across her lips. She was not mistaken when she caught Marius openly staring at Vyn, as if studying his features.

“Shall we, Dr. Richter?”

“Ah, yes.” He extended his arm for her to take, but his attention was elsewhere. It took him a few seconds before he was able to break his gaze from a certain young man, one with midnight-blue hair, and draw his attention to his supposed date. “We shall.”

Ambling inside an art museum wasn’t a new thing for both men. But being inside an art museum with Marius around seemed to be enough of a distraction to Vyn, and Vyn being in close proximity to Marius made the young artist feel... flutters. Butterflies. Fucking dragons, maybe.

Ah. Maybe because it was Vyn who prompted young Marius to paint. That day, when Giann first brought him home, little Marius was all but entranced by the foreign lad’s splendor, and when Marius found out how much the lad appreciated paintings, he locked himself in his room and painted ‘til the sun rose.

He gave it to him, as his tiny gift, and Vyn had accepted. Vyn, who was supposed to be his ‘big brother’, just like Giann. Vyn, who was supposed to be his friend, but somehow he wanted more than that.

When Austin hired the psychiatrist as his tutor, Marius didn't know what to feel. But, alas, Marius suppressed his budding affection better than anyone else—only, his way of hiding resulted in Vyn's spiraling stress levels.

But the psychiatrist, truly, did not mind.

Marius' presence brought upon him peace despite himself, made him feel this particular sense of uncanny familiarity from who-knows-where. Marius, who made him strengthen his guard and lower it simultaneously because that's just how it is and it's driving him mad, every time.

Even one who excelled at scrutinizing minds could not comprehend such a peculiar yet familiar case.

And Marius, who remembered each and every one he met and encountered the way a businessman did, couldn’t figure out where he had met him, because he was familiar, more familiar than anything or anyone else, and Marius was sure he had met Vyn before.

Way before Giann brought the foreign lad home the very first time.

He'd had a dream, once, but it was a blur when he'd woken up. A lad with moonlight hair who bore a coat, little hands gripping its fabric. Pigments in a drawer, paintbrushes. Swirling, beautiful golden eyes.

Or was he just hallucinating?

“Marius, look,” came Rosa's voice. She was pointing to something: a massive oil portrait of what seemed to be a man of great status, with his medals and fancy insignias and all. “Marius,” she said again, “his resemblance to you is uncanny.”

“It’s...”

But Marius was not looking at where Rosa pointed at. Rosa was pertaining to a prince’s portrait in front of them, however Marius’ attention was fixated elsewhere: on a magnum opus of one silver-haired man in an elegant suit and coat, one with the very same champagne-gold eyes as Vyn, and...

Isn’t that Vyn, only in different clothes?

Marius saw Vyn standing in front of said portrait.

He drew nearer, until he was standing beside him. But when Marius lowered his gaze at Vyn, the man was not looking at the silver-haired man's painting, but at the portrait of a dashing prince with hair of midnight blue.

And it was not long before amethyst eyes met golden ones; not long before a speck of memory recurred, even just for a second. Two lovers might’ve or might’ve not glimpsed a spiteful past, that of two souls who now faced one another.

But they’re here now, are they not?

My rose, my muse.

Marius took a step closer to him. “Vyn.”

I have always loved the way you played Claire de Lune for me. In another lifetime, perhaps, you could play it for me more?

“Marius,” said the man of moonlight hair, now smiling at him gently, as if all the problems in this world had gone. “I do not exactly remember how or when,” he said, “but I vaguely recall you ought to play the piano for me.”

Really? Where did I even get that? This brat can’t play for... 

He wanted to sigh. Marius really was rubbing off him lately that even his barbaric language—as Vyn called it—slowly creeps itself inside the older man.

This brat can’t even play for shit.

“Yeah.” Marius brushed his hand against Vyn’s, testing the waters—but Vyn himself reached to entwine their hands together and said, “Then let us go home, before your play becomes even rustier.”

“Huh? But—” Marius looked around. “Where’s Missy Lawyer?”

“With her real date.” Vyn glanced at the far corner of the hall, and there Rosa mused at the artworks with Luke. She caught Vyn’s eye and Rosa shot him a wink. It wasn’t the first time Rosa set them up for a date; it was already her fourth attempt, in fact, and Vyn always accepted her invitations despite knowing what she’d been up to. 

Might as well give in and let Rosa succeed in her date set-up endeavours. Besides, Marius and Vyn weren’t that dense not to feel each other’s hidden affection. “I do not think she would mind if we left now.

“So, Marius. Shall we go to your place, or mine?”

There was a deep blush on the younger man’s cheeks. “W-what?”

The doctor pressed a palm against his mouth, chuckling. “You are always so easily flustered,” he said.

Yeah, yeah. Only for you, Vyn.

Vyn reached out to run his fingers against Marius’ jaw, tickling him. “I am surprised your family business is still on its feet.”

“Shut up.” Marius frowned, then looked away. The pink flush on his cheeks only deepened; Vyn wanted to push him over the edge, just to see how Marius would react. “I’ll... save my blushing for later.”

A rich chuckle was shared, and soon they found themselves staring at the two regency-style paintings yet again. “Heh, would someone ever paint me like that—”

Only for Marius to so blatantly clear his throat to capture Vyn’s attention. “Don’t you know about Z? Surely he can paint you like that, hehe.”

“Z must be a busy man.” Vyn smiled innocently. “Besides, why would he paint me—”

“Hah!” Marius slipped a hand around Vyn’s waist and leaned to whisper against the older man’s ear, “Go and talk big. You’ll see.”

Vyn threw him a glare; all so suddenly he wriggled out of the younger man’s hold of him, slapping his hand away and walking out of the place.

“What? Oi, Vyn!” Marius caught up to him, but Vyn kept on walking; too bad the younger man couldn’t see the faint blush on the doctor’s face, and the smile that he barely suppressed.

All Marius could think of was, “Okay, woo the girlfr—I mean, boyfriend, yes, woo the boyfriend... wait, he’s not even my boyfriend and yet—”

He halted right in front of Vyn, who abruptly stopped in his tracks; then suddenly cold, slender hands suddenly cupped Marius’ face.

And it wasn’t so soon when cool, gentle lips pressed against the young von Hagen’s own.

It was chaste, too chaste, but Marius was too dumbfounded to even demand another one. He was but a blushing mess when Vyn pulled away, his soft hands still on Marius’ face.

“I’m not complaining, but did you just steal my first kiss?” asked Marius.

“That is only fair,” Vyn said, tiptoeing to plant another quick peck, this time on Marius’ cheek. “You also took mine.”

[official-weasley]

Headcanon time (Part 4)

I can't believe I am back! I have been away for such a long time (almost 2 months since I posted any of my content I have been told) and I missed writing so much (even though it felt good to take a break too) so I decided to return with a Charlie HC since I love writing these and it's something lighter to come back with 💙

Nobody’s going to tell me that with the amount of knowledge Charles Weasley possessed about animals that he wasn’t invited to teach Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts.

It wasn’t something Charlie ever thought about doing – even though there were moments when he reached his fifties when he wondered what will he do if he ever gets too old for dragons. Just the thought sent shivers down his spine but he had to at least think of the possibility.

Charlie Weasley loved his job more than any of the Weasley siblings loved theirs. He was proud of every scar and bruise he had and he worked hard to get to where he is. He blew people in the Sanctuary away on the first day of him working there because they haven’t had such a talented lad in quite a while.

Everybody wanted him on his team and even though he was quite a popular sibling in the house he couldn’t deny that the amount of attention and praise he got from his co-workers felt nice.

He loved working in the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary – so much so that when they offered him a job in both Chinese and Swedish Sanctuary he turned them down. Not that he didn’t like working with Chinese Fireballs but he liked his variety of dragons more – always said that it kept things interesting being surrounded by so many breeds.

With that being said he did not expect to get a letter one morning from his former Head of House (now Headmistress).

He stared at the closed envelope for a minute more than necessary and no matter how much he tried figuring out what she could possibly want from him he couldn’t and the curiosity got the better of him.

He breezed through the letter, his eyes stopping at the signature just for a moment before flicking back up to the beginning so he could read the letter – slower this time – as he couldn’t believe what he was reading.

Hagrid has taken his first proper vacation and they need someone to fill in for him for 2 weeks?

And out of all the amazing teachers and acquaintances the school had the Headmistress thought of him? But he only knows about dragons? Like REALLY knows. He is knowledgeable about every creature in the book but he isn’t confident about teaching about them.

He never taught anything in his life – maybe a newbie here and there but that’s different!

Charlie tossed the letter in a drawer in the hopes that he would remember to reply to Professor McGonagall in the morning and kindly decline her offer.

Of course, the opposite happened – he couldn’t sleep all night!

The question Charlie was puzzled with was why? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about the offer he got? He loved his job. He loved his routine. He loved his peaceful life in nature surrounded by creatures he adored since he was a kid.

Why would he go to Hogwarts again? He had nice 7 years there – there was nothing to complain about – but he would be lying if he said that he missed the place. Being in his books most days he didn’t have that many friends and the ones he did have disappeared after the war or he lost contact with them so nothing was connecting him to the place.

Perhaps it’s a thrill of something new?

To do something else.

Or maybe to share his knowledge?

Charlie’s favorite professor was Silvanus Kettleburn and he will never forget him. He remembers when he asked Ron about him but Ron replied that Hagrid is teaching them instead. Charlie was intrigued and wished he had the time to attend one of Hagrid’s lectures – his little brother, however, wasn’t so impressed.

He loved to listen to Hagrid and only Bill knows that he was probably Charlie’s best friend while at school. If Hagrid went for a vacation and Charlie was the next best thing – he couldn’t even imagine what an honor that is.

Hagrid!

That’s it! He wants to take the job for Hagrid’s sake – so he can take a proper vacation!

Without thinking twice about it, Charlie stood up and replied to Professor McGonagall. It’s only for two weeks, how hard can it be?

Charlie decided to take the Hogwarts Express to the school – purely for nostalgia and definitely not because he doesn’t like apparition.

The second the train conductor told him that they will arrive in 10 minutes Charlie’s nerves started to kick in.

This was a mistake! Who was he kidding? He can’t be a professor. What if the students don’t listen to him? Or worse –what if they laugh at him or mock him?

The work in the Sanctuary might be difficult at times but at least everybody minded their own business and they never laughed in his face if he made a mistake. But these are students – teenagers – he can’t deal with teenagers, he doesn’t know how!

A carriage was waiting for him at the station and brought him to the castle where his former Head of House greeted him with one of her special smiles. He knew that she appreciated him coming on such short notice and that she couldn’t wait to see how Charlie will do.

She kept saying what a wonderful job he will do and how excited the students are for Hagrid’s temporal replacement and how happy she is that she got such an amazing person for the job.

He, however, couldn’t share her enthusiasm. Charlie didn’t see the qualities she saw in him and couldn’t imagine how could he – with zero experience – be a good teacher.

Charlie thought of expressing this concern but he liked McGonagall too much to wipe that soft smile off her face.

“Will I sleep in Hagrid’s hut?” Charlie asked as they were making their way to the part of the castle Charlie never managed to explore.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Weasley. You will be staying in the teacher’s quarters. You are getting a nice room with a fireplace and a living room.” McGonagall replied and pointed to the door ahead of them.

Charlie was appreciative of the room when he saw it but he couldn’t help but be a bit sad that he can’t stay at Hagrid’s. Charlie wasn’t big on socializing so staying away from other professors and away from the chatter of students in a small hut seemed like a dream.

It didn’t matter that he had a nice room or a very comfy bed. Charlie woke up feeling like a mummy. He couldn’t sleep at all, the nerves kicking in, and it was even worse when he remembered that he didn’t even have a syllabus or any idea what he is about to teach in his first class.

On Monday morning McGonagall calmed his nerves at breakfast and told him that she prepared a list of topics for every year so that he will feel more organized.

Year 3 – Porlocks

Year 4 – Werewolves

Year 5 – Pixies

Year 6 – Dragons

Year 7 – Demiguise

Charlie’s chest felt lighter when he realized that he knew loads of fun facts about all these creatures but he couldn’t help but be the most excited about teaching sixth years about dragons.

He had one hour before his first class to prepare an introduction for Pixies and then talk and teach about them for 2 hours. It seemed like an eternity to talk about a creature like that for 2 hours and since Charlie was never a smooth talker or good at making small talk he began to feel nervous again.

He tried to remember how he was like when he was in his fifth year but failed. He knew that he was nose deep in the books Kettleburn gave him about dragon care but he doesn’t remember much else than that.

Charlie’s legs have never felt so heavy walking down for his first class. He was seconds away from just giving up and going to tell McGonagall he can’t do this when one of the students called for him to wait up.

He stopped walking and turned around to see a girl running toward him. She introduced herself and started asking him questions about the creatures they are going to study. Without letting him answer her first question she bombarded him with the next one about the Dragon Sanctuary and then started to name every creature she is fond of.

This calmed Charlie’s nerves – knowing he had a student just like he was in his first class.

After his second class of the day, he couldn’t believe how amazing the students were. Charlie couldn’t recall his classmates being so interested in Care of Magical Creatures as he was but fourth and seventh-year students were more than happy to listen to him talk about werewolves and demiguise. They also asked loads of questions and didn’t complain at all when Charlie gave them a bunch of homework.

Waking up the next morning, he felt rather confident in his ability to teach. He had nothing but a pleasant experience so far. The professors and students have both been so nice and he couldn’t help but think that he overreacted. Being a professor wasn’t so bad and perhaps if the day comes when he won’t be able to handle dragons anymore he might apply to work here full time or if Hagrid will still work then at least as his assistant.

Charlie was on his way to the last class of his second day. He met every year students except the sixth years. He was walking down the path with a big smile on his face and his chest was filled with confidence – dragons – he has to talk about dragons!

“Good afternoon, students, my name is Charles Weasley and I am your substitute professor until Professor Hagrid returns. We are going to talk about dragons today. Can any of you name 5 breeds of dragons?”

“Aren’t you a Dragonologist, you name the breeds!” One of the students said after a few seconds of silence.

“I am and I know all the breeds that’s why I am asking you.” Charlie wanted to swallow thickly but he also didn’t want to appear weak in front of the first rude student he had.

“Seems to me that you’re avoiding the topic. Are you a fraud?” The student kept pushing.

Charlie couldn’t believe it. The class he was most excited about and it didn’t go well! He looked around, all eyes on him. He won’t let this student ruin this experience and the ability to learn about dragons from a real Dragonologist for everyone else!

“Fine,” he said softly. “Ask me anything you want to know and I will answer. If I get one question wrong you are free for the rest of the lesson. If I get all of them correct you will write a summary of every breed of dragon – half a parchment each – and get detention for talking back at me as you did. Does that seem fair?” Charlie wanted to smirk, a look of triumph on his face, but he had to stay professional.

After a minute of silence – half of the students looking at Charlie and half at the boy who dared to talk back at a professor – they bombarded him with questions.

Charlie answered every question correctly from how many known species there are to how long do the Antipodean Opaleye’s eggs need to hatch and without having to think for 2 seconds about the answer.

The students stared at Charlie in pure awe and admiration and he couldn’t help but notice that even the boy that tried so hard to bring him down on his second day of work looked impressed.

Charles Weasley left that class with his chin high up, feeling confident for his next day, happy and humbled that he took this opportunity and with a student put in detention.

Doing all that in one day, he was now even more sure that he could do this and even though he missed all his dragons back at home in Romania, he couldn’t help but admit that this was a rather nice pace and change of scenery from what he is used to and perhaps – somewhere in the distant future when he will lose a hand and a leg like Kettleburn – he might see himself working like this every single day.

[urlocalnctstan]

𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚄𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 - 𝙹.𝚂𝙶

• Candy Hearts Collab - @127-mile​

Prompt : “I came to say goodbye.”

Genre : Angst, Fluff, kinda Slow-burnish?, Slice of life, highschool + college AU

Pairing : Sungchan X Reader (Ft. Jeno)

Warning(s) : mentions of bullying and injury (like one scene only), unrequited love, mentions of slight anxiety, hormonal shifts, language, minor character death

Writing nets : @kdiarynet​ @k-dinernet​ @kpopscape​ @czennienet​ @neoturtles​

Taglist : @eh-ovo-nctu​

WC : 9.7k

Summary : What people hated the most is the very word ‘goodbye’. However, it’s the very word that becomes something that you yearn to hear from Sungchan for years.

→ Playlist [recommended]

The sound of the rain was supposed to calm you down, not make you even more anxious and sweaty and you sat with your legs firmly pressed against each other, hoping to fill in the lack of company you were feeling amongst the swarm of people who perhaps shared the same dreams, same aim as yours. Public places as trains, trams, bus stops; you always thought they portrayed as the perfect definition for the word ‘sonder.’ Each individual having a life pretty much as complex as yours — sometimes a little less or sometimes a little more. It fascinated you.

“Do you think the trip is worth it?” Lee Jeno, your best friend of quite a few years puffs his cheeks as he stared dubiously at the red and white poster he held. You took a peek at it, the amount of times Jeno had been pestering you if he should really give up the money he had saved for PS5 as a sacrifice for this trip, it was safe enough for you to say that you had every words printed on it memorized. Well, maybe not every words but the main stuff at least.

“Lee Jeno,” You sharply gawked at the male sitting beside you, earning an ugly grimace from him. “Stop it already. I don’t know about you but I ain’t passing this chance.”

“Wah, what a nice friend I got.” You failed to notice the dramatic eye roll he makes before shoving the poster in his backpack, the one he had been using since the first day you had befriended him. Was it 5 years? 6 years?

“Are we five years or six years?” But I met him on that bookstore down my neighborhood, that was like spring of 2017 and now it’s 2021.

The male let out a snort.  “If I am a five year-old then you are definitely still inside the womb.” Even though he was smiling with that ‘innocent eye smile’ the evil smirk sheathed beneath went unnoticed by you. No sooner had he opened his mouth, a fresh harsh smack landed on his arms that were clad in a filmsy material of cotton and thus a silent yelp of pain escaping from him as he grabbed the area which was starting to sting with each passing second. The smack, albeit meant for him, you were unable to ignore the similar stinging pain in your palm, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. But you made sure to show absolutely no signs of distress; it was somewhat a matter of childish pride for you.

“Change your career aim from a perfumist to an assassinator will you?” If it were the campus grounds, you two would have already been latched at one another throats; both metaphorically and literally.

“I will gladly not.” You huffed at the male whose eyes held a scornful gaze, now even more annoyed or perhaps, as you would think most of the times, he was just exaggerating. You found yourself mindlessly scrolling through your gallery in search of the recent notes from Mr. Kim’s classes. Until you stumble across something you had been long avoiding, a forlorn fragment from the former days of your high school.

“Here lies the proof of my utmost love and affection, always devoted to my only Y/N.”

It was a picture of you smiling way too bright, cheeks and nose flushed red while being squished by the only male in the frame as he pressed a peck against your cheek. His neck was craned to the side, ripe ears clearly visible in the small Polaroid film. As much as you hated to admit, your heart would still make flips and turns whenever you run into something that reminded you of him, your very first love and first heart break—Jung Sungchan.

Jeno was too busy in his dreamland as he dozed off with his head resting peacefully against your shoulder. It was no new news that the lad had been immensely in love with you ever since the first time you saved him from getting bullied back in 9th grade. However, you were always too busy with your academics and extra-curricular activities and thus clearly drawing a line of only being friends. Nothing else. It happened when Jeno had finally mustered up the courage after excelling in his Maths Olympiad, where he made a bet that if he indeed secures a place in the top 5, you have to abide by anything he wishes for. But he wished for your love, something you were not really capable of doing so; especially at that time. You did not have the heart to say no when Jeno jogged up to you, his eyes transforming into crescents as he smiled wide. “I did it!” His words came out rather breathy, possibly because of him running to you, and maybe because how hard he could feel his heart thump against his ribs when he noticed the proud grin on your face. Without wasting any moment further, Jeno lets go of the white banner of achievement he had been holding, his hands now focusing on yours. You could almost feel the slight tremble and the wetness of his sweaty palms, but before you could even say anything he beat to you by saying, “Go out on a date with me. Only one.”

There were numerous times when you felt guilty about turning down Jeno. At times it had you baffled that why a guy like him would ever bother liking you so much. Jeno was incredibly talented; gifted with unfair boon of genius traits in both academics and athletics. His little version of him always demeaned his abilities, often failing to notice that how much more he was rather than just a quiet kid who loved coding and maths. Maybe perhaps that was the very reason for him to face the bullying, at least that’s what you thought when you first noticed him getting cornered by some stupid idiot dipshits from your class during recess. Jeno’s ID card lay discarded on the ground, as Kihyun grabbed its owner by the collar. You could not understand his reason for not fighting back, and thus being a silent spectator was never your thing so you decided to butt in. As much as you equally hated and liked one thing, boys seemed to get kinda wary of your presence. Especially boys like these who were already in the blacklist of the teachers. It did not take them long to pick their asses and run from the site when you glared them with a threatening gaze, a single word from the class president and they would get suspended yet again for the umpteenth time in the year. You crouched down to Jeno’s level, carefully handing him his ID. You did not bother asking him if he was okay, of course he wasn’t. His face showed signs of previous injuries, the purple hues of bruises slightly fading beside his jaws. You still don’t know why but you felt the need to protect him from his solace, thus leading to this inseparable bond of yours.

But that was a version of him that was long forgotten. Jeno had become the star and face of the school in the last years of your highschool. Acing various quiz competitions, Olympiads, getting highest grades, being the captain of the soccer and basketball team; you were sure God really had His favorites.

You were not surprised when Jeno brought you to your usual favourite—candle shop. It was a hidden gem in your hometown, a small secluded shop located just a few miles away from the metropolitan. Not everyone was aware of its existence until that one day you decided to act rebellious for once in your school life. Of course dragging Jeno into this so called rebel act with you. The date was rather casual, just two friends messing around with wax and chemically named perfume essences. The shop was owned by a lady close to your grandma’s age, and it still makes you wonder how on earth was she able to keep up with the hollering you two were making. No matter how much you convinced yourself that maybe you could give the boy a chance, and perhaps feelings might grow on you later on; you could not make yourself cloud your rationality with the uncertain possibilities. You confessed every single thing that had been on your mind and Jeno just calmly listened to everything you uttered. You could clearly see the expression of hurt washing over his face, but he knew you. He knew that once you had made up your mind, there was no going back. The night did not cause any indifference in your friendship; it bloomed with each passing years of your middle school and then highschool. You two had become the infamous bestfriends, the once timid boy then all buff and handsome and the once spotlight lover girl then buried in her textbooks to pass the college entrance exams.

Throughout these years of teen, the candle shop had become a constant place for anything to you both; sadness, comfort or just enjoyable times. Until that one day when you met the grandson of the lady who owned the shop. Make a guess who it was.

When people spoke of their first heartbreak, you always cringed at how they exaggerated. Technically you never experienced one, so it seemed ridiculous to you that how was it possible to a simple break to cause others this much pain. You were shocked, no scratch that. Using fancy words, you were utterly bewildered when you saw the new transfer student—Jung Sungchan was the name, standing on the makeshift podium of your classroom. Thank God the architects decided to stick to keeping the height of the room above eight feet. You had changed drastically, contrasting your previous bubbly persona, you had become more reserved. It was just you being ambitious about something you had grown to like, and after some backstabs from your friends, you did not feel the need to have so many around you. Just Jeno being there for you was more than enough.

It would be a lie if Jeno did not sense the subtle looks you had been sending over to the new guy, but he was in no place to object you. It had only been a few moments of Sungchan’s arrival and Jeno already sensed his position in your life being threatened. He knew you were a saint who always looked out for others, and something about his presence made Jeno feel wary. Jeno did not need any of the privileges he had, all of it he owed to you after all. It was you who brought the best out of him, and in the end if he has them all but not you, it wasn’t clearly worth it to him. You preferred unpredictable things; it was what he learned about you in all your years of friendship. How you would always choose mystery thrillers over typical rom-coms, how you would always vouch for the new dish in the menu every time you both visited the local barbecue house. And he knew it was impossible to be one like that, it was just typical Taurus things (as he would like to blame) that made him too practical, too predictable for you. But, you never thought like that. It was just that even though you wanted to, you couldn’t make yourself grow romantic towards the boy you always shared your oreos and ramen with. He held a dear place in your heart and life.

Sungchan was immediately welcomed to the family, the girls already swooning over his good looks and amazing grades. Plus icing on the top, he was the half-brother of the infamous Jung Yoonoh, the heartthrob of the whole school, from juniors to seniors. While Jaehyun was the typical definition of being that one dude we always see in rom-coms who is loved and admired by all for his too humble personality and ethics, Sungchan on the other hand was more of a quiet one, often too shy properly open up his orginal self around new environment. Despite that, he was naturally amiable just like his brother, a trait that perhaps ran in the Jung household. Unlike Jaehyun who was presumably born with good brains, Sungchan was a hardworking one. Sungchan tried to settle down the queasy feeling he had been feeling ever since he moved back here, now that Jaehyun was always busy in Seoul with his medical degree someone had to look after their aging grandma. Sungchan was never really a part of any group, so leaving behind his school back in the city was not that painful for him. The atmosphere of the whole campus was pretty soothing; the bushes of neatly trimmed trees, big huge playground and the ochre shaded building. He liked all of it, and to top it all the uniform was really his style: solid crème and dark maroon combination.

When Sungchan stood awkwardly in the middle of the classroom, clearly clueless as to where he would be seating since all the seats were occupied, a soft voice called out his name rather eagerly. His eyes scanned for a while until he saw you; dark hair tied up neatly into a ponytail with a pencil in your hand as you waved him to notice the empty seat beside yours. Sungchan smiled at your sweet gesture, his out of place feeling now subsiding into the warmth of the possible blooming friendship.

“Hi there, I am Y/N.” You chirped, wiping your left hand before bringing it out for him to shake. Sungchan froze for a while before he realized what he was supposed to be doing. “Oh! And this is Jeno!” You turned slightly towards your best friend sitting just behind you with his famous eye smile.

“Hello, I am Jung Sungchan.” He returned the gesture shaking both your and Jeno’s hand. Whilst Jeno had the feeling of roughness and athleticism in his, your hands were warm and soft; it felt nice he thought. That was the first impression of yours to him: ball of sunshine. And your impression of him? Reserved and unpredictable; a combination that only meant chaos and imbalance.

Sungchan side-glanced at your fumbling state. Seating next to him you in the front row, you skimmed over your not so pleasant looking notes that you had scribbled anxiously in the prior night. Public speaking had never been a big deal for you once you get adjusted to the audience after going up on stage. However, it is the pre anxiety session that just always riles you up.

“You know,” Your head whipped a bit too fast to your liking at the voice belonging to the only male that sat beside you. “I’ll show you a trick. Here.” Sungchan proceeded to softly place your trembling hands on his, cautiousness apparent with every move he made. Even though you both had been seatmates for the last three months, you never found yourself involved in any sort of skinship with him; something that was really common for you and Jeno. The look of fluster was way too obvious when Sungchan softly rubbed various shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, you were unsure if he was actually helping you ease from nervousness or just increasing it further. It had quite been a while since you had your hands caged in his, both of you completely unaware of the looks you had been getting from your senior teachers seated in the neighboring row. The moment was cut off when your name was announced from the stage by a senior, requesting your presence to commence your speech. Sungchan slowly lets go of your hands, mumbling a soft ‘best of luck!’ with his hands now fisted as an act of verbal encouragement. You eyes wandered around the crowd for a while before locating your best friend who sat miserably beside the homeroom teacher, really closing to dozing off before noticing your presence and copying Sungchan’s gestures.

The bus paused, Jeno still deep in his slumber despite the harsh jerk of the vehicle stopping in its tracks. You sighed, he must have probably been gaming the whole night with his roommate Donghyuck again. You nudged softly at first, the lack of response later than causing you to shake him vigorously by his toned arms that barely fit in your palms. Jeno instantly sprinted up with wide eyes before softly muttering a curse at your cruel way of waking him up.

“I was definitely right about you being a torturer in your previous life.”

“Sure you were. Get your ass off the bus now.”

You parted your ways with Jeno on the campus ground, him heading to his coding facult while you headed towards the chemistry club room. Apparently a newbie was supposed to come today from the US. It was odd you assumed since US had much better facilities for students majoring in chemistry. You glanced at your figure on your way to the room, wondering if the ripped jeans were a good choice as a first impression. You just disliked the idea of leaving off bad impressions, even if you are never going to meet the person again until your next life. Jaemin, another close friend of both you and Jeno smiled widely at your entrance, waving his hand as he pointed the seat next to him enthusiastically. Jaemin and you were basically clones of each other, the leos inside of you both shinig at its best whenever you two are together.

“I don’t understand why move back here from THE United States.” Jaemin dragged out the word, scoffing silently as he handed you a cup of iced Americano. You were about to sip before pausing. You could not have possibly risked your stomach again after that one fateful day when you tasted ‘his type’ of iced Americano. This dude legit gulped down eight espresso shots with a satisfied hum, horrified looks painted on your and Jeno’s features as you both just stared at him in utter shock.

“Please not the poisonous drink.” You eyed the male suspiciously, who scoffed at the nickname.

“Of couse not little baby.” Jaemin cooed with his lips puckered and an annoying high pitched voice, purposefully pinching your cheeks a bit harder than he usually does.

 “You little moth-”

“Hello guys, I am Sungchan. Nice to meet you all.” Your heart dropped at the familiar tone of voice. He isn’t possibly back again after leaving without any traces, without a single goodbye, is he? You did not dare to look at his figure standing in front of the table, awkwardly shifting in your seat while Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Hello, Sungchan.” Sulli, your senior by 2 years and also the president of the club greeted him warmly. “I hope you like it here because adjusting to a new place might be hard at times. Oh, these are your classmates; Y/N and Jaemin.”

Sungchan immediately looked in your direction at the mention of your name, his eyes equally wide in surprise mirroring your previous reaction.

“Y/N?” He called out in a rather unsure tone, just like his movements the cautiousness was also present there. “It’s been……a while….”

“Yeah, indeed.” You had a visible change in demeanor, Jaemin finally grasping the tense situation before jogging up to the male.

“Hi there, I am Na Jaemin. You can call me Nana if you want.” Jaemin put his hand out as a formality, to which Sungchan politely complied. “There’s a seat there you can sit.” Jaemin was luckily wise enough to occupy the empty seat beside yours without knowing the turn of events. He motioned Sungchan towards the seat diagonal to you, sensing the discomfort in your posture he assumed it was best if Sungchan sat somewhat further.

Concentrating on the yearly planning for the club was harder with his presence; Sungchan unable to hide his obvious lingering gaze on you. Jaemin would cough every now and then, signaling the male to focus on the club president’s instructions instead of you. But as his usual self, Sungchan pretended to not notice the clear hints, continuing keep his eyes locked on yours. You were barely able to note down some important events, knowing that Jaemin certainly cannot be trusted with his short time memory. After that president bids her farewell to everyone present in the room, you take it as your cue to just flee as soon as possible from his reach.

“Y/N, wait!” Sungchan was quick to grab you just as you were about to exit by the door, the sudden halt in movement causing you to stumble back into his embrace awkwardly. You were definitely embarrassed, your back pressed against his chest in a weird manner as you straighten yourself again. You scrunched you nose to hide your embarrassment before asking him.

“What is it now Jung Sungchan?” You were not meaning to snap at him, but the bitter memories of the past seemed to get the best of you.

Sungchan slightly winced at your cold tone, but what else could have expected after all the pain he had caused you. “I…I do..I mean like I..”

“Sungchan, I have my classes. Gather up your thoughts and then talk.” With that you turned on your heels, not even bothering to take your bag that you left on the seat you were prior sitting. Jaemin observed the scene quietly, his minds finally connecting the dots. Jung Sungchan, the boy you would always cry about whenever you got drunk, the boy who left you with nothing but memories of him. Jaemin thought it was best to not let out his inner frustration towards the guy who was now standing motionless in his tracks, lost in his trance as he gaped towards the door you had just left. Jaemin passed by Sungchan without a word, instinctively grabbing your bag as he made his way to his next class.

Sungchan stood dumbfounded, numerous thoughts racing in his mind. Why did I have to be so foolish? He thought. How can I blame her when I was the one who broke the promise first?

 Summer 2017

It was getting pretty boring for you at the library; usually some of the classmates bickering would give you some sort of silent company as you scribble down the notes. But for some unfound reason you seemed to be extremely distracted. You let out a long annoyed huffed, hands stretching in weird directions as you rested your head on the wooden table. It struck your mind there might be butts of nails pointed out and you didn’t want to get yourself a shot of tetanus, so you lazily glided your hands across the surface before returning back to your half laying position. It didn’t take long for you to zone out, mind running through various scenarios of university life, jobs and perhaps marriage? You blushed at the thought, just like any other teen you were also low-key always looking forward to your wedding.

“Are you asleep?” You shot up startled at the sudden voice, eyes immediately widening as you realized the owner. Sungchan had a smile with his lips pressed into a thin line, casually pulling out the empty seat beside yours as he made himself comfortable on it.

“Good to know you’re not. I need your help.” Sungchan wasted no time rummaging out a stack of sheets from his backpack, pressing them against the wood with a loud thump. You slightly winced at the loudness since the library was extra quiet today, the sound thus bouncing off more.

“You know if it’s literature, I suck at it.” Your mind took you back at that one time when you almost got yourself a C on the mentioned subject, chills running down at the memory.

“No, no.” Sungchan waved his hands softly chuckling. “It’s actually chemistry. Judging as a seatmate, I believe it’s your best sport.”

You happily nodded at the male, pleased that you get to help him with something that was under your specialty. Sungchan took a notice of your happy state, equally pleased that it was you that would be helping him.

“Tell me, what can I help you with.” You took the fat book from his hold, skimming over the contents page before highlighting the topics that were extremely important for the semester.

“I think hybridization? I just can’t seem to get how it works!” Sungchan’s voice levitated suddenly out of frustration, momentarily catching you off guard. Sungchan seemed to notice your amused look, shyly rubbing the nape of his neck with a little shrug.

“You know this is the first time I’ve seen you frustrated.” You commented, eyes fixated on the pages even though they were being extremely reluctant to rather focus on the fussy male. “It’s pretty easy you know. Look.” You explained him cautiously and slowly, how the overlapping of the orbitals occurred not realizing the proximity that seemed to lessen drastically. You whipped at his direction to see any signs of confusion, only to be met with a pair of dark orbs that stared at you intently. As embarrassing as it may sound, you gulped loudly. A bit too loud than you had intended to.

Sunghcan took notice of the situation you both blanketed in as a wave of déjà vu washed over him. He cleared his throat loud and awkward, half to lessen the embarrassment you were feeling and to poorly hide his own. You both were looking everywhere but each other, too dumb to maximize the close distance instead of acting like awkward cats.

“What are you both doing?” a deep male voice jerked you back to reality, upon turning you saw it belonged to Jeno. When did he come here?

“She was explaining the hybridization shits.” Sungchan huffed, slowly settling back to his orginal position. “I asked you so many times though…”

“You know chemistry is not my cup of tea.” Jeno shrugged at the male, a lazy smile playing on his face. “You wanna stay for b-ball practice today?”

“Not sure, I’ll see to it mate.” Sungchan did that fist-bump with Jeno, the two casually mingling like old friends as you stared idiotically at the scene unfolding in front of you.

“Since when did you both become Damon and Pythias?”

“Y/N, please not again your alien languages.” Jeno rolled his eyes before taking the seat beside, sandwiching you between both the males. “Since you happen to be tutoring a clown, an addition of another clown won’t do you any harm.” Jeno smiled at you, his doe eyes disappearing in the process.

Sungchan held back his snort, looking over both of you, he was happy. Though he was not as close to you as he had become to Jeno, he still considered you somewhat a close friend of his. Being seatmates with you and Jeno, it was inevitable that he soon became a constant in your life. Did I tell you that the candle shop was owned by his grandma? The shop if anything, had become this secret spot for you three. Study dates, random chills or just lazying around, the candle shop would be the first name that would pop up in your mind. 

With a blink of an eye perhaps junior year passes. Maybe that was how last years of highschool were. At one moment you barely just got promoted to a new class, and at another, you’re yet again getting promoted to higher one. You sat under the dull moonlight, a thin cardigan that was gifted to you by your dearest friend’s grandma. When Sungchan invited you and Jeno at his, his grandma had knitted this cardigan for you and a beanie for Jeno. The gesture was so sweet that it completely melted your heart, she was the living definition of wholesome for you. 

It was maybe that one day when you three decided to stroll the spring fair of your neighborhood, when you both finally came clean to your feelings. Jeno was always the one pointing you out that how you should just be a woman and confess. “It doesn’t always have to be the guy that says I LIKE YOU!” This what we he said before disappearing into the hives of crowds, leaving you waiting for Sungchan at the front of the public toilet he was finishing his business in. Pretty awkward right? Where else does anyone get to see a girl waiting for her crush in front of a public restroom. Sungchan came back outside, shuffling out his handphone before furrowing his brows at the text he just received. You immediately understood it was from Jeno. You had no idea what came over you, it felt like the adrenaline in your system decided to flood your nervous system, not even aware of yourself just launching at the dude with a chaste kiss on his lips. He was completely taken aback by the sudden feeling of your lips on his, it took him a while before responding you back with the same enthusiasm. You broke first from the kiss, not realising your fists crunching his prior perfectly ironed shirt. But he did not mind it all, a shy smile playing on both of your faces. The rest of the night was spent with your hands laced in his, just like another high school sweethearts of the time.

You smiled at the memory. Sungchan had a cigarette lit between the tips of his fingers, the tobacco smoke slowly poking your nose but not strong enough to bother you. With a deep sigh, he took a puff before blowing it own again in the air, a cloud of smog dancing around his figure.

“You should quit it, it’s not healthy.” It had already been a year since you became friends and six months since you became more than it, but there were times like this when you still found yourself nervous and wary whenever you are talking to him. You snuggled yourself into the cardigan, hugging yourself to minimize the tinges of frostbites. Sungchan was considerate of your discomfort, whenever he smoked, he made sure the cigarette was at least 2 feet away from you. 

“Take this.” Sungchan handed you another thick layer of clothing from his bag, his initials “J.SG” written big and bold. Without much thought, you accepted his kindness, and Sungchan had high tolerance to cold anyways unlike you who would shiver to death in the most usual temperatures. You figured Sungchan decided to dodge the topic you brought it, and you figured it would be better to not bring it up for a while.

“Where do you plan on going for college.” Sungchan spoke while rubbing the shortened cigarette on the bricks of the roof, swallowing the remaining water from his bottle throwing a strawberry gum inside his mouth. You figured he was now free from the reek of tobacco as you scoot closer to his form, opening your arms within the jacket for his to snuggle in as well. Just like Jeno, skinship was no new news for you both too, however; it always had your heart racing like crazy. You both remained cozy under the warm embrace of the jacket, and you prayed Sungchan would never listen how your pulse was acting up.

“I don’t know. Perhaps SNU? I mean only if I get accepted...” You trailed off, propping your chin against your bent knees before glancing at the boy. Then it struck you, what made him ask this sudden question, what made him smoke three cigarettes straight despite having yearly break for a whole month. “Will you be going to the US as well?”

“I don’t know...” Sungchan deeply sighed, his lips forming a small pout as he indulged in deep thought. What if he actually happens to leave for America? Your heart clenched at the thought, mimicking his sighs you rested your head against his shoulder. 

“You know,” You stared at the sky, it was dark and clear with no signs of stars. The feeling was unsettling. “Wherever you go, we’ll always be there for you.” Your eyes shifted to the illuminating lights from numerous buildings that replaced the absence of the twinkling stars in the sky. The ominous feeling soon dissipated into relief. It was as if the universe telling you, we just have to look out for the good sides instead of dwelling on the bad. 

“I know.” Sungchan smiled, one that was both happy and sad. He rested his head on yours, joining your company of gazing at the scenery. “I know.”

“Just...” there was hesitation laced in your tone, Sungchan was quick to notice it as he looked at you, nodding for you to continue. “Please don’t leave...not without a goodbye. Promise me that.”

“I promise you.” Sungchan held your cold hands in his warmer ones, a firm assurance making your heart swell in both hurt and adoration as you kissed him again.

You both never really made it official, despite the kiss at the fair. It was perhaps the uncertainty that held you both back. Sungchan’s future was not in his hands but his family’s; just like his brother, he is supposed to make his family shine bright. It was one of the major reasons why his parents let both the brothers two years of freedom on their remaining bits of high school. ‘All parents want the best for their kids,’ that’s what you would always say to him whenever you meet him at his roof; him smoking while you offered his physical comfort.

The senior year passed within a whim, the fright of entering into adulthood descending upon all the students as they remained buried in their textbooks. Maybe it wasn’t the case for everyone, but it did apply to you and your friends. You remained occupied with you daily extra classes for chemistry while Sungchan had biology and Jeno had mathematics. You three would meet up in periodic breaks, catching up with small talks before returning back to your respective schedules. It was nothing but hectic, and soon, the candle shop returned back to being just another isolated shop in your hometown.

Graduation day was filled with smiles and congratulatory phrases from different individuals, throwing your grad caps in the air felt like as if you were throwing away a significant part of your life, ready to embrace a new version of you. All the parents stood their with proud grins, delighted at their children’s achievement to their dreams.

“Congratulations!” You chirped, receiving bone crushing hugs from both your males before an elderly voice called for you.

“Y/N! Jeno! Sungchan!” It was your mom, waving excitedly to grab you and the males’ attention. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” You all resonated together, happy and delighted.

A series of furious knocks jolted you awake from your sleep. You figured it might have been your younger brother, probably wanting your help in his homework.

“I swear to god Y/b/n!” You let out an ear piercing shout, groggily rubbing your eyes from deep slumber.

“It’s me. Jeno.” You heard how breathy his voice sounded, it was coated with urgency and hurt. You heart dropped but you prayed to the Heavens and God, you prayed that it should not be the very thing that you had been dreading so much. You shot up from your bed, not even bothering to make yourself look presentable before whipping the door open to meet with an equally dazed and riled Jeno.

“It’s Sungchan. He...” Jeno beathed out a deep sigh, before handing you a lilac envelope, the initials J.SG written in bold. You failed to feel the tears pooling up, threatening to fall anytime. Jeno glanced over you sympathetically, with shaky trembling hands, you took the the paper. 

You don’t bother to closer the door, Jeno soon taking his leave as he thought it would be best to give you some space to absorb it all in. The tears had started to stream uncontrollably when you saw the picture that came with the letter. It was one of the many pictures that you took on the night of the fair; the day you had confessed, the you had your first kiss. It was a polaroid of you holding him lovingly in an embrace, him shyly placing a kiss on your cheeks with the words ‘Here lies the proof of my utmost love and affection, always devoted to my only Y/N’ scribbled on the white frame. Your hands fished for your cellphone, frantically dialing his number as you waited for him to pick up, hoping that he’ll soothe your anxiety by saying he did not leave, that he was still in town and you were just being delusional.

But every time you dialed his contact, you were being forwarded to the monotonous tone saying that the number was currently unreachable. Your chest squeezed in pain, he had promised you. He promised you that he will come for a goodbye at least. He had promised you that he would never leave you clueless and hurting. All you ever asked for him, was just a goodbye; perhaps a source assurance for you to wait for his return. 

You wiped the tears with the edge of your sleeves, opening the the piece of folded paper.

‘Dear lovely Y/N,

You might resent me when you receive this letter, and I certainly don’t blame you for that. I am not the best with words, I am clumsy and unexpressive but I hope that this piece of scribblings makes you understand all my feelings, my thoughts and emotions that have been haunting me from the day I first saw you.

You know I that I am very much aware that I do....hold some handsome genes.’ You couldn’t help but snicker at this. 

‘However, unlike all, as typical as it may sound, you stood out. You lazily laid sprawling across your desk in deep slumber, completely unaware of the chaos of classroom. I wish I was that carefree like you, indulged in her own world and comfort bubble. It attracted me a lot.’ You got up from the floor, eyes still glued to the piece of paper as you shut your door locked. Your hands still went to dial his contact, but only to be forwarded to that damned robotic voice.

‘I wanted to be like you, not bothered by the constant pressures of coming from a prestigious family. Did I ever tell you my dad is the Director of Myeongsu Hospital?’ You gasped at the sudden information. His dad was the director of the one of the most prestigious and renowned hospitals of South Korea. It was too overwhelming for you to process, but you still found yourself continuing. 

‘It was inevitable for me to act like just another teenager, not for me but for my brother too. I always blamed him for being so selfish when he just left me alone when he came to grandma, I failed to realize that it was some sort of comfort gift from our parents so that we’ll devote ourselves to build the family’s name for the rest of our lives. 

Even though I wanna blame them, I don’t think I can because they had the same fate. It comes with a price when you’re born with a silver spoon, and I guess I had to pay mine when I left your doorstep last night. I...I was a coward. I know I should have just come up, hug you and kiss you for the last time. But I just couldn’t. I was too scared.

I was scared that the moment I’ll see you, my guards will crash down. These two days were really hectic for me, I made up excuses when you invited me at yours because I was afraid of losing my balance. I knew that only a glance at you would be enough to make me change my mind and revolt against my parents, my fate. And you have no idea how much I wanted to do so, you have no idea how I’ve spent endless of sleepless night where it is the only thing that would run on my mind. But you tell me, would it be really worth it? I did not want you spending the rest of your lives with swarming paps and reporters, publishing reports and articles of how you managed to tarnish the heir-in-line of the prestigious hospital. No I could never do to that someone I love so dearly. I could never in a thousand years do that. 

You know every time I picture you in your grown-up self, I can only see a strong and confident woman thriving in her career, a woman that is so powerful but still has a heart of gold. I know that you’ll be an amazing person, inside and out. I wasn’t really planning to express my love and admiration for you like this, I hoped to do it in person, but perhaps, maybe that’s how the stars planned it out for us. Fate is extra cruel in my case don’t you think? 

It would be extremely selfish of me to ask you to wait; I am not even sure if I would ever return because my father would be opening another branch in US. And well, I am not sure what plans he has for me.

So please, if you ever find it in your heart, I hope you will forgive me. And even if you don’t, please don’t ever feel guilty about it. You have all the right to do so and I most certainly deserve your hatred. I love you so much, Y/N. You’re my first kiss, my first love, and you’ll  always hold this irreplaceable place in my heart. 

With Love,

Jung Sungchan.

You felt your world crashing down, a part of you wished that this letter never ended. The only remain from him had also come to an end, and you were not sure how you would be able to cope with his absence for the next years of your life.

Present

“Sungchan is back?” Jeno widened his eyes in shock, the information seemingly unbelievable to him. “He really is?”

“Yes.” You monotonously replied, numerous thoughts battling at the back of your head. Jaemin cleared his throat, a sign for Jeno to not bring up the topic for a while. Jeno eyed the male in confusion before finally getting the hint.

“You’re lucky you don’t get to have Mr.Suh’s classes, he’s just hot and it’s frustrating. And that’s coming from a straight dude like me.” Jeno slurped on his smoothie loud and sound, probably to annoy the other male as he was well aware his distaste to people making sounds while eating.

“Y/N.” a voiced called out from behind, and you instantly knew who it belonged to. 

“Sungchan. Oh my god!” Jeno shot up from his seat, immediately embracing the old face from his past. “How have you been man? You just disappeared...”

“I am so sorry.” Sungchan looked at Jeno with pleading eyes. “I know I have absolutely no excuse for my act and I am just so sorry, Jeno and Y/N.” Sungchan looked at Jeno who silently urged him to talk to you.

“Y/N, please talk to me. I don’t expect your forgiveness but please. Atleast curse me, hit me just do anything. Please.”

You whipped your head to find Sungchan crouching down to match your seat level, a sigh escaping from you as you stood straight from your seat. 

“Guys, I’ll be back.” You gripped his hands before dragging him alongside the canteen corridor.

Jaemin looked over his friend who stood staring at the way you just took. And expressionless look was painted on his features, causing Jaemin to shake his head and sigh. “You know man,” Jeno changed his attention to the male speaking, fixing his glasses. “If I were you, I would have just held her back. You’re extremely strong, I could have never done that.” With that Jaemin patted his friend’s back, a silent assurance that if he needed a shoulder to cry or to simply lean on for comfort, he’ll be there for him.

A mixture of feelings were erupting inside you, you were furious but happy. Sad but grateful. You scanned the halls for signs of any empty classroom and upon finding one you just shoved the male inside it.

“What’s so funny about messing with my feelings?” You already tears welling up, your vision blurry as you sharply glance at the male with a frown on his face.

“Y/N, I would nev-”

“You left me,” you utterly hated at how pathetic you sounded at the moment, harshly wiping the tears streaming down your cheeks. “You promised me that you won’t leave without showing up one last time, but you did. You fucking did.” You knew it was not something under his control, but you couldn’t help but pour your bottled feelings.

“Please...Y/N...listen..to me...Please..” Sungchan lost his composure, his voice breaking as he stepped closer to you. Seeing how you did not flinch at his approach, Sungchan captivated you in his embrace, something that he had been yearning for ever since he parted ways. You felt the wetness of his tears on your head, melting in his longing embrace you found yourself hugging him back. You missed him so much, his scent, warmth, presence. Everything about him drove you crazy, you were still dazed to believe if he was actually back for real or is it just one of your numerous daydreams. 

The rest of the days went as usual, but only with the addition of Sungchan back again in your life. Although you had long forgiven him in his heart, you decided to not vocal it out. As heartless as it may sound, you wanted him to make up for the pain he caused you, and he indeed did. Jaemin was skeptical in the beginning at the idea of another person joining you small group, he had come to liking the idea of you guys as trio and was more comfortable like that. But he saw how your eyes lit up every time you about him when you were newly friends with Jaemin, how Jeno would always drunk talk about the times they passed as seatmates bothering the hell out of you. So Jaemin broke his exterior cold composure on the fourth day, finally accepting the banana milk from the new male as a form of bribe for his addition to the group.

Sungchan worked harder than deities; always making sure to get you Americanos before your classes, taking extra notes for you whenever you felt sick, tolerating your extremely drunk self and even dropping you back at your dorms safely. He had mentioned how he finally mustered up the courage to stand up against his fathers, that he wanted to do something else rather than working in the medical field. Even though he had still yet to decided his desired career, Sungchan decided to just follow his intuitions which ended up him taking chemistry as his major and thus landing in the same institution and same class as yours. And not to mention, he was beyond grateful for it.

A month had passed with his arrival, the awkwardness amongst everyone long gone and forgotten. It was as if he never left you. You were never over him, so his all time sweet gestures was making it harder for you to maintain your cold act.

“I happened to attempt making kimbap? But I am not sure if they are edible..” Sungchan trailed off as he hesitantly hands you the small metal box. You almost laughed at how cute but messy they looked, his failed attempt at giving the rolls eyes and lips with sesame seeds and ketchup was beyond adorable. You took the box from his grasp, a smile playing on your face as you looked at him. Sungchan upon noticing your grin, rubbed the nap of his neck shyly, his ears and cheeks mirror the shade the of the ketchup. You took a bite from one of the many rolls he made, a hum of satisfaction escaping your lips as you relished the tangy sweet taste. It was perfect, just how you preferred it.

“It’s pretty good.” You licked the stain of ketchup from your fingers, failing to notice how the male blushed harder at your subtle act. “We have Mr.Lee’s class, so I believe we should hurry up before it’s too late.”

On the night of the annual university carnival, Sungchan confessed to you. At least not in front of a public washroom this time. With the constant aid of Jeno and Jaemin, Sungchan was able to plan out a pretty dramatic confession for you. You were completely surprised when Jaemin called you out of nowhere, frantically asking for your presence to a specific classroom. You feared if the dork had committed some sort of treason explaining how dramatic he sounded, so you rushed without giving any second thoughts. However, when you saw the trail of roses with candles adorning the edges, you froze. It had the same scent both you and Sungchan had invented; the sweet scent of lily with tinges of tangerine to it.

A flustered looking Sungchan steps out from the dark, his hands rest behind his back as you cautiously scanned your face. When he saw no signs of discomfort, Sungchan slowly jogged to where you stood, his hands holding a bouquet of lilies with a small note on top of it.

“I know I have made tons of mistakes, hurt you so many times. But I still want to test my luck.” Sungchan got down on his knees, holding the bouquet with his head hanging low. “Y/L/N, will you allow me to be your man? Will you be my girlfriend?”

A shit eating grin spread on your face, slightly giggling at how adorable he looked. “I thought you’d never ask.” You took the flowers, a soft smile adorning your lips as you lock eyes with an extremely surprised Sungchan. “Of course Sungchan.”

“Of course? For real?” Sungchan couldn’t believe what just happened, he was half expecting you to flat out reject him at how inconsiderate he had been. But you accepted his apology, accepted his love. Sungchan stood up, his heart squeezing in delight and adoration for you. He cupped your face gently, as if you were a porcelain doll that would just break if not handled carefully. You saw how his eyes shone with love, sparkling brightly on the soft light from the lighted candles and you swore you never felt so much before for anyone else as much as you felt for him. Sungchan closed the proximity, his nose slight touching yours as he rested his forehead against yours, the smiling never for once leaving his face. 

The tension was building up with each passing second, the sounds of your heavy breathing being the only silence breaker. You got impatient, the feeling of his lush lips got you being greedy as you closed the distance standing on your tip-toes, momentarily catching him off the grid before receiving the same attention back. You gripped on his shirt, too unbothered to break the kiss despite losing your breath. He paused for a moment, panting before pulling you back under his spell. The bottled feelings and emotions of longing and pining for each other were poured into the this sweet shared moment of yours. You were grateful that the whole building had no signs of any lurking students and professors, what was supposed to be a innocent make-up kiss soon transformed into a heated one as he held you by your waist, pinning you against the wall with his lips still attached to yours.

You pulled back for the heavy make-out session, almost earning a whine from the male before you soothed him with you words that came next. “I love you.”

 Sungchan felt his already beating heart pick up its pace, becoming hastier that he was low-key afraid if he might face a stroke anytime. With a loving grin, he looked back at you who was still caged in his arms. He tucked the stray of hair brushing across the sides of your face from the soft breeze entering the windows, the illuminating yellow hues from the candles making you look like a dream. A dream that seemed unattainable to him until this very moment.

“I love you so so much. Thank you. Thank you for giving me a chance to prove myself, to allow me to show you my feelings, Y/N.” He was breathless, he felt so many emotions at that moment when you glanced at him loving. He was afraid his pulse might stop any moment, so he kissed you back, but now filled with passion and desire. And let’s just say, one of your fantasies were fulfilled that night.

The news of his grandma passing away came after a few months when you both had officially started dating. Both the Jungs were extremely close to her, so when Jaehyun took her back to Myeongsu Hospital where he was currently the chief of neurology, her condition was inevitable. Jaehyun hoped that maybe she might get to spend more time on earth under his care, but he too was victim in the cruel hands of destiny. Sungchan rushed to your dorm, bloodshot eyes as he told you the news. You found yourself sobbing alongside him, tenderly keeping him embraced in your warmth as you shared his pain. You knew her personally as well, all the moments spent with her were a profound favorite part of teen years. 

“I wanted to meet you before I leave for Seoul. I came to say a goodbye.” Sungchan sniffed, his hands wiping away the streams of water rolling down your face. You smiled at his concern, mimicking his actions you brushed his sweaty bangs away from his forehead before placing a soft peck against it.

“It’s okay. Don’t tell me goodbyes anymore...for I know you’ll always come back to me.”

Epilogue

Sungchan fumbled with his tie nervously, bile reaching up his throat as the worst scenarios flooded his brains. His eyes frantically looked around for help, making a bow-tie was just not his cup of his. A breath of relief escapes his lips when his eyes landed on his closest beloved friend Jeno. Jeno stood leaning against the door frame, an amused grin painting his sharp features as he walked to the struggling male.

“Bro...” Sungchan huffed pleadingly, a pout forming his eyes.

“Yes bro.” Jeno flashed him an eye roll, before having the same eye smile again as he fixed his friend’s tie. After all, it was a big event for him.

To say the least, you looked breathtaking in your white laced gown. The simplicity of the dress made you look more elegant, it enhanced your natural beauty and Sungchan couldn’t just tear his eyes away from your form. It was supposed to be the bride’s day, but to him you shone the brightest.

“You know it’s me getting married, but the new comers might assume it’s you considering how you are gaping at y/n shamelessly.” Jaehyun hissed to his best man, earning a scoff from Sungchan.

“Hyung, let me have my moment! Please.” Sungchan whined but was careful to tone it down, only to receive a slight nudge from the groom who chuckled at his antics. 

The wedding was glamorous, elegant, anything that could be named as a dream wedding. Sungchan remained glued beside you the whole night, a proud grin on his face every time he was asked about the lady whose arms laid locked with his. With a smug look, he would rub on their faces that you were his girlfriend, especially exaggerating to the males who seemed to had their eyes on you. You both enjoyed the silent company of each other, the soothing sounds of the wind replacing the absence of music as Sungchan drove you back to your place, hands still intertwined. When he came in front of your shared apartment, he fidgeted in his seat nervously; fishing out something from his coat. 

You figured it was another one of his endless gifts, so you just smiled with your back resting against the cushion seat of the car. 

“Sungchan, you really need to-”

A throat seering stopped you in the midst of speaking, your eyes widening when you realized what the purple velvet box might contain. Sungchan let out breaths of nervousness, blowing out some air out of his lungs to lessen the feeling of anxiety as he looked at you, eyes as genuine as ever.

“Y/N, I don’t believe in fancy proposals as you know. It is an intimate moment for us so I want it to happen in the presence of only us.” Sungchan stuttered in the middle as he opened the box, revealing an extremely gorgeous but simple plated band with a small stone adorning the top perfectly.

“So will you marry me?”

You stared at the male dumbfounded. Your eyes refused to believe the scene in front of you, hearts doing numerous flips and turns and it was just hard to explain all the feelings you were feeling. Sungchan had always been the one for you, and even though not everyone gets to have a happy ending with their first love, you were beyond grateful that you had happened to fall in the rare probability.

“I...OF COURSE. OF COURSE I WILL.” You yelped in delight, shoving your hand in front of his face as he just laughed while placing the ring on your finger. It fit perfectly. You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him with your overpowering passion and love, not realizing how if continued any longer, you guys might have to pay a fine for parking on the wrong side. So without wasting any time further, you both hauled yourselves to your apartment, refusing to break the contact of your lips molded perfectly together on your way. In short, let’s just say ‘sweet innocent kiss transformed into a heated one’ yet again.

© urlocalnctstan 2021

I went completely overboard with this. I am so sorry if it didn’t turn up as you had expected it to, and honestly I am not completely pleased with it either. I felt like it could’ve been better in terms of expressing emotions. However, improvement is a never ending proccess and im still learning. SO TO WHOEVER WHO HAPPENED TO MAKE THIS TILL HERE. I LOVE YOU SODIJMS YOU DONT KNOW HOW MUCH IT MEANS TO ME. 

Feedbacks and criticisms are always appreciated! Please care to leave them as it may help me potentially grow as a writer. Thank you for sparing your time to read my piece of work.

with love,

Hana.