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the-last-ghost · 4 years

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As promised, Chapter 1 of my new story, The Woodsman. I hope that you all enjoy it. Please, like, share, or comment away; I appreciate it all and my inbox is always open if you ever have any questions, comments, concerns, or requests. Thank you all for the support and putting up with my hectic posting!

The Woodsman

Introduction:

Many stories usually begin when two strangers meet, lost family is reunited, true love is found, or best friends join together, all to set out on some epic quest… And just like any fairytale, it always ends with them living happily ever after.

But what of those for whom the story wasn’t the focus? What about their happy ending? Is their story any less important? The Prince may find his true love, but what about his trusted guard who protected him along the way? The shepherds daughter runs away to a life of wonder at sea with a Captain who promised her adventure, but what of her dearest friend back home who helped her get away?

The tragic part is that you will never really hear their stories. It is often assumed that they go back to what they did before, or they found some measure of peace and contentment with how the story ends. But sometimes… Sometimes they are not happy with how things end; perhaps their story is not quite over, not yet. So, they set out again to try and find that little something in life that they have been searching for. Maybe, no matter how thrilling their life is after setting out again, just maybe there is no happy ending for them… Maybe their story does not get told because, who wants to hear about a tragedy after finding their own happily ever after?

Still… The story goes on anyway…

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Chapter 1: Farewell

The tavern sat alone but proud at the last true crossroad along the Eastern edge of the Fanisa Forrest. Lights illuminated every window, their warm glow flickering out beneath the door, casting shadows and silhouettes everywhere one looked. The horses snorted and seemed to sway faintly as the sounds of music reached them. The sign by the door read, “The Hero’s Den” in fresh, red paint; but if you knew the area like me, you’d know that the true name is and has always been, “The Roads End.” For this is where many stories always seem to end…

I make my way inside and am greeted warmly by my dear friends and have a full mug given to me by Sally, the serving girl who I know has been here for more years than I can count. At the long table in the center of the room, I hear hearty laughter bellowing out from Derrin, Viti, Greda, and the rest of the crew of the Horizons End as old jokes and new stories are traded around. As I take a seat at an empty table near the back, I watch as Sally runs drinks while dancing through the crowd, a smile filling her lips and a rosy glow filling her face as she locked eyes with Viti. Across from their table, Old Vern tells stories of his time before, “the wee lad” sought him out, asking for his help. I don’t even have to listen to know that Dahla is scolding him about how, “the wee lad” is finally back where he should be, as the true King, and that he should be shown respect… Before they both burst out laughing; no doubt going on about how crazy fate must be for their old friend to now be a king. All around me, I see friends, old and new alike, sitting side by side as they drink and make merry, telling the tallest tales as they simply enjoy being alive…

Finally, my eyes drift up to the place of honor, the two “thrones” set nearest the hearth; clearly as a joke for they are still the most basic of the tavern’s chairs. Yet my eyes are drawn to those sitting there, my dear friend, the Lady Sasha, now my Queen. Next to the love of her life, Zain, the new and rightful King laughs as Captain Derrin goes on about how he had to rescue the King long ago from being pulled of his ship while fishing. This night is for them, friends and comrades all, drawn together from all across the land; for now their fight is over, and peace can finally be restored to the land. Tonight they make merry, for tomorrow they will be drawn into the trappings of court and all the other duties life will demand and many will all go their separate ways, but tonight, none of it matters for they are together and nothing can hurt them.

I sit in my little corner of the room, watching and listening to the stories as the night goes on. Occasionally I share a respectful nod with some of the soldiers, a silent raised mug with a sailor, and a friendly wave across the room; but I hold back, for tonight is for them and I’ve no wish to ruin it… Eventually I watch as Captain Derrin makes his stumbling way atop his table as he rouses his crew into song after song, all while dancing drunkenly, much to everyone’s delight. They sing songs of old, songs of new, songs of the deeds that have been done and of the glory they have found; soon the songs mellow down, and the candles start burning low. The room is quiet for a while before I hear Viti’s voice signing slowly cut through the quiet of the night and I realize that it is their old farewell song for those they have lost at sea. I forgot that her voice could be so hauntingly beautiful…

“Here we gather now,

In some far and distant town,

As we raise a mug of ale,

To those who’ve set sail…

For tonight we live and laugh,

And wish you the very best,

For the sea, she’s come to claim you,

And may the stars guide your way.

The Horizon, she is calling,

So my friend, be not afraid,

For though now you may be leaving,

We shall meet again someday.

I will see you when it’s over,

On the Horizons End,

It may still yet be a long time,

For we never can know when…

But we’ll drink ale by the barrel,

And catch up on all the tales!

So it’s goodbye for now, farewell,

Now hoist the flag and set sail!”

As she sings, the crew all joins in and I see old friends share solemn looks, comrades raise their mugs, lovers hold each other closer… Sasha takes hold of the King’s hand…

I finish off my drink and make my way for the door while they are distracted by the song and lost in their own thoughts. No one seems to notice as I don my cloak and rest my hat upon my head; I take a last look inside at them all, happy and together, before turning away into the night. I make my slow and quiet way to the stable and saddle up my horse, Vira, before guiding her toward the road and climbing into the saddle. It’s best that I leave now, lest I ruin this happiness I’ve helped them find.

I’ve only been on the road for a brief moment when I hear a sign-song voice echoing faintly from the trees around me. “And just where do you think you are sneaking off to, hmm?” I sigh heavily and reign in Vira to a halt before saying softly, “Alara…” Suddenly behind me, I look over my shoulder to see her sitting daintily on the back half of my saddle, regal as if she were in some castle and not on horseback in the woods. “Of course you would be the one to see me leave. You can’t stop me, you know that. Not this time.” Without even looking my way, she replies, “You know that they are going to ask questions, right? They are all going to want to know why the ‘Savior of Lathuia’ just left without even saying goodbye…” Even as she says this, I can tell that that’s not really her concern. “Oh please,” I say, more spitefully than I intended, “We both know that they’ll understand why I left. And don’t call me ‘Savior’ because I know you remember what I had to do…” I trail off as I look away from her. “Fine then,” she says forcefully, and gently grabs my face, making me look into her piercing, amber eyes. “You are right. I know what you did, but I also know why too. Anyone who loves someone that much, is more than worthy of a second chance at happiness. So I ask you, what will She think about you leaving her now? After everything the two of you have been through together, you just decide to walk away?” I refuse to speak for a while, even as I feel a tear start to well up. “What is it you want, Fairy?” I know their kind well enough these days; they always want something from you… “Now, now,” she says, with mock offence, “There is no need for that. I am here because it seems that you are the only one not enjoying this little happily ever after… I want to know why.” I pull away from her grip, breaking free from her paralyzing gaze. “You know that I’m happy; thrilled even, with how things turned out. Sasha found her true love and is finally happy, actually happy, for the first time in a long time. And now she’s the Queen, no less! What, are you upset that I’ve forgotten to thank you for helping us? I apologize; thank you for everything, truly. Now please, let me be on my way.” I turn back forward and nudge Vira into a slow canter. As I do, Alara floats around in front of me, still sitting while in the air. “You love her, really love her… Don’t you? Of course… You hardly looked at them, but her… You couldn’t take your eyes from her all night.” Blasted fairies, you can’t get anything by them. “So what? You love her and now you are going to run away from it all? Is that your plan?” Refusing to even look at her, I continue on. “Fine! Yes, yes Alara, I do love her! I have since the moment we first met.” I bark out harshly, annoyed that she of all people is delving into my feelings like this. “And you know my story. You know it doesn’t have a happy ending; at least not anything like what they have now… But no, I’m not simply running away. The kingdom may be theirs and the people love them, but there are still many things out there that can end it; there are still many outside the kingdom that would gladly see them both gone.” I glance up at her briefly, and for a moment the look on her face was almost as if she came to a decision, but it’s so hard to tell with their kind.

“So, you love her and are choosing to leaver her… All because you wish to set out and make sure that she stays safe and the lands are protected… That’s very noble of you…” She says the last, almost to herself. “If that is truly the case, then you know that this path with take you far and wide, through many long, difficult years.” I look her in the eyes and mockingly joke, “Well then, it would appear that the Seer was right after all. How was it that the prophecy went again?” I ask the last but continue on before she can say anything.

“A warrior alone without a cause,

A sailor adrift without a ship,

A traveler lost with no stars to guide him,

A man destined to love that which cannot love him.

You will climb to the heavens,

Descend into the darkest depths,

No land too wide or ocean to vast,

To travel forever to protect what you have lost.”

We are both silent for a moment, remembering that night from long ago… “That sounds right too me; and you know just how far I would go for her… Besides, I would simply drive a wedge between the two of them if I remained behind. I’ll not ruin their chance at happiness; not after everything I went through to make it happen.”

Alara watches me, her eyes glowing faintly. “You truly would protect this land from anything out of your love for her, wouldn’t you?” Though she says this aloud, I can tell she doesn’t need an answer. “Wonderful, then that is all that I needed to hear. For I am going to help you; or rather… She is…” Alara then nods to something behind me and as I turn to see, I watch as a woman steps gracefully from the trees; in the sudden fog that I never noticed roll in, it appears as if she is almost literally coming out of the trees… Her skin glows with the light of the moon itself, small, blooming flowers are entwined in her hair, and her gown is as vibrant a green as a springtime forest. “You’re…” My voice comes out shaking, slightly above a whisper. “I have gone by many names over the years, my son. For now though, you can call me Gianna.”

#fantasy #fae #faery folk #fairy tales #fairytail #story #short story #storytelling #original story #new story #humans are weird

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taeken-my-heart · 4 years

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#33 with Jungkook please 😄

Ah, be still my heart! I love these two. I hope you enjoy!

“Are you staring at me?” You asked, looking up at your best friend whose eyebrows twitched in surprise.

“What? No! I wasn’t staring…I-I was looking at something behind you!” Jungkook spluttered, scratching at his shoulder and shifting his gaze back down to his book.

You glanced behind your shoulder but the library was mostly empty by now. The hour was late and people were winding down. Finals started tomorrow and you had a stats exam you were sure was going to kill you.

You turned back to face your books, smile peeling your lips into a grin. Jungkook had been acting weird recently, shifting glances, more jumpy than usual. It all made you wonder what was going on inside that head of his.

“You’ve been acting weird recently.” You commented casually and he bit down on his bottom lip, scribbling something in his notebook.

“I’ve always been weird, guess you’re just now noticing.” He insisted and you grinned as he flushed.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You asked and he looked up, surprised.

“That’s a random question.” He said softly at the glare of a student at a nearby table.

“Yeah,” you giggled, “but do you?”

He paused a moment, thinking. Of course he remembered when the two of you had first met. Thirteen year old Jungkook was about as smooth as 22 year old Jungkook but at least puberty had done him some good since then. At the time he was small and scrawny, high pitched squeak of a voice and ultra-shy. He’d joined a mathletes group at his mother’s insistence that it would help him in math (read: it did not.)

You were there as a fellow late bloomer, scrawny and flat the same as him, but you were pretty and so, so nice. You helped him with everything he didn’t understand and he became your best friend. It had been 9 years since then, but here you sat still, both having filled out a little more and you looking just as pretty as ever.

“Yeah, I remember.” He murmured and you smiled again; shy.

“That’s one of my favorite memories.” You admitted, closing your book and leaning towards him; the boy with stars in his eyes and whispered promises that sounded like fairy tales. “The day I met you is my favorite day so far.”

“You make it sound like you haven’t had a very good life.” He whispered; breathless. He couldn’t quite believe that out of all the glorious days you’d graced the planet, meeting him was your favorite one. It made no sense.

“Actually, my life has been excellent…ever since meeting you.”

Jungkook flushed, ruffling his hand through dark hair. Puberty may have changed him physically, but it had not given him the ability to accept compliments well. You looked too pretty in your baby pink sweater, fingers twisted up by your chin as you perched in the cup of your hands.

Any guy’s fantasy, he was sure of it. Some guy out there was going to be very lucky someday. He was staring again, he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. You looked gorgeous, even under the library’s hideous florescent lights. You’d complained that they never did you any justice but he begged to differ. Nothing could diffuse how beautiful you were.

“Jungkook,” you whispered and his eyes flickered to your lips, transfixed. “Are you staring at me?”

He couldn’t stop his smile, eyes flicking back up to your own. You looked soft and comfortable, fingers tapping at your cheeks gently with a small curl in the corner of your lips. “Yeah.” He admitted, bewitched, “Yeah, I am.”

“Good.” You smiled, leaning across the table and kissing him softly, pulling back just enough for your eyes to refocus. “I’ve been looking at you too.”

#btsbookclub #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #anon #asks

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scribblesofanaricat · 3 years

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Kaleidoscope Icarus

(big thank you to Toni for helping me with parts of this)

Alone in bed. Covers twitch. Clock hands rattle around their beaten path and I count it backwards. A meander towards oblivion.

I see my reflection blink. It must like watching me thrash in blue sleep.

Narrow staircase, no socks, tea bag fossils pinned to the wall, I count them up, all six, any colour I like as long as that colour is yellowish grey.

I inhale indifferent coffee broth with a side order of whichever death cult the screen hunched in the corner is serving up today. Bidding its junkies a good afternoon and then meting out a lethal dose of contradictions. It beats down on me as a sun would: simple, forcible, inevitable, ordained.

I’m not Icarus.

Even so, quick fears still tread on my heels after I kill the show and instead pay a call to the frosted-glass moon low in that blank page of a sky. Shoes dangling over a railway bridge, one a lovely Twitter-blue, lemon laces trailing like a severed leash, the other was once violet. Jaundiced glances from pedestrians and passengers cursing the back of my neck.

They plant themselves beside me because where else would they go? We don’t say much, never do, “our glass roots were love when lilac liquids flowed invisible” and “my powdered soul occurs from sun sight with figure flames and smoke” and “if we lose time by staring freely and counting sound, you’re told about it accidentally”, that sort of thing. And we do submerge our long short hours in staring freely and we do count sound since we’re not the type to move mountains, although young by our own reckoning. We know it - or we think we know.

Amongst foggy vows to meet again tomorrow, they clear off and I’m left with the grains of my own soul, the static in my skull, wearing it like a flannel shirt. House prices. Affairs. Break-ins, breakouts. Blares of ‘protect our free speech, protect our children!’ born from whatever illusory agenda they’re being warned against by the king agenda-pushers this time...another monologue from another plastic jack-in-office here to fuck us around...

Sometimes I could carve it all into my skin with a dirty needle and not flinch.

We end up huddled like penguins in the fug heaving around my room. We’d have thought the dawn of the end times would look different, something that’d be splattered over our calendars and marked in history. Instead we’re met with a whitewashed wall from the screens and newshounds even as we watch it happen in 3D. Nothing to do now but wait.

‘I don’t give a damn.’ They’re flung down on their stomach, right arm stowed under an Everest of pillows and left arm glancing off the carpet. ‘I don’t care, I couldn’t...we’re gonna flatline someday soon and we’ll nosedive into Hell and I’d still take that over this shit…I’ve got to see that ocean again, though...just one last time…’

‘Mhm.’ I’m stiff. Stiff yet floaty. The screen crouches there, rattling off a story from America about some toupeed sore loser being forcibly dragged out of the White House with the boot of millions tattooed on his arse. Let them have their pipe dream, let them have their ocean, their fickle friend with its brackish spray, rolling pulse, delusive serenity, useless but to go to your watery grave in… if I scorn it hard enough, I can almost smell it.

I outstretch my rusty arms, gathering the ceiling in a remote embrace, and begin to narrate. ‘After the downfall from the empty pages of a multitude, myths started to creep back through the gaps in the world we saw. They’d been driven feet-first out of society by the threat of extinction long ago and so they’d had to hide themselves away over the rooms of sighs they found.’ The haze seethes and swirls, fashioning hieroglyphs from my breath.

They shift beside me, breathe it in. Counting sound. I survey it all as they draw it down into their lungs and bloodstream - giants and Lilliputians, fae and demons, sister ships sleeping in spoken hiding places, uman babies feeding off a wolf who bares her teeth at us. And Icarus. Taking to the air, lured by the glare that swallowed all else and eagerly drinking it down, until he fell so far and so fast that nobody could save him.

Not like us. We won’t be led astray. We are not the imperfect sight, crimped, bought with ballads.

‘But their memories were long and their bloodlust ran deep as trembling nails. And whatever scraps of human society were left had their turn to hide, or to pose as something different - pretend to be one thing when they were really another, in case they were in line for the wrath of their former fantasies.’

I recline on my mountaintop carpet in the soupy silence after my short tale gives out, waiting. Waiting perhaps for a flashbulb of understanding or for guesses at regions of dry ideas. The clock shudders into its next aspect. Bonded pattern, distorted mosaic.

‘C’n we go to th’ocean?’ is what they exhale at length. I lie there. Head sagging into my chest. Dead rain of a crowd. And then I patter on about spume and pulse and deceit, and about rock shadows standing full at Phoenician attestations, and by God, it’s like reading a bedtime story (or maybe an aloof comedy) to a toddler and almost as easy.

So we sprout in the bleary armchair of the ocean. Coast and universe falling away like a house of cards beneath our shoeless steps. They ask pinch-eyed if I brought a laptop along with me (of course I didn’t; the world watches us out of the corner of its panoramic eye enough as it is) and seem satisfied with my answer. I droop backwards so the rocks can catch me, mendacious as the water - that slumbering giant - but in the opposite direction, downside up. I have to wonder if the sky could be the same way, or if it’s merely everything and nothing. The aridity of all.

A boat worms along the horizon, eats it up inch by inch. That old static begins to pulsate against the core of my head, guessing at who or what could be in there. The newest pet of the media, pockets padded with the benefits from yesterday’s public-spirited stunt, familiarising themself with the bits of fruit floating in the middle of an etched glass and awaiting the casting call for yet another lone hero who’s the only force insulating their precious homeland from the evils of truth and the nefarious threat of equality.

Maybe a consortium of sallow flesh and bloated eyes, red as tongues of flame yet seeing only in black and white, skin honeycombed with pinprick holes. They give and take manufactured fairy tales that accelerate their enslavement, fire their last magic bullet together in a binding act of mercy.

Or a smoke-bearded fisherman and his helpmate with salt water in their veins, in their stirring times; they haul up their meshwork and inspect its captives. Look at these beauties, they marvel every time, a record dashing against its broken needle like a baby bird against a window. Or something - I don’t fucking know what fishermen talk about. Are there fishermen anymore? I guess there must be.

As I study the vessel, purling with the wind, it metamorphoses fitfully into a whale. Its heaving back is encrusted with arthropods. Plunging its way into nowhere. Watch through unchartered eyes as its tail heaves up into the air, blotting out the sun, before it too plunges beneath the depths, beneath the waves, into the dark, dark blue-grey murmurs and untapped power of the abyss. I wonder what sort of watery graves still dwell there, trapped, locked in and locked out. The corpse of a ship. The corpse of a whale.

The sun dissolves into the horizon, spilling its aureate blood over the sea-shaped cemetery. I drink it in; it comes out in puffs of icy white. The smouldering glare lances across my eyes, burning, gnawing. I close them. I breathe cold.

My wax wings splinter. But will not melt.

Their pixelated face reappears above my own, sun’s gore cleaving to their hair with a shimmer, and jab me with a bone. And we trudge back over clumps of sand, the world brightening and darkening, brightening and darkening. The light parts liquefy like butter in a pan, overflowing, flowing, flowing until there’s no more left to flow. Until it evaporates and its burnished blush is briskly replaced by glitter and dazzle and tiny flickers of rainbow bouncing off little jewels.

I breathe warmth. The radio goes on at me, goes on, goes on, a webspinner sniping its threads.

Time hangs suspended for the lion’s share of the night. Screens paralysed in an eternal moment. The masked puppets on one side, me on the other. They dance, bow, spin on wire strings. They get tangled. They do not move any longer. Asides from the occasional twitch and twist, as weak as that of a dying deer caught in the scheming beauty of the headlights. They do not get free. Eventually they too are still.

I move onwards.

We separate then, me and them. Their fingers dance in the air as the light of the sky slips through the cracks of the earth. ‘We’re completely and irreversibly fucked.’ It’s somewhere between question and statement. I watch them droop away, hands tucked in pockets of woven clouds and leather, until the night embraces them and their shadow melts much like the light had. Tipped-over oil, trickling away.

I watch. I wait. I breathe.

I move onwards.

The wet earth slumps when I step upon it, its cold breathing into the soles of my worn shoes. I look towards the sky, up and up and up, so far that I cannot see. The sun has sunk, withered away. Gone. Gone and perhaps never to return. You never know. Never know.

The moon is rising now, the stars winking like oh so much spilled glitter. I see the sun's reflection here, its beaming glow bouncing off the pale white surface of the small planet as though it were an alien mirror. This is how you know it's there, even when it’s faded away. Gone but never quite so.

But its blazing heat is no longer here to thwart me, even if its glimmer is still present. I spread my wax wings. I breathe, I live, I rise, I die. That wet earth hums its lullaby of little critters, chirping crickets and twittering bats and the frozen old breath of ghosts long dead. Disdainful wind freezes my nose and lips and ears. I soar…

I am not Icarus.

The dark sky cradles me like black ocean water. The shimmers of light are fish, sparkling beneath the waves, the moon their only beacon. My only beacon. I breathe warmth in the cold night air. Prickles of goosebumps along the skin of my arms and legs. I am the warmth, but the cold consumes me slowly.

I float lazily, there and not there, alive and dead, warm and cold. An angel on wax wings, a ghost long dead and gone, a corpse at the bottom of the ocean. Fuck. I breathe a disclaimer of disaster, a rage against the remorseless. I breathe warmth, then cold, then nothing. Just to double check.

The golden-white glimmers of school fish trail past, streaks of astigmatic light. The moon smiles down at me, a comforting glow. A lantern hung by gods of old on invisible chains. The mirror of the sun. The dancing partner of the earth. The lighthouse of the sea.

My beacon in the sky.

It does not melt my wings. I am not Icarus.

I soar. On and on, the sparkling sky, the gentle sea. The land leaves me far behind, the twinkle of city lights fading into nothing but open waters, open skies. Nothing but starlights. Nothing but moonlight.

There is nothing waiting for me. Fuck. They have melted into the shadows, slipped like dry sand between fingers, like dry sand in an hourglass, like water in a hole-littered bucket. It is only me and the star speckled sky. Me and the moon.

I'm not sure how long I stay, floating between schools of sparkling starfish. Slowly, the moon rises…falls…and the sun creeps up behind me like a monster in a cave, turning the sky from black to blue…green…then spilling yellow, melted butter, sunstreaked blood across the horizon, its burning light warming my frozen cheeks…soothing my goosebumps…the black sea once more becomes its sparkling blue-ish green. Fuck. The stars fade like fleeing fish and vanishing ghosts. I breathe cold into the warmth.

My wax wings drip in the light. The sunlight burns my eyes, searing my retina, boiling my cornea. I squeeze them shut. I wobble and sway, a dance in the sunrise. I dance, bow, spin on wire strings and liquid wings. I become tangled. I tumble down a narrow staircase, no socks, teabag fossils pinned to the wall.

Wind sighs in my ears. I see my reflection blink in the waves far below. It must like watching me thrash in yellow dreams. The world beats down on me as the sun is now; simple, forcible, inevitable, ordained. The world crumbles around me, earth cracking, water roaring, sky tearing and tearing like shreds of paper in the hands of scissor-happy children. I am a puppet on broken strings and I am falling with nothing but the frigid embrace of the ocean to catch me, where the whale-ship corpse sleeps. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I breathe and it is cold. The sun blazes like a beacon. It is life. It is the death cult and that fear tingles down my spine.

A shoe of lovely Twitter-blue falls free, lemon laces flapping wildly. I outstretch my rusty arms, as though to catch it like a ball during playtime in the schoolyard, swamped in the too-big uniform of bright purple, a blazer that fell well past my knees. But I cannot catch myself.

I’m falling.

Falling, falling, falling like Icarus.

#my scribbles #mine #tw language #tw drug mention #tw self harm mention #tw existential crisis #tw death mention #long scribble #original writing #writeblr #wow that's a lot of tags

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needtherapy · 4 years

Text

to be human is a haunting, Part 3

A love story for Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen

In a modern world, in a modern city that still has need for cultivators, Song Lan

(war hero, rogue cultivator, orphan)

goes for a run in the park, kills a dankang, makes a friend, and meets a beautiful man with a dog, all before he has to go to therapy. It's the best day he's had in ten years.

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Read over on AO3 instead

Rated E for Explicit sexy times, mild demon killing, and swearing.

— ⚔ — — ⚔ — — ⚔ —

Part 3

“How are you doing today?” Dr. Wen asks.

Such a simple question, one people answer every day, but Song Lan is stumped. He’s distracted and flustered, and he can’t stop thinking about the man in the park. He should just say he’s fine. That’s what people say.

“Fine.”

Dr. Wen nods thoughtfully. “It took a long time to answer. What were you thinking about?”

Fairy tales, Song Lan thinks. How people in fairy tales fall in love at first sight, and how utterly unrealistic that is. How can you know you’ll want to spend your life with someone just by the color of their hair or the suggestion of a wide, graceful smile, or the shape of their body in the distance? That can’t be all love is.

“Nothing,” he says.

— ⚔ —

They make it to the bed eventually, after Song Lan has the absolute pleasure of peeling off Xingchen’s bespoke jacket and vest, unbuttoning the white shirt that is made of the softest cotton he’s ever felt, unbuckling his belt, removing his pants and being rewarded with the sight of his gorgeous, glorious body.

“Is it what you hoped?” Xingchen asks when Song Lan is quiet and motionless for a little too long, and he sounds almost nervous.

Song Lan touches the array of tiny freckles on Xingchen’s chest

eight

a constellation of stars

and smiles at him, an easy smile, a smile that feels natural and joyful and right.

“It is. You are,” he says honestly.

Even the things that shouldn’t be sexy—Xingchen nudging him to roll, the question “is this okay,” the condom, the sound of lube—are torment, and by the time Xingchen’s fingers are inside him, moving, dragging harsh, guttural moans from him, Song Lan is hard again, so aroused he’s fairly sure he’s going to finish before Xingchen.

He lifts his hips up more to make it easier, to get Xingchen in faster, and Xingchen laughs at how desperately eager he is.

“So greedy, Zichen. I should make you wait a little longer. I’m sure I can hold out,” Xingchen says, but his hands on Song Lan’s back are trembling, and Song Lan laughs at the absolute lie.

He laughs.

He’s never laughed during sex, never imagined a reason his heart could be filled so fully that laughter would overflow.

“Don’t you dare,” he says.

Xingchen pretends to consider it, so Song Lan catches Xingchen with his legs, pinning him in place even as he feels Xingchen pushing inside him.

And it’s perfect. Xingchen’s hands on his thighs and waist and ass feels perfect. Xingchen inside him feels perfect. The way they move together is perfect. Xingchen saying his name is perfect.

“Zichen, where have you been?” Xingchen groans, kissing the space between his shoulder blades. “Why didn’t I find you before?”

Song Lan doesn’t have an answer for that, but for the first time, he doesn’t care to look in the past with regret. Now is enough. Now is a place to start.

Xingchen is rougher than Song Lan would have guessed, although Song Lan senses it’s only the edge of what he’s capable of, and every time he thrusts against Song Lan, it’s hard enough that he feels it in his chest, hard enough that lightning strikes him over and over. Everything Xingchen is—everything he could be—Song Lan wants.

Xingchen comes with one hand clenched tightly in Song Lan’s hair, the other curled around his hip bone, fingernails digging into Song Lan’s skin, tiny half moons he expects to see later. Song Lan only has time to stroke himself twice; the involuntary tightening of Xingchen’s hands, the sound of him moaning Song Lan’s name, is enough for his second orgasm to rocket through him, sharp as a blade.

Song Lan tilts awkwardly, falling away from Xingchen to land on his side, and Xingchen chuckles before he lays down in front of Song Lan, face to face. His mouth seems to be permanently locked in a smile, and Song Lan can’t do anything but gaze at him.

“Where’s your dog?” he finally asks, when he can think and breathe and think and breathe.

“I told her to wait in the living room as soon as I saw it was you on my doorstep,” Xingchen tells him, and Song Lan gapes.

“That was…”

He stops.

He has no idea how long ago it was. Has he been here for hours? Minutes? Days?

“I don’t know how long it’s been,” he says, and Xingchen raises his eyebrows.

Song Lan tries to explain. “I always know. I know how long things take and how far things are. Your door is 3.24 miles from mine. There are sixteen stairs to the second floor and fifteen to the third floor, which is odd. But I don’t know how long I’ve been here.”

Xingchen ponders this for a moment and draws a line down Song Lan’s nose. “Does it matter?”

Song Lan ponders this for a moment and kisses the tip of Xingchen’s nose. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”

— ⚔ —

“Have you ever considered getting a pet?” Dr. Wen asks.

“No,” Song Lan lies. He used to have a cat that curled up on his head at night. He’d chosen an apartment that didn’t allow pets so he wouldn’t be tempted to get another big orange cat with green eyes.

“Why haven’t you? A cat, maybe?” Dr. Wen asks, as though Song Lan had said yes.

He hates it when Dr. Wen sees him.

— ⚔ —

They bathe in the most luxurious shower Song Lan has ever seen, in a bathroom the size of his first apartment, with the dog laying on the bathmat. She licks Song Lan’s foot when he gets out of the shower and looks up at him with a silly smile. He grins back at her, and then feels foolish.

“Dinner in? Or dinner out?” Xingchen asks, handing him a huge, plush towel.

A-Qing barks once and Xingchen says, answering as if she had spoken, “I was going to let Zichen choose, but dinner in sounds good to me too.”

Song Lan smiles. “Is she even a dog?” he jokes, but Xingchen tips his head thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I suspect she’s a demon.” He laughs suddenly. “But if she is, she’s the best demon dog in the world, aren’t you, my little bamboo shoot?” He bends over to scratch her ears, and she flops on the floor, rolling for belly rubs.

While they wait for dinner to arrive—Xingchen says delivery is better for the environment than his cooking—he shows Song Lan the house, which has a name: Jiufang. Xingchen says it was built after The Fire, but it has always been named Jiufang. It is every bit as intimidating as Song Lan thought it would be from his research and cursory glance

but still a home

filled with Xingchen

casually magnificent in a way only achieved through significant amounts of money. There’s a dumbwaiter. A copy of The Poppy War sitting open on a hidden bay window seat overlooking the back garden. And, Xingchen insists, a ghost named Hubert, who haunts a fat leather chair in the attic.

“It’s my mother’s house,” Xingchen explains. “She bought a mountain and moved out west, so I’m barnacling here now.”

Bought a mountain.

That has to be a metaphor.

“No, she actually bought a mountain. It used to be a ski resort, but she doesn’t ski. She just thought the view was nice.” Xingchen shrugs. “That’s how she is. You’ll like her.”

An involuntary smile slips onto Song Lan’s face at the idea that he’ll meet Xingchen’s mother someday, even if she sounds absolutely terrifying.

Xingchen has an old Polaroid camera and makes Song Lan take pictures with him and a-Qing. A-Qing manages to lick Song Lan’s face twice as the shutter snaps, and he growls at her, tugging on her ears and scratching her chin in feigned exasperation. Her long nose and laughing smile find a place to roost inside his heart too.

The doorbell rings with dinner, and Xingchen tells Song Lan to answer it while he sets the mood, which apparently means classical music.

Sitting at a table in the pristine black and white kitchen and listening to what Xingchen says is Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony, they eat food from a restaurant Song Lan has heard of but didn’t realize would do takeout, much less delivery at 10 pm. The only thing he’s sure he recognizes is the steak, which is phenomenal, as is everything else he tries. It has been three years since he ate a meal with anyone else. Three years, two months, and six days since his last meal as a soldier, to be precise, which he always is. Since the day he walked away.

Xingchen reaches out his hand and Song Lan takes it. It feels like a clock somewhere inside him has stopped.

— ⚔ —

“Song Lan, I’m going to give you some homework. We’re going to start a scrapbook. So take the weekend, and next week, bring me one thing that represents something you did.”

It’s not a question, so Song Lan asks one. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” Dr. Wen asks.

Song Lan curses himself for answering even once. Answering is endless, like zucchinis you can never get rid of.

He shrugs, and Dr. Wen clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“I think you do know why. Take the weekend to think about that, too,” Dr. Wen says, a little tightly.

— ⚔ —

They curl up on the couch together as the music shifts to a dark and yearning cello solo, the backing orchestra swelling in power like white-capped winter waves on the lake. Xingchen leans back against his chest, a-Qing lays across both of their legs. Song Lan wraps one arm around Xingchen and rests the other on a-Qing’s head. He counts his heartbeats, matching them Xingchen’s, matching them to fit this place and this man and this life he wants nothing more than to be a part of.

“Zichen, I have a confession.”

Xingchen is so quiet, so tremulous, Song Lan’s breathing stutters. There’s always a catch. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was expecting a catch.

“I’ve known about you...who you are...for a while,” Xingchen says, laying his hand over Song Lan’s as though he thinks Song Lan might rabbit away.

He’s not wrong. Song Lan feels his muscles tense, and he coaxes them to relax. It’s not uncommon, he reminds himself. Sometimes people have heard of Song Lan, rogue cultivator. Sometimes they’ve heard of Song Lan, decorated war hero. Less often here and now, but still too frequent for Song Lan’s preference, they’ve heard of Song Lan, last member of the Baixue Farms family that was wiped out by a lone shooter

a tragedy, the papers said

no way to prevent random violence, the news said

intent on vengeance, seeking recompense for the lives the war had taken from the one soldier he knew

orphaned, the sad woman on the television said

not saying we condone his actions, the lawyer said

he wasn’t in his right mind, the jury said

as though it hadn’t taken enough from Song Lan before his family was killed, hours before he got there, clutching his discharge papers in his hand like a first-prize blue ribbon.

“Okay,” he says, expecting more. “How long?”

Xingchen doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, he avoids the question.

“I heard the major factions were recruiting you and you’d refused, but they wouldn’t relent. They were paying your cleaning fees, and I think sometimes putting...putting danger in your path so you would need them,” Xingchen says in a rush, ignoring a-Qing’s grumble of protest when he adjusts to look at Song Lan.

“So...so I took over the payments. That way, they couldn’t leverage you at least. I can afford it,” he adds, waving a hand at the house when Song Lan frowns. “I intended to introduce myself first but…”

He falls back, dropping his hand in his lap and looking contrite. “I saw you in the park one morning, backlit against the sunrise, and I lost my nerve. You were...I don’t know, so beautiful and cold and quiet. I couldn’t just traipse up to you and announce, ‘Hi, I’m Xingchen, and I’m taking over your life.’”

Song Lan’s mouth twitches and he resists the bubbling laughter. He reaches out and pulls Xingchen back to him, and Xingchen squeaks in surprise. Song Lan tucks Xingchen under his chin and breathes in his scent, clean lemon soap and honey. Whatever part of him is offended by the presumption, by the meddling, melts away. Why should he bother with anger? Why should he destroy the first thing he’s wanted in ten years? For pride?

Song Lan kisses the top of his head. He is allowed to lay here and kiss the top of Xingchen’s head. “You’re right, I don’t want my life run by anyone else,” he finally says. “No one else but you.”

“Two and a half years, “Xingchen whispers, stubbornly determined to confess everything. “To answer your question. I’m not usually such a coward.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Song Lan says.

I love you either way, he thinks.

— ⚔ —

Song Lan hands Dr. Wen an envelope and watches him take things out of it.

A menu.

A CD of cello music.

A business card.

An ebony hair stick.

A Polaroid picture of two smiling men and a silly dog.

A key.

He is ready to stop living in the past. It is always going to be there, but so is the present. So is the future.

“I moved,” he says, and it is entirely worth the words to see the look on Dr. Wen’s face.

— ⚔ —

Song Lan moves into the mansion.

He doesn’t really want to live in opulence with Hubert, but Xingchen gently points out that it is easier for him to navigate a familiar space and neighborhood. Song Lan feels like shit for not thinking of it, but Xingchen says getting used to someone else takes time. He has time. They have time.

Xingchen agrees to get a cat.

They pick a sleek grey cat with scars on his face and a bite out of his ear, because he walks up to a-Qing, flicks his tail under her nose, and butts her chin. A-Qing sniffs the ruff of his neck suspiciously but eventually licks his head. They name him Chengmei. He’s already achieved beauty.

Maybe he’d thought that this newfound tide of love would wash away the nightmares, but after three days of bliss, Song Lan wakes up screaming, hand out, reaching for something. Fuxue? His mother? He doesn’t remember, but what he finds is Xingchen, grasping his hand, and a-Qing, leaning against his back, head on his shoulder. Chengmei, that traitor, doesn’t even flinch from his spot on Song Lan’s feet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pants, unable to ground himself in this unfamiliar place.

Xingchen touches his cheek lightly, and it’s at least two points of comfort.

“Don’t be. It’s okay.”

He sounds like he means it, but Song Lan still climbs out of the bed and backs toward the door.

“I should go,” he says. He doesn’t know where. Just...away.

Xingchen exhales. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

Song Lan stops, nonplussed. “What? No, I’m...I can’t be around...no, you don’t have to.”

Xingchen is already pulling on clothes. All black. Hunting clothes, Song Lan thinks. “I know. But I want to.” He grins up at Song Lan. “You said I could run your life. Let’s go hunt.”

Xingchen’s vision is worse at night, but he’s no less sure-footed, the tapping of the cane eventually disappearing from Song Lan’s conscious thought. Every once in a while, a-Qing bumps into Xingchen to redirect him, but otherwise, a casual observer would barely realize that the handsome man with the feather-light steps is being guided by sound and dog.

Song Lan hasn’t hunted with a partner since he was a teenager, and never with anyone as good as Xingchen. Even here they fit together, Song Lan’s power and agility blending with Xingchen’s grace and intuition.

Luo Qingyang is delighted when they call her to clean up a nest of jueyang at an abandoned warehouse on the other side of the Loop. She seems entirely unsurprised to find the dawn rogue and the silent rogue together.

“Eight!” she exclaims, surveying the bodies and rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain. “Boys, if I beat Zonghui this quarter, I am taking you out to dinner.”

“And then you’ll invite us to your D&D game?” Xingchen teases.

Qingyang laughs. “Have either of you even played?”

“That is beside the point,” Xingchen says archly. “We agreed to be friends, and friends play D&D together.”

She throws up her hands in mock surrender. “You win! We play at HQ on Wednesdays. Come at 7 pm.”

“I’m good at this already,” Xingchen whispers loudly to Song Lan. “I like winning.”

Song Lan wants to kiss him. It must show on his face because Qingyang laughs, doubling over and slapping her leg.

“Oh, I knew it. I knew it! Nie Daddy is going to die when I claim the pool,” she crows, still chuckling as she climbs back in the van and leaves them.

Xingchen pushes Song Lan against the brick wall and kisses him, biting his earlobe and sliding a hand under his shirt, a conflagration of hunger that turns Song Lan to floating, falling ash.

“Let’s go home,” he says, lips against Song Lan’s throat.

Home.

He didn’t think he wanted a home, but he has one now.

He didn’t think he wanted friends, but apparently he has them now.

He didn’t think he wanted to fall in love, but he is so far in it, he already can’t remember the shape of his loneliness before.

Home.

Us.

Let’s go home.

Notes:

旧房 jiù fáng : old house

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #songxiao #song lan #xiao xingchen #kristina writes tiny stories #luo qingyang #wen ning #a-qing #dog #therapy dog #moral of the story: therapy works

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soundofseventeen · 5 years

Text

My Fairy Tale (Wen Junhui)

Hi everyone! Bee and I are so sorry we’re so MIA right now, but it’s the end of a holiday season and the end of my semester is coming up and there’s just a lot going on for both of us. Hopefully we’ll be back in the swing of things soon! We hope everything is going well for all of you, and here’s a longer Jun thing I’ve been working on periodically. Bye!

You sat on your couch, flipping through an old photo album from your parents house. They had just moved into a smaller place, thus leading to them getting rid of a lot of things. Some were hard to part with, so you offered to store them at your own house so they didn’t have to officially get rid of them. You smiled to yourself, flipping through pages and remembering all these things you seemed to forget. As you turned to the last page, one certain photo caught your eye.

You carefully pulled it out of its sleeve, taking a closer look at the picture. It was an old picture, you were maybe 7 or 8 in the photo, the boy next to you around the same age. You smiled at the large grin on his face as he had his arm behind your shoulder, his hand sitting right on your head. You had a mildly annoyed look on your face, but you knew you wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else at that moment. You flipped the photo over and saw your mom’s handwriting, Y/N & Junhui - Spring, followed by a year you couldn’t quite read anymore.

You had moved to China when you were 5 or 6. Your parents were from there originally, but moved out of the country after they had gotten married to work at a university. When they wanted to start a family, but when discovered that they couldn’t, they adopted you. They received an opportunity to go back to China, and since they missed it there, they made the move with you.

Given how small you were, you couldn’t quite comprehend the move. You just knew that you still had to go to school every day, but for some reason the school was in a different place, different kids were there, and they spoke a different language. Considering you were still young, you picked up on a lot of things quickly, but you still didn’t quite feel like you always fit with the other kids. Most of them were friendly towards you, but that was it. You had a bit of trouble making any friends.

Until one day, a certain boy in your class got tired of seeing you sit so quietly during your lunch periods and play times. He had officially made it his mission to get you to talk. He refused to give up until you would talk to him, and thus Jun became your first friend.

As the years went by, you and Jun remained to be best friends. You were always his first pick in games, whether or not you were actually good at the game or not. You two were always on the same team. You remember sitting in your living room at one point, a long forgotten board game sitting on the floor between you, some cartoon movie playing that managed to catch more of your attention. You smiled to yourself, watching as the prince won the heart of the princess once again.

“I can’t wait to meet my prince charming someday.” You said, placing your hands over your heart. Jun gave you an offended look.

“Hey, I’m your prince charming.” He pouted as your stuck your tongue out at him. “What happens after this?” Jun asked, tilting his head as the credits started to play.

“They get married, have babies, and live happily ever after.” You said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“How do you know that?”

“Because my mom said they’re in love. And that’s what people in love do.” You said, and Jun furrowed his eyebrows as you looked for the next movie to watch.

“That’s ridiculous.” Jun argued, and you shrugged.

“It could be real.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. I love my brother but I don’t want to marry him.” Jun sighed as you put in the next movie, another fairy tale one.

“My mom said there’s multiple kinds of love. Like the love my mom has for me is different from the one she has for my dad.” You said, and Jun nodded his head. “She said she loves me as her child, but she loves my dad as her soulmate.”

“Soulmate?”

“Yeah. She said it’s like two people who are made for each other.”

“Does everyone have one?”

“I think so. It would be kind of sad otherwise.” You said, and Jun sighed, then looked at you, holding out a pinky.

“Okay, how about this. If we get really old, like 30, and we don’t have one yet, we can be each other’s?” You grinned, linking your pinky to his.

“Deal.”

As you got older yet, you both started to branch out a little more. Made new friends, did new activities, Jun even getting into professional acting a little bit. But you still stayed in each other’s lives, your relationship turning from sweet and innocent to teasing and mild annoyance. At one point he bugged you so much, you told him to just leave you alone for a day. You thought you would finally have some peace, but found yourself sad that whole day. Jun refused to let your off easy though, and only started talking to you again when you showed up at his house with several cups of spicy noodles and an old VHS tape of one of your favorite movies. That was the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder, and he couldn’t quite figure out why his heart started to pound. He just blamed it on all the noodles he ate.

Jun was even your first kiss, though you didn’t tell him that until much later. He was in a play and needed to kiss one of the other actors, and was scared out of his mind. So, he came to you, his (at least he thought) more experienced friend. Being a teenager, you were embarrassed enough that he thought you already had your first kiss, but you were even more embarrassed thinking about telling him you hadn’t. So you let him believe you had.

It was insanely quick, mostly because you were both so nervous. He smiled afterwards though, leading you to smile.

“That wasn’t so bad!” Jun had laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I was so worried about that!” You smiled to yourself, thinking along the exact same lines.

It was that same year that Jun came to you with some big news.

“Wait a second…” You said, trying to process what your best friend was telling you. “You’re… You’re moving to Korea… To be an idol?” Jun nodded his head, his eyes not leaving yours.

“I’m thinking about it.” He said, and you thought about it for a second.

“...Do you even know Korean?” You asked, causing Jun’s face to turn a little red as he slowly shook his head. “You realize that’s probably what they speak over there?”

“I would learn it.” He said, and you sighed.

“So… What are you gonna do?” You asked, playing with the sleeve on your shirt.

“I don’t know… I wanted to know what you thought.”

“Me?” Jun shrugged, and started playing with his own sleeve. You two definitely played the part of awkward teenagers well.

“Well, yeah. I mean… You’re the most important person to me beside my family… And you know me the best and whether or not I can do it…” He muttered, and you looked up at him.

“Junnie, of course you could do it. You’re Wen Junhui. You’re the boy who can do anything.” He looked at you again, sighing.

“Except win your heart.” Jun smirked, causing you to hit his arm. He had been making jokes like that for a while now, and you always felt a slight tug, knowing he was just joking. “...So you think I should do it?” He asked, and you thought about it for another second, then nodded.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you here, but I think you’re gonna be amazing. If this is a way the rest of the world is gonna see you shine, then you have to try.” Jun leaned forward and hugged you, squeezing you a little tighter than he normally would.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you either.” He mumbled, and you sighed, patting his back.

A few weeks later, Jun had officially made the move to Korea. His first couple days there, he sent you almost hourly updates. Some were long, others were just saying a quick hi. He said the other boys he was training with were really nice, but he started to understand what you felt when you first moved to China. He sent you pictures every other day, including one of a boy named Jeonghan, saying he met your soulmate.

Life was weird for a while. Every time something good happened, you had to stop yourself from running to Jun’s house to tell him. Or if something bad happened, you had to stop yourself from calling him and asking him to come over. One time you almost called him, but you knew that he was working hard and if he knew something was wrong he’s try to come and see you.

As time went on, you were in contact less and less. Every day you wondered when he was ever going to come back, if he was coming back. He told you that when he did, you would be one of the first people he told. You got busier, he got busier, and eventually your communication slowed down to just a hello here and a hey there.

He did call you out of the blue one day, at about two in the morning. You remember being so concerned as to why he was suddenly calling you.

“Y/N. We’re debuting.”

“What?” You said, still half asleep, starting to wake up.

“We’re debuting. The group I’m training with. We’re debuting!” Your eyes shot open and you sat up.

“Seriously? Junnie! I’m so proud of you!” You said, somewhat quietly, since it was two in the morning. You heard his giggles through the phone, as well as several other voices.

“Thank you!” He said, followed by more laughter. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Kind of… But it’s okay. It’s been a while.” You grinned.

“Yeah it has… I’m sorry for calling now, but I didn’t want to wake my parents up and I needed to tell someone and… You know I missed you.”

“Jun, it’s really okay. I missed you too.”

“It’s been so busy here, and now it’s going to get busier. Oh! I don’t know if I told you! There’s another member from China! His name is…” Jun suddenly trailed off, and you heard some mumbled Korean (which you had started to pick up a bit of so you could understand Jun when he was a big star). “...Y/N I’m really sorry but I have to go…”

“Go, go. Go have fun and enjoy it.” You said. “Feel free to call any time.”

“I will, bye-” You just managed to catch before the phone went dead.

You were a little heartbroken when you saw that Jun and his other member Minghao were in China for some time, and he never mentioned it to you. Your head knew that he was busy, and probably didn’t say anything because he didn’t have the time to make it back home. But you were still a little hurt that he never even mentioned it to you.

You had been accepted to a special program at your school in Japan, so you had gone to spend a year there. You were even impressed to see all the Seventeen items, starting to realize just how popular they were getting. You were the usual old best friend, and tried to buy things whenever you could. You even sent a picture to Jun when you managed to get his photocard (you laughed to yourself, seeing the familiar face with purple hair) in one of the albums you bought, but were once again disappointed to not receive a response. Eventually you just stopped texting him, finally accepting that Jun had moved on in his life, and you had to move on in yours.

One of your roommates wanted to go see Seventeen while they were on tour in Japan, and you spent 4 days debating whether you should go or not. Part of you wanted to see Jun with all his new friends performing his little heart out, and to see that smile on his face again. The other part of you was trying so hard to let the past go. You even ended up selling most of your Seventeen items, though some you couldn’t quite part with, like a few of the albums you really liked and that particular purple haired photocard.

Your mom didn’t tell you this until much later, but Jun had come home while you were in Japan. He was so excited to surprise you, and to give you a bracelet he had found in his travels, one that he had a twin of. He felt bad about the fact that life had been so busy lately, and through all the craziness he had to get a new phone and a new number, but somehow your number got deleted in the transfer. He tried to contact you, but never seemed to manage to reach you.

He felt more nerves than when Seventeen debuted as he stood in front of your door, trying not to think about the fact that it had now been a couple years since he had seen you. He wondered what you looked like now. He ignored his heart pounding and rang the doorbell, trying to tell himself to not be nervous. He relaxed a little bit when your mom answered, surprise on her face.

“Junhui! Oh my gosh, look at you!”

“Hi Mrs. Y/L/N.” He smiled as she cooed over him, the little boy who used to help her with cooking and watch out for her child. “I was wondering if Y/N was around, I kind of wanted to surprise her so she wouldn’t be expecting-”

“Y/N? She didn’t tell you? Oh sweetie, Y/N isn’t here...” Your mom said, causing Jun’s heart to deflate.

“Oh… Do you know when she’ll be back?” He asked, trying to figure out the rest of his schedule.

“Not for another couple months… Y/N’s in Japan right now for school.”

“...Japan?” He asked, the disappointment too loud in his voice. She nodded her head with a frown.

“She got into a program and is studying abroad. I’m so sorry honey, I swore she would have told you…”

“Oh…” Jun said, recovering quickly. He was mildly kicking himself, being that Seventeen was just in Japan. He was closer to you than he had been in years and managed to completely miss you. “Oh, it’s alright. She was always the smart one, so she was bound to go places like this. Uhm… Yeah, we don’t talk too much… Anymore... Uhm, listen, can you not tell her I was here? I don’t want her to feel bad…”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word. Do you want to come in for some tea? I’d love to hear about your work!” She said, not taking Jun’s protests and ushering him into the house.

“So, everyone welcome our new employee, Y/N. Help make her feel at home here.”

You sat outside your new job, eating lunch and looking around Seoul. You had recently moved here because a position opened up within your company, and you were one of the only people at your job who was able to speak Korean.

You had taken a bite of your lunch as a group of people walked in front of you. You wouldn’t have even noticed, more distracted by some birds, if you hadn’t heard a certain voice.

“Y/N?!” You looked up, meeting Jun’s eyes. Your jaw dropped, wondering how on earth you managed to run into the one person you could possibly know here on your third day in the country. A couple of the other boys in the group waited for Jun, looking at him confused as he stared at you.

“Wait… Jun?” You said, watching the smile grow on his face. You had barely stood up as Jun walked forward and hugged you, squeezing you just a little tight. You let out a laugh as he pulled away, slightly processing what he just did.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I just… Oh my god I haven’t seen you in so long!” He laughed, and you found yourself smiling just from his laugh. A laugh you didn’t realize how much you missed until now. “Oh, wait. Okay…” He turned towards the boys who were waiting for him, still watching you two in confusion. “Guys, this is Y/N. She was my best friend back in China. Y/N, this is Wonwoo, Seokmin, Chan, and Minghao.” He said, pointing to each of the boys.

“Oh yeah! I recognize you guys.” You said, waving at all of them. Jun gave you a look, which caused you to shrug. “I may have an album or two.”

“Wow, the best best friend. What are you even doing here-”

“Jun, I don’t want to end this reunion, but we are already late…” Minghao said, giving both of you an apologetic look. Jun pouted a bit, to which you shook your head.

“You know what? My lunch break is almost over anyway. I should be heading back. It was nice to meet you guys, and it was…” You turned to Jun. “It was really nice to see you again.” You started to walk away, but Jun stopped you.

“Wait uhm, your mom gave me your number a while ago but-”

“When did you see my mom?” You asked, to which Jun paused but then shrugged.

“A… while ago. But I tried messaging you and it never went through…”

“Oh, I had to get a new phone. I kind of… dropped it in a river.” You said, and Jun just chuckled.

“That sounds about right. Well here…” He pulled out his phone, opening up a new contact. “We should catch up soon.” You smiled, taking the phone and putting your information in.

“Yeah we should.” You said, handing the phone back. “I’ll.. see you around I guess. Nice bracelet.” You said, giving him and his friends a wave, then one more for Jun as you turned and made your way back to your office. Jun playing with the bracelet on his wrist, Minghao eventually coming up and pulling his arm, shaking his head.

“Wow, I missed you so much!” Jun laughed, leaning back on your couch.

“Me too… We gotta stop doing this not talking for a couple years thing.” You laughed, causing Jun to nudge your shoulder.

“Deal. You’re not getting away that easily again. No more going off to Japan without any warning.” He grinned.

“Only if you make that same deal.” You held out a pinky, and Jun linked his with yours.

“Deal.” He took a sip of his drink, sitting up a little more. “Alright, so who’s the lucky human?” He asked, and you raised an eyebrow.

“What lucky human?” You laughed, confused by his question.

“The lucky person who managed to steal your heart. Who finally did it?”

“Who…? Well, no one yet.” You said, looking at him. “I mean, there’s been a couple people here and there, but no one has done it yet.” You leaned back again, looking around your apartment.

“Seriously?” You nodded your head, and Jun leaned back to your level again. “Wow, I thought it would have happened by now. Well, at least if I couldn’t do it, it must really just be a challenge.” You laughed at his joke.

“Oh come on, I bet if you really had tried you could have done it.” You joked back, then noticed that Jun hadn’t laughed. You looked over at him, and he was just playing with his bracelet. “...Jun?”

“Oh…” He quickly recovered, putting a smile on his face. “Oh yeah, you’re probably right.” He cleared his throat, sitting forward a little bit. “Listen, I should probably head out. Rehearsal tomorrow, you know.”

“Oh… Yeah. Yeah, you should get going then. It’s late, and I have work tomorrow too. Big meeting. You know.” You said, standing up, following Jun’s lead. You cleaned up a little bit, then took him to the door.

“We should do this again soon.” Jun said, and you nodded.

“Definitely. Don’t work too hard.” You smiled, and he gave a wave as he stepped out of your apartment.

“Same to you.” He said, walking down the hall as you shut the door. You let out a sigh, leaning against the door for a second. You suddenly felt down, and you couldn’t quite figure out why. You shook your head, going to finish cleaning up. You had just finished your dishes when you heard a knock at your door.

“Oh, hi? Did you forget something?” You asked, opening the door to Jun again. Jun scratched his head, looking extremely nervous.

“Uhm… Yeah, kind of.” He said, and you looked back into your apartment. You didn’t see anything that looked out of place, so you turned back to Jun.

“Okay… What did you forget?” Jun just looked at you for a couple seconds, then took a step towards you. He put a hand on the side of your face, and before you could process what was happening, he leaned down and kissed you. It only lasted a couple seconds, but your heart felt so warm and it all clicked in your head.

“I… Really liked you then.” He said, and you looked at him. “I really like you now.” He wasn’t really looking at you, so you smiled. You quickly kissed his cheek, which caused them to turn dark red.

“I kinda like you too.”

You sighed at the picture, smiling at the two children smiling back at you. You felt weight falling next to you, turning to see your new husband smiling at you.

“What you looking at?” He asked, taking the book, slightly flipping through.

“Just some old photos.” You smiled as he took the one in your hand, smirking.

“Oh, my god.” He laughed, bringing it closer to his face to examine it better. “Can you believe we were ever that small?”

“Well, I can, but I’m realistic.” You joked, leaning on his shoulder.

“You know, I knew even back then that we’d end up together.”

“Oh did you?” You laughed, looking at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Because you’re my soulmate. Remember? We pinky promised on it? You don’t take that shit lightly.” He said, looking at the picture again.

“I guess we did.” You smiled as Jun pointed to you on the picture. “Didn’t you say Jeonghan was my soulmate at one point?”

“Maybe, but you needed to be set up. Poor thing, couldn’t get a date on her own. I had to interfere, for your own good. Couldn’t even tell when someone had a major crush on you. Besides, who wouldn’t fall in love with this little monster?” Pointing to your face in the picture, then your actual cheek.

“I guess you were my prince charming after all.”

“And you were my fairy tale.”

#seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen drabbles #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #jun imagine #jun fluff #jun fic #jun au #jun drabbles #jun scenarios #jun x reader

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hamliet · 4 years

Note

(1) I’m glad you liked my ask! Seeing The Little Prince made me so happy! If you don’t mind, I’d like to share some of my favorite children’s books: The Tale of Desperaux and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, both by Kate DiCamillo; The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin; Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech; Where the Mountain Meets the Moon by Grace Lin; the Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordan.

(2) Back when I worked at a bookstore, I read more picture books during my breaks than during my entire childhood: Carson Ellis’s quirky “Du Iz Tak?;” Ellen Levine and Kadie Nelson’s poignant “Henry’s Freedom Box;” Shaun Tan’s wordless graphic novel “Arrival;” Dan Santat’s cathartic “The Adventures of Beekle: The Imaginary Friend” and “After the Fall;” Brendan Wenzel’s “They All Saw a Cat” (brilliant perspective shifts).

(3) Plus, practically anything illustrated by Kinuko Y. Craft (I swoon over those lush details!), Leo Lionni (unassumingly beautiful), Kevin Henkes (his drawings make me feel safe somehow), and Jon Klassen (the guy obsessed with hats; tumblr artist iamnotamuffin adapted “I Want My Hat Back” into a BSD comic starring Chuuya. I highly recommend you check it out).

Thank you!! Now I have more books to check out :D I heavily subscribe to Lewis’s philosophy: someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. Or, you might never stop :P

#ask hamliet #Anonymous

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ashtheshortstack · 5 years

Text

Garlic in the Cauldron - Ch 3

Garlic in the Cauldron

Adrien Agreste learned from a young age that witches were the enemies to vampires. He was taught to kill on sight, drink them dry, and never look back… however, meeting a witch named Marinette threw his entire world off balance.

Ch 3 - Drops of Sunlight

Read on ao3

<-Previous Chapter/Next Chapter –>

I’ll remember to update this on tumblr eventually.

“So, what’s your family like?” Adrien asked.

The pair sat together beneath the tree where Marinette had crashed her broom all those weeks ago. They’d begun meeting up there on a regular basis. Adrien informed Marinette of their hunting schedule, so he could sneak out to see her. After a few days, she decided to start bringing a blanket for the two of them to share. She’d lay it out like the two of them were having a picnic.

It was nice. Something so simple. He hadn’t ever experienced something like this. There were many times when they were out there, he was tempted to make a move. Wrap an arm around her shoulders. Hold her hand. Something… But he never got the guts.

Marinette hummed, gazing up at the stars above. “My parents are wonderful. They’re my coven’s bakers. They bake bread and sweets. They’re just… very warm, loving. They are attentive and supportive.”

Adrien couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes lit up when she spoke of her parents. He remembered his mother being warm like that. They used to spend so much time together. So many emotions swirled inside his chest. He desperately longed to feel that love again. The way Marinette described her parents sounded so wonderful. Why couldn’t he have that? Why didn’t his father love him like that? His throat felt tight, eyes glazing over. He sat up, sniffling and wiping his eyes quickly.

She followed, rubbing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Adrien?” she asked, voice full of concern.

“I wish… I wish I knew what that felt like,” he confessed. His groveled tone of his voice felt foreign. He’d never heard himself sound so raw with emotion when speaking. It scared him. He didn’t know how to talk about what he felt.

Marinette’s eyes were wide. Those bluebells looking at him with so much pity. She squeezed his shoulder. He’d never been comforted like this before. Not since he was young and his mother was with him.

She gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m so sorry.”

Forcing a smile, he shook his head. “Thank you. B-But you don’t need to worry about me. I’m okay. I’m glad you have a happy family. What about friends? Do you have friends?”

Marinette seemed cautious when she spoke this time. “Y-Yes. My best friend Alya, and I hang out with her boyfriend too. His name is Nino.”

Swallowing, Adrien nodded. “I-I see. Sooo… how does that work here? Courting, I mean.”

She snorted at him. “Vampires call it ‘courting?’ We call it ‘dating.’”

He’d been under the presumption that vampires were a little older fashioned. Not that he knew much about his own society, let alone the rest of the world. Just from what he gathered from talking to Marinette the last few weeks, it told him how… dated vampire traditions were. Maybe, it was because their society was so old. Who knew?

“How do you date people, then?” he asked.

“Well, we just like someone and date them? Why? Is that not how you do it?”

Laughing nervously, he fiddled with his hair. “We do that too, but if we’re not married by twenty-five then we’re forced into an arranged marriage.”

Marinette seemed surprised by the admission. Another emotion crossed her face, but Adrien couldn’t seem to decipher her. His instincts seemed to fail him at times. He was supposed to be able to sense strong emotions, but Adrien couldn’t seem to pick hers up often.

“You have a few years, right?”

Adrien nodded. “Yeah, I do. Knowing my luck, my father would stick me with someone awful. He doesn’t really care about how I feel about others too much.”

“The more you talk about your dad, the more I hate him.”

Snickering, Adrien jabbed his thumb in Plagg’s direction. “Join the club. Plagg’s the leader. There might be an initiation, so you’ll have to ask.”

Marinette grinned. “Is Plagg going to haze me?”

“He may just make you buy him camembert. It’s his new favorite food,” he joked.

“A cat who likes cheese… Huh. That makes sense though. Familiars aren’t like normal pets. They take on traits of their owners,” she said.

Tilting his head, the blonde gave her a puzzled look. “Really?”

She hummed and nodded. “Mmmhm! If it’s not you that likes camembert, then it’s probably a trait left over from his previous owner. Even if Plagg didn’t know his owner liked camembert. The—The warlock that Plagg was a familiar of… Tikki told me the kid was young. Sometimes, if a familiar has a super close bond with their owners, the familiar dies with them. But since Plagg and his owner didn’t get the chance to bond, he didn’t have that consequence,” she explained. There was a wavering in her voice.

He could tell she was sparing him the details of whatever his clan did to this kid. Probably killed his whole family. Adrien wouldn’t doubt that. Vampires could be ruthless when it came to getting what they wanted.

Adrien sat silently, mulling over the conversation. “What age do you get your familiars?”

“We’re matched with a familiar at the age of ten. It’s like our coming of age gift when turn double digits,” she told him. She paused a moment, licking her lips in thought. “D-Don’t feel guilty for what happened, okay? Plagg is clearly forming a bond with you. He couldn’t do that if there wasn’t something he liked about you.”

“I knew it,” Adrien murmured. He perked up calling up to Plagg in the tree above them. “I knew you liked me, Plagg!”

He hissed, tail bristling. “Whatever she told you, it’s a lie!”

Marinette laughed at the exchange. God, he loved her laugh. It sounded like chimes on a windy day. He wanted nothing but to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

Adrien fell back onto the blanket, curling his arms beneath his head. Marinette followed suit, lying down beside him. They sat in a comfortable silent for a few moments. Plagg glowered at him before turning his attention back to Tikki, making Marinette let out a soft giggle again. He was so happy with her. He didn’t know it was possible to feel this warm inside. This was friendship… and he was so grateful to experience it. Even if it was taboo, he didn’t care.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when her fingers pinched at his ear. Glancing sideways at her, he noticed her amused smile. Adrien cocked a brow, eyeing her curiously. “Uh… Something wrong?”

Marinette yelped, jerking her hand back. “Sorry! I just… Your ears are cute.”

He sucked in a breath, lips going into a flat line as his cheeks warmed. Oh, God. She was going to be the death of him… and he was supposed to have like another hundred and eighty years on his life.

“You think so?” he squeaked.

She laughed. “Yeah. I do.”

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “That’s not fair. Vampires have all types of stereotypical quirks. But you don’t have warts or a green skin.”

Marinette sat back up, leaning over him with a smile. “Maybe, you’re not looking close enough.”

Adrien pushed himself up. Leaning towards her, he made a show of squinting and searching her face. He pretending to look for any bumps or blemishes, but instead he noticed she had a dusting of adorable freckles sprinkled along the bridge of her nose. He gulped. She was too cute. Heart beating quickly, his eyes dared to glance at her leaps before he retreated. His cheeks felt so hot.

“W-Well, you lied. I didn’t see anything,” he murmured, pouting.

Marinette smiled, giggling at his expense. “Sorry,” she teased, shrugging with using her hands in the gesture.

Swallowing, Adrien gathered his courage. “You know… I’ve never felt so comfortable talking to someone like I do with you. I can joke around with you, and we make each other laugh. It’s nice…”

She ruffled his hair affectionately. “That’s what friends are for, silly. We’re supposed to enjoy each other’s company.”

He smiled. “I’m glad I met you, Marinette.”

She gaped, a little stunned at his admission before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I’m glad I met you too, Adrien,” she smirked. “Even if it was a rough start.”

He groaned. Marinette loved joking about this far too much. Rubbing his temples, he frowned. “Jeez, don’t remind me.”

“Hey,” she patted his shoulder. “It’s alright. You didn’t eat me. I forgive you.”

Adrien gave her a sideways look. “I’d hope so. Considering you spend time with me every other day.”

“Which I also enjoy. It’s nice having someone to talk to about anything.”

He chuckled, flashing his fangs in a purely grin. “I agree. We talk about some wild things.”

“We do. And we’ve learned a lot about each other. Even though we’re pretty different, witches and vampires do have a lot in common too. I think… I think our kinds could get along again someday.”

Smiling, he nodded. Oh, how he wished. He wanted to be able to walk hand in hand with her without being judged. Without worrying for her safety. Adrien had avoided admitting it before… but he was falling for Marinette…

Hard.

______________________________________________________________

A few nights later, he beat Marinette there. He wanted to get out of his home asap. Adrien hated being cooped up in that dark mansion. The witch came traipsing into woods, their usual blanket strewn along one arm, and a large basket hanging off the other. It’s the most like a fairy-tale character she’d ever looked.

She wore a cute dress. It was red with black spots littered around on the top near her chest. The red was a lacy black that stopped at her knees. And, to his surprise, she actually wore a pointed witch hat. She shouldn’t be so cute. He thought the concept of witches hats never made sense but seeing Marinette wear one changed his mind. He was so lucky to know her.

Pulling his dark hoodie off his head, he tilted his head at her. “Hello, little red ladybug, bringing some treats to your grandmother?”

Marinette rolled her eyes, setting down the basket. “No, I was bringing some treats for a smartass vampire. I’m questioning now if he deserves them.”

“Oh, he does. He’ll wolf them down.”

She paused, blinking at him. “Was… Was that a pun?”

Adrien grinned, giving a lopsided shrug.

Marinette laughed. “You’re definitely not getting any sweets now.”

Dejected, he puffed out his bottom lip, giving the best puppy pout he could muster. She flicked him on the forehead. Adrien yelped, rubbing the sore spot. “That was rude.”

Marinette began to unfold the blanket. Adrien eyed the basket of goodies. "You didn't spike those with garlic, did you? I don't want to go into anaphylactic shock and keel over before I even get to truly live."

"You really are allergic to almost everything, huh?"

Adrien shrugged. "It's a gift."

He couldn't help but search her. Eyes wandering along the pompously poofy dress she wore. The sleeves were big on her arms, and the outfit flared out at her hips. Marinette seemed to notice his stare as she looked down at her choice of clothing. "We had a festival today, okay? We’re supposed wear traditional clothing that embodies familiars,” she quickly explained.

Ohhh. So, that’s why she was dressed like that. The red and black was to represent Tikki. That made sense. Witches had pretty interesting traditions.

His recognition must’ve been clear on his face when she gave him a shy smile. Adrien glanced away shyly, before giving her a sideways look and shifting awkwardly. “Do you… Do you think I’ll be able to see a festival sometime?”

Marinette seemed stumped by his question. Clearing her throat, she went back to laying out the blanket as she spoke. “M-Maybe. I hope there’s a day when vampires and witches get along again. But—uh—right now, no. Familiars can smell vampires from a mile away.”

Confused, Adrien felt his ears perk. “What? Really? Did Tikki smell me the first time I came here?”

She smoothed the blanket out, patting for him to come sit. Adrien did so, crawling over to take the spot next to her. Marinette reached into the picnic basket, taking out two eclairs. One for each of them. When she handed him the treat, her fingers brushed his. Adrien’s fingertips tingled at the touch.

“Tikki was sick the first time you came. I was flying us back home from the healer when I crashed. She still wasn’t in tip-top shape yet. She wanted me to do a big spell on you to protect myself, but I chose not to. For her safety… and the fact that you didn’t seem like a blood thirsty monster.”

He watched as Marinette took a bite of the treat. As if she hadn’t just told him she’s capable of powerful magic. Adrien followed suit, taking a bite of the sweet. Jesus… okay. Anything Marinette made was officially the greatest thing he’d ever tasted. He hadn’t even had chocolate since he was a kid.

Licking some of the chocolate off his lips, he looked at her. “If you don’t mind me asking, how powerful are you?”

Marinette smiled, placing a finger to her lips. “That’s a secret.”

“Aw, c’mon… You can’t tell me?”

“Sorry, family disclosed secret.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

There was a pause. Something in that admission had his mind whirling. Marinette must’ve felt it too. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes were wide. She seemed stunned that those words left her mouth. Adrien had to admit, he was a bit surprised too. Sure, they’d known each other close to a month now. But for a witch to openly say she trusted a vampire sounded unbelievable.

“Do you—Do you mean that?” Adrien asked a little too hopefully.

She glanced away, nodding shyly. “Yes. You’re my friend, Adrien. And I trust you.”

“Wow. No one has ever said that to me before.”

Marinette’s eyes shot back up, boring into his. “Now, someone has.”

She held out her fist. Adrien smiled, bumping his knuckle to hers. It’d been something they’d started. Anytime the moment got serious, Marinette would give him a fist bump to break the tension. He thought it was cute.

He took another bite of the éclair, a little too much. Maybe, he was just trying to compensate for the tenderness by being funny. Marinette never seemed to mind. He enjoyed being a comic relief in their serious moments. Whether it was dropping a pun, or now shoving too much pastry in his mouth.

Marinette gawked him. “Don’t eat it like that! You can’t even appreciate at it,” she laughed.

“I do appreciate it,” he retorted with his mouth full.

She scoffed at him. “You’re going to make yourself sick if you eat too much of it.”

Adrien waved a hand. He chewed, finally. And swallowed the pastry. “I didn’t eat before I came. I’m on an empty stomach.”

Marinette eyed him. “You’re not going to frenzy on me, are you?”

He snorted. “No. Takes about three days without blood for that to happen.”

“Did you drink some last night?”

“Yes.”

Her shoulders deflated in relief. “Okay. Fine. I’ll lay off.”

“Jeez, Ladybug, I can take care of myself,” he teased in a mocking tone.

She glowered at him. “Quit calling me that.”

“What about Bugaboo?”

“Even worse.”

“My lady?”

“…Acceptable on occasions.”

“Nice.”

They both sputtered with laughter. Adrien was so elated to have someone to talk to like this. Even if Marinette didn’t feel for him the way he felt for her, it didn’t matter. He was just glad to have someone to talk to. Someone to call a friend. You know, that wasn’t a talking cat.

Adrien took the last bite of the éclair. Chewing soundly like he was a starving man. So, maybe he’d neglected enough human food than normal. Marinette was right. He needed to be careful. If he skipped one too many meals or didn’t drink enough blood, he could hurt her. And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

It was funny, he realized. Marinette was basically teaching him what it was like to be a normal teenager. To have a crush. To have a friend. To sneak out to go be with said person. Pigging out on sweets that his father would have his ass for. It made him so happy. And that was a feeling he hadn’t experience in a long time. His mother made him happy, but she wasn’t here anymore. Granted, he wasn’t sure if she’d be too happy with him for having a crush on a witch either, but Adrien just didn’t care. His mother would be thrilled that he was feeling joyful again, wouldn’t she?

When he felt a thumb at the corner of his mouth, he almost lost his shit. He yelped, blinking stupidly as Marinette rubbed her thumb across him.

She gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, you had chocolate on your mouth.”

“Oh.”

Marinette smudge the chocolate away, before bringing her thumb to her mouth and having the audacity to lick it off her skin. Adrien gulped. The slight made him way too warm.

She gazed at him. Scooting closer, her thigh pressed to him. Adrien was just trying not to tent his pants at that point. Any self-control he had was waning at the feeling of her thigh touching his. Suddenly, her thumb was back to his mouth. But this time, he doubted she was rubbing chocolate off. The pad brushed across his top lip before she lifted it at the corner, exposing his fang. Why was she studying it so closely? He assumed she was just curious. But was she scared?

Ugh, he wanted to be able to feel what she felt. So badly.

Maybe… Maybe he could? They were close. She trusted him. There was a slight possibility they were close enough for him to use that ability. His hand cupped hers. Marinette’s thumb left his lips, and her fingers splayed out against his cheek. Adrien couldn’t stop himself from leaning into her touch.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Her cheeks were pink, but she made no motion to retreat. “Yeah, sorry. I just—I just started wondering what they really looked like. But, you have chocolate all over your fangs,” she said with a smile.

He laughed. Taking her hand from his cheek, he pulled her knuckle to his lips, and pressed a kiss there. He traveled upward, giving one more peck to the back of her palm. Suddenly, the new feeling was overwhelming. He could sense her giddiness. Adrien took that as a good sign. He placed their hands on each of their thighs. His fingers intertwined between hers.

When Marinette didn’t let go of his hand for the rest of the evening… he took that as a good sign.

____________________________________________________________

Adrien was itchy. Why was he so itchy? He felt a paw poking at his cheek. He swatted at the cat. “Plagg, not now.”

“Kid. You have to wake up or else you’re going to be covered head to toe in a rash,” Plagg said sternly.

Groggily, Adrien rubbed his eye. “Wah…?”

He went to reach up with his other arm, only to find it resting beneath Marinette’s head. Oh shit. They’d fallen asleep!? He never slept during the night. How’d he…? What the fuck!?

Suddenly, he understood. The sun was peaking out from the horizon. He panicked. His father was probably sleeping at home. Hopefully, Nathalie hadn’t peaked into his room to check on him yet. If she had, he needed an excuse and fast.

He gently shook her awake. Marinette’s eyes were half lidded and groggy as she looked at him. “Adrien…? What are you doing in my room?”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “We’re outside. We fell asleep. I have to get home… fast.”

Realization seemed to hit her, her eyes went wide as she rocketed to sit straight up. She began floundering and flailing her arms. “Oh my God, Adrien! This is all my fault! You have to go! I’ll clean this up and get back home before my parents wake up. You have to get back or else you’re going to be in trouble. I’m so sorry!”

“Hey! Hey…” he cooed, rubbing her shoulders. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. Just get home safely, okay?”

Marinette nodded.

Adrien quickly turned into a bat, flying as fast as he could in the direction of his home.

When he finally arrived, he flew into the bathroom window. He immediately turned on the shower with cold water. He had cool his skin from the sun. The last thing he needed was to get caught with a rash. Then Nathalie and his father would know he hadn’t been home. All of the windows in the mansion are tinted. He wouldn’t have any sun access unless it was directly from outside.

Plagg stood on his bathroom counter as Adrien shucked off his clothes. The cat familiar snickered, earning a glare from Adrien.

“Why didn’t you wake us up sooner?” Adrien growled.

“You guys were so cute, how could we?” he joked, a clear edge in his voice. Adrien knew damn well that Plagg thought their romance was gross. “And Tikki fell asleep too… so I just didn’t want to wake anyone.”

“Tikki is going to kill you,” he said as he jumped into the cool shower.

Plagg sounded noncommittal as he spoke. “Yeah, sure. She’ll forgive me. So will you. Pretty sure you liked waking up with Marinette beside you.”

Adrien huffed as the cool water hit his skin. “Maybe.”

“Someone is sooo in love,” the cat cooed with a laugh.

“Shut up.”

“It’s true.”

“She doesn’t feel that way about me, okay?”

“Have you asked?”

Adrien snorted. “Why would I? Who wants to get turned down by the girl they like?”

“Who said she’d turn you down?”

“Plagg, stop with the mind games.”

“I’m just saying. You don’t know until you try.”

Adrien didn’t want to admit that he hoped Plagg was right. He hoped that he’d gather the courage to tell Marinette how he felt. And hoped she felt the same. No matter how taboo their romance was… it didn’t matter. They would be two beings in love, regardless of vampire or witch.

There was a rapping at the door.

“Uh, yes?” he called out.

“Adrien,” it was Nathalie’s voice. “What are you doing taking a shower at this time of the day?”

“I was having trouble sleeping, so I decided to try to take a shower and see if it’d help.”

Thank, God. That’d meant that Nathalie hadn’t checked in on him yet. So, he hadn’t gotten caught. She probably got back from the hunt and took a nap before coming to check on him.

“Okay. Get to back to bed soon.”

Adrien breathed a sigh of relief when he heard her footsteps walk away. He thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t gotten himself royally fucked by being out with Marinette last night. They’d have to be much more careful next time.

He just hoped Marinette didn’t get caught…

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sailorbryant · 5 years

Text

HANKCON: Fic Recommendations

I started creating a bunch of recs to send to a friend and ended up just making a whole thing. I know I’ve forgotten multiple stories so will probably update over and over again. Let me know if you notice any broken links or errors!

❥ New Stories Added - 12/22/2018

INSTRUCTIONS NOT INCLUDED by Vinci

Summary: Logically, Connor should have noticed something was different after the moment of his deviancy after he consciously chose not to shoot Markus, but he truly didn’t notice it until months later, as he watched, in absolute interest, as Hank typed something on his computer across from him at his desk.

Or: In which Connor simultaneously experiences an emotional and sexual awakening in the wake of his deviancy and handles it in the best way he can. By not telling anyone. Post-Peaceful Ending. Eden Club undercover. Probably my favorite Hankcon fic out there.

PHOLCIADE by farouche

Summary: After Markus obtains equal rights for all Androids, Cyberlife is pressured to release all the prototype androids deemed unready for public use before the Revolution. In a diplomatic effort, Cyberlife offers all prototypes a chance of a paid job in the sector they were intended to work in or otherwise, in order to not waste the money gone into programming their specific skillsets. Among them is Connor, an RK Prototype, who is offered a training period at the Detroit Police Department under the condition that he reports his progress via email to the man assigned to be his mentor. A man that Connor has never met, who will never reply, and who will remain anonymous for the duration of his training; bar the pseudonym "Lt. H."

A man that, having only ever seen his shadow in a hallway, Connor affectionally names after the Pholcidae spider, more commonly known as Daddy Long Legs.Lieutenant Hank Anderson just wanted to get Fowler off his ass and deal with this mentoring crap as quickly and easily as possible. Instead, he has to deal with an android calling him "Daddy" in every email he sends. It's not what he wanted or expected, but it somehow ends well. DaddyLongLegsAu. Fantastic.

RE:DECONSTRUCT by Masu_Trout

Summary: The androids are free, but even the most peaceful of revolutions comes with a world of changes. Markus has an offer to make. Connor's starting to get used to this whole deviancy thing. And Hank—well, Hank just might be falling for his best friend. Thirium Pump Handjobs.

HALYCON by Terminallydepraved

Summary: Hank gave in to the urge to bury his face in his hands. This was just… Fuck, he was too innocent looking. Those wide eyes, the soft looking lips. He stared at Hank like he hung the sun and stars, and here Hank was, projecting. Again.

Something brushed his shoulder and Hank couldn’t help but jump. He flinched away and moved his hands, but it was just Connor. It was always just Connor, standing a little too close, probing when Hank was at his worst. Standing at his side with worry in his eyes, staring up at him, and… Fuck.

He was too old for this. He was too old and broken and fucked up to deserve this, but Connor made it too easy to want it anyway. Must Read.

INTERRUPT REQUEST AU(IRQ) by rara avis

Summary: Hank does indeed get drunker. Connor takes him home and stays the night. They find out exactly what it is Hank wants Connor to be, and what Connor wants in general.

Starts between "The Bridge" and "Public Enemy" and follows their storyline until the end of the game. One of my favorites. Perfect smut. Perfect use of graphics and machine code.

SINGULARITY SERIES by Driverpicksthemooseic

Summary: "Hank," Connor starts. Not Lieutenant, just Hank. Hank gives him a baffled stare. "This is the only method with a high probability of success, so please go along with it."

(OR, Hank and Connor go undercover at the Eden Club.) The fake/pretend relationship/undercover at Eden Club story that you gotta read.

WITHIN SERIES by whitachi

Summary: Connor has some wires out of place, and Hank helps to fix them. THE Wireplay fic.

THE OTHER WAY TO SOMEDAY by theslap

Summary: Cole's teacher is annoying. He's also attractive. For Hank Anderson, that's a bad combination. NonAndroid!AU.

MAKE ME FORGET THAT I’M NOT READY FOR LOVE by Warmybones

Summary: “Stay like this, if you want,” Hank whispers against his earlobe, fingers caressing down his navel with deadly intent. “Or punch me across the face if you don’t.” Adorable little get together story. Post Peaceful ending.

THE GAY AND WONDROUS LIFE OF CONNOR ANDERSON by LieutenantWubs

Summary: Connor wants to get a new upgrade, but doesn't want Hank to know what it is until he is comfortable with it. Adorable

TERMS AND CONDITIONS by esama

Summary: 1. Go out into the world 2. Figure out who you are. 3. Live a little.”

Post-Peaceful Ending. Very angsty little piece but such a fantastic example of world-building in the post peaceful Detroit. And the pining is delicious.

IRREFUTABLY SEDUCED by gumpekulla

Summary: He needs to get this ridiculous crush under control before Hank finally decided to confront him about it. It would be mortifying.

(Things doesn't really go to plan, but Connor really can't complain.) Reverse!Au. Smutty Smut.

ARRIVAL by coffee666

Summary: Hank just wanted help around the house for Cole. He never expected such a goofy thing that laughed and hummed and protected Cole with all of his being. Connor is not like other androids --but neither of them truly know how deep those differences go. HouseAndroidConnorAU!

WANTING HIM by Miko

Summary: Connor is convinced that sexual intercourse would be of great benefit to Hank's physical and emotional well-being, but the man is highly resistant to the idea. Hank's objections are not unreasonable, but there is one simple solution that will address all of the issues - Hank should have sex with Connor.

The last thing Connor expects when making the suggestion is for his partner to be upset and offended by the idea of 'using' him. Hank claims he won't do it because Connor doesn't 'want' it, but Connor is the one who offered in the first place.

What's the difference between 'willing' and 'wanting'? Connor needs to do some investigating.. Lovely.

RECEPTIONS AND REVELATIONS by Terminallydepraved

Summary: Hank is forced to attend an awards ceremony where the attire is black tie and stifling. Connor attempts to make it bearable, but that comes with a few surprises of its own along the way. Side Rk900/Gavin. Smut.

AGAINST A COCK AND A HARD PLACE by Svynakee

Summary: His mission had been clear: get the deviant leader in his sights and snipe it to end the revolution. But it'd all gone wrong.

Connor could feel the firm muscles of Hank’s thighs clenching down on his thin waist – tense enough to be ready for any attempt to escape, yet effortless, with the clear indication that he could remain like this for a long time if needed. His blue eyes were as sharp as ice, as hard, as cold.

Connor was trapped. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t expected this outcome. And it was thrilling.Dark!Smut. A different take on the rooftop scene. Fantastic read.

PLAYING FOR KEEPS by Dana

Summary: 'Well, it does have the best fucking biscuits.' Hank lets out another soft sigh. He'd probably sell his soul for an endless supply of those biscuits, Jesus, he's salivating already. 'Alright, alright. But just so you know, I'm doing this for the biscuits.'

Connor grins, and laughs, then presses a kiss to Hank's cheek. 'Okay. Do it for the biscuits.' So that was kind of a lie, and Hank knows Connor can tell, but it's not like Hank really cares. The Hank/Connor/Gavin/RK900 foursome you didn’t know that you needed in your life.

DEMONS & DOMESTICITY SERIES by ProneToRelapse

Summary: Hank makes a deal. His immortal soul for the life of his son. It isn't his soul the demon wants. Demon AU. Hank teaches Demon Connor to feel. Smut is 10/10.

THE KNIGHT AND THE SCARECROW by Mura

Summary: A fairy tale Hankcon AU. Shrek AU sorta. Very cute and fluffy.

THE ENTIRE MEMORY OF YOU by fantastic

Summary: It was as he sat drinking his morning coffee that the slow grinding of those pieces falling into place sent a course of comprehension through his body: the tightening of his chest, the heat in the tips of his fingers, a simple message splayed behind his eyes as he looked across the table.

Connor was in love with him.. Breathtakingly Beautiful Angst. WIP.

YOU HAVEN’T GAINED A DAY by Synekdokee

Summary: The picture attached is uncanny. In his uniform, Connor looks different from the flirty little twink climbing all over Hank’s lap in a taxi ten years ago, and he’s certainly filled up a little, face a little less angular and more masculine now. Hank remembers those earnest brown eyes and those pink lips a little too well though. Even the fucking cowlick is still there.

And then Hank’s stomach rolls over when his brain truly catches up with what he just read - DOB August 1990.

University my ass, Hank thinks weakly. Modern Detectives AU. No android AU. WIP

SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS by MorganOfTheFey

Summary: Connor has a three-year seduction plan to make Hank love him back, and it starts with getting the lieutenant into his bed. Co-sleeping is scientifically proven to be beneficial to humans, and proximity is the number one factor in relationships forming. But when Connor starts having dreams thanks to the new updates he's beta-testing, it all gets a lot more complicated. And then one little-wet dream speeds up his three-year timeline dramatically ... Post-Peaceful Ending. Slow Burn Done Right.

FAULTED CODE Series by ProneToRelapse

Summary: "What I'd really like to know," Fowler says slowly, disapproving gaze fixed on Connor while Hank wheezes and tries to smother his laughter, "is why Detective Reed has submitted a formal complaint against you saying you threatened him."

"No threats were made, Captain," Connor says evenly, calm despite the scowl Reed is levelling at him from the other side of the office. "I know better than to antagonise someone so deeply mired in anti-android stigma."

"Then please explain to me why I'm dealing with, and I quote, "that fake plastic detective aggressively T-Posing at me in the bathroom"."

Hank loses his battle against professionalism, laughing so hard he nearly falls out of his chair."I was asserting my dominance," Connor says simply.

Connor is adjusting. Hank helps, in his own way. Slowburn. Excessive Memeing. Hank/North Bromance to end all Bromances. Intrigue. Do not skip. WIP.

WHY DO FOOLS FALL IN LOVE Series by SpicyReyes

Summary: After Connor and Hank reunite at ChickenFeed, they start taking the first steps toward the rest of their life. Slowburn. WIP.

EIGHTEEN WHEELS ON AN UPHILL CLIMB by blackeyedblonde

Summary: “Can I give you a ride into town, at least?” he calls out. “You’re sure you haven’t got folks anywhere around here—somebody who can look after you for a week or two?”

Connor laughs outright at that and figures he’s got nothing to lose in telling the truth. “Not unless you want to drive the 800 miles to Detroit.”

Hank’s mouth falls open as he physically leans into the word. “Detroit? No shit.”

“What?” Connor blurts out, puzzling over the other man’s expression from a distance. “That’s where my family is—well, the closest thing I have left to family, anyway.”

Hank’s face only splits into a wide grin and he barks out a laugh, the first real one Connor’s heard all night. “You’re in luck, kid,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief as he looks off into the rising daybreak behind Connor. “Seems like we’re both headed in the same direction.” The Trucker!AU you didn’t know you needed in your life. WIP.

A TOURIST IN A DREAM by Octobig

Summary: Hank has stopped thinking about his place in the world for a long time. Old, washed-up cops don’t live exciting lives. He just does what he always does: cracks cases drinks whiskey and goes home to Sumo.

But then the android sent by CyberLife shows up – disarmingly curious, intentionally uprooting all the familiar aspects of Hank’s life, and he jumps headfirst into an android revolution. Barrels into cases like an unstoppable storm.

Halfway through, Hank realizes he’s no longer at the sidelines of his life.

And that Connor makes it better. All of it.

[Or alternatively: an episodic glimpse into the life of Hank Anderson and his partner Connor. Takes place after the revolution, happy ending included.] Absolutely Breathtaking. WIP, but please read.

SPECIAL SHOUT OUT to @fishfingersandscarves . I followed her over from the Hobbit fandom and her art is fantastic, and following her is how I found out about the majority of these fics. Give her a follow and lots of love.

and another very special shoutout for @carriemebags who this list was made for. There are no words to describe how happy I am that she’s followed me down into this hell pit with these two lovely boys, and I can’t wait until you guys get to start seeing her art cause it is fantastic. <3

#dbh #hankcon #hank connor #recs #hannor

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pinespittinink · 5 years

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The Publishing Debacle

Recent reading, comments, and my own personal history with publishing and querying has got me thinking a lot about traditional publishing and the entire landscape surrounding it, as well as the nature of my own writing.

I am published. The Witch Market is the result of, if you had to categorize it, assisted self-publishing. What does that mean? To put it short, I entered a contest spun by a local small publishing branch, and I won second place. The company however, liked the three winning books so much that they decided to offer the first place prize to all of us— a full-ride with the company to publish our novels. I paid some money involved with The Witch Market, but only in regards to marketing and art— the latter of which I had really just commissioned for private use, though it ended up being included. I mention it though, because the amount of money I paid is nothing compared to what most indie self-publishing authors pay to get their book off the ground.

The Witch Market is the product of seventeen year-old Catherine. I wrote it during school, I’d never heard of beta reading outside of fanfic, and I was very new to the industry, despite having queried another novel when I was fourteen. (I actually got a bite for the entire manuscript then, which was a wild ride, but that’s another story). As much as I love The Witch Market, it never received the concrit it needed to succeed in today’s market, and it really needs a revamp at some point. The story and characters, particularly Cleophas, are too dear for me not to do this eventually. If anything, the experience taught me about self-publishing, about the rigorous rounds of editing that a manuscript should go through, and most importantly, in my opinion, it gave me the true and indescribable feeling of what it’s like to hold your own book in your hands.

I have always, always wanted to be traditionally published. I admittedly have a lot more respect for self-publishing now than I did when I first became aware of it— I used to view it as a cop out, an “easier” route, as though self-publishing isn’t an incredibly arduous, difficult journey that requires a ridiculous amount of work and determination. Self-publishing means being your own marketer, and I don’t have that in me. When I did book signings and promotional work for The Witch Market, I was lucky enough to have a mother with more drive and networking skills than I’ll ever be capable of.

Traditional publishing holds appeal to all of us because we want to dream of that one in a million chance where our writing really makes it; a Neil Gaiman, a Stephen King, a J.K. Rowling, a Susanne Collins, a Sarah J. Mass. Who wouldn’t want to be a career writer? That kind of success is the ideal, but it’s so few and far between. I think the other reason people aspire so much towards traditional publishing is the reach is brings. While it’s easier and easier nowadays to get your books far and wide with self-publishing, traditional will always have a more direct course to those avenues.

I have always said that I write for myself above anyone else, and I stand by that. There are many people who write with an audience in mind-- middle grade, young adult, new adult, on and on-- they have a target demographic. Some have even more in mind; from the beginning, they write with marketing and querying taken into account. They’re thinking about pacing, about what will sell, all while working on delivering the story they want. I’ve got a lot of respect and admiration for those people, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that’s not me and couldn’t be me, and that’s all right.

Of my work, I have a group of wips I think of as The Big Three: Bloodlines, Solene’s verse, and Star White. And the more I think about them, the more I realize that they do not lend themselves to the traditional publishing market, at least not with any ease. Of The Big Three, Star White is the story with the most mainstream, marketable plot line. A gentle boy falls in love with a grumpy boy, an evil being abducts the grumpy boy, and the gentle boy goes on a journey to find him. It’s sweet, it’s set in space, it has a fairy tale aspect to it. It can easily be written for YA, made into a not too bulky standalone, or even be broken into a trilogy. All together, it’s the best conceivable shot I have at successful traditional publishing. But the truest version of the story, the one I will write first, that I will write for myself (and maybe, ultimately, the only version of Star White that I’ll end up writing at all), is leaning farther and farther away from that formula. It’s becoming an odyssey of sorts, an introspective, single volume that follows a non-chronological timeline and spends a long, long time with Mateo as he drifts through the empty void of deep space with no one but the AI of his ship for company. It may even take on a philosophical bend, because a billion years spent searching for your love, not even knowing if he exists anymore outside of a dream, and in turn grappling with your own sense of existence; well, that doesn’t easily lend itself to the market. It deviates from a mainstream plot. But it’s the story I’m realizing I will write.

When it comes down to it, the story is what I write for, not the commercial value or traditional structure. Bloodlines, as it stands, does not align itself with a traditional story structure, something I’ve become more and more aware of with my beta readers’ comments in mind. I’ve written past the ending, or at least, past where the book would end in regards to similar stories. If I had gone into it with a specific structure in mind, if I’d been able to stick to it (because let’s face it, I did have a full outline for Bloodlines) then maybe I wouldn’t be faced with this conundrum. If I want Bloodlines to have a realistic shot at making it in the market, then I’ll need to cut a lot from the ending. The reason Bloodlines extends a good while after the climactic conflict is because I needed to show the effects of the trauma on the characters, their healing arcs, and give resolutions to the relationships as effected by the actions beforehand. If Bloodlines was focused more on the war between the Gelkins and the skin-changers, it could definitely end sooner, but it is focused instead on Victory and Enfriator’s relationship, and even more, I’ve realized, it is focused specifically on Victory. He is the core of the story in a way no one else is, and it feels only right to me to follow him.

I’ll likely still attempt to query Bloodlines. Traditional publishing is a dream of mine, but it may just really be a dream. I lack the ambition and the drive to push it any further, and in the end, the story is what’s important to me, and I won’t sacrifice its truth and integrity for a more conventional narrative structure. If I don’t find success with agents, which I expect at this point (I’ve shot myself in the foot with Bloodlines somewhat already, because I queried it a few years ago before any round of betas), then I’ll likely look to self-publishing avenues. I will do it though, not for exposure or revenue, but because I want to hold my book in my hands again, and because then I can give it to others, to the people who have read for me, who love my characters, who I want to share this story with.

I’m not meant to be a career writer. Maybe I still could be, someday. Anything’s possible after all. But my stories, at least for the foreseeable future, don’t lend themselves to traditional success. Solene’s verse especially will be a beast to conquer. The story contains a time jump that ages the characters and a setting that seems more fitting to the long-running sci-fi/fantasy series of the 1970s and 80s. Hebid is a world I am privileged to have insight on, and my knowledge and understanding of it will only grow. Solene’s verse will either end up a duology, or (more likely) a truly massive standalone encompassing a whole world; once again, not something that would ever be an easy sell today.

Will I try querying all of The Big Three? Yeah. I’ll probably even try querying The Witch Market again, once I’ve redone it. Somewhere out there are agents and publishers who don’t mind taking a chance on something unconventional. Will I find them? Maybe not. I don’t expect to. Writing and book selling is a business, I understand that. What I’m coming to realize though, is that I don’t need to be traditionally published in order to feel achievement. I just need to tell the stories as they come to me, in the best way I can. It’s my personal duty as a writer to do these characters justice, to illustrate their lives in all their turmoil and struggle and joy. I’m not at all insinuating that people who write with the publishing industry in mind don’t do the same thing; we all want to tell our stories in the best way. We just have different manners and methods and drives. The stories I write do not fit into typical molds. Maybe I could make them, like Star White, and maybe they would still be good. But that way is for other writers, other people not like me, and I’m content to walk to the beat of my own drum.

#catherine’s talking again #publishing #writeblr #dudes this is long but it's really just me rambling and getting thoughts out #okay to rb if you want #it's just my thoughts about publishing methods and some rambling about wip structure

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thewayofthetrashcompactor · 5 years

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CHAPTER ELEVEN: SAP MOON (AO3)

Rating: T (M later) Words: 29343 / 40k Tags: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Finn, Rose Tico, Unkar Plutt, Leia Organa, Snoke, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fairy Tale Elements, Moon, Scavenger Rey, Reylo Fanfiction Anthology, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Spoilers, Tags Contain Spoilers, Stop reading these tags if you don’t want to be spoiled, Selkies, Selkie Ben, The Force, Magic

Summary: Rey has a busy schedule: between her part time jobs, trying to get a degree, and breaking into certain people’s homes to steal items she can pawn off to Unkar Plutt, she doesn’t have time for anything mysterious or unusual. And she’s not exactly in the habit of returning lost property.

However, something gets her to make an exception. Which somehow mixes her up with Ben Solo, and that turns out to be a hard bond to break.

Notes: Thank you again to everyone who was part of the @reylofanfictionanthology and who helped make this happen. <3

@persimonne , incredible human that she is, made a beautiful piece of art for this fic, right here! Spoilers for the fic, but it’s one of my favorite things ever.

Rey found herself unconsciously looking forward to the next full moon, wondering what it would mean for Ben and their lessons. When the night came, however, he was unusually quiet. They walked for longer than normal, until they finally ended up by the river again. Ben stopped suddenly and sat on the ground. Rey stood, nonplussed, before bending over and joining him.

His gaze wasn’t on the water. Instead, he looked up, at the moon hanging heavy above them. In its fullness, it looked even larger than normal and shone bright enough that it barely seemed like the middle of the night. They sat together, the sounds of the city behind them and the gentle lapping of the water ahead.

“I had an aunt when I was growing up,” he said suddenly, and she jerked her head to look at him. He continued, still staring off into the distance. “A close family friend technically. There were a few of those around.” Rey couldn't help a stab of jealousy, but she didn’t say anything. “She was - is - one of the fae. In tune with nature and all that, but what she was really into was stars. She used to take me out at night sometimes and tell me stories, about all the constellations and the heroes that ended up there.” He paused. “Looking back, she was probably trying to teach me that I couldn’t force the entire universe to fit how I needed it to.” He snorted. “You see how well that turned out.”

(cont. reading under cut)

He hesitated again, face creasing as he worked through his thoughts. Rey had the sense that this was something deeply personal for him and almost looked away to give him some semblance of privacy, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the emotions passing over his expressive features. “I haven’t thought about her for a while. Tried not to. She was close with my mom, and…” He trailed off, face finally turning away. Rey thought about the woman she’d heard on the other end of the phone and her chest ached.

He breathed deeply, then rolled his shoulders and fixed his eyes back on the sky. “The moon was important to her too, even if she wasn’t connected to it in the same way my mom was. She had a pattern for things. The new moon was birth, new beginnings. A clean slate. And as it waxes, it’s a time for growth, to set your sights and take action. Then, at the full moon, when everything is at its height, you’re supposed to let it all go. Let old things die.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “If you can imagine, I was never much good at that.”

She smiled weakly. “I’m not either,” she offered.

His hand shifted on the ground between them, turning just enough that it brushed hers. She welcomed the contact and spread her fingers against his. He breathed out shakily. “And then as it wanes, you clear out your life. Prepare to start things all over again,” he concluded.

Silence fell between them as she thought that over. “That sounds nice,” she said eventually. “Making time to let go and move on. She sounds like a smart woman.”

“She was. My mom used to say that you don't live that long without picking up a couple things.”

They fell quiet again.

“Do you… miss them? Your family?” Rey asked softly.

He bowed his head and she thought he might not answer. Then he sighed. “Snoke didn't leave a lot of time for reminiscing,” he said bitterly. “When I first went to him, I thought he was the best option. Well, it felt like my only option at that point. By the time I started to have doubts, it was far too late to turn back. I didn't see a way out. And I've always been too stubborn for my own good.”

“I noticed,” Rey said, smiling despite the lump in her throat. “I'm not much better.”

He acknowledged her sympathy with a brief thankful glance. “So it felt like I was stuck there. And there was no point in thinking about what I couldn't have. My family, my home, such as it was, all of it. I let it die. Or tried to. And now that I'm not trapped under Snoke anymore --” He stared out at the water. “I don't know. I can't go back like the past decade hasn't happened. And I have no idea what to do with the future.”

“Do you want to go back?” she asked, cocking her head at him.

“Maybe,” he said, dodging the question. “If nothing else, I want to see the ocean again. Swim in it.” He expression twisted in longing. “I think I missed that the most. It's like being torn apart, not having that part of me.” He looked over at her. “You never did make it to the ocean, did you?”

“No,” she admitted. “I still want to. Someday.”

“I'd take you there,” he said quietly, and her eyes met his in shock. He looked at her intently, with a bone-deep seriousness she didn't know how to handle. She turned back to the river.

“What's it like?” she asked, not acknowledging his offer.

He turned as well, frowning as he thought. “It's… big. Bigger than you think. You can swim and swim and never reach the horizon. And everything about it is alive, from the waves and tide pools on the shore to the endless stretches in between. It's unpredictable, but you can learn to understand it, even though it's constantly changing. But then so much of it is the same, for thousands and thousands of years. It's… hard to explain.” He'd gotten more animated as he spoke, but then trailed off at the end, deflating.

“It sounds wonderful,” she said wistfully. “It's hard to imagine what it's like, that much water all in one place.”

“I could show you,” he blurted.

She looked over at him. “What?”

“I could share my memories with you. If you wanted.”

She sat bolt upright. “Really?’

#reylo #benrey #reylo fic #rffa writers #reylo writing den #rey x kylo ren #between belief #my fic

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fieldsofview · 6 years

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Day 12 AU Yeah August: Royalty - “King Agreste”

You can read the rest of my contribution to AU Yeah August of AO3 here.

Summary: A retelling and revisioning of the Grimm fairy tale Allerleirauh "all-kinds-of-fur" with a miraculous twist.

This thing is nearly 6000 words of Adrienette and Ladrien Fluff. The full story is below the read more cut, but I would recommend reading it here on A03 if that’s easier for you.

Once upon a time, there was a king. This king was not a king of known noble lineage, but one who stole his kingdom from the previous ruler, who had been old and frail. This kingdom was small and without a ruling family, leaving its people defenseless and its nobles in need of ruling. This king was a tyrant who drove taxes ever higher and his soldiers enforced any and all of his words without question. After some time, his soldiers became known as the Demons, and he was their master. None knew his name, only the many addresses he requested like your Majesty or your Grace.

This king had a wife, a beautiful woman with golden hair and porcelain skin. She was so beautiful that it was said her equal was not to be found anywhere on earth. She was the one salvation for the people, quelling the king’s tyrannous decrees and calming the war-torn borders with her diplomacy.

A few years passed and the queen fell ill, very ill indeed. Physicians and herbal healers came from all edges of the kingdom and beyond to attempt to cure her, but it was no use. Her health continued to decline.

The king secluded himself further and further into his private chambers. He was not seen or heard of for many months as news of the queen's illness spread. Only his most trusted advisors were allowed near him, and it was from them that his decrees continued.

When the queen felt that she was about to die, she called the king to her and said, "Find happiness after I am gone. In my memory, be kind to the people, as I have always asked. If you choose to remarry after my death, please take someone who is as beautiful as I am, in spirit and in her love for the people. That you must promise me."

Days after the king had promised her this, she passed away in her sleep.

For a long time, the king could not be comforted, grieving through her luxurious funeral. The kingdom grew poorer and poorer as the king raised taxes yet again to pay for her services. He chose to drown himself in material goods, only accepting the finest wine and spirits to waste his days away. The king’s advisors attempted to run the kingdom in his honor, but as the king found out about their new policies, he quickly reversed them. He tightened the kingdom’s belt even more, demanding that the people feel the pain he felt.

He did not consider taking a second wife for many months. Finally, his advisors said, "There is no other way. The king must remarry so that we will have a queen. We need someone to bring balance into the king’s life, and to bring joy and comfort to the people again"

The advisors searched long and hard until they found an old document in which a king was required to have a queen in order to rule. Though the rule was from many lineages ago, and the new king had dismissed most of the old rules, his grief clouded his judgment. The advisors were able to convince him to take another wife.

They did not expect him to decide on this exact method to choose.

The king misremembered his wife’s request, blurred with his grief and anger. He decided he needed a wife as beautiful as she was on the outside, disregarding her requests to help the people.

Messengers were sent out far and wide to seek a bride, who in beauty was entirely the equal of the deceased queen. Unmarried women from every standing throughout the kingdom were summoned to the castle. The poorest farm girls and the noblest ladies were all brought before the king, lined up in the largest hall in the castle.

Most of these girls were brought against their will, though a few relished the chance to marry a king. The Demons dragged them from their families and left them weeping in the halls. Every eligible girl of every age was there, some as young as 10.

Only one girl caught his eye, a young woman of 19. She was a servant in the castle, having grown up there since she was small. She remembered the old king and his kindness to the people, and she was furious at the treatment of these girls and her people.

The king looked at her in the hall and only her. She did not resemble his deceased wife in every way, but her smile was kind like hers and her beauty was unmatched by any other there.

Without hesitation, he said to his advisors, "I will marry this girl, for nowhere else can I find a bride who is her equal."

When she heard this of herself, she spat, “‘This Girl’ has a name. Marinette. If you think I will marry you, you are sorely mistaken. You have been a cruel tyrant to these people and you deserve to rot in your grief.”

The king ignored her words, demanding his advisors set the wedding date for the earliest possible time.

When the councilors heard this they were horrified, but also hopeful, and said, "Please Miss, the king needs a queen who will care for this kingdom. Your passion is what we need. What the king decrees is law."

Marinette was furious when she heard of this decision. Hoping to earn some time to dissuade the king further, she said "Before I fulfill your wish, I must have three dresses made of my own design: One as red as blood, one as black as coal, and one that is blue and glistens with gems like the stars. These will each have matching masks and shoes, for greater elegance. Further, I must have a cloak put together from a thousand foxes, with spots from only the blackest rabbit fur. I will not marry until this is done. There will only be the best for the future queen."

Now, she thought that is was not the time for so many animals to be ready for slaughter, and these dresses would take much time to create. It would give her time to convince the king otherwise.

But the king did not give in, and the most skilled maidens in his kingdom had to weave the three dresses, one like crimson blood, one like ebony coal, and one that glistened like the stars without any equal. And his huntsmen had to capture all the foxes and rabbits in his entire kingdom and take fur from each one. From these, a spotted cloak was made.

During all this time, Marinette tried to reason with the king from her prison in the castle, but he would not hear her. After the first few attempts, he banned her from the greater castle grounds and confined her to her chambers in the far wing.

Finally, when everything was finished, the king had the dresses and cloak brought to him. Spreading it out, he said, "Tomorrow is our wedding day. There will be no discussion.”

When Marinette saw that there was no more hope to change the cruel king’s mind, she made the decision to run away. During the night, while everyone was asleep, she got up and took the only thing most valuable in her possession: a pair of earrings said to hold great luck and fortune. They’d been given to her by her grandmother when she was small, and she held them near her always until now. She put them on for the first time and hoped that her grandmother’s words were true. She put the three dresses and masks into her bag, put on the cloak of fur, and set forth.

She stopped briefly by her parent’s quarters, who had not seen her for many weeks. She bid them a tearful goodbye. They packed her some food for her journey and hoped only that she would be happy someday, far away from here.

She walked many days and nights, keeping only to the most concealed forest paths, away from the main roads. Though the Demons attempted to find her, and came quite close a few times, she managed to stay hidden.

One day, when she was many days travel outside of the kingdom and easily into the borders of another, she decided it was safe enough to sleep close to the road. She’d feared for her safety deep in the forest here, and being near the main road gave her comfort in the night.

The sun came up, and she continued to sleep, and she was still asleep by broad daylight. Now it came to pass that the king who owned these woods was hunting in them. When his dogs approached the tree they sniffed, then ran around it barking.

The king said to the huntsmen. "See what kind of wild animal is hiding there."

The huntsmen followed his command, and when they returned they said, "A strange animal, like none we have ever seen before, is lying in the hollow tree. There are spots of black on its fur. It is just lying there asleep."

The king said, "See if you can capture it alive and bring it along." The king rode on ahead of the huntsmen, ready to retire for the night.

When the huntsmen took hold of Marinette, she awoke. Filled with fear and shock, she cried out, "Unhand me, for I am human. I am Marinette. Please, I am lost and in need of shelter. Have pity on me and take me with you."

Then they said, “Your cloak looks like the spots of a ladybug. You are but a bug who can serve the king, we have no interest in your name, Ladybug. You are good for the kitchen. Come with us. You can sweep up the ashes and fetch wood for the cook’s fire."

Thus, they set her on the cart and drove her home to the royal castle. There they showed her a little cot in a storeroom behind the kitchen, where the light of day never entered. She was told, "This is where you can live and sleep, little Ladybug."

Then she was sent to the kitchen, where she carried wood and water, tended the fire, plucked the poultry, sorted vegetables, swept up the ashes, and did all the dirty work the other servants despised.

Marinette lived as Ladybug a long time, content in the anonymity but miserable with the work. She felt lonely without her family and had managed very little in the way of making friends. Some of the other kitchen girls would talk with her when the night was late and the coals had cooled, but during the day the cooks wouldn’t allow it.

Though the staff in the kitchen were unpleasant to Marinette, the rest of the kingdom seemed happy. This king was loved and peaceful with the neighboring lands. He was King Agreste, and though before his rule the kingdom had been struggling, the past years had been prosperous.

She hoped one day she would have the opportunity to leave the kitchens and open her own merchant’s stall. She wanted a better life than this, but she was grateful she had left the cruel king’s clutches.

Every day she still feared that the cruel king would come to find her and drag her away to be his queen. Rumors of bounty hunters along the borders and an army building its forces scared her much more than any hard work or harsh words in this kitchen.

Though King Agreste had been unmarried all this time, he decided it was time to consider finding a queen. He wasn’t in the mind to decide immediately, but he thought to throw a banquet: one to celebrate the many years of prosperity and to allow him to meet potential brides.

Though Marinette wasn’t interested in marrying this king any more than she wanted to marry the other, she did remember those beautiful dresses.

It would be a shame to never wear them.

The king had been kind enough to invite even the lowest of servants to join the banquet once everything was served to the other guests. As everyone was excited, dinner was served early in the hopes of extra time to celebrate. The other kitchen staff made their way up to the great hall, even as the head cook called back, “Ladybug, you are too dirty and ill-mannered to come. Stay here to help clean when the banquet finishes.”

Marinette watched them file up the stairs and quickly made her way to her cot. She was not going to miss this opportunity, no matter what she was told. She washed the grime from her face and hands, she pinned up her hair in curls as best as she could, and she donned her crimson dress. Though this banquet was not a masquerade, she feared that the other staff would recognize her, and so she wore the matching mask.

For luck, she rubbed her earrings and hoped that they would keep her hidden.

She made her way through the servant passages to the main hall, entering the banquet through the main door. Everyone stepped out of her way, for no one knew her, and everyone thought that she was a princess.

She had not hoped there would be this much attention on her, but what’s done is done.

After some time and a few dances with flirtatious lords, dazzling barons, and gregarious dukes, the king approached her. He asked her for a dance, and though she did not like the attention, she couldn’t deny him. He was handsome and charming, so it wasn’t such a difficult task in the end.

“I pride myself in knowing all of the neighboring kingdoms and their royal families, and yet I have never seen nor heard of you, Princess.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her as they spun around the room.

Though Marinette had never danced like this, she found herself easily falling into step. “You wouldn’t have, I’m sure, your Majesty. I’m not here to represent anyone, only to enjoy the celebration.” The mask made her feel braver, even though this was the king, she could say what she meant. Her time with the cruel king had weakened her voice some, as much as she hated it.

He seemed surprised, “I would have thought every girl here would be looking for my hand. It only seems the expectation at events such as these.”

“I have no interest in marrying kings. I never have.”

“Will you not tell me your name, Princess?” His green eyes flashed brightly with curiosity.

She curtsied as the dance ended. Running her finger along the edge of the mask, she said, “That would defeat the purpose of this then, now wouldn’t it, your Majesty.” He tried to ask her for another dance later in the evening, and she surprised him by agreeing, though he had others to entertain at the current moment. She escaped into the crowd and watched the rest of the celebration from afar.

Though the night was young, Marinette heard the first of the kitchen staff talk about leaving. In her panic, she rushed out, disappearing even as the king was distracted by a dance with another girl. Once the king found out, he questioned the guards who stood watch in front of the castle, but no one had seen her after she left the main entrance.

She had run back to her cot, quickly taken off her dress and mask, took down her hair, dirtied her hands and face with soot from the fireplace, put on the fur cloak, and was once again Ladybug.

After she had returned to the kitchen and was about to set to work, the cook said, "That's enough until tomorrow. Make the king's tea for me, so I can be in charge upstairs, but don't let a hair fall into it, or in the future, there will nothing more for you to eat." The king requested hot tea before bed every night, a tradition he had taken on since he was a young child still with his mother.

The cook went away, and Ladybug made tea for the king. Though she did not know how the king preferred his tea, she tried her best. When it was done, she rubbed her earrings with the hope that she would not be punished for her work.

She did not notice that the tea glittered with a thousand sparkles.

When the dance was over, the king had his tea brought to him. Though it was early, there were rumors that he retired to his chambers soon after the disappearance of the mysterious princess. He drank it, and it tasted so good to him that he thought he had never had a better cup of tea. He had no idea how tea could shine like that, as he had never seen it before.

He ordered the cook to come before him. The cook was terrified when he heard this order, and he said to Ladybug, "For sure you let a hair fall into the tea. If that's true, you'll get a beating."

When the cook came before the king he was asked who had made the tea, and he answered, "I did."

The king said, "That is not true, for it was made in a different way, and much better than usual." He was not unkind in his tone, but it was obvious he was unhappy with the lie.

The cook answered, "I must confess that I did not make it. It was the little ladybug."

The king said, "Go and have her come up here."

The cook went downstairs furious. “I don’t know what you did, but you will not embarrass us before the king. Hold your head up high and do not get any of your grime upon him. Tell him you are no use to anyone.” He sent Marinette up to the king’s private chambers, following behind her.

When Marinette arrived, the king asked, "Who are you?"

"I am Ladybug." She kept her voice clipped, but not impolite. She did not want him to recognize her from earlier, nor did she want to incur the cook’s anger.

He asked further, "What are you doing in my castle?"

She answered, "I am here to work. I am good for nothing, no use to anyone."

He asked further, "How did you make such tea? It glittered with a thousand sparkles."

She answered, "I do not know anything about that." She kept her eyes lowered to the floor as her heart racketed in her chest. She felt about to burst with fear.

King Agreste sighed. “Thank you for the tea, I must have it now and every night hereafter.” The king felt he could learn nothing and had to send her away.

The next night, the banquet continued. He felt that this celebration was not finished, and he had yet been interested in anyone but the mysterious princess. He hoped to see her again the next night. He tried to not let his mind be clouded with thoughts of only her, but he found it difficult. No other had caused such a stir or been so independent. Many of the other women chose to fawn themselves over him without a sign of their own personality, choosing to mirror his every thought and whim.

Marinette was happy to get away from her servant’s cot for a night and felt that though she had worn one of the magnificent dresses, it would be a shame to never wear the other two.

Again, the king had invited each and every servant to join the banquet once all was served to the other guests. As the night before, everyone was excited and dinner was served early in the hopes of extra time to celebrate. The other kitchen staff made their way up to the great hall, even as the head cook called back, “Ladybug, you are still too dirty and ill-mannered to come. Stay here to help clean when the banquet finishes and make the king’s tea when he requests it.”

Marinette watched them file up the stairs and quickly made her way to her cot. She washed the grime from her face and hands, pinned up her hair in curls, and donned her coal-black dress. Even more so than the previous night, she feared being recognized, so she wore the matching mask. It was thrilling, defying orders and joining the celebration.

Again, for luck, she rubbed her earrings.

Like the previous night, she made her way through the servant passages to the main hall, entering the banquet through the main door.

Like the previous night, everyone stepped out of her way.

Unlike the previous night, now people knew her, though they still thought that she was a princess.

There was no time to dance with other lords, barons, or dukes. The king approached her as soon as she entered, enthralled by her presence. As before, he asked her for a dance, and again, she couldn’t deny him.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Princess,” he said as he took her hand, leading her to the center of the dance floor.

“You as well, your Majesty.”

“Though I know you will not tell me your name, will you indulge me in my other curiosities?”

She smiled teasingly, again rejoicing in the confidence her mask gave her. “Well you know what happened to the cat, and I wouldn’t dare ask any harm upon you, your Majesty.”

He laughed loudly, stuttering their steps as they danced, and said, “Ah, but satisfaction brought the cat back to life, did it not? I should hope you would come to my rescue should I follow the feline’s path.”

“Of course, your Majesty. To do otherwise would be treasonous. But until that fateful time, I should hope you would allow a girl to keep some of her mysteries to herself.”

“I suppose you are right, Princess.”

The king spun her around and around, finishing the dance with a low dip, questionably appropriate for this type of event. Marinette could feel the questioning and hungry gazes upon her. Who was she to steal the affections of the king?

As she curtsied to him and the music swelled for another song, the king caught her arm. “Please, dance with me again. I cannot bear to part with you just yet.”

Marinette looked around, feeling the eyes on her from all around the hall, unsure of what to do. But one couldn’t just deny the king without making an even bigger show, and, as it is, she was uncomfortable with all the attention. She saw that the night was still young and the other kitchen staff were at the far end of the room, enjoying themselves. After such a long pause, she noted that the orchestra had repeated the same verse over again twice so that the king could begin his dance on time.

“As you wish, your Majesty.” As they danced, the king watched her and she lowered her eyes to examine the elegant embroidery of his shirt. She wasn’t sure what the appropriate thing to say was, so she remained quiet.

After some time, the king said, “I quite like your dress, much different from last night’s. Though the red matched your lips, the black matches your raven head.”

Marinette glanced down to the flowing layers of her skirt, proud of her own design, even if her hands hadn’t constructed it. “Thank you, your Majesty. I worked hard on its design. It is an honor to hear your praise.”

“You made this?”

“I designed it, your Majesty. I was not allowed to participate in its construction.”

“Well, your personal hand in it makes it all the more beautiful.” His eyes were wide, watching her with fascination. “I should hope you have another beauty hiding away for tomorrow, should I see you again.”

“I suppose that is for you to find out tomorrow, your Majesty.”

“I suppose you are right, Princess.”

The music swelled for its final crescendo, but the king did not let her go and pulled her into another dance again. This time, he spun her around and around until they were both nearly breathless.

“What do you think of this kingdom, Princess? Is it one you could find comfortable?”

She contemplated her answer carefully, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to give away her secrets. “My time here has shown me that this kingdom is prosperous and the people are happy. I suspect I could be happier here than I would have been living in my home kingdom.”

At her answer, the king smiled brightly. “Well then, regardless of what happens, I hope you would make a home here. You are most welcome.”

“Thank you, your Majesty. I am grateful to hear that from you. It means something quite special indeed.”

The king looked around the banquet hall and took note of the other guests. As their third song came to a close, he decided it would be best to follow through with his duties to the other guests. “I hope to see you later for a final dance, but I should attend to the other guests. Thank you for indulging me with your company, Princess.” He took a low bow and kissed the knuckles on her right hand. Such an honor was not seen often from the king to another.

She touched her cheeks, feeling them warm under the edge of her mask. With a final curtsy, she bid him a gracious farewell and disappeared as soon as his attentions were on someone else. Though she was first back to the kitchens, she could hear the others coming down the servant’s passage after her.

Later that night, the king would look to have a farewell dance and another chance to see her, but the guards would not remember her slipping away, nor would anyone else.

As the night before, she had run back to her cot, quickly taken off her dress and mask, took down her hair, dirtied her hands and face with soot from the fireplace, put on the fur cloak, and was once again Ladybug.

She barely feigned readiness to work with a touch of boredom before she was ordered to make the king’s tea for the second time. Again, the cook went away, and when it was done, she rubbed her earrings with the hope that it would be the same as the day before, for she did not remember how she had done it then.

This time, she noticed when the tea started to glitter as if covered with a thousand sparkles.

The king retired early, hoping that the sooner he rested the sooner he would see his princess. He was excited about his tea and requested that Marinette deliver it personally. He again questioned her how she made tea that glittered so brightly, and again she only repeated that she did not know and she was of no use to anyone, as the cook told her. The king sent her away for the night, and she was thankful he did not recognize her.

As the preparations for the third night of the banquet finished, the cook said, "You are a witch, you little bug, always charming the tea and putting a spell on it to make it very good and taste better to the king. Stay here and do nothing, for we will be back late and need your help."

She thought of arguing but decided against it, only fueled by determination to enjoy her time during the celebrations.

This time she put on the dress that was blue and glistened like the stars, and as before, she waited for all the other servants to leave. She stepped into the hall, and as before everyone stopped and stared, though this time it was to be expected.

Just as before, the king was waiting to dance with her. He smiled widely upon seeing her and would not be distracted by anyone else all night. He wanted to dance and dance and dance with her and no one else.

“Now your dress glints like the starts in the night sky, just as your eyes do. Princess, you continue to amaze me.”

The two talked through many dances long into the night, and the more they talked the more she surprised and enamored him. She kept up with his wit while remaining proper, and she held her opinions strongly without being disrespectful. He felt he could love no other like her.

Though his mind was made up, he did not want to force her into a marriage she would not want.

He waited, and brought it up gently, with the hope of convincing her. “Princess, I do not wish to confine you or lock you away. You are the most beautiful person I have met, inside and out, and you would do me a great honor in becoming my queen if you find such a thing agreeable.”

He held out to her his silver ring, engraved with the royal seal. Such a symbol of trust was unexpected to Marinette, and she nearly stopped their dancing in shock.

Other’s seemed to have noticed too, for the crowd became quiet and all eyes were on her.

In her hesitation, the king stopped their dancing. He slipped the silver ring onto her finger and said, “Please, consider my offer. You may keep the ring, even if you decline. I know now that I will marry no other. I will stay unwed without you.”

Marinette’s heart racketed in her chest, she felt it was so loud the whole room should be able to hear it.

Not having realized how late the night had become, she saw across the room that some of the kitchen servants were beginning their journey back to the kitchens. With panicked apologies, she ran, leaving the king alone in the center of the dance floor. She meant to return the ring, but in her haste, it came with her.

She raced past the guards and slipped into one of the unused passages, running as fast as her elegant shoes would allow. Though the king and his guards tried to follow her, she escaped without a trace.

She barely had enough time to throw her fur cloak over herself, remove her mask, and unpin her hair before the rest of the kitchen staff found her. In her haste, she did not dirty herself as much as she was before the banquet, though the cook did not question it, and so she hoped it would be enough to protect her from the king’s recognition.

As the previous nights, she made the king his tea. He retired with sadness as soon as she had disappeared from the banquet, so she had very little time.

She also felt sadness in her heart, because if she were to marry she would hope it would be one like the king. She deeply regretted hurting his heart, but she could never be again in the public view, for fear that the cruel king would come looking for her and steal her away.

She rubbed her earrings for luck again and watched as the tea began to glitter with a thousand sparkles.

He questioned her as he had the previous nights, but as her head hung low and she responded the same, a glinting from her hand caught his eyes. Without warning, he reached for her and clasped her hand, pulling it towards him to see in the light. As he did so, the cloak slipped from her shoulders and revealed her brilliant blue dress glittering like the stars.

He hoped that finding her would be a happy thing, but as soon as the cloak hit the floor she burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty. Though I find you most wonderful, I cannot marry you. I had hoped to return your ring, please forgive me.” She slipped the ring from her finger and held it out to him.

He held her hand in both of his, curling her fingers around the ring. “Princess, I do not care if you are a servant in this castle. You are who I love and you will be my queen, the best this kingdom could ask for.”

Her tears fell even harder than before, “I cannot marry you, for the cruel king near here has already claimed me as his bride. I came here to escape his clutches. Should I enter the public eye, he will surely find me. Even if I am wed, he will kill you to take this kingdom and me, I am sure of it. He has no sense or kindness in his heart.”

“Please, Princess, tell me your name.”

Surprised, she looked up at him and said, “Marinette, your Majesty.”

“Marinette. What a lovely name.” He pulled her towards himself, embracing her. “Do not worry, for I will release your home from this cruel king. Our army was preparing even as we celebrated tonight, and it will be no trouble to liberate the people. That tyrant is my horrible father, who I helped overthrow some years ago. I know he has no caring, and now that mother is gone, he has abused his power even more so.”

Marinette felt overjoyed, knowing she would be free from the shadow over her head. She couldn’t help the excitement bubbling in her chest as she thought of seeing her family again.

“If you will reconsider, I would still wish you to be my queen. I will take no other, though you are free to decline if you truly wish. Do not let my tyrannous and cruel father cloud your choice, it is yours to make as you choose.”

She searched his eyes for any dishonesty, but she found none. After a long deliberation, she smiled and agreed to be his queen, Queen Agreste.

She rubbed her earrings again, this time thanking them for her good fortune. It was more than she could have hoped for.

Not a few months later, her home had been liberated and became its own state in her new kingdom. Her parents moved into the castle that was her new home, and she loved having them near her again every day.

Not three days after the liberation of her home, she was wed. It was the most beautiful wedding, featuring the most beautiful bride in the entire kingdom.

And they lived happily ever after from then on.

#ml au yeah august #au yeah august #royalty au #adrienette #ladrien #marinette dupen-chang #adrien agreste #ladybug #miraculous ladybug

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lady-literature · 6 years

Text

The Gods are Dead

Made for the Sanders Sides Big Bang, @ts-storytime

Summary: Time passes. It moves on. People grow and change and eventually, they stop believing in gods.

Pairings: none really

Warnings: ANGST, swearing, negative thoughts, character kinda-death

Apart of the same series: In the Sky We Fall | All Hail the Consort of Darkness | Roman’s Daughters | Ease My Pain and Soothe My Worries

Read on Ao3

The gods are dead.

The only constant is change. Civilizations rise and fall like waves. People grow and die. The land itself shifts to and fro. Things that were once truths become fairy tales, and those that were once legends become myths.

The gods walk among the mortals who once worshiped them.

The gods are dead, but they are never gone.

Virgil doesn’t fear death.

For as many things he was scared of, death hadn’t been one of them. At least not for himself anyway.

He was the one who ushered the world into decay so that it could be reborn again. He walked among the dead and spoke to them like old friends. He controlled the shadows that so many feared. He befriend those no one else would because they were different.

What he had feared was the mistakes he made. The responsibility placed on his shoulders as a Manifestation, as a God of Many Things, as the Protector of the Precious.

He was tired, and so he let his power fall through his hands like water, and he let himself be forgotten. Swept away by the sands of Time.

When Virgil awakens in the mortal realm, he finds himself alone.

No way to speak with his friends or lovers or anyone. No way to find them either. He is mortal and he must merely wait and hope. And he has never been good at either.

But for them he will do his best.

He lives what should be two lives before he crosses paths with Logan. Virgil finds it funny how he was still named Logan despite him being mortal and having no control over his name. Virgil thinks the universe must have a sense of humor.

That is until he realizes that Logan doesn’t remember him. Does not remember anything.

Virgil finds that the universe is not funny; it is cruel. Cruel and ironic. The god of Knowledge unaware of his past. Unaware that he is missing the most important piece of knowledge he could possess.

Virgil would laugh were he not so furious. He wishes he could rain hell down on the earth as payment, to let off steam. Wishes he could command the tides as he used to, to shake the earth with his anger.

But he is merely mortal. And instead Virgil cries. He grieves and mourns and breaks ever so slightly. His precious north star has forgotten him and he doesn’t think he can find his way without him.

Slowly, Virgil meets everyone once again.

He hopes, with every fiber of his being that the next one will remember, that it is not just him the walks alone with the weight of All Things.

Every time that hope is shattered. Broken just when he put the pieces back together in a sad copy of what he had before.

Patton, Roman, Talyn, Joan, Dominic, even Thomas. None remember him and Virgil breaks further. He feels fragile, like broken glass held together with scotch tape. Sometimes he wonders what would happen if the scotch tape weren’t there anymore. If he was just the broken shards of glass.

Sometimes he wonders if it would be worse than this.

He is weaker, but magic still answers to his call. It is a sliver of the power he once wielded but Virgil prefers it. Prefers the small flame nestled in his chest rather than the roaring fires licking all around him, burning him from the inside out.

He uses every ounce of it to keep an eye on them all because he doesn’t know how to not worry about them. He uses it to locate them when they’re reborn. Because while Virgil never ages, seems immortal even when he’s no god, they still wither away before his eyes.

He watches them grow, and love and learn. Find happiness and sorrow and build a life without the weight of the universe on their shoulders.

And then he watches them die.

Over and over again.

He goes to every funeral.

He doesn’t know why the universe does this, doesn’t know why Chaos herself seems against him like this. Seems to be playing the cruelest joke on him. He wish it would stop. Would pick on someone else for once. But he knows that’s unlikely to happen.

He never talks to them, it’s too painful. But he can’t leave them. He thinks walking away would hurt so much worse. So he stays in this inbetween, still hoping but knowing he is alone.

Somedays he wonders if it’s worth it.

He’s walking down the street when he runs into Remy. The god-turned-mortal is flourishing in this new modern world. Virgil knew he would, in the back of his mind, and he almost wants to smile.

Instead he moves to turn around. Another familiar face--presence really, their mortal forms look nothing like their godly visages--is too much to bear. He’ll keep an eye on him but he will not engage. He promised himself that years ago.

But as Virgil has learned, things rarely ever go the way he wants them too.

“Autumn?”

The name is said in disbelief and the tiniest bit of hope, it’s so soft Virgil almost misses it. Slowly, he turns back around to find Remy staring at him, eyes wide and a little too bright.

Virgil’s throat feels like it’s closing up. Burning with the emotions stuck in his throat. The words stick to his tounge and his mouth feels full of ash but he forces them out. “What did you just say?”

Remy shakes himself. He looks defeated and confused. “No, no I- Sorry, Babe. Musta had the wrong-”

“No!” Suddenly Virgil is in front of Remy, his hands clutching at his leather jacket, eyes wide and desperate. “No, what did you say? You said Autumn. Why?”

Remy is startled, but he reagins himself quickly enough. In another situation Virgil might’ve smiled, Remy had always had the hardest feathers to ruffle.

He searches Virgil’s face before a tentative kind of hope seems to over take him. “You remember.”

Virgil nods. Not trusting his voice.

Remy hiccups a sob and Virgil feels not that far from joining. “You remember,” Remy breaths out in a hoarse whisper. “I thought, I thought I was the only one! I thought I was crazy or- or I don’t know. All the memories… they’re so hazy.”

Virgil registers the oddness of that statement, he can remember everything clearly, why can’t Remy?

He pushes it aside to analyze later. There are more important things right now. “How long?”

“Seventy five years.” Remy knows what he means immediately. As Gods their relationship had been rocky, but they had an easy connection. An understanding. As mortals it still persists. Perhaps even stronger since they don’t have that idiotic curse to strain it. Remy gives a strained smile, “Still have this youthful glow, though so not complaining,” he pauses, before continuing in a small voice, “What about you?”

Virgil laughs but there is no joy in it. It's a dark and bitter thing. “Three hundred twenty seven years. It took me the first hundred just to meet Logan.”

Remy wraps his arms around him then and Virgil knows that their standing in the middle of the sidewalk, that people are staring at them, but he can’t care right now. Someone else remembers. Nothing else matters at that moment.

Virgil thinks they might’ve stood there for hours before they stumble back to his apartment, bittersweet tears clouding their vision and hands clutching desperately to one another. Like if they let go the other will disappear and they’ll be all alone again.

#sanders sides #ts big bang #my typewriter #mwahahah #one of the first things i wrote in this universe #i meant it to be happy #then it wasn't #i regret nothing

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rscenarios · 7 years

Text

Daehyun - Family Time

Please remember to stream Honeymoon and do what you can to support this comeback! In honor of the comeback, here is an anon request for Dad!Daehyun.

Warnings: None

“Are you sure Appa will be there?” your five year-old daughter asks from her place in the backseat.

“He won’t miss your first performance. He’s so proud of you for joining dance and I know he’s looking forward to seeing you on stage,” you assure her. “And afterward we can go wherever you want for dinner after we pick Hyunwoo up so the sitter can go home.”

She grows quiet, watching out the window as you get closer and closer to the place the dance recital is being held.

“You’re going to do great.”

“What if I mess up? Will Appa be disappointed in me?”

“Daeun, he’s going to love you no matter what happens today. Even if someday you change your mind about being an idol someday, he’ll support you. You’re his baby girl and always will be, remember?”

She gives a slow nod, as you pull into the parking lot.

“I promise that I’m going to cheer for you no matter what. It’s okay to be nervous, but have fun with it too,” you encourage. “Do you want to sit here for a bit before we go inside.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Daeun sighs, unbuckling her seatbelt so you do the same. “Will you help me with my hair?” She asks as the two of you head inside.

“Of course sweetie.” you follow her to the area where some of her dance classmates are also getting ready. Some of the parents work to help get the kids and stage ready while you brush through her hair, making sure that it’s secure and won’t fall in her face. “Good?”

“Thank you,” she smiles at you.

“Do you need me to do anything else or I’m going to go find our seats?”

“No thanks.”

“Okay,” you press a kiss to her forehead before going to find your seat and waiting. You send a quick text to Daehyun to ask where he is.

“Right here,” his familiar voice says as he settles in the seat beside you. He gives you a quick peck. “How is she?”

“A bit nervous, but she was better when I left her.”

Daehyun nods thoughtfully. “She’ll feel better once she gets started hopefully. Are you sure her teacher is going to record?”

“Yes, they don’t want everyone having cameras out. So enjoy the moment. She wants to make you proud,” you take his hand.

“She will.”

Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, the lights dim and slow hip-hop beat comes through the speakers. Kids start to appear on stage during their cues and you can see Daehyun perk up as soon as Daeun steps out. There’s a pause as the parents clap at everyone on stage, but as another song starts, the audience quiets down. Both you and Daehyun keep your eyes on your daughter, who has a big smile on her face most of the time. The rest of the time she has a look of concentration during tricker parts.

When the performance is over Daehyun is practically the first one on his feet to cheer and you’re quick to do the same until Daeun leaves the stage. Soon enough you spot her come out from the backstage area and as soon as she spots you and your husband she rushes toward you. Daehyun barely has enough time to kneel down before she reaches him.

“You did so well sweetie!” he cheers, hugging her tightly.

“Really?”

“Of course. You will have to help me be a better dancer.”

“But you're really good!” she insists.

“Well then we will dance together soon, okay?”

“Okay,” she giggles before moving to hug you.

“I’m so proud of you,” you kiss her cheeks, making her blush slightly. “Are you ready to go get your brother?”

Daeun nods, taking your hand and Daehyun as you head outside. “Can I go with you?” she asks your husband.

“Of course,” he grins before giving you a kiss. “Race you home,” he jokes.

“No racing with our daughter,” you laugh.

“Whatever you say my love.”

With that you part ways, with you arriving home shortly before Daehyun. You head inside and pay the sitter before picking up the two year-old. “Did you behave?”

Hyunwoo smiles at you. “Yeah.”

“He got a little cranky when he woke up from his nap, but was good otherwise,” the sitter tells you.

“Thank you again for your help,” you tell him.

“Any time. Take care,” the sitter grins before leaving as to not interrupt the family time.

Once Daeun has changed, Daehyun asks, “So where does my little star want to go for dinner?”

As expect she tells you one of her favorite places that has a few games to play before and after you eat. You put Hyunwoo in his car seat and make sure Daeun is buckled in before Daehyun heads there.

You aren't sure who is more excited when you get the small cup of tokens: your husband or your daughter. You place your number on the table before following to watch the two play Whack-a-mole, both shouting as they hit the moles. Afterward the three of you each do a water gun race with Hyunwoo clapping happily in Daehyun’s lap.

“We won,” your husband cheers, tickling his son’s sides to earn a laugh.

“I got second!” Daeun cheers as she finishes.

“Better step up your game my dear,” Daehyun teases before your number is called out. As you eat, Daeun talks about anything and everything that comes to mind. Hyunwoo occasionally says a few random things, but mainly lets out excited noises as he looks at the games.

Once the food is gone and your stomachs have settled, you go back to playing some of the games to earn enough tickets for the bear Daeun wants.

“Thank you for helping me,” she squeals, holding the new stuffed animal tightly.

“Do you want to play anymore games?” you ask you see Hyunwoo rub his eyes before he cuddles into Daehyun's shoulder.

“No,” your daughter tells you so you head for home.

Without a word Daehyun takes Hyunwoo to his room while Daeun gets ready for bed. “Do you want a bedtime story?” your husbands asks her when he returns.

With an excited squeal your daughter nods quickly. You lean against her doorway while Daehyun sits on the bed, Daeun leaning against him as she cuddles the new bear. Softly, Daehyun begins to read the fairy tale book, lulling the girl to sleep by the end. He carefully shifts her, pulling the sheets around her before leaving the room.

He quietly leads you away from her room and into your own so the two of you can relax together. “I love days like this,” he tells you. “We raised two wonderful kids.”

“We sure did,” you smile, kissing him gently.

“I think tomorrow or next weekend we could go to the zoo.”

“Hyunwoo would probably like to see the animals,” you muse. It warms your heart to see the smile on his face at the thought of more adventures with the kids. His smile only grows as you move closer to him to enjoy his presence while he tells you other things he wants to do.

“Although, we should save our money for when we get baby number three.”

You give a small laugh, “We’ll see about that. Hyunwoo needs to be a bit older first.”

“I know,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m happy with our family whether it grows or not.”

#baplibrary #b.a.p #daehyun #b.a.p scenarios #daehyun scenarios #bap as dads #best absolute perfect #b.a.p scenario #b.a.p fluff #bap fluff #fluff #bap scenario #bap scenarios #daehyun fluff #daehyun x you #daehyunxyou

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mrkrychek · 7 years

Text

Brighter then the sun

Okay it’s been a really long time since I wrote fanfictions at all. But after reading so many soulmate AUs I needed to get my hands on this topic. And therefore I’m back into my huge Star Trek flash (thanks to my upcoming cosplay group - damn I love these guys and I know we’ll be awesome) I wanted to write about it.

Please let me know if you like it and I’m sorry if my English isn’t correct all the time but it’s only my second language and I’m not perfect at it.

Pairing: Chekov/Reader

Warning: non specific yet

Word Count: 2128

Part: 1/?

When you were just a little child your mother has told you stories of princesses who found their princes and lived happily ever after. You'd loved these stories even though you'd known that they weren't real. But she also told you stories of real people who'd lived life better than any fairy tale. People who said they'd found their soulmates. When you were just a little child you'd believed in these stories even your father had laughed at you and told you on and on that the were just modern fairy tales people had started to tell because they had got tired of the old ones.

When you got older you had started to believe your father. You started to see that people fall in love and also fall out of love. No one said that they'd found their soulmate. Some spoke about their love of their lives but nothing more. You realized the story of finding your soulmate was just another fairy tale your mother told you as bedtime story.

It was when you where 22 years old and you got to accepted to the Starfleet Academy you completely forgot all the bedtime stories your mother been telling you. All that mattered from now on was your career. You wanted to make your father proud who used to be a lieutenant on the USS Kelvin for so many years until it got destroyed. After that your father was forced into a wheelchair unable to walk anymore. He's been telling you all the stories about his trips to other planets, all the fights with Klingons he had, all the lives he rescued during missions. And the great story of George Kirk and how he'd saved over 800 lives. He was a kind of hero for you. Both of them – Kirk and your father. And both of them were the reason why you always wanted to join Starfleet.

Your first year has been a constant up and down for you. Not only that it has been the first time that you have been away from your family all by your own, but you had had to learn how hard it was to become something in life. How to make a dream come true. But never have you been giving up. You may haven't been top of your class but you managed to be at least in the top 10 by the end of the year. You have giving your best but you knew that you could do more so you set yourself the goal that in your second year you would do more and be in the top 10 all the year and by the end of the year in the top 5.

It was the first day of the new year. You were just ready to head out of your room which you shared again with your now best friend when she stormed out of the bathroom and looked at you in panic.

“(Y/N)! Damn it I totally forgot to tell you that you were supposed to be at the meeting with the newbies! Commander Wise asked me yesterday to inform you that you and Keith are supposed to introduce you personally as their guides and personal point of contact if they have any problems! But I totally forgot!” Her face turned red and she looked at the floor for a second. “You should meet him at 0800 in the auditorium! I'm sorry (Y/N), I shou-”

With a shake of your head you interrupted her. “Don't worry Hannah! I was with Keith yesterday when he was told to be there today....so I already know. That's why I'm up so early and on my way to go.” A relieving laugh came out of Hannah's throat.

“Of course you were with him...should have known. Also by you being already awake and ready. Well...” Another laugh from her and a smile on her lips.

“See you later in class!” You smiled back at her before turning around and leaving the room.

You were never much of a morning person and it was a really short night for you – mostly Keith was the reason why you came just back at one in the morning. Not that you two have been a thing. More like there been a thing between yourselves going on since last year. You were – how do people call it – friends with benefits. He was two years older than you and really handsome. A lot of girls fancied him including yourself. But he has never been someone for a relationship you found that out very quick. But why not at least enjoy the moments you had with him, you would never know if he maybe changes someday.

A quick glance on your timepiece told you that you're more than just in time. If you would walk right to the auditorium you would be early by 10 minutes. Enough time to get you a coffee on your way there. So you took a turn to your left and headed for the cafeteria. By this time there were barely any people. Since there build in some kitchen in the dorm rooms most cadets prefer to have there morning coffees in their rooms along with some quick breakfast than the overpriced cafeteria. Normally you would do it the same way but today was no normal day so you could make an exception. You took a quick sip from your coffee before you started walking straight to the auditorium again.

By the time you arrived you were still 5 minutes early. Enough time to drink the rest of your coffee and prepare yourself for what will come. Your eyes wandered around the room. There were still some seats empty for the new ones but also there were still some getting inside. Seeing their happy and exciting – but also afraid – faces made you thinking of your first day. It was just last year but it felt like you've been here for ages already.

“Do you remember our first day?” you heard a deep male voice asking right behind you.

“How could I forget? You were a pain in my ass right from the start!” you said and turned around to look into the brown eyes of your lover. On his face was a wide grin. Keith Rogers was a very handsome man. He was tall with big shoulders. His hair as brown as chocolate. His eyes just a little bit lighter with this special little yellow ring in the middle. And he was very charming and a gentleman. No wonder that so many girls fell for him. You included. But no girl is really his because he likes to be free and independent like he always says.

“But still you're sleeping with me...so you like this pain in the ass.” His grin got even wider and all you could do is laughing and shaking your head. This guy really got you. Before you could say anything you saw Commander Wise turning around the corner and coming to you.

“Good morning, Commander Wise!” you greeted him and saluted. Keith did immediately the same.

“Good morning Cadets! Exciting day today!” He looked around like you did some minutes ago. “This years we have some excellent new cadets who will join us.” His eyes wandered through the rows of seats like they were searching for something specific. “I will welcome them. Tell them about their upcoming years here. Showing them everything you got last year. Then I will introduce you two to them. You will give them a little tour across our facility afterwards. Answering as many of their questions as you can. Then you will lead them back to here and leave for your classes.” He turned around to watch both of you closely. “You understand?”

“Yes sir!” both of you said simultaneously. He nodded at you and turned around again to step forward and started to speaking. You listened keenly to his words while you tried to keep you eyes on him. But you couldn't help to watch the newbies listening. Well at least most of them. There was a certain blond guy you seemed t be more interested in the girl in his front than anything that Commander Wise was saying. You couldn't help but wondered why he looked so familiar to you. It seemed like you'd known this guy before but you couldn't remember where from. There wasn't more time to thing about it as you heard the Commander saying Keith's and your names and asking you to step forward. You felt so many eyes on you that you started to feel a little bit embarrassed. It was always difficult for you to be the center of anything and at the moment he spots were all on you.

After the Commander said another few words he send you off to the little campus tour. You split into two groups to make it easier to show them around and went in the opposite directions. You tried to keep every face in your group in mind so you wouldn't lose anyone. One person caught immediately your eyes. It was this pretty guy who wasn't paying much attention on Commander Wise but who's eyes were staring curiously in your direction. He wasn't checking you out like he did previously with the girl but he looked like he tried to remember you. Did you'd met before? You couldn't recall his face completely neither his name. But you had a tour to guide so you but this thought by side.

“Okay guys. I'm (Y/N)(Y/L/N)! Like Commander Wise already told you I just started my second year. Last year I was in the same position as you're now. Don't want to scare you already...but I want to be honest to you....your first year will be more than just a hard ride. Believe me social life will be something you will forget. If you want to get the best results at least. But okay...come on I'll show you around!” You turned around and started your little tour. And as the Commander had wished you answered as many questions as possible and as much as you knew.

It was nearly the end of the tour when you got together again with Keith and his group and another person caught your eye. He was smaller than anybody else and seemed also so much younger.

“Keith? Who is that boy there in the back? He is just a kid....” Keith turned around to look at him too before he looked back to you.

“Dunno his name....but he seems like he is a kinda genius...the kid knows a lot....guess he is like...12 or so. Don't care!” With a shrug of his shoulders he kept walking back to the auditorium. Of course he didn't care. But you were very curious about this kid. It was not often that the academy accepted young boys like him. He must have been someone really genius – or his parents were like super rich and gave Starfleet so much money so they would take him in for at least a basic training and an easy job in the end. Maybe you could find out more over the time about him. And also about this other guy who was flirting again with an Orion girl. Seemed like he was more interested in girls than anything other that has to do with the Starfleet. Maybe you wouldn't have to find out anything about him because he would leave faster than one of these Ardanian gerbils could even run.

Commander Wise and a woman you haven't seen before were already waiting for you. They took the group gladly over and thanked you for your work before sending you back to your classes.

“It was fun showing them around. Way better than we had! And damn some of the girls are really hot!” laughed Keith while you were walking to the classrooms. Even though you got already used to it it still hurt a little hear him talking about other girls. But you wouldn't show it.

“It was really fun. And I think some of them could really become someone big.” The rest of the way you walked in silence before you needed to part. “See you later at the gym lesson I guess.”

He nodded. “Unless you want to spend the little breaks between the lessons with something better than talking to others.” There it was again. His wide and bright grin. But he made you laugh and hit his chest.

“Not today tiger...gotta catch up with everyone....see ya!” So you turned around an walked down the hallway to your class.

#star trek #star trek aos #soulmate #soulmate au #fanfiction #writing #pavel chekov #pavel andreievich chekov #chekov #chekov/reader #chekovxreader #chekov x reader #pavel chekov/reader #pavel chekov x reader #anton yelchin

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