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twicearoundthesun · 1 year

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[coven au]

When Nayeon woke she was miraculously warm.

She was also restrained.

She blinked into consciousness, hazy and disoriented and unable to move her limbs. It caused her a panic for a few seconds, until she realized she was only tied down to her bedroll with vines that twisted around her wrists and ankles and anchored her to the ground. The worst of the sickness, and the weakness, seemed to somehow be behind her.

She was in a warm bedroll made of furs, in some sort of weird canopy or tent – vines and leaves entangled into a sort of loose fabric, loose enough for light to shine through yet tight enough to block most of the wind, draped around a tree branch far above her and anchored to the ground. The space it created was akin to a small hut. There was a cutout to her left for entry. An earth witch would have made this – and certainly one with more control of her gifts than her traveling companion.

Her traveling companion, she realized with a start. Dahyun. Had she found help? Nayeon tugged at the restraints.

Had she gotten them captured?

The only inhabitants of the tent were here and her bedroll, as well as a locked chest to her right. No Dahyun in sight.

As she got her bearings a little more she noticed movement outside, through the wall across from her, and she could hear the crackle and smell the smoke of a fire and meat cooking. Her stomach growled and she pulled at the vines again.

“You can pull all you want. Those aren’t really going anywhere.”

Nayeon’s attention snapped to the entryway to her left.

A woman stood, a red cloth tied around her head to cover her mouth and nose. Her hair was short and choppy, she wore a brown tunic and thick wool long coat. Daughter of a merchant, maybe, certainly not a serf – someone who could afford good clothes for her back and good training for her talents. Though it looked as if it’d been a while since her clothes had been mended. She held a confident posture, but her tired eyes betrayed her. A shortsword hung from her belt.

“They’re very impressive.” Nayeon said coolly. “I’d be more impressed if they weren’t binding me to a mattress.”

The woman didn’t reply, sighing and walking closer to crouch next to the bed. Closer, now, she could see the telltale green glow of the woman’s irises as Nayeon’s restraints tightened. This must have been the earth witch who’d built the tent – and the one restraining her.

She reached out and Nayeon instinctively flinched. The woman seemed to check her temperature, a hand pressed to her forehead.

“How am I doing, doc?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ll be fine.”

“Fantastic. I guess I should be going, then. I don’t suppose you’d give me back my very small, very incapable witchy companion, would you? We’d be out of your hair quick.”

The woman stared blankly. The glow in her eyes ceased, revealing deep brown irises. Nayeon felt the vines loosen.

“Trust me, once she warms up to you there won’t be a second of peace. We’ll be on our way as soon as you release me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Nayeon stared blankly back.

“She was at my campsite when you took me. About five foot tall, probably. Looks like she’s never seen the sun. Never shuts up. Possibly the most untalented earth witch you’ll ever cross.”

“You were the only one at your campsite. Half dead. More than.”

Nayeon frowned.

“Don’t lie to me. I can tell.” She said, quickly. Had Dahyun led them into a trap? What’d they done to her?

“Okay. I’m not lying. It was just you. You’ve been asleep for three days. We’ve found no one else in the surrounding forests.” She didn’t sense a change in the woman’s emotional state. She must have been a practiced liar.

Nayeon sat up abruptly. The vines around her arms tightened, pulling her back to the bedroll. The woman’s eyes glowed once again with the use of her magic, and continued to glow, actively restraining her. Very well-practiced, if her responsiveness was any indication.

“Listen. I’ll strike you a deal. Cut the shit and give me back the kid and everyone leaves this situation with their guts in the right place.”

“You’re a mind witch, aren’t you? Your powers are passive.” The woman said calmly. “How do you assume you’ll even be able to hurt me?”

Nayeon smirked. If she had a piece of silver for every time she’d heard that.

With your fucking knife, dipshit.

She reached for the woman’s emotions, warring in her head. Curiosity at the forefront, fear behind it. And love, of course. Fear motivated by love. A combination she easily recognized – She was protecting someone. Nayeon was a danger to whoever was outside the tent. She didn’t need to go any deeper than that.

She was nearly at full strength again. It would be so easy. One scream would do the trick.

It didn’t need to sound like her companion’s; fear would grip her automatically at the scream and make it believable enough; it’d send her scrambling outside to protect them. She heard it in her mind: blood-curdling, desperate – she’d heard enough of those in her short lifetime to craft a perfect memory. And then she cast it into the woman’s imagination.

The effect was immediate. Panic crossed her features and she whipped around towards the door. It broke her focus, the vines holding Nayeon going limp enough for her to fight against them and slip herself out of the restraints. She tackled the woman to the ground in an instant, wrestling the shortsword from her belt and pinning her down. She lifted the sword to her neck.

“Jeong!”

Before Nayeon could even turn to face the source of the voice, an excruciating pain spread through her.

She blacked out.

…

When Nayeon woke she was… a little colder.

And she was restrained again.

There were quite a few more vines wrapped around her now, including one across her neck she really did not appreciate. She still lay on a fur bedroll, but nothing covered her this time except her tattered underdress and her own cloak. She was sore, dull pain radiating outward from a stinging wound on the middle of her back.

“What the fuck.” Nayeon mumbled.

Two women sat in the room now, in front of the door. She could turn her head to see them fully – the vine was loose, but a threat. They looked up at her in surprise. The same one from before, and a shorter, tanner one. Her dress and build suggested she was lower-society than the short-haired girl, from a farming family, maybe, one that could afford good clothes but still needed to work. She, too had her mouth and nose covered in cloth.

“Hello.” The short one said evenly.

“What the hell did you do to me?” Nayeon mumbled, disoriented still from sleep.

She took a deep breath, and didn’t answer the question.

“My name is Park Jihyo. My friend, here, who you attacked, is Yoo Jeongyeon.”

“And?”

“We…” Jihyo trailed off. They made eye contact. Jeongyeon didn’t look happy about this. “I wanted to introduce myself. Ask you a few questions. We got off on the wrong foot. I understand you’d just heard some… unfortunate news about one of your own, which-”

“She isn’t one of my own.” Nayeon snapped. Dahyun was simply someone she’d been traveling with for convenience. She pushed away the guilt – The kid had only been trying to help her, and she’d likely been eaten by some horrible monster, or lost her soul to a wandering spirit. But Nayeon had warned her not to, and she wasn’t responsible for her anymore.

“Right… Regardless, you were a bit shocked about the news and you lashed out. Understandable. We wanted to give you a second chance.”

“With a vine around my neck in case I try to kill you.” Nayeon spat.

“Precisely. Thanks for understanding.” Park Jihyo said, an edge to her voice. “We understand your powers pertain to the mind. You can sense emotions and produce visions in others. Right?”

“Congrats, great guessing.” Nayeon glared. “And I understand your friend Yoo Jeongyeon is a shitty little plant witch.”

“I practice botany magic, yes, and if I remember correctly you called me impressive. Before you got knocked unconscious in one blow and drooled for a few hours.”

Jihyo cleared her throat. “And I-”

“Have storm magic, right.” Nayeon finished. “You shot lightning at me, didn’t you? That’s why everything hurts so fucking much, right?”

“You were going to kill my friend.”

“You killed mine.” She said, and reached for their emotions.

Shock, confusion. Insult. They had no clue what she’s talking about… Or were good liars. Bandits, making their money off of abducting travelers for ransom, perhaps.

“We did no such thing.”

“Lie all you want. Dahyun is dull and her powers are shit, she couldn’t have gotten far. Unless you’re both truly awful trackers, you’re lying about her.”

“And what reason would we have to kill her and spend vital resources nursing your sorry ass back to health for a week?” Jeongyeon snapped.

She had a point.

“I don’t know.” She admitted. “Why would you spend vital resources on a stranger?”

“Because you’re one of us, aren’t you?” Jihyo cut in. “You’re a fugitive. Trying to survive.”

“Fugitive? And what crime did I commit?”

“No crime. None of us committed any crime.” A low-burning anger took hold of the room. Jihyo’s eyes shone, angry. “The royal court decided to make us fugitives when they outlawed witchcraft, when they brought our ancestors to the gallows.”

Nayeon took a deep breath. She didn’t need the recap, she was all too familiar with the story. It’d been a hundred years ago.

“I assume you’re both on the run, then? You were found out and they attempted to kill you, just like everyone else?”

“In one way or another.” Jihyo took a deep breath. “Yes, we’re running. Trying to find a new city to blend into, so we can stop sleeping in the woods. Or maybe a larger group of witches – we’ve heard rumors of little villages where magic isn’t outlawed.”

“Fat chance. There aren’t many witches out there left.”

“We could find them. We found you.”

“Yeah…. I’m not really a team player.” Nayeon said slowly.

“You seemed awfully concerned about your little traveling buddy, though.” Nayeon didn’t like how close Jeongyeon’s tone felt to teasing her.

“I’m not.” Guilt plagued her again. She hated it. The room was quiet. “Thanks, I guess, for taking care of me. I’ll repay you for the supplies somehow and be on my way.”

“You shouldn’t be out in the cold yet.” Jihyo said. “You were running from somewhere. Where are you headed? Home?”

Home. Nayeon wished. What she wouldn’t do to go back to her modest little hut on the edge of the stupid little farm, working day-in and day-out tending to the barn for the couple that lived there. They were kind, and often invited her to dinner; among the workers on the farm she was certainly a favorite. The young wife of the house had even taught her to read and write after work, once the stables had been cleaned.

News of her being a witch had likely spread to them within the hour of her departure. Nayeon would be chased out of town with pitchforks if she returned.

She had no home. Something told her Jihyo knew that.

“None of your business.”

“Do you have any place to go?”

“I said it’s none of your business.”

The tent was silent. Nayeon heard movement outside again, but didn’t break eye contact with Jihyo.

“Well.” Jihyo stood. “Rest up, Stranger. If you want to leave once you’re fully healed, by all means. If you want to stay and try your hand at being a team player, we’d gladly accept the help. None of us have anywhere to go, either.”

“How many of you are there?”

“A few.” Jeongyeon said. “That’s all you need to know until I decide you aren’t a threat.”

“How do I know you aren’t the threat?”

Jeongyeon sighed. The vines unwound themselves from her, freeing her of restraints.

“Rest up. We’ll bring you food once it’s done cooking.” She said, and her and Jihyo walked out.

#this one got long #not beta reading jsut posting before my lunch break ends #lmk #coven au #nayeon #more tags here so you dont see spoilers #dun dun dun dun dun dun dun lets dance the night away dun dun #ok i think thats enough #if you keep reading youll spoil it #jeongyeon #jihyo #3mix together at last #but will she stay?#rip dubs #?#who else is at the camp?????

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allthingsfangirl101 · 3 years

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The Other Evans–Troy Bolton

I was used to people complaining about my family. It kind of came with the territory of being Sharpay's and Ryan's younger sister. I wasn't used to running into an East High Wildcat every time I turned the corner at my family's country club.

Of all the selfish things my sister is capable of, the worse thing she's done is hired the entire East High student body to work at our country club for the summer. Dealing with the whining Wildcats on top of planning my sister's beloved show was too much.

I thought they were good people until they started working here. I've now realized how much they complained. I suddenly had a new respect for Coach Bolton.

"Next time I see Country Club Princess, I'm gonna launch her and her pink cart straight into the lake," Chad said through his teeth.

I walked into the kitchen as Troy patted Chad on the back. "I'll build the ramp, buddy."

Taylor cleared her throat and nodded towards me in the doorway. The boys' eyes widened when they looked at me.

"Y/N," Troy stuttered.

"What is wrong with your sister, Y/N?" Chad snapped at me. I subconsciously took a step back. "Has she always been like this? Focusing on only herself? How did you take that growing up? Why didn't you ever say anything to her?"

"She can't control her sister, Chad," Troy sighed.

"Still," he scoffed. "She's the only one Sharpay listens to! Y/N, you could at least tell her to be human."

"You think it was a walk in the park growing up with her?"

It was my turn to scoff. I had no idea where this sudden confidence was coming from but I went with it.

"Let me tell you something, Ball Boy," I said, slamming my clipboard on the nearest table. "My sister has always been a terror. Not that my brother helped. In fact, he kind of egged her on. I lost count of how many times they ganged up on me. Either I wasn't dressing right. Or my makeup wasn't the right shade. Or I wasn't standing in the right spot. Or I wasn't on key. Or I was late. Or this. Or that. It was always something!"

"Y/N," Kelsie tried to jump in.

"And try being the untalented sibling!" I continued. "My older siblings love to dance and sing and act. They're good at it and they know it! But I'm not. I can't play an instrument. I can't sing. I can't dance. What can I do? I can plan a pretty decent party. Which Sharpay loves. Instead of paying someone to do all the work, why not just have your sister do it for free!"

"Y/N," Taylor sighed.

"As if planning the Sharpay Bash wasn't bad enough," I laughed harshly, "why not hire the entire East High student body to add their drama to your summer?!"

I angrily left the kitchen, leaving East High shocked. As I walked down the hall, I realized I left my clipboard in the kitchen. Not wanting to go back, I kept walking away.

"Y/N."

I ignored my sister, not wanting to deal with her right now.

"Y/N, we need your help with something," Ryan sighed.

"Y/N," Sharpay whined, stopping her foot like a little kid.

"No!" I yelled, turning around and angrily facing them. "I'm done. I'm done with this. I'm done with you. I'm done with your stupid party. I'm done with this place. I'm done. You have both treated me like an employee instead of a sister. Which is saying something because you treat your employees like crap. Just ask all of East High. They've seen it!"

"Y/N," Ryan tried to defend themselves. When he hesitated, I said something I've always wanted to say.

"I'm done being your personal party planner," I said, standing up straighter.

"What?" Sharpay scoffed.

"I quit."

* * * * *

After I quit working for my sister, I made plans to go back home. I didn't have to worry about my parents getting upset because they weren't even in the country.

I had just packed up my room and was heading to my car when I heard someone calling out to me. I ignored them as I kept walking.

"Y/N, wait up!"

I gasped when someone ran around and stopped in front of me. I bit my lip, suddenly embarrassed when I saw Troy standing there.

"What do you want, Troy?" I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You left your clipboard in the kitchen yesterday," he said softly as he held my clipboard out for me to take. I hesitated before taking it and clutching it to my chest.

"I tried to find you but I guess you left," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "I needed some space away from. . . Everything. So I went into town."

"I wanted to apologize for Chad yesterday," he said after a few beats of silence. "He was angry and tired and way out of line. He shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I'm sorry, Y/N."

I subconsciously tightened my arms around the clipboard as I shifted my weight.

"It's fine," I mumbled.

"So," he chuckled, "there's a rumor going around the kitchen. I wanted to know if it was true."

"What rumor?" I asked.

"That you quit being your sister's party planner," he said with a small smile. His smile turned teasing as my cheeks blushed. "Did you?"

"Maybe," I shrugged.

"That's amazing," he chuckled. "I bet she didn't take it well."

"Not at all," I said, clearing my throat. "She freaked."

He looked down, his smile falling when he saw the suitcase by my feet. "You're leaving?"

"I can't stay here," I sighed. "This place used to be one of my favorite places, but ever since I started working for Sharpay as her personal party planner. . . It's not the same here anymore. I come on vacation and end up working. So, I'm going home."

"You are?" He stuttered.

"It's not like I have a reason to be here," I couldn't help but scoff.

"Well," he said slowly as he reached up and scratched the back of his neck. "You could still play golf, swim. . . Plus the show is Sunday night."

"I don't think my sister wants me there," I said, glancing down at my suitcase. "Besides, why would I want to sit and watch her dance around the stage?"

"Because the rest of us are in the show too," he said barely audible.

"Troy," I sighed. "I don't think the Wildcats want me around either."

Before he could say anything, a honk came from outside. We looked up to see the valet getting out of my car.

"That's me," I said softly. I grabbed my suitcase and started walking past him. I was almost to the door when he spoke up.

"What if I want you there?"

I slowly turned around to see Troy looking at his feet. "What did you say?" I asked.

When he finally looked up at me, his eyes were soft. "I want you to stay, Y/N."

"You don't mean that," I said, my voice getting stuck in my throat.

He sighed as he walked over to me. "I do, Y/N. I want you to stay for the show."

"Troy," I stuttered. I gasped when he reached over and grabbed the clipboard from me. He tossed it onto a nearby couch before grabbing my hands.

"Stay," he whispered. "Stay here. This is still your parents' country club, not Sharpay's."

"So?" I whispered.

"So she doesn't have the right to throw you out," he said simply. "Stay here and enjoy the rest of your summer. I promise the Wildcats will be better behaved."

"I don't know," I stuttered, pulling my hands out of his hold. "What am I supposed to do? It's not like I have any friends. . ."

My sentence dropped and my cheeks burned. I looked away, wondering how much more I can embarrass myself in front of Troy Bolton.

"You have us," he mumbled.

"Yeah right," I scoffed. I cleared my throat when I saw the look on his face. "I just mean. . . It's no secret you guys don't like Sharpay and Ryan."

"But you aren't them," he said quickly. "You're nothing like your brother and sister, Y/N."

He hesitated before reaching over and grabbing my hands again. He intertwined our fingers, slightly tugging on my arms to pull me closer. I looked up at him through my eyelashes.

"Please stay, Y/N," he pleaded. "I'd really like to spend some time with you and get to know you better. And I know the team would say the same. Especially after you stood up to Sharpay."

I bit my lip and laughed. I looked up at him, my breath getting caught in my throat when I noticed him glance down at my lips. He looked back up at my eyes before smiling. I held my breath as he leaned in and pressed his lips gently to mine. It took me a second before I started kissing him back.

As our lips moved slowly in sync, Troy let go of my hands and wrapped his arms around my waist. I slowly slid my hands up his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck. I broke the kiss and leaned my forehead against his.

"My sister would be so jealous," I whispered.

He leaned back and let out a small laugh as he reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on my cheek. He smirked down at me, slightly shaking his head.

"Let her be jealous of you for once."

#troy bolton #troy bolton imagines #troy bolton x reader #high school musical #zac efron #zac efron imagines

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taetaespeaches · 4 years

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“I never would’ve thought Agust D would be so soft after sex.”

yoongi x reader (or oc) genre: smut; fluff word count: 3.1K

a/n: ok, so, Kid is ready to give Yoon that good good just after hearing like half the mixtape, our girl hasn’t even seen the damn mv yet guys, like, she’s ready to pounce after just seven songs from her man. And honestly, mood. I hope you lovelies enjoy this, I hope it lives up to your expectations lmao, and thank you for reading :))

YOU paced back and forth from one end of your kitchen to the other as you waited for Yoongi to answer his damn phone. I mean, seriously, how long does it take to pick up the-

“Hello?” Yoongi’s low voice interrupted your thoughts through the phone’s speaker.

Gasping, you eagerly asked, “Can I start listening?” omitting a proper greeting.

“Oh hey, I’m fine, how are you?” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, fully aware he couldn’t see you. “You’re expecting a lot of self-control from me right now, Min,” you complained.

Yoongi allowed himself to chuckle before responding with a humored, “if you want, you can listen, Kid.”

You squealed in excitement, bouncing around in front of the oven. “You’re sure? I don’t have to wait for you or anything?”

“Nah, I’m almost there anyway,” he told you, and you could tell by the tone of his voice he was grinning. “Just no music video yet,” he said in a whiny tone which you knew must be accompanied with a pout. He enjoyed watching your reaction to his music videos.

“No music video, I promise,” you smiled, absolutely fond of the man. “Oh my god, I’m not ready for this am I?” You yelled out, Yoongi scoffing in response.

“Jesus, you’re ridiculous,” he groaned.

“Shush, I’m hanging up, I have a long-awaited mixtape to listen to, thank you very much.”

“Ok fine, fine,” he laughed, but before you could hang up, Yoongi added, “Hey, Kid?” You hummed in response. “Love you.”

You’ve heard the words a million times, but it never failed to make your heart pound. However, that didn’t stop you from teasing him a bit. “Yeah, yeah, love you, I gotta go, priorities, baby. I don’t know if you’ve heard but the Agust D just made a comeback.”

He chuckled into the phone once more before giving you a, “See you in a bit,” and then hung up.

Immediately, you were pressing play on the mixtape on Spotify, already having had it pulled up for five minutes.

The first song, ‘Moonlight’, started off soft before scratching records came in, and then your boyfriend’s voice. When he gave his iconic laugh with an “August D” you smiled in pride. That’s my honey boy.

You turned your attention to the meal you were preparing for you and Yoongi, one of his favorites, stirring the contents in a big pot on the stovetop. Bopping along to the music, you listened to the lyrics that talked about his story, starting in Daegu to flying high with his group, how he goes through feelings of confidence in his work to feeling untalented, the struggles of writing this exact mixtape due to the pressure from a larger audience, expectations, and self-doubt. You knew those struggles all too well. You were with him throughout it all.

You’d been given glimpses of the songs throughout the writing process, some tracks in full while others you only saw lyric scribblings on those yellow notepads he leaves around his studio and that littered your apartment. You first saw the chorus to ‘Moonlight’ written on one of those notepads that sat on your bedside table.

“I like this,” you told your boyfriend, holding the notepad in one hand as the other found its way in his dampened hair, his face resting against your bare chest.

“Huh?” He looked up at you, his hand gripping your waist as his eyelids fluttered. The sheets were in disarray around your still nude forms. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, is it for D-2?”

“Maybe,” he told you with a yawn. “Not sure.”

“I think you should use it,” you told him, your finger outlining the shell of his ear as his lips curved into a lazy smile. “It’s beautiful.”

“You really think so?” He asked, uncertain and a bit more awake.

“Yeah, definitely.”

He kissed the center of your chest before nuzzling his face further against your breasts. “You always know best, Kid.”

You felt your eyes prick with tears as you listened to the song, feeling immensely proud of your boyfriend. Of how hard he worked, of overcoming the doubt and fear, and just simply for the talent, passion, and artistry he shared with so many people.

As the mixtape played, you went through phases of dancing around, squealing in excitement, gasping at lyrics and phrasing, and more bouncing and dancing. You tried your best to focus on the lyrics, though you knew it would take a few listens to catch them all as you were too excited to comprehend everything just then.

Completely invested in the music, you didn’t hear your front door open, unaware of your boyfriend’s presence until he appeared in your peripheral, catching you doing a little strut that resembled Yoongi’s swagger walk he did on stage. Your head snapping to him, you were met with his gummy grin, his shoulders shaking in laughter as ‘Burn It’ continued to play throughout the kitchen.

“Are you leaving me for Agust D yet?” He teased, walking toward you.

“Do you realize how sexy you are? Like do you have any idea?” You asked accusatorily. “Like what the fuck, dude?”

“Jesus,” he huffed, a smile still plastered on his face. “You’re actually ridiculous.”

“Yeah, and you’re ridiculously talented, Min. You’re not told that enough,” you told him seriously. Reaching you, he placed his hands on your hips as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, stepping further into his arms.

“I’m told that plenty,” he dismissed with a bashful grin.

“No, you’re not,” you told him as ‘Burn It’ continued to play. Instead of responding to you, he kissed you which you immediately deepened, Yoongi stepping back a bit by the unexpected force behind your actions, though his arms wrapped tighter around your waist so your body was flush with his.

Pulling away, he chased your lips, making you smile. “I don’t even have the words right now to tell you how proud I am of you,” you told him seriously, tears forming in your eyes. You watched as Yoongi took a deep breath, keeping his own emotions under control at your sincere confession. “Just know I’m really proud,” you said as tears threatened to fall.

He quickly nodded just before bringing a hand to your jaw as he caught your lips again, giving you several quick pecks as he composed himself.

Letting out a breath that sounded to be one of relief, Yoongi peered around your frame, inspecting the food cooking on the stove, as well as the food that had spilled outside of the pot, with a grin. “That looks good.”

“Hopefully,” you said with a smile as Yoongi nuzzled his face against your neck, refusing to let you go. With the overwhelming pride and love you felt, mixed with the fact that the man on the mixtape was all yours, and he was standing in your kitchen, in your arms, pressing sweet kisses to your neck, you had a sudden desire for him.

As ‘People’ started playing, you were instantly struck with the memory of coming to his studio as he was working on that very track. It was just the instrumental then, but it was interesting and different from the other stuff he had been working on. Yoongi must have been thinking upon the same memory as he lifted his head, a gummy grin directed to you as his eyes found yours.

“I remember the night you wrote this,” you smiled, biting your lower lip. That night, you had spent about an hour of it sitting on his desk as Yoongi sat in his chair in front of you, his chin resting on your knees as you both discussed your ideas of life, and people, and changes, and what it all meant, if it even meant anything.

You had already been dating for well over a year, but it was a moment where you and Yoongi felt a closeness between you both that hadn’t really been there before, becoming more mentally and emotionally attune with each other.

The conversation eventually faded out, the intense feeling of understanding between you both leading to you having sex on his studio couch.

“Trust me, I remember it very well,” he chuckled, his mind running through every moment of that night, from the feeling of closeness, to the warmth of your body underneath his as he pressed you against the couch cushions, the way you moaned his name and whispered ‘I love you’s’.

As the chorus of ‘People’ sounded from your laptop, your eyes widened at the sultry soothe of your boyfriend’s vocals.

“Since when do you sing like that, Min?” You teased with a smile, your eyes bouncing around his soft features. As he let out a breathy chuckle, you slid your your hands down his neck to rest overtop his collarbones as you leaned toward him and kissed him deeply.

The action took him by surprise though he easily found his rhythm, his hands slipping underneath your shirt, feeling at the bare skin of your waist.

As you began backing up, he quickly felt around to shut the stove off before following you toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss. Your hands found his waist as his moved to your face, taking control. You began lifting his shirt up, you both separating just long enough for you to pull it over his head and discard it somewhere in the hallway outside your room.

Eagerly, you unbuttoned his jeans, Yoongi helping you get the clothing off him as he released his hold on you to step out of them. Backing up, your legs hit the edge of the bed and you locked your eyes with your boyfriend’s. Smirking at him, you pulled your own shirt off before unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor at your feet.

Yoongi bit his lip, his eyes settling on your chest before slowly dragging them back up to meet your darkened gaze. Tilting his head at you, you quipped, “What are you waiting for?” Yoongi scoffed before approaching you and pushing your body so you fell against the mattress. He reached for the waist of your jeans, taking no time in unzipping them and tugging them down your legs, you lifting your hips to help him. Your panties were removed next, Yoongi dropping them to floor as he allowed his eyes to rake over your body, taking in every inch of you.

You sat up on your elbows, watching the man as he looked over your nude form. “For a man who brags an awful lot about being a king and a boss, you seem a bit timid, baby,” you teased in a sultry tone.

Your boyfriend scoffed again, a smirk forming on his lips. “Be patient,” he scolded, though he stepped toward you, nudging your inner knee with his leg, making you widen the gap between your thighs as he stared down at your center.

“My patience disappeared the moment I clicked play on that mixtape,” you smiled. “I want you.” With that, you sat up, your hands slipping underneath the waistband of his underwear, lowering them until they easily slid down his legs, pooling at his feet. You kept eye contact with him as you left a sweet kiss to his lower abdomen, just above his pelvic area.

He let out a quick breath as he smiled, lowering his body on top of yours, your back meeting the mattress. “If I had known Agust D would get you this worked up I would have released a mixtape two years ago,” he joked, your hands grabbing onto his sides as his lips found yours, kissing you passionately.

One of his arms was being used to prop himself up overtop you as his opposite hand slid down to your core, his fingers feeling between your legs. He groaned into your mouth at feeling how wet you’d become, and you smiled against his lips.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you used your strength to push against his body, rolling him over and straddling his hips. Yoongi’s breath was heavy and shallow as he anticipated being inside you, his large hands gripping your hips, his eyes eagerly taking in the sight of your form on top of him. He always did love you on top.

Placing one of your hands to his chest, your other found his hardened length. You stroked him a few times, Yoongi letting out a soft moan at the feeling, his hand sliding up your abdomen to your breast as he squeezed the supple flesh in his palm. At his touch, you guided him to your entrance, sharply intaking breath at the feeling of him slipping inside, letting the air out in a throaty moan.

“Fuck, Kid,” Yoongi breathed out, pinching your nipple between his fingers as you moved your hand from his dick to his chest, bracing yourself against him as you began slowly grinding atop him. Yoongi’s hand left your breast to your thigh, clutching the muscle as he bit his lip, watching your body move. “You’re so fucking hot.”

You held back a moan as you increased your pace, looking up to the ceiling before squeezing your eyes shut as he hit particularly deep. “Fuck,” you breathed out, lowering your gaze to Yoongi’s face, meeting his hooded eyes as he looked up at you in bliss.

His chest was like velvet underneath your hands and you wanted to feel more of his skin on yours. As if reading your mind, Yoongi moved his hands to your lower back, pulling you toward him so your chest was flush with his. He kissed you messily as he lifted his hips off the bed to move in and out of you as he held you to his body.

“I love you so much,” he confessed shakily against your lips, his breathing erratic due to the pleasure you were giving him.

“Oh my god, Yoongi, I love you,” you moaned, moving your face to his neck where you kissed and nibbled his skin lightly.

Wanting to treat him, you reluctantly pulled yourself away from him, sitting back up as you rocked back and forth on him, arching your back and placing a hand to his thigh to support yourself. Yoongi’s hands grabbed onto the sides of your legs as he watched you, looking more and more fucked out the longer you rode him.

Eyeing his thin but toned body, his smooth skin, and the flex of his abdomen as he took sharp breaths, you groaned. “You look so good,” you told him, admiring the man beneath you. Your man. All yours. “Feel so good,” you moaned.

One of Yoongi’s hands left your leg to find your hand that was pressed against his lower abdomen. He took your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours before bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles softly as he locked his gaze on yours.

The intimate action had your lower abdomen tightening. Sitting up straight, you brought your hand toward him which he grabbed with his other hand, helping you to support yourself as your motions atop him became hastier, approaching your high.

“Yoon, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby,” he nodded, squeezing your hands as you neared your climax. “Me too.”

You let out a whimper, lowering your body to Yoongi’s again, your dewy chest meeting his, Yoongi wrapping his arms around your lower back as you both worked each other into your finishes. Yoongi buried his face in your neck as he let out small muffled grunts, you breathing out a moan in his ear. As he came, he hugged your body to his tightly, letting go inside you. The feeling of him releasing had you crashing into your own high, biting your lip as you moaned breathily, Yoongi kissing your neck sweetly as you came down.

You relaxed atop Yoongi, breathing heavy as his fingers toyed with the small of your back, soothing back and forth along the curve of your ass. You had a hand on his neck, slipping your fingers into his damp strands, your other hand on his chest, dragging your fingers along his pectoral.

“The mixtape is really good,” you assured him in a whisper, kissing his jaw. “Well, what I’ve heard so far.”

Yoongi let out a breathy chuckle, flattening a palm on your lower back. “Thank you, Kid.”

“No need to thank me, I’m just being honest.”

“No, thank you for always supporting me. In everything,” he clarified, emotion thick in his voice.

You lifted your head to peer at his face, catching the glassy shine in his eyes. “Always,” you assured him.

He nodded, looking at you with a soft smile. “I know,” he whispered, barely audible, giving away that he didn’t trust his voice, knowing it would break if he spoke louder. “It means- you mean the world.”

You lowered your lips to his face, giving his plush cheek a small kiss. “I never would’ve thought Agust D would be so soft after sex,” you teased with a big smile, Yoongi scoffing, though he couldn’t hold back his gummy grin.

He groaned loudly, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m starving,” he changed the topic, making you giggle.

“Well, lucky for you, your girlfriend made you a delicious nearly cooked meal that is probably very cold at this point,” you smirked.

“Oh, lucky for me?” He questioned with a small smile.

“Mhmm,” you confirmed with a small chuckle.

Yoongi sucked air between his teeth, ticking his head to the side. “Remind me to wife you up later.”

You scoffed playfully, rolling off his body as you prepared to stand up and find some clothes. “In your dreams, Min.”

Scooping your t-shirt off the floor, you slipped it over your head before grabbing a pair of panties from your dresser drawer, all while Yoongi’s eyes followed your every move. Sending your boyfriend an air kiss from where he sat at the edge of the bed watching you, you walked toward the bedroom door. “Hurry up and get dressed, Gramps, I need your album commentary.”

You exited the room, turning toward the bathroom to clean yourself up. Yoongi shook his head with a chuckle. “Yeah, in my dreams,” he mumbled as he stood up to get dressed. Taking his sweet ass time, you walked back past the bedroom toward the kitchen, noticing him still stumbling around for a shirt.

“Hey, hustle, Min! I still have a music video to watch, my dude!” You called out to him as he looked to you with widened eyes. “Your shirt is out here, by the way.”

“Ah, what did I tell you about patience,” he whined out, a pout on his lips as he walked through the hallway, grabbing his shirt on his way, feeling full of appreciation and adoration for you.

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morizoras-cave · 4 years

Text

Weird (Request)

MCU Cast x gn!teen!co-star!reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Request Description: Hello ❤💓could i please request a x teen reader were she has a really quirky and bubbly personality and the cast loves it but she starts getting bullied at school for it and shes acting shy and doesnt talk anymore and there all concerned.⚘💓❤😘

Warnings: bullying, general sadness, insecurity

(A/N): decided to do this request with chris evans, anthony mackie, sebastian stan, scarlett johansson, and elizabeth olsen (as i have previously stated, fitting the entire cast into it is impossible, so i usually have to pick). i hope this doesnt affect the requesters enjoyment of it :)

“I’m considering picking up some lye,” you said bluntly. Everyone that had attended Chris’ I’m-sorry-I-forgot-I-was-hosting-dinner dinner looked up from their Chinese takeout boxes.

“Like, the chemical lye?” Anthony asked, picking at a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. You hummed and nodded, doing the same.

“Why?” Sebastian asked.

“I’m considering getting into the soap making business,” you said, “there’s some real money in that market.”

“Really?” Scarlett said, chuckling along with everyone else at the horrible, scrambling-to-even-be-called-a-dinner dinner.

“Don’t laugh, guys. You might be seeing my custom soaps in The Body Shop soon,” you joked and once more everyone laughed, shaking their heads.

“Good luck with that,” Elizabeth said.

“Thank you, I’ll need it, seeing as lye is apparently very fun to eat and also very toxic,” you sipped your coke, bubbles long gone, leaving the sticky and sweet juice behind.

It was like that every time you were around. You always had something strange you had been pondering about, wether it was soap-making, a career in shipwreck exploration, or investing in a live action Thomas the Train movie. Every single time the cast was with you, they were waiting for the next weird thing to come from your mouth and they were never disappointed.

You were a lovely, outgoing, yet casually blunt young person, and you were simply wonderful to be around. Like a breath of fresh air each time they were around you. Refreshingly happy.

And you loved being weird. You loved being yourself, even if you were a bit of an outsider. Not in the sense that you were better than anyone else, you were just slightly different. You always felt there was nothing wrong with that.

Well, you did. Then things changed. Your schedule working with the movie was lined up, so you had at least two days a week in regular school, often more. You were happy, because it meant you weren’t sacrificing your education to be in a movie.

Then these girls started bothering you. You could always tell that they didn’t exactly like you, which you actually understood. You always knew that you could easily come off as pretentious and snobby when someone didn’t know you, especially seeing as you were a ‘quirky’ movie star.

But then they started talking to your friends. Which was fine. But then when you tried to speak to your friends, everything changed. Those girls were practically bristling at your presence, your friends included.

But you didn’t let that bother you. You still had plenty of friends on set, as you considered all of your cast members to be your friends. And they considered you a friend as well.

But then those girls at school decided that they weren’t done. First, they said things that were very obviously about you, but were disguised as something else. And they’d always make sure you’d hear.

“I think I’d like to be an actor,” one of the girls had said. They had been sitting on a bench a little bit away from your locker, where you were cramming a physics book in.

“Oh my god, Lacey, you’re so quirky and weird!” another one had said, and your mood had crumbled, realizing they were making fun of you. You had just closed your locker and left, but you had still heard their giggles at your obviously upset state.

Then they just started blatantly making fun of you, saying you were ugly and untalented, but what hurt you most was when they said you had an annoying, attention-seeking personality.

You started questioning things about yourself that you never questioned. Were you attention-seeking? Was your personality annoying? Were you even a good actor?

You would tell your friends, but they didn’t seem to like you anymore, and with your new insecurity about your personality, you even wondered if the cast really liked you, or if they just found you annoying like everyone else.

So you told no one, and you decided, determined, that you would be less annoying and more quiet.

“Hey, Y/n! You’re here!” Sebastian exclaimed, as you entered Elizabeth’s rented flat. He was holding a drink in one of his hands and ran to hug you at the door. You hugged back gently.

“Are you ready for an actually prepared dinner this time?” Elizabeth said slyly, smirking at Chris, who had definitely heard enough about that one time he forgot to plan the dinner.

“Ha ha, very funny, Liz,” he said. You watched them in amusement, holding back multiple snarky comments.

Sebastian, Elizabeth, and Chris had all turned to you, and it took you a moment to realize they were expecting you to say something. There was an awkward moment where just watched them, before they snapped out of it, coughing and shuffling uncomfortably.

“Uh, anyway, table’s this way!” Elizabeth guided you all to the large table. Anthony and Scarlett were already there, mid-conversation and bobbing their heads to ‘Anaconda’ played from Elizabeth’s stereo.

“Y/n’s here!” Scarlett said excitedly and you sat down sheepishly.

“Yep.”

You watched everyone around the table exchange glances, before all eyes landed back on you.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked carefully. He was sitting next to you.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, fiddling with your napkin, “just a little stressed about school.” You forced a smile.

“.. Alright,” Anthony said said reluctantly. There was a moment of silence, because if you weren’t happy, there had to be something seriously wrong with the world.

“Uh, I think the chicken’s ready,” Elizabeth said, changing the subject. Everyone mumbled in relief.

The night went on and everyone had conversations and small laughs as they ate, but it was very clear that something was off. Scarlett tried bringing you into the conversations several times, but you immediately clammed up.

It was becoming increasingly clear to the cast, that it was obviously not stress from school (which none of them bought anyway). You noticed the awkwardness too, contemplating if you were being too much of a downer. They would probably have a better time if you didn’t drag them down, you thought.

“I should go,” you said suddenly, making their heads snap towards you. You forked your untouched chicken.

“Why?” Sebastian asked, as you stood up and grabbed your jacket. You stilled.

You were conflicted in that moment, wondering wether to confess to them or suck it up and go home. You just didn’t know how to be less of a bother.

“Don’t lie,” Scarlett said, noticing your conflicted state. You frowned.

“Am I.. Annoying?” you whispered. There was a moment of silence.

“What?” Chris exclaimed, baffled. You looked up at them.

“Am I- Am I weird? Because if so, I-I can just go home-”

There came a choir of whats and nos, and outrage from the table. Everyone spoke over one another for a moment, desperately trying to let you know as clearly as possible.

“Hey!” Anthony’s booming voice shut the rest of the guests up. He looked you in the eyes, “None of us think or have ever thought that you were annoying. And for your information, you’re only weird in a good way. Now, would you mind telling us why you suddenly think this?”

He was calm in a way the public never saw him. Dropping the silliness and handling the situation. It was quiet then.

You felt horribly sad, as you thought about those girls at school. You sighed and blinked away tears. Your cast members’ faces grew even more worried at this.

“Come on, N/n. Sit down again and let’s talk about this,” Elizabeth said gently, patting your chair. You nodded hesitantly, and sat down. You fiddled with your napkin self-consciously. They waited for you to speak.

“Well.. There are these girls at my school. I don’t know- They just.. Started making fun of me, I guess,” you mumbled, ashamed and avoiding their gazes.

“They said you were annoying?” Chris asked.

You nodded. Sighs could be heard around the table. If you had dared look up, you’d have seen several clenched jaws and fists, displeased faces, and frowns.

“Have you told anyone?” Sebastian then asked.

You shook your head. You felt someone grasp your hand and looked up to see Sebastian, sitting across from you, holding your hand gently. He smiled sympathetically.

“First of all, Y/n, you’re not at all annoying. You’re the type of person anyone can love, you’re so refreshing to be around, and you always have something funny to say,” Scarlett begun after a moment of silence. You smiled softly.

“Secondly, this is something you need to tell the principle, and I don’t want to hear anything about how you don’t want to confront them or anything. You shouldn’t tolerate that,” her voice was tough and determined. You knew she was right, so you nodded.

There was a moment of silence.

“So.. Have you discovered anything strange you want to share with us?” Anthony asked then. A large, toothy smile enveloped your face, as you remembered that there was, in fact, something you had been excited to share with them.

“Yeah, so, uhm.. I’ve been playing this game..”

And with that, everything was back to normal. You entertained them like you always did with your bright and bubbly personality, and you felt confident and happy again.

It would take you a lot longer than just that night, to fully understand why you were amazing and exactly why you weren’t annoying, but the most important thing was that you were happy and confident right then and there.

You called the principle, of course, and those girls were expelled. Your friends apologized for their behavior, but you decided not to be friends with them again, not with the way they treated you. You weren’t mean about it, just got some better, more sincere friends.

Although, you were grateful for friends you had had in that time. Your cast mates started complimenting you more, just slightly here and there. And if any interviewer or fan commented on your personality, the cast would get incredibly protective very fast.

They knew that your personality was an easy place for people to pick on you, and they just wanted to make sure, that you knew you were a lovely human being. And with how much they reminded you, it got hard to forget. But that’s only a good thing, because you really are a good person :)

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun @deephideoutmilkshake @rae-is-typing @sophs-library @herecomesthewriterwitch

#chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #anthony mackie x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #scarlett johansson x reader #marvel cast x reader #mcu cast x reader #avengers cast x reader #avengers cast x teen!reader #chris evans angst #sebastian stan angst #anthony mackie angst #elizabeth olsen angst #avengers cast angst #scarlett johansson angst

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lovenona · 3 years

Note

I just haad to say thank you for the free serotonin that you have provided me with through the last artist sukuna post

it's just... ✨beautifull✨ we are slowly building up this au

BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE HIM GETTING MORE AND MORE FRUSTRATED WITH THE LACK OF ATTENTION WERE HE'S KIND OF POUTING

and then there need to be a project done in which you have the option to work in groups and NO MATTER WHAT this proud cherry haired idiot WILL work alone but geto won't he came to y/n and they really need to work in a group if they want to get this done so of course y/n is happily gonna agree to the offer of geto to work together they do be viben after all which ultimately leads to the fact that y/n is gonna give sukuna even less attention (it probably doesn't even get on his nerves that much that y/n works with geto its just the lack of attention and ultimately time spending with you that result from it)

ah i am sorry I was rambling again😂

anyways hope you have a nice day and don't stress yourself too much with answering always happy to see you post❤️

babe let me just say ur brain is massive and i thank u from the bottom of my heart – anyway here’s the original post for everyone about to embark on this godforsaken journey with art student sukuna and our new friend pretentious fuck geto suguru

if you thought you were pitiful at drawing, your sculptural skills are on another level of true and utter shit. you cannot, for the life of you, create things out of clay. you despise carving anything into wood. your pottery faithfully collapses on you whenever you try. you hate working with glass. you would have dropped the class, honest, if you didn’t desperately need it in order to fulfill your major requirements and graduate on time.

all in all, it’s an awful class created solely to tank your gpa – you don’t understand what you’re doing, you don’t understand what anything is supposed to look like, and you sure as fuck don’t understand how anyone else seems to have their shit together all the time. when you glance around the room, no one, not even the famous ryomen sukuna, has trouble making their materials turn into something recognizable.

(and, in true sukuna fashion, he loves to make sure you know how fucking untalented you are.)

so when anthropology-and-ceramics king geto suguru asks if you want to be partners for the next big art project, you agree without a second thought. you’ve been talking to him recently, small talk before class, and for all his pretentious faults, you think he’s delightfully hot as fuck with a smooth voice to match. he wears those crisp, expensive button-downs that he bought at overpriced local craft markets. he always smells like cedar and eucalyptus; he brings a different tote bag to every class, his favorite being one he got as a gift for subscribing to the new yorker. he shops organic only and throws around the words “fair trade” and “bourgeoisie” and “means of production” with the ease that sukuna throws around the words “fuck” and “shit.”

you think geto is fascinating. and maybe he talks down to you when explaining his anthropology knowledge, he absolutely does, but when he gazes at you with those warm eyes and offers to help you learn how to sculpt and raise your grades, you can’t help but agree with a pair of big pathetic doe eyes.

why wouldn’t you? you’re just here for a good time, after all.

so when you giggle as geto places his sinfully smooth, manicured hands over yours while teaching you how to use the pottery wheel, you don’t think much of it. you think he’s cute and warm. you’d be a fool to notice the dark annoyance radiating from the other corner of the room.

ryomen sukuna always works alone. but what he didn’t count on was that you wouldn’t be working alone with him.

it’s not that you’re working with geto, he swears. it’s that you’re not working with him. his ears feel strangely empty without your argumentative quips, without the way you tell him he’s infuriating and annoying every time he tells you something lewd just to fluster you. it’s strangely empty without you both arguing about the difference between great artists and sell-outs – were you here, in his corner of the room, maybe sukuna would have tried to tell you michelangelo was a loser just to see what you would say.

but you’re not with him. you’re listening to geto tell you about the time he went to study abroad in germany and how he took a trip to morocco where he tried some amazing food you’ve never heard of. he’s telling you about the time he helped make tampons in botswana after his senior year of high school and all of the other deliciously precocious things he has done for the sake of human rights and anti-capitalism.

(you’re killing the environment, you know, geto often admonishes you when you stumble into class with your cup of coffee. that cup is going to end up in a landfill. he always taks a sip from his hydroflask for emphasis. it’s sleek and black with an oxfam sticker on it.

and sure, you know that your cup is going to become trash. geto doesn’t have to be an annoying fuck and tell you when it’s only eleven in the morning and he drove a literal moped to campus. but still, with that silky man-bun, everything he does is okay.)

but understand that sukuna doesn’t hate geto. sukuna craves attention, and he absolutely cannot stand being ignored. he’ll pout without realizing it, pursing his lips and wondering what kind of circus act he needs to perform to win back your presence. should he get another tattoo? cuss out the professor? offer to fuck you senseless in the third-floor bathroom? he’s not sure – he’s never not been seen before. ryomen sukuna doesn’t know what it’s like to come in second.

so he intercepts you after class; in a manner that is both sukuna-and-not-sukuna, he’ll casually throw one of his heavy arms over your shoulders, subtly pulling you away from geto’s aura, wrapping you in his scent of earth and leather and sex appeal. “come on, puppy,” he says, sultry and annoying and condescending all wrapped in one, tapping his ring-clad fingers against your arm. “you’re supposed to help me write my paper, aren’t you?” it’s not a question, it’s a demand, one you know deep down that you would rather die than shy away from.

you might not like sukuna, you tell yourself, but there’s something about him, the way he talks and moves and exists in the world, that makes you unable to shy away. there’s something about him that always makes you want more without you quite knowing why.

(he kissed you, once. sometimes you wonder if you would like it to happen again.)

and you’re still nestled under sukuna’s arm, trapped in his orbit and following him to his favorite empty classrooms, when geto calls back to you, wondering if you’re still interested in going to the avant-garde poetry reading with him tomorrow night.

he’s going to present a poem he wrote on the terrors inflicted on south america by the united states, geto had explained earlier when his hands were on yours. it was going to be some real, hard-hitting poetry, none of that “rupi kaur bullshit.” he thought it might enlighten you to join him, perhaps in more ways than one.

you pretend you don’t notice the way sukuna’s arm tightens around your shoulders when you tell geto with a flirtatious smile that you can’t wait.

#welcome to my blog where we just thirst all day long #geto and sukuna fighting over me? it's more likely than u think #pretentious fuck geto is my favorite thing ever #sukuna #sukuna x reader #geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #adele writes #artist!jjk #letters to adele #geto.seguru #ryomen.sukuna

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harmoni-me · 3 years

Note

Hello! I’m not sure if your requests are still open but, if they are here you go! I wanted to ask if you could write me a request of Nagito Komaeda x a reader who is the ultimate Chess Master? I kinda wanted to imagine him falling in love or already dating his S/O who plays chess as a professional and is more on the kinder side when it comes to him. Good luck! 💖

Ooo! This is such a unique concept, and I absolutely love it! Writing it was an absolute joy! Thank you so much for the amazing request <3

Nagito Komaeda x Ultimate Chess Master Reader!

The ultimate nurse, the ultimate swords-woman, the ultimate photographer…everyone in this class seemed to posses such interesting talents. It made you feel quite jealous, in some sort of way.

Now, of course you never thought of your talent as boring, useless, or unnecessary in the slightest! After all, you were the Ultimate Chess Master. You believed that everyone should try chess at least once before inflicting their nasty opinions on the strategic game. Unfortunately, that was already too late when it came to…basically your entire school life.

In Elementary, you would ask the kids on the playground to play a quick game of speed chess, because you thought it was a fun way to spend time with friends! But all you got in return were child-built insults, saying that chess was stupid and boring. It’s quite ridiculous to admit, but those comments still float around your mind sometimes. Kids were harsh, still are…

In Middle School, you had a few close friends, and when you asked one of them to try playing a game of chess with you, all they did was look at you weirdly, a look that only seemed to scream “uh, are you serious?”. This was when you started to question your liking for chess. Was it that weird? Am I the only one my age that thinks that chess is actually a fun game?

Now, you were sitting in class at Hope’s Peak Academy, a school full of the elite, yet…

This was the first time you felt truly, whole-heartily ashamed about your love for the game of chess.

“Are you kidding me? Chess? You got into this school for an old-people game like CHESS!? Pfft-!” A girl in twin blonde pony tails and an orange kimono let out a shrill of laughter.

“An…old people game….?” You muttered to yourself, steadily becoming a little closed off from the rest of the class.

You’re love for chess was parallel to how you played, which was almost unbeatable on a professional level, yet…

Why were these comments crushing your heart? Why did it make your love for the game waver?

Class continued like normal, just a little lecture to start off the rest of our high school lives. You honestly weren’t paying attention, your focus more attentive to your little chess notebook, filing it with strategies you wanted to try against high-level computer AI.

Though, it would be nice to have even a complete beginner to play with every once and awhile, though, you might be asking for too much.

Thump

Great, more harassment.

You turned around slightly in your seat, and looked down at the ground it see a crumpled piece of notebook paper that had hit you in the back. You picked it up, and looked around to try and figure out a potential culprit, but it seemed as if everyone was acting normal. No dice, then.

Unfolding the messy ball of paper as quietly as possible, you read what seemed to be words written on the inside.

Meet me in the library today after school, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to be seen with trash like me

The wording on the letter was…strange, but that didn’t stop you from feeling a tiny firework of joy in your heart. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel more nervous than joyous due to how the letter was written. It was surely vague, but it really seemed like the writer as quite the low self esteem.

You were suspicious, but honestly, what could go wrong? It had to be someone from the class that you were just introduced to, so at least it’s not like a blind date sort of thing…

The more you thought about it, the more it actually seemed like a blind date. Nice.

Time seemed to move incredibly slow for the whole rest of the school day, but eventually, the bell had rung, and you were out the door in a heartbeat.

After a little while of asking for directions to the school library, you finally reached your desired location: An absolutely humongous cavern of probably any book one could think of.

Only a couple of students were residing in this literal book mansion, and none of which you recognized.

“I guess they’re not here yet…” You mumbled, sitting yourself by a large, lit fireplace. As the warmth from the flames licked your skin, steadily causing you to naturally relax all of the tensed muscles that were stuck to your bones.

You pulled out your phone, and automatically started a game of online chess with a random opponent. The game was done in a mere ten minutes. The other player was no doubt new to the game, but that’s ok, you were there once too.

You suddenly heard a subtle clunk next to you, making your gaze wander to that direction. It was that boy from your class, the lucky boy. You remember him clearly because you thought his hair resembled a fluffy cloud. The two of you made eye contact, his foggy green eyes squinting a bit when he smiled at you, warming your heart a smidge.

“Y/N L/N, correct? I hope you don’t mind my presence, though it’s ok if you do, I would never blame you on something that’s not your fault.” The thin male crouched down to take a seat on the floor with you, sitting cross-legged.

“Yep, that’s me…and I actually kind of appreciate the meeting, honestly. Even if you just came for simple company, I think that’s very nice of you, especially since everyone in the class already thinks my talent is boring and all…Nagito Komaeda, right? I’m happy to meet you.” You shot a warm smile to the boy, causing him to reciprocate.

“You’re too kind to such untalented scum like myself, all I have is the Devil’s luck, after all! I can’t even control any of it! So I’m glad someone like me can be used as a stepping stone for you to be a beacon of hope!” Nagito chuckled, humored by his own self loathing.

You flipped your whole body to face the living incarnate of a four-leaf clover, “Well, um, on a personal note, I don’t think you’re scum. At all. I think your talent is anything but boring…I also think you’re…quite kind, for hanging out with someone like myself.” Fiddling with your uniform sleeves in nervousness. You just want him to feel better about himself.

The boy went quiet, his smile dwindling from your comment. Was he not used to compliments?

After a few moments in silence, Nagito gazed into your eyes, a new type of smile prettily stitched onto his features. It was almost like this expression was more…vulnerable, uncovering itself under layers upon layers of facades. His face almost made you breath out a sigh of relief at how comforting and relieving his genuine expression was.

“I would like to play with you. I-If you would let me, of course.” Nagito gestured his hands downwards to the chess set he had placed onto the ground since the very beginning. And how did you not notice that? It may or may not be the fact that the boy in front of you seemed to be way more intriguing.

You’re eyes widened as sudden happiness started to flow through every vein within your body. The excitement washed over your soul, rejuvenating it’s prior state of melancholy dreariness. Was…he was serious, right?

“Really…?” Was all that you managed to squeak, causing the lucky student to tilt his head in wonder.

“Hm? Well, of course…I don’t really know who else I would be aski-“

“C-Can we please play speed chess!?” You sputtered, the passion and the fireplace flames reflecting off of your eyes to reveal in an enticing glow.

“Speed Chess?” Questioned the frizzy-haired boy, though he did seem quite interested at your sudden burst of energy.

“Yeah! It’s also commonly referred to as Blitz Chess, and it’s like chess, but you have a very short amount of time to make your moves! It’s super duper fun, and if you want even more fun, then we could also play Bullet Chess! It’s even faster, and a game only takes roughly three minutes if you…keep up…the…pace…” Your words started to get quieter and more mumbled. God, you totally forgot the two of you were in a library, how embarrassing….

A hearty laugh spilled out of Nagito’s mouth, the corners of his lips turning upward to the ceiling. You looked down in pathetic nature. That was totally something to laugh at…

“Though I would consider myself a newbie when it come to chess, speed chess sounds lovely.” Nagito smiled, his pointer finger playing and twirling around the queen piece’s crown.

“Ah, a-alright, well, lets get started, shall we?” You stuttered, with joy obviously evident within your voice.

. . .

Unsurprising to you, you had won all three games of speed chess against Nagito, though, it was surprising how close each game was. the more you thought about it, the more you realized his luck most likely aids him whenever he plays. Definitely one of the most interesting opponents you’ve been up against, whether it would be for casual online play, or in-person tournaments.

“Ah, bummer, I guess someone as useless as me shouldn’t even try to come close to beating you!” The boy ruffled his cloud-like locks, laughing at his loss.

“Hey! You had me worried for a few turns there, you were no pushover at all, Nagito!” You proclaimed, frustrated on why he would still think that, even thought the game results were all obviously pretty close.

“Also, please don’t say that your useless…it makes me really sad, because it’s not true at all.” You looked up at him with eyes that reflected something that had never burned so brightly before, and Nagito noticed.

Those eyes, previously clouded from the despair given from others, were now shining with a glimmering hope…and he drew that out from you…by simply playing a mere few games of chess.

For a moment, and only for a moment, he believed your words. Maybe he wasn’t so useless, he helped you find your smile and joy, right? Maybe…maybe…

“Oh yeah!” You shot up, causing Nagito to snap out of his thoughtful daze. You stuck your hand out to him, waiting for reciprocation.

“A handshake, to wish a good game among equals.” You encouraged the boy, wanting for him to fully indulge into what it was like to play the game in a professional, yet somewhat casual setting.

The boy looked at your hand, observing everything. Your nails, your fingertips, your knuckles, all the way down to your wrist. Equals, huh…

Nagito then slowly reached out to your hand, grasping onto it gently, yet it felt like it was the most comfortable fit he could’ve imagined. He wanted the warmth from your soft skin to seep into his cold hands, wanting that heat to slowly fill the rest of his frozen body, all the way up to his thawing heart. Though he didn’t linger any more on the handshake than he needed to, not wanting to make it uncomfortable for you.

But god, did he want to hold on forever.

#danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa x y/n #danganronpa x s/o #nagito komaeda #Nagito x reader #nagito x s/o #nagito komeada x reader #nagito headcanons

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muwur · 4 years

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haikyuu x otome: masterlist | prologue

» synopsis: a haikyuu x reader au where you, the player, are bound for university in a metropolis several hours away from home. hope and excitement are replaced with dread as you come to realize that juggling life as a student and a part-time employee takes a toll. from demanding classes to a ruthless manager, life just can’t seem to give you a break. that is, until you meet a certain someone who reminds you how to live and follow your dreams. somehow, when you’re with them, time stands still. maybe things are finally starting to look up. if only you could stay in those moments for just a little longer.

» disclaimer: i do not own haikyuu or any of the pixels in this post (i simply made collages out of them)

edit: it’s been brought to my attention that another HQ writer may have written something similar to this idea in the past and I was unaware. Though I haven’t seen this particular type of thing written yet, I don’t mean to claim this event idea as my own bc I feel a lot of events that ppl put up may have some overlapping themes n such (tho this idea would def be more specific and be cause for concern of plagiarism) and bc I would never want to steal ideas/not ask other writers first/not credit other writers (that’s not cool fam). If you have any issues with this event, pls bring them up w me, and if you know any other writers who’ve done smth similar, pls share w me their URLs! thank u for ur understanding :) I hope u can still enjoy haikyuu x otome :’)

» how to play:

I. you can refer here for the general rules of my blog. also, for this event (and it’ll say in the descriptions below), i’m only accepting one character per request. also the word count limits i wrote here may change as im getting started on actually writing requests lol

II. essentially a collection of x reader one-shots, drabbles, and smaus in which you are a busy college student whose only break seems to be spending time with friends who actually get you or the 15-minute lunch break during which you get to ignore annoying customers

III. since this is otome-inspired, i have several options you can choose from. these options are essentially types of requests:

» everyday is a new start

» drabble about how you meet the character of your choice

» it is not guaranteed y’all are gonna gel (get along) when you first meet,, warning: if the character is usually a bitch, i may write them as one LMAO jkjk but fr

» usually light, fluffy, and/or silly

» hmm tbh,,, idk word count,,, probs anywhere between 700-1k words (i edited this word count after writing my first thing bc HNNN)

» the only characters you can’t request this for is yamaguchi, tsukki n hinata,,, bc you meet them in the prologue AHAHA sry it’s nothing too spaicy since it’s just in the intro

» it’s all in the little things

» one-shots about normal, daily interactions with the character of your choice

» in other words, these include what can go on in a day in the life of y/n and the character of your choice (after they’ve already met). in the city, the possibilities are endless

» give me a word (or several, cuz writing is hard lmao. also legit any word, like ‘orange’ or ‘nostalgia.’ i may choose only one or do a combination from your list :3) as a prompt and ill somehow make something of it lmao

» medium relationship development + exp

» 700-1.5k words

» hmmm what should i get today?

» very short drabble with a character of your choice about various scenarios and thots i have in my head

» a complete surprise, totally random, may have no context

» may be serious, fluff, crack, etc.

» if u choose this u basically told me ‘surprise me’

» 100-300 words, depends on my mood

» when i see your name pop up on the screen, i can’t help but smile

» short smau with a character of your choice

» fluff or crack, ur choice or leave that up to me (if unspecified, ill just flip a coin)

» you can either give me a word(s) as a guide or leave the topic of convo up to me

» 2-4 panels

» you’d be surprised how much can happen in a day

» BMO has nothing to do with this, i just found a cute pixel of him

» spaicy relationship development, the scenes in which you actually make progress in the game

» one-shot with a character of your choice

» order from the following:

» macaron: when they realize they’ve fallen for you

» banana bread: when you realize you’ve fallen for them

» iced americano: when they feel a tinge of jealousy

» hot chocolate: when they see you crying

» matcha latte: when they have a longing to be around you

» cupcake: love confession (may be intentional or accidental)

» major relationship development + exp + sometimes confusion

» 1-2k words

» these will probs take me longer

» all good things must come to an end

» not as angsty as those bolded words above sound,,, unless you want it to be >:)

» drabble or one-shot with a character of your choice. the final interaction before finishing the game

» you have three options: good end (fluffy, romantic & the like), bad end (angst), or crack end (surprise)

» word count will be super variable, from 300-1.5k words

IV. this forces me to write one-shots, drabbles, anything but hc’s, and also forces me to limit my word count. that said, this will take me a hot minute, y’all. word counts may change too bc i am,,, indecisive n untalented AHAHA

V. search for ‘haikyuu x otome,’ ‘haikyuu x otome special,’ ‘haikyuu x reader otome’ tags! i will tag each work under these c:

got it? have a request for me? send me an ask or submission!

request example: ‘start new game with akaashi’ or ‘love challenge with yachi in the empty lecture hall at night’ or ‘continue story with noya. words: tired, mangoes, music’

feel free to ask me if ur confused about anything and have questions! thank you so much for reading <3 im excited for this heh

inspired by recent haikyuu otome teasers i keep seeing online and the fact that i dropped my summer class and am taking on personal projects (like painting my room LMAO i gotta manifest my inner buff daddee ushi to move shit in my room bc i kid u not everything is rlly heavy in here. and i also delved back into otomes on my phone,, does anyone else play midnight cinderella or mr love LOL talk 2 me)

haikyuu x otome masterlist

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honeyjaez · 3 years

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Y’all ready for my shitty opinion on the Introduction Kingdom performances that literally no one asked for?

I preface this by saying I love every single group equally and each of these groups (with the sad exception of iKON) I am a hard core fan of. But I also love practicing thinking subjectively and I pride myself on not being too biased when it comes to performances and Kpop, like I know how to understand sometimes my ult might not be the best vocally or whatnot. I like being unbiased with this. So without further ado.

This is not based on scores already known, just my own thoughts.

(And also like these ranking do not reflect my love for a group or if I think they are untalented because all these groups are so massively talented. but rankings have to happen right? Like someones gotta be last but i don’t love them any less lol)

6. Stray Kids (and this hurts as a Stray Kids Ult)

A group that I think really hurt with forced to having to perform the song that they did. (Their only other option was Back Door or levanter but it doesn’t really hit the same as Miroh so I understand why they chose it). The song is still my favorite title track by them (Also Im such a hoe for center Minho like....), but it’s SUCH a hard song to perform live. I remember all the issues they had during the era and still saw a lot of that here, more specifically with the insane rap parts. Its just not something easily done live (I say this like I know how to rap) but it doesn’t take a lot to realize that Changbin’s rap is so insanely fast (which props to him) that it can still be difficult for him. Also I think the backtrack of the song really hindered the performance. It was just too loud. Like you know those performances when you can really tell a group has some relying on the backtrack and others don’t? I have nothing wrong with lip synching, honestly, I could care less by it because I understand they are doing so much movement on stage that I couldn’t understand how to do both. But it takes away from the performance when you hear the difference in members performing live and those who are relying a bit more on it. Stray Kids are AMAZING performers and CAN sing/rap live. It was very cool though I guess with props but it was like they were trying to distract people from the lack of performance. I just think that having to perform Miroh (I know they didn’t get to pick really) was their downfall to me. But the outfits were cool! Regardless, they are still #1 in my heart and I look forward to the other performances!!! But with more Seungmin!!!!!

6. ATEEZ

Next to The Boyz, I am most excited about seeing ATEEZ on Kingdom. One because Korea seriously needs to stop sleeping on them, but two because they are such intense and talented performers. True to form they came in crashing! Unfortunately, the only reason they are so low is that there wasn’t anything that really made them stand out from the others to me. I do appreciate the classic ATEEZ intensity (but like also Hongjoong please don’t be all serious and death stare while suddenly saying Hakuna Matata, I couldn’t take it seriously). But the VOCALS win most intense which sells towards their performance. I appreciated Ateez so much for their intense singing (looking at you Seonghwa and Jongho). I do think that having to perform Wave didn’t really help them. (From my understanding is that MNET told them they had to perform a song that placed #1 which for them was only Wave, or Inception which they already performed at MAMAs (we did Wonderland so dirty)) Not that I hate Wave (its actually my favorite title track by them) and I did enjoy the composition of this new darker Wave, but could you imagine if they had come in swinging with Pirate King or Wonderland? Hell fucking yes. Regardless, looking forward to see how they grow as the youngest group on there! I have nothing but high hopes for them!

4. SF9

Now You guys know how much I love SF9. They are practically an unofficial ult group for me. But this is not based off song because I actually can’t stand Good Guy (I overplayed it when it came out and now I hate it (not really but ya know) ) I remember people saying SF9′s performance wasn’t really memorable, but I didn’t see that. I saw an idol group coming out for the first time to prove something and actually shocking me with how intense they were. They really looked like Gang Members (handsome ones at that) ready to rule the world with their performance. Their looks and their dancing was great. I love SF9 and they haven’t had a lot of opportunities to showcase their talents like this so I look forward to how they shock the other group (also if they don’t do the wheel from K.O in a single performance I will riot) but all in all I think this was a solid performance by them! I laughed at the beginning with Inseong holding the crystal diamond because I couldn’t help but think back to tbz and the crown on rtk. I hope they also do story driven performances on here because I haven’t seen that from them before and I think it would be great!

3. BTOB

Can I just say I appreciate the fact that they are staying true to their vocal roots? So much Kpop these days is intense and in your face with everything, and I worried about a vocally driving group like BTOB being on this program because they’ve never been about the choreography (though I’ll be your man was lit) but just like how everyone reacted, BTOB focusing on their vocals rather than dance was such a breath of fresh air in this round. They really are vocal kings in KPop and the chills that some of those idols felt were so important. Like Wooyoung said after their performance “Vocals are so powerful” (or something like that) and I sometimes feel that people forget that. Intense dancing is great and all, but to wow people with just your voice like they did is a feat not every group can do. The acapella was such a nice tough too. Beautiful Pain is such a beautiful song (ha) and the remix they did for it was just so nice. My only complaint is that we didn’t get enough Minhyuk vocals :(((((

2. The Boyz

Aight, people might accuse me of being biased based on how whipped I was for The Boyz back during RTK, but I’m really not. Like the other groups agreed on, you can tell The Boyz were on RTK. You can tell they have been through a program like this and they came in swinging. They have a lot of pressure on them after the wonderful performances on RTK and I think the opening performance they did didn’t disappoint. They are such good storytellers when it comes to performances (something Ateez is also really good at as well). They just get you immersed in their performances and thats something unique to certain groups. They were just meant to perform. Regardless of scores, The Boyz are proving to be fierce competitor from the get go and not to name names, but Sunwoo is such an amazing rapper live like holy shit. He needs more credit. RTK was amazing for them and I am sure Kingdom will be just that as well!

1. iKON

God I hope Kingdom will turn me from a casual fan to a hardcore ikonic. What I loved about iKON’s performance is a lot like BTOB’s or even SF9′s. There was a sense of branding, like this style was their’s and theirs alone. Also their performance brought so many smiling and happy faces to the crowd. A lot of younger groups look up to iKON and you even heard how many idols there and evaluations to their songs or what not. They just had so much fun on stage and that reflected on the audience who in turn also had a blast. I wasn’t sure how I would feel watching them since out of all the groups I’m least attached to iKON, but just with that causal, fun, but intense performance of rytham-ta one could easily see them as Kings already. I didn’t notice any thing out of place because I was just enjoying the performance completely. And to me, thats the most important part of a performance.

Again, these were just my opinions on this introduction stage. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the performances. Your rankings, and who you look forward to see more from! We will have a fun time with Kingdom on my blog! <3 :3

I look forward to future rounds and what other groups have to offer!

#despite all the issues i had like not seeing Hyunjin at all and what not I actually really enjoyed this first episode #BTOB is such great seniors I can't even #same with ikon #and don;t even get me started on StrayBoyzTeez interactions #and the fact that everyone simps over SF9 #Kingdom #stray kids #the boyz #ikon #btob #ateez #sf9

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honeypwark · 4 years

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[ You're Important ]

↳ N.O era

↳ Yeosu goes to get coffee with Namjoon. She has a run-in with some "fans." Yeosu talks about Namjoon’s importance to the group.

m.list

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Namjoon waits at the counter for his name to be called, taking the two cups the barista hands to him with a smile and a thank you. He takes a sip of the coffee in his right hand, walking through the tables of the cafe until he reaches a booth by the window. Yeosu sits in one side, chin in her palm as she looks out the window at the people passing by.

“Noona,” Namjoon calls to get her attention.

“Oh, thanks,” she says, taking the iced tea he holds out to her.

Namjoon sits down across from Yeosu and her gaze goes back out the window. They both sip from their respective drinks. Yeosu sighs and leans her elbows forward onto the table, holding her iced tea in both hands.

"I know why you asked me here, Joon," she says.

"I just want to make sure you're doing okay," Namjoon says gently.

She smiles at him softly, "I'm fine."

Recently, BTS has gained a little traction. They've gained more fans and attention, though nothing exponential. However, they're mostly getting attention for the wrong reason.

People have quite strong opinions on Yeosu that go one of two ways. One: they believe she has a lot of idol potential but shouldn't be in a boy group, especially one with such hip-hop/badass concepts. But most people fall into the second category: people who are fans of BTS but seemingly hate everything about Yeosu. They believe she's untalented and a try-hard. They judge her for minuscule things and constantly voice their distaste of her.

The second type of people made themselves known a few days ago while BTS was leaving Music Bank. While trying to maneuver through a crowd of fans to reach the van that would drive Yeosu and the boys home, a girl grabbed Yeosu's wrist and dug her fingers into the soft skin of the inside of her arm. She'd called her an untalented slut among other colorful insults. She told her she should leave BTS. And apparently she'd brought a friend with her because just after she'd called for Sejin, her manager, something cold and thick was poured over her head. A smoothie.

The crowd went into an uproar but the girls were gone in an instant, replaced by Sejin's firm hand guiding her to the van where the boys were waiting. The boys were furious, obviously. Sejin locked the doors just in time to stop Yoongi from jumping out of the van to chase after whoever had done it, who cares if he doesn't know what they look like? Yeosu showered when they arrived back at the dorm and spent the evening in bed. Taehyung and Hoseok tried to cook dinner and she was appreciative but not talkative. The next morning she was up before everyone else as usual and making breakfast as if the day before had never happened.

Still, Namjoon asked her to go to a little cafe he'd read about online with the pretense that she would like it and he needed someone to drive him. So they sit across from one another now, in a booth up against the window that looks onto the street outside.

"I know that people have been pretty vocal about their opinions of you recently," Namjoon says, "There's been a lot of negative comments. And then what happened after Music Bank on Saturday..."

Yeosu takes a drink of her tea and sighs again, "If I'm being totally honest, there's some truth to their words. I get where they're coming from but it's whatever, honestly.

"No, not whatever," Namjoon insists. "They don't work for the company. They're not a part of our group. They don't get a say in whether or not you should be a part of BTS. Not to mention that they're completely wrong."

"I know that. I just understand their reasoning."

"Yeosu-“

"I have to use the bathroom. Be back in a jiff."

Yeosu escapes to the restroom, using those few minutes alone to collect her thoughts and think of how to explain to Namjoon her thoughts on the hate she's been receiving. She exits the bathroom and starts back toward the booth.

"Hi, are you YB?"

Two boys in school uniforms approach her cautiously. Yeosu immediately turns her expression pleasant and smiles at them.

"I am. Are you two fans?"

"Yes," the taller one says.

"Very big fans," the shorter adds.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you," Yeosu says. She gestures to Namjoon sitting by the window, "If you like BTS, Rap Monster is right there, too."

The boys look back at Namjoon when she motions toward him and they seem almost disappointed to see him.

"Oh."

"What? Were you hoping to catch me alone?" Yeosu jokes, not entirely sure what to say to their reaction.

"Maybe just with anyone but him," the taller one mutters.

"Excuse me?" Yeosu says.

The shorter boy elbows the taller.

"What is that supposed to mean," she looks at the taller boy's name tag, "Jo Sangin?"

"H-He just meant that- um..." The shorter boy searches for the right words, "We're part of ARMY that feels that Rap Monster is... a visual hole."

"He's not very handsome and that becomes more obvious being next to someone as pretty as you," the taller boy says as if that's supposed to some sort of compliment.

"We just feel that BTS would be better off without him," the shorter boy finishes.

"Hm." She looks at the two boys for a few moments then takes a slow breath, "And ARMY would be better off without you two."

Without another word, Yeosu leaves the two boys standing there. She walks back over to Namjoon, who'd seen her be approached but not heard anything.

"We're leaving," she says, grabbing her purse, rain jacket, and drink.

She doesn't leave any room for objection, immediately marching towards the door. Namjoon quickly grabs his own rain jacket and drink before rushing to catch up to her, casting a glance over his shoulder at the two schoolboys as he leaves the cafe. He looks either direction, spotting Yeosu walking dutifully away from the cafe to his left. He runs to catch up with her, weaving between pedestrians as carefully as he can.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"It's ridiculous! Honestly! Literally don't even get me started on Korean beauty standards. You're seriously so handsome and just because you're not cookie cutter beautiful doesn't mean you're unattractive. And how can someone who calls himself our fan not realize how important you are to the group? You're our leader and main rapper. You're insanely talented and we'd be left out to dry without you. People outside of the group could never even begin to understand everything you do for us and how important you are. I just can't understand-"

"You do realize how everything you're saying relates directly back to you, right?"

Yeosu stops mid-rant as Namjoon speaks up. They'd found their way to a park, donning their rain jackets as it began to drizzle drearily and eventually sitting down together on a bench. Yeosu just sat in silent anger for a minute, drinking her tea unhappily until Namjoon dared to ask what happened. She'd told him what the two boys had said about him and then went on to rant about how stupid it all was. She'd started pacing along the sidewalk in front of the bench. Luckily the park is empty due to the dismal weather, so no one is here to witness Yeosu's irritation. During her rant, she's unknowingly voiced Namjoon's thoughts about her.

"You're not allowed to turn my words around on me."

"Watch me."

Namjoon sets his coffee cup down and gestures for her to sit on the bench beside him. She does with a small huff.

"You're important to the group," he says. "Even if you weren't the most amazing dancer I've ever seen or you didn't have an amazing voice, you're still a fundamental part of BTS. You take care of all of us and you have to know how much we appreciate you and everything you do. You are important to the group and there is no basis for people to think otherwise, so don't even consider it."

Yeosu is quiet for a moment. Then she wraps her arms around Namjoon's shoulders. He wraps his arms around her middle, the material of their rain jackets crinkling as they hold one another in a hug.

"You know I don't agree with them," Yeosu says. "I know how lost you boys would be without me."

"We'd eat nothing but ramen and takeout, probably."

"Jin can cook."

"Not like you can."

"It's a hobby."

Namjoon laughs then rests his head in Yeosu's shoulder.

"You know how important you are, too, right?" Yeosu says. "You may not be mother hen, but we need you. And you are handsome, even though that's not what's important. What is important is that you are talented and dedicated and such a good person. Anyone who says otherwise can deal with me."

"I would never wish a protective Yeosu on anyone."

"You're one of my boys, of course I'm going to be protective."

When Yeosu pulls back, Namjoon ducks his head and wipes at his eyes.

He gestures upwards flippantly, "It's the rain."

"Uh-huh." She fixes his hair for him, "Sure it is."

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wastelandcrown · 4 years

Text

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 3: i am actively trying to throw away my shot but it isn’t fucking working

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warnings: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a theatre brat to the highest degree (Sorry Roman stans), Remus being Remus, Anxiety/Panic Attacks, Talks of anxiety/medication, Throwing up (Not detailed)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight. If you wanna be tagged in chapters, please dm me!! This chapter has a lot of anxiety and anxiety talk, so if you’re sensitive to that please be mindful!! Also lots of Logan and Virgil being friends, which I enjoyed writing! I also apologize for the delay, I ended up hating chapters 4-6 after I wrote them and have just rewritten them! Much more to come dw!

Pairings: Eventual Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, Eventual One-Sided Logicality, Platonic Analogical, Platonic DRLAMP

Word Count: 2994

Tagslist: @under-the-blue-moonlight @why-should-i-tell-youu2

By almost all accounts, the next week got easier each day that passed. As Logan got acclimated to the chaos and worked on his notebook, things got much better. Part of this could be attributed to his time spent in the tech booth with Virgil.

Their goal for the week was to pick their audition song and perfect it so that by Friday they could perform and Thomas could quickly and efficiently cast the show. Their performance was in November, which was absolutely way too soon for Logan but Janus had assured him that it was more than enough time to put on an adequate performance. He took Virgil’s lifeline offer surprisingly often. Sitting in the booth and quietly practicing his audition worked out some of the stress in him. Sometimes Virgil would look up from his switch and make a comment on his performance or suggest something is changed, but aside from that, they were quietly comfortable with each other’s presence amongst all of the chaos that was the rest of the theatre.

When he left the booth, he was nearly swarmed by the others. It became routine. In the morning, he would spend time with Virgil, Patton, and their friend Emile. Oftentimes conversation was light, and the commentary was helpful and constructive. At lunch, he and Virgil would move to the tech booth and eat there together to get some peace and quiet in before inevitably being bombarded in the afternoon. After lunch, someone (usually Remus) would make their way up to the tech booth and drag them out to the boy’s dressing room. Virgil would sit in the corner and occasionally mess with one of the twins, or hiss at Janus in greeting, and Logan would be worked to the bone. He had decided to audition with Hamilton’s rap from My Shot; Doing the first and second halves, but cutting out the middle. Janus was extremely dedicated to being sure Logan’s performance would make an impression. Logan wanted the opposite, but he couldn’t argue with Janus’ dedication to making the entire show perfect.

Though, Roman’s attitude didn’t really change that much. For four days, he stayed at a zero. By Friday morning, he actually enjoyed his routine in part. Aside from Roman. Actually, Logan thinks if Roman was completely removed from the situation he may actually be happy with his current predicament. All this has just been practice though. When Friday afternoon rolls around and his audition is getting closer and closer, he tries to focus on the other performers. When it’s Roman’s turn, he pays special attention. Now he sees why Roman has an ego about these things. His audition was very good, and he felt natural on the stage. He would make a wonderful Hamilton, and he really looked the part. Despite him and Remus being technically identical, he looked worlds different. His clothes were ironed perfectly, and he had obviously dressed a bit historically today. His wavy hair was combed to let his face shine through in the stage light, and he was...dear lord, was he wearing eyeliner? Logan shook it from his mind and listened to him sing. Just like the days he’d seen him practice, he was very good. Obviously star material. If he didn’t get Hamilton, Logan would eat a page from his notebook. Figuratively, of course. That would be bad for his digestive system.

On either side of him are Patton and Virgil. He’s not really focusing on auditions until Roman’s, and after he phases back into his overthinking. He’s not nervous, he would never be nervous. Logically, there is no reason for him to be nervous. He’s just being vigilant. That’s it.

Virgil nudges him, “I can practically hear your thinking. You okay?”

“Oh-Uhm-Yes,” Logan says quietly, staring up at the performer on stage, “I’ll be fine.”

Virgil digs into his pocket and pulls out a little cube, he hands it to Logan with a kind expression, “See if that helps your anxiety.”

“I’m not anxious, there’s no reason for me to be anxious.” Logan scoffs, taking the little cube and running his thumb over the side with a small silver ball. The movement does make him feel a little better.

Virgil smirks, and flicks his shoulder, “You’re smarter than that, Logan. C’mon.”

He’s right, and Logan knows it. Anxious feelings can be totally irrational and are oftentimes a result of doing something new or stressful.

If he bombed this, it could be very stressful indeed. Janus would certainly not be happy after he put all that work into helping him. Roman would probably laugh, or make some comment about how he knew this would happen. Why did he even care anyway? He didn’t. He was simply falling victim to a very stupid bout of anxiety. When his name is called, he hands Virgil back his cube and makes his way up to the stage. He takes a deep breath, says he is auditioning for no one in particular, and then is cued in. He performs how he was coached, completely ignoring his anxiety and doing the best he possibly could. When he’s finished, Thomas looks very pleased as the crowd claps. Someone even wolf whistles and Logan is fairly certain it’s Remus. He sits quietly for the rest of the auditions, Virgil passes him back the cube.

The cast list won’t be out until Monday, so all the kids have the weekend to spend enjoying their summer. Well, if they don’t enjoy theatre. Logan managed to be very productive on his days off. His chart was filled and he indulged in sleeping in on Saturday. For two days he was not checkmated by social interaction at all, and it was a paradise. He managed to burn through four books from the local library, and was working his way through the fifth when his phone went off. He picked it up, not expecting a text from Virgil.

‘hey. logan i just saw the cast list and...god i really hope you dont get straight-up murdered.’

This had confused him heavily, and then he realized what Virgil might mean and he felt anxiety bubble up into his stomach.

‘How did you see the cast list? Isn’t that classified until tomorrow?’

‘joan and i are tight, they let me see it.’

That makes sense, Virgil seemed close to Joan and Thomas. Closer than he was, at least.

‘Are you willing to tell me who I am playing?’

‘you have to act shocked tomorrow if i do.’

He started to panic, and he looked up at the sky as if pleading with God to make this a dream or a prank.

‘Okay? Please tell me I didn’t get Hamilton.’

‘...sorry…’

His phone goes off a number of times after this, but he had to put it down. The lead? He was playing Hamilton? Alexander Hamilton, the leading man of the hit Broadway musical Hamilton?

The bubble of anxiety in his chest welled up and made him so nauseous that he couldn’t speak for fear of throwing up.

He didn’t expect this, he didn’t even want this. He had been so anxious at the audition, and now he was the lead? What was he going to do? He couldn’t perform half as well as Roman! Why did Thomas choose him in the first place!? The idea of standing on that stage performing with an ensemble made him queasy, but Alexander Hamilton had solos. Songs where he stood alone and faced a crowd of eyes just pouring into him, staring at him. Staring into his soul and seeing that he was just a fake. A hack. The lights would be so bright that he would be able to see into the audience and make out faces. Then, after the audience decided they hated him, he would disappoint Thomas who had picked him to be the lead despite first hearing the songs on Monday. He would be hated by the other performers, a wildly untalented newcomer coming in and taking Roman’s spot as lead-And oh god, how would Roman feel? Virgil was right, Roman was going to kill him. It would be righteous too, Roman deserved it. He’d stolen away the lead role in a show he was passionate about. Why couldn’t the production have been something like Shakespeare? Or, even better, there should have been no production at all!

He manages to stumble his way to his bathroom before he throws up, and he hopes his mother didn’t hear him. His hands are still shaky as he cleans himself up and tries not to think about the play. He still feels nauseous and panicked. He spends thirty minutes calming himself down. His heart rate and breathing had risen substantially, and when he had finally calmed he realized he had even been crying. Managing to pick up his phone again, he looked at Virgil’s messages.

‘logan?’

Then a minute later, ‘logan are you okay?’

A few minutes later, ‘shit are you panicking?’

And a minute ago ‘text me back asap’

It’s nice to know it was concerning behaviour to Virgil as well. As he thought about his strange spiral of thoughts and forced himself not to think about them all at once, he realized what had just happened. What would continue to happen.

‘I am okay. I believe I just had a panic attack. I haven’t had one in years.’

‘youve had one before?’ Ah, right. He hadn’t discussed this with Virgil. He hadn’t discussed a lot of his past with Virgil.

‘When I was in middle school I had joined debate team, but I realized that public speaking gave me terrible anxiety. I used to take medication to help, as the panic attacks happened semi-regularly. Eventually, I stopped doing debate, and I stopped taking the medication as I thought that would be the end of it. I suppose that was reckless thinking, as it may just be a form of performance anxiety overall.’

‘why then, pray tell, are you fucking doing theatre?’ Logan smiles a little at that, he wondered too.

‘I thought it would go away.’ Logan can almost see Virgil rolling his eyes at the comment, ‘I will speak to my mother and get more medication.’

Then he thinks of Virgil's behaviour and asks, ‘Also, and I apologize if I am overstepping, do you not have an anxiety disorder?’

‘yeah ive got regular anxiety and social anxiety. its a bunch of bullshit. why do you think im on tech?’ He feels a little bad for Virgil now, anxiety disorders are not very pleasant. He only has bouts of anxiety situationally, he can’t imagine it being near-constant.

‘I assumed it was because you enjoyed it. I will go and speak with my mother immediately.’

‘was being sarcastic L. anyway, tell me how it goes.’ Logan stops when he reads this. Tell him how it goes? That is an invitation to message him regularly, right? It sounds like it, or at least to tell him about a problem that has been irking him. That...that is a thing meant for friends right?

‘Are you sure? I was under the impression that our speaking was reserved for the theatre.’

‘i mean, it can be. but we can be out-of-theatre friends too. if you want. no pressure.’

This...this was a very welcome surprise. He supposed that despite his rebound into performance anxiety, making one of his first friends in a very long time could prove enjoyable. Scheduling conflicts aside.

‘I would enjoy that. I will update you.’

When he asks his mother about going back on his anxiety medication, she immediately jumps into a very motherly mode. She pulls him into a hug, and pets his hair, asking if anything is wrong, if he’s okay, the whole nine yards. As much as any teenager would hate to admit it, he loved his mother very dearly. This affection was...a lot, yes, but he could endure it for her. She was only showing her care. It was late afternoon, so the doctor was still open. Out of some insane luck, they managed to get an appointment that afternoon and he had his medication by later that night.

‘Virgil, I am happy to inform you that I am now in possession of medication for my anxiety again!’

‘that was super quick, congrats, im happy for you L.’

They talked for much longer, and Logan felt pleased by his gain in mood. Surprisingly, he was even able to talk about the books he had read with Virgil. If Sunday was on his chart, Logan is certain Virgil would get a twelve for today. Even if that broke his scale.

He made it a point to ask his father to stop and get coffee the next morning. Partially for him, yes. The medication was new to his system again and had made him slightly groggy when it started taking effect. Though it was partially to get a “thank you” gift for Virgil. He had asked what kind of coffee he liked the previous night when they had talked, and ordered his favourite. He offered to pay for his and Virgil’s coffee, but his father simply shrugged.

“You’ve had a hard week, I’ll buy it for you.”

He smiled softly, appreciating his father’s kind gesture more than he would ever say out loud. When they arrived he even gave him a hug, which was hard with two coffee cups but he made it work.

Before entering the auditorium he took a deep breath, and reminded himself that everything was going to work out. Which may be a lie, but he would have to enter to find out wouldn’t he? With a push, he made his way in. He regretted it almost instantly. He could hear Roman yelling backstage, probably having seen the cast list. To be fair, Logan didn’t know who Roman was cast as, but he hopes it wasn’t all too bad. Quickly, he manages to avoid any kids who are in the auditorium seats and slinks his way up into the tech booth.

“Good morning, Virgil.” He says, setting down Virgil’s coffee in front of him.

Virgil looks surprised, “Morning, is this for me?”

“Who else would it be for?” Logan asks, making Virgil smirk.

“Thanks, you should hurry down and look at the cast list though. Roman might rip it to pieces.”

Logan nods and hurries out, but makes the decision to leave his drink with Virgil in case of any...emergency.

Ducking into the backstage area, he finds Patton trying to calm down Roman, who is very very angry. Remus is laughing again, but Logan doesn’t know what is so funny about his imminent demise. Janus is the first to notice his presence and gives him a sympathetic nod.

“Patton, he hadn’t even heard of Hamilton until a week ago! What kind of lead even is that!?”

“Look, I don’t understand it either, but when Thomas gets here you can talk to him! I’m sure Logan is going to be shocked when he gets…” Patton had noticed him and was now staring, “here…”

Roman notices and turns on him and shoves the cast list into his face, “Look at this, Logan! You! You are playing Hamilton! Are you happy!?”

Logan sighs deeply, taking the list and looking it over, “Not in the slightest if that makes you feel any better.”

“That actually somehow makes me feel worse!” Roman shouts then sits down in one of the backstage chairs to pout.

Janus holds back his laughter, “Wow Logan, this is totally not hilarious at all, Roman should totally be pouting like a little kid and throwing a fit.”

“Guys! Seriously! It’s not a bad thing! Logan’s audition was amazing!” Patton says as cheerfully as usual and walks closer to Logan to point at the cast list, “Look, I’m playing Eliza! That’s super awesome! We’ll be doing a lot of scenes together so I hope we can become better friends!”

Logan just nods, going back to reading. Him as Hamilton, with Roman as his understudy. Along with being his understudy, Roman was going to play George Washington. Logan liked George Washington’s part, and though he didn’t understand his being Hamilton, he’s glad Roman got a large role. Janus would be playing Aaron Burr, which made a lot of sense. Janus would be wonderful as Burr. Patton, as he already said, would be playing Eliza. This was...a bit of a problem, the more Logan thought about it. Patton would be playing his love interest. He...he would think about that when it mattered more. Remus would be playing King George, which Logan was glad about. Remus seemed to really want to play the villain. Though Remus’ name was next to another character’s name as well. Maria Reynolds. Remus Grimm playing King George and Maria Reynolds. He would be in a scene where Remus would have to actively seduce him.

Just as he started to wrap his head around this, Remus slung an arm over his shoulder.

“Ain’t it just great that I get to be a monarch and a whore!? I, personally, couldn’t be happier. Make money, get dick, I always say!” Remus says excitedly.

Logan chokes on his own spit, and has to cough a bit before he can reply, “I can see how the seduction angle appeals to you.”

“It won’t appeal to me if you get sick and Roman ends up Hamilton!”

Logan visibly cringes and Remus chuckles, “So you better not drop out or something, dork! I can do a lot of gross shit but acting out the seduction of my twin brother is way too gross.”

Thinking for a second, Logan turns to look at Remus, who is smiling at him. His teeth are so sharp. His eye shadow is bright violet and a mess. He really does look like he had recently been at a rave.

“I’ll be sure not to disappoint you, Remus.”

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little-ideas · 4 years

Text

What the Haruto

In which you know Mankai and Haruto falls for you

@julias-cherry-garden HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ this didn’t start out as a birthday present, but it can try to end as one :3 i hope i made it in time Hope you enjoy some lovely Haruto stuffs, though please note I do love giving him shit and am behind on reading ^^;

This man is a bonefide tsun brat and whatever made you fall in love with him is beyond me, but you love to watch him suffer as he tries to sort out his feelings for you vs his feelings for Mankai and your association with them. Honestly? Good for you that's prime entertainment right there

He doesn't realize you're with Mankai at first - he sees you in the audience during a street act and takes offense that you aren't swooning over him, especially after he blew you a kiss

Well, some people are just immune to greatness

Fine then, be that way it's your loss he'll just cater to all his other fans

Except it's still bugging him and he can't get you off his mind

He sees you again later and if you see him and smile, wave, or nod your head in polite greeting, he's toast

His face goes red and his ego inflates at your recognition of him

And then he sees you turn to someone who just called out to you and he scowls

Oh no. Of course. Of course you have to be friendly with one of them

Those lowly, untalented, up-and-coming theater jerks of Mankai. Fuck

But your name is really nice Haruto wishes he were calling you instead of them

He'll look for you literally every time he goes out

Loves when you see him in a street act and will perform just a little harder for you if you stick around to watch

He has no idea he's doing this though or is in adamant denial about it

Then Reni mentions it and he's screwed

Immediately storms over to Mankai and demands to see you

If you're not there then gg Haruto Mankai is never going to let this go

He is under interrogation and when it clicks that he likes you all hell breaks loose

If you are there, he'll approach by demanding to know what the hell you've done to him and listing off all the ways you've been stealing his attention

Yuki or Kaz will overhear and just deadpan that he likes you

To which he'll deny but you know differently

But whereas Haruto has fallen head over heels at first sight, you haven't (+ the whole Mankai v Godtroupe thing) so you'll start off taking it slow & getting to know him

He MUST apologize to Mankai first and swear he won't insult them

It's HARD for him to do this, but somehow he manages

Taichi & Tasuku are definitely protective of you and Haruo will have to win their tolerance. Approva lmay never come

The 2 will stalk your dates and will try to talk you out of it

Tasuku will probably get over it because he did work with Haruto and has seen some of his good sides

Taichi will likely take your relationship with Haruto as betrayal and will be severely hurt by this

Haruto is going to struggle so much with not insulting Mankai while with you

He can do it though, just give him time

Reni isn't too pleased, but that's his own problem

You will be the only person Haruto doesn't try to murder for using his birth name

Lean in and whisper into his ear and he'll get so flustered

If you don't do something like "Thank you *leans in* Gen. Ta~" then know I'm judging you

When Mankai is ok w/ your relationship they'll try to get you to do things to mess w/ Haruto

Depending on what the idea is, bet them on it and rake in the money

Haruto will not say it out loud, but steal and wear his sweaters and he will think you're the cutest

Even better if you wear it to/around Mankai he'll be so smug

Attend all of his shows on opening night -he'll look for you in the audience and be upset if you don't

For all of his griping and smug attitude, Haruto is a sensitive person concerned with others' perception of him, so please be careful

He will be so distraught if compared to others-especially if they are Tasuku or Taichi

He may not seem like it, but Haruto will remember all of your anniversaries and important dates. He'll try to have the "perfect" day and is visibly upset when it doesn't go the way he envisioned

Please tie his hair into pigtails

This man is a freaking perfectionist that gives Yuki a run for his money. Your outfits don't coordinate? He'll try to fix that. Buy matching phone charms and hold his hand to get him shut up and start your date

Haruto will be very conflicted if you ask to help him practice his lines -on one hand, having someone else to read off the other parts is less exhausting. On the other, he doesn't want you to see him stumbling over his lines and tripping up with his dialect

Speaking of his dialect, he will do his damnedest to never let you hear it, no matter how you ask or if you love it. You'll have to wait for the rare moments he gets angry or his parents call him. So long as no one else is around, he'll unintentionally slip into it when talking with his parents and that's probably the only time you get to hear him

HIS HOBBY. Omg his hobby. Please. He's going to try and write you a nice letter instead but may end up struggling like the Dickens. Should he be on tolerable terms with Mankai, he may swallow his pride and ask Tasuku for help. Depending on his mood, Tasuku may send him to Homare in which case good luck

Regardless if he gets outside help, you may stumble across his many discarded drafts with your name scrawled across them and a bunches of crossed out lines

He's trying really hard

Yes, he'll mature and become more mellow/more secure as the years go by

He'll be embarrassed by his past, and tries to make up for it. He and any Mankai members still in theater maintain a friendly rivalry and they will tease him about his younger days of dating you

Nobody saw this lasting, but here you are

#a3!#act! addict! actors!#haruto asuka

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sailorgreywolf-german · 3 years

Text

Weine nicht um mich

Characters: Prussia, Freidrich the Great

Ships: PruFritz

Summary: Prussia reflects on important personal moments with his best king.

Words: 7.2K

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Prussia took a familiar route to the all too familiar place, his feet carrying him there without any conscious thought. He knew how conspicuous he looked clad in his black dress uniform, walking in this small town with a white chrysanthemum in his hand. But, he couldn’t care less. Let people look at him questioningly; he did not care. He had performed the same ritual every year for more than a century and he was not about to give it up just because Hitler wanted to have some dinner with his commanders.

Prussia had made all the proper goodbyes, stating that there was a pressing matter that needed his attention before grabbing the key to one of the Mercedes and driving to Potsdam. He was not usually so reckless, but this was far more important than another night of nationalistic pomp.

He reached the old church with its soaring spire; it still looked like it had, like the albino, become unchanging. The years of its creation were long gone, but the gothic architecture harkened back to an older age. The wars had not yet touched it. In the years since it had been built, it had housed the remains of all the Hohenzollern monarchs. Now the dynasty was at an end, and Prussia had not been disappointed to see the last of them abdicate. He had been a belligerent fool, unfit to bear the family name. But, that didn’t stop Prussia from making this trip.

He stepped inside the heavy wooden doors and was immediately struck by a wave of remembrance. All these years later, it had not become easier to step into this crypt. He still felt his heart beating in his throat, choking him. It was still bitter and painful. He swallowed it in an attempt to force down the raw emotions. Now it was more painful than it had been in the comfortable years. Loneliness had been easier when he could lay his year’s conquests here like the fulfillment of a lover’s promise.

The space was lit by a single candle, but there were many scattered around the room. The tomb was still mostly in darkness. Prussia put aside the flower and picked up one of the candles. With careful diligence, he walked from candle to candle. As he reached each one, he let the flickering flame of the one he was holding until the flame caught. He walked around the crypt, making certain that no candle remained unlit. If not for the heaviness of the day, there would have been something awe inspiring about the rows of lit candle, lighting the confined space of the gothic cathedral. But, as it was, this felt like a devotional.

Once Prussia finished lighting all the candles, he returned to the original spot. He retrieved the carnation, a white flower adorned with the black and white ribbon of the old flag. Choosing his steps carefully, he approached the tomb. There was a grand engraving of the name of the man, but Prussia knew that the man buried here would have called the monument austere and gaudy. He had wanted to be buried in a simple tomb far away from his father with his hounds. His heir had insisted that he be buried with pomp and ceremony, and Prussia had been in no state to object. The albino placed the flower carefully next to the one from the year before, which had withered and dried. He would remove the desiccated flower when he left. But, first there were words to be said.

The albino kneeled in front of the tomb and said, “So it’s been another year, Fritz. You wouldn’t like what has happened this year. That man keeps saying you would, but he isn’t worth the dust on your boots. I know you well enough to know you would hate all of this.” He mentally kicked himself as he realized that he was still using the present tense to speak to a man who was long dead. It was still so tempting to treat him as though he was alive and could still offer sage advice.

The feelings began to accost Prussia, the deep nausea he felt every time Hitler used Fritz’s name. This whole thing made him sick. Germany seemed happy for the first time in years, and that was worth something. The dour expression he had worn since Versailles was finally fading, and that was enough for Prussia to swallow all his misgivings. But here, alone in a place sacred to him, he could say what he really felt.

He continued, telling the gravestone his worries like he would have to the man when he had been alive, “Sometimes, I look around and I think that this is the price for my ambition. I started all of this: I told Ludwig all my war stories. He always looked so impressed with me.” His voice trailed off and he struggled to regain the thread of what he had said. Germany’s new dictator seemed fond of dragging Prussia’s name into his tirades, and Prussia could see the fervent wish for that kind of glory in his brother’s eyes. His voice returned to him, and he said the words that had been struggling to be formed all night, “I wish you were here, Fritz. I need you now.” _____________________________________________________________________

The music of the flute was soft and soothing in the warm summer air, but Friedrich was having a hard time concentrating on it. His fingers were moving, the memory of a song played many times animated them. But, his eyes were on his kingdom, who had draped himself provocatively over one of the chaises. His limbs were spread in reckless abandon. Prussia was holding a glass of red wine in one hand, occasionally taking a drink from it.

The sight was a little victory for Friedrich. It had taken categorically banning beer from his court to get Gilbert to drink French wine instead of that common German swill. He knew that when the albino drank with the soldiers he still drank beer. But, for elegant evenings like this he had learned to enjoy wine. In these little ways, Prussia had become more used to society.

But that wasn’t what was so distracting. It was the look on his face. Friedrich would be lying to himself if he said he enjoyed anything more than this. Prussia was his favorite audience. These private concerts were more fulfilling because the albino always had the most sublime look on his face, like he never wanted to listen to anything else. His attention never wavered; he never looked away. He was the only one who ever gave Friedrich the impression he was savoring every note, that the music moved him to the core. There was nothing more gratifying for a musician than the feeling of being closely attended by the one he loved. It warmed him to have the albino’s eyes fixed on him.

And yet, Gilbert’s attention was distracting because Friedrich knew that if he put down the flute and closed the space between them, Prussia would embrace him. There was an empty place in the albino’s arms that was calling to him. However, he would not leave this movement unfinished. The temptation to rush through the movement was present. The evening was pleasant and warm, as only a summer in Potsdam could be and the idea of spending it in the other’s arms sounded like paradise.

Prussia took another drink and, as he pulled the glass away from his mouth, he ran his tongue over his lips. And yet, his attention never wavered and a supremely pleased smile returned to his face. The king’s fingers found their way to the last notes of the composition and the sound hung in the air as he let the song end. Dwindling music always seemed to leave a certain magic.

He carefully placed the flute aside and watched as Prussia’s smile widened. He knew what was coming next, and there was an impish undertone to his smile that invited it. Friedrich took the invitation, stepping confidently towards his kingdom. The albino made to sit up, but apparently decided against it. The king settled himself firmly next to his country, who immediately extended his arm around the other. There was barely enough room on the piece of furniture for the pair of them, but it was easy to find space. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to be reclining into Prussia’s embraced.

Friedrich spoke, though he knew he didn’t need to, “What did you think?” He knew he didn’t need to ask; he had gotten all the feedback he needed from Gilbert’s uncharacteristic silence and his rapturous smile. He asked only to hear the praise. Like an obedient soldier, Prussia responded to him, “It was beautiful. You have such talented hands.”

Without any resistance from the man, Prussia took his hand in his own and brought it to his lips. As the albino left soft kisses on his fingers, Friedrich reflected on how their relationship had changed. Prussia had never been good at romancing; nothing in his upbringing had prepared him for the subtleties of sweet nothings. Like the soldier he had always been, he wore his desires openly and expressed them without restraint. When he wanted to indulge his cruder desires, he made no secret of it. But, as they spent time together, Prussia had learned a subtler way. His tongue had soften and learned to speak surprisingly good French, even the sweet flirtations of a foreign tongue. Now, the compliment had rolled off his tongue with little pretense.

It was easy to find the words to respond, private words, “Your hands are just as talented. And I am fond of what you do with them.” Prussia scoffed, entwining his hand carelessly with the other’s as he spoke, “Don’t lie to me. Mine are soldier’s hands. They’re rough.”

Friedrich could feel the callouses of the albino’s hand pressed against his own palm. Gilbert was right; his hands bore the marks of the years of swordsmanship. But, that was the charm of them. They were a map of Gilbert’s life before he became a kingdom, every hour honing his own skills. They spoke of the frustrated young knight, and the ascendant power finally coming into his own.

He replied, “Why should that make them untalented? I’ve never seen anyone handle a sword like you.” An arrogant smirk lighted across the albino’s face. It was exactly what he expected. Prussia loved praise, more than he would admit. The modesty of a monastic knight still lingered, even though it was counter to his nature. Years of being a vassal had apparently taught him to hold his tongue. It was as though he thought that by voicing his own greatness, he would make it untrue. But, the deep pride he took in his skills was obvious. Obvious in the way he would best his enemies without pretense, obvious in the way he would pour over maps of his new territorial acquisitions like a giddy child. Friedrich had managed to coax it out and find the braggart craving to be released.

He leaned in and kissed the albino’s lips lightly, saying as he pulled away, “You are a knight and I wouldn’t want you any other way.” Prussia’s hand tightened on his king’s affectionately. He seemed to contemplate his words before he said, “You’re right. And you’re a philosopher, a musician, and a brilliant general.” As he listed each achievement, Friedrich could hear the pride building in the man’s voice. But, he only took pride in the latter two. Beyond that, he saw an equivocation in the words. By listing the other’s achievements, Prussia meant to lessen his own.

His king would not allow this old habit. He immediately said, “I’m afraid you give me too much credit. I leave philosophy to more talented minds. You write better Latin than I do.” At this the albino let out a scoff, “That’s only because I had to transcribe manuscripts.” The dodges were becoming tedious and Friedrich did not have the stomach for it tonight. He wanted this to be uncomplicated affection while they were alone together. He said, using the voice he usually reserved for drilling the regiments, “Mon cher, I do not want to hear about your imagined inadequacies. I know full well that you do not believe any of it.”

A mischievous smile returned to the albino’s face, and he let out a short laugh, “You found me out, Fritz.” Satisfied that he had won some honesty, Friedrich reached over his country and grabbed the glass of wine. As he put it to his lips, Prussia objected, “That was my wine.” He leaned closer, but it was only the pretense of indignation. They had shared far more than this. A retort rolled off his tongue carelessly, “As your king, I am claiming it.” Then, not yet taking a drink, he ran one finger up the albino’s leg, “It’s not all I’ve claimed of yours.”

It was brazen, but there was no reason to refrain. They were alone and secure. Prussia took the invitation, putting one hand on the side of his king’s face. He said, breathily, “I love when you’re forceful.” Without allowing the other time to respond, the albino joined their lips. He still kissed like a man of war, with passion and messy, reckless abandon. It was like he considered this another conquest. But, it was that undisguised passion, completely honest, that caused heat to spread across the mortal’s skin. He could taste wine on his country’s lips and feel the hand on his face holding him gently.

But, there was something more beneath that, something naive but wholeheartedly determined, something quintessential to the man. Friedrich knew that he had been Prussia’s first, but he suspected that Austria had pined for that honor. In that respect, he had always had the advantage in skill and experience. But, Prussia was earnest and unending in his love, and he kissed with a voracity that no other lover had ever matched.

If force was what Gilbert was craving, then he could certainly have it. His king returned his kiss with equal firmness, gaining ground against his country’s force. He could feel the shift in the albino’s demeanor as he started to succumb. Prussia pulled back, taking a deep breath as he did so. The proud, witty remark that he undoubtedly had died as he was forced to take another breath. He said, “How do you do that?”

The question was genuinely confusing, seeing as what he had been doing seemed rather straightforward. But, he took it as a flirtation, or an attempt at one. Friedrich spoke as he put his hand in Prussia’s hair, “How do I do what, amour?” The albino smiled and his king could see the playful shadow beneath the smile. Then Prussia said, “When you kiss me, I feel like I’m melting. I would do anything for you.”

His voice was thick with desire, but it was the words that made a blush take to the king’s cheeks. He knew Prussia well enough to know that these confessions did not come easily. The man was not one to readily express his emotions. The vulnerability lasted for only a moment before the kingdom added, “But you are my king, so I should do what you want.” It was a witty evasion but nothing more.

Friedrich stroked back a few pieces of the albino’s hair before he countered, “On the contrary, I am your servant. I will do whatever I can to make you happy.” He had said it before, but it carried an entirely different rhetorical weight here with no one else listening. It was not a broad statement on the ideal of serving the needs of the people, it was a lover’s promise. The other didn’t respond at once. He seemed to be contemplating what he thought of the promise. There was something endearing about the way that Gilbert bit his lower lip whenever he was thinking. But, this was more than banter.

Though he had learned to appear like cold steel to his army and commanders, Friedrich couldn’t help but feel deeply for his country and want his happiness. It had been painful to watch Prussia lose land during the Seven Years War, even worse when there had been Russian troops in Berlin and he had seen the spasms of pain when the albino slept. Each loss had felt like the thrust of a knife, if only for the pain he knew it caused Prussia. And yet, he had never said anything, because he did not want his lover, his country to doubt him. Not even a word of his concern had left his lips. Even when the urge to apologize for everything had occurred to him, he had ignored it. Gilbert believed in him and, selfishly, he had wanted that to remain. He had never told Prussia, even once the war was over, that he had told his ministers to place the preservation of his kingdom and his successor over that of his own life. It had been more important to save Prussia and give him a stable line of succession. Gilbert did not know that the deepest joy he had ever felt had not been in the arms of von Katte or in conversation with Voltaire; it had been when the albino embraced him after the signing of the treaty of Hubertusburg, because he knew that Prussia would be safe.

He spoke again, “Anything you want, you need only name it.” Prussia smirked, “Bullshit.” Friedrich responded immediately, “I secured Silesia for you, did I not? I thought you wanted to humiliate Austria and gain territory.”

The boast did not feel entirely sincere in light of what his gamble on Silesia had almost cost him. But, the smile that spread across the albino’s face erased every doubt. Prussia let out a short laugh, and with their proximity, the king could feel it in his own chest. He replied, “It was amazing to see the look on Roderick’s face when he realized you’d beaten him.” Without thinking about the words, Friedrich said, “He’s jealous.” Prussia scoffed as he always did at the notion, “Of what? He’s an empire and I won one little province.”

Sometimes Friedrich couldn’t help but wonder if this was willful ignorance because it seemed painfully obvious to him. The covetous way Austria looked at Prussia was enough to convince anyone. He sighed as he explained again, “He’s jealous of this.” To make his point more effectively he took his hand from the albino’s face and ran it up his thigh. The other shifted so that they were even closer. His response was not the usual denial, “I don’t care what he thinks.”

The brazen answer was tantalizing. It proved that the Austrian influence was truly gone. The king finally took a drink of the wine he had forgotten he was holding. Then he returned to the earlier subject, “If you could have anything, what would it be? What is your greatest ambition?” He suspected he knew already. Gilbert longed to finally be recognized as a great power. Deep crimson eyes met his own and some of the levity left the other’s face, “Are you serious, Fritz?”

The return to the somber tone was unexpected. There was a shadow of a much younger boy in Prussia’s face for a moment, and Friedrich had the sudden strong urge to comfort him. He moved his hand back to the albino’s face and ran his thumb across the skin. The words came easily, “Yes, mon cher, I want to know.” Prussia took a deep breath before saying, “I want all the German states under my control.”

The mortal drew in a shocked breath. He had not expected such far reaching aspirations had resided in his lover’s breast. The reaction did not escape the country’s notice. Responding to the inevitable question, he continued, “They should have been my inheritance. I was my father’s eldest son, but he made my youngest brother the Holy Roman Empire.” He drew in another deep breath before saying, “If I could have anything, I would have it all.”

Friedrich found himself unable to respond immediately. The information was all so novel. Aside from a few moments of sympathy in his youth, he had never heard Prussia speak of his father or the reason for his hatred of him. He knew little about the distant figure of the Holy Roman empire. This was the first time Prussia had said explicitly that he was even related to Holy Rome. It took a moment to understand that Gilbert had said something he guarded deeply. This ambition must have been festering since his days as a knight, never daring to be voiced to anyone.

Taking the silence for the end of the conversation, Prussia composed himself and said, “I’ve ruined the mood.” He then disentangled his limbs from his king and stood up. Having recovered from the shock of the answer, Friedrich said, employing his voice for command again, “Don’t walk away from me, Gilbert.” The albino stopped in his tracks, conditioned to obey. But, he didn’t turn to look at the other.

He could have ordered the man back to his side, but that would be a return to formality. Instead, Friedrich got up and walked over to his country. When he reached him, Friedrich said, “Look at me.” The albino turned his eyes with defiant fire towards his king, but the mortal could recognize the feeling beneath it.

It was that look that he addressed when he said, “Never be ashamed to tell me what you think.” Prussia snapped back, “I am not ashamed.”

Gilbert lied badly; he always had. It had been something of a miracle that he had so effectively hid their involvement from Friedrich’s father. Years of living under a monastic code of conduct had prepared him poorly for duplicity. This had to be a protestation of pride, nothing more. Friedrich took a step closer and replied decisively, “Yes you are. I don’t see why though.”

The albino let out a sigh, admitting his defeat, before saying, “It’s a nice night. We had good wine and exceptional music. You don’t want to hear about how I want my brother’s title.” His evasiveness made his king wonder when, if ever, Prussia had last voiced these sentiments and what reception he had gotten. He would not pry, since he knew he would get little from the other in the moment.

He took one more small step towards his lover and said, “Do you want to hear what I wish for?” Prussia didn’t step away from him. The albino responded with a forced laugh, “Better company?” Friedrich’s hand easily found its familiar place on the albino’s waist. He countered, “If I could have anything, I would have eternity.”

Prussia’s eyes widened as the meaning registered. His king continued, “I would want to be here with you to see you accomplish all your ambitions.” The smile that appeared on Prussia’s face was completely genuine. Everything he wanted to say was clear when he said tenderly, “Fritz.”

His king did not let him equivocate or explain; he pressed his lips against the other’s. If Prussia was really mad, he would have pulled away. But he leaned in and let himself soften under his king’s touch. Friedrich could feel that he had won. When he finally pulled away, the albino was silent. His smile was self-satisfied and bordered on a sneer; it was intensely erotic. The mortal spoke again, “But, for tonight I will be satisfied to take you to bed and claim you.” Prussia’s smile became a smirk as he leaned in again and said, “Whatever you will, mein König.” _______________________________________________________________________

The physician let out a low sigh before he spoke and Friedrich could already guess what he was going to say. The pain in his joints was intense enough already, but he had felt his health declining more rapidly for a few months. Consulting the physician had been a formality to confirm what he already felt. The man said, “My king, you are dying. I do not think you will live out the month.”

The news was no harsher than he expected. He had already appointed a successor with the full knowledge that he had had a long, rich reign. Friedrich nodded to the physician, “Very well.” He gestured that the man should leave the room, and he bowed and left. The news that he would die was not alarming. There were so many times he could have been cut down on the battlefield with his work unfinished.

He pulled his jacket back on, having removed it to be examined, and took his cane in hand. How ironic it was, he mused, that a cane had been an object of terror in his youth, but was now a necessity. He took a firm hold on the wood and used it to get again to his feet. It was deeply frustrating to be trapped in this breaking body, knowing what he used to be able to do. The young could not imagine the difficulties that came with something as vital as walking. But, it was necessary to make it to the desk on the other side of the room. Now he could feel the pain of the gout in every movement. It was only stubbornness that had stopped him from becoming completely immobile.

He reached the desk and lowered himself into the hard wooden chair with a groan. There was a will in one of the locked drawers of this desk that required his attention. It had resided there since very early in his reign, and had been altered very rarely. Removing the key from his pocket with an unsteady hand, Friedrich found the drawer and prepared himself to confront what lay inside. There had been plans in place in case of his death since the Seven Years War, but revisiting them now with such absolute certainty gave them finality. He laid out the papers in front of himself and began to read through them. The instructions were sufficiently clear; the throne would pass to his nephew since he had never wanted any issue. There should be no foreseeable dispute of the succession. For his own burial he commanded that there be no pomp, only a quiet grave at his summer palace. The last thing he wanted was to spend his eternal rest beside his father.

As he read the words again, an image filled his mind, alarmingly strong. He saw his country, dressed in mourning clothes, bent over his coffin crying. It caused a sharp pain in his chest. The idea was clear, but puzzling. Why should he be crying? In all the years he had been king, he had never seen Prussia truly cry. His country was the kind of man who could have wounds stitched with no more than a stony grimace. Prussia had certainly shed no tears for his father.

But, regardless, in the dizzying image of his own death, he saw Prussia weeping. Worse, he saw no one being able to console his country, no one knowing the man beneath the warrior well enough to do so. What was that German word? Einsamkeit. The french was more familiar, Solitude.

The idea was so throughly unsettling that he laid aside the document. There were no arrangements he could make that would keep his precious lover, who had become more like a husband than a casual lover, from pain. It would be absurd to add a clause to his will dealing directly with Gilbert, since his existence was a secret outside of the court.

The sound of familiar footsteps outside his door was not as welcome as it would usually be. What could he say to his country to soften the blow? Prussia did not wait for permission to enter his king’s chambers; he never did anymore. He looked as young and intoxicatingly virile as he did in Friedrich’s earliest memories. If anything, he looked stronger than he ever had; these years had been good to him. The contrast between them as the years widened had never seemed to bother Prussia, even when Friedrich had felt painfully aware of it. Prussia looked young enough to be his son. Austria did not age either, nor did he seem to physically weaken. When they had met in during the War of Bavarian Succession, it had been hard to meet Austria’s gaze knowing how old he looked next to Prussia. It had been clear from Austria’s self-satisfied smile that he was glad to see how imminent the king’s death was. Austria could see that an annoyance in his path would soon disappear.

As Friedrich reflected on his immortal rival, Prussia walked across the room. The albino needed no invitation; he chose one of the many chairs and sat. He looked at his king, apparently not yet understanding what the document on the table was. Before the albino could bring up a another topic of conversation, Friedrich said, “Have you ever considered taking another lover?”

He heard the pretense in his own voice. Asking about his lover’s infidelity sounded like inquiring whether the weather was favorable. Prussia’s eyes widened as the words registered. He said, sounding throughly incredulous, “Of course not. Why would I?” He scoffed as though he thought the question was a joke. But, it was not. If he had said yes, then that would have given the mortal some comfort. Perhaps if he knew that someone would take Prussia away from his coffin and dry his tears, then he would be at peace with the concept. At least then Prussia would be spared the loneliness he would otherwise have to face.

But, the words died in his throat as he attempted to form them. It was too hard to tell Prussia that he was dying, knowing that the man loved him and would be alone without him. Friedrich knew what it was like to watch someone you loved die. So instead he said, “I am old and I doubt that I still satisfy you. Perhaps you should find someone younger.”

The thought of Prussia bedding someone else made him feel a deep rage accompanied with a slight queasiness. The thought of someone else’s hands on the intimate parts of the albino’s body made him feel ill. But, if it spared him from misery then it would be worth it. The albino’s face fell as he comprehended how sincere the conversation was, and his expression was replaced with one of disdain. But, he shook his head, and the sight could scarcely be more frustrating.

The albino replied with the air of one whose pride had been deeply wounded, “Do you really think that’s all I want? I could certainly find someone to fuck, but would he treat me like you do? Would he discuss philosophy, poetry, or music with me like you do? I don’t think so. I love you for more than your body.”

In the years they had been together, Prussia had certainly become more eloquent. He had enough of an intellect to be a force on his own. But in the moment, Friedrich wished that his country could be simple and superficial. He took a deep breath before saying something else that he thought would never pass his lips, “As your king, I am ordering you to find another lover.” If he could not remedy the anxiety with gentile urging, he was not against coercing the man for his own good. But, he could have guessed Prussia’s reaction before the man snapped back, “No! Why would you ever ask that of me?” Frustrated with his country’s stubborn nature, Friedrich slammed his hand down on the desk. Before he could consider or reorder his words, he said, “I will not allow you to be alone without me!”

His meaning was clear enough and the other’s face went completely blank. He spoke with a mounting disbelief, “But you aren’t-” He stumbled for a moment, and then he caught sight of the papers. Enraged, the albino stood and stormed over. Before he could be stopped, he grabbed the top page and took several steps out of his king’s reach.

The red eyes flitted over the page. Friedrich steeled himself for his country’s inevitable rage. But, Prussia just shook his head slowly, saying under his breath, “Nein.” Before Prussia could fully articulate his thoughts, Friedrich said, “You knew this would happen, Gilbert.” The other’s eyes snapped from the pages back to his face. The tremble in his lower lip negated any idea that he was angry, “Is this why you’ve been having physicians hanging around? So they can make you worry about this?”

He waved the page of the will with a wordless outrage. His king could hear the meaning just beneath the words, and it was making his heart ache. He said, choosing his words carefully, “It is more than just worry. My health is failing.” He spoke the statement with absolute certainty, and it fell flat in the deadened air. Prussia pulled in a deep breath and shook his head again, “It’s not that bad. It has never been before.”

He didn’t sound fully convinced, and his hands were clenched together in front of himself. Friedrich could see the knuckles on Prussia’s right hand turning even paler as it attempted to restrain his sword hand. It was hard to tell what he intended to do with it. Perhaps he wanted to rip it to shreds, like destroying the words would change the reality. But, Prussia knew better than to believe in such childishness.

The king took a breath before saying, “I am not immortal like you, as you have always known. I am dying, and it is certain.” He saw the albino shook his head, but took a moment to collect his thoughts. He finally said, not daring to meet Friedrich’s gaze, “I knew it. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. I told myself that if loved you enough this wouldn’t happen.”

His discipline allowed him to restrain himself, but it was a familiar facade. Friedrich responded, trying to be gentle, “If it worked that way, my father would not have lived so long.” A smile appeared on the albino’s pale lips for a moment. Even wit could not blunt this blow. When Prussia spoke again, there was a tremble in his voice, “I always thought thought there would be one more year. I’m-” His voice caught in her throat, and for one of the first times, tears welled at the corner of his eyes. The sight sent a cold jolt down’s his kings spine. It was beginning already, and he felt his country’s pain as concretely as if it was his own. Prussia collected himself enough to finish his thought, “I’m not ready to be without you. I thought I would be stronger when the time came.”

Though it was uncomfortable, Friedrich got to his feet, using the cane to support himself, and walked around the desk to where his country was standing. Ignoring the pain that it caused him, he let go of the cane and pulled Prussia into his arms. The other immediately pulled him closer. Friedrich put his hand on the back of the albino’s head and cradled it against his shoulder. He spoke, attempting to be comforting, “It’s not a battle, mon cher, you do not need to be strong.”

He felt the other’s shoulder’s heave as he let out a sob. His hands were knotted in the back of his king’s coat. Friedrich felt a sharp pain with every beat of his heart. This was exactly what he feared. The man he had never seen shed a tear was crying against his shoulder.

He said, “You’re not going to be without me.” Prussia looked at him, and there was a look of disbelief that was understandable. But, Friedrich had finally lighted upon the right solution. What Gilbert needed was not a poor imitation of their relationship. He would find no comfort in that. He needed to be reassured that he had no reason to mourn, that he would lose nothing.

Prussia’s next question was predictable, “What do you mean? You’ll die and I’ll still be here.” To answer it, his king pulled away far enough to press his hand flat against the other’s chest. He asked, “What do you feel here?” The albino spoke slowly, clearly confused by the question, “Right now? Pain.” It was kurt, but it was expected. Friedrich responded, “I feel it too. Your pain hurts me too. But, that feeling tells you I am there in your heart.” He met Prussia’s ruby eyes again and he could tell that the man was drinking in every word. His eyes had not completely dried, but it was still clear that he was distressed. He continued, “I will always be there. That will not change with time.”

The albino put his hand over the other’s where it was on his chest. He said, “What about the times when I need you?” The answer was easy, and Friedrich spoke it, “Listen to your heart. I will be there with you. It’s my heart as much as yours.”

Prussia’s tears were gone, but his arms were still holding his lover with such force that he could not pull away. Friedrich did not mind, it was easier than holding his own body up. Prussia spoke again, hesitating uncharacteristically, “I will miss you all the same.” They were inevitable words, and there was nothing Friedrich could say to counter it. Instead he said, “I expect you will. But, you are fully capable on your own.”

He reached up and stroked back a piece of Prussia’s wayward hair. The albino leaned in and pressed his lips gently against his king’s. This was not the forceful kiss of youth. It was softer and sweeter, and as he put his hand on the albino’s cheeks, he could feel the moisture.

But the change in position proved too taxing for the elderly King’s body, and he was forced to say, “Gilbert, I should sit.” It was a command and the albino simply nodded and released his hold. Only once Friedrich had settled himself in his favorite chair, did Prussia sit on the floor next to him, resting his head on his lap. Friedrich’s hand found his country’s hair and he stroked it comfortingly.

A difficult thought seemed to struggle on the albino’s lips. He finally said, “These years with you have been the best of my life.” It was a deeply personal confession, the type that were difficult for the albino. Friedrich owed it nothing less than an honest response, “I have loved you since I was a young boy, and everything I have done, I have done for you.”

He had never dared be this forthcoming with his country before. But, now that there time was sparse, there could be no secrets. So, in favor of complete confession, he continued, speaking the words that he had never said, “Thank you for coming to me when I was at Küstern and telling me you loved me. I do not know if I would have been able to endure without you. You came even though my father forbid it. I knew then that I could love no one else.”

The memory was distant and cold. The imprisonment after his attempt to escape his father’s tyranny had seemed like the frigid end of the world. His former lover and friend was dead, slain right in front of him, and the future held no prospect but his father’s cane. Prussia had cut through it like a ray of sun through deep fog. He had ordered the guards away, wrapped the young prince in his own traveling coat and spoken the words that Friedrich had never forgotten, “You will survive and prosper because you are destined to be my king and because I love you.” Those words had galvanized him and given him the will to find common ground with his father.

Now, Prussia was looking at him adoringly as he continued, “Whatever you may think of Voltaire, you have been the one and only love of my life.” Prussia was blushing, which was very obvious against his unique skin tone. The albino drew in a deep breath before replying, “I never thought I would love anyone. You are the love of my life.” He echoed the sentiment, though the time frame was vastly differently. Prussia leaned his head welcomingly against the other’s hand, but he continued to speak, “I’ve never wanted anything in my life but you.”

Friedrich felt a smile turn up the corner of his mouth. He countered, “I’m not the only thing. If I remember correctly, you want to control all the German states.” Prussia scoffed, “Fritz, that was just banter. I know it’s impossible.” Continuing to run his hand through the other’s hair, Friedrich replied, “In this moment it is. But in a century or two, it could all be yours. You’re more than just a soldier. You have the skill and the mind for it, mon cher. I know you well enough to know that you do not say what you don’t mean.”

There was an obvious glint of ambition in the albino’s eyes, but he did not voice it. Instead he let his king speak again, “Promise me you’ll pursue your ambitions, even if I am not there with you.” Prussia swallowed whatever he was about to say about the improbability of controlling everything. He could tell that this was not the moment for modesty. He said, “I promise, Fritz. I will.”

With his free hand, the king reached down and took his country’s hand. Prussia’s grip was firm. Neither of them spoke; what had been said was enough. Wordlessly, the albino brought the hand to his lips and kissed the fingers. He then spoke again, “I am going to stay with you tonight, and every night until the end.” He sounded like a knight pledging to keep a vigil and it was comforting. His presence was more familiar than any, and it would be no intrusion for him to remain. So, Friedrich said, “I would like that.” ___________________________________________________________

In the night, the king woke. He looked at his country, who was asleep in his lap. His hand was still resting firmly on the other’s.

He looked incredibly serene asleep. The room was dark, but Prussia stood out as pale and pure as moonlight. It was easy to contemplate him now that Friedrich knew he had found an uneasy peace. Likely, he would mourn. But he would keep his promise and continue.

He felt a heartbeat that felt out of time, followed by another that seemed uneasy. It was not unnerving though. This was the most peace he could feel. He looked at Prussia one more time, memorizing every line and feature. If one sight was to be his last, then he wanted it to be this. As he looked at his country, he slowly closed his eyes and let himself slip away.

#hws prussia #hws fredrick the great #prufritz

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buzzdixonwriter · 3 years

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I've Told You A Million Times To Avoid Cliches Like The Plague

Recently a year old re-print of a 1959 Writer’s Digest article by Donald Westlake started circulating on social media.

First off, if you don’t know who Donald Westlake is, go find out. You like rough edge crime stories, try his Parker books published under his Richard Stark pseudonym; you like funny crime, dig up the Dortmunder series under his own name; you like odd ball history, check out Under An English Heaven “being a true recital of the events leading up to and down from the British invasion of Anguilla on March 19th, 1969 in which no one was killed but many people were embarrassed.”

Second, Westlake was a serious writer in that he took the craft of writing Very Seriously indeed, no matter how light hearted and funny some of his books could be. He wrote a blistering letter (later turned into an essay) in the fanzine Xero (starts on page 97) where he excoriated the sci-fi field of the era as being neither artistically nor commercially viable.*

So who am I to challenge this master’s assertions?

Well, I take the craft of writing Very Seriously indeed myself, and to quote a late, lamented friend: “Fools rush in, and there we are…”

The Writer’s Digest article is a mixed bag, partially a quick off-the-cuff job for a few bucks, partially a valid observation on pitfalls in writing popular fiction in September of 1959.

Bear the date in mind, it’s crucial to this discussion.

This was an era when Americans read a lot. Millions of people subscribed to The Saturday Evening Post or dozens of other slick magazines (not to mention the digests, which are what the form the old genre pulps mutated into), and this meant each week dozens of new short stories or serialized novels were available to them (and that’s not counting non-fiction).

Westlake in 1959 was commenting on an over saturated market, one where too many writers and editors simply replayed old tropes over again and again because they knew a significant portion of their audience felt comfortable with them (this is particularly true in the slicks, more so than the digests).

Westlake divides his 36 plots into three groups: Mysteries, science fiction, and slicks.

My first quibble lays in what Westlake means when he says “plot”.

From the original article:

“A plot is a planned series of connected events, building through conflict to a crisis and ending in a satisfactory conclusion. A formula is a particular plot which has become stale through over-use.

“My own working definition of plot is what I call “5C.” First, a character. Anybody at all, from Hemingway’s old man to Salinger’s teenager. Second, conflict. Something for that character to get upset about, and for the reader to get upset about through the character. Third, complications. If the story runs too smoothly, without any trouble for the character, the reader isn’t going to get awfully interested in what’s going on. Fourth, climax. The opposing forces in conflict are brought together. Like the fissionable material in an H-bomb and there’s an explosion. Fifth, conclusion. The result of the explosion is known, the conflict is over, the character has either won or lost, and there are no questions left unanswered.

“5C: Character. Conflict. Complications. Climax. Conclusion.”

All well and good, but in his article Westlake provides almost no examples of same.

To me, a plot is a quick summary of a story that lays out beginning, middle, and end: G.I. Joe captures a Cobra secret weapon but doesn’t realize what it is. Cobra needs to get the weapon back without alerting the Joes to its potential, and the Joes must figure out what Cobra is after before they can get their hands on it.

(There’s a lot you can do with that plot. It can be a slam-bang action oriented story, a techno thriller, or a slapstick farce depending on your angle of attack.)

What Westlake presents are more along the lines of story springboards: ”What would happen if…”

A lot of the situations Westlake presents are rife with potential: “John Smith is sitting in the park, feeding the other squirrels, when a beautiful girl runs up, kisses him, and whispers, ‘Pretend you know me.’”

Okay, let’s list the possibilities, shall we?

She’s being stalked by a creepy guy and needs protection…

She’s been hired to set Smith up for some reason…

She’s mentally disturbed from trauma in her past…

She’s a flipping psycho intending to kill Smith…

She’s a secret agent slipping a secret code in Smith’s pocket…

She’s a silly college girl doing this on a dare, unaware Smith is a serial killer…

Six stories right off the top of my head, and each one could be played in several different ways, from deadly serious to over the top farce.

That’s a lot of potential in a single trope.

Here’s another: “John Smith, private eye, is sitting at his desk, when Marshall Bigelow, thimble tycoon, trundles in waving thousand-dollar bills and shouting, ‘My daughter has disappeared!’”

Well, d’uh, isn’t that what private eyes do? Find missing people? Or uncover who committed a crime when people don’t want the police involved? Or find out if a spouse is cheating?

Name a private eye story that doesn’t play off some variant of this. From Murder, My Sweet to Harper to Shaft, hiring a private eye to find a missing person is a perfect way to get a story started. “You find my Velma.”

Of the dozen story springboards he offers in his mystery section, none are unworkable, though two remain overly familiar to this day and probably are best avoided unless the writer can provide some incredible new spin.

The science fiction section is more problematic, and here’s where I suspect Westlake was slumming (there ought to be an article on the type of articles one shouldn’t write for Writer’s Digest that includes articles like the one Westlake wrote).

Seven of the eleven clearly reference classics of the genre, and if this wasn’t a deliberate dig at those authors on Westlake’s part, one can only argue that while they may be shopworn now due to retreads by the untalented, these ideas remain strong enough to support a good story.

The other four remain headscratchers. Two -- Adam & Eve and “atoms are tiny solar systems” -- are indeed hoary old ideas, burned off by EC comics earlier in the decade.

I can’t say there weren’t thirteen year old aspiring sci-fi writers who submitted these to publishers and editors back in the day, but they seem more likely to have been found on the pages of fanzines (i.e., what sci-fi geeks had before the Internet) than a professional slush pile.

We know Westlake was active to some degree in sci-fi fandom of that era; could those two tropes have come from seeing those stories in the pages of amateur magazines?

The remaining two ideas represent a ribald attitude I don’t recall seeing in sci-fi digests of that era.

Oh, sex was starting to rear its beautiful head in science fiction, and there were a few cutting edge stories, but these two seem more like set ups for smutty fanfic, not genuine submissions of the time.

Again, something I’d expect to see in a fanzine, not a professional market.

Like I said, I think this tips off that Westlake is having us on, that this whole article came off the top of his head in a matter of minutes instead of being carefully thought out.

On the other hand, his critique of slick magazine fiction seems pretty spot on and devastating.

While he covers several sub-genres, his primary focus seems to be on stories written for a female audience, the type found in McCall’s and Ladies Home Journal. He doesn’t come close to a dozen examples, however, as several (even those labeled as sub-examples) are just the same story springboard in different settings.

Two of his bad examples, however, stand out quite clearly as a dislike (whether personal / professional / aesthetic, I can’t tell) aimed at a specific series of stories found in The Saturday Evening Post, i.e., the Alexander Botts, tractor salesman stories of William Hazlett Upson.

One of Westlake’s verboten plots isn’t even a plot but a literary device: “Any story told in an exchange of letters”. The other one that ties into Upson’s oeuvre is “Joe Doakes, a traveling salesman for a paper clip company, gets involved in some pretty unbelievable adventures in a small town in the Midwest. The other participants are a local belle and a salesman for a rival paper clip company.”

The two combined describe Upson’s Botts stories to a T. The second one is richly ironic since Westlake eventually used the same basic premise for his Dortmunder series (the only change being Dortmunder is a thief, not a salesman; po-tay-to, po-tah-to).

Finally, Westlake left himself a huge out with “If you can take one of the 36 clichés listed above, and give it a brand new twist, so it doesn’t look like the same story any more, you may have a sale on your hands. If you search hard enough in the magazines on the stands today, you’ll find one or more of these variations currently in print.”

Look, I get it. I’ve faced deadline doom before myself, and more than once have fired off a short piece that contained all the depth of a dixie cup.

This isn’t the worst writing advice I’ve seen, but it’s far from the best, and Westlake coulda and shoulda done better.

* He wasn’t alone in his opinion, though ironically the 1960s proved to be one of the most fertile eras for the genre. Yet Westlake and other writers such as John D. MacDonald, Frederic Brown, and John Jakes left sci-fi for other genres because it couldn’t support them either as artists or professionals.

#Donald Westlake #writing #how this writer's mind works #William Hazlett Upson

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talldarkandroguesome · 3 years

Text

24th of Sun’s Dawn, Middas

What a day!

After yesterday’s long droning presentation before the House Council, I was relieved for the levity of a letter from Tel.

Tel spoke of their current routine in Vivec City and how they will be transferring to Molag Amur in a few months time and how they are enjoying things close to their beloved Vehk while they can remain there. I have heard about their friends, the latest gossip, how often Tel takes their exercise each day, and even a few details about those delightful orgies the Armigers get up to. There were illustrations of friends and snippets of poetry. A few humorous stories of what had passed since the previous letter.

Of course, being Tel, they wished to know all the details of what had happened with me, saying I left out far too much with my cryptic messages, but that I must give them details, no matter how complicated it all was. They seemed particularly interested in how I managed to get Nabine and the girls into the city and to broach the subject of having a half Bosmer daughter brought before my House.

It left me throwing aside business dealings and account ledgers to pen a response.

I made sure to leave out any mention about my soul. The closest I came was saying that, I had decided that I must make good on an old promise to Nabine, so I had headed to Grahtwood via the Mages Guild. During that time, I ended up joining and doing some very rudimentary initiation where they wanted me to go and pick some alchemical ingredients, but being that I did not wish to be arrested in Valenwood for taking part of the Green, I simply handed over a couple from what I already had in my alchemy satchel. And I had even attended a couple of courses, just to see what all the fuss was about. Needless to say, I was bullied out of destruction and into alteration and as a result I can now successfully cast children’s spells and maybe go back to Shad Astula and see if they will take me back up on that old offer from when I was nine.

I mentioned only that Nabine and I had made a promise to return to Mournhold and go before my House and prove our love and make a showing before them. I did not mention about our promise to slay Urtisa, it seemed in poor taste considering their status in law enforcement, even if they could not necessarily hold me accountable for crimes outside of Vivec. Focusing on the positive around Tel is always advisable.

Instead, I spoke about my aunt and cousins and their children and that horrible evening where those poor children were submitted to the twin’s badgering them into the most inane and untalented displays. B’cahn, may they grow up to see the world for what it is and not for the poor woven tales of their mother, aunt, and grandmother.

There was at least half a page of explanation concerning Kuna’s belief that she is a princess and the adorable or troubling ways that has been manifesting. And how she is encouraging Cariel to follow in her footsteps. For children who never have been around servants, they are quickly learning to abuse them. Nabine and I have, obviously, taken to correcting the behavior and have asked the servants not to give into their orders, even when it is cute. We suspect that the girls have been allowed to get away with more than they should in our absence.

I explained how Mother has taken things in much the way I expected. Though she and Nabine seem to get along, if uneasily. We are making sure that Nabine and the girls are seen enough that my House will not be able to deny their existence. A Bosmer with darker, cooler tones to her skin and red eyes points to her being my offspring. I think as of yet the Councilmer are too afraid to confirm if Cariel is my child as well. She is still young enough that it is hard to tell how much she truly resembles me, though she clearly looks like Nabine. And, after all, some children look so alike one parent while not the other.

I shared the humorous stories about the completely incompetent attempts on my life. Though I may have continued the narrative that I was drunk and had slipped, bending down when the would-be assassin leapt over me and off the balcony, falling head first to their death.

It was hard not to find humor in how inept these poor sods were. As I explained to Tel, it was clear that these were not the highly adept assassins of my House, nor the incredible attempts of the Morag Tong. Not just because they were so very clumsy and obvious, but that they did not follow the decorum of professional attempts. If it was House warfare, then the attempt would have either been made in a very public place or in the privacy of my home. Not in a private gathering with a limited number of people, all of whom could be easily traced back to the person hired.

The entire thing was utterly laughable. I am sure Tel got a good chuckle at the stories.

To be honest, I am a bit disappointed in how cheap the assassins sent after me have been. Not that I want to be in too much danger, but because it means that they think so lowly of me that they can get away with paying common criminals off the street.

I suppose I should be grateful that my rouse of incompetence is so great, however. It means I do not have to be on quite so high a guard.

Part of me wonders if any of this is Urtisa’s doing. She would certainly have limited contacts and has made attempts on me many times before. It would be as good a time as ever. But perhaps that is something I could use. If I could send out a message to one of her contacts and Nabine could see who was being sent to kill me, we could make a trail to lead right back to her and catch her in the act of trying to kill me once more.

No, not catch her, but have the trail lead back to her, and have it be discovered that she has escaped.

Yes.

Escaped because she heard the attempt failed and thought to flee before she could be held responsible.

Oh, this is a most delightful idea! I must bring it to Nabine and see what my glorious Morash Gahmerdehn thinks of it. It is the type of plan that I can readily see her enamored with.

Right, back to this letter.

I know Tel was interested in details, so I made sure that I put in very detailed accounts for my name day treat from Nabine. I painted a very vivid picture for each activity and illuminated the page to give a bit of extra flare to the story. For one who participates so often in orgies, it would hardly be proper to leave out any part. Especially since it seems that Tel is interested in some more salacious topics.

Since Tel also added so many other things to their letters, I thought it only proper to include some more artistic offerings of my own.

Going through my old bard books, I found a very old draft of a song I had written about Vivec, back when it looked as though I was going to be transferred from Mournhold to Vivec to write music at the Temple there.

So I gave a quick once over with my lute to make sure the melody was not atrocious and when I was satisfied with a couple of adjustments to the music, I put it to paper. This I illuminated as well, though with imagery and designs of a more religious nature. I figured that Tel would truly appreciate such a work. In fact, should I have any leisure time, I may write another. Or adapt a song of my Prince to one that Tel might delight in. I feel as though I have a few ideas of ways to incorporate what I learned from the music of Elsweyr into something that would be even more delightful.

I gave my goodbyes and my appreciation for Tel’s dedication to writing. Then I sent off the letter, along with a new Bosmeri paintbrush, made of mammoth ivory and hair. According to Nabine, the carving of the handle imbue the user with a greater ability to realize what is in their mind when it is set to canvas. She also tells me that the mammoth hair is far courser than that of horses or other commonly used animals, so that it stands up better to illustration work, rather than calligraphy.

It must be admitted, I was surprised to learn Nabine had such an understanding of painting. She said that when she had left the Namira cult, she spend some time with a painter in Cyrodiil. Apparently the woman was not famous, but had done the most realistic work Nabine had ever seen. When she painted she had simply gone by the name, The Focus. Very interesting name indeed, particularly as a moniker for an Orsimer artist. I told Nabine we would have to try and track her down and learn what would could of her, then, if possible, to purchase or commission some works.

Tel’s letter was sent to the Temple, so it should arrive in a day, along with the daily missives sent from one Tribunal Temple to the next. And I must admit, I am looking forward to receiving a reply.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls

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dreamofkpop · 5 years

Text

Trouble

Stray Kids 10th member AU

Charlie x Stray Kids

requested by anon // requests are open!!!

This all takes place before Changbin’s birthday

(gif not mine! credit to owner!)

“Alright, good job, take a break guys, i’ll be back in a moment”

As the choreographer walked out of the room, the 10 of them relaxed and spread out around the practice room.

Charlie dropped her water bottle onto the couch an zipped up her hoodie, pulling the hood over her head. “Guys i’ll be back in a minute”

“Where’re you going?” Jisung asked as she walked past him.

“Just to the bathroom, don’t worry i won’t get lost”

The boys laughs and chatter faded out as she shut the door behind her and turned down the hall. She walked towards and into the bathroom with her head down, almost bumping into the girl stood at the sink. She was a trainee who’d only joined a few months ago, Charlie barely knew her.

The girl hadn’t seen Charlie’s face and continued to talk on her phone, staring at her reflection.

“Yeah i don’t why she’s in the group!”

Charlie stopped, her hand slipping off the door lock and falling at her side. She leaned closer to try and hear clearer, fear beginning to bubble up.

“No...no yeah, yeah i doubt it, there’s no way they’d let one girl into a group of nine boys” She spat.

‘They’re talking about me...’ Charlie thought, her jaw tensing.

Ignoring the hammering in her chest, Charlie pressed closer to the door and continued to listen, letting the fears prick at her.

“She’s not even pretty! I bet she’s had so much plastic surgery, how much d’you wanna bet she did something to her eyes? I don’t believe for second that they’re natural!” The girl continued to rant.

Biting back a scoff, Charlie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door.

“Her attitude stinks as well, like her hideous face isn’t enough, she’s a fucking bitch! I don’t how she’s even an idol? Ugly, rude, not even the slightest bit talented! It’s crazy...she doesn’t even deserve to be in Stray Kids”

Charlie’s hand unintentionally curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms hard enough the make them bleed. She could feel her heart start beating faster and tears prick behind her closed eyes.

“Oh- I’m late for my class, i’ll call you back”

As the girls footsteps retreated out of the bathroom Charlie let out a shaking breath she didn’t even know she was holding on.

Unlocking the door, she stumbled towards the sink and placed her hands flat on the surface. Her chest was heaving as her breathing became more sporadic.

“Calm down Charlie, calm down, not the time nor place for this...” She whispered to herself.

Once she’d calmed herself down, she reached up an pulled her hood down. Charlie slowly pulled her hand back and held it out in front of her, staring at it.

‘I’m shaking...why am i shaking? why do i always seem to be shaking?’

Her eyes diverted fro her hand, zeroing on the mirror in front of her, on her reflection. The girls words ringing in her head like alarms.

Ugly, Rude, Untalented...

Charlie sighed and stared at her own reflection, tears reappearing on her eyes the longer she stared, mentally pointing every little imperfection. She brought her hand up and ran it through her hair, sighing sadly.

She doesn’t deserve to be in Stray Kids

“She’s right...” Charlie muttered, bringing her hand down, poking at her face. Her fingers tugged at cheeks, her nails ran over the freckles on her face then the scar on her eyebrow, making her frown. “She’s right, I’m hideous...”

Before she could continue pointing out imperfections, the silence was cut by a ringtone, more specifically her ringtone. She fished her phone out of her pocket and cleared her throat before answering it.

“Hello?”

“Did you really get lost?” Jisung’s cheery yet sarcastic voice rang through the phone.

Charlie rolled her eyes, ignoring the pang of sadness in her chest. “Shut up, I’m on my way back” Then hung up, leaving him no time to respond.

She looked back at her reflection, hurrying to wipe the tears she didn’t even know were falling, before turning and leaving the bathroom, a single thought ringing in her head.

She doesn’t deserve to be in Stray Kids.

It hadn’t been too long since Charlie’s run in with the trainee, a couple of weeks tops, but things weren’t going too well.

Charlie was slowly becoming distant, more reserved, a lot more closed off. It was subtle at first, the only time she’d genuinely spent time with the boys was when they were in London.

Apart from that she rarely spoke to them unless it was necessary. Whilst they were on tour she’d kept herself locked up in the hotels unless they had to go out.

And the boys had begun to notice.

Felix was undoubtedly the first to notice her change in attitude and the way she acted around them. He realized it when they were in Paris and she rejected his offer for some late night sight seeing, usually she was the one suggesting such adventures.

He eventually bought it up to the rest of the boys, who had each noticed their friend’s strange behavior.

“She looks really upset, like there’s something bothering her” Woojin had commented during one of their discussions after a concert, looking back at Charlie who was asleep on the couch behind them.

“One of us should talk to her” Suggested Hyunjin, earning a very sarcastic comment from Minho in return, to which he just rolled his eyes.

Chan, who looked the most distressed by the situation at hand, had offered to talk to Charlie. He only had to figure out a way to get her to talk to him, or any of them for that matter.

Throughout the rest of the tour, Charlie put on a brave face. She brushed off the boys’ concerning stares and questions, masking it with a simple “I’m just tired”

It wasn’t until they got back from tour that everything fell through.

They all sat in the JYP cafe, conversing happily and munching on whatever they’d ordered. Charlie sat in between Jisung and Hyunjin, staring blankly at the table, unconsciously scratching the back of her hand with her nails.

Unbeknownst to her, the 9 boys surrounding her kept glancing at her, sending worried glances to each other as subtly as they could.

Apart from them and the actual workers, the only other people in the room happened to be the two causes of the whole situation. Not far from where Stray Kids sat, was the trainee and her friend, and they were right in Charlie’s eye line.

If she looked up and slightly over Woojin’s shoulder, Charlie would have a direct view of them, which only meant that they could see her too and were probably already gossiping.

Someone reached over and grabbed her wrist, making her snap her head up. Woojin gently pulled her hand away, placing it on the table. “If you keep doing that you’re going to end up hurting yourself”

“like i haven’t been doing that already..” She muttered under her breath, low enough that they didn’t hear her as she grabbed the sleeves of her hoodie and pulled them down to her knuckles.

Charlie straightened up in her chair and her eyes drifted over to the two girls. The first girl, the one who started all this, was already staring over at the, a sickly looking smirk on her face. When she caught Charlie’s eyes, she raised her hand and waved.

Looking away, Charlie took a deep breath in to calm herself and pulled out her phone, opening her messages. Her best friend, Kiko, was the only one who knew what was going on.

Charlie: I feel like i’m about to pass out and idk y. This crap is gettin’ too much [12:05 PM]

She put her phone away and brought her attention back down to the table, subtly listening in on the conversation the boy’s were having. They were recalling something funny that’d happened in Berlin.

The sounds of chairs scraping against the floors caught Charlie’s attention, she looked up as the two girls walked past their table, smirking at Charlie as they passed.

Once the girls were out of room Charlie let her shoulders slump and her hands uncurl, she ignored the buzzing of her phone and closed her eyes.

Another chair scraped and her eyes snapped open, this time it was Jisung who’d stood up, saying something along the lines of going somewhere before walking out.

“Did you see the way she looked at me? It looked like she wanted to rip my throat out”

“She did, as if a girl like her could even lay a hand on you”

“And that sweater!! It matched with her face, ugly as hell!”

“How can the nine of them stand to be around her, she must reek of something”

“I know right! I was getting depressed just looking at her”

The two voices made Jisung stop as he was about to the corner, he carefully peeked around the corner and his eyes widened when he saw the two girls. A bad feeling began to prick in his chest as he listened in on their talk, though he knew he shouldn’t be.

They continued to yap on and on, making snide and crude remarks about Charlie, Jisung’s hands were curled into tight fists at his side. On the one side he wanted to walk up to them and give them a piece of his mind but the other side of him wanted to march back up to cafe.

‘This must be what’s made Charlie so distant, something they’ve said is messing with her’ He thought and then with a heavy sigh turned back down the hall towards the cafe.

Charlie was still absentmindedly picking at her sleeves when two hands landed on her shoulders, making her jump and spin around. Jisung stood behind her with an upset look on his face.

“Come with me for minute” He held his hand out to her.

Reluctantly, she grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull her from her chair and into the hall. Once they were out he turned around and placed his hands back on her shoulders.

“What did those girls say to you?”

In the back of her mind she began panicking, every curse under the sun running through her head as she tried to ramble up an excuse. “Wh..what..what girls?”

“Don’t be like this, not right now, You know which girls i’m talking about, the ones that were in the cafe with us. What did they say to you?”

‘God damn it’ Charlie thought, ‘There’s no way i can lie to him...’

She looked down at her feet, screwing her eyes shut to stop the tears welling in her eyes, messily fumbling with the ends of her sleeves.

“Charlie, hey, look at me. Tell me what they said, please” Jisung practically pleaded. He moved one of his hands to the side of her face, a sad smile appearing on his lips when Charlie leaned into his touch.

She shook her head, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. What sounded to Jisung like a sob came from under her hand, immediately making him more worried.

“Charlie, baby, please tell me what they said. You know none of us can help you if you don’t tell us.” He pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arm around her securely.

After bottling it up for so long, Charlie finally broke. Her arms wrapped around Jisung’s torso tightly as she started sobbing, everything from the past couple of weeks finally flowing free.

Holding her to him tightly, Jisung rocked side to side gently, he brought one hand up to the back of her head and propped his chin up on the top of her head.

He didn’t say anything, letting her cry as much as she needed to, ignoring the tears slowly forming a puddle on his shirt.

Once Charlie had calmed down she pulled back, her hands still gripping the back of his shirt. Jisung took his hand off of the back of her head, using his sleeve to wipe the tears off her cheeks.

She sniffed and shook her head, her hair falling past her eyes. “It’s stupid...i should..i shouldn’t have let it...let it get me”

Jisung frowned. “What did they say?”

Her breath hitched as she breathed in, closing her eyes for a moment. “Just...just stupid comments a-about..about my looks and attitude but...but-”

“Oh Charlie....” Jisung sighed, pulling her back into a hug.

“But she said...that i..that i didn’t deserve to be in Stray Kids” Charlie whispered, her words muffled by the fabric of Jisung’s shirt.

“What?!” He exclaimed, pulling back to look down at Charlie, his jaw dropped. “And you believed them?”

Before Charlie could even think of anything to say in reply Jisung cut her off, his tone defensive and slightly angry.

“Listen to me, whatever they said about you, it’s not true. You are one of the kindest people I’ve ever met and you’re really really beautiful, like extremely beautiful. I know you’d always try and deny it but you’re incredibly talented and amazing, you can ask anyone you know and they’d agree. Don’t listen to those girls, okay? You deserve to be in the group as much as the rest of us and nothing’s every going to change that”

Tears pricked in the corners of Charlie’s eyes, flowing freely down her cheeks when she blinked. Panic flashed over Jisung’s face when he saw them, bringing his hands up to cup her face.

“Hey what’s wrong?”

Looking up at him through tears, she gave him a smile. “I don’t deserve friends like you...”

As a sob ripped through her words again, Jisung pulled her back into his arms. They stayed like that until Charlie had stopped crying, her eyes red and puffy as she pulled away.

Jisung smiled at her. “Is that why you were so distant? ‘Cause you thought what they were saying was right?” Charlie hesitantly nodded and he sighed. “I’m going to talk to Chan hyung about this, those girls shouldn’t get away with speaking about you like that!”

“Don’t be to drastic, i know what you’re like” Charlie pointed, raising her eyebrow at him.

“Fine fine” He raised his hands in defence. “But you need to talk to the rest of them, explain what’s happened because we’ve all been so worried...especially Chan hyung and Changbin hyung”

Charlie nodded and tugged on her hoodie. “Fine, i will”

Footsteps sounded behind them, stopping a bit behind them. Charlie and Jisung turned and saw Woojin standing there, a kind smile on his face.

“You two okay? You’ve been out here a while” He asked, walking up to them.

Following a small nod, Charlie walked up to Woojin and wrapped her arms around him. The older boy was shocked at the sudden action, but he was quick to hug her back.

She smiled at him. “Everything’s good, everything’s finally good”

#female!straykids #stray kids 10th member #female!kpop #kpop female addition #kpop female oc #kpop oc #kpop au #stray kids oc #stray kids au #stray kids female addition #stray kids female oc #stray kids #skz #stay #charlie kim #kim taeshin #stray kids charlie

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