#Lots of silly little ideas that spun off into further ideas and so on - large collection! I was too full of inspiration lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Celebrity Swingers Club

Request: @bbarton -hi!! could i request adam driver x reader <3 they are dating and one night they go out or something and someone starts hitting on the reader aggressively and he gets very protective and jealous :)

A/N: Honestly the idea for this stemmed from a random and hilarious conversation I was having with my friend the other day. I wanted to keep this one light and silly, so I hope it makes you smile! 🥰

Warnings: Dash of SMUT, language.

Adam was missing you today, even though he’d seen you mere hours ago, wrapped in his arms in bed at the hotel. And you were on set today as well, even. But this happened towards the end of filming, for a lot of actors. The inevitable mixture of melancholy, pride, restlessness and exhaustion. It was exacerbated by being on location, though he had to admit of all the locations he’d been to for a film, he had little to complain about here in Hawaii.

But nearing the end of filming meant that time became more constrained, and you and he saw less of one another. He supposed it was part of the honeymoon phase, after all, you’d only been married about 5 months before production started on this latest project.

Today, he just wanted to see you, even if just for a short while.

So when they called lunch, he was quick to depart the set and make a beeline for the cafe, where he had two orders of lunch preordered for pickup. He thanked the staff, having a brief conversation with the cafe crew about how much he had to bribe them for the recipe to his favourite meal (seriously, it was one of the best dishes he’d ever encountered, but they wouldn’t give it up!). With a laugh and a shrug of defeat, he said his goodbyes and started toward the makeup trailers.

He figured you’d be working with your assistant to tidy up from the morning, as many fake injuries were needed for the scenes they were filming. You complained that these left your workstations a disaster. But he knew you loved creating the wounds, a macabre alternative to the glamour or ‘regular’ looks you specialized in. It had been alarming the first time he’d walked in on you in the bedroom you shared at home to find you looking at horrifically graphic photos and making notes.

As he approached your trailer, your assistant, Bailey, was making her way hurriedly down the steps. Adam greeted her with a wide grin. “Hey Bailey, sneaking away?”

“Sneaking away is accurate, Carter is in there,” She replied, her lips set in a thin line, “Seriously, I know he means well, but he really is a bit much.”

Adam nodded in understanding, as he too found the young actor a little...obnoxious. And while Adam had no illusions to his idiosyncrasies and perpetual ‘asshole’ persona; he still made a point of not falling into conversation with Carter. It was tiring, as the kid would speak non-stop, jumping from topic to topic so quickly it gave his listeners whiplash, and when he’d finish, he’d merely take a breath and launch into another speech unless he was cut off.

But he was a good enough kid and a great actor. Someone that, professionally, Adam was happy to work with. Just like Bailey, however, he had his limits when it came to patience in dealing with Carter offset. And Adam knew his wife all too well, he knew you were in the trailer, abandoned by Bailey, being an absolute gem to the kid. Letting him talk your ear off while you no doubt worked to get your station fully tidied before being called to set after lunch for touch-ups.

“Well, I’d better go rescue her, I’ll see you later.” He sighed, and Bailey gave him a sympathetic, knowing smiling before running off.

You kept your trailer especially cool, which Adam had always appreciated. You said it was for your art, but he also knew you did it for him, as he always ran a lot warmer than most. Stepping inside, he first turned left toward the dining area and set the food boxes down on the table. When he glanced around and didn’t see you in the main room, he made his way to the door that led into the meeting room, which had a large sink that you used for cleaning off your palettes and brushes. The door was halfway cracked and as Adam stepped up, he heard Carter’s voice.

“Honestly, totally no big deal, (y/n). Married, single, divorced-whatever,” Adam was right at the door now, looking in he saw your back, shoulders rigid in a way that he knew meant you were uncomfortable, and pointedly washing off a palette with determined vigour. “You’re fit, and I’m an honest person, so I just wanted to put it out there. You could even ask Adam if you-“

Leaning against the door frame, Adam slid the pocket door the rest of the way open, his eyes focused on Carter. “Ask Adam what?” His voice low, he was trying to control his temper-he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

Carter had broken off the moment he saw Adam in the doorway, mouth slightly open in surprise. “Oh, hey Adam!” He quickly rearranged his expression to a more pleasant one.

But when you spun around and Adam saw the genuine relief flush across your face, his heart rate increased. He crossed his arms, inwardly happy that he was still wearing only a t-shirt, his muscles flexing slightly.

“Ask me what, Carter.”

The kids’ eyes widened, “I was, well, I mean I was saying to (y/n)-“

Adam cut him off again, “My wife. You were saying to my wife.” Out of the corner of his eye, Adam could see you biting back a smile.

Carter stuttered, “Yes! Of course, I was saying-to your wife-that I’d be down for a, you know,” He shrugged, though his tense posture and wide eyes gave away how utterly not calm he was, “Some fun, Hollywood style, uh, fun.”

At this, Adam frowned with confusion, glancing between Carter and you, and you rolled your eyes, “He means sex. You know, like how all celebrities are here for a good time, so we can swap partners and have sex parties and all that fun stuff we do on weekends.”

Adam’s eyes snapped to Carter, who visibly paled. Gulping he watched as Adam stepped away from the door and into the room, his eyes narrowed. “You asked my wife to fuck? Are you kidding me?” Moving nearer to you, Adam pointed at the door, “Get the fuck out of here, stay the fuck away from my wife, and expect a call from my manager.”

Though his voice had been quiet, the message and severity of his words were all too clear to Carter, who uttered a quick apology before running out of the trailer at full speed. When the door slammed closed behind him, you burst out laughing, peals of giggles that brought a smile to Adam’s face despite his anger.

“Oh god, that poor kid actually thought we had like, celebrity swingers clubs,” You broke down in another fit of giggles, one hand clutching your stomach, and Adam couldn’t help but join in.

After a few minutes, he stepped closer to you and pulled you into his arms, where you rested your head on his chest, your arms snaking around his waist. It hadn’t been the first time he’d encountered someone unabashedly hitting on you, though this was the most unique proposition he thinks you'd been offered.

“That was the first time that one could interpret that I was included in the deal,” He considered aloud, causing you to laugh loudly again. “I’m not sure if I should be more, or less, offended.”

“Carter is a gullible fantasist. I’d put money down that someone told him there was a sex club he was missing out on.”

“If that’s the case,” Adam replied, pulling back slightly to look down at you, “Then whoever told him that is going to get a piece of my mind when I find out who they are. I fucking hate when men hit on you.”

Your gaze softened, a small hand reaching up to stroke his jaw in a soothing motion that always seemed to work on him. “I know, babe,” You whispered, your hand sliding from his jaw to grab the back of his neck, pulling him closer. With your mouth a breath away from his, you added, “I missed you today.” And then your lips pressed to his.

Without hesitation, Adam deepened the kiss, his blood rushing as your mouth opened for him and then he was licking into you, tasting you. A small moan escaped you as you pressed yourself against him, returning his fervour. One of the things he adored about you was the energy that you saved just for him. Every kiss, every touch, they were always fire, always intense and needy. You kissed him like it was the first time, every time, no matter how tired you might be, how hard you might have worked that day.

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours, each of you panting. “I love you, sweet girl.”

“Love you too, big.” You murmured, your lips wrapping seductively around the nickname you had for him. He smiled, reaching his hands up to cup your face, thumbs stroking the soft skin.

“I brought lunch, by the way.”

You pulled back further, leaning around him to look toward the dining table. Eyes lighting up upon seeing the take out containers that held your favourite meal, you glanced between Adam and the food a few times.

“Seeing you get all jealous worked me up,” Your words were thoughtful, brows furrowed in mock consideration, “I think we have time for a quickie before we ea-AH!”

You shrieked a giggle as Adam lifted you up, pressing his lips to yours before seating you on the table. He reached toward the door and quickly shut it, turning the lock, before looking back down at you.

With a dark look in his eyes, he stepped between your legs, hands gripping your shoulders gently, “Might need to leave a mark or two, remind everyone who you belong to.” And then his lips were on your collarbone, biting possessively before his tongue would lave out to soothe the mark. Your hands found his hair, fingers carding through the raven locks as you moaned in delight.

“All yours, big.” You sighed, and Adam smiled against the skin of your chest, his hands dropping to your hips so that he could ease your leggings off and bring your bodies together.

The food would go cold, but the trailer had a microwave. And really, neither of you were all that hungry at the moment, anyway.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#reader insert #fanfic #adam driver x reader #adam driver #adam driver x you #angst #adam driver fanfiction #just for fun #requested #love

120 notes · View notes

canonconspiracy · 4 years

Text

Khaleesi (Ben Wyatt x Fem!Reader)

AN: In efforts to post more on here specifically, this is one that I just cross-posted into my Michael Shur Oneshot Collection (Wattpad and Ao3 - rmorningstar21).

Fandom: Parks and Recreations

Pairing: Ben Wyatt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

"Hey there, you stunning woman you!" You said into your phone, a smile across your features. You sat upon your dresser, staring at your newest project confidently. It had just been finished, and you couldn't be happier with how it turned out. Everything was as perfect as you could make it, from each in seam all the way down to the wig styling. Your best friend was the first person you thought to contact, primarily for a fun little favor. She always seemed to love participating in your little projects anyhow, when she wasn't busy. "Guess who just finished up a masterpiece."

"No way, Joe Biden?" She guessed, with a clear smile against her own features.

You rolled your eyes at your silly friend. "I'm sure Markie Mark would be so jealous," you teased back. "But seriously, Les, I'm super duper proud of this one. You have any time coming up that we could head over to the park for some pics?"

"What did you do this time?" She said curiously. "Come on, you're on speaker. Let us hear all about it!"

"Who am I on speaker phone with?" You asked cautiously. "Oh well, eff it. I'm going to be the mother of dragons, Khaleesi outfit. I even made a little dragon plush for Drogo."

"I have no idea what any of that means," Leslie said with a chuckle, a smile clear in her voice. "But the stupid surprise face on Ben's face means it has to be nerdy."

"Hey!" You heard a male voice counter, likely the Ben that she meant.

"I figured you wouldn't," you said with a chuckle. "It's fantastic that at least someone does. It's Game of Thrones. I know your schedule is normally packed, but I'm flexible. Whenever you're up for it."

Leslie paused for a moment, an idea coming to mind as she glanced between the others at the Parks Department meeting. "Do you mind if I bring some friends?" She said slyly. "I've been dying to get you to meet them."

You bit your lip, thinking about it. Your eyes glanced over to the hopeful outfit that you had made, thinking maybe one day you would have you Khal. "You think any of them would fit in a male's medium?" You said slyly, a little jest in your tone. Knowing best not to get your hopes up, though you would love some killer Khal Drogo and Daenerys Targaryen photos.

"I mean," Leslie said, laughter clear in her words, "if you want to drop off the outfit at City Hall, I could have someone try it."

***

You felt a little anxiety bubbling inside of you as the time drew closer. A few days prior, you dropped off your Khal Drogo cosplay that you custom made at City Hall, with absolutely no inkling as to who Leslie was going to have wear it. On top of that, she gave you that whole sneaky wink that she has that only showed she was up to no good. Being her best friend, you knew she was far from sneaky.

"Well, if they all hate me, at least they'll hate me as Dany," you mused as you spun around in front of your window, checking out the cosplay one more time. You were in your mid twenties, likely younger than most of Leslie's friends. As the Khaleesi, you wore practically snow white blonde hair down past your chest and slightly crimped. Your outfit consisted of the ragged off white outfit that Daenerys wore after marrying Khal Drogo. Everything you had created for it was mint, while the little dragon plush was simply for a little extra fun.

A knock sounded at your door and you inhaled deeply to calm yourself. Striding to the door with confidence, you slipped out your door to literally be surrounded by the entire Parks Department, and more. Apparently when Leslie meant she wanted you to meet her friends, she meant all of them. Immediately pulling Leslie into a hug, you whispered, "You're lucky I have a lot of acreage."

"Well, I couldn't pick just a few, so," Leslie said with excitement in your tone, "I brought everyone."

Beside her stood Markie Mark, as you liked to call ark Brezanowitz, her long term boyfriend. Next to him stood Ann Perkins, whom you had met offhandedly a few times. The rest of the crew, though, you had no idea. After greeting Mark and Ann, Leslie introduced you to each and every one.

As you noticed that little twinkle in her eyes, you knew there was something strange up. For one, no one out of the group you were introduced to clearly wore your Khal Drogo outfit, and the fact that she was practically beaming at you had you curious. When she said, "I already set up your backyard for the set! Let's go!" you could feel anxiety rising.

When she said she set it up, it was clearly an understatement. The camera was set up professionally, surely by someone else, since you always had to fix it for her. What caught your eye was something that would truly have the Khaleesi blush, and your face was as red as a tomato.

Looking off, clearly awaiting everyone's arrival, stood a handsome and lithe Khal Drogo. Though he did not have the perfect body type for the cosplay, he was clearly handsome covered in the outfit you created. He stood taller than you, and once he glanced your way, you could see his chocolate brown orbs that made you melt. The excited smile that tugged upon his lips had your heart aflutter.

"M'ach," you greeted in Dothraki as you moved closer to the male. "I didn't expect Leslie to get me such a handsome Khal, but I greatly appreciate you doing this."

"You speak Dothraki?" He said with an eyebrow raised, though the excitement did not leave his face. "I was thrilled to be chosen, especially since I'm sure I'm the only Game of Thrones fan in the majority of City Hall. I'm Ben Wyatt, and you must be Y/N?"

You nodded with a large smile against your lips. "It's a pleasure, and I speak a little," you said sheepishly. "Just as Dany, I know bits and pieces of the dialect."

"Okay, nerds," the man you were introduced to under the name of Tom Haverford said with a laugh. "How about you two get into positions."

You ended up positioning your Khal for multiple photographs, before he began getting into the character more. The two of you had been blushing messes half the time, and you were sure that a great deal of the photographs would not be useable, but kept for memory purposes.

As the two of you got further into shooting, Ben moved his hands to either side of your face as he said, "Yer zheannae sekke."

You prayed your face did not hold too much blush as you replied, "Yer mezahe sekke." A smirk pulled upon your lips as you replied, though you did wish to call him handsome instead of simply sexy, your knowledge of Dothraki was small.

As the two of you simply stared into one another's eyes, you could hear the camera continuing to take photographs. The one thing you had been too shy to accomplish, Ben was not, as he captured your lips for the photographs. Surely, you thought he was simply putting on a show for your collection, but you could still feel your heart reverberating in your chest. Mentally, you had been screaming.

When the two of you had been done modeling your outfits, you both excused yourselves inside to change. Ben had thankfully brought a spare outfit, knowing he wanted to leave your property with you. Once he entered your home, though, his eyes were wide in shock.

"So, you're a professional cosplayer?" He questioned as his eyes moved between different creations you had made.

You hummed in approval, a smile against your lips as you moved to grab your street clothes. "Are you sure you haven't modeled like that before?" You asked with an eyebrow raised, turning to meet chocolate brown eyes. "You surprised me out there."

He took off your wig to reveal partially mussed brown locks, appearing much more handsome than he had even in the Khal Drogo attire. Sheepishly, he smiled, a clear bit of blush risen in his cheeks. "That was genuine," he replied sheepishly. "You're very beautiful, and I apologize if I crossed a line."

You told him just a second before you went to change back into your normal clothes. Brushed through y/h/c locks and your normal attire, you bit your lip gently, wondering if the handsome man would still be attracted to you as, well, you. Emerging from the bathroom, you were shocked to see that he had already changed out of his own outfit as well, simply buttoning up his shirt as you came out.

"I'm curious, handsome, do you still think that without the cosplay?" You teased, a smile tugging against your lips.

His chocolate gaze was sincere as he smiled down at you, nodding and he said, "Khaleesi or not, you're beautiful, and I'd love to get to know you better."

"I'm sure I'd love that," you said shyly.

____________

Leaving this note at the end as to not ruin the one shot itself, but like - can you picture Ben as Khal Drogo? I think I would die immediately.

#ben wyatt #ben wyatt x reader #Parks and Recreation #reader insert #parks and recreation oneshot #game of thrones #cosplayer reader #khaleesi #x reader

101 notes · View notes

ikeromantic · 4 years

Photo

Kitsune Haunting

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, approx 2500 words, silliness and sort of scares?

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: A Fun Lesson

This fic is a little longer than most of my posts. This one was inspired by one little line in the game . . .When Mitsuhide and MC reach the Chugoku province, the chatelaine reflects on their trip (which we didn’t get to see!) - she mentions that one night, Mitsuhide ‘haunted’ her. If you like it, I might post a part 2 with additional shenanigans.

Mitsuhide listened to the whispers of the bamboo forest. He found it soothing. The music of wind and branch was so different from the hum of Azuchi. There were no human voices to interrupt his thoughts. No politics here, or plots. Only the endless sea of green, and the long shadows cast by the setting sun.

His little mouse did not look to be enjoying the ride as much as he. She kept turning her head at each clack and clatter. Her shoulders were tense too. Perhaps she feared bandits, he thought. Or something worse? His lips curled into a small, wicked smile.

“We’ll camp here,” he called to her when they reached a small clearing. The bamboo grew far enough apart to place their bedrolls, and to dig a small fire pit for cooking. But the leaves covered the red and gold of the sunset with their greenery, sliding slowly to black as the light left.

“Can’t we keep going? I thought we would be out of the forest before dark.” She hunched her shoulders and squinted at the dim-lit path ahead. “It’s probably not much further, right?”

Mitsuhide kept a straight face. “Perhaps, but I do not want to risk the horses. They could trip on a dark path, and we would be delayed.”

She sighed and nodded. “I didn’t think about that.” Then she dismounted stiffly. The chatelaine was unused to long rides, or riding in general. Though she didn’t complain, her discomfort showed in every stilted movement as she unbuckled her pack and began to unload the horse.

“I can do that,” Mitsuhide told her after a moment of watching this awkward dance. “You go stretch, try to get comfortable.”

His little one gave a grateful smile. “If you insist.” She stepped away from her horse and stretched her arms over her head. “I feel like my spine is half fire. If fire was steel. Bending it hurts.”

“Riding all day is hard at first,” he agreed as he removed the packs and saddles, and began to rub down the mounts. “You do get used to it eventually.”

“You must do this a lot.” She sounded a little jealous. “How long does it take to - to not feel like you were beaten with hammers at the end of the day?”

Mitsuhide shrugged. “I don’t remember when I stopped being bothered.” He glanced at her over his shoulder and grinned. “Maybe you can tell me the exact moment riding becomes comfortable?”

She frowned at him.

After the gear was unpacked and the horses cared for and fed, Mitsuhide dug a small fire pit and got out their rations. Onigiri tightly wrapped in a bamboo sheath. The rice was flecked with black sesame and filled with pickled plum. He handed her the travel food, knowing she would eat it even if she wished for something sweet.

“Thanks,” she said, resting back on the bedroll Mitsuhide laid out for her. “These aren’t bad. Did Masamune make them?”

“Yes.” He did not tell her Masamune tried to send them off with all sorts of experimental recipes for traveling. He’d turned them all down, opting for something quick and easy to eat, simple to pack. Besides, more elaborate food might break their cover if they were searched.

“His food is always so good,” she sighed. Her eyes were focused up, on the little glimpses of starry night sky.

Mitsuhide felt a stab of jealousy. He did his best to ignore it. His little mouse could taste things, so of course she preferred Masamune’s cooking. It meant nothing.

A loud crack interrupted the quiet. It sounded close. The chatelaine squeaked and reached for her pack, where she kept a small knife.

“Frightened?” It was normal to hear snapping branches at night, as animals prowled the forest. Sometimes it was just a stalk too old to stand against the wind. Whatever the cause, it wasn’t a human sound and so he was not worried.

His little mouse shook her head, chin jutting out defiantly. “No. But it could be a monkey or - or a bandit.”

He laughed softly, which did nothing to calm her down. “What if I told you I was sure it is neither of those things?”

“Why should I believe you?” Her temper was still hot.

“Mmm, because I have traveled this forest several times. And I can tell you for certain that no bandit would prowl here at night. Even the monkeys are wise enough to stay away.” An idea took form right then, a little piece of fun.

The red in her cheeks drained away as he spoke, leaving her pale. “W-what do you mean?”

Mitsuhide gave his crescent moon grin, all wickedness and sharp edges. “Because, little one, this place is haunted.”

“Heh, y-yeah. Now you’re trying to scare me on purpose! Stop teasing.”

“Oh? Then I won’t tell you why travelers avoid this place.” He finished his meal and stood.

The chatelaine watched him, her whole body tense despite her defiant attitude. “Where are you going?”

“I will check around the camp, and the path ahead. I want to keep you safe, even if you don’t believe there is danger.” He stepped silently outside the small circle of firelight. She watched him go without saying anything else. But she did pull the knife from her pack, setting it, still sheathed, beside her.

Her determination to be brave was adorable, but it made him want to tease her more. As he walked the perimeter of their tiny camp, he picked up bits of dead, dry bamboo stalks. He put a few holes in them, and with a bit of thread, hung them high in the branches. They began to catch the breeze almost immediately, adding a soft, low warble to the rustling leaves.

Then he went a bit further afield to a nearby pond - it was easy to find by the night sounds of the forest toads. He scooped up a large male and laughed softly as it wriggled in his hand. “Don’t worry. I am not going to eat you, gama. We are going to help each other tonight. I just need you to sing.”

The toad let out a long, rasping cry in response. Perfect. He loosed it a few feet from the chatelaine’s bedroll, where she sat staring at the fire, oblivious to his presence.

When he came back to camp, announcing his arrival with a purposefully loud step, she stood to greet him. “Oh! You- you were gone awhile. Everything ok?”

“I found nothing . . . unexpected.” He looked at her solemnly. “But I think we should both stay here, near the fire, until dawn.”

“You - you’re just taunting me. Is there anything out there or not?”

Mitsuhide sat down on his bedroll and stretched out his legs. From the darkness on her side of the camp, came a harsh croaking. It was loud and held for several heartbeats.

“Ah! What is that?” She spun to stare at the bamboo thicket.

“I was going to tell you but . . . you said to stop.” Mitsuhide shrugged. “Do you want to know or not?”

“I - yes. Please tell me.”

He regarded her with narrowed eyes. He could tell her heartbeat was fast, her eyes were wide. She pulled her mat closer to the fire pit.

“You must promise not to interrupt.”

His little mouse nodded.

“Good. Then I will tell you why wise travelers avoid this forest, especially at night. It was before I was born, when my parents were young. There was a Chugoku princess known through the nearby provinces for her extraordinary beauty and her cunning. Her father refused to marry her off to the many suitors that came to their castle, because he cherished her. His youngest child and only daughter. And he relied on her wise advice.”

The chatelaine opened her mouth to ask a question, but caught herself. He could tell she was trying very hard to abide by his request. She was so cute, holding her curiosity in, that he almost gave her a chance to speak.

“Eventually, of course, a young warrior came to court her. He was very handsome, and wealthy. The princess was quite taken with him, as were most of the women in the castle. From the princess’ maid, to her elder mother.”

“This sounds like a fairy tale,” his little mouse said.

Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow in disapproval.

She clamped a hand over her mouth.

“I will pretend you said nothing. As to the truth of this story, you may ask some of the older servants at the castle - they will tell you the truth of it. Some still live that knew the princess, her maid, and the young warrior.”

The chatelaine’s eyes grew wider, and as if planned, a gust of wind made the improvised bamboo pipes give a fluting wail.

“Now, as I said. All the women in the castle were taken with the young warrior, but none so much as the princess and her maid.” Mitsuhide looked out into the dark forest and gave a heavy sigh.

“The maid was as ugly as the princess was beautiful. A girl disfigured by a terrible burn. Her face was twisted into a grimace that marked her out from even the plain women of Chugoku. The princess was the only one to look past her scarring and see the intelligent, kind woman behind it. The two were inseparable, until that charming warrior came.”

His little mouse nodded, her hand still covering her mouth as if she was afraid she would speak again.

“Though no one knew it then, it was the maid that gave the wise advice everyone sought from the princess. She spent her time reading and watching, listening to people. She knew the town’s most closely held secrets. The princess relied on her knowledge and her spying. And so, when the maid fell in love with the warrior, she begged the princess to let her try and win his affection. She thought she was owed at least the chance to find love. The princess only laughed.”

Mitsuhide did his best to imitate a woman’s voice. “No one would love a girl as ugly as you. Now get to your room and stop asking me for the impossible! I will marry that warrior, and you will always be just an ugly, unwanted maid.”

His little mouse looked appropriately horrified by that cruelty.

“The maid told her, ‘If you don’t at least let me try to win his heart, I will tell everyone the true source of your wisdom. They will know you are nothing but an empty-headed doll. Pretty but stupid.’ Enraged, the princess beat her, and drove the maid from the castle.”

“And she came to this forest to live?” The chatelaine asked, unable to help herself.

Mitsuhide shook his head. “If only she had. No. After the maid left, the princess began to worry that the maid would tell everyone the truth. She devised a plan to stop her. The princess called the warrior to her room and began to weep. She claimed that the maid threatened to curse her. She said the burned girl was a witch, and that she was afraid for her life. The warrior was uncertain, but he wanted to win the heart of the beautiful princess. After drying her tears, he agreed to find the maid and take her to the forest, where he would slay her and bury her bones far from the castle. Then the princess could be safe. And in return, she would marry him.”

The forest toad rasped another desperate cry. His little mouse jumped at the sound, her head whipping around to look back at the bamboo grove. “C-can I come sit with you? While you finish the story?”

Mitsuhide nodded. He made a space for her beside him where she sat, her leg brushing against his.

“Now, the maid was no fool. She feared the princess would lie about her, but she could not believe the warrior would harm her. Especially when he came to her hovel and asked if she would walk with him, and talk. He seemed so sincere. She wanted to believe he came because he worried for her. The maid told him that it was her wisdom on the princess’ lips that made the beautiful girl famous.”

He slipped an arm around his little mouse, and remarkably, she only settled against him without a single word of protest.

“The warrior believed her. After all, witches have great wisdom. Knowing this did not change his plan. He brought the maid here, to this forest. The whole way, he listened to her talk about her life. Her dreams. She opened up her heart to him, believing he cared. It was only when the warrior told her to kneel before him that the maid realized what he intended to do. She begged for her life. She promised him anything he wanted, if only he would let her live. The maid told him that she loved him. Her words fell on deaf ears. The warrior saw only the princess’ beauty and wanted nothing to do with the wise but ugly maid.”

“Men are so stupid,” the chatelaine murmured.

“Sometimes,” Mitsuhide agreed, thinking of how he had been so easily ensnared by a pretty girl. “Stupid or not, the warrior cut off her head. Then he carried her body away from the well traveled path, and buried her in an unmarked grave. The princess waited for him, but when she felt it was taking too long, she slipped away from the castle and walked the forest path, looking for her love.”

“Oh no.” His little mouse breathed the words into his chest, her eyes half-closed.

The warlord smiled down at her. “You are right to worry. The princess met her warrior on his way back from burying the poor maid. He swept her into his arms, smearing her with blood and grave dirt. He told her it was done, and she was so excited that he had done her bidding, that she kissed him. And then the warrior laid her on the forest floor and made love to her.”

Mitsuhide shifted, definitely not thinking about taking his little one here, in this clearing. Not thinking about that at all.

“The maid’s spirit could not rest, not with such a violent death at the hands of the man she loved. And not after witnessing this final betrayal. She appeared before them, holding her head in her hands. She threw it at the princess, gnashing her teeth and wailing. The princess caught it, and died right there from fright. The warrior should have died then too, but the maid could not kill him. She still loved him. Instead, she cursed the warrior to a life of loneliness.”

“That is . . . so sad,” the chatelaine murmured. Her eyes were closed now, almost asleep.

“It is. The warrior returned to the castle, and found that all had turned against him. They say he died some years later, a lonely and bitter man whose heart was stone. The princess’ body was retrieved from the forest, but the servants that brought it back swore they heard weeping and gnashing teeth. And after that, many beautiful maidens disappeared in this place. The men that travel these roads say they hear the maid, still crying. Her teeth clacking together.”

Another gust of wind rattled the branches and sent low tones skirling into the night air.

His little mouse shivered. “N-none of that is true. It’s just a - a story.” Her sleepy voice sent a happy chill through Mitsuhide. He imagined she would sound like that early in the morning, waking before dawn to make love and then fall asleep again.

“Ah, it was told to me as a true story. But I have never feared these woods. Even if they are haunted by a maid that curses men to loneliness. I am already cursed.”

“Mmm, yeah,” the chatelaine agreed, “but I’m not. Can I . . . sleep next to you?” Her eyes opened a fraction.

“Of course. I would not want to lose you to a vengeful spirit.” Or anything else. He laid her down on his mat, and watched as she drifted off to sleep. Such folktales had their uses, he thought. Like frightening silly, sweet girls.

Next: Kitsune Dawn

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #otome #otome guys #fanfic #fanfiction #ghost story #haunting

150 notes · View notes

honeyrataxia · 3 years

Text

feel like a dream - part 1.

ship ! kim taehyung x min yoongi ( taegi )

genre ! fluff, a bit of angst i think, surely nostalgic, spirited away!au.

warnings ! mention of pills, mention of coma.

taehyung stepped into the meadow with the gentle breeze as his guide. with every step he took, there were wild flowers and soft grass there to cushion his feet. the air smelled sweet; the aroma of roses and lilies drifted in the air lightly and the sweet fragrance tickled his nostrils. the boy felt his lips stretch into a smile as his gaze rested on the peach colored sky. faint streaks of clouds were brushed into the distant horizon, and he spotted the vague outlines of birds soaring high up in the limitless sky.

he walked further, his legs carrying his towards a large oak tree that stood serenely by a calm river just a couple of meters away from him. something told him that he was there waiting.

taehyung arrived at the roots of the tall tree, but there was no one around. maybe he was somewhere else? he walked up to the river and looked down at his reflection in the crystal water. there were little pebbles of varying colors lying at the bottom of the shallow river. a smile touched his lips at the sight of several little fish swimming past.

taehyung stared at the creatures in wonder for a while, until he heard some shuffling behind and then he realized that his reflection wasn’t alone anymore.

« how’d you know i’d be here? » the man asked in an amused tone.

he simply shrugged. « i had a feeling. it was pretty obvious though. »

« you’re the one who said you didn’t like playing hide-and-seek. »

« yeah, i like it when you’re not scaring the lights out of me all the time. »

« but you know, i haven’t heard you scream in a long while » he chuckled, moving closer to him. he snaked his arms around his waist and rested his head on his. he made no move to turn around. he watched their reflections in the river and grinned when he saw his cheeky smile. « i missed you » he murmured.

« it’s only been a day » taehyung laughed. « and sorry, i’ve been a little more busy with homework lately. finals are coming and i need to study. »

« you still need your rest. »

« i rest a lot more compared to my friends, you know » he pointed out. « but sometimes i wish i could have more time here.. time just seems to pass so quickly. »

« i feel the same, but i understand. i guess it’s just something we will have to live with for as long as i am unable to physically meet you again. »

« you never told me why. »

« it’s a reason that i myself don’t know. »

« i see.. »

« well, what do you want to do today? »

« i don’t have much time here. i set my alarm to wake me up in fifteen minutes because i still have work to do. »

« but you’ll be back tonight, right? »

« of course » he smiled. « i’ll be back. »

« well then, i think our time is almost up. so i’ll leave you with this before you leave. » he let go of taehyung and turned him around before leaning in and gently planting a tender kiss on the forehead. « good luck with your duties. see you soon. »

« don’t miss me too much when i’m gone » he giggled.

and then, the world around him faded away.

taehyung woke up with a start to the beeping of her alarm. groggily, he reached an arm over and made a slip-shod attempt to turn it off by whacking it. after three misses, he managed to turn it off and keep lying down in bed for a moment more before swinging the covers off and standing up. taehyung stretched a bit before heading to his study table. stacks of notes were piled on it, along with his pens and highlighters strewn here and there in random corners.

taehyung felt dread rise in his chest when his gaze fell on the readings that he had been looking at earlier before deciding a nap would help him to concentrate. statistics and numbers had never been his sort of thing. to be honest, taehyung felt that his brain could explode from the overloading of information.

a knock came on the door, then his door creaked open as his mother peered in. « tae, do you need me to make you some warm milk? you look tired.. »

« just woke up from a nap » he replied. « or how about some coffee? »

« if you drink it so late, you won’t be able to sleep later. i think i’ll just get warm milk for you, okay? »

« okay~ thanks, mom. »

« no problem. just don’t stress yourself out too much.»

« what makes you think i’m stressing out? you’re the one always complaining about my extravagant sleeping habits. »

« that’s true. then if you’re not that tired, why don’t you get that warm milk by yourself? »

taehyung pressed his palms together as a prey and pouted. « please, mom? »

his mother only shook her head in response with a smile on her face before leaving.

taehyung grinned triumphantly to himself as he walked towards his desk and plopped down on his cushioned wheeled chair. he spun it around, sitting in it limply as he stared blankly into space. humming to himself, he allowed his mind to drift briefly to the man from before. already he could feel a small ache in his chest; taehyung longed to see him again. time was always too short in her dreams.

but no, he wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. he was sure of it.

after leaving the spirit world, yoongi practically disappeared. he never showed a sign of crossing over to meet taehyung again, nor was there an opportunity for him to return to the spirit world. he had returned to the same place where he had entered the spirit realm after getting sick and tired of waiting for yoongi, but all that met him was a moss-covered wall.

it was as if everything had just been a dream.

taehyung would have thought just that, if it weren’t for the strange purple hair tie that he remembered was given to him by a certain kind, old witch he met before, and his strong gut feeling that the vague memories in his head weren’t conjured up by his brain.

and just like that, three years passed without an indication of yoongi’s presence or existence, but then one night, everything changed.

that night, taehyung had gone for a hot bath after club activities ended at eight in the evening. his mind had been blank — he had been too tired to think about anything else other than how soft and fluffy his bed was — and so immediately after showering, without bothering to head down for dinner, he had immediately stalked into the bedroom, switched off the lights, and plopped onto the bed. with his wet hair stuck to his forehead and moisture from his wet towel seeping into his pajamas, he had conked out almost instantly.

correction, his body did, but not his mind.

taehyung had no idea how or when he arrived at that place. all he knew was that yoongi was there, and they could finally meet once more, at the same place they first met.

and that was enough for him.

ever since then, every night without fail, taehyung would enter the spirit realm through his dreams, and every night without fail, he would meet him.

they never ran out of things to talk about or things to do, because every time taehyung seemed to want a change, the next time he came, yoongi would change the setting of his dream. jungles, piers, modern cities, his house, you name anything, and he could bring you there.

taehyung had shared this with his close friend who would never stop teasing him about getting a boyfriend, thinking that he would receive due support in his relationship.

he would have preferred it if his friend had just told him an outright « no », but instead, he received a worse reply « tae, i think he’s just a figment of your imagination. i mean, you can’t possibly think he’s real, right? you’ve only met in your dreams! »

but taehyung stubbornly held on to the belief that he was real. having his parents turned into pigs hadn’t been just a dream; it had been a living nightmare. even if he couldn’t remember most of the details, he clearly remembered the name and the face of the boy who had saved him from it all.

and the promise he made was still vivid in his mind « we’ll meet again sometime.. i promise. »

perhaps when he said that, it didn’t necessarily point to a physical reunion, but taehyung didn’t mind. at least he got to see him again.

« finals are officially over! » taehyung exclaimed and leaned back against yoongi’s broad chest in contentment.

he chuckled and wrapped his arms around him. « i’m glad. this means we’ll have more time together, right?»

« yeah, it does. » they were currently sitting on top a hill, which overlooked meadows and plains and winding rivers, though with the lack of light, it was hard to make out anything but vague outlines and shapes of the mountains standing in the far distance. all they could see was the shimmery blanket of night in the sky, with the diamonds resting above shining little light down on them.

« beautiful, aren’t they? » yoongi murmured as he rested his chin on the other's head.

« i could sit here all night and watch them.. » taehyung replied. « they’re so pretty. i wish i could go right up there and pluck one out of the sky. »

« and very conveniently, you have a dragon who can fly right next to you. »

taehyung giggled. « don’t be silly, yoongi. the stars are too high up there. we’ll never reach them. »

« we could always try. »

« it’s impossible. stars are in space, and we can’t possibly go there. »

« what is ‘space’? » he asked.

« it’s a place above the sky that we see now. »

« is it very big? »

« it’s boundless. there’s no end to it. »

« do you suppose heaven is up there? »

« mmh.. i don’t think so. to be honest, i think dreamland is heaven itself. » taehyung had dubbed this strange place ‘dreamland’ long ago, since he could only come in his sleep.

« and i suppose i’m an angel living here. » he chuckled.

« yeah, you’re an angel. one who can fly even without wings » taehyung grinned.

« then what does that make you? » he asked.

taehyung thought about it for a moment. « i guess i’m just a passer-by. just casually passing by heaven every night in my sleep. »

« a passer-by loving an angel? strange, don't you think? »

« well, strange things happen in heaven all the time. »

« indeed, they do. strangest of all is the fact that you can enter. perhaps you’re an angel without knowing it?»

taehyung turned his head around and giggled at the sight of his playful smirk. « i could never be an angel. i don’t have wings. »

« i can change that. » taehyung felt his arms pull away from him and the boy’s bare feet shuffled behind him as he stood up. he turned around, not knowing what to expect.

« get on » the mighty dragon seemed to say. he didn’t need to say it twice. he lifted one of his legs, allowing taehyung to step on it so that he could hoist him up on his back smoothly. once taehyung was on top of his back and holding on to his horns securely, he began to move forward and climbed up into the sky, drawing closer to the stars above.

taehyung shuffled into the kitchen while rubbing his eyes. « morning mom, morning dad » he said while yawn.

his father, who was reading newspapers on the couch, peered over at his son with a small frown. « you look terrible. didn’t sleep well? »

« yeah.. »

« but you’ve been sleeping so much after finals ended» the mother said from the kitchen. « eight hours of sleep every night, even naps! are you falling sick? »

taehyung sat down at the dining table and propped his chin up on his elbows. « i’m fine »

« what’s the matter, my kid? » his father had put down his papers and walked over to sit next to him. « got something on your mind? are you worried about your results? they don’t get released so early. »

taehyung only huffed. « it’s not that.. i’m fine, really. nothing’s bothering me at all. »

« mmhmmh » he replied, clearly unconvinced. « need me to bring you to the doctor’s? »

« no thanks, i’m perfectly fine.. i’ll be going back to sleep now. »

« already? » the mom shots a disapproving glance in his direction as he emerged from the kitchen with two hot bowls of ramen. « it’s already one in the afternoon and you just woke up, for god's sake! »

« it’s a saturday. i think i have the time to spare to catch up on my rest » was all taehyung said before trudging back into his bedroom.

taehyung closed the door behind him, muffling the disapproving comments from his parents and then he jumped onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow. « what’s going on? « he muttered to herself in angst. « damn it, this isn’t funny, yoongi. »

taehyung closed his eyes again, sighing and trying his best to fall asleep again. truth be told, his body really didn’t need any more sleep; it was fully awake. but he had to go back to that place and find him.

for weeks, taehyung hadn’t been able to meet yoongi, for some kind of twisted reason. he had even resorted to taking sleeping pills just so he could try to enter that place again.

but each time taehyung closed his eyes, he only saw darkness.

it was as if he had just disappeared altogether.

like everything had just been.. a dream.

the brown haired boy took his books up and stuffed them into his backpack. slinging it over his shoulder, he sighed and made his way out of the lecture hall. « tae, do you want a lift? » a friend of him called while waving to get his attention.

« no thanks.. » taehyung replied with a tired smile. then he was gone; quietly made his way out of the dark, quiet campus. not wanting to have his friends catch up to him, he walked briskly out by the front gate and walked down the same road he always took back home.

looking up at the dark blanket of night, taehyung felt tears prick his eyes at the sight of nothingness. it was empty, like a void.

« you promised.. » he murmured shakily. « you can’t just up and leave like that, not when you promised me.. »

he fingered the bracelet on his wrist, continuing to brood in his thoughts. it was not her imagination; it hadn’t been just a dream. everything they had gone through together, they were all real. taehyung felt a familiar ache rise up in her chest as something caught in his throat. had yoongi left because he wasn’t good enough? or was it because he was no longer qualified to stay there?

taehyung shook his head. no. he was just a passer-by, he had always been one.

he was just a boy passing by heaven.

just then, a loud, blaring horn snapped her out of his thoughts. he turned to his right, and only saw a bright, glaring light fill his entire line of sight.

and then, darkness.

#kpop #anime #writing #bts fic #taegi fanfic #btsv #bts suga #kim taehyung #min yoongi #taehyung fluff #yoongi fluff #spirited away #haku spirited away #chihiro spirited away #immagination #dreaming #oneshot #too long #but yeah

10 notes · View notes

prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

The Perfect Match

Summary: Jinyoung couldn’t believe someone like you could match him in any way when he first met you. But that didn’t stop him from thinking of you constantly either.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: meet messy / “soulmate” au / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: This is dedicated to @ahgase55g7 who not only is an amazing friend who listens to me and all my fiction ideas all too much, but actually convinced me to write this fun little story. I hope you love how it’s come together, Amanda!

Word count: 6233

Like most people in society, Park Jinyoung wasn’t immune to the belief of a perfect match. Every person on Earth had at least one, another human who could come into your life and fit next to you like a puzzle piece. Of course, some would refer to this matching phenomena as having a soulmate, except you weren’t limited to just one person.

In a land where people’s faces blurred with one and the other, the population so large that it made it impossible for a simple face to stand out against the crowd, a system had been formulated by the ancestors of their time to help with finding your match.

It seemed silly really, to rely on something as simple as a zodiac sign; an animal year you were born under that would lead you to the one who would fulfil your life’s potential.

And yet here he was, just like everyone else around him, aware of the little nuances people signified themselves by. A snake embroidered on your favourite jacket or a set of goat earrings, everyone had their way of distinguishing themselves for others to read. A beacon to find someone who complimented you in every way with their own animal. Everyone had multiple levels of compatibility, a triad of good and bad, with each sign having at least one perfect match.

For Jinyoung, as a dog, he was on the hunt for a rabbit.

It wasn’t as if he was actively pursuing it. There was, after all, more to life than searching for bunnies on backpacks or headpieces. He was a hard-working entrepreneur, attempting to make his big break in the art industry. He envisioned a space in which art would be displayed at the forefront, to colour the individual and evoke emotions within them that left a lasting impression.

He wanted to bring some of the old back into this modern world.

Of course, his dream was bigger than his reality. He had the building, the time, and most importantly the dedication.

What he lacked were exhibitions that would draw the attention into his facility. He needed to branch out, employ some contracted artists who matched his vision and start planning for his big moment.

And that’s when he met you.

“Am I late?!” a voice screeched, heels clinking across the tiled floor in a way that disturbed the harmony within the art gallery, Jinyoung whipping around to see who would be so bold to do such a thing. You appeared then, face flushed with colour from your evident haste, your steps not slowing any despite how close you were to him now.

“Woahhh!”

Your eyes now round as saucers as you noticed the sculpture ahead of you, you tried to redirect your path somewhere else, and Jinyoung managed to reach out in time, yanking you back towards him and away from the precious artwork you nearly assaulted. Instead, with the acceleration of the movement, the force sent you both sprawling onto the floor, Jinyoung taking most of the fall.

For a moment, everything was silent.

And then, just like the tornado that you had been spinning into his world, your mouth started to move just as fast. “Oh my God, are you okay?! Of course, you’re not you’re on the floor! And you caught my fall, I’m so sorry! Can I help you, does it hurt?! Is there-”

“Up!” he managed to instruct once his lungs inflated with enough air that your incident had knocked out of him and you scrambled to your feet, a hand reaching down for his and pulling him up just as quickly.

Your avid gaze scanned him from head to toe, actively searching for an obvious sign of distress or pain. Unfortunately for you, it was all internally and he suppressed a groan, his eyes growing hard the longer you did it. Jinyoung cleared his throat noisily. “Are you here for the interview?”

Nodding animatedly, you swung out your arm, blinking in confusion when you noticed it was still linked to his. Giggling nervously, you snapped your hand back, letting him go. “I’m Y/N. I rung earlier.”

“Earlier?” he repeated and once again you nodded with far too much energy. He sighed, just watching you was exhausting. Then again, that could very well do with the way you had crashed into him just before as well. Jinyoung frowned; he hadn’t received a call from anyone today.

You slowly glanced around the studio, your gaze widening and your mouth fell ajar as you soaked in the assorted artwork. When you had spun around the room entirely, you then lifted your index finger to your mouth. “This is an art exhibition?”

“Well, yes,” he answered as if that wasn’t the most obvious reason for the display before you. He scrutinised you, not seeing what he had expected from a candidate. Most carried large portfolios around with them and dressed in professional attire. Whilst your blouse and jeans combo was clean, it definitely didn’t leave him with a great first impression. “You’re an artist?”

“Oh goodness no, I’m a writer!” you exclaimed, waving him off casually. You then grinned. “Though, I suppose words can be like art. Not everyone has the gift of the gab or the skills to write creatively.”

“A writer?”

You nodded up and down and he grew dizzy. “That’s me! You are the place looking for a part -time editor, right? I’m so terrible with directions; I got lost three times on my way here. That’s why I was late.”

It all made sense now, and Jinyoung let out a laugh, the gesture rupturing out from his chest so loudly that for a moment you merely stared. And then you joined him, laughing heartily that you hadn’t realised he had stopped. He then shook his head firmly. “I’m not hiring a writer.”

“Really?” you asked and he folded his arms, cocking his head to the side. Instead of apologising as he expected you to, your eyes grew round again, a curse leaving you before you spun out of his space towards the exit, taking yourself out to torment the sidewalk and whoever else got caught up in your wind. Jinyoung was stunned, you had left without so much as a polite farewell and he blinked after your departure, trying to decipher how such a person could even exist.

It was then when he noticed you left something behind, crouching down to inspect the item. He stared at the bunny plushie in horror, wondering how on earth someone like you could be someone who matched him so perfectly.

“There are better matches out there for me,” he murmured, carrying the signifier into his office and placing it down heavily on his desk. Scrunching his nose up at the item, he then let out a cry in pain, the adrenalin now wearing off and making him reach for his back haggardly.

“Stupid bunny!”

Jinyoung never expected to see you again. Although you had dropped the bunny behind, he assumed you would cut your losses and focus on the more important things in life. And despite coming to this logical conclusion, it didn’t mean he stopped thinking about you.

Not at all.

For the next two days, he replayed the interaction with you from all angles, sometimes cursing you out for your erratic mannerisms, and others chuckling at how different you were from everyone else. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he was intrigued by how someone like you existed. He was so used to his quiet lifestyle where everything was a result of his hard work. He knew what to expect from each day due to the personal standards he maintained. With you, it seemed life was much more exciting. He almost envied you, the carefree nature in how you came in and subsequently departed, uncaring of your first impression you left behind. Granted, you had been in a rush, all the same, he could tell there was a different set of priorities between you both.

Jinyoung wondered if he took everything too seriously and was missing out on some magic in life that you seemed to have discovered. Or maybe you carried it from within. He just couldn’t figure you out. And the fact that you were someone that matched him on the zodiac compatibility charts didn’t ease his mind any.

Still, when you stepped back into the gallery later in the week, albeit with a slower gait this time, he was stunned. Blinking rapidly to ensure he wasn’t imagining your appearance, he came down from the balcony above, thumping down the stairs until he stood before you, his breath unstable. You smiled brightly and his heart thudded in his chest unevenly.

“This might sound really odd, but-”

“Your bunny?” he cut in impatiently and your lips curled up further.

“Oh thank god, I did drop it here after all!” Without any hesitation, you reached forward for his forearm, shaking it excitedly. “Please tell me you kept it safe!”

“I didn’t know if you would come back or not, so I’ve stored it in my office,” he explained and glanced down at his arm you still encased your hands around. He didn’t understand why he was being so weird today. Maybe that just came from being in your company. He was slightly dejected when you yanked your hands away with a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry, I get a little too animated sometimes.”

His mouth twitched, humour evident in his eyes. “A little?”

“Mhm!” you hummed positively as you followed him to the room off the side of the atrium, marvelling his office as if it was the most amazing space you had ever entered. It made Jinyoung anxious, unable to see what impressed you with his own eyes. “Woah, you have a lot of credentials.”

Your praise didn’t make him satisfied, instead, he turned to peer at you curiously. Handing over your bunny, he then folded his arms across his chest and leaned back into the tabletop. “Only what’s required of me to run an art gallery.”

“Only?” you echoed, shaking your head to refute his sentence. “Your passion is evident with all these achievements. I admire you for reaching out for your dreams. Being a curator must be a fulfilling role.”

He didn’t know how to answer you, overwhelmed by your words. You were the first person to tell Jinyoung how proud you were, and you were a mere stranger. It struck a chord within him, his mouth falling ajar as he sucked in a steadying breath.

You truly had a multitude of charms to you that he wasn’t expecting.

Shaking the bunny in your grip, you attached it back onto your bag’s handle, patting it now that it was safe where it belonged. “Thank you for taking care of her! I shouldn’t keep taking up the time of someone as busy as you are.”

“Did you get the job at the editing firm?” he blurted out and your smile that had been reaching up into your eyes left them, disappointment filling the space where happiness once was. You didn’t hide a single emotion in front of him and Jinyoung stared back at you intently. It was refreshing to meet someone who he didn’t have to work so hard to understand how they felt - even if you were still one of the most confusing humans he had ever come across.

“No, but that’s okay right?! Someone will find my skills set useful soon!”

“Do you want to go grab a coffee, if you’re not busy?” he continued, surprising himself along with you.

Leaning forward, you peered into his face for signs of something he was unable to decipher before you grinned. “Do you like me, Mr Curator?”

“Jinyoung,” he introduced rapidly and shook his head. “I uh, just feel like I might have played into your unfort-”

“You’re really cute right now!” you exclaimed with a giggle and nodded your head. “I’m kidding about the liking part, but getting a drink does sound appealing. Should we?”

You both walked to the closest coffee shop after he locked the front door to the gallery, Jinyoung peering at you every now and then. You didn’t seem to be as affected as he was in your company. His mind was reeling, had he truly just offered you coffee and fumbled over it? Receiving a single praise from a stranger sure seemed to affect his psyche more than he had realised.

But Jinyoung knew deep down there was more to it. The way you hadn’t left his mind and reappeared as if he had conjured you up himself seemed to speak volumes to him. Even if you had some less than desirable traits, you had hooked him in some way. Jinyoung wanted to understand you more as if he had been presented with a piece of artwork with no obvious way to describe it. Every time he thought he had an answer, you would show another angle, leaving him with no other option than to observe you further.

It was his staring that seemed to unsettle you the most once you were both seated with your beverages, your cheeks flushing the longer he did so. “Do you always observe people as if they’re paintings too?”

“Well, I-” Guilt flooded his features as you giggled, playing around with the straw to your iced latte.

You leaned in closer and Jinyoung snapped back, rigid from your easy approach. “So tell me, Jinyoung, what kind of impression do I leave you with?”

“Chaotic,” he answered immediately, cheeks reddening when he realised he said it aloud.

You laughed heartily then, satisfied with his answer. “I like that. The mind of a creative writer is pretty much just that.”

“Are you published anywhere?” he asked and your humour simmered down. Jinyoung became aware accomplishments were something of a weakness for you.

You shot him a wry smile after sipping at your drink. “Unlike you, it seems my drive isn’t as proficient. Maybe one day, I’ll make it big, but I doubt my words far too often. It’s easier to edit others.”

He could relate to you there. Sure, he ran an art gallery, but none of his own paintings were displayed there, despite being known as an artist for most of his life. He shook away the connection, returning to the first part of your reply. He pursed his lips together before asking, “You’ve observed me too?”

Grinning, you nodded. “One might even go as far as to say they’ve looked you up online, Park Jinyoung.”

This surprised him, though he was unsure if he liked that you had or not. Had you figured his zodiac sign matched yours in any way too? He instinctively fingered the dog logo on the corner of his phone case on top of the table, wondering if you had noticed it before now. You seemed to pay his action no notice, lifting your hand up solemnly instead, ready to pledge an oath of some kind.

“To be fair, I mentioned the other day I’m useless with directions, right? Well, I remembered the name Gallery Park and that’s how I found my way back to get my bag charm today. I admit I was curious about your work, from one creative enthusiast to another. However, I have to say it wasn’t as impressive online as it was in person.”

“Ex-excuse me?!” he squeaked, his thoughts screeching to a halt, derailed at your dismissive approach. You weren’t teasing, that much he could tell with your casual gaze and he gaped at you, confusion settling in. Hadn’t you just praised his efforts earlier?

“Who designed your website? Are they boring and dry in nature? There was nothing compelling to bring any attention to what you or your gallery hopes to achieve at all.”

“Bor...Boring?!” he repeated, and your eyes rounded, realising he was the one behind the website. You weren’t apologetic in the slightest and he gasped for air to calm his nerves.

He had been right to consider you chaotic. You were definitely tampering with his peace once again. “It’s professional.”

“Sure, sure,” you agreed with an unconvincing tone, glancing out the window, something outside catching your attention. It irked him and he placed his hand down on the table with more force than he intended. Your stare found his again, now amused by his clear dishevelment. “Did I strike a nerve?”

“More than one,” he admitted gruffly and you giggled, taking another drink. Jinyoung didn’t know what to do. Part of him wanted to get up and leave, to walk away from your tumultuous personality and back to where he felt most at ease. He stared at his take out cup, gulping some of the coffee down and then over at you. Still, you made no attempt to apologise. Just as you had said earlier, he had worked too hard for what he owned. You had nothing that he could compare to and-

“I felt bad for interrupting your hiring process the other day, so I did this for you. If you don’t like it, you can simply throw it away.” Slipping a USB stick towards him, you then picked up your drink, shaking the cup and shooting him another smile. “Thanks for this. It was nice spending time with a professional today.”

He couldn’t figure out if your last line was a dig or not. In fact, Jinyoung didn’t have a single clue on how to take anything when it came to you. He had experienced so many emotions in the short space of time, acting uncharacteristically from his usual self too. And yet, he still couldn’t shake how intrigued he was over you. When back at the gallery, he booted the USB up in his computer, opening the file immediately. The document soon appeared and he scrolled over the multiple pages quickly, trying to figure out how this would be of any benefit to him.

“What is all this?” he murmured, returning to the top of the document and began to read.

He soon realised you had taken the information on his website and reformatted everything. From the front page introduction to the current exhibition details and even his about page, you had transformed it to sound, well, he wasn’t able to think of a single word for it. It was coherent yet appealing, your choice of words executed as beautifully as fine paint strokes, each word earning its place and showing why it was there.

You hadn’t stated his achievements in a bulleted list, instead, you had gone into them as if you had been a part of the journey yourself, describing Gallery Park and Jinyoung himself in a way that highlighted his strengths effortlessly. He had to admit, this was far better than what he already had on his web domain. Jinyoung was excited, as if he had been introduced to a new person with an amazing outlook in the art industry.

In reality, it was just him and that kind of overwhelmed him. How could he sound this good?

Scrolling through again to the end, he stopped, cursing his hasty reaction to you earlier. You were good. Too good. How had you not been hired?! He felt as if he had become the biggest fan of your words, now sitting here feeling let down that he had finished reading through. He craved more, wishing for further content with your flavour on it.

He regretted giving back the bunny. There was nothing to bring you back here, nothing that stood out as something that could lure you back so he could thank you. Congratulate you as much as you had him earlier. The doubt you showcased in your work, Jinyoung wished to eradicate. He was desperate to do something, anything for you.

It was then that he saw something taped onto the underside of the USB stick. A URL. Typing in the web address, he discovered your world. The magic that encompassed you as a person came from within here. He spent hours going through your works, reading stories both fantastical and realistic enough that he felt he knew the characters as if they were people he had met in his life by the end of the story. He hadn’t realised he didn’t eat dinner until his stomach begged at him into the later hours of the evening to feed it and slowly he roused from the drunken stupor he felt he was under, shaking away the remnants of the last world he had read and packed up for the day. He walked out of the gallery and locked up, frowning when a hand shot out in front of him.

“I wondered, would he be hungry by now?” you started and Jinyoung froze, eyes glued to you as you bounced into view. You feigned a thoughtful pose before grinning again. “I have no idea if you have allergies to food, so I tried to pick something common. Here.”

“What… what are you doing here?”

“Should I go?” you countered and Jinyoung snapped, lurching forward and shaking his head as he gripped your wrist. You smiled warmly, liking the feeling.

“How did you…?”

“You have to sign up for my blog to read my content. Only you would choose a username with your initials in it, Jinyoung.”

He chuckled, relaxing somewhat. “How come it feels like you know too much about me?”

“Maybe I do,” you teased and shook the bag of food. “Are you going to take it or not?”

“Want to come in here and eat with me?”

“Ooh, back into the building that has so much going for it?” you announced, nodding happily enough. Jinyoung unlocked the door again and took you into the back room, the small staff cafeteria lacked a lot in content. Only a lone fridge where he stored drinks for his clients and a small table decorated the room and you glanced around before smiling.

“Did you hire anyone?”

“No one shares the same vision as I do,” he told you with a shake of his head.

You smirked. “You aren’t prepared to see other people’s visions either.”

“I saw yours,” he mentioned and you faltered, chewing on your bottom lip lightly. Jinyoung smiled as he reached out for one of the packets of food and opened it. “Well, I read it.”

“What did you think?”

“You should let the world read your words, Y/N. They’re better than you think of them,” he encouraged and you didn’t respond, making Jinyoung feel vulnerable. He wanted to be just like you, to show the praise you had for him right back. He wasn’t as bold as you were, however, and grimaced at your lack of reaction. “Do you, not uh, want to?”

“I thought if I wrote for a living, I would get to live my best life. I’d share my favourite thing with everyone. Turns out, it doesn’t keep money flowing as well as I’d like. So I picked up editing tasks because other people have words that need to be shared too. It’s hard to balance both sometimes.” You blinked rapidly and turned so he could see you deal with your emotions. “Ah, why am I telling you this?”

“The same reason you remodelled my portfolio,” Jinyoung stated, realising the longer he stared at you that he was becoming captivated. He smiled. “I think we have a connection, don’t you?”

There was no giggle, no teasing in your eyes as you looked at him. Instead, you radiated a warmth he had never seen before from another person. Was he watching you fall for him as the seconds went by? Your lips curled up, your hands reaching to catch your head as if it had grown too full to hold itself up alone. And then you nodded.

“Maybe there’s more to explore with you, Mr Curator.”

Jinyoung didn’t try to hire you right away. He had attempted to pay you for your website work, but you flat refused it, telling him you were truly doing him a favour. And that you had. With your amendments, the site traffic seemed to double. He was soon receiving messages about the venue, wondering if he would be open to holding functions there for business clientele. Whilst Jinyoung hadn’t ever imagined anything other than art exhibitions, this was a smart business tactic. The more people visited the gallery, the more word of mouth would travel. It wasn’t long until he was making a steady name for himself in the more affluent circles.

And that’s when Jinyoung realised he needed someone savvy with words to be in charge of PR. “You would be perfect for the role. You say it yourself, you have the gift of the gab, Y/N.”

You looked at him carefully, your fork remaining raised midair. It had become somewhat of a tradition over the last three months that you ate dinner together at least once a week. Tonight, Jinyoung had taken you out to an Italian restaurant, and you seemed to connect this to his offer. “Is this delicious meal a form of bribery?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “If I say yes, will you work for me?”

“I don’t want to,” you announced and he frowned, your rejection confusing him. He knew the temporary roles you were holding at various positions around the city were taxing for you to keep up with. He wasn’t offering you something short-term. You had often proclaimed to want more of his stability in life. And he was literally offering you a way to reach out for it right now.

Your eyes remained resolute and he sighed heavily. “Why not? What is it that bothers you about the gallery?”

“The gallery isn’t a problem. I’d love to work there and see it grow into a bustling hub for art enthusiasts. Jinyoung, the problem is you.”

“Me?” he echoed. Even after knowing you for as long as he had, you never failed to surprise him. He arched an eyebrow, wondering if this was one of your dramatic moments. “What about me is a problem?”

��Everything about you is a problem to me,” you mentioned, sparing some of the pasta in your bowl, spinning your utensil slowly, methodically. He watched the motion as if he was the pasta you were coiling, his stomach tightening the longer you didn’t answer him directly. “I can’t work with someone like you.”

“Like me? Y/N, you’re being ridiculous and-”

“I like you, Jinyoung,” you confessed, eyes lifting away from the food finally. You smiled, albeit gently compared to your usual ones. “Can you imagine liking someone so much but then you have to work for them too? There’s no distinction between work and personal life. I can’t do that.”

Jinyoung blinked slowly, his fork clinking into his bowl the longer he deciphered your confession. And then he snapped his eyes up to find yours. “You can’t just say that!”

“Why not? It’s the truth. What if we fight as a couple, and then at work we have to engage in projects closely? I don’t think my mind could handle that.”

He was all but hyperventilating at your casual reply. Sure, it showed you had thought about it carefully, but he couldn’t comprehend that right now. You were acting as if he and you were already something. Jinyoung didn’t know what you were to him.

“Y/N, you can’t just confess you like me without thinking about my feelings too!” he hissed out, taking a long gulp of his wine. You giggled and his eyes nearly fell out of his head. “How can you laugh right now?!”

“Because you’re being cute again.”

“I’m-!” he started, voice an octave too high and Jinyoung glanced around himself awkwardly before leaning towards your unaffected eating self. “I’m not cute, and you’re moving far too ahead of yourself!”

“So you don’t like me back? Well, that sucks,” you replied, letting out a heavy sigh. And then you went back to eating. “I still can’t accept the offer. You’ll find me staring at you, yearning over my one-sided crush at the most inopportune moments and I’ll eventually have to quit when you haven’t fallen in love with me within a year of employment.”

“You’re toying with me,” he concluded and whilst you did grin, indicating your wicked play, something about the look in your eyes told him it wasn’t all false. Just as he had that night you first bought him food, he could see the emotions unfolding in your eyes. There was a sting from his hasty dismissal, yet the warmth remained in the back at a safe distance this time.

Jinyoung realised he was waiting for it to come forward as it usually did. But you didn’t allow it, looking down at your meal and exclaiming that his offers always came with such delicious food.

He couldn’t taste the flavour anymore.

Your confession plagued him.

In fact, the scenarios you created did as well, making it harder for him to work in the office some days. He would be working on answering emails or planning out upcoming events for the gallery when the image of you would sneak up in his head, offering forth several options. Sometimes your careful words that night would win out, showcasing just why working with you would be a nightmare. The fantasies would more often than not turn down a path you hadn’t voiced. He would imagine the shared smiles, subtle touches and bouts of unrestrained passion after hours until Jinyoung was certain there was something terribly wrong with him.

More often than not, whenever he was riddled with thoughts of you, he would find himself standing in the atrium, eyes glued to the entrance in anticipation.

He’d think back to the way you had come through the automatic doors, barrelling over like the chaotic wind you were. Jinyoung was positive that on that day you had swept off with his heart, rattling it enough that it now only beat in tune for you.

He was hesitant to speak of his growing feelings to you, however.

Although it was petty, your confession over dinner that night had wounded his pride. Whilst he had still been in a land of denial then, he knew he had hoped to be the one to tell you how he felt first.

That you were the rabbit to his dog, the matching puzzle piece he had hoped to meet in his lifetime. Opposites attract and you were the complete mirrored image of him. His calm was messed with your wind, the peace challenged by your chaos and his head rivalled your heart.

Jinyoung knew this was love.

He was aware deep down that he wouldn’t feel complete until he told you, and so Jinyoung began to plan his confession. You might have stolen his thunder but he’d still be able to create the perfect brew between you both for a love storm to take over. He decided he would use the ruse of convincing you to work for him, knowing that if he sounded desperate enough, you would come to his aid.

And that you did.

“Okay, I’m here, how long do we have until the clients arrive for tonight’s event? How could you hire a catering team that would cancel on the day at such short notice?!” you exclaimed as soon as you were inside the atrium, hands reaching up into your hair to tie it back from your face.

You looked determined and ready to work.

So Jinyoung let you.

Taking you into the kitchen, he pointed to some of the food he had started preparing. “It’s not a huge event, luckily. Can you finish prepping these two dinner plates and I’ll go upstairs and ensure the private viewing room is ready for them to arrive.”

“I’ll bring them up when I’m done,” you announced and he nodded, happily leaving you to the task before dashing upstairs to give himself a pep-talk. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this anxious and when you entered the room, he was startled, flinching visibly.

You chuckled as you placed the food down, approaching him and reaching for the collar of his shirt to tidy it. “I’m sure the client tonight must be important for you to look this frazzled, Jinyoung.”

“I uh-”

“I believe in you. I know you have it in you to make sure tonight goes as smoothly as you hope,” you continued, unaware of how your words were lending him the courage to continue with his plans. He smiled, standing there as you smoothed out his attire, waiting until your gaze shifted up to his. When you did, you narrowed yours, questioning his expression.

“The client is already here.”

“Where? Oh my god, go greet them! I’ll dash down as soon as I can so you can entertain them.” Your eyes darted around the room rapidly and you gave him a little shove. But Jinyoung didn’t shift away, and a short puff of air slipped from between your lips impatiently. “Why aren’t you going?!”

“I should greet them in a way that would dazzle them, right?” he asked and you nodded all too much, making his smile curl up further. He cocked his head to the side. “Make a lasting impression that they cannot forget?”

“Yes, Jinyoung, would you jus-”

Your sentence effectively cut off when his lips met yours. Reaching to hold your face with both of his hands, Jinyoung kissed you passionately, his mouth moving against yours in a way that he could tell had surprised you. Your hands gripped at his waist for support from his sudden approach, soon relaxing and slipping around and up his back as you kissed him back. It seemed like an eternity was spent between you both as he explored your mouth, bodies flush against one another as your tongues danced together. This was heaven, a Nirvana that had been in front of him all this time and he had been so slow to reach out for.

Yet Jinyoung knew the wait had been worth it. His feelings for you were at their highest point now, and he was certain you could taste how he thought of you the longer he kissed you. It was giddying and even he was having a hard time keeping up with all the explosive lust enveloping you both.

Eventually, you needed air. It was reluctant, the way you tore your mouth away from his, eyes hooded as you tried to comprehend everything that had just happened. “I’m not quite following you.”

“I was just greeting my client,” he murmured, eyes still locked on your swollen lips. He smirked, satisfied with his handiwork. Rubbing your face gently, he travelled up until he was seeing your eyes, the lust sitting right on the surface, along with the warmth he had grown to enjoy the most. He grinned, resting his forehead against yours and dropped one hand away from your face. “God, I love you.”

“You can’t just say that!” you breathed, hands now gripping onto him for support. He laughed, how had he known you would be the type to go weak at the knees. Blushing profusely, you blinked rapidly, trying to garner some sort of response. “You can’t tell me you love me without me being ready to hear it!”

“You’ve been ready a whole lot longer than I have.”

“I know,” you complained, sucking in a deep breath and trying to fight your way through the lust to find some sense of coherency. You looked up at him, completely lost. It was surprising to see, you normally went along with everything so easily. You were searching for confirmation, and if he hadn’t of been pressing into you so closely, Jinyoung was certain you would have pinched yourself to see if you were dreaming. You took a deep breath. “Tell me again.”

“I love you, Y/N. I love how chaotic you are. How magical you make my world feel. How I wish to be around your carefree spirit every day. You’re my match in life, I’ve known that we matched from the beginning.”

“You did?”

He nodded, smiling back at you. “You left it here for me as a sign from our first meeting. I knew with how crazy you drove me back then that you were the one for me.”

You frowned but didn’t say anything else, a smile soon erasing any doubt. Stepping up on your toes, you hovered around his mouth, your breath fanning on his face. “The food’s getting cold.”

“Are you hungry?” he wondered and you smiled, nodding your head. He faltered. “Really?

“Are these lips ever going to find mine again, or will you have me starve?”

Jinyoung laughed before he kissed you again. And when that kiss ended, the next began, the food long forgotten with another hunger. It was when he travelled his lips to your neck that he suddenly stopped, brushing your hair aside with his hand. He blinked, looking at the small tattoo behind your ear. “You’re a tiger?”

“Mm,” you hummed, arching your neck towards him for the pleasure to continue. You pouted at him when it didn’t. “Is that a problem?”

Jinyoung smiled, chuckling even, before he shook his head firmly. “No. You’re my perfect match.”

_________________

[GOT7 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

366 notes · View notes

broken-clover · 4 years

Text

AU-gust Day 21- Professional Rivals (Very, very late)

...yeah. I am. Very behind. But I’m trying to work on it

I wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret this prompt. I ended up going with something a bit superhero-esque again, but a lot more lighthearted than the last one, sort of inspired by Dr. Doofenschmirtz and Perry the Playpus. Nothing too dark or serious, just kind of dumb.

Sin let the weight of his body more than anything else push the door open to his apartment as soon as he felt the lock click. He managed to avoid stumbling over and hitting the carpet face-first, but only barely. At least he didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him in the state he was in. Though he did notice a pair of slip-ons by the door, which made his shoulders sag further with an emotion he didn’t have a word for.

“Hey, Mattie.” He called into the empty space, slumping against the door behind him. “I’m back.”

Soft footsteps echoed somewhere in the bathroom. “Sin? You’re home already?”

He managed to stand himself up again and take a few tentative steps, clinging onto the gash on his arm that had just barely begun to clot. “Yeah, ran out of tasks to do so they let me out early. Bridget on the night shift again?”

“No, he should be home in a few minutes, hence why I was so surprised it was you and not him.” Sin sat down on his bed and watched as the silhouette in the bathroom moved towards the doorframe. “He’s bringing pizza with him, though, so at least we have that to look forward-

The two of them paused in place, completely halted by the sight of each other’s state.

“...Wow.” They said, in perfect unison. “You look terrible.”

Sin ran a hand through his hair, immediately regretting it when he realized he was staining it with blood. “Hehe. Yeah, rough day at work today.”

“That looks remarkably painful.” Bedman limped over, a hand hovering over Sin’s cut arm. “You’re all scraped up...what happened?

++++++

Sin soared over the cityscape in a ball of lightning, sparks crackling off his skin in iridescent arcs. He wiped the blood running from his nose and tried to focus on the dark cloud hovering up ahead.

“You’re gonna have to hit harder than that to do me in, big guy!” He shouted over the rush of wind. With a few more sharp bursts, he was at eye-level with the peculiar contraption. “Brought a new toy today? Hope it’s sturdier than the one I trashed last week!”

His taunting was interrupted by a series of metallic clicks. A dozen or so little objects were ejected from the hovercraft, which unfolded into hovering metal discs that immediately began chasing after him.

“W-whoa- !” Sin shouted, barely managing to dodge their sharp blades.

“Don’t be getting cocky, dear Mr. Raiden!” A warped, mechanical voice resounded from the main machine. “You look so cute scared out of your mind!”

Sin grinned back at him. “Y’think I’m scared, Oneiroi?” He fired off another bolt, making one of them explode. “I’m just hoping these ones are an actual challenge this time!”

Heroics weren’t quite where he’d seen himself ending up, but he couldn’t have been happier. Saving the day, stopping the bad guy, and getting out a bit of extra energy. It wasn’t the most high-stakes hero town, he was the only one there, after all (and he couldn’t remember the last time Oneiroi had made a fully serious plan as far as he knew) but Sin was perfectly happy where he was.

Well, most of the time. In his distraction, a blade whizzed by, drawing blood and leaving a mark Sin didn’t even feel until a few moments later.

The remote drones immediately freezed in the air, bobbing harmlessly. “Oh- oh shit.” The electronic voice’s tone suddenly shifted, from aggrandizing and pompous to concerned. “That wasn’t supposed to do that. You okay?”

“Nggh- I’m fine.” He wasn’t done for the day, and he certainly wasn’t going to throw in the towel as soon as he’d gotten nicked! That was just pathetic, for both of them.

“Are you sure? I can give you a minute to sit down-”

Grinning under his mask, Sin grabbed the nearest drone and spun before hurling it right back at where it had come from, wreathed in electricity.

“Sit on this!”

++++++

“Bit of a funny story.” Replied Sin, grinning with a bit of cheek. “Was helping deliver another truckload of slate across the 4 & 15, and I guess they did a shitty job blowing up the tires or something, whole thing toppled right into some poor old lady’s backyard!”

His roommate seemed to find it much less funny, mouth opening in quiet shock before he uneasily sat down on the nearest bed.

“A car accident?? And you didn’t think to tell Bridget or I about this? Not even a text?!”

Sin threw up his hands, immediately wincing and going back to grabbing his arm. “Easy, man! I was fine, It wasn’t a big deal! Besides, you didn’t mention whatever happened to you.” He gestured to the other, a lot more carefully. “What’s with that ding on the back of your head? And why’s your wrist bandaged up?”

++++++

“DANGER. DANGER. SHIELD TAKING DAMAGE.”

“ -agh!” the projectile had managed to knock his ship’s gyroscope off a bit when it struck, throwing him into the far wall console. He winced at the sore, and not to mention wet spot on the back of his head when he went to touch it. He’d seen much worse, but it would definitely take a few days to heal.

He knew he was vulnerable, but a second hit didn’t come. “Uh, you okay in there?” A slightly muffled voice came through the speakers. “Too much?”

After making sure it hadn’t been damaged, Bedman patched through to the speaker system with his helmet. “Are you being facetious? That hardly scuffed my outer plating! You’re going to have to do better than that to damage- khh- ow-” He winced, immediately sitting back down as soon as he’d tried to prop himself up with his free hand. Had he twisted it? At least it wasn’t his writing arm…

“Seriously, need a breather?” The other said.

“N-no! I’m perfectly fine!” He managed to scrabble to his knees with one arm, clinging onto the control panel for support as he pulled himself up, panting with effort. He tried to grin wickedly. “But while you were distracted, Raiden, you have unwittingly lowered your guard! Take this!”

He slammed a fist down on one of the large, brightly-colored buttons (a bit cliche, but they were helpful for his astigmatism). The sound of rockets firing off was supposed to sound, but he found himself tilting his head at the silence.

“Uh...Oneiroi?” Raiden’s voice came through again. “Tech error?”

“No! No, I’m sure I just hit the wrong-” He smacked it again, but still nothing. “Um…”

A little sigh followed it. “Yeah, let’s- let’s take five, okay?”

++++++

“Well, erm, there was a bit of an incident down at the office.” He shrugged innocently. “Shiina asked me to refill the printer trays, and I thought it would be a good idea to bring the paper bundles up the stairs- you know, exercise and building muscle and all that- but I wasn’t as careful as I could have been, I suppose, and I...erm, fell down from the top step.”

Sin cringed. “Yikes. That’s gotta hurt. Definitely made a good call, wrapping it up.”

“And it looks like you should do the same.” Bedman walked off and came back with the first-aid kit and a wet washcloth, the latter of which he pressed against Sin’s arm. “Just sit still. So aside from that, was the rest of your day okay?”

“Yeah, totally, everything was fine. You?”

“I was having a bit of a rough patch, but I had a nice talk with one of the other coders, that was nice.”

“Oh, really?”

++++++

The front panel of the hovercraft had folded over into a neat little platform that now hosted a cooler and a foldout chair.

“You don’t drink, right? Lemon-Lime Fizz?” The villain asked, offering a can to his rival. Raiden continued to hover a few feet away, though in a perfectly comfortable lounge.

“Ooh, yeah, toss me that.” He cracked the can open as soon as it hit his fingers. “So what’s up? You seem out of it.”

Oneiroi tapped fingers on his helmet. “I guess I just feel a little off today. Didn’t expect you would notice.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, man! You’re my nemesis! I notice these things.”

He supposed that was true, and it was nice. He could remember nervously typing up a memo on Heroes4Villains.com (‘M25 evil engineer, coder and aspiring megalomaniac seeking monogamous hero rival, serious applicants only, please!) at a fellow villain’s behest. He’d never had a real nemesis, but he was happy having Raiden. A bit dense, but he was a skilled electromancer and he made for an excellent enemy to battle on a regular basis.

He thought a moment before speaking. “Am I not adequately menacing? I’m worried I’ve gotten...a bit out of practice, as it were.”

Raiden blinked in shock, before shaking his head and waving him down. “Nah, man! You’re totally menacing! Those new drones of yours were super scary!”

“You really thought so?”

“Yeah!”

“Maybe I should commit to the motif a bit more?” He pulled out a roll of blueprints and unfurled it. “I had a concept saved for an army of robotic sheep with laser eyes, but the outer casing was complicated and I wasn’t sure if it was too...what’s the word…’hokey?’ I’m no Terumi or anything but I’d like to avoid coming across as too silly, you know?”

“I get you, totally.” Raiden nodded. “I think a lot of villains aren’t into the whole ‘motif’ thing anymore, but I totally get wanting to have a theme. And those tend to be some of your most creative plots! Remember the time you flooded city hall with nightmare gas during the benefactor’s dinner? That was iconic!”

Oneiroi looked down at his blueprints again. “Perhaps I could give this model another go...I know I didn’t exactly have a whole plan thought out for next tuesday. Maybe I could use my laser sheep to kidnap the mayor…?"

The other man smiled in approval. “Sounds good to me! Mayor Whitefang sounded like he needed a break from desk work too, he could probably use another kidnapping-for-ransom. It’s been a while since you did that!”

As he went to say something, a light began to blink and beep on Oneiroi’s gauntlet. “I wasn’t expecting that to pop up so soon.”

“Got a call or something?”

“Promised I’d help another villain remodel their evil lair, I wanted to cancel but they couldn’t get anyone else to help out. Is it fine if I leave early?”

Raiden nodded again. “Sure, sure man, by all means. I get it. Uh, and this is why you never underestimate the power of the good guys?”

“Of course. Curse you, Raiden? I’ll beat you next time?”

++++++

“...Yeah. It was nice.”

“Well, guess it wasn’t that bad of a day after all!” Sin beamed, throwing his bandaged arm around his roommate’s shoulders as soon as he had finished. “And now, all we’ve gotta do is chillax and wait! Hopefully Bridget ‘ll be back soon with dinner.”

“I don’t suppose we would happen to be getting garlic knots, as well…?

“You know it!”

“Excellent.”

#AU-gust #writing #guilty gear #Sin Kiske #Bedman

8 notes · View notes

slashthedice · 5 years

Note

Had this prompt in my head. Normal girl from Dallas, living her best life. One day, she finds herself in a bar, people listening to country music, drinking, dancing, having fun... the sound of a chainsaw catches her attention. The door of the bar is swiftly destroyed, a hunky man swinging a chainsaw around. Another man comes in, talking about revenge on the bar owner, laughing maniacally... the hunky man notices you, and your heart starts beating faster. Maybe Bubba Sawyer x reader NSFW? :3

Yes please! ♥(ﾉ´∀`) I am so here for this.This one ended up being quite a bit longer than originally intended so uhhh I’m splitting it up. Second part will ideally be finished and posted later this week and will contain the NSFW bits. Might end up crossposting this one to ao3 as well. Soundtrack for this one is this which I was introduced to by @slashers-hell (＾ω＾)

It had been a wild night. None of your friends had been available to go out, but that hadn’t stopped you. You were young and looking for action, excitement, something to spice up the humdrum of everyday life. You found yourself at a small bar that you didn’t typically visit.

It was late, certainly later than you had planned to be out by yourself. Last call was breathing down your neck, and you could tell that the cantankerous proprietor and acting bartender was chomping at the bit to kick those of you still finishing your drinks out. Any minute he would tell you to settle your tabs and clear out.

You looked around the small bar, better able to take it in now that your inebriation had dulled to a slight buzz. It was all old wood panelling and aged furniture. A haze of cigarette smoke seemed to hang in the dimly lit space despite the numerous No Smoking signs posted on the walls and doors. A single light above the jukebox flickered on and off as the machine spun out the mellowed jazzy sound of a guitar that hung in the air thicker than the smoke.

The remaining patrons of the establishment were a motley crew, each varying levels of drunken and haggard, and each sure to be sporting a fierce hangover in the coming hours. You found that you were the youngest person left in the bar, and the one that fit in the least. You were a young woman looking for a good time and rounding out her night of bar crawling, not a hardened alcoholic looking for an escape amongst strangers.

The space had gone through quite the shift over the course of only a couple hours. When you had rolled up to the bar, the gravel parking lot had been packed with cars. Those populating the building were a mix of regulars and people drawn in by the flickering of the near ancient sign illuminated by neon letters. You recalled thinking that they had to be breaking some sort of fire code when you had forced your way into the middle of the mass of bodies dancing to the twangy notes of some southern songstress on the dancefloor. You had danced and laughed and drank, making new friends for the night with the girls exchanging drunken compliments in the bathroom as they did more harm than good while trying to fix their makeup in the tarnished, cracked mirror.

Your fleeting friends had long since disappeared into the night, and now you sat alone at one end of the dingy bar with one hand propping up your chin and the other wrapped around the once cold glass of a half-finished beer mug. Your arms and legs felt heavy, and your skin was coated in a layer of dust and dirt adhered by your own cooled sweat. You didn’t dare even glance towards any reflective surface, sure that what had once been an alluring smokey eye now gave you the appearance of a raccoon and that your hair was a tangled mess. You knew that you should settle up and head home, the softness and warmth of your bed calling to your exhausted body, but you couldn’t bring yourself to motion the barkeep over.

The relative quiet stillness of the bar was shattered by what sounded like a chainsaw revving outside the door. Around you, the barflies all looked up. You weren’t familiar with the area, but you had a feeling that chainsaws weren’t an average occurrence at this time of night.

“What the hell is all that racket?” The gruffness of the bartender’s voice cut through the roar of the unexpected saw.

He rounded the bar, brushing by you and making a beeline for the door. The thump of his boots covered both the din of the mechanical growl and the already drowned out lilt of music. All the patrons were silent, watching with curiosity and confusion as the old man went to confront whoever was disturbing the tenuous peace that can only be found at the end of a long night. The chainsaw had only gotten louder as the moments rolled on, and as the proprietor drew closer to the door it sounded like whoever was wielding the dangerous implement was basically already inside.

You watched the old man’s sure steps falter as he neared the door. The initial rage he had felt must have died when he realized the implications of facing an unknown person with a potentially deadly weapon. He hesitated, hand reaching for the knob but frozen mid air. The bar itself seemed to hold its breath with anxious anticipation of what would happen next.

Then the door exploded.

A shower of wood and splinters flew through the air, pelting the old man and startling everyone. Someone dropped a glass, but the sound of it shattering was masked by the roaring buzz of a chainsaw that echoed through your head and vibrated through your body. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you watched him fall to the ground and debris fly through the air.

The man that stepped through the ruins of the door was massive, easily nearing six and a half feet tall. He loomed over the now terrified old bartender with the chainsaw you had heard prior raised above his head. He appeared to be wearing some kind of mask. There was little time to consider him further before a smaller man scampered in behind him. This new man seemed jittery, twitchy and somehow scared you more than the one with the literal chainsaw.

The chainsaw ground to a halt, and the bar was suddenly almost unnervingly quiet. You, along with the other patrons, were frozen with shock as this all played out before you. The small man stood over the old man, tittering excitedly and pointing what appeared to be a bent metal coat hanger at the prone male.

“Do you remember me?” He seemed to struggle with the words, stuttering slightly. “You kicked me out after taking my money. I was just trying to listen to music, man!”

The bartender seemed to remember his prior rage, though he seemed much less intimidating on the floor. “Yeah, I remember you! You almost broke my damn jukebox!”

“Music is my life, man, and you were disrespecting it!”

The old man began to attempt to struggle to his feet. “I’ll kick you out again! You and whatever the hell that is,” he growled, jerking his chin in the direction of the mountain of a man that now cradled the chainsaw with a surprising amount of delicacy.

Faster than your eye could follow, the jittery man pulled a ball-peen hammer out of thin air and with a loud crack! he brought it down hard on the other man’s balding head. With this single violent action, the entire bar erupted with activity. You sucked in a harsh gasp, hardly able to grasp what exactly you bore witness to. The men a little ways down the bar from you shot to their feet, moving to assist the man that was now under attack. This prompted the grinding growl of whirring teeth as the chainsaw was coaxed back to life.

“Get ‘em, Leatherface!” The rat-like man howled, shaking the bloodied hammer in the direction of the bar.

You were on your feet and running for the back before your mind could catch up with your instincts. You sprinted towards the cramped hallway that housed the bathrooms and what you had assumed was a back door. It was mere seconds before you heard screaming and the horrible wet sound of flesh being carved through. You whimpered as you threw yourself at the back entrance, becoming more and more desperate as you realized that it wasn’t budging.

To your horror, as you examined the door, you found a thick padlock sealing it shut. You pulled uselessly on it, knowing that it was futile but not knowing what else you could hope to do. The screaming quieted to moaning, which died into silence in the main bar room. Your struggles with the lock grew more desperate, but were still just as ineffective.

“Where’s the girl? Go get the girl!”

Your heart was in your throat when you heard those words from the strange man. An affirmative noise came from the other man. You were crying then, though you tried to quiet your sobs. The lock was going nowhere and your only option was to hide.

You ducked into the bathroom, cursing the way your boots slipped against the smooth tile. You ran to the last stall in the row, closing the door behind you, locking it, and balancing on the edge of the toilet seat with your knees pulled up to your chest. You knew it was silly, that the large man with the chainsaw would find you easily and hack you to bits, but you were scared, still slightly intoxicated, and completely out of ideas.

You heard the bathroom door slam open and had to stifle a whimper with your trembling hands. The chainsaw was turned off, and the only sound was his heavy footsteps on the dirty tile. There was a loud bang! as the door to the first stall was thrown open. The same happened with the second, then the third, and then you could see his boots underneath the door in front of you.

He pushed lightly on the door, probably expecting it to swing open as easily as the others had. When it didn’t budge, he pounded against it with a single meaty fist. The flimsy lock did not stand a chance. You yelped and tried to push yourself even further back, coming dangerously close to tumbling into the toilet bowl.

As the stall door slammed against the wall, you got a good look at the large man for the first time that night. The fluorescent bathroom lights haloed his bulky form. He was dressed up in a nice black suit, white button up shirt soaked with sweat and dust from his destruction of the front door. You realized with a sick jolt that what you had thought was a halloween mask of some sort appeared to be a second face worn over top of his own, a human face.

He pulled back on the cord of the chainsaw and it made a grinding sound but did not start. You knew that you had reached the end of the line. If he could get the mechanical tool going, you would become quickly and intimately acquainted with the acute pain that the whirring metal teeth of the saw could cause. As a last ditch effort, you did the only thing you could think of.

“Stop that!” You said as sternly as you could, trying to look as confident as a person cowering on a toilet was capable of.

He looked at you with more than a little confusion, but he didn’t pull the ripcord again. You took this as a good sign. You swallowed thickly, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins and fear tingling across your nerves.

“What’s your name?” Your voice sounded tremulous in your ears.

He looked around in a way that almost seemed nervous. He half shrugged and fiddled with the chainsaw. It seemed like he wanted to answer your question, but that he couldn’t find the words.

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m [Y/N],” you continued, not wanting him to get upset.

He lowered the bloodied chainsaw a little further, and hope swelled in your chest. He babbled something that was near incomprehensible, but the more optimistic part of your brain translated it as a repetition of your name. You smiled and nodded with more force than was necessary.

He seemed conflicted, shifting his weight and glancing back and forth between you and the door. When he was looking at you, you could feel his deep walnut colored eyes travel over you. He seemed particularly appreciative of your bare legs beneath your denim shorts when you slowly lowered them to the ground to steady yourself, as that was where his hesitant gaze lingered the longest.

Finally, he seemed to decide what to do with you. He dropped to his knees in front of you, motioning for you to stay where you were with one upheld hand. He yammered and babbled at you, and while you couldn’t understand what exactly he was trying to say, you could surmise his general intent and stayed put. Even kneeling, he was nearly eye-level with you as you sat on the edge of the toilet seat.

Maybe it was the alcohol still left in your system or maybe you were finally losing your mind, but at this proximity you could make out some of his features beneath the stolen face and you found yourself admiring what you saw. He had wide, dark eyes that followed your every move and searched your face. You could just see the shape of his mouth through the hole in the mask. Every time he babbled at you, you were granted a glimpse of misshapen and misaligned teeth. However, his lips were full and plump, glistening where his pink tongue darted out to lick nervously.

You watched him peel off his black gloves. His hands were much like the rest of him, meaty and strong. His fingers were short and stubby, but nearly as thick as two of your own. You nearly slapped yourself when you caught your mind wandering to how those fingers would feel against and inside you. All you could hope was that he wouldn’t notice the way your face suddenly reddened. You needn’t have worried, as he was focused on his new task. He dragged those same fingers you were admiring across the bloodied guide bar, collecting the cooling red substance on their tips.

When he reached towards you with his now blood-soaked hands you fought against all of your instincts that screamed for you to recoil. You could not suppress, however, the shuddering breath that left you when you felt the odd sticky warmth of blood smeared across your face. You wanted to grasp his wrist, to stop him, but he looked at you with such focus and intensity that you did not. Once your cheeks, forehead, and chin were sufficiently covered, he collected more of the macabre paint and spread it over your neck and chest. You whined in protest when he smeared the crimson over your shirt, surely ruining it, but he cut off your complaints with a huffed noise of warning.

Once he was done, he took a moment to sit back on his heels and admire his work. You were sure that you were now just a bloodied mess of gore and viscera. He nodded slightly before standing and lifting the chainsaw once more. You watched with confusion as he fumbled with it for a moment before yanking on the ripcord. You screamed then, sure that after all the hope and whatever had just happened, he was going to kill you anyway. He yelled too, waving the tool above his head before swinging it back and forth.

The whirring teeth never found you. He destroyed the wooden stall doors and broke the porcelain tiles. Your screams quieted as you watched the swathe of destruction he cleaved through the space. You realized he had no intention of hurting you, but that he was making a show of it for someone, probably the other man out front. Finally, when he was content with the scope of his demolition, he let the motor sputter and die. Then there was silence with the exception of his labored breathing.

He made a series of hurried motions which you somehow understood to mean “play dead”. Your intention was to slump back against the back of the toilet and go limp, but before you could do that one of his muscled arms found your waist and he was hoisting you over his shoulder. You nearly shrieked at the sudden motion, but remembered just in time that you were supposed to be dead. You let yourself go slack, arms dangling down his back as your knees pressed into his chest and his shoulder dug into your midsection.

He carried you from the bathroom and back into the bar. If he bumped your pliant form into a doorway or two, or if the steadying hand on your thigh was just a bit higher than you suspected was necessary, you didn’t say anything. You squeezed your eyes shut so that you would not have to see the carnage that you were sure was spread across the dancefloor. Your willful blindness did little to prevent the assault of the scent of copper from invading your senses, you could all but taste the blood on your tongue.

“Bubba!” So that was his name. “You got her?”

You felt the man– Bubba– nod.

“I got mine too! Let’s get ‘em in the truck.”

You kept your eyes clamped shut and your extremities limp for the entirety of the process. You were laid gently on the hard surface of what you surmised was the bed of a truck, followed quickly by a number of heavy thuds and disgusting squishing noises. You felt the vehicle shift under the added weight. Idly you wondered how they planned to dispose of the bodies. That was what you assumed they were planning, to hide the evidence of their crimes.

Blood pooled as it spilled from the multitude of wounds on the corpses, spreading to where Bubba had placed you. The warmth of it seeped into your clothing and hair, you fought the urge to gag. Someone patted your leg comfortingly before a tarp was thrown over the grizzly scene in the back of the truck, trapping you in with the smell of death. You were too afraid to open your eyes even when the engine started and two doors slammed shut.

The vehicle jolted forward, across the gravel of the parking lot and out onto the open road. You did not think to pay attention to the direction you were travelling or the number of times the truck turned. For the most part, your mind was blank. There was only one thought repeating itself in your head:

This was not the kind of excitement you had been looking for when you left your home earlier that evening.

Part 2

#barfly #leatherface #bubba sawyer #leatherface x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm #slasher imagines #slashers x reader #slashers #reader insert #asks #someone-who-is-there #content? from dice? it's more likely than you think

253 notes · View notes

lostinthewiind · 5 years

Note

hi there!! sorry for requesting a lot but your writing is so good! i’m very stressed out at school with exams coming up and all and was just wondering if you could write a super happy fic with whoever? have a fantastic day!!!

Exam time is stressful man, I totally get it! Remember to breathe, drink lots of water, eat food, sleep well, and take breaks in between studying.

As for this fic, I am going to double up yet again because @higgles123 also wanted some Donald Malarkey, and who doesn’t love that man? I hope this fic can ease you of some of your stress, even if only for a little while.

Among the Tulips

“Shh!” you pressed your finger to your lips as you lead Malarkey through the dense forest, your eyes flashing back at him as he let out a booming laugh.

“Don’t you shush me.” Donald spun you around and backed you up against a large tree trunk. The man before you smiled wide before bending his head down to kiss you.

Don’s lips were surprisingly soft, but even if they hadn’t been, you were positive you would still enjoy the kiss. You enjoyed every kiss you shared with Donald Malarkey.

“You have to be quiet.” you giggled. “We’re not supposed to be here.”

“That’s what makes it so much more fun.” a mischevious smile crossed his face. “Even though I still have no idea why we are here in the first place.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Well, if you would just follow me instead of pushing me up against every single tree to make out we would be there by now.”

“I’m sorry I like to kiss you.” Don backed away and ushered you in front of him. “Please, lead the way. I promise I’ll keep my hands and my lips to myself.”

“You better,” you warned with a laugh before grabbing his hand and taking off through the trees once more.

Don chuckled as he tried to keep up with you. You were like a deer as you expertly maneuvered around rocks and hopped over logs. He was more like a bear; big and a little clumsy.

Spotting the approaching clearing in the distance, you picked up the pace, pulling the redheaded man behind you like an excited child. When you burst through the treeline into the field of flowers that you had discovered while on patrol the day before, you drew in a deep breath, the beautiful aroma of the tulips filling your lungs.

Letting go of Don’s hand, you ran out a little further into the waist-high grass and flowers, held your arms out at your sides, and started to spin. Your head fell back as you smiled wide. You had only just found that field, but it was already your favourite place in the whole world.

Don watched you intently, a toothy grin taking over his pale face as you laughed and pranced among the tulips. It was sight he wished he could take a picture of and keep with him everywhere he went.

When you finally stopped goofing around, you turned to him and lowered your arms. “Do you like it?” you asked him.

“I love it.” he nodded.

Your heart filled with joy at his answer. Holding your hand out for him, you motioned for him to join you. “Come on.” your freckles appeared under the sun.

Carefully, Don stepped into the field and took your hand. His red hair shone in the golden light and his teeth sparkled. He looked like a prince from a fairy tale in his fresh, clean uniform. He was a prince. Your prince.

“As soon as I found this place I knew I had to bring you.” you sighed happily as Don wrapped his arms around your waist. “It’s just so breathtaking. It’s so peaceful and serene.”

“How, despite everything we’ve been through, are you still so sweet?” Don took both of your hands in his.

You chuckled and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just who I am.”

“I love who you are.” he couldn’t believe that out of all the men in Easy Company, you had chosen him. He couldn’t believe that after men like Joe Liebgott and Bill Guarnere had thrown themselves at you, you had chosen him.

“I love who you are too.” you brushed a loose piece of his ginger hair out of his face. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew by, bending the grass and flower stems and blowing your hair all over. “I think this should be our place,” you told him.

“I’d like that.” Don agreed, his face falling for a moment. “If only we didn’t have to leave this place behind when we move out again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as your smile disappeared. “Oh, yeah…I forgot about that. I forgot that we’ll probably never be able to come back. Forget it then.”

Don felt a sickening feeling in his stomach at the way your happy demeanor dissipated so quickly. He never wanted to see you frown; not if he could do something about it.

“We can find another way to make it special,” Don suggested, a crazy idea popping into his head.

Your eyes lit up once more. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Don let go of your hands and looked around for something that could work for his plan. Taking a few steps away, he spotted a perfect red tulip and picked it. With a hefty tug, he snapped the stem in half. “Here you go.” he handed you the end with the flower attached.

You let out a joyous giggle as you took the gift. “I love it.” you lifted the bright petals up to your nose and inhaled deeply.

“I’m glad, but that’s not all.” he turned his back to you. “Just hold on a minute.”

You cocked a quizzical brow as the redheaded man stood facing away from you, fiddling with something in his hands and cursing under his breath every few seconds. “Don?” you called out over yet another loud breeze.

“Just a few more seconds.” he requested before his head popped up again and his shoulders relaxed. “There.”

You were beyond confused. You had always known Donald Malarkey to be a bit of an oddball, which was one of the many reasons you fell in love with him, but even sometimes you had no idea what he was up to.

Pivoting on his toes, Don turned back around, one hand held behind his back. “From the moment I laid eyes on you at Toccoa I knew I was in love with you.” he slowly walked back toward you. “I never used to believe in love at first sight — it seemed like a cliche that hopeless romantics would say — but then I saw you and I realized it was real. I was in love with you just by looking at you, and then you spoke, and then you smiled, and then you laughed. God, I could listen to your laugh on repeat all day long and never get tired of it. I’ve never loved every single thing about anyone before, but I love every single thing about you.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes as your hands moved to clasp over your chest. “Don-”

“I’m not done yet,” he stood before you, his bright eyes looking down at you. “I know a war is not the most ideal place for something like this, but it’s not the most ideal place for falling in love either, and we did that. Together, I’m convinced we could do anything, and I want to do everything with you.”

Don slowly lowered himself down onto one knee in front of you and pulled his hand out from behind his back, the remaining flower stem twisted and tied into a circle between his fingers. “This isn’t a real ring, but I promise you I will buy you a million real rings once we get home if that’s what you want. I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone. Y/N, will you marry me?”

A single tear slipped down your cheek and your free hand — the one not death-gripping the tulip — flew over your mouth. You were afraid you would release the sob building in your throat if you spoke, so you nodded instead.

“Yes?” Don questioned.

“Yes.” you squeaked out.

“Then gimme that damn hand.” Don gently grabbed your left hand and slipped the flower stem around your ring finger. “Now, you be careful with that. Don’t lose it. It was expensive.”

You let out a mixture of a cry and a laugh. “Okay.” you bent down with him and planted your tear-soaked lips on his. “I’ll take real good care of it.”

“In all seriousness, I am gonna get you a real ring once this war is over.” he assured you even though you couldn’t care less about having a ‘real’ ring or not. All you wanted was him.

“This place will be with us forever now.” you smiled at the thought of always being connected to that beautiful tulip field even if you never saw it again for as long as you lived. “Thank you.”

“Our wedding will be decorated from top to bottom in tulips,” he promised you. “Hell, I’ll pin a tulip to my suit. I’ll buy you a tulip every day for as long as we are together. I’ll change my goddamn last name to tulip.”

You caressed his cheek as he went off on another one of his silly rants. “No, don’t do that.” you shook your head. “I want to be Mrs. Malarkey. I like that name.”

“Mrs. Malarkey,” he repeated. “It suits you.”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #Donald Malarkey #donald malarkey x reader #reader insert #malarkey #hbowar #fluff #donald malarkey fluff #don #lostinthewiind

146 notes · View notes

punkcupcakestyles · 5 years

Text

Love Song

"I really want to kiss you." His voice was just as low as mine, and a little chuckle rumbled down his lips as he finished the sentence. The butterflies woke up in my tummy to celebrate it, and almost adore him, and I wasn't even sure if I had nodded. But he was so soft and sweet, and he smelled so good,

Catch up here!

Why did I stay? In hindsight, it hadn't been my best idea.

There was a thought: I wasn't going to drink ever again. Not one drink. Not even one sip. I didn't even actually like it when I was in the process of getting drunk.

I rolled to my side, which was painful, and opened my eyes to the morning light, which was even more painful. The room was bright, and the sheer curtains allowed the sun to get in in full force. Stupid, useless curtains.

I patted my hand on the mattress and under my pillow, where I usually left my phone before going to sleep. Finding nothing, I cursed under my breath, as I slowly rose up with a grunt to start looking for it in the mess of the covers. But it was nowhere to be found, and wherever I was, it was not my home.

I looked around, as the sleepiness faded away, and a light panic started to take over me. Where was I? The room was mostly white with moody grey and blue accents, and the light was actually coming from a glass door that led to an outside pool. Right next to the door, there was a gray armchair and a white stool, where you could put your feet up for when you were reading, or watching tv, or just chilling.

Where was I, really? I pushed the covers and sheets to the side and stood up to further inspect the room. But panic grew as I realized that I was wearing a white t-shirt, that was definitely not mine. It was too short, and it had holes on the sleeves, and I wondered how and who had put it on me. My head spun, and I pulled on my hair lightly, as if to wake myself up from the strange dream I was on.

The more I searched the more I realized there was nothing in the room that would tell me where I was, not a single photo, or personal item that would give me a clue, so I walked out of it and found myself in a dim hallway that directed to some kind of open room. Even half-naked, I needed to find out where the fuck I was before I got a heart attack.

The house was mostly white and grey, and I walked through the hallways without finding any more information than I already had: That I had no idea where I was, and whoever owned the place had probably seen me in my underwear.

I sighed in relief when I got to the living room, which was a lot brighter then the rest of the house, as there was a huge window right in the middle of it. The whole city of L.A. could be seen from it, and I stared at it dumbfounded, recognizing that we probably were on one of the hills.

I needed Diana to get me something like this.

There was a dark wood coffee table in the middle of the room and between two dark gray couches. Over the table, there was one of those large art books and some other decorations, but most importantly, there was a picture frame, which I quickly picked up in my hands to see if I could find out where the fuck I was.

It was gray and velvety and it looked like it had fallen, as it had a chipped corner. In the middle of it, there was a picture of Harry and two women that looked exactly like him. One of them, the older one, had jet black hair and was holding a glass of white wine. The other one, blonde and young, was holding Harry by his shoulders, as they both made a silly face to the camera. I sighed in relief and carefully put it back down on the table.

So I was at Harry's house.

I had slept there.

In my underwear.

The wide window was actually a glass door that led to the same pool I had seen back in the room, or at least I hoped it was the same one. Besides that, the house was rather simple. There was a colorful painting of a woman hanging on a wall, some pillows on the couch, and a couple of things over the coffee table, but not much else.

I walked to the open space of the kitchen and bit my bottom lip as I glanced over it. There was a marble island and a couple of stools to sit and eat. He had some apples and oranges over a large plate, but nothing else even indicated that it was actively used. I opened the fridge and was pleasantly surprised when I found actual food in it.

"Jesus..."

I wondered if he was anything like Sam, who could eat a whole cow and add bacon on top it when he was hungover, or if he was like me, who could barely stand coffee in my tummy most mornings. Just in case, I pulled out a couple of eggs and started to look for bread and a pan. When I finally got it, I checked the freezer and smiled when I found a sealed bag with pieces of bacon. Humming to myself, I heated the pan and started to cook breakfast, just as I would have if I was in my own home. I was only missing Cat, who usually sat in front of me without uttering a word as she played with her phone, and probably Sam, who always seemed to end up at my house when it was time to eat.

I had no idea if Harry was even home.

I had no idea if he even ate breakfast.

The bacon was sizzling on its pan, and the aroma of fresh coffee was filling the kitchen, so, when he finally appeared, sleepy and soft as if he had just woken up, I was almost ready with breakfast.

I shifted on my feet, looking at him as he walked towards me. He wasn't wearing a shirt, only a pair of sweatpants that had seen better days, and I peered down at him when he stood behind the counter, leaning on it while a smile grew on his lips.

"Hi." Harry's voice was hoarse, probably from sleep, and I felt my knees get weak at the sight. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were puffy, but his lips were pink and swollen, and he bit into them, with a devilish, almost mocking smirk when he noticed I was staring.

"I hope you like breakfast," I hurriedly said.

"I do," He replied. My heart raced when he pushed himself up from the table and walked behind the counter, only mere steps away from me. "Who doesn't?"

"Some people." "Thank you for letting me sleep here," I whispered to him, as talking out loud suddenly seemed unnecessary. He was right behind me, standing so close to me that I could feel the warmth of his skin even without touching him, and the little hairs on the nape of my neck rose up with a shudder, making me lose my train of thoughts.

"You were drunk. I wasn't going to let you out of my sight."

"So, did you, uh..." The words kept getting twisted in my tongue, perhaps 'cause I didn't want to ask him if he had seen me naked, or probably because his hand was now on my hips, pressing to them as he got even closer to me. Before he could do anything, or I could regret what I was about to do, I leaned back and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and quickly pulled away to his dismay.

"That's not nice," He protested, but the smile on his face gave him away.

"I'm making you breakfast. You can't have it all."

"I guess I can't," He said. He pulled his hand away, and slowly walked to the chairs and sat down, as I served him breakfast. "You didn't have to do this."

"I know. I just wanted to say thank you. So...Did you..."

"Get you in bed? Yes."

"Oh, so did you...put, uhm...this shirt on me?"

"Yes..." He shifted on his seat. "But I didn't, uh, I mean, you had your underwear on, so..."

"Thank you," I said. He was so uncomfortable, his cheeks had tinted a deep pink, and he looked at me almost grateful when I decided to put him out of his misery.

"Just, uh, so you know, you almost bit me when I tried to take your shirt off. And you weren't pleased about the jeans either."

"I'm sorry," I apologized, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear. "I just...I don't really like being told what to do."

"I got that. Are you not gonna eat?" He asked, noticing I had stopped serving food after his plate. I shook my head and pointed at the steaming cup of coffee I had set on the counter.

"Just coffee for me," I told him.

It felt weird, almost too intimate of a moment, the fact that we were sharing so early in the morning, all alone in that huge house, while both of us were technically in our underwear. I looked at him, as he started to eat, and allowed myself to really take him in, from the light swirl on his messy hair to the tattoos that covered his left arm. In the bright light of the morning, his eyes were a light green, with a dark ring around them that made them even more striking, and I felt warm at the realization that he poked his tongue out a bit every time he took a bite of food. A faint smile curled up on my lips as I noticed the tattoo with the fancy skeleton and its top hat, and I ached to touch the two swallows that adorned his chest.

"What?" He asked, and it was only then that I realized that I was actually, fully, staring at him. I blushed, and let my gaze drop to the counter and brought the huge mug to my face to hide my embarrassment. It wasn't an annoyed question, oh, no. He was looking at me with an amused glint in his eyes and his mouth twitched into a smirk.

"Sorry. It's just, how many tattoos do you have?"

"I lost count," He shrugged. "Wanna see them? C'me here. There's one I can't show you, though."

"Why not?" I was already walking to him, pulled by my curiosity, and maybe a primal need to get close to him. I stood in front of him, as he made his chair swirl so he could look at me. I was suddenly standing between his legs, and close to his naked chest, a lot closer than I had expected to be. I almost took a step back, but he took my hand in his, keeping me in place before I could run away.

"It's on my thigh," he replied without letting me go.

"Yeah, that would be weird." I wasn't even thinking, just letting myself act. I pulled my hand away from him, and let my fingers run through the dark ink of the eagle on his right arm. Harry's skin was soft, and a little bit tanned, and I couldn't help but touch him, grazing the tip of my fingers over the faded ink of his body.

I smiled when I reached the skeleton, leaning over him to look at it closely. His breath faltered a bit, and I stood upright to look at him, suddenly remembering how close we actually were. I was just inches apart from him, and my right hand was resting on his chest, while both of his curled over the flimsy fabric of the old shirt. I could smell his clean, fresh skin, and the fake sweetness of his shampoo, could see him gulp down hard as he watched me. I could feel my heart beating faster and I wondered if he could too.

"Sorry..." I breathed, but he chuckled, shaking his head to me.

"You need to stop saying that. It's ok, I like it." His gaze fell on my lips for a second, before he looked into my eyes again, and I felt my knees get weaker at the gesture, a soft feeling taking over my chest and contrasting with the electricity that was slowly taking over the air.

He was so beautiful. God, so, so pretty.

"Tell me something about you," He asked, breaking the nice little silence we had settled in. But he was still soft and close, looking up at me from his seat while my other hand slid to his other shoulder, his words barely a whisper as if to not chase away the magic that surrounded us.

"What do you wanna know?"

"I don't know. Anything, really."

I sighed and begrudgingly took a step away from him, only to sit on the stool right next to him. He looked almost upset, but only for a second, cause he leaned back on his chair and spread a little further his legs.

"Did you always want to be an actress?" He asked, a question I didn't know how to answer without having to explain myself. I sighed once again and sat straight as I looked around him to find something to distract me from the strange feeling at the pit of my stomach.

"No, no. I wanted to be a lawyer." I finally started. "I, I got into a really good college, and I was gonna go there and get my bachelor, and then go to law school, but uh, we couldn't afford it anymore. Uhm...We moved here, my mom, my little sister and I, and we living on a friend's couch, and I was working two jobs, one at a diner and the other one at a pet store, and the diner was always packed with aspiring actors. So, one day, I heard how much they made on a day, and I was 'oh, ok, I can do that, I can keep working my two jobs, and we'll probably get by', so I started going to auditions, and then I got lucky, I guess."

"So you worked at a pet store?" Harry seemed fascinated by that part, looking at me with a marveled glint in his eye. I nodded, smiling at the next bit of information I was about to give him. Apparently, it was going to blow his mind.

"I did. I got bitten by a turtle. Wanna see?"

"YES!"

I stood up, right on the same spot I was just seconds before, and Harry leaned over, to get closer to me as I showed him the half-moon scar I had on my ring finger. I looked down at him, at his childish smile and his dimpled face, and let myself lean over him, and allowed his hand to hug me to his body.

"This one," I said slowly. "And, I have another one that I can't show you."

"From the turtle?" He looked up, smiling widely at me as nodded. "Fuck, I wanna see it."

"It's on my tummy."

"How the fuck did a turtle bite you on your tummy?"

"Well, I had just put her down on the table and reached over her to get a pair of clippers, and she did not like it."

"That's fucking insane!" His British accent got thicker when he was surprised, and his eyes opened wide as he looked at me. "Oh, c'mon, let me see it!"

"I have no pants on, Harry!" I protested in laughter. He pouted but didn't insist anymore. He slowly got up instead, until he was standing in front of me and making my breathing falter as a result of it.

"What?" I asked him, in a voice so low, I could barely hear myself.

Once again, I found myself struggling to describe his kiss and the way it made me feel. He squeezed my waist and brought me to his chest, fully wrapping his arm around me. With a delighted sigh that died on his lips, I put my hand over his shoulder, giving myself something to hold on to as I tilted my head for him. The world had started to spin faster, he kissed me eagerly, soft and demanding, molding his lips to mine as if it was the most natural thing in the world. To kiss me, to hold me close to him.

I hadn't kissed many boys before. I kissed Sam, once when we were both 15 and I just had had my very first drink; I kissed Peter, my boyfriend back home. I even kissed a couple of actors, and now an actress, when the roles demanded so. But nothing was quite like this. Nothing could even compare.

My fingers curled around the waist of his joggers, not finding anything else to hold on to, and I managed to get him closer to me, making him grunt at the sudden movement and at the feeling of my hands sliding up his back.

So when it was finally over, and he broke the kiss apart, I was all ready to do it again. Somehow, I had ended up against the counter and was trapped between it and Harry's chest, which gave me a nice little opportunity to not move, not one inch.

"Have you done this before?" I asked him, busy trailing my fingers over the soft skin of his arms.

"What?"

"The PR thing."

"I have..." He nodded, and I looked at him when he trailed off, waiting to see if he was going to say anything else. But he didn't.

"So, did you two kiss? I mean, are we...are we supposed to kiss?"

"Who's gonna stop us?" Amused, he made me look at him. He was smiling, and his swollen lips were begging me to kiss them again.

"I just want to be sure that this is a good idea."

"That might be a problem."

"Why?"

"Cause you're soon gonna find out it's not. And I really like kissing you."

His words somehow made me feel warm and giddy inside, and I smiled when he pressed a tiny kiss on the corner of my lips before walking away.

I wasn't sure I wanted to find out. Not if it meant not getting any more of his kisses.

#harry styles #harry writing #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry fluff #hi! A short one #cause i'm in the mood #and I really wanted to post this weekend #come talk to me!#writing #hs

111 notes · View notes

ohmytheon · 6 years

Text

title: fired up

summary: Uraraka's hero costume definitely isn't made for snow, but lucky for her, Todoroki spots her in need and offers to help out. Too bad it strikes a nerve with someone in their class.

notes: It's my birthday so I decided to write a one-shot of whatever the hell I wanted and what I wanted was to write something for Sven from the Kacchako Discord. Thanks for the birthday surprise! I can't wait to get my DailyKrumbs Kacchako tote. Now here's one for you from your official crack fic dealer. This was supposed to just be a cute, fluffy Todochako one-shot, but then my brain was like, "You know what's better than Todochako? Todokacchako." Like shit, you right.

When Uraraka woke up to almost a foot of snow, she got excited. She loved the snow. Not only was it pretty, but it was fun to play in as well. Wearing gloves meant that she never accidentally activated her quirk - a blessing when she had been younger and didn’t always remember to not touch things with all five of her fingers. As she got older, she figured out unique ways to use her quirk with the snow. Needless to say, she was not only the best snowball fighter, but she could also make some pretty cool snowmen.

Uraraka’s thrill over the snow quickly turned to dismay when Aizawa decided to use the large amount of snow as an opportunity to do hero training outside. They all had their winter costumes, but hers still didn’t provide a lot of warmth. At least she was completely covered up. Both Momo and Hagakure were forced to improvise and add to their hero costumes for extreme conditions like this. That still left her shivering during the training exercises.

At this rate, they were all going to catch colds, but like Aizawa said, it wasn’t like villains took snow days. They had to prepare for every possibility, including a villain attack during winter.

The only one who seemed more peeved by this whole thing was Bakugou. Of course his quirk relied on his sweat. In this frigid conditions, it was harder for him to produce sweat, which meant that he was forced to constantly move. His anger over the situation alone could probably create some, but he didn’t let up. When Bakugou’s team was up, he kicked it into high gear, using his explosions to heat himself up so that he’d sweat more. He would have to learn how to work through his quirk’s struggle in times like these.

Uraraka’s team had already fought, which meant she was left to watch as Bakugou, Mina, and Shoji went up against Iida, Kirishima, and Aoyama. Bakugou seemed to be using his quirk half out of spite. Luckily they were the last fight in class. It was a good thing too since she’d worked up a sweat herself and was now suffering for it. She had put a coat, gloves, and hat on, but it still wasn’t enough to make up for the lack of layers. With her arms wrapped around herself, she shivered and tried to keep her teeth from chattering noisily as she watched the fight. Normally, she did her best to stay away from Bakugou’s explosions, but the heat from them looked awfully inviting right now. She bet he was warm.

“Are you alright?”

Uraraka nearly jumped out of her skin. However, when she spun around, she saw Todoroki looking at her with his typical impassive expression. He wore a light jacket, but didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by the snow. With half his body resistant to ice and the other half to heat him up, this weather probably didn’t phase him one bit. Must have been nice. She would fight someone for that kind of comfort.

A smile tugged at Uraraka’s lips. “Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine.” Her body betrayed her, an almost violent shiver going through her. She would’ve blushed at the knowing look that Todoroki gave her if her cheeks weren’t already red from the cold. Her face warmed, but didn’t look much different.

“Cold?” Todoroki asked.

“Is it that obvious?” Uraraka laughed lightly and curled in further on herself. “I love the snow, but my hero costume could definitely use some upgrading for winter.”

Todoroki’s eyes flicked over her in a quick examination. She was wearing a puffy coat so not much could be seen and it wasn’t some salacious lookover by any means, but for some reason it went right to her head. This wasn’t the time for it at all, but he was handsome and his eyes roving over her for any reason always made her blush. Sometimes she really wished that she wasn’t so silly. Sure, she was seventeen, but she was at UA for a reason. After getting over her crush on Deku, she’d really wanted to focus on becoming a hero.

She didn’t have time for distractions like that. Certainly Todoroki didn’t either. He didn’t seem focused on anything but becoming a top pro hero.

“Here,” Todoroki said, tugging on her arm and moving so that she was up against his left side.

Uraraka didn’t even have time to insist that she was fine before warmth began to bloom over her. Todoroki must have activated the left side of his quirk, heat spreading from him to her. Even though it would embarrass her later, she practically melted against him. He didn’t protest when she wrapped her arms around his left arm and pressed her face into his shoulder. No one seemed to notice her basically becoming an octopus to absorb his warmth and he had been the one to pull her close first, so she stayed like that, perfectly content.

“Better?” Todoroki asked.

“You feel amazing,” Uraraka replied, her voice muffled against his jacket.

Todoroki coughed and stiffened for a second before relaxing again. She lifted her face away from his arm to peer at him and make sure he was okay, but he gave her a tiny reassuring smile and shook his head. He was fine. She rested her cheek against him again.

While half of her was basking in the warmth of his quirk, the other sane part of her mind knew that this was a pretty big deal. Even after being in Class A for almost two years, Todoroki still wasn’t physical. He typically refrained from touching people or getting touched. He liked his space and Uraraka, who had learned to be careful with her quirk, learned to be careful with him. She’d always been big on hugs, friendly touches, and stuff like that. Deku was as well. Still, they respected Todoroki’s preference and let him initiate anything first.

The fact that he had opened himself up to her and was using the side of his quirk that he’d once refused to use spoke volumes about his personal growth. This wasn’t just a touch on the arm or a brief hug. This was prolonged physical contact and he didn’t seem bothered about this as little as he did the snow. Besides that one second, he appeared perfectly at ease with her attaching herself at his side.

“Do you even need a jacket?” Uraraka asked.

“I can still get cold on my left if I don’t use my quirk,” Todoroki explained, “but not really.”

Uraraka snorted at the amused tone in his voice. He had really started to show more of his personality in the past few months. It had taken him a while to thaw out, but she was happy that he’d started to trust them more. It meant a lot to her that he’d crack something of a joke or let her use him as a human heater. Within minutes, the cold faded from her, leaving her in a pleasant, warm fog. It was nice. He was nice.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Bakugou snapped as he stomped back into the group.

Uraraka blinked. “What?”

“You look like you’re glued to him,” Bakugou scoffed, utter disdain in his voice. Mini explosions crackled in his palms, maybe in an attempt to keep himself warm or make sure he had sweat to activate his quirk. His fight was over though so there wasn’t any reason for him to use it. “Get a fucking room.”

Todoroki considered the other boy for a moment before coolly asking, “Jealous?”

Bakugou exploded, both physically and verbally. “Are you kidding me right now, Icy Hot?” he demanded, much larger explosions bursting from his hands and his face flushing red with anger. Uraraka reared back, still clinging onto Todoroki, as Bakugou moved to snatch him by the collar of his jacket. Provoking Bakugou after a fight was always dangerous, but Todoroki’s tried and true sense of humor did seem to run that way. “I will knock that smug look right off your face.”

“Hey!” Uraraka regrettably detached herself from Todoroki so she could jump in front of him, effectively blocking Bakugou from him. However, she was too slow with Bakugou already on them and ended up getting squashed between them, yelping when Bakugou’s chest smashed against her nose. All of them stumbled in the snow before she grabbed one of his straps to steady herself and pushed him back.

Wow, Bakugou was hot . Did he have a fever from using his explosions so much?

“Let’s not fight, okay?” Uraraka said with a sigh. She let go of Bakugou, who had been glaring at her hand like it had personally offended him. She didn’t even know what they were fighting about. Todoroki’s half-hearted joke couldn’t have pissed Bakugou off enough to get into a fight right in front of Aizawa. It didn’t make sense.

Bakugou dropped his gaze to her before returning to glare at Todoroki. “Tch. We’re in class. Act like it. Do your cuddly gross shit elsewhere.”

“We weren’t cuddling,” Uraraka protested, although… Okay she kind of had been, but she hadn’t meant for it to come off that way. She had really been cold and he’d offered to help, like a good friend. Why that got under Bakugou’s skin so much, she didn’t know, but then he’d been irritated with Todoroki after they’d fought each other a few weeks ago during a combat scenario. He’d lost. It hadn’t been pretty. Maybe anything to do with Todoroki peeved him right now.

Literally getting in the middle of that argument was a bad idea. Her nose was a bit sore.

“Whatever,” Bakugou huffed before blowing away from them like a furious storm. Behind him, Kirishima helplessly shrugged his shoulders at Uraraka, who shook her head. She wasn’t mad at Bakugou, just a little bemused. There were days when it really felt like he’d matured a lot and other days where he right back to fighting everyone about everything.

“Honestly,” Uraraka grumbled as she hugged herself again, “I don’t know what his problem is sometimes.”

“Does anyone?” Todoroki asked idly.

Uraraka snickered. “Maybe Deku or Kirishima. They’re pretty fluent in Bakugou.”

“Whatever it is, he’ll get over it,” Todoroki said. “I think he’s still mad about what happened.”

Nodding her head, Uraraka looked around and realized Aizawa had ended the class as the others started to head back to the main campus building to get their things. Besides Kirishima, no one else seemed to have noticed the near fight between Todoroki and Bakugou. It had been so brief that it was almost like it hadn’t happened. Technically it didn’t since the fight had sizzled before it had actually started.

That had been weird and random. Unfortunately, she was too busy dreaming about bundling up under a warm blanket and drinking hot cocoa to think about it any deeper.

Uraraka turned to follow everyone else with Todoroki walking silently at her side. Despite the almost fight, he didn’t look perturbed in the slightest. They’d all gotten used to Bakugou’s explosive nature though. She wasn’t even rattled. Todoroki was right anyway. He would get over it and then move on to show that he was better. That was what they did in the hero course.

She stumbled in the mound of snow, bumping into Todoroki, but when she mumbled an apology out of habit, he said, “You’re fine,” and that was that. She should’ve moved away to give him some space, but when he didn’t press the matter or look at her again, she stuck close to him. As if on cue, she felt the warmth as he activated his quirk again and the corner of her lips pulled up into a smile. Well, if he was offering, it’d be rude to say no, right? She didn’t hold onto him again, but they walked close enough to occasionally brush against one another.

It was quite cozy, kind of like sitting in front of a fireplace. She should stand closer to him more often, as long as he didn’t mind.

#shouchako #todochako #ochako uraraka #shouto todoroki #katsuki bakugou #bnha #mha #todokacchako #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #todochako fanfic #jealous bakugou is my jam ok bye #also little shit todoroki #the things of songs

277 notes · View notes

alwayslilmisstreated · 5 years

Text

Alice the Third

*(This is an idea a friend and I played around with once I introduced her to Ike/Rev. It is nowhere near complete but I’m really enjoying making it come to life! Without further delay: (Modern day)If Alice marries Sirius and her sister comes to Cradle.)

The story starts out innocent, but it will build in language as well as content. You have been warned.

Rated: Explicit, 18+

Chapter 1 - Strange Meetings

“Are you, Mari?”

My head snapped up at the sound of a gentle male voice. Slowly I took one headphone out and studied him before answering.

The circumstances were weird enough, even for me, and I was the only female Major in the English Army. I hadn’t seen my little sister Alice in almost six years, and about five months ago out of nowhere I started getting these letters from her. Although I wasn’t living full time in London anymore, always ready to go wherever the war took me, rumors of her sudden disappearance still reached me.

Naturally when she’d appeared in my flat one night, I was angry as hell at her for not telling me where she had went, but being me, I had shut up and listened. She hadn’t told me everything, just that she’d traveled to another world and she’d found the love of her life and she was getting married, and she wanted me to be there. Are you fucking kidding me?

Alice stayed in London that month and disappeared the next, just in time for my next job assignment in Germany.

So here I was, in St. James Park at eleven o’clock at night, meeting a strange man that Alice had sent to bring me to wherever she was for the next month.

“Are you the White Rabbit?” I tested, standing up straighter and watching his eyes. I could always spot when someone was lying to me.

The man chuckled, shaking his head and pushing his glasses up his nose. “You’re just like she said you’d be.”

I raised my eyebrow at this. Just what else has she been telling you...?

“I’m Blanc Lapin.” He continued, holding out his white-gloved hand to me.

I shook it firmly, releasing it just as quick, still not sure what to make of this guy. He was impeccably dressed, but very twitchy. I was a female soldier wearing leather pants and boots of all things.

“We should go, we don’t have much longer before the portal will close.” He nodded to my oversized army issue duffel bag strapped to my back, and a small black leather bag at my feet. “Is that all you have?”

Rolling the muscles in my shoulders to loosen the strain from the weight, I nodded. “These are mostly presents, I hope that’s okay. She didn’t really tell me about anything I couldn’t bring..”

Blanc nodded, grabbing the small bag and started quickly walking down the path, beckoning me to follow. “You’ll have to talk to Ray about that when you get to Black Territory, but I think you’ll be alright, as long as strange hands don’t get a hold of any weapons you may have brought anyway.” He eyed the belt at my waist where my issued pistol sat on my hip.

“This is my personal protection.” My tone was unintentionally sharp. “But if it’ll protect my sister, I’ll hand it over...”

I promised Alice I wouldn’t cause any trouble. That included many things, particularly back talking her new friends and family.

“I’ll explain more when we get there,” Blanc promised. He suddenly stopped, holding out his hand so I wouldn’t walk past him. “This is it.”

I didn’t see anything. It just looked like open space to me.

“Just relax.” Blanc smiled, before he stepped forward and disappeared into thin air.

“What the fuck?!” I spun around, but sure enough he was gone. I pinched myself. “Fuck!” I yelled into the night once more. I took the step.

The world spun upside down and the park was quickly out of sight, replaced by the vast night sky illuminated by a full moon and twinkling stars. I was falling, down a hole that seemed as wide as it was long.

If Alice could travel back and forth I would surely be fine, right? I tried to shake the thoughts away that I may become a pancake at the end of this. Why hadn’t I taken a sip from my flask before we stepped through there?

It wasn’t until I realized everything around me was moving slower, wait, was I floating? I couldn’t see the bottom, how deep was this hole anyway?

When I looked up to see where we had fallen from I was startled to see the exit falling out from under me.

I continued floating through the air, slowly approaching a landscape unlike any I had ever seen before.

There was a deep, dark forest, a large city to the North and, a sister looking tower that appeared bigger than the Eiffel Tower. Shivers ran down my spine as I glanced it over. Something wasn’t right about it.

How any of this was possible, I didn’t know, but I knew for a fact I wasn’t dreaming.

Moments later, I felt my body growing heavier, and I began to fall faster.

I squeezed my eyes shut and hit the ground with a crouch. The impact was harder than I imagined, but I refused to show any pain, gritting my teeth I rolled to my feet and stood, taking in my surroundings.

I was in a rose garden that looked like it was straight out of a fairy tale. Off in the corner was a large hole with a preternatural light shining out of it from above.

“Are you alright?” I jumped as Blanc suddenly appeared at my side, almost losing my balance in the process. He reached out to steady me before I had even registered his movement. Rabbit like, indeed. His touch on my arm was warm, but I still stepped back, putting a safe amount of space between us.

“I’m better than alright.” I grinned at him lightly. “Let’s go.”

Blanc led me through a nearby door, which led to a huge spiral staircase that appeared to be a housed in the middle of an official building of sorts.

“Did we really just land on the roof of this place?” I asked, pulling my flask from my pocket, unscrewing the lid and taking a deep swig. I passed it to him, but he politely declined.

“We did, indeed.” He smiled brightly.

Shrugging I took another sip as he led me down a hall and another flight of stairs. Blanc opened the front door for me, leading us out onto a moonlit cobblestone street where a carriage was waiting.

Blanc opened the door for me, helping me step up with my bag on my back, sliding in across from me with the rest of my luggage. A voice from the driver’s box called down, “I see you secured the other idiot. Congratulations.” I heard the crack of the whip and we were off.

“Did he just call me an idiot?”

“You’ll get used to it.” Blanc answered, sitting back in his seat to study me. “Just how much did Alice tell you about Cradle?”

I hesitated answering him. What if I knew too much and it got Alice in trouble?

He seemed to sense my thoughts. “I encouraged her to tell you a little actually. That way it might not be so much of a shock.”

I relaxed a little and told him all that my baby sister had told me about her new home. Magic Crystals, 500 year feuds, fictitious characters that are actually real that I may or may not have tattooed on various parts of my body.

“She said something about people from our world being able to repel magic,” I started, not really sure how this would sound. “Can I do that too?”

“Yes,” he smiled. He then showed me the map he had once showed my sister when she first came here. “The West is ruled by the Red, while the East is ruled by the Black. We’re currently in the Central Quarter, which up until recently was the peaceful ground in between. The place where we landed is called the Garden. This is where Cradle’s most powerful figures gather for debates and trials. Usually everyone except for high ranking army officials and myself-- the official record keeper-- are forbidden from entering, but since we are at peace and King Lancelot is Sirius’ best man, some strings were pulled in your case.”

This was a lot more complicated than I originally thought. I just hope I could keep my promise and not cause any mayhem in my time here. Alice had her secrets, and I had mine, but sooner or later they would come to light.

“There’s one other thing,” Blanc said, startling me out of my thoughts as I stared out the windows of the carriage, watching the strange lights from the crystals dance.

“What’s that?” I asked, taking another sip from my flask.

“I have a feeling everyone with the Black Army is going to be quite taken with you.”

“How is that a problem? I’m going to be living with them for the next month, isn’t it best we get along?”

“There is a rumor going around that someone from the Red Army wants to tempt you as well. It’s highly unlikely that some unforeseen difficulties may arise between you and a certain someone. Maybe even myself and Oliver.”

“What are you talking about, Lapin?” My military voice was coming out and my tone was sharpening. “I’m not going to cause any problems for my sister or anyone--”

“Listen well, Mari.” He cut me off. “I gave this same warning to your sister months ago and it didn’t do any good. Let’s see if you’re better at listening than she is. If you want to make it home, there’s one kind of magic you must not fall under the spell of. It’s the strongest, oldest magic in this land-- love."

“Love?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes at him.

“Strictly speaking, love on its own doesn’t constitute magic. But what I just told you wasn’t just some silly metaphor about life either. Only tragedy awaits those who fall in love with somebody from a different world. If you dream of going back to your world, it will remain nothing more than that-- a dream.

Other than my sister I had never loved anybody before. Being in the military, you learned not to get attached to anyone, because you never knew if you were going to live throughout the day. This was going to be a piece of cake. Nobody could fall in love in a month, right? Oh wait, Alice..

“Don’t worry about me, White Rabbit. I’m the last person you’ll catch falling in love.” I turned my gaze back to the window, letting myself get lost in the differences of our worlds. So I didn’t hear the words Blanc muttered under his breath next.

“If I had a tart for every time someone said that to me....”

Little did I knew then that I was about to fall in love with someone from Cradle, the country shrouded in magic and mystery that would be my home for the next month.

Blanc smiled at men and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "It seems we have another problem. I never told you my last name."

13 days remained until the wedding.

And 30 days remained until the next full moon.

#ikemen revolution

8 notes · View notes

tinybibmpreg · 5 years

Text

Day 83 // ft. Dritan, Haydyn, Azalea, Mateo, Yvonne, Taya, and Moira

#13 / Roses and Thorns

“I’m not going to leave you. You’re never going to have to suffer by yourself again, I promise,” his father told him, as they dug up Moira’s plants and transferred them into pots. Moira didn’t understand what had brought that on, as they’d been completely silent after his father agreed to let him go out and get his plants. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir. I understand. I just…” Moira closed his mouth and sighed, focusing back on digging up a small rose bush that was barely anything more than some sticks. He lifted it up and put it in a medium-sized pot. He bent down to pack in some more dirt, and when he straightened up, he caught his cheek on one of the large thorns. “Ow!”

His father was next to him in an instant, finger brushing over the scratch. There was an icy feeling, and the pain faded. His father wiped the blood away with a handkerchief, and when Moira felt his cheek, the scratch was completely gone. “Thank you…”

“You have such dangerous looking plants, Momo.”

“They’ll look much prettier when they bloom, and this rose bush just hasn’t grown its leaves yet.”

“A rose? Your sisters love roses. They like flowers a lot.” Moira didn’t say anything in response to that. He didn’t want to think about having to interact with his stepsiblings. Destiny had been his only friend, and he didn’t know how to make any others. “Now… what were you going to say before that thorn stopped you?”

“Nothing.”

“Momo…”

Moira looked down at the rose bush. A bit of blood was stuck to the thorn he’d pricked himself on. Carefully, he wiped it off. “It’s just… I don’t get why we have to leave when we’re not suffering. I like living here, and visiting my friend on Earth.”

The smile on his father’s face was patently fake. He pinched Moira’s check and told him, “I don’t want to scare you. It’s a grown-up thing, okay? Your mom and I discussed it, and it’s best if you both come live with me. Your stepsiblings and their mother will be staying in the house with you both.”

“None of us can leave?”

“You can play outside as long as one of the grown-ups is with you, Momo. Now… what’s this plant I’m digging up?”

“That’s a gorse plant. They get very pretty yellow flowers.”

“And what about the rest?”

“We already potted the sticky nightshade and a few blackberry bushes and roses. There’s also a few porcupine tomatoes, some crown of thorns, and a little honey locust tree.”

“They sound lovely, but I don’t believe I know what a crown of thorns is.”

Moira pointed out the small plants. “They’re going to get pink flowers all over them.”

“I see. The prettiest flowers have the sharpest thorns, don’t they?” Moira nodded. “They’ll all be quite beautiful, I’m sure, but for now we’ll have you plant them at the edge of the yard so your brother and sisters don’t step on them when they run around outside.”

“Okay!”

Once everything was packed, they waited for a moving truck to come and load all of the boxes. Moira watched as the pots were put onto the truck. He hoped they would all be okay on the drive, that nothing would crush them. He’d put so much hard work into getting them all to grow in his mother’s realm, a realm that had very poor nutrition and sunlight for plants.

As the truck drove away, his father pulled the both of them close and smiled at them. “We’re all ready to go! Are you excited, Momo?”

“Not really…” He had a flowering succulent in a small pot in his hands, and looked down at it, frowning.

“Haydyn?” he asked his mother.

“Eh. Can we stop and get something to eat before we get there? Moira could use a milkshake to calm his nerves, and I wouldn’t mind a very unhealthy but delicious meal before I’m stuck inside all day eating health foods.”

His father didn’t look very thrilled at the idea. “We’ll get it through a drive-through and you can eat in the car.”

Moira held the succulent between his legs during the silent car ride. He glumly accepted a small milkshake and french fries when they were given to him. He slowly ate the fries, and as they drove down a strange highway that Moira had never been on during his visits to other realms, his father finally spoke, slapping the steering wheel, “Oh! Momo, I just realized I haven’t even told you what your brother and sisters’ names are! How silly of me, not to say anything about them.”

“You said my sisters like flowers, especially roses.”

“Yes, they do, very much. We have all sorts of flower paintings and patterns at home. Anyway- Mateo is sixteen, he’s the oldest. He’s relatively quiet, and is in that phase where he thinks he’s too old to play the games his sisters suggest. I think he’ll be very happy to have a brother around.” Moira had a feeling that his stepbrother wouldn’t be too happy about another young kid showing up. “Yvonne is twelve, she’s the middle child, and she’s quiet around adults but when it’s just her and her siblings, she can talk the night away. She’s very sweet, and is excited to meet you. And Taya is just a year younger than you, seven. She’s shy, and likes dolls.”

“I like dolls.”

“Moira has picked up sewing quite fast, maybe he can make new clothes for her dolls to practice.”

“Great! Look at that, you have the same interests as your sisters. You’ll get along wonderfully.”

“What does Mateo like?”

“Oh, music and video games. He’s a bit upset that I’ve pulled him from school and all his friends, so he may not want to play with you today.”

Moira didn’t really want to play with them today. Instead, he wanted to get started on putting his plants back in the ground. While the crown of thorns would do just fine in pots, the tree, tomato, and bushes would do much better in soil they could expand in.

The rest of the ride was quiet and he finished his milkshake and fries in peace. Moira’s head spun after they made it to his father’s home realm. It took another twenty minutes before they were pulling into the driveway of a large home. By then, the dizzy feeling had abated. Moira peered out the window as the car slowed to a halt, a frown on his face.

“We’re here! It looks like the movers are bringing everything in. Come on, let’s go meet Azalea and the kids. They’ll be waiting for us inside.”

Moira reluctantly got out of the car and took his mother’s hand, clutching the potted succulent to his chest. They followed his father inside, and the first thing Moira noticed was how open and empty it seemed. His mother’s small house had been cluttered with all the things he’d collected over the years, where his father’s house had paintings on the wall and some furniture, but didn’t feel lived in at all.

It was very bright, and Moira was glad that at least his plants would finally get the sun they needed without him having to set up lights for them.

His father’s family was in the living room. Yvonne and Taya were playing with a few dolls on the floor, while Mateo was talking to his mother on the couch, not looking particularly happy.

“Azzy, kids, I’m back, and I’ve brought Haydyn and Momo!”

“Dad!” The girls looked happy to see him. Mateo looked away, going quiet. Azalea gave them a kind smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and she waved to them. Moira wondered if his father had lied about her being fine with his reveal that he secretly had a demon lover and a half-demon child, with another on the way.

His father walked further into the room so he could give the two girls a hug. “How have you two been? Behaving for your mother?”

“Yeah!” Yvonne answered. “We’ve been good all day!”

“Wonderful!” He let them go and went over to his wife. The sisters stared at Moira and his mother, and Moira felt like wilting. “Hello, my dear. Did anyone stop by today?”

“Just you three and the movers. Haydyn, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. You’re just as lovely as Dritan says you are. Well, I think I’ll make sure none of my things broke on the truck. Moira, don’t be shy.” He rubbed Moira’s head and headed towards the stairs. Moira watched him go, not wanting to be left with his father and his family by himself. When he turned back, they were all looking at him, except for Mateo.

His father gave him an encouraging smile, and Moira bit the inside of his lip. Looking down at his succulent, he made a decision. Moira walked up to Yvonne and Taya. Nervousness shone in their eyes as he approached them. He held out the succulent to them. “Father said you like flowers. This one's for you.”

They both smiled, and Yvonne took the plant. “It’s really pretty!”

“It’s a succulent.”

“They know what a succulent is,” Mateo said dryly. Moira definitely didn’t think his stepbrother wanted him there.

“What kind is it?” Taya asked quietly, ignoring her older brother.

“It’s a tacitus bellus. I grew it in my room, with a light. It likes sunshine, so you should put it by a window.”

“We can put it in our room, Yvonne! I can move my princess doll so it has a spot.”

“That’s a good idea, Tay. Come on, Momo, we’ll show you our room.” He didn’t really want to, but Yvonne took his arm and pulled him along.

As they left the room, Moira heard his father say to his wife, “They’re already opening up to him, Azzy. I told you there was no need to worry. Momo is a very likable little boy.”

“He bribed them with that plant,” Mateo scoffed. “And if he was so likable, how come you never told us about him until five days ago?”

“Mateo,” Azalea scolded. “We talked about this. Treat your brother nicely.”

Taya had a lot of different dolls on her side of the room, and she ran up to their window and pulled a large doll off of the shelf directly under it. Yvonne placed the plant in the space and turned it so the flowers were clearly on display. As they marveled over it, Moira looked around at the dolls. He picked one up that had a white dress and angel wings, a halo over its head attached by a small stick of plastic. The dress was slightly ripped, and stained pink at the bottom.

“Do you like dolls, Momo?” Yvonne asked. “Taya loves them, and our brother won’t play with them anymore.”

“Um… I haven’t played with them much. My mother says I could probably make doll clothes since I like sewing.”

“Could you make that one a new dress later?”

“S-sure… Do you have any fabric I can use?”

“Mommy has lots of fabric! You could ask her for some!”

He didn’t want to. “Why don’t you ask her, so you can pick out a color you like? I don’t want to pick a color you won’t like.”

“What do you like to do, Momo? I like painting!”

“I like gardening.”

“Cool! Mommy has a garden. She grows a lot of fruits and vegetables. What do you grow?”

“Flowers. Father let me bring my plants… I have roses, blackberries, and some other things. They’re all small and don’t really have leaves yet, but they’ll look pretty in a few weeks.”

“Roses are my favorite!” Yvonne grinned at him. “Can I help you garden?”

It would go much faster if he had someone to help him. “I just have to ask Father where I can plant my things…”

“How about with Mommy’s plants?”

“He said my plants are a bit dangerous, so I should plant them out of the way.”

“Dangerous?”

“Roses and blackberries have very sharp thorns. The rest of the plants have thorns as well.”

“Oh, yeah! Mommy said the prettiest flowers have the sharpest thorns.” Very similar to what his father had told him. It seemed he had been echoing his wife. “I’ll be careful, I promise!”

“Me too!” Taya said. “I’ll be really careful!”

His father looked surprised to see them come back downstairs so quickly. Mateo was nowhere to be seen, and Azalea asked them, “Is something wrong?”

“Nope!” Yvonne answered, cheery.

“Sir, where can I put my plants?”

“How about by the fence line, over there?” His father pointed out the window. Moira could see a little bit of Azalea’s garden.

“Why not add his things to my garden?”

“His plants are very pointy. Roses and blackberries and a locust tree. I don’t want the girls falling on them when they run through your garden, Azzy.”

“Locust trees grow very big… Plant that halfway through the yard, dears, so it has plenty of room. The rest will look lovely by the fence. Feel free to use any of my tools.”

His father came outside with them and helped them by taking care of the tree while they worked on the rest of the garden, and then assisting them. They had to dig up circles of grass, and went back and forth bringing the plants over to the area. Moira decided that he would try to grow the crown of thorns cuttings in pots indoors, since they were so small. Everything else was spread out so they had lots of space to grow. It took them a while, but eventually, everything was planted and watered.

“I can’t wait for the roses to bloom!”

“What are we going to do with all the little ones, Momo?”

“They can stay inside. They’re houseplants, and they’ll be covered in pink flowers when they’re bigger.”

“They’re kind of scary looking now…”

“Is there a spot in the house where I can put them at a window where they won’t bother anybody, sir?”

“The windows on you and your mother’s floor would work well for your plants, Momo,” his father answered. “Now come on inside, kids. We’ll get those pots upstairs and you can tell Mateo about all the hard work you did today. Then, I’ll get you three some snacks.”

“Should I go help Mother unpack, sir? He’s not supposed to be doing a lot of work.” The movers’ truck was gone, so everything had been brought upstairs.

His father reached over to pat his head, but Moira stepped away. “You should get some rest before you do that. Besides, the boxes aren’t like plants, they don’t have to be tended to right away. And I’ll tell him to take it easy, don’t worry.”

#Oblio's fics #original #mpreg #male pregnancy #Dritan (BoT)#Haydyn (BoT)#Moira (BoT)#Azalea (BoT)#Mateo (BoT)#Yvonne (BoT)#Taya (BoT)#Bed of Thorns

4 notes · View notes

reading-gnome · 5 years

Text

Life as a Fallian

Title: Life as a Fallian

Genre: Fantasy New Adult Drama

Status: Work in progress

Type: Standalone novel (for now. I want to make it a series)

Pov: First Person (with two main characters)

Synopsis:

The small town of Lost Pines is nestled deep in the mountains of Massachusetts. It is a town where everyone knows everyone and generally doesn't react well to outsiders.

Cassandra Bates has just moved to Lost Pine to inherit a house left by her grandmother. What secrets does Lost Pine hold for Cassandra? What will she learn about herself?

Read it on Wattpad

Chapter 1:

(Cassandra's POV)

Lost Pine, Pennyslvania.

My grandmother left her house to me, so now I was moving to Lost Pine, a town tucked away from main roads. The last hour or so has been made up of cobblestone and dirt roads.

At last, I saw the sign, an old rickety wooden sign with a carved bear next to it. Both could be repaired and repainted. The only thing readable were the large etched in letters that said "Lost Pine."

Sighing, I looked around as my car inched through town. There were a small handful of shops, nothing sustainable really, which meant I'd have to drive at least an hour to go shopping.

Another ten minutes, and I finally found the street sign that read "Sandalwood Avenue." Underneath, there is a bright yellow sign reading "No Outlet." I glanced down the sheet of paper sitting on my passenger's seat. My phone had lost service a while back, so I had to rely on road signs and the printed map. The sign matched the paper's address, so I turned down the road.

After another couple of minutes, I finally found the first house on the street. It appeared to be only one of two houses on the entire street. The other house was further down the street. From what I could tell with the distance, it stood at the very edge of the road.

Thick wooden numbers had been hammered to a tree near the front of the yard. "312". The number matched the paper.

This was my new house.

Pulling the car into the yard, I shut it off and looked to the house. It was massive, probably better described as a castle rather than a house. The outside was even made entirely of stone.

Why had I never known about this place?

I guess, to be fair, I barely knew my grandma. She was around when I was a baby. My parents didn't talk about her much. I was the only grandchild, hence inheriting the house and most of her belongings, despite only just graduating from high school.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the car. I had to get to work, even if I didn't want to.

Before worrying about any of my stuff, I walked up the driveway. The door was a large wooden door with some weird designs etched into the wood. I dug out the house key from my pocket and unlocked the door.

The door opened slowly, seeming to push against me. I stepped inside, taking in my surroundings.

The entrance room was beautiful. Large staircases spiraled upwards, leading to a large balcony that overlooked the room.

"Wow," I gasped.

Grandma must have been rich. It is the only way she could afford all of this.

I wonder what happened to her money?

I shook the thought away. It was a silly fantasy anyway. I continued to move through the house, taking in my surrounds and attempting to figure out the floor plan. The rest of the house had the same beautiful, elegant feel as the entrance room.

Sighing, I decided to start bringing my stuff in. I had no idea what I was going to do with it or what bedroom I would claim as my own. The house was almost too big for me to know what to do. However, I knew I couldn't procrastinate it anymore.

The walk from the entrance room to my car very quickly got tiresome. It took a little over an hour to completely unload my car, simply because I needed to take breaks occasionally. I piled everything in the front room.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at all the items. Boxes and bags stared back at me. I'd have to find a way to put these away and a place to put them. The house had plenty of room, that much was obvious. I began to separate the boxes and bags, placing them in smaller piles, so I could place them.

The kitchen would be easiest to start with, so let's start there. I carried kitchen stuff into the kitchen and began unpacking. I looked through the cupboards to find that no one had cleaned out my grandma's stuff. Plates, bowls, and cups remained in the cupboards. Pots and pans were clean and ready to be used. The sheer amount of it made me question if it was even worth putting my stuff away.

Sighing, I pushed the boxes to the side and decided to just look around the house. In one of the cupboards, I found a few heavy duty cast iron pots. I found a variety of herbs and spices, which appeared to still be good.

In the backyard, there was a small garden, which looked like someone had been keeping up with it. From my quick glance, it hadn't appeared like it had weeds or anything, which was strange.

Just as I walked back into the kitchen and pulled a box closer to me to look through, I heard a knock on the door. I sighed and pushed the box back on the island, so it wouldn't be close the edge.

Who could possibly be here?

Another knock, which meant I didn't have time to wonder who was at the door. I would just have to go see.

I started to make my way towards the entrance room. Through the window on the front door, I could see a figure through the door. The figure seemed to be moving slightly, probably out of boredom, as they had knocked a few times already. I grabbed the doorknob and twisted it.

As the door opened, I could clearly make out the figure standing on my porch. It was a woman who appeared to be in her forties. Her attention was off to the side, looking at something that I couldn't see. From what I could tell, she had long black hair and dark red lips. In her arms, she had two closed containers.

"Hello?" I asked quietly, getting her attention.

She looked at me quickly. A smile formed on her lips as she eyed me up. "Hello, darling. I came to welcome you to the neighborhood. My name is Lucy Setan. I live in the house down the road." She motioned to the left, where the road continued.

"Cassandra Bales. It's a pleasure, ma'am."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Bales? Not Hawthorne?"

I shook my head, confused for a moment. Realization hit me.

"Oh," I said softly. "Hawthorne. You knew my grandmother. That's my mom's maiden name."

Lucy's lips form an "o" shape. "Ah, yes, of course. Maggie was one of my closest friends. She mentioned she was leaving her house to her family. I'm so glad someone moved in. It would be such a shame to let this beautiful house go to waste."

I nodded without saying anything. I wasn't sure what to reply.

She glanced down to her arms. She lifted them slightly as if to drive my attention to it. "I brought you a housewarming present. Freshly baked cookies and bread. I figured you could use the pick-me-up to help you with your unpacking."

"Thank you, ma'am."

I reached forward to grab the container. She handed them over and laughed lightly. "Please, please, call me Lucy."

I nodded again.

"Anyway, I should let you go. I'm sure you have a lot of work to do. If you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. I have a daughter about your age, so feel free to stop by our house anytime."

"Thank you."

She spun around and began down my driveway. I watched her for a moment before looking at the items in my hands. I returned back to my house and shut the door behind me. I went back into the kitchen, where I set down the containers. After figuring out which one was cookies, I popped open the container and ate one. It was better than I expected.

I looked at the boxes that still sat on my island. I sighed and grabbed another cookie. As I ate some of the cookies, I thought about the woman. She seemed nice enough and said she was friends with my grandmother.

I wonder what she could tell me about her.

#My writing #writing #writeblr #fantasy #lgbt+ characters #writing side of tumblr #witch character #savannah rose

1 note · View note

the-badger-mole · 6 years

Text

Matchmaker

I’m not going to be able to post this tomorrow, but I wanted to get in my sole contribution to Zutara Month 2017 before the new year. Enjoy! @zutaramonth

When Zuko walked into his office and saw Katara seated at his desk scribbling in a notepad, his immediate instinct was to turn around and leave. She had a look on her face that never boded well for the Fire Lord. Unfortunately for him, she saw him before he could make his retreat.

“Zuko!” she greeted him happily. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting for you for over an hour.”

“I had to sit in on a meeting,” he explained. At Katara’s questioning look, he further clarified. “Agriculture.” Katara made a face. Of all the minutiae of Fire Nation, agriculture was her least favorite. She was grateful that Zuko largely left her out of it. It wasn’t as difficult as foreign affairs or public policy, but it was unspeakably boring.

“How is the llama sheep wool harvest this year?” she asked. Her smile was overly bright. Zuko smirked at her and dug around the hidden pockets of his robes.

“If you really want to know, I have a copy of the meeting minutes on me somewhere,” he told her. Katara hurried to his side and grabbed his hands.

“I was just asking to be polite, honey,” she said. “No need to be nasty.” Zuko laughed outright.

“Where’s Lu Ten?” he asked.

“In the nursery. It’s naptime, thank the spirits,” Katara sighed.

“Long morning?” Zuko asked. Katara nodded and went back to the desk.

“Lu Ten’s governess is out sick,” she told him. “It turns out, our son is a handful, and we need to give her a raise.” Zuko nodded.

“Duly noted.” He took a seat in the guest chair and folded his hands. “So, what brings you by? Not that I’m complaining, but you don’t usually wait around this long for me.” The corner of Katara’s mouth quirked up slightly.

“You always get straight to the point,” she observed.

“Yeah, well, dealing with nobles who like to talk around the issues for hours has given me an appreciation of our straightforward relationship. So, talk to me. Is this really about giving Min Ju a raise?”

“Let’s put a pin in that for now,” Katara said. She walked around to the front of the desk and perched on top of it. “No, dear, I want to throw a ball.” Zuko blinked once. Then again. Then one more time.

“What?”

“A ball!” she repeated. Zuko stared at her in confusion.

“You hate balls,” he said. “The last one we had, you tried to get out of it by saying you were going into labor.”

“Okay,” Katara held her hands up. “That was one time. You can’t bring that up any time you want.” An incredulous laugh bubbled out of Zuko.

“It four months ago,” he reminded her. “You weren’t even pregnant! There are still rumors going around about that.” Katara sniffed haughtily.

“That’s the kindest rumor going around about me,” she said. “And this is going to be different. I’m not inviting anyone who irritates me. This is going to be a proper party. Just people we actually like.” Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. He was certain that after nearly eight years of being the Fire Lady, Katara knew exactly why that was a bad idea, but he felt he should tell her anyway.

“Love, if we throw a ball, we have to invite at least some of the nobles, or they’ll feel snubbed.”

“Like I care,” Katara muttered. “Let them stay mad. This isn’t about them.” Zuko chuckled at his wife, despite himself.

“What is this about then?”

“Toph.” Zuko leaned forward and squinted at Katara.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, really about Toph and Xei,” Katara explained. That just confused Zuko further.

“Xei?” he repeated. “The captain of the palace guard? What’s he got to do with anything?” Katara clapped her hands excitedly.

“They’ve been flirting!” she whispered, for reasons Zuko couldn’t begin to fathom.

“…So?” Zuko asked. “Toph flirts a lot. Usually with guys who don’t realize she’s flirting.” Katara let out a frustrated huff and threw her arms up.

“This time the guy does realize she’s flirting and he’s flirting back!” Zuko still felt lost. Nothing Katara was saying seemed to be connected to each other.

“And you want to throw a ball because…”

‘For such a smart man, you sure can be so slow!” Katara leaned forward on the edge of the desk. “The ball is to get them together. A little music, a little dancing. And of course Toph will be in something stunning! Before you know it, Xei and Toph are joining the rest of us for date night!”

Zuko’s jaw hung open. Katara had lost her mind. There was no other explanation for it. Perhaps the heat of the Fire Nation had finally gotten to her. Or maybe she had gotten too familiar with the wine cellar.

“Are you on cactus juice?” he asked her. To his surprise, Katara threw her head back and laughed.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m not drunk. I just want to see Toph happy.”

“What do you mean?” Zuko almost shouted. “When has she ever needed any of us to see to her happiness?” Katara hopped off the desk and paced around the desk.

“Toph is … well, she’s…” Katara tried to explain. “Toph’s a strong woman. She’s got so much going for her with her metal bending school and everything she’s done for the Earth Kingdom’s army. And she’s a phenomenal mom…” Zuko motioned for her to continue.

“But…?” Katara leaned against the desk.

“She’s kind of crap at relationships,” she admitted. “Look at her last two serious relationships. They both left as soon as she told them she was pregnant! What kind of creep does that?” Zuko shrugged, but that was all. The Gaang had all discussed ad nauseam how they’d dispose of Toph’s ex-boyfriends if they had a chance. Katara refused to even speak their names.

“Toph is fine, though,” Zuko said instead. “She was really young and rebelling. She’s more mature now.”

“And I think that it’s the perfect time to help her see how good Xei would be for her,” Katara held firm.

“Isn’t Xei a bit old for her?” Zuko sighed and sank into his chair.

“What do you mean?” Katara asked. “He’s 33.”

“Toph’s only 24.” Katara shrugged.

“My mom was eleven years younger than my dad,” she told Zuko. “Besides, I think an older man would be great for Toph.”

“I don’t understand why we have to get involved,” Zuko grumbled. He crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders irritably, but Katara was unmoved.

“They have been dancing around each other for almost three months now,” she said with exaggerated patience. “Yet for some reason neither of them will make a move. I’m shocked at Toph, to be honest, but maybe Xei is just shy.”

“Or maybe they’re just not as into each other as you think,” Zuko suggested. “This could all be in your head.” Katara waved him off.

“They’re perfect for each other,” she insisted. “He’s funny, patient, he’s not afraid of her-“

“Toph hates that in a man,” Zuko pointed out.

“-he’s terrific with the girls,” Katara continued as if Zuko hadn’t spoken. “Don’t you want Lin and Suyin to have a father?” Zuko arched his brow at her.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “They have three fathers.” Katara crossed her arms and huffed.

“That was incredibly sweet,” she admitted, grumpily. “And I’d kiss you for it, but you are being so very unhelpful right now.” Zuko let his head roll back and rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got to be joking!’ he groaned. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Katara’s waist and nuzzled her hair. She sucked her teeth and pushed him off of her.

‘Are you really mad at me?” Zuko asked with something like a pout. Katara turned slightly, so she wasn’t looking him in the eye.

“Very,” she replied shortly. Zuko moved around her desk slightly, trying to establish eye contact.

“But you still think I’m cute, though, right?” he pressed. Katara bit the inside of her cheek, trying, and failing to keep a severe look on her face.

“Very,” she said grudgingly. Zuko pulled her into his arms again. This time Katara didn’t fight it.

“So, about that kiss,” Zuko said. Katara’s mouth slid into a slow smile and she wrapped her arms around Zuko’s neck.

“Will you let me throw my party?” she asked.

“Do we have to?” Zuko sighed and rested his forehead against hers. Katara held up a hand and brought her pointer and thumb together.

“Just a small, teeny-tiny party,” she offered. “Too small for even our members of court to possibly care about. I’ll throw a little dinner party so I can make Toph and Xei sit together and they can talk and he’ll make her laugh, and then, once they realize how perfect they are for each other, I can start planning their wedding.” Zuko rolled his eyes again and rested his forehead against his wife’s.

“Do I actually have a choice in this?” Katara chuckled and gave Zuko a quick kiss.

“Sure you do,” she told him. “Red wine or white?”

“Cactus juice,” Zuko said drily. He kissed Katara again, and relented. “Fine. Have your party. I’m telling you, it’s not going to work. And when Toph finds out what you’re up to, I will absolutely leave you out to dry.” Now Katara rolled her eyes.

“How did I wind up married to the world’s biggest pessimist?” she huffed. Zuko grinned as he watched her leave his office.

“You keep telling me it’s because of my hair!” he called after her. Katara glanced back over her shoulder and winked at him.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

True to her word, Katara downgraded the ball she was planning to a dinner party. It was a fairly simple affair, too. If Zuko hadn’t been there when Katara first had the idea, he would have thought she was just gathering their friends together for a nice dinner before they were scattered across the world again.

“I’m really going to need you to give me a crate of these fruit tarts before we leave,” Aang said. He took another large bite out of his tart. Meng, his very pregnant wife narrowed her eyes at him.

“How do you manage to eat so much and stay so slim?” she demanded. Aang grinned at her.

“Don’th wurree, swees’ie,” he said around a mouth full of tart, “you’re naw fa’; you’re pre’nant!” Katara and Suki spun round on Aang before Meng could reply.

“Did you really just say that?” Katara asked, incredulously. Zuko snickered and moved over towards Sokka on the other side of the room.

“Honestly, Aang,” Suki chided. “The things you let come out of your mouth!” Aang turned to Meng both in apology and in supplication. She folded her arms mercilessly.

“You’re going to pay for that later,” she promised him. Aang swallowed the mouthful of tart in his mouth.

“What?” He looked from his wife to his friends. “What did I say? Guys! Back me up!” He turned to Sokka and Zuko, who suddenly found the view from the window incredibly interesting.

“I wasn’t saying that I’m fat,” Meng told him, jabbing a well-manicured nail into his chest. “I was wondering how you stay so slim. They are not the same thing.” Aang’s shoulders slumped forward in dismay.

“How does your foot taste?” Suki teased him. Katara and Meng laughed, not unkindly. Meng shook her head and kissed her husband’s cheek.

“You’re excited about the baby, so I’ll let this slide,” she said, magnanimously. “But don’t let it happen again.”

“Deal!” Aang agreed eagerly. He swept Meng into a hug, being gentle with her midsection. At the window, Zuko and Sokka shook their heads.

“How’s it so easy for him?” Sokka wondered out loud.

“It’s those big ewe-doe eyes,” Zuko told him. “It’s impossible to be mad at a kewpie doll.” A kiwi slice hit the side of his face and he spun round to see Aang smirking at him triumphantly with his arm around Meng, who was licking kiwi juice from her fingers. Katara and Suki nearly doubled over laughing.

“Mature, Meng,” Zuko sneered. “Real mature.” He pulled his sleeve down and wiped at the wet spot on his face.

“Stop picking on my husband,” Meng retorted. She made a face at the Fire Lord.

“What’s Sparky and/or Snoozles doing now?” Toph entered the dining room with Suyin strapped to her chest.

“Oh! You brought the baby!” Katara said, surprised, but not unhappy, to see her youngest niece. She helped Toph undo the carrier and took Suyin in her arms, cooing at her.

“Remember when Lu Ten was that small?” Zuko asked, waving at Suyin over Katara’s shoulder.

“Hmm,” Katara nodded. She inhaled Suyin’s baby smell with a contented smile. “We should have another.”

“What?” Katara ignored her sputtering husband and turned to Toph.

“Why didn’t you leave her in the nursery?” Katara asked. Toph shrugged.

“She was being fussy,” she explained. “Her teeth are coming in and she’s being a real moose-lion about it. I didn’t want to leave her behind, because Lin would feel obligated to take care of her. She does too much for an eight year old. I’d rather she play with Lu Ten and Yue.” Toph sat down at the table and propped her foot up on a chair. It’s okay she’s here, right?”

“It’s fine,” Katara assured her. “We’re just waiting on one more person and then we can have dinner.”

“Who are we waiting on?” Toph asked.

“Xei.”

“The captain of the guard?” Toph’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why’d you invite him to a family dinner?” Sokka snorted.

“Katara’s got it in her head-oof!” his sister cut him off with an elbow in his side.

“I invited him because I like him,” Katara said. She passed Suyin to Suki’s waiting arms. “There are so few people who I click with here at the palace that I like to befriend anyone who I do click with.” Toph raised an eyebrow at that and turned to Zuko.

“You hear that, Sparky?” she said. “I’d keep an eye on that situation if I were you.” Zuko rolled his eyes.

“Believe me,” he told her. “If I could put a stop to this, I would.” Toph frowned. There was a knock at the door before she could ask any more questions, and a couple of servants pushing food laden carts entered. Once they set the table, Katara thanked them and dismissed them. Xei arrived not long after that.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Your Majesty,” he said. He bowed to Zuko, then to Katara, then to Zuko once more. He stood up and looked around the room nervously. Suddenly he found himself in the presence of some of the most powerful people in the world, as situation that left him feeling out of his depth, despite working at the palace. He hadn’t been in the Fire Lord’s presence outside of an official meeting since he began working at the head of the palace guard nearly two years earlier. The Fire Lady had only recently begun a cordial acquaintance with him a few months ago. Xei had been surprised at first, but he realized that it was most likely because of his friendship with General Toph.

�� Xei’s eyes darted over towards the young woman seated at the table and flushed lightly. He missed the smug look Katara shot at Zuko.

“Well,” Sokka said, clasping his hands, “looks like everyone’s here. Can we eat now?”

“I agree!” Meng exclaimed. She moved forward as fast as her heavy belly would allow. “I am eating for two, after all.” Aang followed his wife close behind.

“Can you try to eat vegetarian food tonight?” he pleaded. Meng pinched her husband’s cheek.

“Sorry, babe,” she said. “The baby wants steak.” Aang sighed unhappily.

“She’s not wrong,” Katara said. “Pregnant women tend to crave what they need. Don’t bother Meng about what she eats unless a physician says otherwise.”

“Yes, Master Katara,” Aang grumbled unhappily. Toph and Sokka turned to him in surprise.

“Was that sass, Twinkletoes?” Toph gasped. Sokka shook his head.

“Wow! You think you know a guy.” The rest of Aang’s friends laughed as he settled into the chair next to Meng’s and tried to ignore the decidedly omnivorous plate she was preparing for herself.

“Xei,” Katara turned to her guest of honor and pointed out an empty chair. “You can sit right there next to General Toph.” Xei flushed again and took the seat, carefully avoiding Toph’s gaze.

“Good evening, General,” he greeted her quietly.

“It’s nice to see you again, Captain Xei.” Toph was polite, but indifferent to his presence. Zuko watched the exchange, carefully avoiding Katara’s eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be able to muster up enough encouragement to appease her. He turned and started a conversation with Suki, who still had Suyin in her lap.

“Will General Iroh be joining us this visit?” Suki asked. Suyin babbled happily, reaching for a piece of fruit on the table.

“Not this trip,” Zuko answered Suki. He reached over and pinched off a bit of kiwi for the baby girl. She took it and squished it between the small white teeth beginning to push their way through her gums. Zuko smiled at her and wiped a bit of dribble off her chin. “He’s been really busy with the Jasmine Dragon. He just won an award for his tea, and the shop has been really popular lately. He wants to train someone to manage for him so he can get away, but he hasn’t had the time yet.”

“That’s a shame.” Suki shook her head. “I wanted to get his advice on a training program Toph and I are trying to put together. Plus, we’ve all been missing him.”

“I know,” Zuko agreed. “It feels weird all of us here without him.” Suki nodded.

“Besides, I know Katara would love to have a co-conspirator in this,” she whispered with a pointed look at Toph and Xei. Zuko followed her gaze to the couple. They weren’t really talking. Occasionally one would say something to the other, but it seemed to be out of a compulsion to be civil. Otherwise Toph was engrossed in conversation with Aang and Meng, and Xei was chatting with Sokka. Zuko turned to Katara, who met his gaze with excited eyes and leaned towards him.

“It’s going so well,” she whispered to him. Zuko looked over at Toph and Xei again. Toph had just asked Xei to pass her the fire flakes, and Xei obliged silently. Zuko wasn’t sure what Katara was seeing. It didn’t seem to be going well at all. Still, he found a smile and patted Katara’s hand. It wasn’t for him to dash her hopes, Zuko figured. Katara winked at Zuko, then turned her attention back to Toph and Xei. Zuko sighed and said to Suki,

“I think it’s best that we keep Uncle and Katara separated for now.” Suki snickered. Suyin reached up for Zuko, and he took her from Suki so she could eat.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Suyin made the rounds between her aunts and uncles for the rest of dinner. By the time the meal was over three hours later, she had ended up back in Zuko’s arms, and fast asleep. Toph offered to take her up to the nursery, but Katara quickly declined the offer on his behalf. Zuko arched his eyebrow at her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zuko said. “I want to check on Lu Ten anyway.” Toph smiled at him gratefully. It must be difficult, Zuko reflected, raising the two girls on her own, even with the nannies she sporadically employed. He was glad to help give her a small break, even if it meant subjecting her to his wife’s matchmaking efforts. As he left the informal dining room, Zuko saw Katara was working on slowly isolating Xei and Toph. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. Suyin stirred in his arms, reminding Zuko of what he was supposed to be doing.

The children were already in bed when Zuko got to the nursery. Min Ju was quietly tucking some stray toys back into their place. She bowed quickly and offered to take the baby from his arms.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zuko whispered. He crossed the room and set Suyin in the crib. She fussed a little, but fell back into her deep sleep. Zuko checked on the rest of the children. Lin and Yue, the oldest of the bunch, had fallen asleep on the same bed, with a scroll opened across their laps.

“They were taking turns reading to Lu Ten,” Min Ju explained. Zuko smirked and looked at his four year old son, asleep in his own bed.

“Did he listen?” he asked. Min Ju covered her mouth with her hand to hide a smile.

“For a few minutes, but he was more interested in playing soldier.” Zuko took the scroll from the girls’ hands and rolled it up. Then he went to Lu Ten and pulled the covers up around him.

“Thank you for taking care of all the kids tonight,” Zuko said to Min Ju. “I hope they weren’t too much.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty.” Min Ju bowed her head again. “They were very well behaved.”

“Good.” Zuko was genuinely relieved. Lu Ten on his own was a lot, but Lu Ten with his cousin Yue could be difficult for the most seasoned caregiver. Lin, Zuko supposed, was a balance to the rambunctiousness of the other two.

“Well, they’re asleep now,” Zuko said. “And we’re all done with dinner. You’re free to go. I can finish up in here.”

“Thank you, Lord Zuko.” Min Ju bowed once more and left the room. Zuko stayed behind and put the last few toys away. He lingered for a while longer, watching the children sleep, and his thoughts turned back to what Katara had said earlier. It would be nice, he told himself, to have the nursery this full all the time. Katara had suggested having another baby, but Zuko wondered if she’d be willing to discuss a few more than that.

Zuko walked slowly down the hall away from the nursery towards where he had left his friends. The dining room was empty, so he figured that they had all gone to bed. Zuko wasn’t feeling tired just yet, though. He continued his aimless wandering through the royal family’s wing. He and Katara had had it renovated the year before to accommodate their close friends and family when they visit. Zuko couldn’t help but imagine the halls being filled with the sounds of small feet running through the halls.

He paused at that thought and took a good look around the marble hall. He’d have to remember to speak to the palace designers about carpeting the floors. Zuko continued his walk. He passed the balcony overlooking the gardens and then froze.

“No!” he gasped. He spun back around and poked his head around the side of the glass doors leading outside. On the balcony, Toph sat with Xei locked in a passionate embrace. Zuko’s jaw dropped in shock. Toph pulled away from Xei and sighed.

“I know you’re there, Zuko,” she said. Xei gasped and leapt to his feet. He began bowing several times in succession in Zuko’s general direction. Toph reached up and shook his arm impatiently.

“Stop that!” she ordered. The captain of the guard obeyed with a deep flush on his face. Zuko stepped out of the shadows and stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt…” he assured the pair.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Xei apologized. “I meant no disrespect.” Zuko wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, Toph had plenty to say for all of them.

“Have a little dignity, Xei. For spirits sake, man. Do you know how many times I’ve stumbled on him and Sugar Queen making out?” Xei looked away from Zuko uncomfortably. Zuko felt he should say something to make him more comfortable.

“So…” he said. “I guess Katara’s plan worked.” That was not the right thing to say. If possible, Xei’s face got even redder. Toph groaned. Her head rolled backwards.

“You have got to do something about your wife’s meddling,” she told Zuko. The Fire Lord snorted and folded his arms.

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffed. “What do you suggest?”

“Wimp,’ Toph said. Xei shot her a quick, horrified glance. Toph couldn’t see it, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she could. She stood up and stretched her spine. “I figured this whole dinner was one of her schemes. No offense, Xei, but there’s no real reason for her to have invited you to dinner tonight unless she had something in the works.” Xei held his hands up and shook his head.

“No offense taken,” he said. “I was wondering why I was invited myself.” He turned to Zuko with wide eyes. “Not that I wasn’t honored to receive an invitation. You and the Fire Lady were gracious hosts…”

“Xei if you don’t stop kissing Zuko’s behind, this’ll be the last time I kiss you.” Toph prodded Xei in the side. “You’re a grown man! Show a little backbone, why don’t ya.” Zuko reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What’s going on, Toph?” he asked. Toph linked her arm through Xei’s and grinned at Zuko.

“Xei and I got together a few weeks ago,” she told him. “It’s still pretty new and we didn’t want to go public just yet. I’ve got the girls to think about and, well…Xei’s got these crazy notions in his head about me being above his station and it being improper for us to date and blah, blah, blah.”

“It’s nice to know that’s how you feel about my opinions,” Xei grumbled. He had the beginnings of a scowl on his brow. Zuko fought down a snicker. He knew that look too well.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he told Xei, “the Fire Lady thought that you two would be good together.” That did seem to make the guard feel better. Toph gave Zuko and arch look.

“And what about you?” she asked. “Do you approve?” Zuko shrugged.

“It’s not my business,” he said. Toph nodded her head in agreement. Zuko fixed Xei with a warning look. “Besides, I know that what Toph and my wife can and will do to you if you mess up is way worse than anything I could come up with.” Xei gulped and tuned to Toph for assurance.

“Got that right,” she muttered. She straightened up and raised a finger in Zuko’s face. “Do not tell Katara about us. She’ll think this was all her doing.” Zuko threw his arms out helplessly.

“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” he promised. “But she’s bound to figure it out eventually.”

“Ugh!” Toph groaned. “I know! She’s been trying to get us together for weeks. But Xei and I were already on our way before she stuck her nose in.”

“Well, almost,” Xei admitted. “I mean, I wouldn’t have been confident enough to make my move if she hadn’t hinted that you might not turn me down.”

“Hint! Right,” Toph replied sarcastically. “What did she do, give you a list of places to take me on our first date?” Xei’s face flushed again, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Both Zuko and Toph gaped at him.

“Did she really do that?” Zuko’s laughter echoed through the gardens.

“I mean it, Zuko,” Toph demanded. “Control your wife!” Zuko laughed harder.

“Get real,” he retorted. “Who could control the ocean? You’re just upset because Katara’s got you pegged.” Toph crossed her arms and grumbled to herself.

“You’d think Sugar Queen would find enough between running a country and having a family to keep her too busy to mind my business.”

“You shouldn’t be so disrespectful of the Fire Lady,” Xei said mildly. Toph shrugged carelessly.

“Well, she’s not my queen.” Xei’s horrified expression almost made Zuko laugh again. He shook his head at Xei.

“Don’t bother,” he said. “Those two are going to bump heads until the day they die.”

“Only because she won’t keep her nose out of my affairs,” Toph insisted. Zuko shrugged.

“Consider it payback for telling everyone that she was pregnant before she got a chance.”

“I thought she had already told you at least!” Toph insisted. “It was one time, almost five years ago! Katara’s been meddling in my life since I met her! She’s worse than my mother!”

“She cares about you,” Zuko said. “She just wants you to be happy.” Toph let out a disgusted sigh.

“Ugh! That’s the worst thing about her.”

“That and the fact that she’s right all the time,” Zuko retorted. Toph scowled at him.

“She’s not right all the time.” Zuko shrugged again.

“Seems like she’s right all the time.” He sighed and turned to go back inside. When he glanced back, Xei had taken Toph’s hand in his and he was whispering something that made Toph grin. Zuko smiled to himself and headed back to his room, thinking that if Katara ever decided to retire from being a head of state, she would make an amazing matchmaker.

#zutara #zutara month #avatar tla

175 notes · View notes

encephalonfatigue · 5 years

Text

to turn the mills day & night? art thou not newton's pantocrator?

i actually wrote this as a goodreads review of Friedrich Engels’ “The Conditions of the Working Class in England”. i use that website more as a place to post reflections on books i read, and being as self-indulgent as i am, i wrote too much and it can’t fit within the allotted space goodreads provides, so i’m just posting the thing here. a lot of half-baked thoughts in here, but it is a further elaboration on mills, which i have been thinking a lot about for the past couple years.

At it again with those mills. I'm really into the history of mills. Sorry, but mills are a thing for me. I want to do an STS dissertation on mills so if any of y'all know professors who want grad students to write stuff on mills -- I'm right here, hmu. Ok, Engels (of Communist Manifesto fame, but he didn't really write any of it): he's from a rich and austere Calvinist family, in Germany. They owned a bunch of mills -- one in Manchester. Engels was a naughty boy with radical ideas, so his father sends him out to Manchester to straighten him out. Get him to smarten up about those silly ideas of his. He sees the workers of Manchester living in total squalor. He falls in love with one of them, an Irish working class woman, Mary Burns, who he remains with for the rest of her life. He sees how the industrial mills of Manchester have laid waste to the rivers, the air, and the people.

An Engels mill in Germany is still around and is part of an industrial museum now. By the time Engels was 17, his father had secured water rights along the Agger River to power a water mill for the production of cotton yarn. He was able to do so from capital he had accumulated from his Manchester operations. When Engels was 22, he was sent by his father to their Manchester mill on the River Irwell. It was here that Engels collected his materials that would become this book. Engels writes about these rivers framing the areas of Manchester he explored while there:

“Manchester proper lies on the left bank of the Irwell, between that stream and the two smaller ones, the Irk and the Medlock, which here empty into the Irwell. On the right bank of the Irwell, bounded by a sharp curve of the river, lies Salford, and farther westward Pendleton; northward from the Irwell lie Upper and Lower Broughton; northward of the Irk, Cheetham Hill; south of the Medlock lies Hulme; farther east Chorlton on Medlock”

Early on in this book Engels starts spewing out numbers galore. It’s breathtaking to see the magnitude of these 19th-century statistics, and the horsepower figures are really interesting too:

“In 1834 England exported 556,000,000 yards of woven cotton goods, 76,500,000 pounds of cotton yarn, and cotton hosiery of the value of £1,200,000. In the same year over 8,000,000 mule spindles were at work, 110,000 power and 250,000 hand-looms, throstle spindles not included, in the service of the cotton industry; and, according to MacCulloch’s reckoning, nearly a million and a half human beings were supported by this branch, of whom but 220,000 worked in the mills; the power used in these mills was steam, equivalent to 33,000 horse-power, and water, equivalent to 11,000 horse-power. At present these figures are far from adequate, and it may be safely assumed that, in the year 1845, the power and number of the machines and the number of the workers is greater by one-half than it was in 1834.”

With these large numbers in mind, I think it’s worth noting that when Engels was writing this book, the American Civil War was still two decades off. By 1860, two-thirds of the global cotton supply was from the US, much of it cultivated by slaves. Sven Beckert, Harvard history professor known for his book “Empire of Cotton”, writes in The Atlantic:

“On the eve of the Civil War, raw cotton constituted 61 percent of the value of all U.S. products shipped abroad… Now, in 1861, the flagship of global capitalism, Great Britain, found itself dangerously dependent on the white gold shipped out of New York, New Orleans, Charleston, and other American ports. By the late 1850s, cotton grown in the United States accounted for 77 percent of the 800 million pounds of cotton consumed in Britain. It also accounted for 90 percent of the 192 million pounds used in France, 60 percent of the 115 million pounds spun in the Zollverein, and 92 percent of the 102 million pounds manufactured in Russia.”

Though cotton production was fairly small in Canada at the time, the proportion sourced from the U.S. was of course much higher, due to the obvious reason of proximity. M.N.A. Hinton and T. Barbiero (2012) in a paper write that:

“Canadian cotton mills, of course, were totally dependent on foreign sources of supply to obtain raw cotton. Before Confederation 95 percent of it was imported from the U.S. South; after Confederation 99 percent was imported from the South.”

Marx in “The Poverty of Philosophy” (his denunciation of Proudhon) wrote:

“Without slavery you have no cotton; without cotton you have no modern industry. It is slavery that has given the colonies their value; it is the colonies that have created world trade, and it is world trade that is the pre-condition of large-scale industry. Thus slavery is an economic category of the greatest importance.”

In no small measure because of his acquaintance with Engels, Marx actually mentions cotton right through his first volume of Capital, which was published shortly after the close of the American Civil War. I first realized that Marx and Lincoln were alive at the same time when I read this in Marilynne Robinson’s “Death of Adam”:

“Americans are astonished to realize that Karl Marx and Abraham Lincoln were contemporaries, let alone that Lincoln and much of literate America would have read Marx, who published articles on European affairs for years in Horace Greeley's New-York Daily Tribune, and that Marx wrote about Lincoln. They are amazed that Marx also wrote a contemporary account of the Civil War, passionately taking the side of the North. This is only one illustration of the great fact that we have little sense of American history in the context of world history.”

About 600 articles written by Marx were published in the New York Daily Tribune according to Robin Blackburn. While the description of Blackburn’s book “The Unfinished Revolution” inflates the issue somewhat, saying: “Karl Marx and Abraham Lincoln exchanged letters at the end of the Civil War,” Marx did write to Lincoln a number of times and Lincoln (or more specifically his ambassador) responded to an address of the International Workingmen’s Association, drafted and signed by Marx, with a brief acknowledgement. What undoubtedly was the case was that the American Civil War was deeply influential in Marx’s writings. This was at a time where a radical wing existed within the Republican Party. Horace Greeley who edited the paper Marx wrote for was one of the founders of the Republican Party and was himself a Fourier socialist — among a number of other Republican Party founders.

Anyways, Engels quotes a number of reports of the environmental conditions and health hazards faced by workers daily in these mill towns. In one of these long excerpts, Engels interrupts to say:

“...it must be added, like all other rivers in the service of manufacture, flows into the city at one end clear and transparent, and flows out at the other end thick, black, and foul, smelling of all possible refuse”

This is not unlike what you find in Toronto later in the century. Based on an interview with Jennifer Bonnell who wrote “Reclaiming the Don” (published by University of Toronto Press), Katie Daubs in a Toronto Star article writes:

“By 1860, there were more than 50 mills in the watershed, supplying paper, flour, wool and wood, and pollution… By the 1880s, the price of Toronto’s growth was told in the river. Industrial runoff, deforestation and sewage had turned the meandering lower Don into a festering flow of pollution.”

Photo: The Wonscotonach flowing under Highway 401 in 2019.

The Wonscotonach took on the name Don River because the imperialist Simcoe thought it reminded him of the River Don in Yorkshire, another industrial hub mentioned a number of times in this book by Engels.

Photos: Evergreen Brick Works (Don Valley Brick Works)

Close by what is now Don Valley Brick Works Park is Todmorden Mills, now a museum and art centre. It was once a paper mill that supplied paper for William Lyon Mackenzie’s sheet “The Colonial Advocate”. Mackenzie was actually integral to the genesis of this mill. He was worried about the cost of paper for the Colonial Advocate and lobbied the government to award anyone who would establish the first paper mill in Upper Canada. A gristmill known as Don Mills was converted into Todmorden Mills, and Mackenzie had a new supply of affordable paper.

Mackenzie came to Canada in the same boat as James Lesslie — a book publisher and Owenite socialist. They would open and run a bookstore for a number of years together across the road from St. James’ Church (now a beautiful cathedral) around the St. Lawrence Market area.

He and Mackenzie were responsible for union organizing and the setting up of Mechanics Institutes — something Engels talks glowingly about in this book, saying:

“Here the children receive a purely proletarian education, free from all the influences of the bourgeoisie; and, in the reading-rooms, proletarian journals and books alone, or almost alone, are to be found. These arrangements are very dangerous for the bourgeoisie, which has succeeded in withdrawing several such institutes,”Mechanics’ Institutes,” from proletarian influences, and making them organs for the dissemination of the sciences useful to the bourgeoisie. Here the natural sciences are now taught, which may draw the working-men away from the opposition to the bourgeoisie, and perhaps place in their hands the means of making inventions which bring in money for the bourgeoisie; while for the working-man the acquaintance with the natural sciences is utterly useless now when it too often happens that he never gets the slightest glimpse of Nature in his large town with his long working-hours.”

A lot of socialists, communists, and Marxists admire William Lyon Mackenzie. Some examples include — an excerpt from a Young Socialist League leaflet

“For we are required, nothing more nor less, than to carry forward the revolutionary struggle that William Lyon Mackenzie and Louis-Joseph Papineau launched in 1837. That revolution exhausted itself so that as Mackenzie, commenting on its fate in the U.S., saw: ‘the power of the community pass from democracy of numbers into the hands of an aristocracy — not of noble ancestry and ancient lineage, but of monied monopolists and jobbers and heartless politicians.’”

The Communist Party of Canada website states:

“We honour those who led many of these struggles — Louis-Joseph Papineau in Quebec, William Lyon MacKenzie in Ontario, Louis Riel on the Prairies, and Amor de Cosmos in British Columbia.”

And in a rather long article by Julien Arseneau, , William Lyon Mackenzie’s importance to Canadian history is exposited on a Marxist website.

Photos: Silverthorn Mill ruins at Meadowvale Village, operated by Gooderham & Worts for a period of time. Sketched by the likes of A.J. Casson.

My interest in the mills of the Greater Toronto Area originates in Meadowvale Village, and there is a William Lyon Mackenzie connection here also. This is the area from which my neighbourhood of Meadowvale got its name. ‘Vale’ is the type of word for valley you might find in the romanticist verse of Shelley, a poet both Karl and Eleanor Marx were very fond of. So there was a certain poetic cachet that developers could draw on by co-opting the name ‘Meadowvale’ for their subdivisions father out west in the 1960s.

Anyways, back in Mackenzie’s time, the area I now live around was known as Switzer’s Corners, named after the Switzer family — Irish settlers who had garnered somewhat of a reputation as being seditious agitators and friends of Mackenzie. They would host him at their home when he was campaigning in the area, and one of the sons of the family, Martin Switzer, once rounded up a bunch of peace-loving Quakers (around Elgin, south of London) to go join the armed insurrection that had been launched from Montgomery’s Tavern. Charles Switzer (related to Martin Switzer) eventually ran what became known as the Gooderham store for some time, and was a fixture within the Meadowvale Village community.

Photo: The Gooderham store no longer exists, but the Gooderham mansion still stands. Now a private school. How fitting.

At the mouth of the Wonscotonach (Don River), as it empties into Lake Ontario, was the main industrial operation of Gooderham & Worts. This site is now a tourist destination known as the Distillery District, and the name Gooderham & Worts is still plastered throughout the Victorian industrial buildings there.

This company owned a number of other mill sites around the area, including a couple along the Credit River. One was a textile mill, although it was spinning flax (linen) and not slave-grown cotton. Gooderham & Worts, however, owned another major mill site in Meadowvale Village, and owned a department store there comparable with the T. Eaton’s store in Toronto (the one Charles Switzer ran for a period), with lavish and fashionable offerings for the wealthier folks of the area.

As with the ecological destruction of the Wonscotonach (Don River), similar results were manifesting in Mississauga’s Missinihe (Credit River). Donald Smith in his book “Mississauga Portraits” writes what Chief Peter Jones would have seen before and after the mills:

“The great trees stood so closely together that they formed a canopy shutting out the sunshine and most of the daylight leaving the ground free of undergrowth. He remembered the salmon-rich streams and rivers that flowed from the forested interior down to the harbour. Now the area was extensively deforested. The building of dams for gristmills and sawmills now prevented Ontario salmon reaching their upper spawning grounds. Released sawdust blanketed the bottoms of streams and rivers. By the mid-1850s, the salmon runs had declined to the point of extinction.”

The Anishinaabe ethnobotanist and Dalhousie professor Jonathan Ferrier referred to the clearcutting of forests around Lake Ontario as a “genocide by sawmills”.

I’ve mentioned in a previous review the child labour Mother Jones experienced in American textile mills. I wasn’t able to find evidence of similar stuff in Toronto at the time of writing that interview, but I have found some stuff since then. Firstly, Jean Barman in the Canadian Encyclopedia writes:

“The first wave of provincial legislation regulating child labour in factories and mines began to pass in the 1870s and 1880s. But the prohibition of child labour did not come until the 20th century.”

Secondly I found in a republished version of Royal Commission on the Relations of Labor and Capital, 1889 where James Brown a Toronto factory inspector is being interviewed about, among other things, child labour:

“Q. Did you notice […] any large percentage of children?

A. Yes; in some of them — in the cotton mills and some woolen mills, in cigar factories and knitting works, and some others.

Q. Were there many of those children below the age designated by the Act?

A. Well, I found about 40 girls under 14. Girls are not allowed under 14 nor boys under 12. I found six boys altogether nine years of age, and some ten or eleven.”

Mother Jones was from a working-class Irish family, and Engels spends quite a long time discussing how the Irish were an underclass in the industrial towns throughout England, and suffered extreme exploitation at the bottom of the industrial hierarchy.

I think it’s important to see a lot of the things happening in this century (the dispossession of land from and genocide of indigenous peoples, the global trade and Naval Operations those colonially sourced commodities went into, and the cotton plantations powered by American slavery) as deeply connected to the horrors of environmental destruction, child labour, and the extremely filthy and diseased living and working conditions of the English proletariat — as all connected together in the matrices of the capitalist economy. Capitalism cannot be blamed for all the ills in the world, but it certainly sustains and shelters many of them for the benefit of a small elite class of people.

It is hilarious that billionaires like Nick Hanauer are growing extremely anxious, feeling as if a revolution is going to break out any day. Rich people are not oblivious to the incomprehensibly enormous inequality that persists in the world. Hanauer has tried to gather other really rich people like him to lobby the government to implement some sort of ‘wealth tax’, which does not exist now. They can only extract wealth from the rich by way of income taxes right now. You might have heard this covered in a recent episode on NPR Planet Money. Starbucks piece of shit Howard Shultz is absolutely disdainful of this proposal put forward by the likes of Elizabeth Warren. It’s hilarious to see some rich people talk about their generosity in a self-congratulatory way when what they are really worried about is that thing Rousseau warned about: "When the people shall have nothing more to eat, they will eat the rich". This is at the core of Hanauer’s ‘Pitchfork Economics’. He outright said, at the end of the NPR Planet Money Episode that he’s fine with a wealth tax that ‘slows’ the growth of his wealth, which is the moderate proposal made by people like Elizabeth Warren. This is already rare among the extremely rich. Hanauer mentioned that he can’t be on board as soon as this wealth tax ‘stops’ the growth of his wealth or even farther, reduces it. Laughable really. Engels had something to say about people like this:

“The English bourgeoisie is charitable out of self-interest; it gives nothing outright, but regards its gifts as a business matter, makes a bargain with the poor, saying: “If I spend this much upon benevolent institutions, I thereby purchase the right not to be troubled any further, and you are bound thereby to stay in your dusky holes and not to irritate my tender nerves by exposing your misery. You shall despair as before, but you shall despair unseen, this I require, this I purchase with my subscription of twenty pounds for the infirmary!” It is infamous, this charity of a Christian bourgeois!

…What? The wealthy English fail to remember the poor? They who have founded philanthropic institutions, such as no other country can boast of! Philanthropic institutions forsooth! As though you rendered the proletarians a service in first sucking out their very life-blood and then practising your self-complacent, Pharisaic philanthropy upon them, placing yourselves before the world as mighty benefactors of humanity when you give back to the plundered victims the hundredth part of what belongs to them! Charity which degrades him who gives more than him who takes; charity which treads the downtrodden still deeper in the dust, which demands that the degraded, the pariah cast out by society, shall first surrender the last that remains to him, his very claim to manhood, shall first beg for mercy before your mercy deigns to press, in the shape of an alms, the brand of degradation upon his brow.”

Nick Hanauer is worried about some pending insurrection of violence on the horizon. What many people do not realize is that this is precisely the concern Engels had, except he obviously didn’t believe a ‘heterodox’ reformation of capitalism was the answer. Often times ‘communism’ has taken on a reputation of encouraging brutal and violent revolution, but Engels saw communism in a very different way — a way to prevent the cruel striking out of the poor in a unproductive way that accomplished little except the carrying out of individual revenge (think Atwood’s “Alias Grace”). Engels writes:

“Besides, it does not occur to any Communist to wish to revenge himself upon individuals, or to believe that, in general, the single bourgeois can act otherwise, under existing circumstances, than he does act. English Socialism, i.e., Communism, rests directly upon the irresponsibility of the individual. Thus the more the English workers absorb communistic ideas, the more superfluous becomes their present bitterness, which, should it continue so violent as at present, could accomplish nothing; and the more their action against the bourgeoisie will lose its savage cruelty. If, indeed, it were possible to make the whole proletariat communistic before the war breaks out, the end would be very peaceful; but that is no longer possible, the time has gone by. Meanwhile, I think that before the outbreak of open, declared war of the poor against the rich, there will be enough intelligent comprehension of the social question among the proletariat, to enable the communistic party, with the help of events, to conquer the brutal element of the revolution and prevent a “Ninth Thermidor”.”

Engels however is not rejecting the ‘ressentiment’ and its related ‘slave morality’ that people like Nietzsche were so disdainful of (a narrative that people like Jordan Peterson have leveraged for very particular ends). Anyways, Engels writes:

“English Socialism arose with Owen, a manufacturer, and proceeds therefore with great consideration toward the bourgeoisie and great injustice toward the proletariat in its methods, although it culminates in demanding the abolition of the class antagonism between bourgeoisie and proletariat… They understand, it is true, why the working-man is resentful against the bourgeois, but regard as unfruitful this class hatred, which is, after all, the only moral incentive by which the worker can be brought nearer the goal. They preach instead, a philanthropy and universal love far more unfruitful for the present state of England.”

Ayn Rand once called Christianity the best kindergarten of communism possible, and verses like Mark 3:27 always remind me of this ‘slave morality’ that Nietzsche talked about. In the verse Jesus says:

“But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.”

This verse is also mentioned in one form or another in the other two synoptic gospels. Craig Keener supposes it is an allusion to Isaiah 49:24-26 (the context being oppression under Babylonian imperialism), which I think is a good point of resonance:

“Can plunder be taken from warriors, or captives be rescued from the fierce?

But this is what the Lord says:

“Yes, captives will be taken from warriors, and plunder retrieved from the fierce; I will contend with those who contend with you, and your children I will save.

I will make your oppressors eat their own flesh; they will be drunk on their own blood, as with wine.”

Second Isaiah maybe one-upped the revolutionary Rousseau here. That’s some pretty gruesome stuff. This sort of radical rhetoric within faith communities was not unknown in Upper Canada’s more revolutionary moments. In the neighbourhood where I live there was a Methodist church on Switzer’s Corners known as Switzer’s Church. It eventually became known as Eden Methodist Church, and today is Eden United Church (where I visit not infrequently — though it’s no longer a hotbed of revolutionary fervour). It is fascinating to learn how Methodism was caught up with Owenite socialism in Upper Canada at the time. More broadly both Owenite socialism and Chartism were spread under the umbrella of the Reform Movement in Upper Canada. Engels speaks of both Robert Owen and his brand of socialism (critically) and Chartism (more approvingly) in his book on the working class in England. He also quotes a radical Methodist preacher named Rayner Stephens. Engels writes:

“The people were called upon to arm themselves, were frequently urged to revolt; pikes were got ready, as in the French Revolution, and in 1838, one Stephens, a Methodist parson, said to the assembled working- people of Manchester:

‘You have no need to fear the power of Government, the soldiers, bayonets, and cannon that are at the disposal of your oppressors; you have a weapon that is far mightier than all these, a weapon against which bayonets and cannon are powerless, and a child of ten years can wield it. You have only to take a couple of matches and a bundle of straw dipped in pitch, and I will see what the Government and its hundreds of thousands of soldiers will do against this one weapon if it is used boldly.’”

Haha, wow, this is like an episode of Damnation. Mackenzie himself is probably best known as a failed revolutionary, who led the feeble 1837 insurrection from Montgomery’s Tavern that was easily thwarted by Jarvis. (Peter Matthews, one of the two men hanged as a result of this insurrection, was encouraged to join the uprising by a Baptist preacher from Markham Township called George Barclay.) Mackenzie would go on to occupy Navy Island, just upstream from Niagara Falls and declare it to be the Republic of Canada, before eventually escaping to the U.S. — later returning to Canada in 1849 to take back a place in the legislature. The 1837 uprising was also an important theme in Margaret Atwood’s book Alias Grace (my favourite Atwood novel I’ve read so far), and the role of certain sorts of Methodists and Quakers is thematic in the novel as well.

For all the fear-mongering over atheism that Christians have expressed against Marx and Engels, I think Engels was very well-read in religion. And he knew the working classes generally weren’t, though he didn’t necessarily see that as a problem. Engels inserts a very large and humorous excerpt from the “Children’s Employment Commission’s Report” of working class children being asked about their faith:

“One child had ‘attended a Sunday school regularly for five years; does not know who Jesus Christ was, but has heard the name. Never heard of the twelve apostles. Never heard of Samson, nor of Moses, nor Aaron, etc.’ Another ‘attended a Sunday school regularly six years. Knows who Jesus Christ was, he died on the cross to shed his blood, to save our Saviour.’”

Engels however felt that education was focused on very unproductive sectarian theology and no proper moral teaching:

“The consequence is that religion, and precisely the most unprofitable side of religion, polemical discussion, is made the principal subject of instruction, and the memory of the children overburdened with incomprehensible dogmas and theological distinctions; that sectarian hatred and bigotry are awakened as early as possible, and all rational mental and moral training shamefully neglected.”

Engels goes onto elaborate the general indifference to religion felt by much of the working classes as a result of this pedagogical failure:

“All the writers of the bourgeoisie are unanimous on this point, that the workers are not religious, and do not attend church… among the masses there prevails almost universally a total indifference to religion, or at the utmost, some trace of Deism too undeveloped to amount to more than mere words, or a vague dread of the words infidel, atheist, etc. The clergy of all sects is in very bad odour with the working-men…”

Engels likely thought this outcome to have a fairly bright side, considering the theological convictions of the bourgeoisie which he described in this way:

“It is all very pretty and very agreeable to the ear of the bourgeois to hear the “sacredness of property” asserted; but for him who has none, the sacredness of property dies out of itself. Money is the God of this world; the bourgeois takes the proletarian’s money from him and so makes a practical atheist of him. No wonder, then, if the proletarian retains his atheism and no longer respects the sacredness and power of the earthly God…

…The English bourgeoisie is violently scandalised at the extravagant living of the workers when wages are high; yet it is not only very natural but very sensible of them to enjoy life when they can, instead of laying up treasures which are of no lasting use to them, and which in the end moth and rust (i.e., the bourgeoisie) get possession of.

…the humanity of the workers is constantly manifesting itself pleasantly. They have experienced hard times themselves, and can therefore feel for those in trouble, whence they are more approachable, friendlier, and less greedy for money, though they need it far more than the property-holding class. For them money is worth only what it will buy, whereas for the bourgeois it has an especial inherent value, the value of a god, and makes the bourgeois the mean, low money-grubber that he is.

…It is utterly indifferent to the English bourgeois whether his working-men starve or not, if only he makes money. All the conditions of life are measured by money, and what brings no money is nonsense, unpractical, idealistic bosh.

During my residence in England, at least twenty or thirty persons have died of simple starvation under the most revolting circumstances, and a jury has rarely been found possessed of the courage to speak the plain truth in the matter. …many have died of starvation, where long-continued want of proper nourishment has called forth fatal illness, when it has produced such debility that causes which might otherwise have remained inoperative brought on severe illness and death. The English working-men call this “social murder”, and accuse our whole society of perpetrating this crime perpetually. Are they wrong?”

0 notes