#curling up under the table thinking about that last verse specifically

[nobodieshero-main]

bestie bestie beloved i listened to the song 'atlas hands' by benjamin francis leftwich and maybe it's just bc i saw atlas and immediately applied the song to him but idk i just think it really fits him? that sense of wanderlust intermingling with loss and the grief of a devastating adventure, 'i will remember your face cause i am still in love with that place' - conflicting thoughts because the journey 'killed' keika but now atlas is back safe and maybe there's a part of him that still aches for that which he doesn't know, or perhaps there's regret even that his own wanderlust involved keika to begin with. idk i feel like this might not fit but it's a very pretty song either way - @tbos-main

---

no because you're so right it's not even funny, when i first saw the title i went ''haha atlas'' and then i actually listened to it and i was like "oh this IS an atlas song-"

Take me to the docks, there's a ship without a name there And it is sailing to the middle of the sea The water there is deeper than anything you've ever seen Jump right in and swim until you're free

like the first verse is immediately Atlas deciding to go on the quest, stepping into the unknown with a smile, uncaring really of whatever he may face because he's finally soothing that itch under his skin that's always sung of adventure. And there's that idea of freedom, hiding that undercurrent of danger that I just think suits him and the story so well yknow??

I will remember your face 'Cause I am still in love with that place But when the stars are the only things we share Will you be there?

the chorus?? absolutely about him and Keika, and even subtly about Atlas' own guilt and feeling unworthy of having Keika in his life again

Money came like rain to your hands while you were waiting For that cold long promise to appear People in the churches started singing above their hands They say, "My God is a good God and He cares"

OKAY OKAY OKAY I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THIS VERSE IN REGARDS TO NOBODIES HERO BC THE GOD IN QUESTION IS PRINCE SASHA - so that first line just fits so fucking beautifully into the fact that Atlas and Co. are basically paid to keep quiet about what actually happened on the quest. Prince Sasha literally gives them hush money, and Atlas takes it because he doesn't know what else to do; and then that second line?

Atlas made a promise to himself that he'd get Keika home safe, and he failed in that, so he's just like. forever waiting for it, if that makes sense?? it makes sense to me

and then the last two lines are about the citizens of Prota and their near god-like worship of Prince Sasha bc of generations of propaganda and shit; and in the context of nobodies hero "my god is a good god and he cares" has this like twisted meaning, where it's both how people actually feel and it's the bitter sarcasm of keika mocking them for feeling that way?

I've got a plan, I've got an atlas in my hands I'm gonna turn when I listen to the lessons I've learned I've got a plan, I've got an atlas in my hands I'm gonna turn when I listen to the lessons I've learned

and basically this final verse is basically just Atlas' learning from his past mistakes, he knows what he's stepping into now when he decides to go on another adventure, he knows what might be waiting for him at the other end and this time he's not going to let it happen.

[hwrryscherry]

The one where the reader is a singer

characters: HARRY x SINGER!Y/N

blurb: The reader is finishing up her brand-new album and as Harry comes to visit her on her last day of working in the studio, he gets to react to one of her songs, 34+35.

word count: 1.9K

author's note: HI GUYS! It’s been a week I think? Anyway, I’ll get back to school tomorrow so idk when imma post the next request but I’m hoping that it will be soon! Anyway, I want to thank y’all for the love and support on my writing and I hope that the anon who asked this likes it as much as I did. Never forget that you’re so golden and tpwk. AND ALSO, HAPPY 27TH BIRTHDAY TO HARRY!

    You took a deep breath right after asking for the track to be played again. To everyone else the track was perfect, but it was different for you. It just felt like something was missing and you didn't know what. And god, you were tired. You were so genuinely exhausted that if you sit up in a chair and stay silent for more than five minutes you'll simply fall asleep. You felt your eyes heaving at every blink of yours and it was only 5 pm, but you were in this studio for so long. You were inside this place for 36 hours now with no shower and no sleep. You did eat but now you were hungry again.Your shoulders were tensed up, and you couldn't feel comfortable anywhere. Not in the couch, not in the chair, not in the floor and not even stand up. All you genuinely demanded right now was to be home under your bed sheets curled up with your boyfriend of four years while taking many naps or watching many movies, but no, you needed to have this done. You needed the album to be done and were extremely thrilled to release it to your fans that were excited as well. But yes, you were so frickin' tired.

— Again... — You repeated after a long and sharp breath listening to some groans from your coworkers. You all have been listening to this one song for about an hour and a half now and you haven't actually changed anything yet. — I know, I know, and I'm sorry guys, it's just not right!

— Maybe you think it's not right, but it is and you're just making a huge deal about it. — One of your co-workers said. A girl, Lucy, one of your friends as well. You turned your head to stare at her face and gave her that glaze that made her shrug her shoulders because of it — Alright, I'm sorry.

— I'm not making a huge deal. It's just not right, and I feel like the entire album is so great and this is just wrong. Like... — You said standing up from the couch you were sitten in and walked to the table with the computers on to grab the one paper you used to write this song. You stared at it in your hands for a while as you read the letters. — See, here is the problem. So here it's "you drink it just like water" and then suddenly comes "so what you doin' tonight?", it doesn't make sense, there's something missing in here. — You go through the lyrics again as you hear more groans from the people in the room — And honestly, I'm disappointed with myself for the rest. I need to change it so badly, but I have no idea on how.

— No problem, love — You naturally said referring to his previous apologies.

   That's when you hear the sound of the door being opened. You rise your head to look at the door and see Harry, your boyfriend, walking into the room with some paper bags in his hands that contained burgers directly from In-N-Out, which was in fact your favorite Los Angeles burger place ever. He arrived in silence, trying not to make a noise for fear that you were recording something but you could note his surprised expression when he saw everyone was looking at him instead of recording.

— Sorry guys, I didn't want to disturb you. I was passing by and wanted to check up! — Harry said as he closed the door behind him and walked farther into the room. You smiled tenderly when you saw the figure of the man walking closer to you. You haven't seen each other personally in some days, and he consistently secured you so much spiritual peace, he just had such a light energy and it made you feel so good  — And also y’all had been stealing my girl for so long now! — He joked getting a slight laugh from everyone inside the studio. He approached you by wrapping your waist with one of his arms around your waist and sealing your lips together as he bends down a little.

— And Harry, technically she is maintaining us here and not the other way around — Lucy said in an ironic tone causing you to look at her quickly before letting out a deep breath and lowering your head by rubbing your sleepless eyes with the help of your hands, probably a negative result of sleep. Harry reflected the girl's words and then looked at you carefully before placing the bags on the coffee table that was next to the studio sofa.

— Why? What happened? — Harry asked encountering his gaze with yours as he crossed his arms and observed you raising your hand that contained the papers with the lyrics of your new song.

— I can't write a proper ending that I genuinely like! — You said, sounding frustrated to everyone in that room.

— The ending is good! — Another of your friends, Jaden, said as he got up and picked up one of the bags Harry had brought and then started walking again to sit on the sofa.

— Jaden, you in silence is everything to me! — You said in a mocking tone while running your hand through your hair — But you understand, don't you? — You asked Harry because he has experience with such a specific subject — It's not that it's bad, it's that I don't feel like it's ready!

— I get it! But have you already recorded? — Harry asked softly in his understanding tone. He more than anyone in this room comprehended exactly what you were feeling and he would do his best to help you since you did the same with him so many times before.

— Yes, twenty times! — Jaden murmured a little before taking a bite of one of the burgers that Harry had brought. Harry couldn't hold back the laugh when he heard the boy, as they knew each other well and Harry knew all his sassiness was based on nothing more than hunger.

— Let me hear it, so I can have some ideas to help! — Harry said looking at you, and then noticing your reaction. Your eyes widened at the man's request. It wasn't fear. It was just an apprehension and that made Harry extremely curious  — What? 

— Well... It's a little... — You said in a lower tone seeking your words.

— Promiscuous and indulgent! — Lucy and Jaden completed your sentence making Harry look at her and the boy sitting on the sofa and then Harry raised one of his eyebrows and looked at you with a smirk on his lips.

— Uh, is it about me? — Harry asked in a mocking tone, waiting for the answer that would raise his ego, of course.

— Look, let's not specify anything — You said quickly and nervously looking at the smirk on your boyfriend's face — Ok, Trevor, play the song right for the love of god! — You said getting a laugh out of Harry, Jaden and Lucy due to your despair in ending this matter.

    And Trevor did as you asked and put the song on. You sat down on the bench near the wall and crossed your arms while watching Harry's reactions. The soon as the song started everyone could notice your voice and the rhythm of it that matched the beat.

You may think I’m crazy

The way I’ve been craving

If I put it quite plainly

Just give me them babies

    You could notice Harry bouncing his head on the rhythm of the song as a sign that he liked it because you knew that he only did that to songs that he likes. And you also noticed a small smile when he listened to the end of this verse because he did remember all the times you both had talked about having a baby before.

So what you doin’ tonight?

Better say doin’ you right

Watching movies 

But we ain’t seen a thing tonight

    Again you noticed the smirk and you did smirk as well because you both knew the lack of ability that you had to watch any movie that lasted longer than two hours and you almost ended not watching anything.

I don’t wanna keep you up

But assuming can you keep it up

‘Cause then I’d like to keep you up

So maybe Imma keep you up

Boy

    Harry wasn’t looking at you, though. He was looking at the floor while bouncing his head and paying attention to the song as he was trying to catch the vibe of it and honestly you don’t know if it’s the song that had this vibe but he was looking way too hot to handle at this moment.

I’ve been drinking coffe

And I’ve been eating healthy

Know I get squeaky, yeah

Saving all my energy

    Now the chorus was about to start and you were actually excited and nervous to see Harry’s reaction of it. You two have been dating for four years now. He probably understood any little detail of this song more than anyone else.

Can you stay up all night?

F**k me till the daylight

34 35

    You started to hold back your laugh as Harry lifted his head up fastly with winded eyes and a surprised look so he could face you. It wasn’t actually your style to write songs that promiscuous so he was actually surprised at it even though he loved it. He had a smile on his face though and so did you. 

    The song kept playing as the words repeated itself and it stopped just after the second chorus so Harry passed his hands through his hair as you waited for his opinion on it. Honestly, Harry’s opinion about your music is extremely important to you because you cherish and admire him way too much and love his songs so you hope that he does too with yours.

— So... What do you think? — You asked anxiously waiting for his opinion. The truth is Harry had already listened to all the songs on his new album except this one.

— I like it! — Harry said with a smile on his lips making you breathe a sigh of relief — Maybe I can help write the rest, but they really didn't lie and it's great. The beat is good and the lyrics are catchy and everything will be fine. The point, my love, is that you are too worried! — Harry said as he approached you, placing his big, strong hands on your shoulders and massaging them lightly feeling all the tension in your muscles slowly dissolving — Relax, it's amazing! You got it!

   With Harry's help, you finished the song in less than an hour. When you recorded the rest and listened, you felt that now it was ready and now you could go home with him. It was simply incredible to know you could always count on him and to know that while you were together creativity would be present and life wouldn't be boring. After all, you had each other and had the art.

[the-nagakenny-archives]

OOC: Here’s a little something I thought I’d write to keep the writing gears greased ;v; It’s a bit on the sexy side, fair warning

Samantha lost her nerve almost immediately after ringing the doorbell.

She felt a hot stab in the pit of her stomach, followed by butterflies of anxiety rising to her chest. She suddenly felt the urge to run back to her car and drive away. There was still time, he hadn’t come to the---

The door opened and Kenny was there, and she was a little taken aback. He had answered the door wearing a dark red Turkish terry robe and seemingly nothing else. She felt heat rise to her cheeks out of a mixture of second-hand embarrassment and attraction. The robe barely contained his muscled chest and just reached his knees, but she could see the shape of his hips and thighs against the fabric. 

“Oh, Samantha!” Kenny said, looking surprised. “Hello!” He grinned his gorgeous smile at her, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth and a hint of mischief that was idiosyncratic of him. “What brings you here?”

“Uh, hello, Mr. Huggins.....Kenny,” Samantha said, her mouth feeling dry. She tried hard to smile. “I was wondering if I could have a....a word with you?”

Kenny raised his thick eyebrows and opened the door wider. “Certainly! A word, or several?” he asked. “Because if it’s the latter, I have to warn you I charge by the letter.” 

Samantha laughed, stopped when she heard how nervous it sounded, and followed him inside. He led her into the living room, and she almost instinctively gravitated to one particular couch---the couch she had sat on the last time she had been here. It was just as heavenly soft as she remembered.

“So!” Kenny tossed his gorgeous head of copper-red hair over one shoulder as he plopped down onto the couch across from her. “What’s on your mind, hmm? Politics? Poetry? The infinite mysteries of the cosmos?” He chuckled, the sound causing the butterflies in her chest to flutter anew. “I’m only really well-versed on two of those things, and I’m not saying which.” He winked. 

She blushed a little and giggled in spite of herself, but shook her head and quickly got serious. It felt a little bit easier to talk now; she was still nervous, but Kenny’s demeanor had loosened the knot in her stomach that was holding her back. “Alright, look....I wanted to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind ever since....ever since the party. More specifically what happened after.”

Kenny paused in bringing his glass to his lips and gave her a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

Samantha nodded slowly, not taking her eyes from his face. She carefully examined his expression; it had gone strangely neutral. “I....don’t remember all of it, but......what I do remember.....I.....” She swallowed, trying to rid the dry feeling in her throat, and spoke softly, trying to find the right words. “You.....changed, and I don’t know if it was real.....or a dream.....”

Kenny slowly lowered the glass to the coffee table and smiled---though it was more of a smirk, something she was not accustomed to seeing. “I see,” he said, lowering his voice as well. “Is that all you want to know, then? If it was real or not?” 

“Well.....yes.”

Kenny paused a moment, just regarding her in silence with his dark, dark eyes and subtle smile. Samantha looked back at him, and for a moment a hazy memory surfaced; of looking into his eyes and feeling the most sublime sensation. The heat came back into her cheeks and she shook her head a little to clear it; the memory wavered and then lost cohesion like a cobweb in a breeze. 

“Hmm.” Kenny’s gaze left her face, seeming to have come to some kind of decision with himself. He picked up his glass and swirled the ice around a little. “It wasn’t a dream. You really saw what you saw.” He cocked his head at her, slyly raising an eyebrow. “I am non hominum, my darling. Not human.”

Samantha let out her breath in a long, shuddering exhale as a mixture of relief and excitement, and just a touch of fear, washed over her. “My God,” she whispered. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? It’s completely crazy, but....it’s true, isn’t it?”  

“Mm-hmm.” Kenny stretched lazily and lounged into the couch. “So....what now? Are you going to sic the authorities on me? Or maybe call up the circus, tell them there’s a hot new attraction in town?” There was a confident playfulness in his sly voice and expression that suggested he’d been though this song and dance before and it was old hat to him at this point. 

“N-No,” Samantha said almost breathlessly, shaking her head. She stood up, looking at him with startled eyes. “You don’t understand. I wanted to know because I...” She looked down at her feet, her voice nearly a whisper. “I wanted to see it again.” 

Kenny didn’t seem surprised by this at all, though his expression softened. “Oh, I understand,” he said gently, propping his chin in his hand. “Probably more than you know. You’ll have to forgive my off-putting remarks, I’ve grown accustomed to people threatening me ever since I moved here.” He stood up as well, moving with methodical slowness, and sauntered closer. “I don’t think that’s all that you have on your mind.....is it?” 

Heart pounding, she looked up into his face and nodded slowly. She was too overwhelmed to speak; he was so close now, his body radiating a warmth that was both comforting and exciting. 

He leaned down closer, and when he spoke again, his voice was low, seductive, soothing; her arms broke out in pleasant goosebumps. “You came here to fulfill your curiosity about something. A secret something.” His hands slowly came to the sides of her face, cupping them. She closed her eyes, submerging herself in the deep warmth of his voice and the touch of his fingers, sliding back into her blonde hair. “It arouses you, and it’s driving you crazy, thinking about it.”

“Yes,” she managed to whisper, and then gasped softly as she felt something thrillingly familiar brush against her leg; scales, smooth as silk, against her bare skin. “Please....do what you did before.....”

She felt his breath against her cheek and she shivered with delight. “Hypnotize you?” he purred, his voice like velvet in her ear. “Of coursssssssse. But you have to hold still firsssssssst.” 

“Yes.....yes....” Samantha sighed at his soft hisses and felt herself melting into the smooth, heavy coils that were sliding around her body. It was so good, even better than the last time; his coils moved with a sensual slowness, allowing her to savor the sensations, pausing to squeeze every so often, the muscles rippling with mute power. She moaned a little as the coils reached her breasts, and she arched hungrily into their touch, her nipples hardening under the fabric of her dress. The tail curled around her neck, pressing close to the throat like a collar, and the arousal bloomed fiercely, going straight to her head; her eyes rolled in their sockets, her mouth fell open involuntarily. 

Kenny tilted her head up with one hand against her face and took her open lips with his own; she was completely devoured in his kiss. A pleasant swooning weakness washed over her, causing her legs to buckle and her head to swim. In his kiss and his coils, she was no longer Samantha Shaw, his secretary, and he was no longer Kenny Huggins, her boss. He was a powerful creature untouched by the bounds of human understanding, and she was the willing subject of his love.

He broke the kiss slowly, his tongue flicking delicately over her lips before retreating. She panted softly, nearly breathless from the rush of pleasure she had experienced. He pressed his forehead gently against hers; she felt his hair against her skin, angelically soft. “Look at me, Sssssam,” he hissed. It was a command given with infinite tenderness, but a command all the same, with no patience for resistance. 

She obeyed, her eyelids fluttering slightly, her green eyes glazed with her arousal, and was able to drink him in for a moment. His robe had been discarded, revealing the chiseled muscled body beneath. His legs were gone, replaced with the powerful aggregation of serpentine coils that undulated and slithered in the space and held her fast. His handsome face, pressed close to hers, and his eyes----

Excitement rose in her chest for only a moment, and then gave way to that fuzzy, blissful feeling she had half-remembered as she looked deep into his colorful swirling eyes. She melted into them with near-zealous enthusiasm and was hypnotized by him almost instantly, her eyes filling with colors that pulsed in compliant rhythm with the eyes that held her spellbound. She was floating, unencumbered by thoughts or fears or pain. There was only all-encompassing rapture, complete and total. 

Kenny squeezed her in his coils with slow, salacious appetite, causing her to moan loudly. He passionately kissed her shoulder blade; the nape of her neck; her lips, lingering there, softly biting her lower lip. He growled with red-blooded passion against her cheek; she trembled and made soft, needy noises in her throat. 

His coils lifted her up as though she was a child’s doll, and he carried her as easy as that, slithering deeper into the house, toward the bedroom.

[kerwritesthings]

Dance Your Way Into My Heart

Summary: It’s more than just that feeling of love, it’s the actions, and the talk of forever

Word Count: just a little over 2.6k

Warnings: more soft, squishy, lovely words with a side of wedding fluff

Author Notes: So, this is my 10th ‘full-length’ one shot in this verse which boggles my mind since it’s ONLY been about a month (a day or two off actually – I first posted late the night of Jan 18!) since I started writing around this fool heart. I think he, and this place, the people and the creativity, really came to me when I’ve needed it the most. Sooo, now that the emotional nonsense has been blithered out. Here’s a little something for that…

Funny enough that this all hit me the Wednesday/Thursday before any of Josiah’s wedding stuff hit. Another pretty photo reblog from @rainbowshawn​ that set me on a spiral of ohhh shit I can see him singing at a super casual wedding like this and then the next thing you know I’ve busted out 500ish words on my Notes app on my phone while at a bar waiting for my friend before seeing Moulin Rouge on Broadway that night, total aside THE SHOW IS AMAZING – listen to the OBC album cause it’s bomb, however I digress. 

As always, these can be read as stand-alone one shots, but they all fall under the umbrella of this verse of mine. Reading the previous would provide some context. Masterlist can be found here!

As soon as she asks, Shawn immediately said yes. He's such a sucker for love and weddings and basically anything to make you happy. So, when your best friend asks you if you’d think he would be willing to sing at her wedding, you mention she would need to talk to him and ask. So, she flies up for a weekend under the onus of coming to hang out with you. However, she takes him to lunch one afternoon just the two of them, his favorite place downtown, nervous and anxious. However, you understood it was a shoe in. It was sweet though she wants to go the extra mile with him.

“You knew?” he asks, flopping down on the couch next to you, head immediately falling in your lap as soon as he gets back home. 

“Mmhmm,” you mutter, hands automatically winding through his hair. “Told her she needed to talk to you though. Maid of honor duties only go so far you know. What did you say?”

“Yes, duh. Of course, yes,” he replies, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into your touch. “Didi is your best friend, she’s the closest thing you have to a sister. Of course, I’m going to sing for her for her wedding. Plus, it’s going to be so super chill and laid back. I told her to give me a few things she and Tomas like and I’ll work around with that. I also told her I want first dance duty. No wedding band or DJ should have your bestie’s special moment.”

“You’re something else and I love you. Thank you, sweetheart. It means a lot to her. And even more to me,” you whisper, leaning down to dust a kiss to his forehead, another to his nose before reaching his lips.

Didi can’t stop raving, gushing and thanking you and him. The key smash texts are adorable and you both appreciate the lovely case of rosé champagne she sends over. Tomas, separately, takes him for a boys night at Maple Leafs game next time he’s in town as a personal show of thanks for helping his future wife. Shawn takes his role seriously, copious notes and hours locked away in his studio practicing or grumbling some days. It’s heartwarming to see how much care he took in this. “At some point, she’s practically going to be my sister-in-law, so yeah,” he blushes, after explaining the latest iteration of songs he’s going through. “Plus, it’s her wedding day. Needs to be epic and as perfect as possible. I’m going to make sure it’s that.”

He says it so nonchalant, so matter of fact, and without hesitation: At some point, she’s practically going to be my sister-in-law. It hits you square in the gut. You both know how deep your feelings run for each other, and you’ve had a few abstract talks, a few serious ones too, along with a more pointed talk specifically about the future. But you’ve never heard him speak of it with such assured conviction. Like it’s happening soon. You just look at him, jaw slightly dropped and eyes wide. 

“You’re gonna catch flies like that my dear,” he smirks, tapping his pointer finger up under your chin to close your mouth. Before you can reply, he leans in to kiss you sweetly, slowly and thoroughly. 

“You know you’re my forever,” he sighs against your lips, just a hair away from yours. He presses a soft, quick peck to both corners of your mouth before one squarely against you. “I’ve thought about it a lot more lately. Since Santa Barbara and our breakfast by the pool, really. Of us doing this ourselves and what our wedding would be. I know the new album and the tour, and all that shit is a thing happening, but I also know you mean everything so…”

You don’t know what to say, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You just look at him, hand coming up to cup his cheek. 

“This is not going there now, because this would be a lame as fuck as a story to tell on how I proposed to you, but just know. I’m thinking about it. Really and truly,” he reveals through a bright smile. “I love you, so, so much baby.”

You can’t help but shift your arms around him, face nuzzling into the side of his neck. This boy of yours. He’s something extraordinary. 

At the rehearsal dinner, you spy him and Didi in deep conversation before you’re all due to sit down for dessert. 

“He won’t tell me what they decided on, Didi either,” you explain to Didi’s sister Renee, as you head towards your table. “They’re being sneaky little shits, but you know Dee.”

Renee laughs, “Are you really surprised? After you’ve been friends for this long? It’s sweet of your man to be willing to do all this for them. I’ve already warned all cousins and the brothers’ idiot dates they are not to fawn over him, that he’s beyond happily taken by the maid of honor, and that if I see cell phones obnoxiously in the way at any point this weekend, I’m breaking them in some way.”

You hear his laugh before you feel his arm wrap about your waist. “This is why Renee is the best. She won’t take anyone’s shit. Even from her own family. Thanks girl. Appreciate you having my back,” he smiles, fist bumping Renee. “I owe you one.”

“Holding you to that, Mendes,” she grins widely. “Just make sure this one doesn’t lose her shit this weekend taking care of my sister. But I will gladly use that marker, especially next time your hot friends are around. Speaking of, I should go check on my parents, make sure my brothers haven’t done anything stupid.”

“Is Didi driving you batty?” he asks, guiding you into your chair. “She seems okay tonight.”

“Crowd around, her parents, Tomas’ family, she’s holding her own but there was some stupid family shit earlier,” you exhale, grabbing a hold of his hand to lace through yours, before tipping your head against his shoulder. “It’s nothing that I didn’t expect to deal with this weekend. She’s nervous, worried, second and fifth guessing things. I get it, this is a lot. She just wants to be married already.”

Shawn dusts a kiss to your temple, “You’re such a good friend. You’re lucky to have each other. Tomorrow’s going to be great. Worse case, steal my flask and get her a little saucy before she walks down the aisle.”

You elbow him with a giggle, “You would suggest that, but you may be onto something. Thank you though.”

The next morning is a whirlwind of champagne, bobby pins and lip gloss with a soundtrack full of laughter and a lot of fighting back tears. You also may have sung along to your boyfriend’s last album, dancing around like you would do in her room when you were kids to your favorite songs. Didi’s suite is a buzz with her sister holding down the fort, cousins popping in and out, along with her mother and her future mother-in-law. At one point, after the glam team is gone, you finally have a moment alone with your best friend while her mom and sister go to grab her dress.

“I am so happy you’re deliriously happy,” you whisper, hugging Didi tightly before more folks come in. “You two are good together and I’m glad you found him.”

Didi sniffs, “Thank you, I know I’ve been insane, and you’ve been a saint. Your boyfriend too. Shawn has put up with me changing my mind on stuff like 17 times and he’s just rolled with it. You’re a lucky one too. He’s so fucking over the moon for you girly. Soon roles will be reversed, and you’ll be able to pay me back with your own crazy.”

You both scurry about to get into your dresses. With the wedding taking place at the botanical gardens, Didi decided she didn’t want fussy for anything around the ceremony. Her dress is a stunning V-neck sheath of flowy creamy, buttery chiffon, tiny flowers woven through her hair in place of a veil. Tomas’ grandmother’s necklace, a vintage diamond and pearl strand, lays just at her collarbones. You try not to cry but think back of the two little five-year-old girls who would play wedding in your grandparents’ back yard. “Oh Dee,” you sniff. “Tomas isn’t going to know what hit him.”

She smiles, her eyes just as wet, and reaches for your hands. “I couldn’t be up there without you, bestie.” You hear the flicker of a camera, knowing the photographer is back catching your moment and you’re grateful. “Your boy either. I know you hemmed and hawed about black for a wedding, but this dress is great.”

You’re the only one standing up with her, she didn’t want anyone up there with her other than you. Renee understood and was happy she didn’t have to wrangle a groomsman. She picked a black maxi, swirled with larger flowers in shades of pink and white. Your hair was up, a flower like the ones in your dress tucked in the mass of curls her stylist pinned about. Your bouquet is in a similar palate, while Didi’s has some purple, her favorite color, woven through. 

“Let’s go get you married,” you say handing off her bouquet and tucking her arm under yours. 

“Hey pretty girl, funny seeing you here,” he quips, his lips dusting against your bare shoulder, before tracing a finger across your back. You’re all outside the courtyard waiting to enter for the start of the ceremony. You turn to face him. He’s a vision, because of course he is when isn’t he, in black floral-patterned button down, similar to your dress, along with dark pants. What’s more interesting is that his beloved acoustic strung across his chest.

“I may have told Didi I would play all her walk-in music too,” he nods bashfully. “I wasn’t going to let them use Apple Music or Spotify or even worse some awful wedding singer.”

“You are something else, Shawn,” you reply, squeezing his hand tightly. “Really want to kiss you but I can’t mess up the gloss.”

He places a whisper of a kiss on your forehead, “Love you. I need to go get into place. Atmosphere music. Think I may sneak in one of my own in there before the processional stuff.”

You laugh, pushing him towards the archway of greenery, “Go be wonderful.”

He’s set up at the back of the courtyard, seats all set in front of him. He’s weaving melodies, no singing, just soft rhythms from his guitar. The space is perfect, green and lush and smelling lovely, a swath of flowers at the end of the path where Tomas waits. You make your way down and turn to watch for your best friend. However, before she arrives you take a moment to appreciate Shawn. He catches your eye, smiles and winks, mouthing love you before he sees the wedding coordinator waiving over at him. 

He starts in on “Marry Me” when Didi arrives at the back of the aisle with her Dad. Your breath catches in your throat, the combination of seeing your best friend and hearing your boyfriend hits you hard. She starts making her way down when he begins on the chorus. You see Tomas out of the corner of your eye, and he’s got a hand over his mouth, eyes brimming over with tears. The ceremony is the perfect balance of exactly what Didi and Tomas are. Their vows are intrinsically them. They look every way that a couple getting married should. Glowing, in love and only eyes for each other. It’s hard not to let a tear or two out. 

The reception is in the atrium of the gardens, under a massive domed stained-glass skylight, still lush with flowers and greens. Everything has been exactly as Didi has hoped. Meanwhile, your boyfriend is mysteriously missing. You’re sipping champagne with Renee and her boyfriend of the moment, while looking about for him. 

“Last I saw him he was setting his guitar up before the rest of the musicians came in, don’t worry,” Renee starts, clinking glasses with you. “He’ll be back.”

He makes his way back into the atrium, and surprisingly he’s changed, a little dressier now in deliciously fitting black suit pants and a white button down, the glint of his silver chain obvious even from where you are. You excuse yourself from the group and steal Shawn away before he needs to soundcheck for their dance. You just want to have a moment with him before everything gets crazy, heading out to the patio just off the atrium, which is blissfully quiet. You wrap your arms around his waist and just hold him. 

“You okay baby?” he asks, as he starts to sway with you, shifting your arms around his neck so he can pull you closer. 

You nod, smiling, “I just needed you for a minute without all that is all.”

“You can have all the minutes you ever want or need,” he says, kissing you lightly. 

“Sorry to break this up, please believe me I am, but my sister has decided she wants to get a move on,” Renee calls from the doorway. 

“Duty calls for both of us,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss him once more. “Save me a dance or two?”

“All the slow ones at least,” he agrees, rubbing his nose against yours. “I’ll see you out there.”

Didi didn’t want a whole production with entrances, she wanted a few bars of song then for her and Tomas to start dancing straightaway. So, poised at the edge of what they have set up as the dance floor, with a good angle to see them once they walk in, as well as your boyfriend, you wait. Shawn starts playing, something floaty that that doesn’t sound familiar to you. The pair make their way in and as soon as they hit the center of the floor, he begins. 

“Not talkin' 'bout a year, no not three or four. I don't want that kind of forever in my life anymore,” he sings gently. “Forever always seems to be around when it begins, but forever never seems to be around when it ends. So, give me your forever, please your forever. Not a day less will do, from you.”

The song is beautiful, he sounds amazing, Didi and Tomas as just love personified as they dance. He fades out slowly at the end, a light strum to close out. 

“Thank you for letting me be such a special part of your day. That was Ben Harper’s Forever. Didi, Tomas, congratulations and love to you both,” he expresses, blowing a kiss to the two of them with his hands, you can see his emotions clear across his face. He heads back, as the band starts up, packing away his guitar before making his way over to you, now at your table.

“Wow,” you sigh, hand coming to the nape of his neck to sink into his curls. “That was something else, my dear. Didi fucking owes you.”

He blushes, ducking his head bashfully. “I’m just happy I could give them that moment. First dances are something really special. They deserved to have the best moment possible. Plus, that’s an awesome first dance song, not the usual. Makes it even better.”

“My hopeless romantic,” you muse, tracing haphazard patterns over the top of his hand that rests on your knee. 

“Just you wait,” he smiles, kissing you. “Now, I’m on good authority the next song is a slow one, so may I have this dance?”

He stands, holding his hand out for you. 

“You can have every single one, all of them from now on.”

TAG LIST: @whenidance​, @parkerdavis​, @sinplisticshawn​, @hollandraul​, @fallinallincurls​, @itrocksmysocks​, @rainbowshawn​, @lasingphomustra​, @illumecherry​

*Always feel free to ask to be added to the tag list! 

[cabotinageking]

(this is entirely @killingsim ‘s fault. i’m going to have to redo my verses just to add this.  the context is- remnant verse? remnant au. this is so cursed and feral im so sorry)

Footsteps echoed across cold concrete. The whirr of machines could be heard under the pulse of pop music. If you listened closely, beyond that, you might hear a giggle echo through the grimy air, light feet dancing over the rooftops, the pop of anything from soda bottles to explosives. 

It meant one thing, and that one thing was good for absolutely nobody. 

DICE were out.

A series of city maps and pipelines were spread over a desk in the center of an empty restaurant- a building that was bustling during the day, during the evening, but in the dead of night was empty- except for the overly dramatic candlelight flickering over the plans made inside, for the clowns crawling over it like trussed-up gargoyles. A spread of delicate desserts laid out on a nearby table, decorated with confectionery glitter. The leader of the group grabbed a strawberry puff and stuffed it in his mouth as he surveyed the maps again, ignoring the muffled noises coming from behind him. 

“You said he took the bait, right?”

A girl who was by no means old enough to be out this late, let alone in the sort of company she was keeping, nodded once, an almost dreamy smile settling on her face. “We probably have a few hours,” she said softly, flicking a curled ponytail over her shoulder- pink butterfly hairclips contrasting with the blood soaked into her straightjacket uniform.

What sort of monster would drag children into a mess like this? 

Kokichi leaned over absent-mindedly to ruffle her hair, a gesture that might have been sweet in any other context- but this was no kindly older brother, just a leader and his adoring followers, crowding closer, eager for approval. “Excellent,” he said, withdrawing his hand to clap, to spin around with a twirl of his cloak that threatened to blow out the elegant candles. “Well, knowing my beloved Saihara-chan, anything could happen! So, group A- positions, now. Waiting at the ready.” Chin tipped to the side, for just a moment, that childish smile flickered into something darker. “You won’t let me down, will you?”

Hastily tripping over themselves to comply, the group scattered over the building; some slipping through windows to climb onto the roof, some darting through the roofbeams, some tucking themselves into nooks and crannies or hanging from the outside walls. DICE was made up of kids and runaways, people easy to induct and difficult to protect- but Kokichi wasn’t just any leader of strays. Once upon a time, he used to run from the police, escape by the skin of his teeth, struggle to keep ten teenagers housed and fed and happy. He used to set up city-wide pranks, guerilla performances, art projects that were still standing even now.

He thought a little bigger, these days.

“Group B, collect the machines. I want the explosives set up with time to spare. Get to it!” He clapped his hands twice, cheery and sweet, and watched the rest of them scurry off to get to business. Left on his own, he paced through the center of the restaurant, humming along to the music he was playing, picking strawberries from a glass bowl and sipping champagne mixed with cheap soft drinks. They don’t tell you this, but supervillains end up with a lot of downtime on their hands when it comes to waiting for their pin-striped heroes to show up. Kokichi usually used this time to plot ahead for future events- Saihara-chan was just so picky about chasing him, so Kokichi liked to give him several leads a day- even if he usually only ended following a few throughout the week, when Kokichi directly interfered in his cases. He complained about the inconvenience a lot, but how else was Kokichi supposed to get his attention when he was always ignoring his other invitations?

Trailing his fingers through the mix of berries, Kokichi finally glanced up when the muffled sounds started to rise above the music. He raised an eyebrow, swinging away from the table to bend at the waist and stare at his guest with all the cheerful invitation he could muster. 

Center-stage, middle of the restaurant, the trapped man seemed to have woken up enough to start to struggle, trying to raise his voice above the tape on his mouth, pull away from the ticking devices strapped to his limbs. Kokichi gave him one of his brightest smiles, tucking his arms behind his back. “Look’s like sleeping beauty’s up and present with us,” he called to the others, walking over to stop right in front of the man. Leaning down, he flicked him on the forehead, letting out a little laugh. “Bet you’re pretty confused, huh? Well, I have good news and bad news.”

Raising a finger, he tilted his head to the side. “The good news is that I’m not your original kidnapper- or even associated with her. In fact, depending on what my beloved detective is currently up to, she might not be a problem for you anymore.” 

The smile on his face sharped, darkness crossing over his eyes. “The bad news is that I’m much, much scarier.”

Immediately, the man began struggling again, tugging at his restraints, trying to make guttural noises in the back of his throat. Kokichi sighed and turned away, his voice similar to a disappointed child’s. “If he doesn’t shut up, someone cut out his tongue,” he complained, twirling a finger through his hair. “He’s ruining the atmosphere.” Sure, he was usually in the mood for screams that died into pathetic whimpering, for the look in someone’s eyes as blood dripped from their ears, for the ways they tried to bargain with him as he played games to win their fingers. But tonight was supposed to be special- he was in such a nice restaurant, and he’d got a really good game planned, and he was hoping it would all be- dare he say- romantic. Just him, and his detective, one of them holding a knife, dancing over a chessboard- maybe if he was lucky, Saihara would win the game and decide to linger anyway…. Maybe he’d make an attempt on Kokichi’s life just for him to slip away at the last moment…. It was going to be perfect. 

Unfortunately, someone trying to whine past their duct-tape gag was going to ruin that atmosphere. Kokichi wanted this hostage to stay delicate and fragile in the center of the room, like a good damsel in distress. If he had to sedate him, that was fine, but he’d prefer he were conscious to watch the dance between villain and hero, to desperately cheer on his perceived savior, before Saihara crossed over to collect him… Hey, there was a reason Kokichi liked him so much.

“Boss?”

Stirring from his daydream, Kokichi reached for a knife and flipped it from hand to hand. “Mm? What is it? A message from my beloved?” He batted his eyelashes.

“It’s from… the Warriors of Hope, boss.” The boy fidgeted in some kind of eager anxiety- he must have been about the same age as Kokichi, but had at least a foot of height on him, which was probably why his posture was so bowed.

Kokichi waved a hand carelessly, turning away to pick at the bowl of strawberries again. “I said I would visit them this weekend. I’ve got important business tonight.” And he did- it was so tricky to get to Saihara’s cases before the detective himself did. Having a live victim here was a rare opportunity, and Kokichi was excited to see what the detective would do for the right to reclaim the man. 

He couldn’t see the boy’s face anymore, too busy gazing dreamily at the berry juice staining his fingers. 

“Monaca specifically requested you tonight.”

The smile slid off his face like butter. Red dripped from his hand. 

“She said you could send some of us, instead, if you wanted.”

Kokichi raised his hand to his mouth and sucked the juice off thoughtfully. It tasted oddly metallic. 

“I guess I miss those little scamps, too. Tell everyone to get back to the base,” he sighed. “It’s no fun if I can’t watch. Just blow the place in the next hour and run some of the videos for Saihara.” He considered his options as he bit at his own skin. Rearranging his face into another signature smile, he twirled around once more and walked over to pat the boy on the shoulder condescendingly. 

“Make sure you stay in touch with me, okay? Just leave everything as it is and go home. But let me know if anything weird happens- who knows if Saihara-chan might finally snap and decide he wants me dead for real.” Kokichi swooned, holding a hand to his forehead and dramatically falling back, forcing the poor boy to lunge forward and catch him before he hit the ground. “I’ll have to come back immediately if he tries anything…. I can’t risk missing my chance for him to finally catch me!” 

The boy stuttered fevered agreements as he set Kokichi back on his feet and fixed his cloak, looking away from him in nervous adoration. That was fine. It gave Kokichi a moment to think ahead.

It wasn’t Saihara he was worried about.

[gallantgautier]

Pokemon AU notes

So, this has been a long time coming. I’ve had Sylvain’s team set out for quite some time, but never really got around to writing out anything cohesive. (Sometimes life just be like that.) But over the last few days and their conversations, it was high time I got this out onto the dash. Thank you to Rai for letting me look to her wonderful post about Yuri’s life in the Pokemon world to serve as a template for me!

 Under a cut because oh jeez this ended up over 2.5k

Sylvain’s life notes.

Surrounded by snowy hills and woods, Sylvain grew up in Circhester. Used to such a cold climate, he still very much has an aversion to hot temperatures, poor guy just can’t handle them.

Life at home is similar to canon but has its differences in terms of why things happen. He’s slightly better adjusted in terms of his mental health due to the fact that expectations placed upon him from his family didn’t fall upon him as early as they do in canon. More on that in a bit.

The Gautier family has been full of successful Trainers, some even having travelled to other regions to hold positions within the Elite Four in previous generations. While none alive hold such positions now, they are nevertheless still a respected name when it comes to dark-type specialists.

Speaking of dark-type specialisation, this comes from the Guatier Crest’s link with Death in the Major Arcana. An often-misunderstood card, Death symbolises an end, such an end can pave the way for a new beginning, but it is not Death’s purpose to usher in that beginning, only to make the space for it. On its own, Death could also easily be attributed to ghost type Pokemon, but I feel Dark is a better fit on the grounds of dark often being attributed to evil when such is not the case, and Death often being seen as, well, death and general bad stuff.

Miklan was expected to have a successful career as a Trainer much like everyone before him. He had been gifted a Larvitar as his first Pokemon from his father. He was not ignored upon Sylvain’s birth like he had been in canon, however, in this ‘verse, as Sylvain was second born and thus not expected to climb the ranks of greatness, the younger brother was often coddled where Miklan was always pushed to train. That lack of affection and jealousy over the freedoms Sylvain was allowed became the source of his resentment.

With a brilliant mind for strategy and a ruthlessness born from a lack of compassion, Miklan could have been a Trainer that would become legendary in later years. But the absence of a kind bone within his body is also his greatest flaw, and it creates a barrier between him and success. He and his team are more like co-workers than friends, and it inhibits him from reaching his full potential. He would later fall into disgrace after a certain incident, and all the expectation that was once his would fall to his younger brother.

Sylvain, for his part, was content with never having to become a proper Trainer, preferring to watch Glenn and Felix train, or being able to just play with his Pokemon rather than battle. But after Miklan’s disgrace, his family would then push him towards becoming a brilliant Trainer worthy of the Gautier name. Luckily, he doesn’t have to undertake his journey alone, as it comes at a time when his best friend is preparing for his own.

Being out on the road and without his brother’s torment and his parents breathing down his neck, Sylvain slowly begins to discover the joy of simply learning about all the wonderful creatures that inhabit the wider world outside his snowy home. He comes into his own when it comes to creating recipes that are both nutritious and enjoyed by his and Felix’s companions, studying and coming to an understanding on how different kinds of Pokemon communicate with each other, and discovering ways to help improve the quality of life between a Trainer and their Pokemon. He’ll eventually go on to becomes something like a Pokemon Breeder – think animal husbandry rather than an actual breeder or even a Pokemon Centre staff member.

Yes, I’m aware that he’s almost literally Brock in this ‘verse! And I swear that’s just a happy accident! I thought long and hard before Rai pointed out the similarity to me and had come to the conclusion that this is a life he would lead to reflect canon. In the majority of his endings, Sylvain goes on to open communications with Sreng and brings peace at the border via diplomacy rather than with force like his ancestors had long employed. And it feels fitting that he would initially set out to become a Trainer who is expected to rise up to challenge the League (sent to the Officer’s Academy to learn battle strategy and train to eventually wield the Lance of Ruin and fight at the border) but instead finds his calling in communication and understanding.

But, add that he’s a ridiculous fun-loving flirt, he ends up as Brock. And honestly? I love it.

Sylvain’s team

Sylvain doesn’t really have an overarching theme for his team. Granted, when he set out, he was expected to become a dark-type specialist too. But at his core, Sylvain’s growth is always about subverting expectations. There were plenty of choices that I threw out simply on the grounds of too obvious, they’d be Pokemon he would have on his team that would – much like the face he presents the majority of time in canon – not really be him. Instead, I tried to think about how he would feel when meeting various Pokemon, how he would interact with them, and what role they would play in each other’s lives, rather than simply looking for reflections of aspects of his personality.

In order of acquisition:

♂/ Illusion

Sylvain’s very first Pokemon and his other best friend, Zorua was gifted to him at a young age as a pet rather than a partner. The reality of it is that Miklan had been given his Larvitar to begin his training, but since Sylvain was somewhat spoiled and coddled, he had to be given a Pokemon too. To fit with family traditions, it also had to be a dark type, but since his parents were more concerned with giving him a cute little playmate than a Pokemon that would eventually become a powerful battler, they picked fluffy little Zorua.

Zorua would be ever present at Sylvain’s side, weaving between his feet as he’d run down the road to visit Felix, climbing up the furniture to give it enough height to leap up and then curl over Sylvain’s shoulders, laying over his arm while he reads and looking at the pages with him. He would often disguise itself as some of Miklan’s Pokemon and act in a ridiculous manner in an attempt to cheer Sylvain up when his brother’s bullying caused him to withdraw and hide in his room, curling up on his chest while his Trainer slept to keep a watchful eye on the door.

Much like Sylvain in canon, Zoroark is a master of illusion, masking its true self in favour of showing a different face. It’s also fiercely protective of its pack, tricking its opponents to ensure their safety. Zoroark considers Sylvain, and by extension, Felix and his team, as members of his pack. And while Sylvain doesn’t train as hard as his friend, Zoroark pushes himself to become ever stronger to defend them on their journey.

 ♀/ Bulletproof

Applin was also something of a pet for Sylvain initially, found during his childhood before setting out on his journey with Felix, Sylvain found her during a trip to Turffield with his parents. Out for a walk one day with his mother, they were picking apples to bring home with them, and, of course, he had to grab the biggest, shiniest red apple he could find. Imagine his surprise when, after returning home and deciding to indulge in the delicious looking fruit, something green poked out of it! Sylvain immediately ran to his mother, who laughed, ruffled his hair, and told him “that’s a little dragon Pokemon, sunshine.”

 Amazing.

Sylvain could wait to show his friends, charging down the road to the Fraldarius home, proclaiming in a voice full of wonder and awe “It’s a dragon, Felix!” His friend, understandably, didn’t believe him until Glenn told them all about it. Sylvain kept her, wanting to learn all he could about the tiniest dragon he’d ever heard of, amusing both himself and his new apple-like friend by gently rolling her back and forth on the table between his hands.

Miklan made fun of her, called her a ‘pathetic excuse for a dragon,’ but really, that only cemented Sylvain’s resolve to keep her.

This is one of my picks that isn’t attributed to Sylvain’s personality, and is entirely down to how his reaction would be to discovering a creature like Applin. There’s no way he wouldn’t be utterly delighted over its very existence. It’s a dragon. He can’t get over it.

♂/Overcoat

The first Pokemon Sylvain caught after he left home, at first, Sylvain wasn’t really sure what to think of Karrablast. He’s not really the biggest fan of bugs, they’re kind of creepy, and they’ll always remind him of the betrayal he felt when he learned that sweet little Joltik evolved into the terrifying monstrosity that is Galvantula. (Look, he just really does not like spiders.)

Still, he caught it anyway, mostly out of curiosity. It was kind of weird and kind of funny, and he wouldn’t mind learning a bit about it for a while before setting it free. As it turned out, Karrablast had a fierce competitive streak, often wanting to challenge Pokemon much bigger than himself. His sheer determination to prove himself is what caused it to eventually evolve (look, I know it’s a specific trade in game, but this is a far better narrative) and cemented himself in a permanent spot as one of Sylvain’s companions as it defended him and the others during a run-in with Miklan.

Escavalier also doesn’t at all mind using his lance as a makeshift skewer to help Sylvain cook their meals, so that’s a nice bonus.

This one is the only surface level pick for Sylvain’s team, he has to have the cavalier Pokemon. In a sense though, it does fit with Sylvain’s theming of subverting expectations. He doesn’t like bugs, Escavalier is a bug, he has one anyway.

 ♂/Rock head

Abandoned and all alone, Cubone joined Sylvain’s team mostly because of his bleeding heart. Who wouldn’t want to help such a sad looking creature? There was also, though he would never say it out loud, a sense of being a kindred spirit. Cubone had been horribly mistreated by his previous trained before being left behind, but despite it, Cubone still missed them.

Sylvain knew all too well how it feels to wish someone loved them back, especially in the face of such an impossibility. He initially took Cubone in to treat his wounds and keep him safe until they could find a sanctuary to leave him in. But as is natural when encountered with shared experiences, Sylvain grew attached, and Cubone came to slowly consider Sylvain as a safe person to be around, hiding behind his legs and sitting close to him around the campfire.

Through plenty of attention, love and patience, Cubone would grow from timid and tearful into a proud Marrowak as he slowly but surely tried to emulate the strength and confidence shown by Felix’s Corviknight.

 ♂/Defiant

We’re gunna do this one in reverse to the previous entries, where I talk about ooc reasoning first instead of the in-universe acquisition. Simply put, this started as an off-hand comment made not by me, nor by Rai, but by Rai’s muse. The story goes something like this.

 Rai: “Me: looks at Falinks.”

Rai: “My Felix muse: Oh, it’s Sylvain.”

We both laughed. Made jokes about the red plume. But then I thought about it a lot. Falinks is a soldier. Falinks is all about teamwork which lends to strategy which Sylvain is good at. The first individual that makes up the team that is Falinks is the only one that can be seen using its shields, ready to take the brunt of an attack for its teammates much like Sylvain. Falinks has the unique move No Retreat, which raises all of its stats but prevents it from fleeing, much like Sylvain charging into danger to help his friends with no regard to his own safety.

Wouldn’t you know it, Felix really does know Sylvain best.

As a reflection of this half-joking but actually on-point discovery, Sylvain encounters Falinks on the road and finds him to be utterly hilarious. Just look at the way it marches! It’s love at first sight, he’s just so charmed and he absolutely has to catch it.

While Zoroark might be Sylvain’s partner, slowly but surely, Falinks becomes his ace. Their ability to perform complex manoeuvres seamlessly with their unparalleled teamwork is a perfect compliment to Sylvain’s talents in tactical mind.

Falinks are also the only Pokemon on Sylvain’s team to have nicknames! Allow me to hand you over to the man himself to tell you them.

With a smile bright enough to light a Gym Stadium, Sylvain radiates joyful energy as he makes a small gesture to the six round little creatures at his feet. “Alright guys, form up!” In unison, the Falinks line up and stand at attention.

“Let me introduce you to the squad. Cufflinks!” The largest of the six steps forward, jumping up just an inch and waving one of his shield’s in a manner that could be considered a salute, “Hoodwinks!” The first steps back and the second takes his place, performing the exact same salute, “Tiddlywinks!” As does the third, “Slowblinks!” And the fourth, “Fourtywinks!” The fifth, “and Hotdrinks!” and finally the sixth.

As Hotdrinks takes his place back in line, Sylvain beams at him, and they all beam back.

 ♀/Flashfire

A rare sight in the Galar region, this Ponyta hails all the way from Kanto. Much like Cubone, she joins Sylvain’s team after he rescues her from mistreatment, but this time it was at the hands of those seeking to make some money from the black market due to her rarity.

Unlike Cubone, shy or timid are the last words that could ever be attributed to this Ponyta. With a spirit burning as hot as the fire of her mane, she was not broken by her confinement. She was, however, injured and malnourished. Due to her nature, she gave Sylvain no end of grief as he tried to nurse her back to health.

But while slow to trust, once that trust is earned, it’s unbreakable. Her evolution into Rapidash came as a display of her undying loyalty, even allowing Sylvain to ride upon her back without burning him. Unfortunately, that trust doesn’t extend to Felix. She holds an almost-respect for him, but as close to Sylvain as she grows, she doesn’t like how much of her Trainer’s attention he gives his best friend instead of her.

In any universe, Sylvain just isn’t Sylvain without a horse, he loves those big dumb yet loyal animals. There were plenty of options to choose from, but considering his story and goals in this universe, rescuing one seemed the best course, and a Kantonian Ponyta/Rapidash felt like the best candidate for the region his story takes place in.

Also, yes, she’s Chastity.

 Bonus!

I’m not going to go into the story details, but here’s Miklan’s team, also in order of acquisition:

♀/Unnerve

♂/Infiltrator

♂/Moxie

♀/Defiant

♀/Levitate

♂/Pickpocket

[dyscrasia-eucrasia]

Part 1

Next>>

"Hey, uh, so we're Bacchus," the lead singer said, leaning into the microphone. Immediately, Angel doubted the rumors he'd heard. No way this guy was related to Marius. He had none of Marius' charisma. He hunched his shoulders, spoke softly, and stumbled over his words. His long hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a day or two, and he had a ratty goat beard. He wore an Iron Maiden shirt that, even under the bar's shitty stage lights, looked extremely faded. 

Sure, he was wearing fuzzy pants and a pair of curled ram's horns that looked especially realistic, but that just made him seem even more like a weak imitation. It was like he'd chosen curled horns specifically to throw people off the fact that he was riding on Marius' coat tails. 

The drummer looked even more out of place. She was a sturdy-looking woman, with long blonde hair cut into blunt bangs. She hadn't even dressed the part of a member of a heavy metal band, wearing an anime t-shirt and jeans. 

And that was it for the band. No bass player, no keyboardist. Just drums and a guitar. 

Angel leaned back against the bar, thinking to himself that this was gonna suck. 

The lead singer looked back at the drummer and nodded. She counted off on her sticks and the crowd got a little quieter. 

And then the entire bar was hit by a wall of sound. The drums were wild and frenetic, some of the best Angel had ever heard. But they paled in comparison to the guitar. The lead singer was absolutely shredding it, going faster and harder than anyone Angel had ever seen live. The bar erupted into cheering, and a scuffle of moshing started down by the stage. 

Then the singer opened his mouth and began to sing, and Angel felt like he would've been knocked over if he weren't leaning against the bar. The singer's voice was a deep baritone that reverberated across the venue. Angel wasn't even hearing it, but feeling it rattle his sternum. 

The singer finished a verse and launched into a wild guitar solo, his hair flying around him as he banged his head to the beat. The awkwardness of his introduction melted away, and he became a commanding figure on the stage, despite how slim and gangly he was. 

He straightened again, grabbing the mic, and launched into a harsh growl that came up from his chest. The crowd went absolutely wild, and Angel's head began to spin. It was like he was drunk, but also like he was horny, but also like he wanted to grab someone's head and smash it into a brick wall. He could see down in the mosh pit that elbows were flying, faces were getting bloody, and no one seemed to care. 

The band went through an entire set, but time had stopped meaning anything at some point and all the songs bled together. Angel could pick out some of the lyrics, things about gods and monsters and heroes. It was messy and violent, but at the same time somehow painfully erotic, and the audience was hooked on every line. 

Then, suddenly, it was over. "Thank you," the singer shouted into the mic, "like I said, we're Bacchus, thanks to Rattlesnake for having us open for them, they're great guys. We'll be up by the bar for the rest of the night, come buy a shirt or buy us a beer or something, ya fuckin' animals." 

That was right, they weren't even the headliner act. The rest of the bar screamed in excitement for Rattlesnake, but for Angel, it was like a spell had broken. All the awe and energy he'd felt was sapped away in an instant, the minute the band left the stage. Who the fuck even cared about Rattlesnake, anyways? 

He could see now why there were rumors that the lead singer of Bacchus was related to Marius. Marius' style was different, more polished, more theatrical, but they had the same sort of resonance to their voice, and similar guitar work. Not like they were copycats of one another, more like they came from the same musical family. 

Angel slumped onto a bar stool, exhausted. He hadn't even joined the pit - it would look pretty bad, showing up for work with bruises - but he still felt like he'd been beat within an inch of his life. 

He was just thinking about leaving when he looked over and saw the band's lead singer - he was hard to miss, towering over even the biggest of guys - down at the end of the bar, ordering. Based on the way the crowd had reacted to him, Angel would've assumed he'd be swarmed by fans, but he was pretty much alone. A quick scan of the crowd showed that the drummer was sitting at a merch table, chatting with someone, but her side of the table was a ghost town, while a large knot of people were in line for the Rattlesnake side. 

Angel had never actually approached any musicians after shows. It just seemed too needy, too parasocial. He was approached by enough weirdoes after work himself to not want to put someone else in that position. But the lead singer was magnetic. Angel couldn't understand how he wasn't surrounded by people begging for his attention. 

He got down off his barstool and made his way over to the singer. 

"Hey!" He shouted at the bartender above the noise. "Whatever he's having, I'll pay for it," he pointed at the singer. "And give me one, too." 

The singer looked genuinely surprised by the gesture. "Hey, thanks dude," he shouted. 

"Great set," Angel shouted back. "I'm Angel, by the way." 

"Demie," the singer replied, holding out a hand. Now that Angel was right next to him, he realized just how big Demie was. He was built like a twig, but he stood at least 6'6", if not taller, and his hand was like a shovel. It completely enveloped Angel's when he shook it. 

"What was the name of that third song you played?" Angel shouted. "That really fast one?" 

"That one's called 'Wrath of Mars," Demie hollered back. 

"It's really good," Angel shouted. 

"Thanks. I wrote it for my brother, actually." 

"Your brother wouldn't be Marius, would he?" Angel shouted as the bartender put two pints on the bar in front of them. Mars, Marius. Angel felt like he was connecting the dots.

"Uh… yeah, actually," Demie said. His skin was dark - not tanned, but more of a deep olive - but Angel thought he saw his cheeks go a little red. 

There was an explosion of shouting from down by the stage as Rattlesnake took the stage. 

"These guys any good?" Angel shouted, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the band. 

"Yeah, I mean, if you like country-metal fusion," Demie shouted back. 

"Sounds weird." 

"It is." 

The band started up with some twangy guitar that sounded like something out of a spaghetti western. It wasn't really doing it for Angel. They didn't sound nearly as good as Bacchus had. 

"Hey, uh," he put a hand on Demie's shoulder, standing on his toes to be closer to his ear. "You wanna go outside for a while? I'd love to hear more about your band." 

Demie gave him a quizzical, 'you serious?' kind of look. He glanced over to the merch booth. His drummer was pretty much alone, messing around on an old smartphone. 

"Yeah, sure," he said, grabbing his beer first. 

"So you're really related to Marius, huh?" Angel said as they stepped out of the bar into the cool spring evening. 

"Yeah, he's my older brother," Demie replied. 

"So… what, is this like, some kind of sibling rivalry? Your brother made it big so now you're trying to catch up?" 

"Fuck no," Demie muttered as he took a swig of beer. "Nah, Mar taught me how to play the guitar. We used to all be one band, me, him, and Elaine. We all got the offer to sign with Maggot Records but I backed out at the last minute, and Elaine wouldn't agree to move out West and go on tour without me." 

"So, Elaine… that's your drummer?" 

"Yeah."

"Is she like… your girlfriend…?"

"What? Fuck, no, she's my roommate. We've been friends since we were like ten, she's like a sister." 

"Sorry, sorry," Angel laughed. 

"S'cool," Demie said, continuing to drink. 

"So… I know you said it wasn't a sibling rivalry, but I gotta admit… I think you two are actually better than Marius." 

A crease formed between Demie's eyebrows, but otherwise his face was static. On stage, while singing, he'd been overcome with energy and emotion, but off stage he came off as extremely stoic. Had Angel met him in any other context, he never would've guessed he was a singer, his voice was so monotonous. 

"Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan of your brother. That's the whole reason I came out to this show, I'd been hearing rumors that you were related to him for months. But he's really… Marilyn Manson, y'know? Really focused on the aesthetic. He's a good musician, but you've got the better voice and better guitar skills." 

"Thanks," Demie said, shifting his feet awkwardly. Angel couldn't help but look down at them and wonder. He'd seen those goat-feet high heels before, and they looked uncomfortable as hell. He had to give Demie props for wearing them even after he got off stage. That was dedication. 

"Hey, don't take this the wrong way," Demie said, "but you really don't seem like the kinda person who'd like our music." 

"What does someone who likes your music seem like?" Angel asked. 

"I dunno, like… all those Viking looking motherfuckers." 

"No offense, but you don't really look that much like a Viking yourself." 

Demie snorted. "Fuck no, I'm Greek. I fuckin' hate all that Nordic shit, like half of them are Nazis. And their mythology fucking sucks." 

"Y'know, I thought I made out something about Odysseus in one of your songs," Angel said. 

"Yeah, it's only like… the invention of Western literature, or whatever," Demie said, then drained his pint glass.

"No, it's cool. I liked it. Most metal bands sing about Satan or their D&D groups, it's cool to hear something different. I mean, I expected you to sing about Satan, but…" 

"Nah, man, Christians fucking took Satan from the Greeks. They had to find a way to get all these Pagans to stop believing in their Gods, so they made Pan into Satan. They took Hades from us, too. Like the Jews, they don't even have an afterlife, that was all the Christians trying to absorb Greco-Roman Paganism." 

"Wow. I didn't know that. I mean, I'm Vietnamese, so I know about Christianity and colonialism, but I didn't know about the Greeks. That's wild." 

Demie opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a shout coming from the door. 

"Jesus Christ, there you are!" The stoutly drummer, Elaine, had popped her head out the door. "I got work in the morning, we gotta get shit into the van and hit the road. Come help me with the drum set." 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Demie groaned. He turned back to Angel. "Nice talkin' to you, man." 

"Yeah, a pleasure. Hey -- you wanna exchange numbers? You're a cool dude, maybe we could hang out sometime." 

"Oh. Uh… I don't actually got a cellphone, I just got a shitty landline. And I live way out in the sticks, like an hour away." 

"Hey, no, that's cool, no pressure--" 

"Actually, uh…" Demie looked over his shoulder and cupped his hands around his mouth. "HEY! ELAINE! YOU GOT A PEN?" 

"Yeah? Why?" 

"Toss it over here!" 

Elaine grumbled something inaudible but fished a pen out of her jeans pocket and tossed it to Demie. He caught it out of the air and gestured for Angel's hand. 

"I know people hate using the actual phone, but if you wanna call, feel free," he said, scribbling a set of digits on the back of Angel's hand. "Nice meeting you, man." 

With that, he turned and headed back towards the door, his goat shoes clicking on the concrete patio. 

Weird guy, Angel thought. He'd never really met anyone like him. But a few things were obvious - he was talented, he was interesting, and he was definitely gay. And that was enough for Angel to want to keep talking to him.

[softly-savage-mint-yoongi]

Moonchild

Genre: Fantasy/Magic AU! Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Part 3 Previous

Blinking, you realize there’s a warm, comforting presence at your back. Your heart melts at the sight of Hoseok curled up on the bed beside you, fast asleep for an afternoon nap. Additionally, nestled into his side is a small spotted cat purring loudly.

In his language, you call the deer in greeting. It takes him a moment but you know he heard you by the twitch of his ears and the deep breath he takes before opening his eyes.

You reach out, scratching the top of the cat’s head as well, smiling at him when he chooses to wholeheartedly ignore you. Your hand retreats and Yoongi stands, stretching his legs and rubbing his head along the underside of Hoseok’s chin in goodbye before disappearing from the bed.

The deer in question looks at you blankly, daring you to comment on it. Too complex a question just yet, you ask him about it in your natural language.

“Want to tell me about it?”

Hoseok shakes his head slowly.

You laugh, giving him a pat on the head and rise, stretching your arms high above you.

It’s been eight days since all of Namjoon’s friends returned and you started learning Magic. In those short days you have crammed in nearly all of the deer language lessons your brain can keep up with, too many scrolls and books worth of Magic study sessions, and have begun an adjustment to the way life works around here.

Every afternoon, you wake up to Hoseok curled up against your back. Sometimes as you regain consciousness you can hear Yoongi purring, assumed to be with Hoseok, but if he senses you’re waking up he bolts. You don’t have the heart to tell him yet and think it is absolutely endearing.

Taehyung is usually sprawled in front of the fire, snoring softly. You typically wake him with you, grumbling all the while. He makes a great blanket on the chillier evenings when you go outside, but the dark look you get from Namjoon when you’re curled up with him only serves to set your temperature higher.

So far, Jimin has never once not been able to make you smile. His cheerfulness is infections, perfectly fitting of such a pretty little songbird. He always seems to be singing something or chirping away in general. Sometimes he can be seen sitting atop Namjoon’s head talking to him. More often he will be right beside the shyest member of these Warlocks, Jungkook.

The hare hasn’t warmed up to you entirely yet, occasionally letting you get close or boop his nose while he curiously surveys you. As soon as you go to give him a pet or you give him all of your attention, he runs to one of his hyungs. Seokjin has assured you the maknae is just nervous.

Speaking of the dramatic fox, he is normally out hunting and rarely seen in the mornings, much like yourself and Namjoon. It isn’t until late afternoon that he shows himself, coming to be the center of comedic acts along with the three youngest. Most evenings, when things have quieted and you’re sat around the fire with most of them dozing, Seokjin will be watching the stars with a wistful and dour expression, for a fox.

On the less pleasant days, Namjoon will join him in his quiet mood and all consuming thoughts. There are good days and bad days, and you have learned sometimes it is best to let the Alpha wolf be.

The human Warlock, Namjoon, has turned out to be a great help and a great distraction all at once. While he is a fantastic teacher with a wealth of knowledge, he has not made these last few days easy on you by any means.

You wouldn’t say it’s been too difficult, but you can’t help to think learning Magic would be much easier without all of the tension between you. Emotions have been running too high.

On the good days, he teases you with his proximity, always safely keeping his hands away. Other times with his appearance, needlessly going around shirtless or conveniently coming to bathe while he knows you’re already there.

Although you try to ignore it, you get frustrated with it just as easily as you enjoy his flirting. If you’re overflowing with confidence and try to initiate, his own falters to match your own, melting into a shy mess who can barely maintain eye contact. If you let him lead but reciprocate his advances with innocent looks or displays of affection, his eyes grow considerably dark.

It is at this point when things become dangerous and usually end in his mood inflating with jealousy or frustration and he becomes hard to learn anything from. Those days yield little results other than sour moods and awkward silences with stolen glances until one of you apologizes and you mutually agree on the frustration.

He still won’t allow you to outright touch him after the one incident the first time you bathed in the Seponji.

________________________________________

You’ve learned that Magic is simple yet complex. Since there is Magic in everything, it’s not hard to draw on the power when you’re conscious of it. You came knowing that, but not quite knowing how to draw from specific sources or where the Magic would be directed once harnessed.

Namjoon and Hoseok both have taken their time to assist you and help explain the way praying to a God works and thus only being able to harness Magics that fall under that God’s realm.

From several long conversations about your past and your Mother and what you can and cannot do so far with the bit of Magic you know, the answer feels close and makes you anxious.

Having prayed over and over again for your Mother’s resurrection, Namjoon is nearly certain and undoubtedly horrified that you might have prayed to a God of Death and you’re stuck with living a life like his. Especially since you outright told him you tried performing Necromancy, which is the parallel Major Magic to his Decay Magic under the God of Death.

Thinking about it frequently causes Namjoon a lot of emotional grief and he often gets upset before you gently remind him you weren’t cursed and can touch things just fine even if you’re a Moon Warlock like him. Sometimes it results in him phasing and taking off into the woods in a cloud of black smoke and sometimes it results in him apologizing for being weak and you reassuring him that you’re happy you have such a great teacher for your shared Affinity.

Hoseok isn’t as convinced your Magic comes from the God of Death, but his argument is rebuked at every turn over the last week since this became a possibility. If you harnessed a Necromancy Major then why did you fail in resurrecting your Mother? Namjoon is sure it’s because you didn’t know how to direct the Magic properly.

How can you create barriers if that isn’t a Magic that falls under Necromancy or Decay Magic or any of the correlating Minor Magics? Namjoon backs up his logic by explaining it could technically be a Conjuration, further solidifying the Necromancy Major, where Conjuration falls as the Minor. He continues, justifying that it could be an Illusion, which is the shared Minor between the two Major Magics. To physically stop Taehyung that time, it would have to be incredibly powerful, but it isn’t unheard of, especially if your power was uncontrolled.

Hoseok doesn’t bother to argue about the fact that you walked through Namjoon’s Illusion the first time you met. It makes perfect sense that you walked through it if you had the same Magic since it cancels out.

The cycle repeats daily and the mood becomes somber but you do your best to assure everyone that it will be fine. It is only in the brief reprieves you share privately with the handsome human that your mood seems to falter.

As instructed, you’ve spent the last few days adjusting your schedule to a nocturnal one to match Namjoon’s, much as a Moon Warlock should.

For the last two nights, he has taken you out to a clearing at midnight, the Moon in full view, when you should have the easiest time drawing and directing Magic. To say it has been easier would be a lie. You have not once been able to cast any type of Illusion or Conjuration other than simple barriers or to break Namjoon’s Illusions he casts.

__________________________________

This evening seems to be no different when you emerge from the house. Namjoon looks up from the alchemy table, the mortar and pestle in his hands frozen momentarily as he fixes you with a gentle but sad smile before continuing his task.

Jungkook and Jimin are basking in the evening sun, asleep while he works, humming to himself.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your eyes again.

Taehyung conveniently expels himself from the house as you say it, his stomach rumbling loudly. Both you and Namjoon laugh, but the human Warlock seems distracted.

Without further commentary, you set yourself to work on making a meal for everyone. Namjoon has stopped humming, tense as he tries to focus on his task and ignore you.

You decide to hum to yourself quietly as you cook, an old tune your Mother used to sing to you. You stir the boiling broth to the rhythm to pass the time. It nearly scares you out of your thoughts to hear the quiet, deep tenor of Namjoon’s voice singing the words.

He doesn’t turn to you, but sings so softly it breaks your heart while he keeps busy with alchemy.

“Down the old white mountain comes, over the trees like a calm sea breeze.” he sings.

There’s a smile on your face you can’t hide, humming louder now without disturbing him.

As you add the last ingredients to the pot, you see him peeking at you over his shoulder before turning his back once more.

“Crisp is the touch and just enough, to hide among the gentle ghost.” His voice is a little rough but the emotions he expresses with it are beautiful. You catch yourself wanting to hear him sing more often.

“For there is comfort in the mist coming down the old white mountain.”

The first verse finishes and you have to stop because the soup is ready. The effort it takes to remove the hulking kettle from the fire without getting burned takes all of your focus. Nearly causing you to jump out of your skin, the beautiful man is beside you.

“I’ve got this.” he says gently, nudging you with his elbow. “Let me do this while you get the dishes.”

Nodding, you thank him and step toward the house.

There’s something calm and introspective about the mood while you eat. You surmise that it might be a pretty good night for Namjoon, judging by his gentle smiles.

“Thank you for the song.” he whispers between bites, a dimpled eye smile creeping onto his face.

You’re surprised, “You’re welcome?” before adding, “How did you know that song?”

He pushes his knee into yours from his place beside you and smiles. The thought that he has initiated two simple touches this evening has you temporarily drowned out of the conversation.

“That song comes from way before my time. I’m actually quite curious how you know it.”

“Oh... my Mother used to sing it to me.”

Namjoon hums in understanding before getting up to collect the various dishes from the meal.

As is slowly becoming habit, at midnight it’s time for practice. The maknaes are resting in a pile by the fire with Hoseok and Yoongi. Most of them are dozing off but you notice both Yoongi and Jungkook staring into the fire intently as you leave with Namjoon.

The night is clearer than it has been and you bounce on the balls of your feet while you walk beside him, giddy with the feeling of Magic.

It’s as if you’re absolutely conscious of the Magic flowing within your body now and you often get jittery when you are excited and can feel it thrumming beneath your palms and at the tips of your fingers.

“I feel like we’re close to something tonight!” you exclaim when you reach the clearing, stepping wide and away from Namjoon to stand in the center.

There’s a little bit of a bite in the air, but you think some of your goosebumps might be from nerves. Trying to relax, you roll your head around, shaking your shoulders and shaking your arms before wiggling your fingers and letting the tips brush across the sea of wildflowers.

Namjoon is slowly walking around you in a circle with a grin, looking much like the wolf he is when stalking his prey. The look in his eyes is both dangerous and playful.

“Close your eyes and feel it. Breathe it in and push it to your palms.” he commands in a calm tone.

You do as instructed, but not much changes.

“Okay, now what?”

“Release it.” he hums from the opposite side.

“How?”

You can hear him chuckle. “Push it beyond your palms. You’re still connected to it. Manipulate it past yourself.”

With a deep sigh you attempt, but again, nothing happens. You can feel it exit your body but you cannot feel it past that.

You drop your arms and grumble out the frustration, “I can’t control it once it leaves.”

“You’re not trying hard enough.” Namjoon says.

“Yes, I am! I am telling you I can feel it all around but once I push it out it just dissipates!”

The handsome Warlock is beside you before your heart can pass another beat. His eyes are glinting dangerously.

“I don’t think you are.” he whispers, the Magic of his eyes roving down your bare arms, reading for Magic.

You step away, “You’re not helping with that look in your eyes.”

“What look?” he queries, but the wolfish smile he brandishes tells you he knows.

“The one that says danger.” you whisper with heat on your cheeks.

Namjoon pauses for thought with his gaze on your face.

“And? Are you afraid?”

Your own eyes snap to his, determined and full of an emotion Namjoon tries to deny, “No.” you say.

His dimples dig into his cheeks with his smile and he turns his head down, shaking it. A small laugh escapes him until he stops altogether and his head snaps back to his full height.

“That’s it.” he says.

You’re not sure what he means but it churns your gut, “What?”

“Maybe that’s why you are having a hard time with this. You’re not afraid if there’s no danger.”

“Oh.” is all you can say in reply.

Namjoon steps away with a growl, stalking purposefully toward the edge of the clearing.

“You won’t hurt me. You can’t, our Magic is the same.” You chide, but there are uneasy butterflies in your gut.

“I won’t kill you, but I think you can handle a little pain from other Magic.”

The dark look across his face sets your skin alert with goosebumps. You don’t think he is serious but your body reacts with fight or flight instinct at the implication of his threat regardless.

He unwraps his arms, draping the cloths around his neck. A black, swirling smoke extends around his hands, following them as he moves, fingers shaping signs to weave a spell into the air.

His face is hard and the light coming from the Moon casts a menacing shadow around him, his eyes glittering with Magic.

Before you can blink, there’s a glowing orb of Magic hurtling toward you. You barely dodge it, stepping back and ducking.

“Namjoon!” you yell, mouth dropping open.

“Don’t dodge it.” he growls in reply, weaving another and sending it toward you.

You dodge it again in reaction, your heart pounding in your ears. You’re too focused on not getting hit to even try and focus on casting Magic.

“Conjure a barrier like you always do if you’re so afraid.” he barks.

“I can’t.” you shout at him.

“Yes, you can!”

“How can I focus like this? I’m just as frustrated as you are!”

“You seem to perform better when your life is in danger.” he threatens in a snarl. It is here, at this point in time you can clearly see the vast, unending distance between the levels of yours and Namjoon’s Magic abilities.

He twists, arms extended and weaving a large circle into the sky.

From behind him, deeper into the treeline, a massive blackness extends. There isn’t an end to it as you follow it around in a circle.

All side seem to close in toward you. The frustration you can feel makes you grit your teeth, tears brimming at your eyes as you stare at Namjoon. He watches you with his arms crossed over his chest and a stony expression.

You bend into a ball, so tense you feel like you’ll explode into bits, so you scream to the heavens.

The Alpha watches it all in slow motion. Your scream, and the nearly invisible ripple of Magic extending from not your palms but your entire being, crashes into the spell he cast and shatters it like glass.

In all of his years, he hasn’t ever seen anything like it. Moon Warlocks can’t break Magic of a different Affinity. Especially not without touching it.

He wraps his hands and uses large, hurried strides to reach you as you stand.

You’re confused by what transpired, your head whipping around slowly, brow furrowed. You can’t hear, like shell shock from a bomb exploding beside your head. There’s only a slowly vanishing ringing, and your eyes seek Namjoon for some sort of clue, only to find him with an unreadable expression two paces away.

“Wha-” you try to speak. He cuts you off when he reaches you, his lips meeting yours. No room for breathing or space as he takes your mouth. You’re baffled, but enjoy it nonetheless, kissing him back fervently. Without even touching him you can feel the heat of his body radiating so closely to your own.

He walks you backwards, attacking your mouth continuously. You feel him smiling against your mouth before gently licking at the seam of your lips. A whine pitches up your throat and you cave, bringing your arms around his neck.

Your fingers touch the back of his neck and you’re wholly perplexed when he is suddenly gone, having pulled away in an instant.

You open your eyes to see him standing at the edge of the clearing, in the same place he was when he cast the black spell. Heart sinking into your stomach and turning sour, you realize the cruel Illusion.

Hot, angry tears spring from your eyes and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand in embarrassment. “Don’t you...” you try to calm yourself, finger shaking at him.

“Don’t you. Ever. Cast another Illusion on me.” Your voice wavers and it is hard to breathe, but you don’t care, too hurt to waste another minute. You can’t believe he did that, and it is all you can think about as you turn and walk briskly back to the house.

Namjoon remains in the same spot, feeling surprised and altogether a bit shameful for doing that to you. He watches you go, wiping at your tears. Once alone, he looks to the Moon as if it will give him the answer.

He is now certain of two things. First, you are not a Moon Warlock. Second, whatever kind of Magic you do possess, you are powerful. He only knows one Warlock who is powerful enough to cast Magic without their hands.

He needs to talk to Seokjin.

___________________________________________

The door slamming shut startles Hoseok into a deer personified scream. He pouts at you until he looks up to your face, tear streaked with a red nose and furrowed brow.

The wood of the bed frame scuffs across the floor a fraction with the force of your momentum as you sit. You heave a sigh in frustration, angrily wrestling your boots from your feet before resting your face in your palms.

Magic aside, Namjoon played a dirty trick on you without thinking about your feelings. Once a bit calm, part of you understands his frustration and reconciles that he may not realize it was such a wrong thing to do. After all, he is socially stunted. The stronger part of you right now feels like it doesn’t matter because he took it too far.

Hoseok walks into your palm, pushing it over his back and leaning against your legs, calling out quietly.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” you say, more tears beginning to well. You dig your fingers back and forth across his spine to distract yourself, shaking your head as if to dispel the emotions.

“Lets go to bed, it’s late for you.”

Hoseok follows you without argument, curling against your legs until you pat his rump and motion for him to lay beside you.

So gentle and so sweet, the Sun Warlock makes himself comfortable with his back to you, allowing you to curl against his fur and drift off.

______________________________________

The Seponji glows a brilliant, deep blue on this clear night, the Magic flowing through the water so concentrated you might think the color was pulsing with the intensity.

Seokjin is in his element here, surrounded by his own Blessings. Able to think and breathe and watch over the river, it’s width giving a grandiose view of the fox’s favorite stars.

Seokjin is at peace here, and even when his thoughts and emotions plague him, the coolness of the water can sap his Magic like the kiss of a desperate lover until he is too tired to think about his thousand years of guilt.

Luckily, before such thoughts can overtake his weary mind tonight, Namjoon clears the treeline and seeks the attention of the Cosmic Warlock.

In a low tone, the Alpha calls to him, “She isn’t a Moon Warlock.”

The fox turns to him calmly, eyes glowing as if to say, “I know.”

“Is she...” he begins in a graceful tongue, the dialect of the fox. He turns away, walking toward the house and motioning for the eldest to follow.

Seokjin’s expression is somber, his tone short in irritation when he replies in the same language, “No, she isn’t part of my Heirloom Magic.”

Namjoon scratches at his chin, thinking.

Seokjin continues, “She may possess Heirloom Magic, but not mine. It is doubtful, since it has virtually been extinct for four hundred years.”

The fox shifts uncomfortably, the memories making his gut churn. Namjoon huffs, knowing this conversation doesn’t bring good thoughts for the wise Warlock, but he is the only one with the information he needs.

“Can you remember if there were any survivors from the clans?” Namjoon asks calmly. There are creases in his forehead as he thinks, face upturned, watching the Moon through the canopy of trees while they walk.

“Unless they had been in hiding before the Absorbers came... I don’t believe so. I would have heard by now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Namjoon.” the fox turns to him sharply, “I killed them all four hundred years ago. Every. Single. One. Burned any trace of that forsaken clan and searched for more than two hundred years for survivors. You know that.”

The Moon Warlock isn’t used to being made to feel stupid and he kicks his heel into the dirt with a growl, “I know. I just... what is she?”

Seokjin laughs, the broken sound in higher fox pitch makes Namjoon smile, regardless of his disgruntled mind. “She’s something special.” he quips in his anthropomorphic tongue.

Akin to their senses, the smell of the smoke from them hearth calms them before they can see the house. Each takes a subtly deep breath during the silence until Namjoon nearly trips over his own feet at the sound of a woman screaming.

___________________________________

Somewhere in your subconscious you can tell you’ll wake up with a kink in your neck from stress and horrible sleep as you toss and turn fitfully. Your Mother did always tell you that when you were upset, you grumbled and moved around a lot in your sleep.

Drifting in and out of consciousness was getting more and more difficult as you couldn’t get comfortable. You felt oddly hot and remember kicking off the blankets without opening your eyes at one point before turning to your other side, curling into Hoseok’s fur and breathing in his scent, similar to the calm of cedar wood.

You float into semi-consciousness again because your palms itch so intensely you have to scratch to relieve them before making a mental note to ask Hoseok for a lotion bar in the morning.

You’re not sure what exactly woke you, your eyes snapping open wide as if a bucket of ice water was injected directly into your veins. It could’ve been the warm, smooth expanse of human skin against your arm or the sound of a man sighing contentedly before a tanned arm was draped around your exposed midsection and you were dragged back into a warm, firm chest. Perhaps it was the feeling of that chest rising and falling in slumber and the feel of hot breath against the back of your head.

You had thought perhaps it was Namjoon until the arm draped across your body and held you tightly. You sit up and turn, a scream escaping your lungs before you have a chance to clamp your hand over your mouth.

The sleeping Tiger at the foot of the arm chair shoots up, eyes wild. The naked man in the bed also bolts up, screeching bloody murder. He remains attached to you.

The sound of the door slamming open makes you jump out of your skin, eyes wider than ever as Namjoon surveys you for injuries in less than a second before looking behind you.

“Namjoon?” the man calls, quickly shutting his mouth and smiling wide. His arm is still forgotten, draped across your bare stomach where your shirt has ridden up with your restlessness.

The Alpha’s face expresses shock and what you might guess is disbelief and totally bewildered surprise.

“Hoseok?!”

[not-close-to-straight]

Pirates and Paperweights (Stuckony)

WHAT! A bonus chapter for PIRATES HEART?! Yes!

This one is for @paranormalmoonlight5 and @musechronicles who requested a continuation of our favorite Stuckony verse!

VDAY COMMISSION MASTERLIST HERE

Enjoy!

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

The wind was cold and crisp in February even along the coast of South Carolina and Tony shivered when it cut through his coat and into his bones, freezing his hands where they were holding the wheel of the Nomad tight.

Mornings like this was when he missed the Caribbean, the intensely blue water and warm winds, sandy beaches and palm trees, nibbling on fresh fruit and sugar cane stalks. Even the ship herself seemed to miss the southern waters, creaking and complaining against the waves as Tony guided her in closer to shore.

“Sweet thing, s’freezing out here.” Bucky’s voice was still morning soft, hoarse and rumbly and Tony leaned back into the warmth of his husband’s arms when they wrapped around him, idly tracing the tattoos on Bucky’s left hand when it squeezed him lightly. “Aren’t ya cold?”

“Very.” Tony admitted, turning his head for a kiss the First Mate gladly gave. “But I couldn’t sleep, decided to relieve Afonso of the wheel so I had something to do with my hands.”

“Baby doll, if ya wanted somethin’ to do with your hands…” Bucky’s fingers trailed down to the waist of Tony’s pants, ghosting lower and nibbling a soft bite onto Tony’s ear when the smaller brunette gasped. “Should’a stayed in bed, yeah?”

“You should have stayed in bed.” Steve joined them, wrapped snug in his long coat and carrying Tony's warmer coat with him. “Both of you. I don’t like wake up alone in bed, not when I’m s’posed to have my husbands there with me.”

“Someone had to be at the wheel of the Nomad.” Tony argued lightly, pursing his lips and sighing when Steve kissed him soundly. “We’re coming in to shore later today and I had to make sure it went alright.”

“Sweetheart, I have a ship full of men who are more than capable of bringing my ship into shore.” Steve countered, cupping Bucky’s jaw and kissing him hello as well. “That’s no excuse for both of you to abandon me in bed.”

“Abandon.” Tony repeated. “Abandon? Bucky, do you hear this? Been married almost year and suddenly we are abandoning our Captain in bed if we are tending to the ship.”

“I dunno, sugar.” Bucky drawled easily. “Seems’ta’me the ship would’a made it just fine without us. I only came out here cos you came out here.”

“And then I had to leave bed to stand in the freezing wind and collect you both.” Steve said impatiently. “Tony, give the wheel back to Afonso and come back to bed with me. Bucky, you too.”

“What’s on your mind, Stevie?” Bucky cocked his head, long hair falling into his eyes. “Need some lovin’?”

“He’s feeling amorous because it’s almost Lupercalia.” Tony smirked and when both his husbands turned with confused looks, he clarified-- “St. Valentines Day. The day of love.”

“I know what St. Valentines Day is.” Steve said slowly. “But what was the other word you said?”

“Lupercalia.” Tony said again. “Ancient pagan holiday with bloody sacrifices and rituals to keep away evil spirits and to purify the cities. Pure cities and good spirits led to fertility and babies so you know--” he shrugged, letting the Nomad’s wheel turn in his hands. “--all good things.”

“So we’re sposed’ta buy fancy chocolates and lacy things on a day that started with sacrifices and evil spirits?” Bucky raised his eyebrows doubtfully. “Think you got your books messed up, Tony. No way those are th’same two days.”

“Well, not until the Church got their hands on it.” Tony maintained, seeing and ignoring the incredulous expression from Bucky. “Every holiday was stolen from pagans, Buck. Every single one.”

“Don’t let Happy hear you say that.” Steve finally commented after a moment of stunned silence. “He was a preacher and all, probably get real sore if you tell him the holy days are stolen from a bunch of savages.”

“I said pagans, not savages.” Tony corrected, but he winked at the Captain. “Don’t worry, I’d never do anything to upset Happy. He’d poison my food.”

“He would too.” Bucky grunted, and reached to take the wheel from Tony, motioning for him to put on the warmer jacket. “Go get some breakfast baby, you an’ Stevie both. Then we can get into Charleston, yeah?”

“Tony.” Steve asked then, tipping his head curiously. “Did you do anything fun for Valentines Day when you lived in the city? Dances or dinners or anything?”

“No.” Tony burrowed deeper into the heavy coat. “No, I never attended anything like that when I lived in the city. Even if my anxiety would have been under control enough to venture away from my home, I imagine my Uncle and Tiberius wouldn’t have let me go.”

“Hm.” A flicker of anger on the Captain’s face when he thought about Obadiah Stane and the Viscount that had nearly succeeded in ruining Tony’s life. “And when you were there last winter…?”

He let the question trail off, never liking when they talked about the months that Tony had been gone from the Nomad, the months after the secret had come to light and he had run away from them, and Bucky shifted uncomfortably too, clearing his throat loudly.

Even now, even almost a year since apologies had been said and love had been declared and vengeance had been satisfied, even now they hated to talk about it and when Tony saw the distress in their eyes, he hooked his fingers through Bucky’s before standing on his toes to kiss Steve reassuringly.

“When I was in the city last winter going out for St. Valentines Day was the furthest thing from my mind.” he said firmly. “But now that I’m home with you--” he smiled when Bucky squeezed at his hand tightly. “--it would be fun to celebrate a tiny bit, hm? If you wouldn't mind?”  

“What did you want to do honey?” Steve glanced up at the sails, and adjusted the wheel a tiny bit. “Anything specific? We could stay in Charleston for a few days if you wanted or head further down the coast to a smaller port, something more private.”

“I’ve been putting some thought into it.” Tony said vaguely, and both Bucky and Steve perked up. Their husband did entirely too much reading to only put some thought into anything at all, and if he'd already been thinking about what he would like to do for a day of love...

“Any specific thought?” Steve asked hopefully, and Bucky added, “Somethin’ special you plannin’, Tony?”

“Well, if I was planning something special I wouldn’t let pirates in on it.” Tony sniffed dramatically, turning his nose up as if he wasn’t every bit the dirty scalawag the Captain and First Mate were. “It's my secret to keep and mine alone.”

“Come on, baby doll.” Bucky crooned, lowering his voice and letting the words curl heavy with arousal, knowing damn well Tony couldn’t resist. “How’m I s’posed to do any plunderin’ if you don’t give me a hint?”

“Plundering? My god, you’re deviant.” Tony wedged himself between the wheel and Bucky’s hard body for a searing kiss, moaning when the wheel shuddered as the ship plowed through another wave and he felt it clear through to his spine. “I think you should plunder whether I tell you my secret or not.”

“Oh god, the sun’s barely up and they’re being gross.” Loudly from behind them, and when Tony peeked around Bucky’s huge shoulders, he saw Hawk and Sam staring at them in disdain. “Don’t y’all got a cabin for that?”

“Good morning.” Tony’s smile was just this side of devilish and Hawk rolled his eyes. “When we make port, I need you two to accompany me on shore since the Captain doesn’t let me go anywhere by myself.”

“You’re damn right about that.” Steve extricated Tony from Bucky’s arms and brought him close for a kiss of his own, pushing aside the heavy coat to get his arms around the slender waist. “I’m not taking any chances on losing you again, Tony.”

“Don’t worry.” Tony whispered, whiskey warm eyes melting over the love from the Captain and flaring bright with determination all at the same time. “You’ll never lose me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Sam had to clear his throat several times to get first Steve and Tony and then Tony and Bucky to break apart so they could at least get a word or two in, and even then Steve and Bucky kissed each other in the background as Tony outlined his plan for his day in Charleston.

“Yeah, I’ll go with ya.” Hawk agreed, side-eyeing his Captain and First Mate. “But only you. M’not goin’ anywhere I gotta watch that all day, alright?”

“That’s fair.” Tony admitted and Sam grinned at him, slinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders and hustling him below deck to get some breakfast.

“What d’ya think Tony has planned?” Bucky went back to the wheel while Steve opened his spy glass to check first the horizon, then the coastline as they drew ever nearer. “I’ve seen th’books he reads Stevie, there’s some fancy stuff in there.”

“Fancy books or not--” Steve shut the spyglass and consulted the maps on the chart table. “-- he’s still Tony. He blushes whenever we kiss him too long, or if we tease him about it the next day. Last night you made a comment about his piercings and he stuttered for a full ten minutes. I’m sure he has something soft and sweet planned for us. I love our husband desperately, and he’s a bloody good pirate, but he’s still Tony.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Bucky squinted against the rising sun. “He’s still Tony. Won't be nothin' we can't handle, right?”

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

“Anthony.” Always one to keep a man waiting simply so she could make an entrance, Natasha paused halfway down the stairs in the lobby, leaning against the railing in a provocative pose, a velvet robe falling off her shoulders. “Every time I find you in my lobby you look a little less respectable, do you know that?”

“I take offense to that, Madame, I’ve taken great care in my wardrobe.” Tony said evenly, and Natasha’s green eyes sparked with laughter. “You on the other hand, wear less and less each time, I’m half afraid one day you’ll greet me entirely naked.”

“And you’d run away screaming?” she arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Hm?”

“If you’d give me a chance to draw my sword--” Tony raised his eyebrow as well. “-- you’d see I am quite ready to face any and everything that comes my way.”

“What a fierce pirate you’ve come to be.” Natasha finally smiled, finishing the stairs quickly and drawing Tony into a long hug. “Welcome back to Charleston, darling.”

“Madame.” Tony kissed her cheek, then her hand. “You are beautiful.”

“I know.” Natasha shrugged and the robe fell a little further, baring a tantalizing amount of skin. “Come on then, is it just you tonight?”

“Sam and Hawk accompanied me ashore, but they had errands to run.” Tony followed the petite redhead up the stairs to her private quarters above the whore house. “No matter how good I get with my blade, the Captain doesn’t like to leave me ashore by myself anymore so I have to have escorts.”

He made a face, and Natasha laughed over her shoulder at him. “And yet they left you alone here, in house full of women with questionable intentions for what’s in your trousers?”

“Do your girls have questionable intentions for what’s in my trousers?” Tony eyed the knife visible high on Natasha’s thigh, tied there with a deceptively innocent looking strip of satin. “I’m more worried about that knife you keep so close. Tell me, Madame, do you take that off when you sleep?”

“Seeing as how your taste for bed partners runs rather opposite of everything I have to offer, I suppose you will never know.” Natasha laughed again, soft and sultry. “And what a shame it is, darling.”

“What a shame we will never know each other that way.” Tony replied easily, stepping around Natasha to open the door to her quarters for her. “How have you been?”

“As lovely as I always am, I suppose.” Natasha tightened the sash of her robe before sitting, pouring some tea and motioning for Tony to join her. “What brings you and your pirates to Charleston? I thought you’d given up on the colonies and were set to laze around the Caribbean and spend your ill gotten gold on trinkets and food.”

“For the most part.” Tony popped most of a scone into his mouth, making all the appropriate noises of awe over how delicious they were. “Is Claudia still baking for you? These are amazing.”

“I would never let Claudia go.” Natasha confirmed. “And if you are so enamored with island life, why are you here in my house during the winter? Surely you have a palm tree to be getting drunk beneath?”

“I have one waiting for me, yes.” Tony sipped at his tea, smiling over the fine china. There were few things he missed from his life before Steve and Bucky, but fancy teas and luxurious settings were one of them. “But I thought you could help me out with a few things, if you aren’t terribly busy.”

“I run a whore house, you know.” Natasha said dryly. “My busy hours are from sun set to day break and therefore I am doing absolutely nothing right now. What did you need help with?”

“Just a few things.” Tony pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and pushed it across the table to her. “If you had anything I could purchase, or could tell me of a vendor where I can acquire a few things.”

“Hm.” Natasha tapped at a full bottom lip as she read the list. “Valentines Day, is it?”

Predictably and adorably, Tony blushed a soft pink. “Y-Yes.”

“I hope you never lose that, do you know?” Natasha smiled approvingly. “Even after all you’ve been through, all you’ve lost and the lives you’ve taken, you still blush and stammer when talking about bedroom things with the men you love. Darling.”

“Yes well--” Tony cleared his throat, turned a shade darker. “Some things never change.”

“Mmm-hm, and they never should.” Natasha jotted down an address and a few directions to a shop where Tony could find everything on his list. “I imagine there was a time I blushed about bedroom things, but it was many years and a life time ago.”

Then the Madame changed the subject immediately--“Tell me, how is that child you picked up in Florida. Peter, was it?”

“Peter’s fine.” Tony's heart hurt a little for Natasha and all she had gone through but he knew she didn't want his pity, so he grinned instead, thinking of the scrappy teenager they had rescued from the Viscount’s Florida estate. “He loves sailing, loves the Nomad. A good kid. Steve bought me a bunch of books and--”

Natasha cleared her throat lightly and Tony amended-- “Steve stole a bunch of books for me and Peter’s already read all of them. He’s too smart to be a pirate. As soon as he’s old enough, we’re going to get him into a higher school in the city. He swears he wants to climb ropes and learn about cannons but he needs a proper schooling.”

“You’re like a little pirate family.” Natasha bared her teeth in a smile, handing him back the paper. “Peter and his three dads and weird uncles.”

“Weird Uncles?”

“Hawk and Sam.” she supplied and Tony burst out laughing. “Yes, you know exactly what I mean, don’t you?”

“Thank you for this.” Tony put the list back in his pocket. “I wouldn’t know where to begin looking for these sort of things.”

“I’m more interested in why you’re looking for these sort of things.” Natasha challenged. “Tell me Anthony, where did you get the idea to use something in that-particular-shape--” she tapped the table for emphasis. “--in that particular area of your anatomy?”

Tony’s face turned an alarming shade of red and Natasha nearly spit out her tea laughing. “Let’s-- Let’s change the subject.”

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

Hawk was generally an easy going guy, willing to flirt with any pretty dame that crossed his path, ready to throw down in a fight with any jerk that needed an ass whoopin’, generally fun to be around and usually ready for any sort of shenanigan.

But he balked at the front of this particular store, grabbing onto Sam and hauling him back onto the street. “Nuh uh.” he said loudly. “Nuh uh. We’re not going in there. Sam, stay out here with me, this is where I draw the line.”

“This is where you draw the line.” Sam repeated. “Are you-- are you kidding me? It’s a store, Tony needs to buy things, we have to accompany him.”

“Not into there we don’t.” Hawk shook his head adamantly. “Nope. That is one errand Tony is going to do alone.”

“Stop being stupid.” Sam punched Hawk’s shoulder. “I’ll go in there by myself then. Cap will have our heads if we let Tony do this alone and something happens to him.”

“Listen.” Hawk widened his eyes dramatically. “Sam, Sammy boy, Samuel my son--”

“Stop.”

“--Sam. Do you know what this shop is?” A glance up at the sign that read ‘Trinkets and Findings’. “Don’t be fooled by the innocent sign, this is not an innocent place.”

“I don’t care.” Sam said impatiently. “You stand out here like a dumbass and I’ll go in there so Bucky don’t string us up by our insides when Tony gets kidnapped or something, yeah?”

“Your funeral.” Hawk plopped down on the stoop outside the shop. “I don’t want to hear about this later. No matter what you see in there? I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Jesus.” Sam mumbled, ducking inside the shop door. “Dumbass bird, can’t even walk into a store without getting all weird, should’ve left him on the ship, can’t take him anywhere without-- whoa! What is going on in here?!”

“Sam.” Tony turned around from a glass display holding two different colored items. “What do you think of these paperweights.”

“Sweet Mary mother of Jesus what are you holding, those are not paperweights!” Sam blurted. “Tony! Put those down!”

“Calm down.” Tony frowned at him hefting the different… paperweights… one in each hand. “I think the blue is pretty, but I sort of like the black one and--”

Hawk didn’t even look up when Sam basically threw himself out the door of the shop, skidding to a stop on the cobblestones and looking halfway to terrified.

“Not a paperweight?” Hawk asked casually and Sam nodded wildly. “Yep, I saw his list when we were walking. I also know for a fact that every time Tony asks the Captain about a paperweight, either he or the Bronco end up limping the next day, so I figured a paperweight ain’t really a paperweight and didn’t want to see what it actually was.”

“I need some alcohol.” Sam muttered.

“A drink to steady your hands?” Hawk suggested.

“To cleanse my eyes.”

“Yep. Sounds about right.”

They sat in relative silence for close to a an hour, Hawk wandering away to see about finding a snack or two, Sam being deadly serious about that drink and stepping into a nearby bar to fill his flask.

Tony finally made a reappearance, snatching the flask from mid air as Sam tossed it to Hawk, uncorking it and taking a long drink before passing it on. “You guys ready to go?”

“Are we ready to go?” Hawk snarked back. “You’re the one who took an hour to pick out soul-scarring things that I’ll never un-see.”

“You didn’t even step inside the place, Hawk.” Sam kicked out at him. “Why are you complaining?”

“I didn’t have to step inside to be scarred!” the navigator kicked Sam right back. “Are we leaving yet?”

“You know, if you don’t want to go along with me on my Valentines Day errands, you could always convince the Captain that I am in fact capable of protecting myself.” Tony said dryly, twitching aside his coat to show off the sword at his side, the dagger at his belt. “I am fairly certain that nothing will happen on the streets of Charleston that I can’t handle.”

“Remember the good ol' days when Tony just blushed and stammered and got excited by knots and knew weird things from books?” Sam asked under his breath and Hawk groaned in agreement. “You know, wore fancy clothes and didn’t dare mouth off? I miss that Tony.”

“I’m still the same Tony.” A sharp look from the pirate that was in fact, nothing like the soft spoken, naive kid they’d snatched from the dock in New York almost two years previous. “I still blush and stammer and love knots and know lots of things from my books.”

“Okay but--”

“My shirt is French silk.” Tony sniffed. “And I don’t have to mouth off, not when I carve a man’s face up faster than he can finish an insult, hm?”

“Bloodthirsty bastard.” Sam mocked and Tony's lips curled in something that looked an awful lot like pride. “Where are we going now? Because no matter how big and bad you think you are--”

“-- By the way, we can see your nipples through your fancy silk shirt.” Hawk cut in.

“--it’s not my nipples, it's my new gold rings.” Tony said coolly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It’s definitely not our business.” Sam hurried to say before Hawk could fling back something equally sarcastic. “But regardless, Cap and Bronco said they wanted us with you every minute you weren’t in Madame Natasha’s company. So where are we going next?”

“I need to visit a herbal shop.” Tony consulted his list. “Natasha informed me that pretty much everything I need on my list could be found at this shop, so I need to go there next.”

“Is this a store that we shouldn’t accompany you in to?” Hawk asked suspiciously. “Like the last one?”

“Most likely.”

“Fantastic.”

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

“Oy!” Happy looked up from the dishes when Tony sauntered through galley doors. “Look who decided to come about for th’meal. You think I kept anything waitin’ for ya?”

“Happy.” Tony shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, joining the big cook at the sink and tackling a giant pot. “I would never think that you would hold any supper for anyone who wasn’t polite enough to be here at supper time.”

“You damn right about that.” Happy grunted. “You wash your share’a dishes, you get your share'a food.”

“I never would expect anything less.” Tony smiled to himself as they worked, falling into the easy rhythm of working around each other that had been established over hundreds of nights exactly like this, moving around each other and through the big kitchen to clean up after the rest of the sailors.

What had started as a chore simply to keep Tony out of the way had evolved into a nightly ritual for Tony and Happy to talk or not to talk, for the cook to keep an eye on the unsuspecting kid Steve had inadvertently dropped into their lives, for Tony to relax with someone who he knew was always looking out for him. Happy had always had Tony’s back, even in the very beginning when everything was uncertain, even after the terrible heartbreak when they thought nothing would ever be the same again.

There were always dishes to do, which meant there was always a couple hours where Happy had nothing better to do than clean and Tony could hide away if he needed to, so long as he was willing to do some scrubbing.

Tonight was no different and once the pots and pans had been put away, the counters scrubbed with vinegar and lemon, the seats wiped down, Happy thunked a big plate down in front of Tony and poured a healthy amount of rum into a cup for him as well.

“Thank you.” Tony managed as he dug in. “I’m starving.”

“Yeah, Hawk told me about all the ‘llicit shops you dragged them too today.” Happy said matter of factly. “What sorta ‘llicit things you buying with the Captain’s gold?”

“I’m not buying anything illicit.” Tony scowled. “Just things for Valentines Day, that's all.”

Happy snorted something about ridiculous notions and stupid holidays and Tony narrowed his eyes. “Say, Happy. Did you know St. Valentines Day is actually based on a pagan holiday called--”

“Lupercalia.” Happy finished and Tony huffed in annoyance at having his punchline stolen. “Yeah, I know. Somethin’ about sacrifices and fertility.”

“That doesn’t offend your preacher sensibilities?” Tony challenged. “Not at all?”

“I was a preacher for a year.” Happy said flatly. “Now I’m a pirate. I’m all for burning things if it makes the girlies extra fertile, ya know?”

“If it makes the girlies extra--” Tony stared at the cook in shock. “Who are you? Who says things like that?”

“Lemme tell you something, you posh brat.” Happy heaved his bulk out of the chair to get more rum. “Jus’ cos you’ve been a pirate for a year don’t mean you know half’a’nothin’ about me. I’m full of surprises.”

“Uh, apparently.” Tony mopped up the last of his food and tossed back most of his drink in one go. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You drank that awful quick.” Happy stated bluntly. “You aren’t gettin’ lost in your drink again, are you?”

“No.” Tony said honestly, dark eyes softening at the care from the cook. “No, not getting lost in my drink. Not again. Just need a little liquid courage before tonight.”

“Gonna do somethin’ dirty with Cap and the Bronco?”

“Oh.” Tony waggled his eyebrows. “Oh I hope so.”

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

Night on the Nomad was beautiful, especially when she was at port. Most of the sailors went ashore for the night, looking for good drink and good food and someone to warm the bed of a rented room, so all was quiet on board. Happy was done with his cleaning and had retired to his own room to read, and the few sailors left to keep watch were content to play dice or cards on deck until it got too cold to be out.

The lights from the city of Charleston lit up the water with a soft glow and the ship shifted back and forth on gentle waves, lulled into an easy roll by the tide as it broke against the shoreline and Tony rolled with it, swaying where he stood at the railing, breathing in the night air that had yet to cool.

God he loved this life. Not so much Charleston, but he loved it here on the water, on the Nomad, knowing the ship better than he had known New York, despite living there for his entire life. He had scrubbed every board on the deck, had climbed every rope and walked every beam, had stood at the helm and challenged the horizon with the wheel in his hands and his husbands at his side and this--this was where he belonged.

Well. Tony let himself smile a little bit. This was certainly where he belonged but he knew Steve and Bucky wanted him somewhere else entirely.

If they had their way, he'd probably spread out on the huge Captain’s bed while they retrieved the various items he had left lying in conspicuous places around their cabin and put them to good use.

There was a paperweight in a shade of bold crimson, riddled with bumps and different textures, longer than their previous one and wider clear through the tip and Tony shuddered a little, thinking of just how eager Steve would be to use it on him.

There were different slick oils, one that had made his tongue tingle when he had taken an experimental taste, another that had warmed as he rubbed it between his fingers and oh Tony knew Bucky would love that one.

An herbal mix that was supposed to prolong their pleasure and Tony had bought that mostly for himself, wanting to stay up and up for his husbands for however long it took for them to all be satisfied.

And finally, the very last thing Tony had bought was a long piece of silk. It was stronger than it looked, in a deep blue that reminded him of the ocean of when it stormed and Tony had every intention of having Bucky tie him up with it, knowing he was never safer than when he was with the men he loved.

All might be calm on the Nomad, the harbor quiet and safe, the lights low and night sky dark but it was St. Valentines Day and Tony was a pirate, wicked and wanton and he needed--”

A low whistle pulled him from his thoughts, and Tony turned with a knowing, ready smile.

“Heya sweet thing.” Bucky called from the stairs, twirling the silk through his fingers and pulling to test the strength, pale eyes nearly glowing with anticipation. “You comin’ down or what? Seems’ta me like we gotta celebrate Valentines Day, huh?”

“C’mon honey.” Steve was rolling the crimson paperweight between his palms, feeling the heft and weight of it with a smile that was nearly wicked. “You can’t just leave this sorta thing layin’ around and then stay out here by yourself. Come to bed.”

Steve's voice deepened, the Captain rolling through the words. “I want both of you in bed now.”

Tony’s smile grew a little wider. Yeah. He needed alright. Needed something only his pirates could give him.

God he loved this life.

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

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE FIC!

BUY ME A VALENTINES DAY KO-FI!

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

@bethy-sue @thesmollestgay @babypinkbunny @lilwitchybee @kloudbby @shipeveryonetogether @shadowrayven @deppfan16 @hausoffro @plutoisstillsalty @thereaderandwriterwithin @thecat-theparrot-theonion @zerokrox-blog @zuretha-metal @hurricanesass @tstilcr @ulnusilmukka @kahowl-knight @oswolfpack @larissaloki @stuckony-stank @blackhearted @iona-laia @itsallyd @youarenewformetoo @megahuffledor @starks-avengers @tabziecat @stitchinaride @ceealaina @cwar1864 @trinidaddee @emogoddess24 @my-drowning-in-time @pidgist @yukina64 @words-aremy-weapons @psychobitchgonepsycho @little-big-mac2 @multishippinglife @susana0 @paranormalmoonlight5

[hisgirlwonder]

Wicked Games - Part One

Length: 3.6K words Warning: Smut (sex, mention of degradation, Michael secretly is a cuck?, etc etc) and angst   Synopsis: Every lawyer is given a case they would rather not work on and you’re no exception to this. Someone you know all too well ends up being your latest client, how will you cope under the pressure? You’re the best of the best in the world of law but you are, after all, only human. Notes: Today comes the day when I finally publish something about a character other than Michael. I’ve been staring at it for days because I didn’t want to ruin Duncan (I haven’t seen HOC) so hopefullyyyyyy this is okay! I’m kind of nervous in writing other things because my heart lies with Michael but I have been feeling such a pull to write for Cody’s other characters (I have some of an outline for another series for Michael x Reader x Jim so keep an eye out for that! It’s going to be a bit angsty from what I have so far) (also this is probably my favourite version of Y/N I’ll write about to date because we love a strong woman)

“Hello, Mrs Langdon,” Michael purrs, grinning at the sight of you coming through the front door. You plant a kiss on his cheek and apologise for the late arrival home; telling him those idiots at work were to blame.

Taking off your jacket feels like an effort with all of the buttons and a pair of tired hands; eventually you get there and hang it up on the coat stand. Michael asks if you had a rough day and your response is a heavily exhale of exhaustion followed with a remark of you have no idea as you’re kicking off your heels.

He closes the door and asks if you’ve eaten. You nod, explaining that you ordered in sushi earlier. It was unfortunate because having dinner together was one of the things that helped you unwind after a long day and today you had to miss it. It turns out your newest client held you back for much longer than intended and when you finally got to pack up for the day night, you leave feeling deflated because all you’ve done is run in circles and achieved nothing.

Michael sinks his warm thumbs into your trapezius muscles to try and massage the tautness out. You were never one to give up a fight because you thrived on winning but the weight of this was so heavy and it was only day one.

You feel those smooth hands glide down to rest on your upper arms and Michael tells you he’s going to get you a drink. A sigh of dejection erupts from your lungs, and you push past it to thank him before he disappears into the kitchen.

*

Michael re-appears with a drink in hand and as you’re taking it from him, you smile weakly and mouth thank you. You swallow a few mouthfuls to calm yourself before offloading onto your husband.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to be dumped with this case. I just, I mean, I just really wanted to slap the shit eating grin off of his face. He’s even more unrelenting than I remember.” You say, dumbfounded in disbelief at how anyone could have that kind of attitude.

“Oh, so you know him? Obviously, you can’t tell me specifics about the case but, might I ask, who is it?”

“Duncan Shepherd.”

You and Duncan ran in the same circles ever since your rise to power in the world of law so you’d been around each other more times than you’d like to admit. You couldn’t forget the first time you met – it was an opening for an art gallery where he gave you nothing but grief about being married all the while trying to win you over. It was almost like he forgot you were a lawyer who was well-versed in reading people. That, or he just didn’t care. Duncan did like a challenge.

Michael stays silent, making an oh face. He knew exactly from your recollection of stories and meetings what Duncan was like. Being the best of the best when it came to your profession had its perks but it also had its downfalls, like old men trying to buy their way into spending a night with you or pretty boys with more money than sense.

You’d represented your fair share of guilty people in passing but never one who got on your nerves as much as Duncan did. Maybe it was his comment about Michael being a “ball and chain” for you that did it, or perhaps it was more than that.

“I get the feeling you’re going to need something stronger than just a cocktail, I’ll be right back.”

*

As your eyes are scanning over the photographs on the mantelpiece waiting for Michael to return, there’s one that takes your interest and sends you headfirst into the throes of nostalgia.

It was from the engagement party where one of your best friends had styled you - she’d commissioned a very famous designer to create a black, cinch-waisted dress with a sweetheart neckline. Oh, you felt so glamorous and had no idea what life had planned for you following that night.

You smile to yourself when remembering how adamant she was for you to have curls and for them to be done by her; she spent what felt like hours perfecting them. The makeup was polished off with a deep plum coloured lipstick and she’d joked about how you looked like her very own masterpiece. Completely biased though because she’d always reiterate her belief that you didn’t need makeup since you possessed such natural beauty.

Your heart feels as if it has sunk to your feet when you recall what else happened. How could you forget? The joy of that evening fell short when your mother decided to pull you aside and snap, asking why you felt the need to dress the way you did. She was referring to how dark your dress and makeup were, because in her mind her own flesh and blood should take after her, dressing in shades of salmon and lilac. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time she’d called you out like this and it wouldn’t be the last.

Her serpent-like mouth had bitten you one too many times and now, older and wiser, your heart had become cold towards her. Every person you meet remarks about how your parents must be so proud of you and you want to laugh in their faces and admit the truth – that your father is nowhere to be found and your mother will never be satisfied with anything you do. It’s as if you were an aversion to her eyes as well because she was constantly telling you that no man would ever love you if you were to dress like you’re always going to a funeral. Even Michael professing his love in front of the room full of people wasn’t enough.

*

Either Michael must have been stealth-like or you were too engrossed in what you were thinking about because you didn’t hear the bottle of vodka on the table nor did you hear him come up behind you. The fixation on your younger self in the picture was interrupted by the feeling of his arms encasing you and the warmth of his chin resting on your exposed shoulder. “What are you doing?”

You point to the photograph, pained with a longing in that moment for how things used to be. Before law school, before all of this stress, before Duncan fucking Shepherd came into your life.

“This simultaneously feels like a lifetime ago yet so recent I can almost taste the entrees we ate that night. She’s ruined so many things. It was the beginning of some of the best things to happen to me,” you look down at the diamond ring on your finger before continuing, “But when I get like this, I’m reminded of her disapproval. Life would be much easier if my father didn’t decide to abandon me and leave me with her.”

“M/N is and will always be jealous of you, Y/N. You looked radiant that night and she was just projecting her own insecurities onto you. Do you remember the day we were introduced? I was wearing god knows what but I will never forget the sight of you in those ripped black jeans and boots. It gave me a raging hard-on to see you dressed like that. You’re even more beautiful now because you’re my wife.” He squeezes his arms around you in comfort before continuing, “Let’s forget about that and focus on something else. You’ve had enough drama for one day. Work was hard, wasn’t it? I think I know a way we can relieve some of this pent up energy.” As he’s talking, the bulge trapped in his pants is pushed into your ass and all of a sudden you become distracted.

You place the now empty glass beside the photo in question and guide a hand upwards to stroke at Michael’s face. You knew what he wanted but decided to play along, questioning him in a coy voice, “Oh? And what might that be, Mr. Langdon?”

Michael’s unwraps himself from you, positioning his hands on your hips and caresses your lower back. “Maybe we can go to the bedroom and I can fuck the frustration out of you.”

/

Hands are travelling up your sides to meet at the top of the zipper, pushing your locks over to one side. “Let me.” The slider glides down, parting the teeth and allows the dress to fall to the floor. He touches his lips on the curve of where your shoulder meets your arm; he’s planting kisses on your skin while eager fingers are unhooking the clasp on your bra.

By now you’re standing only in a small pair of underwear and the moment you turn around Michael snatches you up; hands digging into the flesh of your ass. He’s smirking in enjoyment, almost salivating at the thought of what next comes out.

“I was thinking about you in that pretty red dress of yours I like at work today. You’re innocently knocking files off my desk as you’re trying to place them in front of me like a clumsy little girl. You’re bending over to grab them but your feet are apart enough so everything is exposed…” he pulls you in even closer before continuing, lowly growing in thirst, “…and it’s obvious to see your slit is glistening for me; ready to be fucked.”

If you didn’t know you were alive before, you sure knew now because you feel your heart quicken and nostrils becoming flared as you expel out hot breaths of want. Those few words forced you into a state of submission - one where you’d do anything no questions asked.

Your mouths meet in what starts off as a slow, loving kiss but quickly transforms into a salacious mess; lips turning red, swollen, and spit covered. Both of you were becoming drunk on the other. He instructs you to get on the bed and you follow through without hesitation.

*

With eyes glued to him, you watch as he’s sitting on a chair nearby undoing his tie. You become occupied with the thought of how you’d rather them around your throat than loosening the item of fabric he now throws on the ground. Michael teases in the hopes it’ll set you off by warning not to get too excited because he’s staying dressed for what he has planned.

He was right to think that way because with his comment you transform into a brat, rolling your eyes and whining, “Can you not? You’re strangely looking like Duncan did earlier.”

Michael reaches down to untie his shoes and every now and then looks up at you and the only reaction to your words is a silent smile; one that said you just wait. Once his shoes are off, he walks over to the bed and towers above you, asserting you in dominance. He grabs your face in a hand and breaks his reticence, telling you, “I think you’re forgetting who makes the rules.”

In the blink of an eye, Michael has ripped off your underwear and runs a single finger up your slit to feel the slick leaking from your folds. You’re ignorant enough not to realise Michael wasn’t the only reason your body was behaving this way. He, however, does know and pushes your thighs apart to see what he’s dealing with. Tips of his digits are drawing shapes against your bud - you think he’s letting them wander aimlessly but Michael was actually spelling out the word Duncan.

“Duncan really makes you mad, doesn’t he?” Michael teases with words laminated in a devilish tone. He could see how you were visibly responding to him and it drove him wild. Michael noticed at the mention of Duncan’s name you did jerk your legs shut but there was a brief moment where you bucked your hips and Michael could read between the lines; he knew precisely what it meant, even before you did.

Forceful hands pry your legs apart as if to say I’m the one who is in charge and when he begins to touch you again, he changes it up and uses all four fingers. The blood rushes in between your legs, swirling around and causing tumescence in your loins.

“He makes you red hot, doesn’t he?” The deliverance of those two words made you wonder if he was insinuating something entirely different. Something that you’d never considered until now. Maybe your brain had kept this revelation hidden away until Michael decided to open your eyes to it. Maybe, just maybe, this was for your own benefit because there’s no way you would have willingly accepted your own want for him of all people.

Michael slips two of those four fingers inside, curling around and massaging your soft spot in a continuous but inviting come here movement. Not leaving any part ignored, he light grazes his thumb against the surface of your already stimulated bud and it makes you writhe around in pleasure. All attempts at trying to keep composed and innocent fail as your words become broken and you’re a stuttering mess, “W-w-what a-are yo-o-ou d-d-doing?”

Then suddenly, an unfamiliar feeling washes over you and you’re not sure if you like it but you have no choice because it’s consuming you; the want need for Duncan to be committing unspeakable acts against your body. Michael’s almost gagging over you coming undone from a few simple wo­rds and figures it’s the perfect time to take himself out of his pants knowing you’d be pathetic and desperate for a cock inside you.

*

The old adage goes “silence is golden” but this was the exact opposite. You needed something to stop you dissipating into the fever that was burning deep within your core. You wanted to snuff out the fire inside because you had absolutely no idea how you were going to work with this lingering.

Michael positions his body between your legs to stroke the head of his throbbing cock against your slit, mixing what was leaking out of himself with your own wetness. He takes it up a notch by sliding in a minuscule amount and taunting you, with words like you know, your body is giving me the answers your mouth wouldn’t dare speak.

His icy blues are locked onto you as he pushes past your entrance, gauging your reaction while giving you more of the thing you yearned for. Michael’s having too much fun being a tease but it becomes too much and you spit angst at him, “Can’t you just fuck me already?”

Michael provokes you even further and suggests, “If you want it so bad, why don’t you just behave and bend over the bed like a good girl. Bad girls don’t get what they want.”  He knew what being called a good girl did to you and used it to his full advantage whenever you were in a state like this.

You don’t know whether to laugh or feel bad that this exact situation was what Duncan had predicted at that party. Goosebumps hit your skin as you can hear him. “I can already see it now – one day you’ll be bent over a bed, pussy soaked with your own filth and you’ll be begging for him to fuck you when really you wish it was me.”

And that’s exactly what is happening. You were bent over and beginning to be fucked, like a cock-deprived slut. It was more than just your usual lust over Michael but it also included being wrecked and ruined by Duncan, and you hated yourself for it.

“If you really do want this, there’s only one thing I want in return.” Michael tells you, rubbing a hand over your ass, “I want you to tell me exactly why he’s so bad. I want you to feel it.”

“Duncan Shepherd is a sanctimonious, smug asshole. He thinks he’s a hot piece who can get whatever he wants whenever he wants. He-“

Your outburst is interrupted by Michael moving back inside. You’re wondering when he’s going to fuck the neediness out of you because he was deliberately holding back and moving very slowly. “Keep going. Remember, I want you to feel it.”

“He always thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants and not get away with it. This is why I’m stuck with him, because of his actions, and now I have to see him every single day until this damn trial is over and done with.”

There it is, your distaste for him. You thought it was stronger than the urges that reverberated throughout your body. The truth is you wanted to fuck Duncan out of hatred, then make him watch as you fuck Michael out of adoration, and for both men to pour load after load into your open mouth; deep down your willing throat. You wanted to be defiled but only by your own control.

Michael’s hands are gripping into your thighs to say your body is mine and he picks up his pace. He grunts, “More. Tell me more. Feed it to me, baby.”

“He’s such a pig. He treats me like I should beg to be the ground he’s walking on. Remember his ex? She said he’s so vain that he likes to fuck in front of a mirror so he can watch himself.”

Your pussy twitches at the very clear image in your head of him pounding away at you like he did with her, almost as if it had happened in real life. Were you jealous? You couldn’t deny that Duncan was hot, because he was, but he knew it. You also knew that he’d be good in bed despite the disgusting ego. The thoughts of being used and abused by a man like this, specifically Duncan, drove you mad in every way possible.

“Do you ever think it’s because he wants to fuck you?”

That slight twitch turns into a full-on throb and every muscle within the confines of your cunt begin to tighten around Michael’s cock – your body growing unfaithful with its admission of the things you were trying to remain tight-lipped about. It’s one thing to find someone attractive but it’s another entirely for it to be someone you’ve spent years loathing. Duncan was everything you couldn’t stand in a man yet your entire existence was begging to be destroyed by him.

“My bet is he’d like to turn you into an incoherent mess. His hand is probably lathered in fake slick right now and he’s fucking himself to the thought of you in the dress you wore today.”

Your knees were growing weak and you were barely holding on. You being sent in a direction you’d never been before. Before tonight, Michael was the only thought and person which brought you pleasure in all the ways. The truth was that Michael wanted you to feel this. He secretly had lusted after this for so long and now he finally got his chance.

And that’s when it came. The words that would tear you in two, causing the same reaction in your body akin to a dam bursting its banks.

“I can guarantee that Duncan would love to be here right now, seeing your pussy full with this cock and us taking turns on you all night, filling every hole.”

Michael was the filthiest and there was no doubt about that but it’s as if the events of tonight had given you a key to a hidden lock inside him – you opened it and it unleashed something wild and untamed. His mouth and his member cause you to explode as if you’re a supernova; stars littering your vision as evidence of the intensity.

A lustful growl emits from Michael’s lungs as you drop to the mattress, knees weakened completely. “I knew exactly what that meant.”

It seems like your climax transforms him into some other being. He begins pounding away at you mercilessly, throwing caution into the wind and slamming his body into yours like he was trying to punish you for thinking such dirty thoughts.

Michael’s positioned now with his torso against your back, taking in your mixed scent of perfume and sweat. He thrusts a few more times and you both cry out in enjoyment – you’re still swimming in the pool of your orgasm and he meets you there, unloading himself inside your pussy. Once the last drop is spilt he rolls off your body and onto his back.

He breathlessly throws an idea at you, “Maybe we should make our own game, Y/N. Duncan Shepherd needs to atone for his sins of the flesh. You should play with him, make him bend to you however you see fit, and, when the time is right then we can take it even further. There are only two rules.”

“Which are?”

“Number one, have fun. Number two, fill me in on everything. Also, remember, it’s Duncan.”

You knew what it’s Duncan meant because you knew Michael all too well. It meant don’t worry, nobody is going to believe someone as manipulative as him if he tries anything.

You didn’t care. Your impulses took over and you agreed to his game, asking when you were to start.

“Tomorrow.”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @sammythankyou @sevenwondr @langdonsdemon @queencocoakimmie

[tonystarkbingo]

Week 20 Roundup!  We’ve got a LOT of fills this week, thanks in part to our June Discord Party!  Congrats to those who got bingos and blackouts!

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Title: Finish What He Started Collaborator: queen-of-the-avengers Link: Tumblr Square Filled: A5 - Gamora Ship: Tony/Reader Rating: Not Rated Major Tags: fluff, implied smut Summary: Keeping your relationship a secret is a lot harder than you might think. Word Count: 1254

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Title: Love's Strange Collaborator: ceealaina Link: AO3 Square Filled: K3 - Carnivorous Plant Ship: Stuckony Rating: Teen Major Tags: fluff and humor, minor Carol/Rhodey Summary: Bucky couldn’t resist giving him a quick kiss before Tony’s words caught up to him. “A... plant?” he repeated, because last he checked, Tony wasn’t the horticultural type. But sure enough, there was a funny little lime green thing sitting in a bright pink pot on the tabletop, about six inches high and covered in little spikey bell-shaped leaves, run through with electric blue veins.  “Where did that come from?” “No idea,” Tony answered. “It was here when I came down. I thought maybe Steve brought it for me? Steve seems like the type to give people plants, right?” He reached out, running his index finger delicately over one of the leaves. “Ooh, it’s soft.” He gave Bucky another smile. “It’s kinda cute, right?” “Uh... cute,” Bucky repeated. “Right."  **  Tony makes a new friend in the lab, and for some reason Bucky is the only one with enough sense to be concerned about it. Word Count: 2226

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Title: carry your worn disillusion Collaborator: deathsweetqueen Link: AO3 Square Filled: S1 - It Wasn't Worth It Ship: Stony Rating: Explicit Major Tags: explicit sexual content, divorce, Superfamily, hopeful ending Summary: Jennifer drops the divorce papers down onto his coffee table. “Are you sure about this?” she asks, careful and weighty. Tony rubs his aching sternum, over the raised skin marking the edge of a vibranium shield. “Yeah,” he says, solemn as the grave. “I’m sure.” He leans down and signs his name in sprawling cursive. He looks up at Jennifer, her eyes needle-sharp, but soft. “Give it to T’Challa. He’ll make sure it gets to him,” he says, flatly. “I’ve got parent-teacher interviews to get to.” Word Count: 6289

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Title: Half the Universe, Plus One Collaborator: newnewyorker93 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S5 - whiplash Ship: Pepperony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Endgame, missing scene, panic attacks Summary: When Tony wakes up after his confrontation with Steve, Pepper has something important to tell him. Word Count: 4213

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Collaborator: feignedsobriquet Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K4 - domesticity Ship: WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: art Summary: Art for the series: Who’s been lovin’ you good? by withered

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Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: Tumblr Square Filled: S4 - Christine Everhart Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: art Summary: art of Tony and Christine Everhart

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Title: The Best Part Of The Journey Is The End Collaborator: ethereal-lullabies Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K1 - The End Ship: none Rating: Teen Major Tags: Endgame, moodboard Summary: dedicated to Tony’s canon death in the MCU (Avengers Endgame)

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Title: Minimalist Science Bros Aesthetics! Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: Tumblr Square Filled: S5 - Bruce Banner Ship:  Science Bros Rating: Gen Major Tags: moodboard Summary: moodboard

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Title: Tesserae Collaborator: dracusfyre Link: AO3 Square Filled: S1 - "I never meant to hurt you." Ship: WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags:  fix-it, preslash, recovery Summary: Sometimes when things are broken all you can do is find a new way to be...though that's not necessarily a bad thing. Word Count: 2289

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Title: Silver Fox Tony Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: Tumblr Square Filled: T1 - [Picture of old Tony from comics] Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: art Summary: art of silver fox silver fox Tony

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Title: Damsels (And Others) In Distress Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: AO3 Square Filled: K1 - Damsels (And Others) In Distress Ship: WinterIron Rating: Not Rated Major Tags: prank wars, fluff and humor, Science Bros Summary: In which there is hot pink paint and tons of laughter. Word Count: 715

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Title: Cuddle Pile (Whose limbs are these?) Collaborator: LBibliophile Link: AO3 Square Filled: T4 - Puzzle Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: Avengers family, poetry Summary: After a hard day/night/fight, nothing is better than curling up in a pile with all your friends… at least, until someone has to get up Word Count:  245

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Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: Tumblr Square Filled: A3 - free space Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: art Summary: Some…faun druid idfk 😂

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Title: now the sun shines on us Collaborator: cvdmus Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 — science and magic Ship: FrostIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: Science Bros, Tony Stark has a heart, marriage proposal Summary: Loki comes to Tony Stark with a proposal. And Tony is a simple man, he’ll of course agree. Word Count: 2739

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Title: Denial Is A Drug I Don't Need Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: AO3 Square Filled: T2 - Denial Ship: WinterIron Rating: Not Rated Major Tags: drabble, preslash, hopeful ending Summary: When Bucky confessed, Tony walked away. It was the stupidest decision he'd ever made. Word Count: 100

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Collaborator: lronhusbands Link: Tumblr Square Filled: S2 - AU: Dragon Rider Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: moodboard Summary: where Tony has a dragon and generally he’s a badass

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Title: Mission: Mothering Collaborator: 27dragons Link: AO3 Square Filled: T2 - Image: Rhodey Hug Ship: MIT Bros Rating: Gen Major Tags: MIT era, protectiveness, Howard's A+ parenting Summary: The first time Rhodey invites Tony to go with him on spring break, he has a mission... Word Count: 817

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Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: AO3 Square Filled: S2 - Tony In Workshop Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: moonboard Summary: Workshop Tony moodboard

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Title: T3- Flutter Collaborator: thudworm Link: AO3 Square Filled: T3 - Flutter Ship: Tony & Thor Rating: Gen Major Tags: drabble, introspection Summary: The first time Tony goes out flying for fun with Thor is a revelation. Word Count: 100

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Collaborator: newnewyorker93 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K4 - eating disorders Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: food, moodboard Summary: Inspired by this post by @tonystark5ever discussing Tony’s relationship with food + trauma.

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Title: Plumes of Smoke Collaborator: deathofthestars Link: AO3 Square Filled: R4 - fears appear in reality Ship: Stony Rating: Gen Major Tags: mpreg, medieval AU, war, angst, open ending Summary: Tony lies awake at night worried over Steve's future. Maybe its for good reason. Word Count: 618

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Title: Nothing Burns Like The Cold Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 - Battle/Fight/Confrontation Ship: Tony & Steve Rating: Not Rated Major Tags: not Steve friendly, Dark Tony, Tony needs a hug Summary: Tony Stark has struggled, suffered; been beaten down again and again. Friendships and family bonds broken, shattered. Tragedy can change a man. Is the team ready for the outcome of disaster? Word Count: 708

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Title: It's Good to Know Collaborator: SierraNovembr Link: AO3 Square Filled: A3 - free square Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: kisses Summary: It should hurt; it should burn and ache to admit to the fella he's gone on that Bucky might be a bleeding mess inside while at the same time clinging to the hope Tony can love him anyway. Word Count: 754

[mysticmysterywrites-blog]

Prompt #2

Got an uhh.. Aasimar and Tiefling I would like to play, should anyone indulge me. I've had their characters for a while, but this is the first time I've played them dnd Verse. Looking very specifically for female characters here.

Lupa is a Fallen Aasimar, though she's true neutral by nature. She has beautiful eyes that look like literal ruby's, with curly hair cut braided tightly on one side, and left loose and fluffy on the other. It does, in fact, glow. She's well muscled, but in an absolutely elegant and graceful sort of way. Has bronze skin, with bright red freckles that glow and burn under her skin. She has patches of Vitiligo on her back, that flush out against her shoulder blades. She's so tall! so tall, like 6'3, 6'4. She's an uhhhh Pyromancer Sorcerer. Comes off as very stoic, though quickly shows herself to be a gremlin. Tends not to take things so seriously, even if it seems like she does otherwise.

Comparatively, Ambrosia is a short tiefling, with large ram horns that curl thickly outward, and, not unlike her companion, large curly hair. It sort of, flows and floats through the air, as though she's underwater. The hair is a mix of pinks and white shades, and her skin looks marbled in nature. She also has those sweet hooved feet, and has a soft bit of fluff at the end of a thin tail. She's stocky, with a bit more muscle to her. Stands maybe about 5'4? She's a Brute Fighter, who specializes in Battle Axe and War Hammers, though can strike up a mean duel when convinced correctly. She's very joyful, a Neutral Good. Comes off as being a bit more gentle then she is, though has a soft spot for children and ppl who aren't too good at standing up for themselves.

The two of them are working through some things right now. Working through some FEELINGS. But its fine, its okay. They can be GAY on MAIN.

The plot idea I had for this is that your character is either apart of or hosting some kinda Gala, while my characters are in charge of distracting yours while the third member of their party goes through and grabs what they need from this house. Your character can genuinely be the host, or maybe someone that was invited (or ALSO came to the party for some underhanded means). Trust me they're dumb and gay and don't have the internet the possibility of them slipping up is obnoxiously high. (Guilty pleasure of mine, but also could possibly be the eldest daughter of some old nobility that gets charmed by the two of them and swept away? You know how it be sometimes!!) Or maybe your character is the young child of nobility, who's kind of forgotten about by their parents? Smth like that.

I'm good with NSFW scenes if you are, given the character and roleplayer is 18+. Actually, I like nothing more then the idea of them being pulled off into a library or bed/bath to distract your character, and then some. Might have to deal with two clueless lesbians too, but thats fine. However, we don't gotta. I just as much like the idea of getting into some dergeounds and dragons shenanigans. Some polyam shenams.

It was a simple job, all things considered.

Getting into the gala was easy. The twins mother had the connections they needed, knew how to sweet talk and sugar coat her words. An invite was all but assured through that woman. While they knew not the layout of the place, they practically had all night. These gala's could run for /hours/, an unending run around.

On paper, it was easy. Which meant that there was always something outside the plans that would throw a wrench in it.

Get in, get the papers, get out.

It should be easy.

~~

Lupa felt absolutely gorgeous right now.

Of course, that wasn't to say she didn't normally think she was beautiful. No, no. That was nothing more then a statement of fact, a favor that came with heritage and luck, and confidence that come in knowing both of these things. But there was a difference between KNOWING her own looks, and feeling as though she'd just been dipped in liquid gold.

They'd worked her hair for hours. It was the thing she noticed first and foremost. It's pulled up tight against her head, ornaments and beads strung through to create a colored, gentle glow. It takes a moment of picking for her to notice that they'd picked specifically glass beads, and she rolls them around in her fingers as though testing their limits time and time again. Its a hairstyle she normally does not have, and one she thinks she won't keep once it falls out of place. But for now, it looks.. good. Tight on the head, but good nonetheless.

They'd done well on her make up. The red hues looked good against bronze, and she thinks that maybe they'd maybe bought the dress specifically for her. It fits against her form, one arm hidden under sleeve, the other framed by precious metal and gem. The sleeve leads down her arm, and stops just over the back of her hand. Theres a pattern on it that she thinks, with her brief knowledge of embroidery, must have taken hours to complete.

However beautiful she feels, however, is nothing compared to how beautiful Ambrosia looks.

She's talking to one of the twins- Kimon, when she steps into view, saying something akin to the words, "Remember, the party is centered around the garden, so if you want to have the most luck getting in and out then.." When she glances and happens upon the tieflings form.

They've left her hair loose in all its glory. The streaks of pink flurry through the clouds of white, and her hair floats high around her head as she steps closer. They went with light makeup - A good call, if you asked her. The woman looked fine on her own, none needed. Thales must have gone out of his way to decorate her horns, because the ornaments on it are new, tight to the bone and unblemished by fight and time. Her dress is nothing akin to hers. Shades of silver and blue shimmer and shimmy with every step. It falls to her knee's, though the top of it wraps around her chest tight enough to keep itself in place. The gemstones she wears catch the dimmed light from the windows, lighting her skin with shadows of color.

However, the prettiest thing has to be the expression on her face. There's this grin on her face that covers half of it, and Lupa remembers that she didn't have much like this. Not normally, anyway. She looks as though being dipped in make-up and cloth has changed her life, and though she still has calloused hands and sharp muscles from heaving weaponry around, she thinks that maybe it would feel weird seeing her without it. (She wants nothing more, she thinks, then to give her this everyday. She doesn't understand it, but this is the happiest she's seen the woman in weeks.)

"Oh!" Ambrosia says, like she's just as startled to see her, "Lupa you look..."

Lupa nods, "I'm aware," Monotoned. She's not one to take compliments when she already knows them to be true. Ambrosia startles, though after a moment laughs. She continues, however, "You look.. Spectacular. You're going to steal the show away, at this rate."

".. Me?" She blinks, pulls at one of her bracelets. Lupa doesn't dignify that with a reply, and the man next to her snorts into his hand. She almost stomps on his toes in turn.

"Come on. I was just going over this plan with Kimon. We might as well rehash it again now that you're here."  

~~

The manner is large, and to a degree unnerving to stare up at.

The twins came from money. It was an undeniable fact. It was old money, inherited from a father they'd no longer knew nor supposedly remembered, and carefully monitored through their mother. But Money was money, she supposed. Despite this, they lived modestly for their wealth. Their mother lived in a house big enough for herself and her sons, big enough to house multiple guests and then some. Big enough to be spacious, and certainly bigger then the average living space. But they'd not been spoiled with servant, and that space got used well with the sort of generosity that had come with time and well knowing experience.

The same could not be said for this manner, she feels.

Her heels click against a smooth, gracious surface, and she can't help but feel even marginally intimidated by the sight. She wonders, for a moment, how many of the rooms get consistent use. Even the outside of the building looks as though it was simply dressed up for the Occassion. The lights that shine and glow on it color its white washed walls in vivid shades of rainbow, dancing and glimmering in her peripherals. She can place a name to the spell with little issue - Dancing Lights, one she'd become more then familiar with thanks to their bards cantrips.

"Lupa,"

She feels the woman next to her shift closer, and when she glances to meet her eyes, she finds them gazing up to the buildings with wide amazement. And in that moment, she cares not about how pretentious it seems anymore.

~~

The party, of course, is about as dry as she'd expected.

It's mostly rich people with far too much time on their hands, using the excuse of drinking and small talk to attempt to sell their goods or make new connections. Most of the dancing are the same, or similar enough in nature that they follow a pattern in time to the tune. If theres anything she's learned in her travels, theres no party like a bunch of drunken sailors singing at the top of their lungs. She likes to think that most here would have a heart attack at the sheer idea of someone heaving themselves onto a table to dance.

But Ambrosia has spent the last hour falling from person to person on the dance floor, and though she came in supposedly not knowing but one of the dances, she's managed to pick up on four by now. She's always been quite good at that. Maybe that could use that to their advantage at some point... She catches the other woman's gaze, and theres a moment that passes between the two of them that almost rings with.. confusion? A silent question, one of which she does well not to answer. And in doing so, turns her gaze away from the other.

Next she knows, she see's a glass shoved in her face, champaign bubbles popping on skin. "Drink," The woman tells her, raising an eyebrow to her as she does, "Here I thought I was the nervous one. You look as though you know The Raven Queen herself is going to come and collect the souls of everyone in this room," Ambrosia laughs at her own joke, and it's as light as the air in the room.

"... Sorry," Though she takes the glass, she does not drink from it. It wouldn't do her much good--- It takes far more to get her tipsy then a glass of rich-man's liquor.

Ambrosia reaches past her to grab one of the premade plates, tail lashing behind her as she picks from the bunch. Excitement? "Are you just going to stand here all night?" She asks. Maybe irritation...

Lupa takes a moment to consider it, "I need to keep an eye out for our hosts," She says, and she knows its an excuse, "If they come in and we manage to miss them-" She has to take a look around to make sure theres no one around, "Kimon and Thales might get caught. Neither of us can risk that, Ambrosia." The tiefling stares. The pause in long enough that she feels the need to add- "Besides, These events have never been much fun for me. I can't find any enjoyment in an event thats business masked as pleasure," She says, purses her lips, "Go have fun, Ambrosia. I'll be over here."

"But I was hoping you'd--" Frustration reads over the tieflings face, and she cannot for the life of her figure out why. Definitely irritation then. So instead, she looks down to the glass, and avoids the woman's gaze. "Yeah. Okay. I won't be too far away, so if anything comes up..."

There's no polite way to tell her that she'd be watching, of course. So instead, she says, "Enjoy your dance," And learns back on the table to go back to observing.

~~

Kimon settles on stage and begins to play about midway through the show, the tabaxi man next to him giving him an odd look as he does so. But the sound of his fiddle is a welcomed familiarity, and she finds herself falling into step to the song.

Odd, she thinks. That wasn't part of the plan. But they exchange a glance, a nod, and she decides that what she's feeling at the moment is absolutely not panic.

~~

At first, she see's her out of the corner of her eye.

Ambrosia had, at the time, rushed off to entertain the two nobility that were running the party. That had always been more her thing- the woman was well read, and she was by no means shy to touch and magic. She made for a compelling distraction, if not an overall compelling person. She'd be wholey surprised if she'd not had one of the two nobles head over heels for her by the end of the night. Or, she supposed, that could perhaps be a bit of projection on her end. Still. She notices her because.. well, she's beautiful. It's the type of abstract beauty that she associates with wealth, sure. And while it takes her a moment to realize that, perhaps that's also as she appears tonight (she cannot hide the scars on her hands that come from years of magic use, not the callous on her heels from travel. But she knows, beyond that, she must look one in the same. ) Its... a level of beauty nonetheless.  

She raises an eyebrow to the woman, who'd been carefully seated on the edge of the window. The architecture was gorgeous. The doors and windows to the ballroom had been opened or cleared, letting the nights breeze blow in and revealing the all too picturesc view of the gardens to the inside world. Lights hover and glow about the walking paths, though the ones in the distance seem to be slowly beginning to fade or die. Almost as though telling the guests that it was almost time to leave. She makes not to herself to leave through the back, this time around.

"You look like your having fun," She says, carefully. She imagines her tone both gives away too much and not enough. Whether or not this is reality misses her, though after a moment she does feel as though she might be making this woman uncomfortable. Or maybe it was simply that she felt uncomfortable. Hm. She's not unaware of what she looks, however. In the end, it works to her advantage.

"Would you like some?" She offers, holding at the end of her plate, "I got some for my companion, but it seems like she's ah... Gotten distracted," she nods over to the woman in question, who seems to be entertaining the couple with a careful display of magic that comes with her heritage.

[koalataeil]

Stop Being So Sensitive (Poly!TaeyongxMark)

Shipping: Taeyong x Mark x Reader (Poly Relationship)

Genre: Angst, Fluff (I cannot help writing fluff I’m sorry)

Word Count: 1710

Scenario: Requested: Your boyfriends Taeyong and Mark released a song that contained explicit information of a night you spent with them without talking to you about it.

AN: I don’t even know the ship name for Taeyong and Mark please help. Also I’m COMPLETELY a sucker for poly!aus so if you have any poly!au requests, let me know! Also, I couldn’t find a good gif for this, I’m sorry!

After a long day at work, you just wanted to curl up in a warm blanket and relax. As you got home and changed into non-work clothes, you got a notification saying that there was a new MV release from your boyfriends, Taeyong and Mark. You had been so distracted lately that you forgot they were releasing it today. They’d finally been given the chance to do an album with just the two of them, and they were given creative liberty to do basically whatever they wanted. When they were preparing, they were over the moon. Although they somehow kept everything a secret from you, even though both of them admit to almost letting some things slip out.

Curling up under the blanket, you sat back and watched as the MV played on the TV. The MV featured a lot of black and white clothing and objects. The MV had sexual themes that weren’t well hidden. Both Taeyong and Mark looked perfect with the simple styling and all the right angles. They were joined by another person whose face was never revealed, but Taeyong and Mark were quite close to that person. The third person was blindfolded as Taeyong and Mark seemed to be kissing their neck and whispering in their ear.

Then you noticed the lyrics. The lyrics ran like an all too familiar story to you. It was so similar to a night you’d spent with the boys about two months ago when you’d all decided to try out each of your kinks. It was definitely a memorable night, but you definitely didn’t think it would’ve been turned into a song, especially a single that had an MV release.

The rest of the MV was spent listening to the rest of lyrics and ignoring the visual aspects. Some of the lyrics were specifically about your appearance and reactions to the things that were being done to both you and your boyfriends. There was even the mention of the other boy in each of their own verses, not being subtle about their real relationship in the slightest.

Your face began to burn with both embarrassment and anger. You couldn’t believe that they had made a whole song dedicated to that night, let alone make that song the single. They hadn’t even asked you if they could use something so intimate for their career. Even though none of you had gone public, it still upset you that you could be traced back to the song. Especially with some of their fans being able to search back and figure out what is going on, making everyone’s lives a million times harder.

When Taeyong and Mark got home, they called your name as they dropped their coats and bags on the table. They were excited to see your reaction to the new song. You stayed on the couch, your arms crossed over your chest, staring at nothing. “Hey Y/N, are you feeling okay?” Mark asked, knowing that you weren’t being your usual self.

While continuing to stare at nothing, you ignored them. “What’s wrong?” Taeyong asked, crouching in front of you and getting into your line of sight. He’d forced you to look at him. He reached up to touch your forehead but you moved away from his hand.

“Please don’t touch me,” you knew the reaction would only make him even more worried, but you didn’t want to be touched until you got an explanation. Taeyong glanced at Mark, looking both hurt and confused. He glanced at Mark who was standing a couple of feet away. “Why did you write that song without even asking me if it was okay?”

Mark takes a seat in a nearby chair. Taeyong sighs, “I didn’t think it was needed. It’s just a song.”

“Sure, it’s just a song to you, but that was such an intimate experience for all of us. Why would you think it’s okay to just exploit that without asking or even talking to me about it?”

“No one even knows about us. We haven’t gone public yet. Everyone’s just going to think it was something like whiplash or baby don’t like it. Just some fantasy or something. It wasn’t meant to upset you.”

“So was that night just some stupid fantasy so you could base a song off of it?”

“No, of course not! That’s just what the fans will think it is, It doesn’t matter what they think it’s about does it?” Taeyong looks over at Mark, who’d been just sitting and watching the whole argument. Mark, although he helped write the lyrics, didn’t want to get involved in the argument. He didn’t like arguments especially when you’d been so upset by something. He hated that he helped make you upset.

Mark said, “Y/N, I’m sorry. We never meant to hurt you. We thought you’d like the song. We thought it would bring back memories of that night and just be fun to look back at.”

You stood up, not wanting to be around them anymore, “I’m going to bed.” Taeyong and Mark both stood up and Taeyong grabbed your arm.

“Let’s talk about this.”

“I told you not to touch me,” you glared at Taeyong. He let go of your arm and watched you walk towards the guest bedroom.

“Stop being so sensitive!” Taeyong yells out right before you slam the door to the bedroom. Tears roll down your cheek as you curl into a ball on the bed, crying out all of your frustration.

“Taeyong, why would you say that?” Mark says, frustrated at Taeyong.

“They’re being so sensitive. They don’t even understand all the work that we put into that song, we made it for them!”

“We didn’t even think about how they’d feel about it though. We just assumed that they’d like it just as much as we did. We should’ve asked if we could write a song about something like that. Or at least brought up the idea before making the song.”

“I’m done talking about this right now,” Taeyong says, heading to the bedroom and slamming the door.

Mark sighs and takes a seat on the couch. He looks up at the ceiling and tries to gather his thoughts. He didn’t like this fighting. He just wanted to be able to hang out with his two favorite people. He didn’t even know where he’d be sleeping tonight. Your quiet sobs could be heard from his spot on the couch, and it just broke his heart.

After you’d calmed down, Mark walked over to the door and knocked lightly. “Y/N, it’s me. Can we talk please?” You didn’t reply for a couple seconds, making Mark worry even more about you. Before he was going to walk away, he heard a quiet “yes.”

He stepped into the room and walked towards the bed. His movements were careful as he didn’t want to upset you again. “Can I sit on the bed with you?” You nod, leading Mark to take a seat on the bed next to you. “Are you doing okay?”

You sit up and hug Mark and shake your head. He rubs your back, letting you take your time in telling him how you felt. He occasionally places kisses on the top of your head.

“I just don’t understand why Taeyong would say those things to me. He didn’t seem like even wanted to understand where I’m coming from. I get that this is your job and you spent a lot of time on this song, but you should’ve at least asked me about it.”

“I know Y/N. We should’ve talked to you about it. I’m sorry that Taeyong wasn’t being very understanding. I don’t think he meant to hurt you like that. It’s just been a long day for him, and he’s really proud of that song. I think he’ll calm down and apologize tomorrow. Why don’t we just go to bed now?” You nodded and cuddled up with Mark under the covers.

Mark started to quietly sing a song that you’d never heard before. It was a love song that had a lot of cute and romantic lines. When he was done singing what seemed like the first verse and chorus, he whispered, “Taeyong wrote that while looking at those pictures we took on our anniversary.” You smiled a little thinking about those ridiculous pictures Mark had begged both you and Taeyong to take together. “That song took the longest for him to finish because he wanted it to be absolutely perfect for you and me. He really loves you,” Mark smiled to himself before he got comfortable and fell asleep.

You stayed awake, thinking about some of the lyrics Mark had just sung for you. Your heart longed for Taeyong, but you knew you both needed your space for the night. Wondering why that song hadn’t been picked for the single and running through some of the lyrics over and over put you to sleep.

In the morning, Mark and Taeyong were already getting ready for their busy day with scheduling. When you finally got up, you trudged to the bathroom where Taeyong was brushing his teeth. Taeyong was looking at something on his phone when you’d leaned against the doorway and started to sing the lyrics that you could remember from the song last night. Taeyong looked over at you, eyes wide. He abruptly stopped brushing his teeth and stood in front of you. He sang the rest of the lyrics for you, his eyes never leaving yours. He kissed your forehead and whispered “I’m really sorry about yesterday and that song. I love you so much.”

Before you could respond, Mark, who’d been standing behind you, started to rap his verse of the song and gaining both yours and Taeyong’s attention.

Mark had started dancing weirdly and pulled Taeyong to dance with him, making you laugh at their ‘amazing’ dance moves. Once Mark had messed up his performance by laughing, he pulled you into a nice group hug. Although they’d never asked you for permission to write the first song, you forgave them and wished them luck on their first major day of promotions. The song even started to grow on you after a couple more listens.

[neversatisfiedswitch]

Home

Author’s Note: Sort of a plain title, but I couldn’t think of anything else. X’D I’ve wanted to write this for a while, once I gave my child Colton a Detroit: Become Human verse I wanted a Hank to like... take him in. Anyway! I don’t know how to Hank, I RP Connor but Hank is still kind of a mystery to me, so if he’s ooc then I apologize!

Warnings for language (as per the norm, only with Hank this time, he curse a lot), mentions of blood/gore/suicide, and a n g s t. But there’s fluff, too! :3

Summary: As Hank Anderson is just starting to get used to his android partner, he also opens his home to Colton-- a young man who is not fully android or human, and who helps him remember the way things used to be.

Word Count: 4531 (my longest thing yet!!!)

After his and Connor’s investigation at the Eden Club, and after leaving the android to go drink more, Hank was just as drunk as he’d been when Connor had found him, save for passing out on his floor. He cursed at the broken window in his kitchen, truthfully pissed off at Connor for more than just the shattered glass-- he was pissed about everything.

However, as he moved to get a broom to sweep the glass up, knowing he’d have to call to replace the window in the morning, he noticed something... odd. There was blood on the floor near the window-- not blue blood, meaning Connor hadn’t cut himself, but red blood. “ ... Sumo? You didn’t cut yourself, did’ja?” The Saint Bernard came waddling out from the hallway, the Lieutenant meeting him on the other side of the table to look him over. No cuts, no blood, which only meant...

Drawing his gun, Hank moved to the end of the hallway, clearing his throat to attempt to keep his words from slurring. “Whoever the fuck’s in here, this’s private property. Come out, don’t make me shoot-- an’ put your hands up.”

The light in the bathroom turned on, the slightly-ajar door moving open as a foot pushed it. Two hands were lifted-- Hank could’ve sworn through his blurry vision that one of them looked like an android’s, and the other was the cause of the blood on his floor, a large gash splitting the palm open. But what he didn’t expect was the eyes... or eye, rather, since the other was covered by hair. Gunmetal blue, scared and soft, peeked out from behind an arm-- both were shaking. With how skinny the person was... Hank assumed it was a kid. And it wasn’t just his arms that were shaking-- his whole body was trembling, from his shoulders to his knees. Whether it was from pain, cold, or fear, Hank couldn’t tell, but he surmised it was a combination of all three.

He holstered his gun-- seeing as how this kid was bleeding, and couldn’t be a threat due to his full-body tremors, there wasn’t any need to threaten him. He held one of his hands up, his voice quieter. “Alright, calm down, kid-- you can put your hands down now. Shit, you’re a goddamn mess.”

Sumo approached the boy as he lowered his right hand, the left being the one that was bleeding. Hesitantly, he petted the top of Sumo’s head, the dog’s tongue lolling out in a pant as Hank snorted. “Some fuckin’ guard dog you are.”

If he’d been sober, he might have been more abrasive, and definitely more harsh-- seeing as how this kid had come in through his window, he had every right to kick him out. But...

“Alright, I don’t know why you came through my goddamn window, but I’m not gonna send you back out. ‘Specially when you’re bleeding like you are. C’mon, sit down.” He pulled a chair back from the table, moving back over to the pile of broken glass so he could sweep it up. When he looked back to find the kid had taken maybe a few steps toward the table, he shook his head, sighing. “Kid, I just said I’m not gonna kick you out. Now if you don’t sit down, I’m gonna have to make you.” A few more hesitant steps and the soft sound of the chair scraping against the floor, and Hank smiled-- tiredly, but he still smiled. “There. Wasn’t so fuckin’ hard, was it?”

After getting up all the glass-- he’d get the shards outside tomorrow-- he dumped the broken pieces in the trash can, then rummaged around in his cabinets, coming back to the table with a warm, damp rag, some gauze, some bandages, and some hydrogen peroxide. “Alright, gimme your hand.”

The boy’s gaze lifted from the table, alarm clear on his face. While Hank was used to yelling at other people, even slamming his fists on surfaces to make his point, he knew he couldn’t do that-- with the way the kid was still shaking, he had to be patient. He sighed quietly, keeping his voice level. “Look, kid, I’m not gonna let you walk around with a bleeding hand. Lemme see it so I can make sure there’s not any glass in it.”

For a few moments, the boy didn’t move-- but with hesitance still clearly written on his face, he finally relented, carefully bringing his hand up and setting it on the table. Hank was gentle as he took it, surprising even himself, and he studied the wound, cursing softly. “Christ... coulda been worse, ‘cause I don’t see any bone, but that looks like it hurts like Hell. No glass, which is good news...” Carefully, he wiped the blood off of his hand, making sure not to touch the wound itself. He heard a hiss from across the table, and when he looked up the boy had his eyes squeezed shut, his head ducked down until his chin touched his chest. Normally, Hank wouldn’t feel bad about making someone else hurt-- but he tried to be more gentle, a frown on his face as he set the rag aside.

He opened the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, looking at the boy before he lifted it. “This might sting some-- so don’t freak out, alright?” He waited for the kid to nod before he carefully poured some of the liquid onto his hand, his frown deepening at the wince the peroxide drew when it made contact. It fizzed slightly for a moment, then it was gone. As he placed some gauze over the wound and began to wrap the bandages around it, he decided he should at least try and get some information out of the kid.

“Shoulda told you my name instead’a pullin’ my gun on ya... I’m Hank. Hank Anderson. I’m a police Lieutenant.” He focused on gently winding the bandages around the boy’s hand for a moment, thinking that after the silence, he’d ask the kid his name-- but his question was answered before he could speak again.

“Colton Robinson...” Colton had long since lifted his chin from his chest, but it wasn’t until Hank introduced himself that he’d decided to look back at the man. Pleasantly surprised, Hank smiled warmly, continuing to wrap Colton’s hand.

“Well, Colton... it’s nice to meet ya.”

--

Hank arrived to work the next morning to note that Connor was impatiently waiting at his desk-- impatience was uncharacteristic of the android, and he held his hands up in defense when the RK800 stormed over to him.

“Where have you been, Lieutenant? I understand you said you were drinking more, but I didn’t expect you to be late. Did you drink again after you woke up this morning?”

“Whoa, whoa, cool your fuckin’ jets, Connor. I ain’t drunk now, don’t fuckin’ worry about that.” He pushed past the android to sit down at his desk, glowering when Connor sat on the edge. “Then why were you late? What held you up?”

Hank held up his hand again, watching the android’s LED quickly go from gold to cerulean in seconds. “Just shut up for a minute. Jesus, Connor, lemme get my thoughts together.”

Connor held his tongue, waiting patiently for Hank to speak. Finally, the man sighed, shaking his head. “A kid came through my window last night, ‘fore I got home. He’s harmless, cut himself on some glass. I overslept ‘cause I spent a few hours tryin’ to get him to sleep.”

There were a few moments of silence before Connor spoke. “I’m sorry about the window, Lieutenant-- assuming the window he entered through was the one I broke. But... how old is he?”

Hank shrugged, rubbing his chin. “Dunno. All I got from him was his name. Colton Robinson. Looks young, though, late teens.” He looked up to see the android’s LED spinning yellow, and he groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re lookin’ up his name to see if he’s a criminal. That kid’s so easily fuckin’ scared that it ain’t funny.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke. “I can’t find anything on him specifically... but I found--” A hand was placed over his mouth, and he glared at Hank, who glared right back.

“Told ya to shut up. He ain’t a criminal. I don’t wanna hear anything else from you ‘bout him, got it?” Reluctantly, Connor nodded, and Hank removed his hand from his mouth. There was silence for a few moments before Connor spoke again.

“Could I meet him? If you’re alright with me coming to your home again, of course. Only to satisfy my curiosity, I promise.” He held up a hand when Hank’s ice-blue eyes stared a hole through him, but after a few moments, the man sighed in defeat.

“Alright, but we’re goin’ in through the front door.”

“I detect sarcasm in your response, Lieutenant.”

“Fuck you.”

--

Hank was careful as he opened the front door, not wanting to disturb Colton as he and Connor entered. He’d given the kid one of his old hoodies and a pair of his old sweatpants to sleep in, seeing as his clothes were wet and had his own blood on them, and in addition he’d given him pillows and blankets to use on the couch. So as they both walked to the living room, that’s where Colton was-- fast asleep on the couch, curled under the blankets with just his head out from under them.

“Heh... I was hopin’ he’d still be asleep. Good to know Sumo ain’t as useless as a guard dog as I thought. Well--” He glanced over at Connor, whose eyes were wide as his LED flashed yellow more frantically. “Uh... Connor?”

He carefully shoved the android’s shoulder, and Connor blinked rapidly, looking over at him. “Apologies, Lieutenant... I seem to be getting conflicting readings when I scan him. Did... he mention anything at all about himself?”

Hank shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, like I said, he only gave me a name. But he also kept hidin’ his right arm from me, tried to ask if he was injured but he said no. Hey-- what’re you doin’?” Connor carefully lifted the blanket from the boy’s arm, grateful he was laying on his left side. Both he and Hank were left speechless when, as Connor pushed up the sleeve, the unmistakable alabaster color of an android limb became visible.

“No fuckin’ way he’s an android. His blood was red, it was on my fuckin’ floor.” Hank moved to stand next to Connor as the android knelt down to study Colton’s face. “He’s not an android. That much I can say for sure. He seems to have a few android components on his body, and I can understand why he would want to hide them from you. He had a black eye recently, and a scrape on his neck. They’re healed enough that you can’t see them, but I can.”

Connor was keeping his voice soft, but Colton wasn’t a sound sleeper-- he had nightmares so often that it affected his sleep, even if he had a rare night of complete sleep. So as Connor was looking away, Colton’s eyelids were fluttering, and as if on cue, when Connor looked back into his face, his eyes were open. Instead of two normal gunmetal blues staring back, though, his right iris was glowing softly, pulsing a gentle blue much like Connor’s own LED.

The blue soon turned to yellow when Colton realized just how close the android was, and that his arm was uncovered-- and before either Hank or Connor could do anything, Colton was off of the couch. He backed away until his legs hit the table, hiding his right arm behind him again even though they’d seen it.

Hank was quick to cross the room, stopping just behind the couch when Colton looked like he was going to run. “Kid, it’s alright. Connor’s my partner. We’re not gonna do anything to you.”

Connor’s gaze was focused on Colton’s eye. As he approached-- slowly and calmly, so as to not spook the boy-- he kept his focus on it. As he stood in front of Colton, he was able to fully scan the eye, discovering something that fascinated him.

“Hank... these components are early prototypes. His eye is the earliest prototype of an LED-- originally androids had one normal-looking eye and one eye with the LED attached, but the LED was moved to the temple to make it easier to see.” Colton stared at Connor in amazement, his eye returning to a gentle blue as he shifted to sit at the table-- he kept his arm behind him, though, at least until Connor held his hand out.

“May I?” Colton hesitantly slid his hand between Connor’s, a slight shock going through his body-- though he couldn’t interface with androids, apparently he could still feel when they touched his arm. It was more than just the normal pressure something would have on it, it was full feeling, and it was strange and intriguing at the same time. Connor was busy scanning the limb, his thumb grazing the panel under his wrist-- the panel that didn’t do shit, as Colton had previously discovered-- when he turned his head back toward Hank.

“This is one of the earliest android limbs put into circulation... before they made androids more human in appearance and began adding artificial skin.” He looked to Colton again, squatting down in front of him and releasing his arm. “Is there anything else that you can show me?”

Colton seemed hesitant, his fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt. But looking into Connor’s eyes, despite them not being human eyes, made him at least feel like he would be okay, and he swallowed, leaning over to grasp the ends of his pant legs. He slowly pulled them, one at a time, up until they were above his knees. Hank was shocked at what he was seeing, and he moved to stand beside the table, staring in bewilderment at Colton’s legs.

Much like his arm, they were of the same plastic material that all android limbs were comprised of. His legs, from the knees down, were pure white, though when Connor took his ankle and lifted his leg, both he and Hank saw that the bottoms of Colton’s feet matched his skin-- meaning the soles had been attached separately. “These are both from the same batch his arm came from...” Connor mused, more to himself than to either Hank or Colton.

Colton looked... ashamed. That was the only word Hank could think of to describe the expression on the kid’s face, besides upset. He didn’t seem uncomfortable with Connor’s examination, but he looked distant-- more distant than he was with Hank the previous night. Against his better judgement, he carefully placed a hand on Colton’s shoulder, feeling the boy jolt slightly in surprise but ultimately relax once he knew it was Hank.

Connor stood, and Colton quickly pulled his pant legs back down, bringing his knees to his chest as the android leaned back against the couch. Crossing his arms over his chest, Connor’s expression showed that he was deep in thought. “How does a healthy human end up with three android limbs and a prototype eye on their body, especially one so young?”

The question was rhetorical, really. Connor hadn’t meant for Colton to answer, but the boy’s soft voice was loud enough for both of them to hear. “My father put them there.”

Both Hank and Connor’s heads snapped up, and they looked straight at Colton, then at each other. Connor’s LED flashed red for a split second before returning to yellow, and his eyes were wide as he spoke. “Hank-- at the precinct I was trying to tell you that I’d found something. Not on Colton, but on someone sharing his last name.”

Hank and Colton were both watching Connor now, and the android moved to stand in front of Colton again, his voice unfaltering. “Is your father’s name Oliver, by any chance?” The way the boy’s muscles tensed was enough of an answer for the partners, who looked at each other grimly as Connor continued his train of thought.

“Oliver Robinson’s name is one that isn’t heard much anymore. Elijah Kamski hired a few people to help design his first androids, but Oliver’s designs are the ones that Kamski followed the closest. I knew his name from when Amanda was giving me files on CyberLife to consult with, but it didn’t occur to me until I saw it again when I was searching at the precinct.” He pursed his lips, brows furrowed in thought. “That means... Oliver might have been testing his creations before he could get them approved.”

The small nod from Colton was all the confirmation the Lieutenant and the android detective needed. What they didn’t expect were the words that followed.

“I watched him build the parts. Wh-when I was younger, he’d let me play with the spare or unneeded components.” He swallowed, and when Hank squeezed his shoulder, he leaned into the touch. “H-he was a good dad, until my mom... died.” Clearly there was something beyond that statement, but neither Hank nor Connor were willing to prod further. “After that, h-he... knocked me out. I woke up... like this... covered in blood, and everything h-hurt... and I ran.”

Colton felt his vision blurring, and his breath hitched. “I-it was four years ago, a-and I still s-see him when I fall asleep. I...” Tears interrupted his words, and he buried his face in his hands, his breaths hitching and threatening to morph into sobs. Hank and Connor shared a look-- though Hank’s eyes showed more pain than Connor’s, they understood each other perfectly.

Connor knelt in front of Colton, under the pretense of pulling him into an embrace-- and while Colton froze at first, he wrapped his arms around Connor’s neck near-automatically, making it easier for the android to place his hands under Colton’s legs and lift him. Looking back at Hank, Connor was surprised to see that the Lieutenant was gesturing for Connor to follow him to his bedroom, and even more surprised when he motioned for Connor to lay Colton on his bed. Certainly, in Connor’s mind he thought that maybe Hank was thinking about his son, and what he’d do if this were Cole-- but he dared not say anything, instead just laying Colton on the bed and gently patting his arm as he moved away.

Hank’s fatherly instincts had kicked in. Of course, he wasn’t this way with every kid that he came across-- he’d seen more kids at homicide scenes than he’d wanted, but this was... different somehow. He couldn’t really figure out how, if he was honest with himself. But he didn’t focus on it, instead just pulling the covers over Colton and sitting down next to him, gently wiping tears from his face, then running a hand through his hair.

“You don’t gotta say anything else, Colton. You just try’n sleep, alright? Connor and I ain’t goin’ anywhere, just in the next room. I’ll even let Sumo in to keep you company, if you want.” A small nod, and before Hank could turn around, Connor had already called the St. Bernard, who trotted into the room and leapt onto the bed, laying down next to Colton. The boy smiled shakily, immediately wrapping his arms around the dog’s neck in a hug, and Sumo did nothing but snort, his tail smacking against the bed.

“Sleep well, kid. I’ll be back later.” Hank didn’t turn out the lights as he and Connor left the room, keeping the door open a tad in case Sumo wanted to leave later. He grabbed Connor by the arm and pulled him to the door, whispering to the android. “Do me a favor-- look for more information on that fucker, his dad. Prick doesn’t deserve to be called that, really. I wanna know--”

“Apologies, Lieutenant... but I was already doing so while you were tucking Colton in. It appears that about a year ago, Oliver Robinson was found dead in his home. Suicide. He left a letter, but it was covered in too much blood to be readable.” Hank’s tension faded, and while Connor would have been worried to see relief on the man’s face were it any other human being that had been found dead, even he knew this was an exception.

“Hope he’s rottin’ in Hell, where he belongs.”

--

Colton had been sleeping on the couch again, despite Hank telling him he could sleep with him-- Hank had found that the kid could be stubborn, about as bad as Connor, except Hank didn’t have to live with the android. Unsurprisingly, Sumo stayed in the living room with Colton, not that Hank really minded.

But tonight was different.

The Lieutenant nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt someone crawling into bed with him, and he quickly jumped into his more alert state of mind, turning on the bedside lamp... to find Colton, looking an equal amount of sheepish and scared as he was halfway under the covers.

“Jesus, kid... you scared the hell outta me.” His tone wasn’t angry, or even frustrated-- just tired. He’d found that it was hard to get mad at Colton, he was just too nice to be frustrating. “Is everything okay?”

Colton swallowed, looking down at the sheets and anxiously rubbing them between his fingers. Hank knew right away from how red his eyes were that it was a nightmare-- probably a pretty bad one, too. “Got it... c’mon over, kid.” At least now, Colton had begun to trust Hank more-- and it showed when he pressed himself against Hank’s side, resting his head on the man’s shoulder.

Hank chuckled at just how quickly Colton had moved over, ruffling his hair-- but as he lowered his arm, feeling for where the blanket was, his thumb brushed Colton’s side and the kid squeaked, jolting. Hank’s brows raised, he knew Colton hadn’t been injured-- mostly because he stayed around the house, and with Hank around his harassers had been few and far between. So...

“You alright, kid?” The fact that Colton was covering his side and nodding his head very quickly sold it for Hank-- clearly, Colton wasn’t hurt. “You sure? You made some godawful noise, I wanna be sure nothin’s wrong.”

Before Colton could protest, he’d been pulled into Hank’s lap as the Lieutenant sat up-- and Hank wasn’t even trying to hide the grin on his face. Colton squirmed slightly, already starting to giggle despite himself-- he might not have had many good memories of his father, but this was one of them.

“I’m not even touchin’ you, and you’re already laughin’? You must be real ticklish, then.” The word itself made Colton blush bright red, and he ducked his head against Hank’s shoulder, making the man snort. He jumped as he felt fingers digging into his side from where Hank had pulled him over, and immediately, hysterical giggles poured from his lips. He twisted in Hank’s hold, but only succeeded in making the fingers migrate to the side of his tummy-- and that was when he shrieked, genuine laughter escaping him.

“Shit, kid, you’re a sensitive one, ain’t you?” Hank chuckled and moved his other hand to tickle Colton’s tummy as well, aiming for the middle rather than just the side-- and the dam broke completely, Colton tossing his head back against Hank’s shoulder as his laughter became louder. “Seems like I found a bad spot here, huh?”

Colton was laughing too hard to be able to say anything-- that was how it had always been. In the back of his mind he remembered one day when he was younger, when it was just him and his father in the house, before his mother died. How his father chased him up the stairs and tickled him until he was near tears, and held him until he fell asleep afterward.

Of course, Hank wasn’t his father, but when the older man’s finger wormed into his navel, Colton certainly felt that they must have known each other somehow, what with how they both targeted his worst spots as soon as they found them. His body jolted and he tried to squirm away from the tormenting fingers, but found himself unable to-- he was tired, and despite him grabbing onto Hank’s wrists to pull his hands away, it was no use.

His laughter quickly became silent, his eyes squeezed shut as tears of mirth formed in them-- but before they could fall, the tickling stopped, and his whole body slumped, his head laying back against Hank’s shoulder as he wheezed softly.

“You alright, son?” If Colton had been more aware, and less out of breath, he would have frozen where he was. Hank had never called him anything but “kid” or his name... and it was strange to hear that word come from someone else, someone other than his father. He sluggishly nodded his head, glad that at the very least, his slight blush would be confused for being out of breath. As soon as he was able to breathe normally again, though, he knew he couldn’t just leave the man’s question verbally unanswered. After wrestling with himself for a few moments, he cleared his throat, finally speaking.

“I’m alright... dad.” It was Hank’s turn to freeze, and Colton felt as though he’d done something wrong. He closed his eyes tightly again, waiting for Hank to kick him out, or yell at him, or just get pissed at him... but it didn’t happen. Instead, Hank smiled, mussing up Colton’s hair and chuckling when he yelped.

“Alright, enough excitement... I gotta get up early, or Connor’ll come an’ break another window to get in if I don’t show up on time.” Colton giggled, starting to move away as Hank reached to turn off the lamp. He was surprised when Hank looped an arm around his waist and pulled him back over, squeaking again like he did earlier.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, kid? I told you t’sleep over here, you don’t gotta be shy.” Colton didn’t respond at first, but slowly he leaned to rest his head against Hank’s chest, the sound of the man’s heartbeat helping him as he closed his eyes. When Hank began to card his fingers through Colton’s hair, that was it-- he was out like a light.

Hank wouldn’t notice it in the dark, but for the first time in a long time, Colton was actually smiling in his sleep.

[gukyi]

interconnection | myg

⇒ summary: you can never trust anything in the wizarding world. not even your own goddamn journal. 

⇒ {hogwarts!au}

⇒ pairing: yoongi x female reader

⇒ word count: 8k

⇒ genre: fluff

⇒ a/n: all poetry in y/n’s journal written by yours truly! obviously, anything written in yoongi’s journal is written by him. also, i know the word count’s pretty short in comparison to my seokjin fic, but a majority of this fic is in messaging format, which explains both the great physical length and the shorter word count. inspired by this drarry fic, which rocks and u should read. edit (04.20.18): the poems in this fic are now formatted strangely because tumblr mobile took away the foundation for this entire piece: the indent. thanks, tumblr mobile, for absolutely nothing.

“all art is quite useless.” — wilde, 1890.

The first thing your mother bought you in Diagon Alley, age eleven, was a worn, brown leather journal, its pages tinted and stained but empty nonetheless. She got it off of the highest shelf in the top corner of the crowded bookstore, stretching her arms and legs to reach it, the last of its kind.

“What’s this for?” You asked as she placed it in your open, waiting palms.

“For you to write in while at Hogwarts,” she said. “I find that words always seem to have a better way of flowing when on paper rather than out loud. Don’t you?”

“I dunno,” you responded, shrugging your little shoulders as you placed the journal in your cauldron along with the rest of your required schoolbooks. “Isn’t it dumb to keep a journal?”

“Only if you treat it as such,” your mother replied, as sage as she always was. “Come, let’s get you a wand.”

With the mention of a wand, your mind wandered far from the beaten leather journal in your cauldron as you skipped out of Flourish and Blott’s, unaware of how significant the journal would end up being in your later years at Hogwarts.

When you first opened the journal on your first night at Hogwarts as an empty-minded eleven-year-old, the blank pages frightened you. A world of words only you could come up with was millions of miles away, and staring at the tan pages wasn’t going to make it come closer. That night, you shut the journal roughly, cursing your mother who wasted her money on a journal that would never be put to use.

Six years later, eleven-year-old you wouldn’t know that journal like you do now, know the feeling of its worn pages and smooth, wrinkling leather, what you have become so keenly familiar with over the years. Sure, this journal doesn’t hold your deepest, darkest secrets nor your wildest dreams directly, but the allusions never end, forever continuing on in each poem you write.

You’ve always been a fan of poetry, ever since your mother taught you about the greatest works of the great poets as a child. Wordsworth, Poe, Keats. They are names you know, names you admire. There was never anything spectacular about Wizard poets, not when everything is easy and everything is simply done with magic. No, people like Poe and Keats and Wordsworth wrote about life like it was a struggle, like there was always something you were missing in it. In a sense, there always is.

Perhaps your Muggleborn background is another factor in your love for poetry, but verse knows no blood status and even the greatest Wizards need to sit down and read a little bit of Eliot once in awhile, you think.

The poetry you write is mundane, nothing compared to the greats that they were, but it is home and it is an odyssey all the same, the words flowing off the page and smeared from how frantic you were when you wrote them.

You cart the notebook around with you wherever you go, knowing that keeping it in the confines of the common room will likely lead to its exposure one way or another. Gryffindors were never really good at keeping out of other people’s business. The journal is as precious to you as your wand, never letting it out of your sight.

It’s not uncommon for students to keep a journal, especially for their first couple years as they adjust to the school, to the sleepless nights and forbidden hallways. What is uncommon is the fact that you’re fast approaching graduation, merely a few months left before you’re thrust into the real world and treated like adults with responsibilities and taxes, and the journal has never left your side, staying with you through every standardized test and every Hogsmeade visit. You are, dare you say, the last of your year to hold onto something as menial as a diary.

“Are you going to keep writing in that after Hogwarts?”

You look up at the sound of the voice, knowing that it’s directed towards you. Your fingers are still holding onto the pages of your open journal, lying on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, as you pause, mid-browse.

“This?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“I want to keep it as my school journal. A specific time in my life.”

“But surely, if you’ve written in it for so long, you might as well want to keep going?”

“I feel like seven years is a pretty substantial amount of time to write in a journal.”

“You’ve never run out of room?” Another friend butts in, her potions homework forgotten in front of her. No wonder she’s failing the class; she lets herself get too distracted.

“I asked the librarian for spells to add pages.”

“Oh,” they say.

“Yeah,” you say.

Your journal is not often the topic of conversation between you and your friends. Your friends have long known that the journal is not theirs to look through, so they don’t bother asking, but occasionally they will have questions as they see you scribbling down something before your next class period. It’s strange to see you writing in it so out in the open like you do sometimes, since you often reserve your writing time for when you are curled up in the common room, sitting by the fire as you guard the pages from view. Inspiration, however, strikes at the most inopportune moments.

“What do you write about?” They ask you whenever they catch you jotting something down.

“Art. Love. Work. Emotions. You. Me.”

“Us?”

“All of us.”

“That’s lots of people.”

“Not everybody. Just people that interest me.”

“Who interests you?”

“Those that don’t try to.”

If there’s one thing that your friends complain about, it’s the fact that, whenever you do talk about your journal, your sentences become clipped, fragments of full phrases lacking in conjunctions. It’s not that you don’t want to make your sentences, well, actual sentences, it’s just that you never really want to say too much about your journal. It is yours, after all.

“Well, who are you writing about now?”

“I don’t know.”

Truth is, you don’t. The boy that’s caught your attention this time is nothing but a stranger, someone you’ve never spoken to, a face lost in the sea of students. From his build, he doesn’t look to be much younger than you, meaning he might even be in your year. He’s got platinum bleached hair, the mop the only thing you can make out as he snoozes on some textbook. Next to him is a boy a couple years younger—you recognize him, he’s the Quidditch commentator for most of the matches—prodding him gently with his pointer finger. The platinum boy does not budge.

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“You’re a real mystery, you know that, Y/N? A goddamn mystery,” one of your friends comments, scoffing.

You chuckle to yourself, closing your journal and smiling. “I sure hope so.”

he sleeps to forget or, maybe he sleeps to remember but in his dreams he is somewhere and nowhere and he is everything  and nothing all at once. zzzz… his brain says do not let me leave… for i am finally at peace.

You had originally believed that after writing about a person, a stranger, in your journal, you’d go on to forget about them, but that doesn’t seem to be the case this time. Since you wrote that single poem about the platinum-haired boy, fast asleep on a textbook in the Great Hall, you can’t help but notice him everywhere you turn. He’s in the library, in the hallways, in the bleachers of the Quidditch field. It’s his hair—or maybe it’s that soft, hazy smile he has permanently etched onto his lips—that makes him stick out, makes him so easy to spot even in the oceans of students that surround the both of you.

He’s in your year, you’ve found out that much, but you can hardly remember anything about him. You don’t remember him on the train, nor at the Sorting Ceremony, nor in any of your classes. It is only now that he’s left a mark on you, made a wrinkle in your brain that you can’t seem to forget about.

If you were brave, you would speak to him. If you were brave, or daring, or unafraid, you would approach him and say hello, introduce yourself. But you are none of those things, and so all he is is another boy you’ve written about, another student lost in the haze.

Perhaps in a perfect world.

Though, you suppose, if it was a perfect world, you would never have anything interesting to write about.

Shit begins to hit, pelt, the fan while you are eating supper in the Great Hall, surrounded by your friends as your journal lays forgotten on the sidelines, open to a blank page as you happily chat about nothing and everything in particular.

“How’s tutoring going?” You ask your one friend, the one who’s not doing so hot in potions.

“It’s going,” she jokes. “I have a good tutor, I’m just shit at applying myself.”

“Story of my life,” you chuckle.

The chatter goes on like this, friendly banter between buddies as you swallow down the meal in front of you. This is the only time after classes end that you actually get to spend socializing, before you bury yourself under layers and layers of schoolwork. It’s just another night, the days always flowing by like clockwork, no variation with each passing hour.

It’s just another night, until your ridiculously clumsy self somehow manages to elbow a discarded cup of tea, knocking it onto its side and spilling its contents all over your opened journal.

“Oh no,” you declare, not even making to try and clean up the mess, watching the liquid stain your blank pages with futility.

“Y/N! Aren’t you gonna do something?” Your friends exclaim, watching as you stare helplessly at the mess beside you.

“Me? What?”

“Y/N!”

It’s then that you finally come to, shaking your head as the panic overtakes you. You stand up quickly, rushed as you dart to the closest napkin, dabbing it on the spill to soak up whatever hasn’t already damaged your journal.

Your friends are all the help, gathering the disregarded Daily Prophets from that morning and running over. Once you’ve let the tea take its toll, you place your relatively damp journal on top of the newspaper to dry, pushing it down the table so it can get the most air, away from your scraggle of friends as you continue to chat as if the whole incident lay forgotten.

You’re knee deep into a conversation about whether having dragon heartstring or unicorn hair is more beneficial to doing transfiguration, you, a firm believer that dragon heartstring reigns supreme, when a foreign voice invades your discussion.

“Do you write all this stuff?”

You whip your head around to find a Gryffindor by the name of Namjoon, holding your dangling journal between his thumb and his pointer fingers as he shuffles through the pages with his other hand. You can see the tea dripping slowly from the corner of the cover to the newspaper below it. You recognize Namjoon quite well, he’s a tutor, sort of a know-it-all as far as you’re concerned.

“What?” You snap, beginning to feel yourself seethe.

“Do you write this stuff? It’s really good, you know. Very interesting,” he comments like it’s nobody’s fucking business. The problem is, it is very much your goddamn business.

“Were you raised in a barn?” You ask incredulously, rushing up to him and snatching your journal from his fingertips. “Who on this godforsaken Earth taught you that it was perfectly fine to fish through someone else’s journal?”

Namjoon merely smirks, and it makes you frown, disgust lacing your features. “So it is yours, eh, Y/N? Didn’t know you were so deep.”

“Stuff it, Namjoon. I never fucking asked,” you say. Namjoon’s gotten absolutely unbearable, ever since his Head Boy friend graduated last year, leaving him to completely his own devices without anyone to keep him in check. You miss that Head Boy. He was nice.

“But your journal did. I mean, it was lying out in the open, far away from any person who displayed any signs of ownership. It was practically begging to be read.”

“You’re a goddamn piece of shit,” you spit, and he chuckles at your comeback. “Go shove a textbook up your ass.”

“Not a fan of people reading your writing, I get it,” Namjoon says, hands up in surrender as he begins to back away, the cheeky smile still drawn on his face. “I, for one, think you are an excellent writer, Y/N. You should let people read your stuff. They’d like it.”

“Not a chance.”

He walks away, leaving you breathless and boiling.

“He’s such a tool,” your friend says, hand rubbing your arm to calm you down. “That’s why I didn’t want him as my tutor. I couldn’t stand being around him.”

“I think Y/N needs some time to calm down. Look at her. She’s practically overheating.”

Your friend pulls your journal from where you’re clutching it to your chest, smiling awkwardly as she places it back down on the newspaper, pushing it over to where you sit so you can have a better eye on it.

You’re never dealing with this again.

You spend the rest of the night shuffling through the innumerable books in the library, desperate to find a spell that will prevent anyone besides you to fish through your personal, private journal. Anything to prevent the Namjoon Situation from ever happening again. God, what an asshole. Has he never heard of respect? Personal space?

Admittedly, doing this instead of your homework is a terrible move on your part, because not only are there no spells designed to resolve this type of predicament—which you find outrageous, especially because aren’t wizards supposed to come up with solutions to every problem? That’s why they have magic, obviously—your search takes up a good few hours hunting through the table of contents of each library book that piques your interest, and by the time it’s nearing curfew and you’ve collected a grand total of zero spells, all of your homework lays incomplete on your bed, begging to be finished. But you are determined, and the librarian is trying to shuffle the last scraggle of students out of the room so they don’t miss their curfew, so you merely pick up the pace.

You and the librarian are mutual friends at best, since she’s always helping you out with your journal and recommending her favorite wizard poets, but when she peeks her head down the aisle and sees you frantically shuffling through a dusty old thing, she hisses.

“Ms. Y/L/N! Do you know what time it is?”

And just as it so happens, that dusty old thing that your fingers speedily flip the pages of happens to have the one spell you think will work, a little scrawled piece of handwriting that sticks out like a sore thumb in comparison to the rest of the book’s printed text. At least someone tried.

“Can I take this, Professor?” You ask hurriedly as she walks over to you, a hand on your back as she gently shoves you towards the exit.

“Yes, sure, whatever,” she waves off your request, waiting until you’re outside the library before she brutally shuts the door in your face, but you couldn’t care less.

You’ve finally found what you’re looking for.

The door to your common room creaks closed, and then the curfew bells sound, echoing along the stone walls as you sigh a breath of relief, grateful you and Filch will not be meeting in the darkness of the empty hallways tonight. Most of the other students in your house are also lounging around in the main lobby of the common room, chatting amongst themselves or struggling to work in the quietest place they can find, which isn’t very quiet to begin with—Gryffindors, to put it nicely, don’t know how to shut the fuck up—anyway. You’re pleased about this, because this means you can go straight up to your dormitory without anyone bothering you, perform this slightly sketchy spell on your journal, and begin the daunting task of finishing all the homework you refrained from doing.

“Y/N!”

You whip your head to the source of the sound and see Namjoon waving you down, nursing a bottle of Felix Felicis in his hand, a telltale sign that you should avoid him tonight. If he’s awful when he’s sober, imagine how much of a nightmare he is drunk.

In hindsight, turning around was an abysmal idea, because now Namjoon knows you’ve acknowledged him, and he’s going to capitalize off of it.

You keep walking, pushing through the conglomerations of students and making for your dormitory, hoping he won’t try to engage you any further.

There’s a hand grabbing onto the sleeve of your robe, and you’d rather die than have another conversation with him, but you look at him regardless.

“Can I help you?” You ask, trying to make your voice sound as ticked off as possible.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Namjoon says, and suddenly, you’re starting to like drunk Namjoon a lot better than sober Namjoon. “I didn’t know. My friend schooled me on it.”

“Cool, apology accepted,” you spit quickly, desperate to get his grubby fingers off of the edge of your sleeve and your body up to your bedroom, where your journal waits to be protected. “Leave me alone?” Even though it comes out as a question, it’s more of an order.

Namjoon is much easier to get rid of tonight than he normally is. He backs away from you, leaving you with a pleasantly friendly smile as he makes his way towards where he was chatting with his friends, letting you scurry up to your room in peace.

Once there, you grab your journal from where it was locked up in your trunk and place it on the floor in the middle of the dormitory, since you would like to avoid lighting yourself or your bed aflame should this spell go horribly wrong, thank you very much. Shuffling back to the page in the book with the scrawled little handwriting in faded quill ink, you hold out your wand tentatively. For some reason, your hands are shaking. The professors always told you never to perform spells not taught to you, and only use the ones from a trustworthy adult or a renowned book. Well, you’re already in your last year, so what’s the worst that could happen?

You know you have to get this spell over and done with, especially because you can’t have someone walking in and seeing you screeching unfamiliar magic at your inanimate journal, so you take a deep breath, focus all your energy on the journal, and read out the words written on the page, loud and clear. A burst of purple light flies out from the end of your want, hitting the journal square in the center of the cover. For a mere moment, the journal looks to be levitating, sparkles flickering around it, before it hits the floor with a thud, like nothing happened to it in the first place.

You shut the book in your hands, throwing it on your bed carelessly as you step towards the journal, hand stretched out to grab it but the rest of your body as far away from it as you can go, just in case you happen to electrocute yourself or something. That’d suck.

When your fingers finally gloss over the leather and nothing happens, you smile to yourself, pleased. Picking your journal up and making your way back to your bed, you quickly finger through the pages, and all of your poetry seems to be perfectly in tact.

One of the other girls that shares your dormitory traipses up the stairs, significantly worn out, and you rush towards her, journal in hand.

“Hey,” you say, catching her by surprise. “Could you open this for me?”

She doesn’t even question your request—no wonder why, people ask some strange favors in this school—and does what you ask, opening the journal with no effort as all. However, before you let yourself deflate in disappointment that the spell was simply a dud, you see that all of the pages before her are blank, your words erased entirely, like they were never written in the first place.

“Is that it?” She asks you, holding your notebook out in front of you.

You take it gladly, smiling to yourself. No more Nosy Namjoon, as far as you’re concerned. “Yes, thank you.”

Only the next day do you learn why teachers always told you never to use spells not taught to you properly. You’ve been spending the whole day boasting to your friends that you found a spell that makes your journal your journal, for your eyes only, letting them bubble with friend-anger and envy, anger at the fact that now they, truly, won’t be able to snoop through your journal (though it’s not like they were evil enough to be planning on doing that), and envy at the fact that you solved your issue with a single wave of your wand, easy as that.

You’re skipping around campus, very delighted with yourself and your superior problem-solving skills—that’s what being a witch is all about, right?—when you look around for a bit too long and make eye contact with the boy with platinum hair, the one that is incessantly present in your brain, seeing him sitting on a log in the courtyard, writing his homework, probably. He looks up at the same time that you look at him, and you stop in the middle of the hallway you’ve been happily gamboling down, and you stare at each other.

It’s actually not staring. It’s more like, gazing. You gaze at each other, and he doesn’t make a move and neither do you, but you’re finally meeting his eyes for the first time and even though he’s so far away it looks like he’s lived a lifetime—no, several—already, aged and wise and experienced. It looks like he has the secrets of the universe hiding out in his irises, his pupils, and he’s waiting to find someone to share them with.

You’re a bit more daring today, so you wave, cracking an awkward smile as you raise your hand, shaking it ever so slightly. A small, puny little smile grows on his, or maybe you’re just imagining it, but that’s all you see before you turn, skipping off to the library, where you have a feeling you know what your next poem is going to be on.

the universe. it is not in the sky where it should belong but rather it rests in the eyes of a boy who is too young, too innocent to have seen such a lifetime before him and every time he blinks he sees another story, another tragic end and he hopes that the next time he closes his eyes this story will be a happy ever after.

And now, the realization that you should usually always listen to your professors because they tend to know what’s best for you soon comes to fruition, because you’re about to close your journal, when you see handwriting that does not belong to you, scrawling itself on the bottom of the page where you wrote your poem about the boy.

nice poem

Excuse me?

[you] WHO ARE YOU

[stranger] WHO ARE YOU

[you] WHY ARE YOU IN MY JOURNAL

[stranger] WHY ARE YOU IN MINE

[you] ???? this is my journal???

[stranger] i believe this is my journal.

[you] i fuckin hate wizards.

[stranger] are you a muggle?

[you] no, i just hate us.

[stranger] relatable.

You’ve filled up nearly an entire new page, but you’re noticing your words fading as you write them, disappearing into thin air on the parchment in front of you, like invisible ink, but only backwards. Every word that pops up onto the page from whoever is on the other end of your weirdly transcendent journal disintegrates about ten seconds after you’ve read it, the speech literally sinking into the paper.

[you] how did you get into my journal?

[stranger] pretty sure this is still my journal.

[you] but i can see you writing.

[stranger] well, i can see yours.

[you] this makes no sense. how can you see my writing when you don’t have my journal?

[stranger] it’s not like i know.

[you] i literally cast a spell on my journal so people wouldn’t be able to read it.

[stranger] and how trustworthy is said spell?.

[you] …

[stranger] well, that explains that.

[you] are you judging me behind a goddamn journal cover?????????

[stranger] i’m not not judging you.

[you] can you read what else i’ve written?

[stranger] i can see your poems, if that’s what you’re asking.

For fucks sake. This is all totally against anything and everything you wanted from Sketchy Book Spell. You don’t know if the Namjoon incident is worse or better than this, a random stranger that you can’t even visualize, access to every single thing you’ve written down in your duration of Hogwarts attendance.

[stranger] can you see my stuff?

[you] you write?

[stranger] can’t you see it??

You flip backwards a couple of pages, and printed right where your poems used to reside are words that do not belong to you. It looks like poetry, when you see it from a first glance, artsy and cut off and short, but when you investigate a little further, it’s not poetry. It’s lyrics. The stranger writes lyrics, and holy shit, they are good.

give me some drinks, i want to get drunk today please don’t stop me anything will be fine alcohol is a luxury for a bum but i can’t stand it sober everyone else is running why am i the only one here

You suppose that in exchange for inadvertently sharing your entire life story in the form of verse, it would only make sense for the person on the other end to have their private lyrics revealed. Neither of you are getting much out of this, other than a nice, jovial chat.

[you] i can.

[stranger] guess it goes both ways then.

[you] yes, i guess it does.

[stranger] do you know how to fix this?.

[you] no, i found the spell that caused this in the first place in an old book.

[stranger] okay, but wouldn’t that book have the counterspell?

[you] no, someone wrote in the spell at the bottom of the page.

[stranger] didn’t your mother ever tell you not to use spells not put in print?

[you] i’m not very good at following rules.

[stranger] clearly.

[you] hey! it’s not like i WANTED this to happen.

[stranger] well, it happened.

[you] no shit sherlock.

[stranger] so can you fix this?

[you] i’ve never been very good at solving problems.

[stranger] ?

[you] that’s literally why i have a journal. because i can’t solve my problems.

[stranger] so you write about them instead?

[you] yes.

[stranger] i do that too.

[you] do you mind telling me why you write the lyrics you do?

[stranger] what goes on in my mind isn’t necessarily stuff other people want to hear.

[you] i have the opposite problem. everyone wants to see what i put in this thing.

[stranger] and that’s why you cast that spell?

[you] precisely.

[stranger] well, no one else can see it except me.

[you] i don’t know if i prefer that.

[stranger] you’ve read my lyrics. i won’t judge you.

[you] i won’t judge you, either.

[stranger] do you trust me?

[you] i’m not sure.

[stranger] i trust you.

It’s not like you can get any more personal with whoever is on the other end of your messaging journals.

[you] i guess i trust you too.

[stranger] i’m suga.

[you] i’m Y/N.

[suga] nice to meet you, Y/N.

[you] nice to meet you too, suga.

And for some strange reason, as you sit in the quietest corner of the Gryffindor common room, scribbling away on your journal, wasting ink as you watch it disappear on the page before you, you feel like whoever this Suga person may be, you are comfortable with them. It’s as if you were meant to share your writing with them all along.

Keeping the majority of your identities offers some sort of security blanket between the two of you, a safe haven, where neither of you have to specifically worry about the other finding out who you are, or where you are, or why it was you who chose to write in your respective journals. When Suga doesn’t know who you are, and you don’t know who they are, it’s easier, because you feel like you can say anything without worrying about repercussions.

[suga] i never asked you,

[you] hmm?

[suga] are you a she?

[you] do i seem like a she?

[suga] your words definitely read like one, not to be gender stereotypical. i don’t mind if you’re a he, or a they, for that matter.

[you] you read well.

[suga] so i’m right? you’re a she?

[you] got it.

[suga] i’m a he. in case you wanted to know.

[you] i didn’t, but thank you for telling me.

[suga] i’ll tell you anything you want to know.

You’ve refrained from informing your friends that the reason you’ve been so engaged with your journal recently is because there is a mystery man on the other end, responding to you like he’s know you his whole life. You don’t really think they need to know this.

What your friends have noticed is your particular affinity for trying to sneak glances at a certain boy, because they know you and they watch you look around each room you enter, like you’re searching for someone. You’re not exactly very good at being discreet, especially when it comes to the boy with the platinum hair and hazy smile.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” A hand waves in front of your face, snapping you out of your mindless trance. When you look down, the inked quill in your hand has drawn a squiggly line all across one of the blank pages of your journal, but this time, it vanishes.

“What?”

“Were you looking at someone?” Your friend asks, an eyebrow raised in something that looks like curiosity and excitement.

“I think so!” Another chimes in. “I think it was him.” She points towards the boy, who’s currently sitting quietly, a quill pointing towards his textbook. He’s surrounded by other boys, all from different houses, and they’re chatting away, tossing bits of food at each other.

“Jungkook? Isn’t he the commentator?”

“No, not him, the Slytherin boy.”

“Yoongi?”

Yoongi. The boy finally has a name. You glance up at the mention of his name, smiling to yourself as you think about him. There is something that makes him stick, something about him that keeps him afloat in your mind, refusing to sink.

“Aha!” One of your friends shriek, making some of the younger students in the Great Hall look towards you, trying to find the source of the exclamation. “You do like him, don’t you?”

Your cheeks heat up furiously, and you scowl, bested by your friends. “No comment.”

“I knew it!”

No point in trying to dig yourself out now. The only thing that you can do is prevent yourself from getting buried any further. “I’ve never even spoken to him before.”

“That’s ridiculous,” your friend says, at the same time another one speaks, saying, “That’s understandable.”

“Why?”

“He’s a quiet kid. He’s in our year, but I never notice him anywhere. He’s always writing something down—doing homework, probably—he’s got fantastic grades—or sitting amongst his friends, that rowdy group of boys from all different years and houses,” your friend explains, and suddenly it all makes sense, why you never see him. It looks to you like he doesn’t want to be seen for whatever reason he may have.

“Trust you to have a crush on him,” your other friend jokes, nudging you with her shoulder as she smirks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You act exactly like him,” your friend spells it out for you. “You’re quiet unless you’re with friends, and you’re always writing shit down in that spell-ridden journal of yours.”

“Don’t bring my journal into this,” you say, hugging the book to your chest tightly, like a security guard.

“All I’m saying is that you should go talk to him.”

Like that’s going to happen.

[you] how old are you?

[suga] eighteen. you?

[you] 17.

[suga] you write well for a seventeen-year-old.

[you] you write well for an eighteen-year old.

[suga] do i, now?

[you] i don’t know what it is, but you write like you’ve already lived a life, and you’re looking back on it.

[suga] like a sad old person?

[you] yes.

[suga] -_-

[you] i’m kidding! you just seem sage. mature mind for an immature body.

[suga] that’s one way to put it. who’s the boy you keep writing about?

You were going to get there eventually. Yoongi, whoever he is, has become somewhat of a recurring character in your poems, the same platinum boy who keeps making a comeback in your writing as he slowly overtakes each crevice in your brain.

[you] just some boy.

[suga] doesn’t seem like ‘just some boy’ to me.

[you] my friends think i have a crush on him. how juvenile.

[suga] do you?

[you] not you too!

[suga] i just wanted to know! it doesn’t seem like you do. it just seems like you’re interested in who he is.

[you] at least you’re not as persistent as they are.

[suga] your poems don’t exactly scream ‘unrequited love with fellow schoolboy’ to me, if it’s any consolation.

[you] at least you’re on my side.

[suga] you haven’t given me a reason not to be.

[you] i don’t know how i feel about him. he just won’t get out of my head.

[suga] in a bad way or a good way?

[you] both? neither? god, i don’t know.

[suga] judging by your poetry about said boy, it must be in a good way. you don’t really write about boys and universes if you’re thinking that they’re a piece of shit.

[you] yes you can! what if i had written something like ‘i wish the universe eats you up so i don’t have to see you again’? that’s not very positive.

[suga] haha i guess you can, then.

[you] i mean, you’re right, i’m not bothered in the slightest with his presence in my head. it’s quite comforting, actually.

[suga] let me guess, you’ve never talked to him?

[you] HOW CAN YOU TELL?

[suga] not hard to. if you had spoken to him, you would’ve written something else, something about his voice. maybe his lips.

[you] what are you, some sort of psychoanalytical journal whisperer?

[suga] shit, you’ve revealed my true identity. i hide out in worn leather journals so innocent, unsuspecting schoolgirls like yourself can come chat to me, then i take their souls and make myself immortal by consuming them.

[you] creep.

[suga] haha. listen, i don’t really know who this boy is, but i, for one, think he’d be lucky to chat to someone like you.

[you] you do?

[suga] you’re witty, sarcastic, well-spoken. i don’t see why any boy would turn down a conversation with you.

[you] thanks, suga.

[suga] hey, i might be a serial killer whose primary method of soul-extraction is via journal, but i’m always here to help.

And alright, so maybe you’ve never met Suga before, but revealing all of your concerns with your crush-not-crush on Yoongi to him doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world. In fact, you just might take Suga up on his advice. He seems to know what he’s talking about.

Your subsequent interaction with Yoongi happens the day after Suga told you to actually talk to him, and he’ll be very pleased to know you do just that. Your friends were right—he is always writing something down, even as he’s lying flat on the lawn of the courtyard, textbooks and scrolls of parchment decorating the area around his strewn-out hair, inkwells and used quills among the mix. He looks, for one thing, irrevocably photogenic, and a little bubble of envy pops in your brain. How dare he always look good. That is Not Allowed.

You tentatively approach him, journal resting in your hand by your side, almost blending into your black robes if it weren’t for the difference in the fabric. He’s craning his neck as he writes something down, in some sort of notebook, as he occasionally glances to the side, stretching to see the tiny little font in the textbook to his left. It looks like the most uncomfortable position you could ever somehow warp your body into, but for some reason, he looks perfectly fine.

“Hello.”

Yoongi shoots up, quickly shutting his notebook as he turns to you, eyes blown impossibly wide. Clearly, he’s not used to people talking to him.

“Hi,” he says, short and sweet.

“I’m Y/N.”

“I know.”

It makes absolute sense that he would know who you are, but not you him. It just seems so cliche, how you’ve hardly noticed him throughout your schooling but he’s already seen you in the hallways, his classes, a name easily put to the face.

“Oh, of course you do,” you say awkwardly, chuckling to yourself as you fiddle with the journal in your hands, switching it between your left and your right so you don’t look stiff as a statue.

“Can I, uh, help you?” Yoongi asks. His voice is a little rough, but still smooth, like ice cream with cookie bits crushed into it.

“Me? No, I just wanted to say hello, you know. Get to know you,” you reply, your hand gestures wildly out of control. It seems that you can’t keep still in front of him, fidgeting and squirming like an impatient child, desperate for some sugar.

“Oh,” Yoongi says, hands behind him, propping his body up. “Well, I’m Yoongi.”

“I know.”

Yoongi grins to himself. “Glad we’re on a first-name basis, then, Y/N.” He motions to the journal getting tossed back and forth between your hands, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“This? Oh, um, just homework. You have one too, don’t you?” You say, desperately trying to get the conversation off of your journal. You don’t really want to discuss it with him, especially not when there are poems inside of it about him.

He looks to where you’re pointing, the black book beside him, and he chuckles awkwardly, a forced laugh. “Guess we got one thing in common, then.”

“I’m sure we have more in common than that,” you insist.

Yoongi begins to gather up all of his belongings, shoving them into one uneven pile, quills and parchment alike, holding it with both of his hands, his little black book sitting neatly on top. He looks at you, grinning a smile that’s gummy and sweet. “I guess we’ll have to find out about that, won’t we, Y/N?”

With the last word tucked under his tongue, he’s off, walking in the opposite direction from where he was facing you, leaving you embarrassingly breathless in the middle of the courtyard.

That night, when you open up your journal to write down your thoughts of the day, you see that Suga has already beaten you to it, claiming a fresh page for a new batch of lyrics, as beautifully wistful as always.

the awkwardness was only for a moment, i touched you again even though i was gone for a long time without repulsion, you accepted me without you there’s nothing after the dawn, two of us we welcomed the morning together don’t let go of my hand forever, i won’t let go of you again either

You decide to add to the mix, letting the words leave your brain and engrave themselves on the page before you, soft and gentle.

his grin he may have the universe written amongst his eyes but his grin oh, his grin it has hell and heaven all across the outline of his lips. it’s lopsided, like he knows something i don’t, and of course he does, after all, there are nebulas in his irises, comets on the inside of his eyelids, a galaxy painted across his vision, and i see stars.

It’s only a matter of time before Suga opens his journal to see your addition to the mix, sappy words of love, making the both of you terribly hopeless, terribly romantic.

[suga] i take it you spoke to him?

[you] what gave it away?

[suga] all the universe references. i feel like i’m reading a young adult romance novel.

[you] you sort of are, aren’t you?

[suga] it’s a very well-written young adult romance novel. lots of verse, little prose. i’m not good with prose.

[you] is that why you’re a lyricist?

[suga] one of the reasons.

[you] why else?

[suga] to hide behind my words.

[you] hmm?

[suga] i’m a new person when i’m writing. i’ve created an identity for myself.

[you] am i currently speaking with this identity?

[suga] you are.

[you] you’re fascinating.

[suga] that’s the last word you’d use to describe me if you knew who i really was.

[you] i already find it fascinating that you, whoever you decide ‘you’ is, have channeled such emotion into your lyrics that you’ve shaped a new persona out of it. that takes true dedication.

[suga] it’s more of an escape, actually.

[you] tomayto tomahto.

[suga] did you realize halfway through writing that that you couldn’t necessarily emphasize the different enunciations via written text?

[you] maybe.

[suga] you’re fascinating, also. how’s the boy?

[you] don’t tell my friends, but i think they’re right.

[suga] i kind of already figured they were.

[you] hey!

[suga] it’s not hard to tell. only a person in love would start comparing their lover’s body parts to falling meteors.

[you] did my poem scream ‘unrequited love on fellow schoolboy’ to you? well, what do you suppose said person in love should do about it, love expert?

[suga] love expert, huh?

[you] you seem to know what you’re talking about. ever dated someone, suga?

[suga] can’t say i have, but i could offer you some words of wisdom.

[you] fire away.

[suga] do your best.

[you] my best?

[suga] i can’t imagine why this boy wouldn’t want to talk to you. there’s no reason why he would avoid you.

[you] isn’t there?

[suga] no. there isn’t.

With great practice, your conversations with Yoongi slowly transition from awkward, empty small talk to mindless chatter you don’t mind listening to, not when you find yourself lost in the haze of his voice as it settles around you, invading your senses. Listening to him speak is like listening to the white noise in The Three Broomsticks, soothing and peaceful. It is so difficult not to drown in the sound.

“How long have you known about me?” You ask him one day as you’re secretly camping out in the Slytherin common room, completely immune to the confused and snarky looks the other Slytherins are sending your way, you, a Gryffindor with that obnoxious red collar of yours.

Yoongi tilts his head back on the edge of the couch, revealing that beautifully smooth neckline that you want to do things to, but you won’t mention that. “Since first year, I suppose. I remember your name.” He looks at you, a cheeky smile on his face. “You didn’t remember me, though.”

“Hey! You were a quiet kid,” you defend yourself.

Yoongi chuckles heartily at your indignation.

Perhaps this is crossing the line, but every marker has been blurred over the past few weeks that you’ve been talking, the border between you two nothing more than fuzz, so you reach over, twirling a bit of his platinum bangs in between your fingers. “When’d you do your hair?”

“This summer. Can’t you see my roots?” He asks, tipping his head forward to reveal the most beautiful blend of ivy black and lightning blonde atop his head.

“It looks good.”

“I need to dye my hair again,” Yoongi huffs. “What color should I do?”

“Green? Like your robes?” You suggest jokingly, and he scrunches his nose up at the thought of him, with bright green locks.

“Maybe not. How about pink, like yours?” He contemplates.

“My robes aren’t pink.”

“Close enough.”

“You’d match all the Gryffindors,” you remind him.

He shakes his head. “No, I’d just want to match you.” When you look at him, his cheeks are tinted the same shade of pink you’d imagine would decorate his hair, a soft rose color that makes him glow in the morning, afternoon, and evening.

[you] is suga the only identity you’ll allow me the pleasure of meeting?

[suga] i wouldn’t exactly call it pleasure.

[you] i find it pleasurable. you’re wonderful to talk to.

[suga] i feel like you’ve become too trustworthy of me.

[you] maybe you’re right. i mean, i haven’t heard of many pedophiles who write crushing lyrics about loneliness and the loss of youth, but you never know. you could be a serial killer.

[suga] and you’re making jokes about it?

[you] you’re not a serial killer, suga, though it would be nice to know who the person holding the quill is.

[suga] i’m not so sure you’d like to know.

[you] what’s not to like?

[suga] most things.

[you] you say you’ve created an identity for yourself, but i highly doubt that identity varies much from who you really are. we don’t have to meet or anything. i’d just like to know who you are.

[suga] i feel like meeting is the only way we could do this.

[you] i’m in school, i can’t just up and leave. i don’t even know where you are.

[suga] i’m in school, too.

[you] are you, now? where?

[suga] i don’t imagine i make it difficult to guess.

[you] let’s see. you write in english, which could mean nothing considering lots of foreign schools are teaching english anyway, but you write lyrics in english, which means you have a greater understanding of the language, so you’re a native speaker. this could put you in america, england, or australia, for the most part. if you said you were in school as any sort of consolation, then that means us meeting isn’t at all implausible, which places you in england, at hogwarts. and judging by that, you definitely know who i am.

[suga] who’s the sherlock now?

You wish you could say it would surprise you that you’ve narrowed it down so well, and that the very person you’ve been messaging via journal has known you this entire time, but it doesn’t. And in the dusty crevices of your brain, there lies a sneaking suspicion as to who you’ve been speaking to, and it both excites and terrifies you.

[you] where do you want to meet, fellow hogwarts student?

[suga] the courtyard?

Suspicion confirmed. Guess you are quite the Sherlock, after all.

When you turn the corner of the hallway and the courtyard comes into view, a certain platinum-haired boy with unruly roots and a lopsided smile catches your eye as he sits on the ledge of the wall, foot tapping on the ground to some imaginary song, probably one of his own. You walk up to him happily, your arms swinging by your side, the journal resting in your hands.

He sees you, too, and he stands up when you near him, mouth open to offer some sort of explanation, but you beat him to it.

“Suga, huh?” You say somewhat loudly, your voice unwavering, filled to the brim with confidence.

Yoongi’s eyes widen, the same look he had on his face when you approached him but a few weeks prior. “You knew?”

“Not until yesterday,” you admit. “But I had a feeling.”

“What gave it away?”

You grin. “I hate to break it to you, Yoongi, but you and Suga speak the same way, an aura of concern and disregard lacing your words. If you were trying to run from the police by hiding under a different name, you’d be absolute shit at it.”

“Wow, thanks for telling me that,” Yoongi says, chuckling. “I guess I better work on my soul-sucking tactics.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Can I—can I see that, for a second?” Yoongi asks, motioning to the journal in your hands.

You hold it out for him, and when he takes it from you and opens it up to compare it with his, sure enough, your messages, poems, and lyrics cover the pages of both of your journals, the scrawl completely mirrored. He gives it back to you almost instantly, shoving it into your outstretched hands as he fumbles in the pockets of his robes, pulling out a quill with a bit of dry ink on the end. Quickly, he flips his journal open to a clean page, untouched by the both of you, and wets the end of his quill with his tongue. When you look down at that exact same page, you watch him draw on one page, curving the line to reveal half of a heart, split right down the middle where the books are bound.

“May I?” You ask in response, and he lets you grab hold of the quill in his hand. You look down, finishing the heart out on the opposite page, and the both of you look down at your respective journals, watching the ink fizzle into the journal like it was never there in the first place.

“Good to know we’re both on the same page,” Yoongi jokes, shooting his beautifully gummy smile your way, making your cheeks heat up at the sight.

You shut your journal and hold out your hand, a symbol of peace, friendship, romance, or all of the above. He takes it gladly. “Haven’t we always been?”

When you go back to your dormitory that night, you open up your journal to find a message from your one and only, written in the same spot where that heart once was.

[yoongi] i love you.

[you] i love you, too.

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[the-truest-sentence-i-know]

The Tutor’s Son (ch 3)

Fandom: Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper

Pairing: Anneliese x Julian

Rating: G

Summary:  Duty or love; which would you choose? •♡• Anneliese is living the life of a princess: attending important events, going to council meetings, and being trained by her mother to take the throne one day. Then a childhood friend comes back into her life and she is faced with a difficult decision: Duty or love?

(other chapters)

ao3 ||| ff.net ||| wattpad

We decided to meet in the library at nine-thirty the next morning to discuss what we would study. After breakfast, I walked down to the library, my favourite pink gown swishing around my ankles.

Pushing the library door open ahead of me, I looked around, but didn't see Julian. I was rather early, so I browsed the shelves, looking for a new book to read. As I turned a corner, I bumped into somebody.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said quickly, looking up to see Julian's blue eyes centimeters away from mine. I had forgotten how bright his eyes were.

After a few seconds, Julian blinked and shook his head quickly. "Oh, it was my fault, Your Highness." He quickly stepped away.

I sighed. "No, no, I should really look where I am going. And, also, please just call me Anneliese. You always used to."

He looked at me again, a more confident smile spreading over his face. "Of course, Anneliese."

We walked to the large table at the back of the library. "Of course, in front of my mother the formal title will need to be used."

"Just like the old times," he said, looking aside at me with a smile.

Sitting down at the table, I noticed a large pile of books that Julian had clearly already stacked there. He began to sort through them as he sat down.

"So, my father said you are particularly interested in the natural sciences."

"Yes, specifically geology."

"Geology, interesting," he leaned more comfortably in his chair. "So how many of the geology books in this library have you read?"

"All of them."

He blinked. "All of them?"

"I mean, I have not studied all of them extensively, but, yes, I have read all of them."

"Alright," he said, a smile spreading over his face. "Let's do a quiz."

I grinned. This is going to be fun. "Are you well-versed in geology, then, Julian?"

He grinned. "Quite."

Sitting forward and squaring my shoulders, I looked at him expectantly.

"Let's start with something fairly simple," said Julian. "What is stratigraphy?"

That is easy. "The fairly new study of rock layers and their layering, called strata and stratification respectively."

"What does cross-bedding always indicate?"

"Either ripples or dunes."

"What is the difference between these two?"

"Ripples are under six centimeters, and dunes are over six centimeters."

"What is centifolia?"

"A trick question," I said, smiling. "That is the specific epithet for the Provence rose, Rosa centifolia, also known as cabbage rose or Rose de Mai. Coincidentally, also my favourite flower."

He looked down at the table with a small smile. "What classification of mineral is stibnite?"

"Sulfide," I said confidently. "It's a sulfide mineral."

"Close, but no."

"Yes, it is," I insisted.

He shook his head. "No, it's not, it's silicate."

I raised my eyebrows. "Check the book."

"I will check the book," he said, taking it from the pile. He flipped to the right page, read a few lines, then sighed and shook his head. "You're right, it is in the sulfide class."

I smiled widely. "I told you I liked geology."

He returned the smile. "Clearly I do not have a lot to teach you when it comes to geology." He crossed something out in the paper in front of him. "What subjects do you struggle with?"

"History and mathematics."

"So, we can focus on those." He circled them on his list. "Anything else you'd specifically like to study?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Well, I would like to study many things, but I should work on my French, Spanish, and geography."

He circled these on his list as well. "Five subjects should probably be sufficient for now."

For the rest of the morning, he quizzed me in the five subjects to gauge my level. Around twelve-thirty, we both began to feel a bit hungry.

"I think that's probably enough for today," said Julian, closing the atlas.

"We could eat lunch in my room," I suggested as we set the books back on the shelves. "Then we could talk, too."

He smiled. "That would be lovely."

We went up to my room and I rang for lunch. Julian looked around the room as we passed through.

"I see that you recently had a portrait painted," said Julian, referring to the giant portrait of me on the wall.

"Yes," I said, looking up at it. "Kind of ridiculous, having it here, isn't it? It makes me seem narcissistic."

"I wasn't going to say it in that way," he said. "But, yes, a bit."

I shook my head and laughed.

"I assume that it was not your idea to have it hung here," he said as we walked out onto the balcony.

"No, definitely not."

We sat at the small table on the balcony, looking out over the garden.

"Remember when I tried to cure you of your fear of heights?" I asked.

Julian grinned. "Unsuccessfully, I might add."

"I probably just made it worse, didn't I?"

"Well, I very nearly fell to my death, so it would be safe to assume so," he said earnestly.

"I think that's a bit of an exaggeration, I was-" I started, but stopped when I said that Julian was trying hard to keep a straight face.

We looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing, remembering all the lengths I had gone to to get Julian to climb trees with me.

There was a knock on the door. "Come on in, Maria," I called. "we're on the balcony."

The small redheaded lady's maid came onto the balcony with a tray laden with sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade. Seeing her struggling with its weight, I quickly got up and took it from the smaller girl.

"Thank you, Maria," I said, setting it down on the table.

"You're welcome, highness," she said, dipping into a quick curtsey before leaving.

We each grabbed a sandwich and Julian poured us each a cup of lemonade.

"So," I asked. "How was university?" "Didn't you already ask me that last night?"

"Yes, but then we were in the presence of our parents." I grinned. "Now we can speak freely."

"I liked the professors and, like I said before, it had a wonderful library."

"And your fellow students?"

Julian paused a moment before answering. "They were..." he frowned. "alright."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He sighed. "Most were of noble birth. They had all paid to be there. They all thought they deserved to be there more than I did."

I put my sandwich down. "That is ridiculous!" I exclaimed. "You were there through scholarships. I would warrant that you were one of the cleverest students there!"

Julian smiled. "I appreciate the sentiment, but don't worry, it didn't bother me very much. There were a few students I got a long with, who were there for the education, not the prestige."

"Oh, good," I said.

Just then, Serafina padded onto the balcony and hopped onto a chair. I stroked her head.

Julian put his sandwich down and turned to look at the white cat. "Who's this?" he asked, letting Serafina smell his head.

"Serafina," I said. "I got her two years ago."

"She looks very prim and proper," he said as Serafina primly folded her paws beneath her and curled up on the chair.

"Oh, yes, Serafina is a little lady," I said as we went back to our lunch. "Probably more of a lady than I 'll ever be."

We chuckled and continued to eat and chat. Before we realized how the time had flown, it was time for me to go to the Garden Society Tea.

°•♡•°