#[but in seriousness what does it mean?? does thursday intend for him to follow? is it a silent invitation? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leemaht · 4 years ago

Note

can i rq a break up au w/ futakuchi and 36 56 62 feelin angsty lately 😳😳

your wish is my command! i definitely didn't cry writing this, haha. wouldn't do that.

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the last chance you had

prompts: ‘you know that i love you, right? right?’; ‘stay away from me! i don’t want to see you!’; ‘i know what i said and i know i can’t take it back but i want you to know that i didn’t mean it.’

warnings: angst, toxic relationship, mention of sexual harassment/rape, swearing, mentally abusive

pairing: futakuchi kenji x reader

summary: this is a sad little story about futakuchi kenji, who doesn’t know how to express love and care until it is too late. or rather does not realize how much of a jerk he is until it is too late.

notes: this is a goddamn whole lot more dark and angsty than i intended, so enjoy with caution

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thursday. a normal day for futakuchi kenji, or so he thought.

wrong he was. it was the day he would lose the one and only love of his life. the person he thought he would spend the rest of his life with. the person he had imagined to marry and start a family with. you.

it was the day you finally gathered enough sadness, lonesomeness and unhappiness for the barrel to run over. it wasn’t like you didn’t love him. your love was never the issue. there were several reasons leading you to this breaking point.

1. futakuchi kenji made you believe he didn’t care about you.

he forgot important events easily. he forgot about your first anniversary and even after you reminded and presented him your thoughtful gift you had spent so much time and money on, he shrugged it off and told you it wasn’t a big deal.

he forgot about your birthday, he didn’t even congratulate you like every other of your friends did. all his teammates knew about your birthday and remembered him, most of them had congratulated you themselves. but your boyfriend decided to text you the word ‘congrats’ at 11 pm.

and it was true. futakuchi didn’t care about all this ‘minor stuff’, all he cared for was you so he thought that was enough. but you didn’t get that idea. for you it was just hurtful.

2. futakuchi kenji made you feel alone.

he forgot about you in general, you thought. it happened more than once that you were scheduling a date and he left you hanging. it happened more than once that he left you waiting for hours, alone at a shady location without answering one of your many calls and text messages, sometimes even in the rain and wind. one time at school he had asked you to come to the park this evening and even though it was a normal week day, you had agreed. you arrived at 8 pm as settled, waiting on a park bench for your boyfriends arrival, but he never came.

after about two hours a text message from him came in.

‘do you want me to come over now?’ it said, as if he didn’t even know what he had done.

‘leave me alone.’ you texted back hoping to animate him to ask you what was the matter but he left you on read.

you made your way home, locked the door and cried the whole night after being cat called at least 7 times on your way back in the dark night. futakuchi didn’t write you for the next few days, making you feel even more abandoned then before. he took your ‘leave me alone’ literally and intended to give you room to breathe because he honestly forgot about his request of meeting you. he assumed you had a private problem and didn’t want to barge in. after becoming the new captain of the team his life got a lot more busy, so he forgot about the little things. he was a very forgetful person to begin with but it got worse since then.

3. futakuchi kenji made you feel ashamed.

he couldn’t keep secrets. there you were entrusting him with some of the most important secrets of your life and the told them to others without a second thought and with a smile on his face.

the time you got a bad mark on one of your tests you had learned for so long. you asked him not to mention it to your parents when he would visit you this afternoon, because you wanted to tell them yourself. and he agreed. only five minutes later he bragged to your parents how his mark was so much better than yours, to which your parents sent him home and gave you a lecture about why you would keep secrets from them.

when you texted him about this he thought it was funny how you got so angry at minor inconveniences and made fun of you. he intended this to be his apology and brighten up your mood but when you didn’t text him back he let you be.

the time one of your grandparents died and you asked him not to tell anybody, because you only wanted your friends to know. this day you came too late to class but when you entered everybody, including the teacher gave you a pitying look. that’s when you knew he had told all of your classmates even though you told him not to. you cried silent tears of disappointment but everybody assumed they were because of sadness and tried to comfort you. you hated this kind of pity and attention and left, crying even more than before.

but futakuchi didn’t follow you but left you space. he was the kind of guy who thought space and silence could fix everything.

the time you did something embarrassing and asked him not to tell anybody but when you went to the gym to give him his bag he had forgotten in the classroom you clearly heard him tell his whole team the story. you dropped the bag so loud it made him look at you, turned around and ran away crying. he didn’t follow you though. you know, ‘space’. you earned a lot of empathy of aone and the rest though as they realized you suffered as much from futakuchi as they did. maybe even worse.

4. futakuchi kenji made you feel unimportant.

he always put you in fourth place. his first place was volleyball, his second place was his family, his third place was his school work and in fourth and last place was you.

he cancelled important meetings with you for stuff like ‘my mom wanted me to buy flour. she said it was alright if i did it tomorrow, but i want to do it now.’ he ditched you for lunch because he rather ate and discussed with his teammates. the cancelled dates because he met up with his teammates. when you asked to study together for a test, he refused because you only ‘slowed him down’.

5. futakuchi kenji made you feel unloved.

all this facts put together and also even though you were dating for over one and a half year now and you had said it so many times, he had never before told you that he loved you, made you feel this way.

the first time you said it was 7 months into the relationship. he answered with ‘thank you.’ you assumed it was too soon for him and left it, but the more you said it the more he dodged.

‘i love you’ ‘right.’ or ‘ok’ or ‘i know’

you honestly couldn’t remember a single week in the last 6 month in which you didn’t at least cry 3 times because of him.

thursday

one day after the worst day of your life. you had talked things out though, for now at least.

after all the fights and break downs you had,you decided to give your boyfriend one last chance and promised yourself, if he blew this up you would end all this suffering and break up. you wanted to be happy again, something you hadn’t been for a while or at least not with futakuchi.

you wore your most cheery smile and pick him up after practice, but events took a bad turn.

after practice had ended you greeted your boyfriend with a big smile and sweet words, which he didn’t return of course. he just nodded in your direction and gave you a quick peck and disappeared in the changing rooms. koganegawa was the first one to leave the changing room. he was also the one bringing doom.

as he walked past you you attempted to greet him as usual, but he wasn’t as cheery as you were used to. rather he looked at you a little suspicious. after asking him what was the matter he answered.

‘captain was in a bad mood today.’ he said gloomily

‘hm, why was that? he seemed normal to me.’

‘well, he said something about you screaming at him yesterday for no reason.’ by this time more people had left the changing room and stood by you.

‘that’s what he said? ‘for no reason’?’ kogane nodded. you looked down on the ground with a defeated smile as the tears started flowing. kogane tried to comfort you clueless and aone patted your back slowly as he guessed what was happening.

after about two minutes futakuchi stepped out of the changing room last, locked after him and walked towards your crying form.

‘hey what you crying about?’ he rather stated then asked, without the slightest hint of worry or empathy.

you clenched your fists at his reaction. ‘did you tell everyone i screamed at you for no reason yesterday?’ you asked though gritted teeth. kogane and aone were still standing behind you as a kind of moral support as both of them... all of them knew how futakuchi was.

‘huh, that’s what all this is about?’ he stated unimpressed. ‘yes, i did.’

‘do you seriously believe that?’ your anger grew more and more but you referred from shouting.

‘yeah.’ you only nodded absently. ‘then tell me the reason.’

‘are you telling me you forgot about all i said yesterday?’ he averted your gaze.

‘kogane.’ you spoke up. ‘did he tell you guys that the day before yesterday was our one and a half years anniversary?’

‘no’ he answered.

‘interesting. did he tell you that he forgot about it until i reminded him?’

‘no’ he answered again.

‘alright, did he tell you that he asked me to come out to the park yesterday, when it was already dark outside? and that he texted me again and again that he would be there in 5 minutes but never actually showed up and made me wait for 3 hours in the darkness and cold?’

‘no..’ kogane was shocked, so was the rest. but the story didn’t end there.

‘did he tell you guys, that on my way home two weird guys followed me, so i had to run? the funny thing is they also started running after me.’ you stated in sarcasm hiding your fear. ’did he tell you that they followed me until i was home and that they even knocked on my door, so that i had to wake up my parents? did he tell you that they actually broke a window trying to get in, so that we had to call the police who told us that those two guys were convicted criminals?’ by the time you reached this point of the story you were in tears. the whole team looked as if they were ready to throw punches at futakuchi. some of them hugged you or offered comforting words. they already did way more for you than futakuchi ever did in your whole 1 1/2 years.

‘did he tell you that when i told him, he made fun of me and said i shouldn’t act like such a pussy?’ you ended your story. truth is futakuchi had gone crazy after you told him all of that. he wanted to prank you by cancelling the date but would have never thought that this would take such dangerous turns. he hadn’t slept for a minute that night and paced around his house aimlessly. but he didn’t want you to know that and tried invalidate the situation a little bit. after you hadn’t answered anymore he assumed you had gone to bed already. aone grabbed futakuchi by the collar.

while the scene unfolded itself you spoke up.

‘futakuchi. i’m done. i can’t take all of this any longer. the worst part of this is that this wasn’t even the worst thing you ever did. but i can’t or don’t want to accept this any more.’

‘w-wait. what are you saying.’ he stuttered still in the grasp of aone.

‘i’m saying that this is over. i’m breaking up.’ with this you turned around and walked away, leaving the rest of the team in awe. aone let go of futakuchi and paced after you, offering to walk you home.

futakuchi screamed your name and tried to losen the grip of kamasaki who took aone’s spot to run after you but you screamed back.

‘stay away from me! i don’t want to see you! never again.’ as your tears started flooding again. aone put a protecting arm around you as you two walked out of reach.

friday

this day futakuchi arrived at school with a black eye. [kamasaki lost his temper] and you ignored him all day. but this afternoon there was a knock on your door.

it was him.

‘y/n, please open up. we need to talk.’ he sounded desperate. you opened it a slit. ‘i have talked so many times,i’m done with it.’ you wanted to close the door again but he put a hand against it.

‘you know that i love you, right? right?’ he was now in tears.

‘you sure didn’t act like it.’ you deadpanned hoping to overtone the emptiness and sadness you were feeling inside. futakuchi broke, not knowing what you meant. in his eyes he had tried his best in showing you his feelings and knowing that you didn’t think the same made him furious. but before he could even say another word, you already closed the door and left him, like he did so many times. he reflected.

reflected on his behavior just now and yesterday and always and knew he had fucked up.

you received one last text message from him this day, saying:

‘ i know what i said and i know i can’t take it back but i want you to know that i didn’t mean it. and what i did. i know i am a horrible person. please. please, tell me you forgive me.’

you texted back:

‘i was breaking because of you. i have endured all of this long enough and yesterday i decided to give you one last chance and you blew it up. i think i deserve to be happy, but i cannot with you. i can’t forgive you for all the things you did to me. you made me a broken mess. also, if you hadn’t meant it you wouldn’t have said it in the first place.’

you pressed ‘send’ and waited for the signal that he had read it. when you saw that he started typing, you blocked his number and put your phone down.

this night you didn’t cry because of him, but because you knew everything would be alright from now.

#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu!!#futakuchi x reader #futakuchi kenji

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fangirlbase · 3 years ago

Text

The Howl of the Moon- Remus Lupin

Summary:

After a terrible accident in the battle at the Ministry in 1995, Hermione Granger wins a one-way ticket to the past. Unable to go back to his time, his only chance for survival is to adapt to the late 70s and get on with his life, interfering as little as possible so that the future does not fall apart.

However, everything goes downhill when Remus John Lupine starts to notice too much the new girl who clearly wanted to go unnoticed by Hogwarts.

Warnings: mature

3. The one on Valentine's Day

It was amazing how three weeks went by so quickly. One day they were heading back to Hogwarts and the next they were either bragging or despairing about not having a romantic partner.

The damn - or blessed - Valentine's Day had finally arrived.

Not only the Gryffindor tower but the ENTIRE castle was in chaos! Flower explosions here, little paper planes flying elsewhere as if it weren't an educational institution on a school day. Lilly Evans herself barely knew where to put her face after receiving her third bouquet of flowers that day.

- Flowers for another flower! - James declaimed whenever he appeared with another bouquet, stealing a breathtaking kiss from both his girlfriend and others.

The teachers had already reached a point where they were not even trying to contain the dispersion, only having accepted that it was impossible to compete with the expectation of a meeting. While James was spoiling Lilly more than usual, things weren't going that well for the other marauders.

I mean, they didn't go well because they didn't want to. Although Sirius had distributed several cards, none of them were returned. That dog had managed to tarnish his reputation with all the flirt and non-girlfriend girls at that school - but that didn't mean he had been left empty-handed, no! Unfortunately for him, the only response he got was from Marlene Mckinnon the only person he hadn't sent anything to. But despite everything, she hadn't pushed any closer since the day of back-to-school - which didn't mean he could goof around.

Dragging his two single friends, Sirius sought to slip past a certain tall, dark girl - however he was available to anyone else who wanted a little attention. It was specifically at the free time after lunch that things started to get intense.

- Do you really want to stop by? - Remus asked his friend terrified.

- If we don't go this way, we won't be able to leave. The way is to take a risk. - Sirius spoke with a little fear in his voice. - On three.

- THREE! - Peter yelled, stepping out in front of the two and covering his head as best he could.

Anyone listening would think they were about to abandon a trench and run across a field amid volleys of bullets, and though it was infinitely more harmless than that war scenario, the thought wasn't entirely wrong. The entire corridor in the west wing of the castle had been transformed into a passage for cards and enchanted planes, which could seriously injure anyone who took risks at that time, not to mention the owls that carried various packages of presents.

But they lived with a werewolf, what was a paper cut or a plane in the eye compared to Moony in the middle of a full moon?

Rushing away, Peter managed to gain distance, leaving Sirius and Remus behind. Indignant, Sirius barked a curse word loud and clear, darting after the smaller one, defending himself as best he could from the paper planes and their sharp edges.

- Oh, oh, oh! - He yelled as he was shot at by the fury of the invitations, not realizing if Remus had followed him or not.

Remus was the strongest of the three, the one who could pick up speed more easily. And even though he hid it most of the time, he loved bursts of energy like that. If Harry, Ronald and Hermione faced a series of keys in their first year, Sirius, Peter and Remus faced spells in their last year - with the exception that one of them found it all a lot of fun.

In the blink of an eye, Remus was running. His movements were quick, he could easily dodge the spikes on his face - but he wasn't quick enough to stop one from swooping close to his neck - which took him to the ground. Retrieving his backpack with ease, he moved half crouched half standing, gaining distance once more, leaving only the sound of his laugh as indicative of his presence in the hallway.

- You think it's funny, don't you? - Sirius looked askance at the werewolf. - I was hit several times and you think it's funny! - He showed the various paper cuts suffered on his arms.

- Nobody tells you to go out singing everybody out there. - Peter snitched. - A lot of people don't like you for that.

- It's not my fault if I get to the girls first!

- But they also don't like not being special to you, man. You flirt with everybody. - Remus completed.

- Ainh, ain... AT LEAST I RECEIVED A CARD! - Sirius tried to brag, knowing the background of the two friends who were too shy to invite anyone. But that year he hadn't received a look of envy, just one of pity and shame. -What? Did you receive any? - Padfoot was surprised.

"One." Peter was the first to agree, while Remus just wavered.

Despite liking girls, Lupine couldn't even consider the possibility that he would be aesthetically beautiful to others. Both his condition and his extensive scars horrified him to such an extent that he intended to remain celibate until the last second of his life, both for fear of suffering further rejection or humiliation and for not condemning anyone to share these humiliations with him.

But that didn't stop him from receiving cards.

Annoyed, Sirius just snorted and went on his way. How long had it been since he had kissed on the mouth? Did you give a measly peck? More than he would have liked! But hope was the last to die and even though he was not Brazilian, he never gave up! And speaking of never giving up…. Here was his chance sitting on the lawn next to the Quidditch pitch!

Remus froze in place as he realized where his friend was headed. Was it serious that even on Valentine's Day Sirius left Hermi-Jean alone?! Lupine just wanted to disappear, he didn't want her to think he had something to do with all that, but at the same time…

Jean, in turn, just wanted some time in peace, to get away from all that mess of flowers and chocolates, resorting to the last place she would go of her own free will: the Quidditch pitch. Not literally him, as it was closed at times when there were no practices or games, but the area close to him. Sitting at the opening of the field to the castle, she was coexisting with one particular Slytherin who appeared to be as immersed in the books as she was.

She just wanted peace, but then Black showed up.

Jean seriously considered running into Snape's arms and coming up with some excuse for him to get her out of there - but if he did that right then Sirius would pester them and still fight the poor snake whose natural state was a bad mood.

- Granger! Do you come here a lot? My practices are only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. - Sirius played charm, ignoring her eye roll.

- I'm glad I'm very busy on that day and time.

- Come on, Granger! Why be alone even on Valentine's Day?

- I say the same about you. Wasn't it supposed to be surrounded by suitors?

- Not when I only have eyes for one. Do you want to go out with me today?

Remus was stunned. He didn't know why, but he was very interested in how it turned out.

- Only if you close your eyes first. - Jean blinked her eyes primly and spoke shyly, implying that she would kiss him first.

Euphoric as he was, Sirius didn't notice the real signs. Closing his eyes and pouting his mouth, he didn't notice when Jean grimaced and rolled her eyes, pulling her wand out of her bag and sending a flurry of nervous birds at him.

- OH, OH, OH! THIS IS WORSE THAN PAPERS! - Sirius tried to protect himself, seeing no other solution if he didn't run away.

"Ha-ha…" Severus Snape let out a laugh, amused by Black's love affair, but returned to his mask of disinterest when he noticed that the brunette and the two remaining Gryffindors were looking at him equally amused.

The Slytherin, who had already been left hanging upside down with his pants down, felt minimally vindicated. Of course the birds didn't come close to the rematch he'd like, but it was a start.

And if on the one hand Severus smiled, on the other Peter and Remus laughed.

- I wonder if one day he will still manage to get married. Even the newcomer didn't care for him! - Said Wormtail.

Remus didn't respond to his friend, too busy snuggling up to his prefect who just responded with a friendly wink, then went back to his books. And Remus was betting 10 Galleons that she was rereading “Hogwarts: A History” once more.

***

A few hours later Remus found himself sitting at his usual desk in the transfiguration room, prepared for the tutoring time. This was supposed to be the fourth week of help, but mysteriously no living soul had set foot in that room at the specific time.

He seriously suspected that the students would only show up the day before exams, desperate for first-period subjects, while Hermione was already betting that no one would actually show up. Come on, it was the weird newbie and scarred Gryffindor guy! WHO would dare to step foot in the monitoring?

Exactly, no one.

And with that in mind, he settled into his seat and waited patiently, noticing from his wristwatch that his colleague was five, ten, fifteen minutes late. Had something happened? Had the would-be diners surrounded her? Or would she be on a date?

"Then I'm the curious one..." - Moony barked in his head, embarrassing him.

It didn't matter, he wasn't interested. Even because, it wouldn't have been a blunder of her not to show up and not warn him - since there wasn't even work since no student showed up to answer any questions. But if you were that curious, just ask her, who had just walked through the door with a smug smile on her face.

- MS. Granger, did something happen? - Remus asked in an amused and curious tone.

- Let's say yes. I'm sorry I was late.

- Did someone ask you out?

Hermione was shocked by the direct question, but knowing his background would probably be no big deal, just a bad sentence formulation.

- You know it did, and you know very well what happened too.

- Made him angrier than usual. The poor man had just suffered multiple paper cuts when he was pecked by all those birds. Cool spell, where did you learn it?

- Let's say…. Sirius wasn't the first to receive my flock of birds. Do you know if he ratted me out to Minerva?

- No, why?

“I was called to her office to hear a lecture about how I shouldn't hurt my classmates with magic when they're unprepared, but I think she liked that. As the only ones who saw it were you, Pettigrew, him and Snape. And I doubt Snape created any sense of justice for you….

- It was either him or Peter. I honestly don't think it was Peter, he has nothing against you.

In fact, out of all four, Wormtail was the one who paid the least attention to the girl - whether she bewitched Sirius or not was irrelevant when he laughed at the flying papers himself. Hermione, on the other hand, couldn't reciprocate the sentence and say that there was nothing against the smallest one either. In an attempt to go off on a tangent, she preferred to change the course of the conversation:

- Is that you? Did you receive an invitation?

She just doesn't expect his embarrassed look, as if she's ashamed of it.

- Come on, don't look like that….

- It's not that, I… I got some cards. Three, from different people. And chocolates.

- And isn't that cool?

- Not when I can't repay any of them...

"I didn't know you were already engaged, professor…" Hermione spoke more to herself, leaving the boy confused.

As far as he could remember, he didn't wear a ring on his finger when he taught her, but he was still a teenager… Maybe he had a girlfriend back in high school… he began to ponder getting lost in the future.

- I'm not committed, but I also don't want to get involved with anyone. I believe that…. Studies are more important. But what about you, teacher?

"I don't think it's for that much..." Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, embarrassed by the question and especially noticing her slip in referring to the teenager as if they were in 1993 and not 1978.

- And what makes you believe that I would also be a teacher? Remus asked with a crooked smile.

And a silence dominated the room. Flushed and eyes downcast, Hermione tried not to freak out that she'd let the fact that he would be a real teacher slip away - while at the same time Remus felt his heart flutter nervously at the possibility that she'd interpreted it as flirting.

- Well, anyway I signed under your thought! About studies, I say!

- Is that why you run away from Sirius so much?

- Oh, save me! I don't need reasons to run away from Sirius, have you seen how he flirts? Even someone with the emotional level of a teaspoon can be less…. He!

Remus chuckled. Jean was absolutely right about that.

"It's not that I don't want to get involved with anyone, but after all that has happened, and with the availability of options that exist here in the castle…" She rolled her eyes.

- No one is your type? - He was curious again.

Determined to abandon thoughts of the future and feeling confident, Hermione sat down next to Remus at the same table as him, asking for more space with her thigh - their biggest interaction so far! And as she pulled out her potions notebook to review, Lupine pulled a bar of chocolate from his cloak pocket, breaking it into tiny pieces.

- Accepted?

- What are the chances of you using me as a guinea pig for amortentia?

Remus smiled.

- My guinea pigs are not available today, would you mind? Besides, I have a lot of chocolate here.

Hermione remembered the day on the express, sophomore year. Professor Lupine had a huge bar of chocolate in his pocket and on second thought, he had no way of predicting the appearance of dementors. He must have been a chocoholic.

- I would love to, but if I eat now I won't be able to have dinner.

- Ah… - He was embarrassed. - Later then?

- I don't see why not.

***

Lilly couldn't be happier!

This was the first Valentine's Day he'd spent with anyone, and even though he'd only been with James for a few months, he'd turned out to be a completely different person than he'd been in years past. He had matured for her! Of course it wasn't like Lily wanted James, the romantic boyfriend, to be giving flowers and petting to the Slytherin would-be diners, but for him not looking for more fights it was a victory! Before the fateful day with Sev….Snape, they already overreact with bullying any Slytherin, even the youngest ones who weren't even purists. And for the redhead that rogue behavior was as reprehensible as any friend-person who called another person bad blood. That's why she refused James so many times, only accepting when he made the promise that he would change what he had actually done.

The past no longer mattered. Nothing that day could or would spoil his good mood. Although they didn't have dinner in the Great Hall, they ate by the black lake. James had ordered a nice picnic basket from the kitchens, spending that moment alone with his lily, exchanging all the kisses he'd managed before the giant squid got sick of all the molasses and splashed them with water.

Although slightly wet - I wouldn't say where - Lilly was beaming! However, they had to get back to the common room in time for her to change to go on her night watch. And when the couple arrived at the common room, they were faced with a vision of a Sirius, completely sullen and covered in... Band aids colored with pets? That was definitely not normal.

- Moony by chance decided to use you as a scratcher? James questioned his friend, disentangling himself from Lilly to check on his roommate's status.

- Humph…! - Sirius huffed in anger, shifting in his chair by the fire and grunting in pain from his bruises. - If he had tried I would have finished him, that yes!

- Where's Peter? - Lilly was surprised at his absence.

- On a date.

James and Lily looked at each other in shock.

- But who did this to you?

- His girlfriend, yes!

- Peter's girlfriend?

- No, from your other friend.

- Padfoot, Remus doesn't have a girlfriend...

- Oh no? So how do you explain that over there? - Sirius pointed to the other side of the Hall, indicating a Jean sitting in the worn armchair with Indian legs, eating the chocolate that Remus absently gave her.

Remus, sitting on the floor at the far end of the room, was laughing at something Jean said, breaking a few more pieces of chocolate which he then placed in the girl's hand. James didn't know how to feel. He wasn't shocked, just… happy. In all those years Remus Lupine had never been relaxed like that with anyone but the rascals and now Lily. In fact, he'd never been alone with a girl for so long, let alone laughing happily like that.

- Sirius, we need to celebrate, that's right! Can't you see how well he is?!

- Say it for yourself! I just asked her out and she cursed me! I had to go report to McGonagall for help!

- Oh, stop being dramatic, man! Can't be happy for Remus a minu…..Lilly?

But the redhead had already approached the couple, bursting their bubble.

- That's amazing, Remus! - She declared when she was close enough.

- I haven't eaten anything with amortentia? - He asked confused with the sentence of the redhead, not noticing Jean's body change.

- Also, but you guys are dating is so cute! I can finally go on double dates! What do you think?

- Sorry, dating? - Jean choked on the chocolate he was eating.

- Yeah, Sirius who told you. Why did you just tell him, Remus? And you, Jean! Now I won't need any more excuses to bring you closer!

- Ahhh... I, well I... Excuse me! Hermione didn't say or do anything else, just handed the candy bar back to Remus and got up, walking as fast as she could to her room, disappearing into the night.

- EVANS! Remus scolded the redhead, visibly irritated. - Why did I say that?! - His high tone mingling with Lilly's last name had drawn James' attention there, who, ignoring his injured friend, went to his girlfriend's rescue.

- What happened, Remus?

- Tell your girlfriend to stop trying to insinuate things in front of Jean, please! Sharing a chocolate is not synonymous with dating!

- But you were…

- Far away from each other, just talking! How many times have I not given you chocolate, Lilly?!

- Whenever you ask, love. - James defended the werewolf.

- And even so we're not dating! Are you aware of how long it took Jean to feel comfortable talking to me, especially publicly?

Remus was right to be that way. She was the first real friend he had ever made, and she loved the feeling of having a girl with whom to spend time, eat chocolate, laugh, study….

#remione #remus lupin #sirius x remus x hermione #sirius x remus #sirius black #Hermione Granger #travel time #time turner #back in time #werewolf

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anotherhargrovebitch · 5 years ago

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why’re you talking to me? : b.h

you’re the quiet girl who goes unnoticed except by those who make fun of her. until billy notices you, and then things chance. whether for the better or worse, you’re about to find out. (thank you @tearsforhan for the idea bby) - 1.4k

Leaning into your locker, you fiddled with the lock as you clutch your books close to your chest. You’ve learnt better than to let them rest on the floor or hang loosely in your arms.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you shove the books into the locker, resting your head beside the door as you mentally block out everything. A few more hours, you think to yourself. And before you know it, you’ll be back home. It’s just a few hours, what’s the worst that could happen on a Thursday afternoon?

Remaining oblivious to the world and people surrounding you, Billy walks through the corridor with his friends trailing behind him. Everyone avoided colliding with Billy in the hallway. The last person who dared to cross his path ended up with a black eye and a missing tooth. In Billy’s terms, that was letting the guy get off lightly.

You glance your eyes out from your locker upon hearing some commotion. It was never a quiet day in Hawkins High. Ever since the Byers boy disappeared last summer, the town’s never fully recovered. You knew it was better to keep your head down and not ask questions, which is exactly what you intended on doing.

Billy has stopped close to your locker having crossed paths with Steve. Internally you groan, wishing it could’ve been closer to Cassidy’s locker instead. But with no such luck, you close the door of your locker louder than intended, catching Billy off guard as he glances over.

For a split second, Billy doesn’t react having only caught a glimpse of you. You weren’t a face he knew, nor one he would associate himself with. But as you walk away, he can’t help but feel a pull toward you.

“Just stay outta my way, dick.” Billy mutters to Steve coldly who scoffs before turning away, wrapping his arm back around Nancy as the pair disappear into the crowd of students lining the corridor.

Keeping your head down, you turn into the library unaware of the figure hot on your tail.

“Hey, Y/n,” The librarian smiles to you as you shyly wave back, forcing a brief smile before rushing further down the library and into a small cubby few know of.

As Billy enters, the librarian raises an eyebrow to him as he smirks. “Have you seen a girl come in here, yay high, kinda cute?” Billy asks her, watching as she huffs lightly before returning to her duties. “Okay then,” Billy mutters under his breath before walking further in, his eyes searching for you but finding no such joy.

Wandering through the library with a determined expression, everyone kept their heads down. He headed toward the spiral staircase, located above the cubby you curl up in and study.

Your ears perk up at the sound of those unmistakable boots as they approach your direction. “Shit.” You mutter under your breath, hoping he will just continue upstairs and leave you be.

Billy takes hold of the rail and walks upwards but pauses as he hears the sound of soft hums beneath him. He peers across, spotting you curled up in an armchair surrounded by old books. You’re in your own world, writing away as you hold another book open with your free hand.

Pausing on the steps, a smile crosses Billy’s face as he focuses on you. “In a world of your own, sweetheart?” He speaks up and watches as you jump, dropping your book as you look up at him with wide eyes.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Billy recedes down the stairs and picks your book up as you remain seated. He hands you the book, his fingertips grazing over yours. “Thank you.” You mutter in response, returning your attention to your notes, but he remains in front of you. “whatever you wanna say, just say it.” You say half-heartedly, catching him off guard.

“What’d you mean?” Billy questions, seeing you give him a cold look.

“You’re not here to make fun of me like all your friends?” You question, slowly watching as Billy’s smile falters.

Stepping closer, Billy looks around to make sure no one is watching. “Why’d they make fun of you?” He asks seriously, any element of humour or charm has dropped to a level of concern you’re unsure of.

You shrug your shoulder. “Always have done since we got to High School. Surprised you didn’t just join in.” You tell him, a dry laugh escaping your lips as you hide the insecurity you feel about Billy being this close and not snapping at you like everyone else does.

Shaking his head, Billy kneels down in front of you, his hand resting on your knee. “Angel, you gotta tell me who and I’ll make sure they leave you the hell alone.” His eyes lock with yours as you weakly nod, listing off more than half of your grade as Billy takes each name in with more spite than the last. “Come on,” He rises to his feet, helping you gather your things.

“What’re you doing?” You nervously ask as you pick up your bag, Billy passing you your things as he takes a hold of your hand.

“Helping you.” He responds with a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. “Look, I don’t like bullies.” He leans closer as you look up as you raise an eyebrow.

“Really, huh?” You joke, a wave of unexpected confidence rising in your system as you begin to move away from your hiding spot, emerging from the dark with Billy by your side.

“Princess, I only pick on those who deserve it,” He defends himself, resting his hand on his chest as he takes a chewing gum, loudly chewing as you walk toward the exit, ignoring the glances you’re both receiving.

“So, Steve Harrington always deserves it?” You’re observant, along with half of the school.

Billy nods, causing you to chuckle. “He’s a dick, what’d you expect?” The question remains unanswered as you both exit the library as you feel daggers being pointed close to your chest in the form of his friends' fiery glares. “Keep walking,” He mutters to you, his hand moving to rest around your waist. “hold your head up high, doll.” He encourages as you near his friends.

You’re certain he can feel your heart beating uncontrollably as his friends’ eyes follow you in disgust. “Billy, what’re you doing with Y/n? She’s a freak!” Carol squeals, scoffing loudly.

“Fuck off, Carol.” Billy retorts, and they all go quiet.

No one talks back to Billy, and they know better than to question.

A smile rises on your lips as you and Billy turn into an empty classroom. You let out a shaky breath as you pace around the classroom, weaving between desks as Billy stands by the door, taking the sight in.

“Holy shit, you just shut Carol down.” You laugh wholeheartedly, running your fingers through your hair.

Billy shrugs his shoulder. “It’s nothing, she needs to be reminded that other people exist sometimes.” He passes it off as nothing, hiding the fact that your smile is beaming and it’s making his cold heart swell with warmth.

Without thinking, you move closer and wrap your arms around Billy’s waist. Your face is buried into his chest as you shut your eyes. For a moment you forget the stories, you let your mind forgive Billy for all the hearts he’s broken, the kids who nearly piss themselves when he glances in their direction.

Looking down at you, Billy hesitates until he relaxes and wraps his arms around you. He smiles as his chin rests on the top of your head. It felt comforting, something he hasn’t felt in years.

“Thank you, Billy.” You softly mutter, smiling into him as he allows himself a genuine smile, even if you can’t see it.

As you pull away, Billy moves his curls away from his face. “You better get your bag. We got class to get to.” He tells you as you turn away, grabbing your bag.

“Since when do you go to class?” You joke, and Billy rolls his eyes in response.

“I’ll go if it means they’ll leave you alone.” He mutters back before taking your hand in his. As you look down, he clears his throat. “Safety in numbers, angel. Didn’t you ever learn that?” He winks as he squeezes your hand lightly, refusing to let go.

#billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove angst #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove writing #stranger things fluff #stranger things angst #stranger things imagines #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things oneshot #billy hargrove x you

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 5 years ago

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Wanna try Debriel? - it’s 3am, in the dead of winter, some motherfucker pulled/set off the fire alarm and I am being very vocal about how I’m gonna make that fucker pay

Dean storms out of his room, a saucepan in his hand - that isn't his intended weapon, but he's been clutching it so tight since he woke up with a jolt, that he'd forgotten he was still holding it. But a saucer in the face, classic Tom&Jerry style, has still gotta hurt, right? And that's all Dean wants to do right now. Hurt the sonuvabitch he apparently shares a building with, who pulled the fucking fire alarm at 3 in the morning, on 7-am-lectures Thursday - when Dean had finally, finally gone to sleep.

Still mostly bleary, and using more than half of his concentration to avoid stepping on the various kinds of crap you find in a college dorm's hallway, he yells as he paces towards the source of the ringing, that is currently mashing his brains up for breakfast. “You should be really glad I’m so tired, 'cause otherwise you would be," Dean has to pause to collect his thoughts, because dammit, he was still half-asleep. "Uh, in pain! Yeah!" The fire alarm didn't get any less harsh on his ears, so he yelled louder. "Lots of Pain. EXCRUCIATING pain." He sighs, running out of his trail of thought, and wondering how he's managed to forget the art of threatening in his sleep-riddled state. "Bitchfuckerasshole -" He mutters, but it's more like he's practising, than he's actually meaning it.

At this point, he's reached the landing of their floor, but that's not where the alarm's ringing at apparently - their fire alarm sits there, untriggered, like a fire alarm should stay. It must be the floor above them, then.

Dean has to take the stairs - he considers climbing two at a time, but then his instincts don't let him, and instead he resumes his shouting. "Just you fucking wait," He growls, to no one in general. "I'm gonna find your name and your address and sit outside your house every night for the rest of my life - because the fucking moment you fall asleep, I'm gonna set off the fire alarm beside your bed, you assbutt!" He doesn't even register that he's quoting Cas; in his own head, he's being scary and his threatens must have driven the bastard away, because by the time Dean has reached the second floor, he can't see anyone in the hallways.

"They got scared," He decides, and keeps on marching towards the common area, where the fire alarm is - because that still just fucking keeps on ringing. That is fodder, and Dean just goes on yelling. Some part of his brain which has gotten woken up - partly due to the ringing, and partly due to his own yelling - is asking him to stop spouting these ridiculous threatens at this point, but Dean isn't done. College, the company he keeps, and sleep deprivation is really bringing out a whole new side of him. "Oh, I will highlight your whole textbook - and every bitching one of them, too; in BRIGHT PINK HIGHLIGHTER, YOU FUCKING FUCKER - hnghh - "

Dean has to stop abruptly, as he trips over something (that he probably would've noticed, if he hadn't been yelling at the top of his range) and stumbles almost completely - landing on all fours, to prevent smashing his face.

"Fuck." He says, eloquently - finally completely awake - and looks at what had caused his fall.

Oh, well. It's Gabriel.

He'd been sleeping against the wall - seriously, who does that, sleeping in the hallway, just like that - hugely slumping, with his legs stretched in the front like how you make snow angels - and with a neon yellow bag slung over his shoulders, for reasons which Dean certainly didn't care about.

And now he's stirring awake himself, and rubbing at his eyes and yawning something terrible - but Dean's eye is caught by the bright red peeking from behind Gabriel, and he is instantly shoving Gabriel to the side, as he fixes the fire alarm harshly, and then falls back on the ground.

"Fucking destroyer of sleep," He mumbles at the fire alarm, glaring at it pointedly, and that's when he notices that when he's pushed Gabriel to the side, the blond apparently used it as an opportunity to lie down sideways and has proceeded to curl himself like a cat, back to sleep.

Dean rolls his eyes at him, needlessly.

He hardly feels any sympathy at all for the guy - after all, he was clearly the one who'd set off that stupid alarm, by using it as a backrest as he slept in the fucking hallway.

But then he can't exactly leave him out here either, the floor is filthy and cold and he could wake up having contracted some major-ass disease, and though he'd been responsible for waking him up at the ass-crack of dawn after Dean had slept after 48 hours; he was still stupid Gabriel from a lot of Dean's classes, club memories (and dreams.) He sucks in general, but Dean doesn't want him to die.

So he does the next best thing, and shakes him harsh enough to wake up a fossil. But Gabriel just stirs again, and swats at Dean in his sleep, and Dean gets a hand in his face for all his noble effort.

He blinks.

And then does it again. This time, yelling directly in his ears, as he shakes him by his arm. "HELLO! Gabriel! I'm Dean, and if you fucking swat at my face again, I'm going to steal only your left sock for the rest of your life." He pauses, the moment the words leave his mouth. Did he just say that? What even - what had sleepiness done to the part of his brain which was responsible for threatening, because god-frigging-dammit, Dean Winchester had forgotten how to swear.

But surprisingly enough, this time, Gabriel gets up. And it's not even the gentle softly opening eyes - the fucker shoots straight up, and is standing next to Dean in a jiffy, looking overly frightened for the sake of his footwear.

"You're weird." Dean tells him, with a frown. "And we need to stop spending time together, because you're making me weird."

Gabriel seems to still be recovering from shock, of Dean's threat - but when he does speak again, it's in a slur. "Nah! We need to spend more time together, because you're finally speaking the language!" He drawls the vowels at the end, hands gesturing animatedly as he speaks, and Dean raises his brows.

He's clearly drunk.

"Gabriel?" Dean says, cautiously. "Can you follow my finger?"

"To the end of the universe, and back." Gabriel returns, perfectly solemn, and a part of Dean fucking melts at that, but he's completely certain that he's drunk now. Somehow it doesn't show in his eyes - his somehow golden eyes, like that should even be actually true - but he's clearly drunk. "Next." He says, with a funny lopsided grin, and it looks like he's grinning so hard that he almost falls over - Dean has no idea how that works, but he holds him up, only to realize how wobbly he is on his feet.

Dean sighs, because Gabriel is now staring at him for more questions or something. But also obliges, with a smirk. "Uh, do you regularly indulge in drunk-sleeping-in-the-hallway or did you get roofied, Gabe?"

"I did it myself." Gabriel says, inexplicably, and Dean rolls his eyes another time.

Well, fuck it. There's only one way he can go with this. Obviously he's not piling the idiot back on the floor, so he's got to drop him off at his room.

Good thing, Dean knows that Gabriel is roommates with that silver-blonde accented jackass, who knows how to get really awesome booze, and hits on pretty much everything that moves. His name was something like 'Zar', or whatever - Dean never really paid attention. But he does know what room he's in, because of last month's party, so they're in luck - because Dean suspects, that Gabriel was only sleeping against the wall because he didn't know how to get to his room.

"C'mon, there." Dean frowns, as Gabriel turns, and Dean's hit by the sweet scent of alcohol. "You're going to bed."

"Okay." Gabriel agrees, easily, and doesn't say a word for another minute, as Dean picks up his ridiculously loud, neon backpack himself, and curses himself internally for having such low tolerance for disturbing sounds in the night - or it could've been someone else doing this stuff, and getting this useless heap to bed, while Dean could've waited for someone to take care of the alarm or the building to burn down - as he slept.

Then, as Dean comes back to Gabriel, and gives him a nudge to get him walking, he sees Gabriel lean to the side dangerously - on the verge of falling.

"The hell," Dean groans. "He won't even be able to walk."

Gabriel seems to have heard this, over his humming of We Will Rock You, which started god-knows-when. His head cocks up, and he stares at Dean with his intoxicated, wide eyes. "I really won't."

Dean waits for him to finish.

"You should pick me up."

Dean balks - because no way he's doing that, right? - but the moment Gabriel suggests it, he can feel his ears grow warmer, and some part of his brain trying to convince the rest, that that would've been a really great idea.

"You're big and strong," Gabriel coaxes, and the sweetness dripping from his voice is most-parts sarcasm - but that doesn't stop Dean from proceeding to blush. "And the only reason I didn't grow past 5'7 is because I was preparing for times like this."

Dean wants to say something cheeky, along the lines of 'should've kept a lookout for the weight too', but he's too busy in his own head, and just says, "Shuddup."

"Awh, Dean-o," Gabriel drawls. "You know you want to."

And that's the final straw, because of course he doesn't want to - why would he even want to do something like that, ever, for someone like Gabriel - and instead, he pushes his arm around Gabriel for support and to hold him in place, and begins to walk.

"I'll drag you then, you jackass," He mutters, squinting at the numbers on the doors while he tries to find the room.

"This is fun." Gabriel chuckles, as if he'd still gotten what he wanted - as he puts in no efforts whatsoever to help, and lets Dean carry both their weight ahead. "We should do this more often."

"Well, fuck that, and fuck you." Dean tells him kindly, and fucking finally gets to the room. He knocks sharply, but the door doesn't open in any hurry, but when it does, it reveals a grouchy Balthazar - Dean remembers his stupid name, the second he sees the guy; it's a skill - and he's dressed in a pink silk nightshirt and boxers with boxers drawn on them.

What a pair of fucking weirdos, Dean rants to himself, as he glares at Balthazar for all his roommate's faults. Made to room with each other. "Here! I'm done being a gentleman!" He made a move to hand the clinging man at his side over - but there were no moves made to receive him.

"I thought he was going to be sleeping at Kali's," Balthazar mumbles, making space for Dean to enter. Dean does, swallowing at the name, and momentarily forgetting that he was planning on abandoning Gabriel the moment he's crossed the threshold to his room or whatever. "Well. They must've broken up again. Pfft." Balthazar finishes mumbling to himself, and turns to Dean. "Just, uh, put him on his bed, will ya?"

"Do I look like a fucking carrier pigeon?" Dean glares, but goes ahead to do it anyways - because Gabriel has gone all silent, and Dean suspects it's because he's fallen asleep. "Goodnight, you massive idiot." He murmurs, because why shouldn't he, pushing the weight off of himself and on the bed. Gabriel has indeed gone back to sleep, right whilst Dean had been dragging him to his room - and so Dean stops glaring as of then, as puts his feet up on the bed too.

With a final look at the small, sleeping figure, and resisting the urge to smile - he walks back to Balthazar.

"Thanks for bringing him back, I guess." Balthazar mutters, and he's already getting back in bed, not even caring of the fact that there's another person right there. "Just 'cause you're such a nice guy, putting him to sleep with his feet on the bed and all that, I'm not even gonna ask you why you're bringing him back this late." He ends, winking.

"He fell asleep in the hallway." Dean rolls his eyes, not minding the suggestion in Balthazar's sentence, and completely ignoring the innuendo. "I found him sleeping with the fire alarm, for fuck's sake."

"Big spoon, little spoon?" Balthazar asks, without missing a beat - and Dean snorts, nods an acknowledgement and walks out of the room which clearly houses the weirdest people of his year; and proceeds to go back to bed, and sleeps really peacefully for another three hours - which in the kind of life college kids live, is saying something.

***

Tagging: @petrichoravellichor @rauko-is-a-free-elf (the next one is gonna be a prompt of yours uwu thanks again) @flickering-oracle @hellfire37 @3dg310rdsupreme @shejustcalledmeafish @impulsivedandelion @screamatthescreen (the cookiehana one will be the one after this, I swear) @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @ladywaywarddsc @moderatelypanickedbiromantic

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emf01 · 4 years ago

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Are Financial advisors worth it

My sister text me on Thursday morning and asked the following question :

“ I’m meeting with an investor today to talk about what to do with some money. Do you know what I should be asking in particular. Or just feel it out and see what he has to say “.

Now not many of my family or close friends have an interest like I do in financial affairs. So when I get a chance to talk to people close to me about it i get excited. When she text me, I was in my day job at the time so I couldn’t ring her straight away but I sent her the following text message.

Cool. Here are some questions to ponder before your meeting with him: Questions for you….

What is ur goal or what do you expect to achieve from your investment?

Is it a lump sum that you will leave or will u be adding to it?

How long are you investing for? Is for u? Is it for peanuts college fund etc. (she is currently expecting so peanut is the name we give to baby bump until he arrives in May 😊)

Questions about financial advisor

Does he get the fee every year even if your portfolio is not performing and is down?

How much is the fee?

How much does the execution of each trade cost.. Stockbroker fees any other hidden charges?

Part of these question were to get her thinking about her financial goals. What does she expect from her investment? how much time is she willing to invest for? and what her appetite to risk is. The other part was to ask the financial advisor some questions to get a feel of what they charge and how they charge it.

After meeting him she Text me the following .

“He charges 1% a year and What it appears is that 60% will be put into fixed Income ( don’t know what that means) and 40% of it will be in stocks “

Now 1% a year might not seem like alot of money to pay someone for financial investment advise. But 1% can seriously damage the magic of compounding.

What is Compounding?

For my fellow Engineering or Math geeks the formula for future assets is derived for the concept of compound interest. You need the present value of an asset, the annual interest rate, and the total number of years you intend to invest for. The generalised formula for compound interest is in this case is

where:

FV = future value

PV = present value

i = the annual interest rate

n = the number of years

For all of you normal people who don’t like maths, All you need to know is that compounding is the magic formula that will make you money grow over time. The more time you give it, the more your money will grow.

Compounding working against you!

A word of caution,just as the laws of compounding can work for you, it can also work against you. Even as little as a 1% fee can have a massive impact of the amount of returns you make over time.

In my head paying 1% is basically throwing money away. The luxury of been able to throw 1% of my investments away each month is something I don’t have. I would much rather invest in my education and learn how to do it myself.

I understand that investing can be daunting for a beginner with so much to choose from and I can understand why my sister reached out to a financial advisor in the first place. But I suggested that I explain different aspects of investing such as low cost index funds, mistakes i’v made and resources that I find useful that might guide my sister to make a decision which she feels is best for her.

The last sentence is an important one, I am not a financial advisor and not in a position to offer financial advice to anyone but what I can do is explain what I know from my own experiences and breakdown what I do or at least try to do.

This will hopefully give my sister a foundation to build her own knowledge to make an informed decision and maybe set her on her own path to financial independence. Or maybe it might make her realise that she don’t have the time to educate herself and she will be more comfortable with a financial advisor.

Math Time!!

I am currently reading a simple path to wealth by JJ Collins where in the opening few chapters based on his parameters in low cost index funds the returns from January 1975 to January 2015 was 11.9% on average.

As he notes some years were down and some years were up but if you averaged it out over the 40 years the returns were 11.9% a year. This seemed like a good place to start some calculations to show what effect 1% can have to your overall return.

If you put $10,000 into a account in 1975 and added no more money,assuming a growth rate of 11.9% a year for 41 years, by the time 2015 came along you would be a millionaire with a cool $1,004,693.40. You can check that yourself by inputting the following numbers into your calculator :

10,000(1+0.0119)^41 = $1,004,693.40

Now if your financial advisor was to achieve the same returns, with a 1% fee you would have to pay out nearly $63,000 in fees over 40 years..Not enough to make them rich, but still a decent chunk of your cash all the same.

If you take $63,000 from $1,004,693.40 you should have $941,693. Does that sound right? Would you expect to have $900k in your account?

Well in fact it’s wrong because paying this 1% fee every year would reduce your compounding power and you would actually be left with $695,333.88 as I have shown a table below.

Lets face it $700k does not seem bad and if someone offered you nearly $700k from a $10k investment, you would usually take the hand off them.

But when you consider that you could of made $309k more with the same amount of money than it does make you think if it is worth the 1% fee. Remember you will not receive 11.9% Growth every single year, but this should give you an example of what difference 1% can make.

PROs of hiring an investment financial advisors

To give some clarity, I am not totally against financial advisors and there are some cases where there is some benefit to hiring one.

For example if you feel completely lost and have no clue how you should map out your financial future, maybe you have student debt or you personal situations have changed and you need someone to help you put a step in the right direction.

I get that it can be overwhelming and maybe you don’t have any goals yet. Getting a financial advisor would be a good start and maybe give you time to make better financial decisions in the future.

Or maybe you inherited a large amount of money and you don’t know what to do with it . You get the point, there are plenty of reasons someone might need to hire an adviser but in my opinion, nobody will care about your money more than you will.

I think that even if you feel the need to hire an financial advisor now, spend some to time educate yourself and you will be surprised that maybe investing is not as hard as you first thought. You might even save yourself some money in the process.

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thepetulantpen · 4 years ago

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Ink And Petals

(Flower Shop/Tattoo Parlor AU! I already posted this to my ao3, but I decided to put it up here, too. Enjoy!)

“You’ve never once thought it was odd that you’re next door to a tattoo parlor?”

It’s the third time Geralt’s heard that question- and it’s not the last time he’ll ignore it entirely. He hasn’t figured out Yennefer’s ulterior motive in getting him to check out the tattoo shop, but he’s probably better off not finding out.

“No. You want your usual?”

Yennefer huffs and leans on the counter. “Do I have to buy something every time I desire your company?”

“If it’s during business hours, yes.” Geralt turns, producing a bouquet of lilacs, violets and a number of other purple flowers. “Do you want it or not?”

“You already had it ready for me? So sweet.”

Geralt hums and opens the register expectantly. “And it would be a shame for you not to pay me, after all my thoughtfulness.”

She slides the money toward him with unnecessary seriousness- and an equally unnecessary tip. He’s past the point of complaining; honestly, he puts up with enough from her that he deserves it.

“I suppose it’s only right to pay top dollar for such a masterpiece.”

“I’m not sure whether the other customers should thank you for taking away such an atrocity, or curse you for buying out every purple flower I have.”

Yennefer’s grin turns wicked, a glint of a knife before a strike. “What other customers?”

The flower shop isn’t as empty as it used to be, but Yennefer insists he’s driving people away with his scowl- which is counterintuitive, as pointing it out only makes him scowl more. It’s fine- he makes enough to get by, and he doesn’t need anything else. If anything, the lack of customers- people he has to talk to- is a blessing.

“Relax,” Yennefer smiles and pats his cheek, “I’m just teasing. But really, with all this extra time you should... explore.”

“Explore?”

“The tattoo shop next door! Just think, it must be filled with interesting people, people for you to make friends with.” Yennefer takes her flowers and holds up a hand before Geralt can respond. “Don’t give me any nonsense about not needing friends. You’re lonely, Geralt.”

“I’m not—"

“Flowers don’t count as company. Just think about it, ok?”

And she’s gone, taking the scent of lilac with her.

Geralt goes back to watering, and tries to forget about the tattoo shop.

...

Of the few customers he gets, Geralt doesn’t see much variety. The vast majority are rushed, forgetful boyfriends. Or repentant boyfriends. A handful of girlfriends, a few older people shopping for an occasion. And Yennefer, of course.

The man who walks in on Thursday morning does not fit in any of those categories.

Tousled brown hair, striking blue eyes- all irrelevant details, outshined by the tattoos across nearly every available surface. Full sleeves, designs stretching over the bit of exposed chest. Winding up his neck, and the sides of his face. A flower curls on his right temple, and a series of music notes over his left cheek.

Somehow even more attention-grabbing is his smile, bright and wide and seemingly producing its own light. He strides up to the counter when he sees Geralt, sticking out a hand that Geralt hesitantly takes.

“I’m Jaskier!” He shakes Geralt’s hand, with more fervor than appropriate. “I run the shop next door.”

Geralt must make a face, because Jaskier is suddenly leaning even closer, excited. “Have you heard of me? I released an album last-“

“No. It’s just an odd name-“ Geralt cuts himself off and rephrases, “I mean, Buttercup is an interesting choice.”

Jaskier grins, a little surprised. “Not many people catch that! But then, it’s your profession, I should expect you to be an expert on those sorts of things.”

Geralt is an expert- but it’s not something he lets on easily. Mostly, he doesn’t talk enough to get on the topic of specific flower trivia and etymology, but the rest of the time, he tries not to come on too strong. Surprisingly, florist is not always synonymous with flower nerd (as Yennefer has taken to calling him).

He just shrugs, which Jaskier accepts with not even a pause for breath.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I work next door, as a tattoo artist,” he gestures to his tattoos- that is, to his whole body, “Shocking, I know. But I also release my own music- which, ok, also isn’t very surprising.”

“Did Yennefer put you up to this?”

“Who? No.” Jaskier doesn’t look overly concerned by the interruption. “I’ve just- it’s been suggested that I need to spruce up our lobby. More decoration, something pleasant like flowers. Which is where you come in, I hope.”

That answers a couple of questions, and raises several more. Whether Yennefer is trying to set him up, or make him socialize, or is just doing this because she thinks it’ll be funny is a mystery to him- but it doesn’t matter, in the end. This is a perfect out; just a customer, just an order.

Jaskier is waiting patiently, fiddling with business cards while Geralt stares at him. When Geralt shifts, he looks up expectantly, face lighting up at the attention.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Something bright! I like yellow.” The flower on his face crinkles slightly with his smile lines. “It has to smell good, and be generally inoffensive to clients. I, uh, don’t know a lot about flowers.”

“Most people don’t.”

Yennefer would tell him off for saying things like that- she claims it drives away customers- but Jaskier grins even wider, if that’s possible.

“Oh, good. You can help me, then? I’m thinking two bouquets for the front desk, and we’ll see how that goes.”

Jaskier insists on waiting while Geralt does his arrangements, exploring the store and all the flowers thoroughly. Geralt can hear him reading out names to himself and repeating them- memorizing them. To what end, he doesn’t know. Artist types are always doing weird things- Geralt tries not to read into it, to save himself a headache.

It ends up being a pretty simple arrangement- Geralt figures Jaskier wouldn’t know the difference, even if he did put more effort into it- so he’s done by the time Jaskier finishes his slow lap of the store. Jaskier grabs the flowers and inhales deeply, taking in the mild scent.

“Oh, these are lovely. Truly beautiful work, thank you.”

If it were anyone else, Geralt would say they were overexaggerating to irritate him, but he gets the impression that Jaskier has a flair for the dramatic. He does and says everything with a theatrical air, constantly performing. If the tattoos hadn’t given it away, Geralt could’ve guessed he was a musician- the type that needs a stage to feel seen.

He tips well, at least. Almost too generously, but he smiles, genuine, so Geralt lets it go.

“I’ll be returning for all my future flower needs.” Jaskier winks, which pulls at the music notes. “Of which I’m sure I’ll find many.”

Geralt doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean. It doesn’t sound sarcastic- maybe it’s just a Jaskier thing, spouting nonsense when nothing needs to be said at all.

He realizes, with horrifying certainty, that he may discover many Jaskier things if he really intends to visit often. For his flower needs.

Why are all (all two) of his regular customers so fucking weird?

Geralt hums, for lack of anything else to say, and Jaskier smiles, like he’d said something inspiring.

He’s left to sit at the counter for the rest of the day, half-expecting Jaskier to wander back in, looking for more conversation.

...

Jaskier only makes it a week before he finds an excuse to visit Geralt again. His curiosity has been a driving force in his life so far, and Geralt is a very intriguing man.

And attractive- unfairly attractive, some might say.

When he arrives, Geralt is lurking in the rows of flowers, misting them with a little spray bottle. It’s hilarious to see a man as big and intimidating as Geralt watering flowers, but it’s... sweet, too. He clearly cares- an artist in his own right.

“Geralt, my new friend,” Jaskier greets, and ignores Geralt’s unhidden skepticism. They’ll get there. “I need flowers.”

“I have flowers,” he deadpans, in a way that should not be funny, but definitely is.

“Excellent.” Jaskier steps up to him and points to the nearest flower. A pretty purple thing- lupine? He thinks he read its tag last time. “Tell me about this one.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow- unstoppable force- at Jaskier’s smile- immovable object. “Why?”

“I’m just curious.”

Geralt sighs, put upon, and looks very much like he’d prefer curiosity be eradicated altogether, but taps the nameplate. “Lupine. The wolf flower, named after the belief that it would destroy the soil. It’s part of the pea family.”

He delivers it as dryly as possible but Jaskier sees through him- if he knows that many facts, just off the top of his head, he must enjoy them. Jaskier points to another flower- another purple one, the whole store is color-coded.

“What about that one?”

“You can read, can’t you?” Geralt crosses his arms. “Why the sudden interest? You taking up gardening?”

“Maybe.” He grins- aiming for charming, rather than overly flirtatious, and lets his voice do the rest of the work. “Maybe I just like to hear you talk shop.”

Geralt makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a hum- there is a difference, Jaskier is starting to learn- but starts anyway, giving Jaskier short, informative descriptions of every flower he points out. He also gives him gardening tips- which Jaskier does not need, as his apartment is too small for even houseplants- and delves briefly into the basics of flower language, though, as he informed Jaskier with barely disguised disdain, “They all mean the same thing: they’re nice to look at it. Nobody cares if they represent unconditional love, or just regular love.”

It’s fascinating, to say the least. At face value, Geralt presents everything with the same plain facts you could read off a google search, but his little amused smile when Jaskier asks a dumb follow up question or the subtle, blink-and-you-miss-them deadpan jokes make a world of difference.

They end up pacing the store for an hour, Jaskier providing color commentary as Geralt silently goes about the maintenance of flowers. It’s only broken up by an alarm going off on Jaskier’s phone, reminding him that he has an appointment soon, and that he did actually want to get flowers.

“I look forward to a pop quiz about etymology next time I’m around, but I need to get going. Think you could get me some flowers?”

Geralt blinks, like he’d forgotten that was the original purpose of this visit. Jaskier has that effect on people- one of his many talents is derailing trains of thought.

“What’re you looking for?”

Shit. Jaskier spent the entire night googling flowers and reading Wikipedia pages, planning out an impressive bouquet that would show off all his newfound knowledge, but between the amount of flowers he’s seen today and the fact that he didn’t write anything down, he can’t remember a single part. Geralt is staring at him expectantly, so he smiles, like this was all part of the plan.

“Something with my namesake, I think, but with different colors this time. Bright, um...”

“Is this for an occasion? A special someone?” From anyone else, that might’ve been a come-on, but Geralt asks it so evenly, just gathering information.

“Nope,” Jaskier answers, too quickly. Too eagerly, but subtlety isn’t his style. “Just like to treat myself to flowers, that’s all.”

His phone goes off again. Technically, he has plenty of time, since it’s just next door, and he’s his own boss, but-

Geralt nods and turns back to his flowers. “You can go. I’ll deliver it to your store tomorrow morning.”

“You sure?”

This might not be a good idea- on one hand, he wants Geralt to visit him, but on the other, it’ll only prolong the inevitable slow death of this not-thing they have. Geralt, as far as he can tell, is immune to flirting, but Jaskier will be damned if he doesn’t give it a shot.

He’s in luck- Geralt nods, absently, and Jaskier is free to go about the rest of his day thinking about him. Not obsessing.

Definitely not.

It’s not his fault that he falls fast. He always has, always will. It’s not his fault that Geralt is handsome and sweet and surprisingly funny.

Usually, it wouldn’t be a problem. Usually, it’d just be a one-night stand, maybe a few dates. Usually, Jaskier doesn’t fall for someone because their eyes sparkle when they recite facts about flowers.

Usually, they don’t own businesses right next to each other, making the potential fallout very awkward. He’s not willing to dissolve his store and burgeoning local music career because of some poorly planned affair with a weirdly muscular florist.

He knows the drill, knows that he’ll get over it eventually. Maybe he’ll get lucky and fall for someone else, someone without strings attached. Maybe he’ll hire a gardener to take care of the succulents he’s going to buy- following Geralt’s advice- and hope they’re charming.

He resolves to move on, and the resolution lasts approximately a day. Right up until he spends the night tossing and turning with a song stuck in his head, begging to be brought to life. He gives up a few hours before his alarm goes off, snatching his journal from his night stand and jotting down what looks like a fully formed song. It’s bad, it’s cheesy, it’s obvious. The imagery- a wolf and flowers- barely makes sense.

Worst of all, he thinks he can work with it, as a rough draft.

...

Geralt is not sure why he’s standing in the waiting room of a tattoo parlor. That is, he knows why- he’s going to deliver Jaskier’s flowers- but he’s not sure why he suggested this, instead of just forcing Jaskier to wait.

Well, he technically knows that, too. Jaskier is loud and pushy and a little annoying but genuinely interested. Maybe it’s a low bar, but Geralt has met very few people who cared to hear about his interests- not even Yennefer can stand to talk about flowers, or bother to ask Geralt about them, not that they did all that much chatting when they were an item.

Jaskier talks a lot and can spin a conversation out of very little. It’s a relief to be able to talk as little as he prefers and still carry on a conversation.

From someone like Jaskier, Geralt expects to stop talking and look up to find him staring blankly, waiting to say his own piece. But Jaskier hangs onto every word Geralt says, asking follow ups where he can and carrying off into related tangents where he can’t.

He’d like to hang out with him again, if he’s honest. Some would say that’s enough.

Others- Geralt would need a practical excuse like, for example, a paid delivery of flowers.

“Sorry! We’re a bit short staffed today- hope you weren’t waiting long.” A blonde woman slides into the seat behind the front desk and smiles up at him, and at the flowers. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Jaskier.” He lifts the flowers, hoping she gets the idea.

Her smile widens- certainly getting an idea, but likely not the one Geralt wanted her to. Before Geralt can correct her, she points. “He’s in room two, right over there.”

He can feel her watching him as he turns, sees her leaning over her desk out of the corner of his eye. The first time he goes anywhere but his store in months and he’s already generating gossip- Yennefer is going to have a field day when one of her spies sends this down the grapevine.

Jaskier is in room two, but doesn’t immediately notice Geralt enter. He’s got headphones on, music playing loud enough for Geralt to make out the tune, and he’s working on a notepad and a tablet- at the same time. He must be ambidextrous- a pencil in one hand and a stylus in the other- and his head jerks back and forth between sketching out a design in a drawing program and writing out lines of text on a lined page, already filled with other text and scratched out notes.

Geralt can’t read the writing, between the messy handwriting and his distance, but the drawing is easy to make out. It’s the profile of a white wolf surrounded by purple flowers, rendered in stunning illustrative detail.

Lupine- wolf flower. So he was listening.

It’s a hell of a coincidence- maybe that’s why Jaskier was interested, as part of a project he was stuck on. Still, he could’ve googled it, or stopped after one flower- Geralt shakes his head, trying to stop theorizing, since it’ll get him nowhere.

He clears his throat, a little too loudly, and Jaskier jolts, fumbling his tablet and barely catching it. Geralt reaches out to help, but gets there too late, leaving him uncomfortably close with no reason to be. Just to do something, he puts the flowers on Jaskier’s table, pretending that was his original intention. If he accidentally brushes Jaskier as he reaches over, no one is the wiser.

“Ah, they look wonderful. Thank you, really.” Jaskier puts down his work and takes the flowers, pulling them close enough to smell. “I feel like I should give you a delivery fee, or something.”

“I’m literally next door.”

“I know! But I could be keeping you away from other paying customers.”

Jaskier’s eyes are wide, earnest, and Geralt gives him the benefit of the doubt that he truly doesn’t realize he’s become Geralt’s second-best customer.

“It’s fine. It was,” he hesitates and glances around the room, settling on, “nice. To see your store.”

Nice is a word to describe it. This room serves as Jaskier’s portfolio- the walls are covered in prints of his designs, all in the same vibrant, illustrative style of the wolf. They’re beautiful, a clear extension of Jaskier’s personality.

Jaskier grins, then his smile softens, with his voice, “That’s kind of you to say, Geralt. If not very creative.”

Geralt shrugs, as if to say I’m not a very creative guy. He thinks Jaskier gets the message- he always seems to. It’s time for him to leave, and let Jaskier get back to work, but he looks around for an excuse to stay longer. He lands on the tablet, sitting beside the flowers.

“Who’s that for?” It’s an offhanded question- he doesn’t care, but it’s conversation, and he’s trying.

Jaskier freezes, both hands stilling. “It’s, uh- just practice.”

It doesn’t look like practice. It’s massive, intricate and the photoshop file has twenty different layers, at a glance. Then again, Geralt knows fuck all about art. It could be normal, for all he knows.

“It looks good. You nailed the flowers.”

He doesn’t know [j1] why he said that. It’s the truth- Jaskier is, without question, a good artist- but Geralt doesn’t go around complimenting people he hardly knows. Or people he does know, for that matter.

Then, Jaskier smiles- bold and brilliant, like he did at the shop, while Geralt explained dozens of flowers for him. Ah. That’s why.

“You mean it?”

“I have no reason to lie. You clearly paid attention, yesterday.”

Jaskier beams and Geralt has to look away- it’s like the sun, gods. There’s a brief pause and Jaskier stands, prompting Geralt to look back at him.

“You know,” Jaskier starts, cautious, “this place is great, but I could do with a change of pace. Flowers have been popular lately- maybe I could visit your store once in a while, for unique reference?”

It’s a bad idea, an invitation for someone to invade his space, someone loud and annoying and-

Nice. It should be enough- people tell him it’s enough, to just be around people you like, and who like you.

Maybe he’ll try to take their advice, for once.

He nods and lets Jaskier convince him to hang around a while longer, pouring through his sketches and asking for unneeded advice- he brings up anything that has even a hint of flower, for Geralt’s reference.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Jaskier was looking for an excuse to make him stay.

...

It’s reached the point that Jaskier has become a permanent fixture in Geralt’s store. At odd times, between his appointments and concerts, Jaskier perches himself on a stool and doodles flowers, talking aloud to himself or Geralt or the flowers. Geralt half-listens for the occasional question, or joke, to react to, but mostly, it fades into pleasant background noise.

He’s also started bringing his guitar to test out songs, on the quieter days. Geralt almost draws the line there, but it’s not as obnoxious as he predicts and Jaskier keeps it low, muttering the lyrics and only testing out a few chords at a time.

The first few times turn out to be a test run- following those, without incident or complaint from Geralt, Jaskier brings his guitar every day. He composes as often as he draws, always creating, always inspired. The name plates of flowers get decorated with their own mini-portraits and Jaskier sits outside on Valentine’s Day, playing a jingle he wrote that makes Geralt want to deafen himself- but he can’t deny it brings business.

He still buys flowers semi-regularly, asking for increasingly ridiculous arrangements, just to see if Geralt can do it. Geralt delivers them while Jaskier is working, definitely giving the receptionist the wrong impression. He realizes he’s not worried about correcting her.

Yennefer tells him he should just start bringing Jaskier flowers- as a gift, a casual romantic gesture. It feels at once way too easy, and way too daunting. Maybe he just doesn’t understand how this works (Yennefer assures him that is absolutely the reason).

Nonetheless, he can’t bring himself to upset their peaceful coexistence, so he lets Jaskier keep coming over, and keeps delivering flowers. He tells himself he doesn’t need more, not if he’d have to risk what he already has.

Another step, a new thing, is complicated. Not as easy as Yennefer, or… anyone else says it is.

Jaskier rarely comes to the counter, since there aren’t as many flowers there, but he does today, hopping up to sit beside the register, where Geralt is organizing papers. “Hey, can I ask your opinion on something?”

“If you must.”

“Do you think it’s classless to buy something from someone, and then gift it to them? Even if it’s at a later date?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and looks up at Jaskier- but Jaskier is looking away, towards the windows. “You’d just be gifting them money.”

“Do you think that’s classless?” Jaskier’s eyes cut back to Geralt, raising his own eyebrows.

“No.” Geralt pauses- that’s probably the wrong answer, but he’s the dug this hole, so, “Everybody likes money.”

“Fantastic, in that case,” Jaskier slaps down some twenties on the counter, “I’d like a bouquet of your favorite flowers.”

It takes a second to process that. Then another second to come up with a response- and a bad one, at that.

“Why?”

Jaskier scoffs and laughs. “Have you looked in the mirror? You’re handsome, funny, and passionate about what you do. I’d love to spend more time with you, without pretense.”

It’s that easy, he supposes.

Well, almost that easy. There’s still-

“What time?”

...

It gets even easier, miraculously. One movie night leads to another, one dinner becomes a weekly event, one late night turns into waking up in each other’s arms.

It all culminates into Geralt going to one of Jaskier’s concerts. Jaskier insists that he doesn’t have to - he knows Geralt doesn’t like crowds, doesn’t like loud music, doesn’t like people- but Geralt’s put it off so long that he feels like has to now, so he’s here.

He’ll admit that it’s not his scene, but he likes to see Jaskier in his element.

Jaskier shines on stage, lit up with more energy than usual- which is already a lot. He borrows from his audience, letting his chorus be lifted up by their voices. A lot of the words, and the overall message, are lost on Geralt, without knowing the lyrics beforehand, but Jaskier has a way of making anything sound emotional, meaningful. Geralt understands now why Jaskier insists on tea when he gets back from concerts; Geralt doesn’t know how Jaskier isn’t completely hoarse, after all this.

He can’t wait to get home and make dinner, maybe watch a movie. It hits him that he’s been thinking that a lot lately. Waiting to make dinner with Jaskier, laughing through pasta tutorials and ending up ordering instead, waiting for Jaskier to pick a movie, arguing over his terrible taste, waiting to go home, wherever Jaskier is.

When did it become home?

It’s a strange thought, the answer lying somewhere in the nebulous period between tolerating Jaskier and wanting Jaskier. It wasn’t hard with Yen- he knew what he liked about her, and what she liked about him- but with Jaskier, it’s harder to pin down the odd sense of loss he feels every time Jaskier leaves for the day and the warm feeling he gets every time Jaskier promises to come back.

All he knows is that he’s happy when Jaskier is around, and the other complicated stuff matters less and less every day. Jaskier makes it look effortless, so he tries to copy him, concentrating on the moment and not worrying about what’s to come. For now, he focuses on Jaskier’s last song, Jaskier’s sequined jacket shining in the spotlights, and Jaskier’s smile, aimed directly at Geralt.

Once he’s done, Jaskier mingles with the audience for a while- the venue is small, but packed, and he has to push through what’s quickly amounting to a mob to get to Geralt. Geralt is only saved from overcrowding by standing in the very back and putting on a scowl that he’s been told is “completely terrifying” and “inappropriate for society”. Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind it.

Geralt lets Jaskier pull him outside to stand in the parking lot, the space in the back that Geralt likes, for its privacy and the reduced risk to his car. Roach has been a fixture of Geralt’s life for a long time- he refuses to replace it, preferring to go to lengths to get it fixed. Jaskier thinks it’s adorable, a rare occurrence of sentimentality in Geralt’s life- which, Geralt insists, is untrue; it’s simply easier, more practical, to make this car work than it would be to adjust to a new one.

Jaskier hops up on its hood- reminding Geralt why he usually makes Jaskier find his own ride. He grins at Geralt, confident, like he knows Geralt won’t make him get down, or complain about boot marks, because he’s too fond of him.

He’s not wrong.

“Well?” Jaskier starts, leaning forward on his hands, elbows propped on his knees. From where Geralt’s standing, he can see new tattoos peeking over the edge of Jaskier’s collar, a bouquet of flowers blooming at the base of his skull. “How was it?”

The show, Geralt translates for himself. Jaskier is, frustratingly, a fan of non-sequiturs- which is only ever a problem on the rare occasions he actually expects a response.

“Loud.”

Jaskier stretches to kick Geralt in the shin, in retribution. He can’t quite reach, and pouts at Geralt, like he expects him to shuffle forward to be kicked. “Come on, you must have some review.”

“Of course.” Geralt rolls his eyes and pushes Jaskier to make room to sit next to him. There’s not enough space, and he ends up awkwardly half-sitting on the hood, but it gets him closer to Jaskier, which is his only real goal. “I’ll just use my extensive knowledge of music to write you an analysis.”

“That’s the spirit. I want to hear your favorite, and a breakdown on its core theme, melody, and rhyme scheme.”

Geralt pauses, trying to think of a legitimate answer. Jaskier is just teasing- he knows Geralt is hopeless with these things- but Geralt did try to listen, so he might as well give him something.

“I liked the one about the white wolf. Reminded me of your drawing.”

Jaskier blinks, surprised, and flushes. “Why that one, in particular?”

Geralt shrugs- he didn’t anticipate having to back up his response. Honestly, it was the first song he could remember, in the haze of loud music and half-heard lyrics. The tune, as he recalls, was tolerable; he figured if Jaskier took him seriously, it wouldn’t be too irritating to hear again and again. He hopes there wasn’t a weird, deeper meaning that he missed entirely.

Maybe he should listen next time Jaskier tries to teach him about music. He’s aware, on some level, that his inability to keep up with even a basic chorus is on par with Jaskier’s inability to keep even the hardiest plants alive.

“I just liked the tune.” He redirects, hoping to distract, if not recover, “You never did tell me who that drawing was for.”

Jaskier breaks into a grin, for no reason Geralt can discern. He puts an arm around Geralt’s waist and pulls himself in closer- nearly making them both lose their balance in the process. They’re in a dark, dingy parking lot, on their way to a small apartment and a mediocre dinner, but Geralt can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

“Maybe one day I’ll clue you in. On a completely unrelated note, are you interested in getting a tattoo?”

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #flower shop/tattoo parlor au #pure fluff #i cant believe i havent done one of these yet #jaskier with tattoos is the hill ill die on

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etherealblasphemy · 5 years ago

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You Never Seemed So Tense, Love

(what’s this? some actual content? on my blog? it’s more likely than you think)

hello again, y’all! it’s been a while since i’ve posted any writing, but at last, i’ve finished another fic! i hope y’all enjoy this one, i found it really fun to write. (title from “gives you hell” by the all-american rejects)

Trigger Warnings For: mild language and mentions of alcohol

Summary: Logan Guiscard loves his simple, mundane life. He most certainly does not love his next-door neighbor, Virgil Savage.

Length: 7,476 words

Kudos are appreciated, reblogs are adored, comments are loved!!

Logan Guiscard loved his life. Honestly. He loved his little suburban house that looked like almost every other home in his neighborhood. He loved his shiny car that he had to wash every weekend because if it wasn’t shining then obviously someone would think something was wrong and wouldn’t take him seriously. He loved his job as an astronomy professor at the local university where nobody cared about what the constellations were named because the Greeks were all dead, and it’s not they couldn’t just Google the names, anyways. He loved waking in the morning to see a lawn full of native plants and a little garden, because he might live in the affluent suburbs, but that didn’t mean he’d give into lawn culture, the horrid thing.

The only thing he didn’t love was his unfortunately next-door neighbor, Virgil Savage. Everything about him was simply illogical. The first thing the imbecile had done after moving in was paint the house bright purple, a stark contrast from the pastel grey every other home sported. He had a rather irritating habit of playing music a decibel too loud for Logan’s taste. He had absolutely no sense of self-care; Virgil seemed to throw on whatever clothes were clean— they were mismatched and rumbled, as if he had just taken them from his floor—and his skin was dull and most likely caked with makeup, which could easily be fixed if the man would just wash his face in the morning. Virgil Savage also had the miserable mannerism of being at least partially nocturnal.

Logan first found out about this “lifestyle” within a week of Virgil moving in. At first, he thought his neighbor was simply having trouble adjusting to his new house. And then the music started. Had it been any other time of day, perhaps Logan would have learned to let it by, to continue with his daily life. But because it was nine-thirty on a Wednesday night and Logan happened to teach Introduction to Astronomy on Thursdays at seven a.m., he marched over to the Savage house with a glare that burned hot enough to set Pluto alight, and knocked three times on the heavy door, tapping his foot incessantly as he waited for a response.

Virgil had opened the door with tired, bleak eyes the color of the Milky Way, full of enigmatic monachopsis that seemed to scream for human contact like an abandoned astronaut, and all arguments fled from the tip of Logan’s tongue. The music was even louder with the door open; the most prominent instrument was a piano that sounded like someone was slamming their fingers down on the keys in a desperate rage. Someone was screaming about friends and not wanting to leave, their voice raspy and broken.

“Do you… need something?” his neighbor had asked with a gruff voice, clutching at his elbows as if the sooner Logan left, the better. Logan had snapped out of his daze, pushing his glasses back up as he looked up at the man standing in the doorway. He couldn’t see much from where he stood on the porch.

“Yes, actually, I would like for you to turn your music down. It is impeding my ability to sleep, and I have to teach a class in the morning,” Logan explained crisply. Virgil looked him up and down, sizing up his new competitor with a smug smirk.

“Well, I dunno, teach.” Logan’s heart stopped for a full second at the nickname before his face morphed into a mask of contempt. “There’s a party going on right now, and what party is complete without music?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he glanced inside. He couldn’t see much besides a very much empty living room. “Apparently, a pity party,” he replied, his tone harsher than he intended. For a quarter of a second, a single frame in the movie of life, Virgil’s face had contorted, full of hurt, before quickly losing its emotion, replaced with cool nonchalance. Logan had had half the mind to apologize for his unsympathetic behavior before the song grew louder and Logan was reminded that it was late at night and he was too exhausted to deal with this sort of tomfuckery.

He was about to launch into a full debate to convince this heathen to turn his music down to a respectable volume when another figure came careening through the living room by way of an unseen doorway, crashing into Virgil with raucous, drunken giggles.

“Broooooo…” the newcomer slurred, his arms wrapped around Virgil’s neck for support. “You gotta finish that assignment of yours. You wanna pass the class, donya? Come ooooon,” he wheedled. Virgil’s face flushed as the stranger whined.

“Roman, how much have you drunk?”

“…a bottle.”

“A bottle?! Dee let you drink a whole bottle?!” Virgil’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, his mouth hanging open in disbelief as he turned, facing the living room that still held no-one despite the “party” raging on inside. “Dee! I’m gonna kick your ass!” he yelled as he unwrapped Roman’s arms from his neck. Virgil’s eyes glanced back at Logan. “Sorry about my friend.”

With that, Virgil pushed Roman further into the house, muttering in exasperation as he shut the door without another word to Logan. The teacher blinked before he regained his senses. He scoffed at the sudden cut-off from his neighbor, rolling his eyes. There was nothing else he could do now besides head back home and shove a pillow over his ears to muffle the music.

It was only when he finally slipped into bed that he realized he could only hear the sound of crickets and someone’s air conditioner whirring in the late August night heat.

The music had been turned off.

He hated himself for believing that it would end that night with a simple confrontation. The next week, the music was up again. Logan was too busy grading incomplete and frustratingly incorrect constellation maps to tell off Virgil, and let it be. But then it happened again the next week. And the next. It seemed to Logan that Virgil was just trying to get a rise out of him at this point. When he called his brother he ask for advice, the only promising words he got was “talk to him.”

“Patton, you don’t understand. I have talked to him, he just won’t listen,” he sighed as his brother listened intently over the video call, constantly adjusting his round glasses.

“Now, Logan, you know that everybody communicates in different ways. Maybe he is listening, but he just can’t communicate in a way you understand.” Patton adjusted his glasses again as he tilted his head, a thought striking him. “Maybe he’s trying to get your attention?”

Logan sighed, thinking about Virgil. Would he really be the type of person to annoy him just to get his attention? Virgil didn’t need to play music at an irritating volume for Logan’s consideration of him—those sonderous eyes plagued him almost as much as the music did.

Hold on. What did he just think?

“Are you alright, Logan? You’re making face you always do whenever I correct on your grammar. You know—like someone just ate all the second cookies,” Patton giggled. Logan heard someone talking in the background as Patton turned away from the camera, listening to the person off-screen. “Yep! Do you wanna come say hi to him?” Logan heard a sound of acquiescence and the pounding of footsteps as someone ran down the hallway of his brother’s apartment.

“Hiya there, Logan!” He flinched as Patton’s partner, Emile, popped up in front of the camera. “I heard you were in a jam!” The psychiatrist held up a jar of jam as Logan groaned at the pun, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I don't know which is worse—your puns or Virgil’s music,” he grumbled goodnaturedly as the partners collapsed into laughter that sounded choppy in the low quality audio of his laptop. He ran a hand through his hair as he checked the time, cringing at the late hour. “I’m sorry, Patton, but I’ll have to sign off now. It’s getting late and I have the wonderful blessing of teaching a morning class tomorrow. I’ll see you next weekend, correct?” His brother nodded as he and Emile wished Logan goodnight.

As he turned off his computer, his mind wandered back to the original topic of his and Patton’s conversation—Virgil. He couldn’t possibly be engaging in this childish feud because he was, what, interested in him? Logan snorted aloud, shaking his head. Virgil was obviously only toying with him.

“Well, then,” he whispered aloud as he slipped into bed, ready to fall asleep. “Two can play that game.”

He wasn’t able to put his plan into motion until the following weekend, just before he had to pick up Patton from the airport. It was quite simple, in Logan’s opinion, but then again, he reminded himself, he had to be on the road by at least nine so he could pick up Patton from his eleven-o-clock arrival, so complex schemes were out of the question until he had the time and reason to do such. Thus, he found himself setting a heavy speaker down on the edge of his front porch, his phone already connected to it. He had deliberated for a while on what song to use before settling on the timeless classic of “Hooked on a Feeling”.

He was about to turn on the speaker when he felt his phone vibrating in his hand. He turned it on to see a text from Patton: “So… I might have told you the wrong arrival time…” Immediately, he called his brother.

“What do you mean, ‘wrong arrival time’?” he questioned as soon as Patton picked up.

“Well, I’m here now. At the airport. It turns out the flight isn’t as long as I thought it was…” He could hear incessant chatter in the background and could clearly picture the dismal little airport that never seemed to stop renovating one wing or another, resulting in utter chaos when it came to an orderly flight schedule. “If you’re busy, don’t worry. I can wait a few hours—”

“Don’t be silly, Patton,” Logan interrupted. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes if the traffic’s alright.” He was already grabbing his keys from inside, throwing on a jacket, and unlocking his car doors. “Have you eaten yet?” The silence was answer enough for him. “There’s plenty of options around. Just be sure to eat something healthy, alright? And remember to get your bags,” he sighed as he started the car, the engine a gentle thrum beneath him.

“Alright, Logan, I will. See you in a bit. Thanks for picking me up.” The call disconnected, leaving Logan in the silence of his car before he decided surprisingly that he couldn’t stand the quietude and turned on the car radio as he backed out of the driveway, unaware of the jet black eyes that watched him go sadly.

Logan made to the airport in forty minutes, actually. He found Patton sitting at the counter of a small shop selling dumplings and baobaos, giddily eating the delicious food. He watched with a soft smile for a moment as Patton snuck a bite of a dumpling to the golden retriever laying on the floor beneath him, her vest proudly displaying her role as a service dog. As Patton straightened, he finally noticed his brother standing several feet away.

“Logan!” he called excitedly, waving him over. Logan’s feet moved on their own, small steps turning into bounds as he ran to his brother and hugged him tightly. “I’ve missed you, too, Logan. It doesn’t seem that university can end soon enough.” Logan’s grip tightened before he released his brother. He felt something nose at his leg and looked down to see Lola nudging at his leg, staring up at him with puppy eyes, despite knowing full well she was not a puppy, by size nor age standards.

He crouched down and ran a hand through her fur as Lola’s tail began beating excitedly. “Hello to you, too,” he said as Lola barked softly in greeting. “You’ve got your bags?” he asked as he stood up. Patton nodded, finishing the last dumpling, and clambered off his stool, thanking the shop owners as he grabbed the handles of his two suitcases in both hands. “I’ll hold on to Lola.” He grabbed the golden retriever’s lease, untying it from the chair’s leg, and began guiding the dog and his brother through the dim airport to the parking lot.

It was nine forty a.m. when they got home. The sun was glimmering, bearing down with no qualms onto the earth with a fierce intensity that seemed to rake across their backs with a near unbearable heat. Patton took one look at the speakers still set up on Logan’s porch and turned around, stopping in his tracks.

“Logan, what are you planning?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to listen to some music while I washed my car,” he explained, even though he knew his car was clean and it was pointless to try and wash it when it was supposed to rain that night, anyways. Patton’s eyes narrowed with a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

“You’re going to play music, aren’t you?” he proclaimed, twirling around and pointing at Logan with one finger and a sly smile as though he was a detective who had just solved the most difficult case ever presented to him. “Oh, I knew that look meant something! You looked so starry-eyed when we were talking about Virgil!” Logan blanched as he gasped in indignation.

“I did not look starry-eyed! He’s not even my friend, he’s just my neighbor!”

“A neighbor who you call on every Wednesday night,” Patton teased as Logan brushed past him with a groan of frustration, unlocking the door and shoving it open.

“It’s his fault, Patton, he’s the one who plays punk rock from the 2000s and 70s and 80s pop songs played on what I think might be an organ louder than a plague of cicadas at ten-thirty at night.” Patton could only laugh at Logan’s description as he made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge, already making himself at home.

“Sure, Logan.” Patton’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the fridge and its contents. “How many jars did Mom give you last time?”

“I counted twenty—wait, don’t change the subject, Patton!” Logan chastised. Lola spoke—or, rather, barked—up, woofing at the brothers as if to say, “stop talking about your neighbor and feed me.”

When at last Lola was fed and Patton had dropped his suitcases down in the guest room, it was nearing ten a.m.; he was finally able to step outside and stretch in the sun. Out of habit, he glanced at Virgil’s house, half expecting to see strobe lights flashing wildly behind the curtains, and saw nothing. He paused, his thoughts turning to the speaker still sitting abandoned on his porch. Was Virgil still asleep? An evil grin split across his face as he pulled out his phone, finding the song easily.

“I hope you like the taste of your own medicine,” he mumbled as he pressed played. Immediately, sound poured out of the speaker, the lowest notes tapping a familiar rhythm on his heart. He could just barely hear the sounds of confusion in the other house, following by the door slamming open as Virgil stumbled out in his pyjamas.

Well, he couldn’t really call them pyjamas. Virgil was covered—thankfully, of all the bad habits Virgil partook in, sleeping in the nude was not one of them—but just barely. He wore grey boxers beneath a violet tank top at least two sizes too big for him, and not much else. And perhaps Logan blushed furiously at the sight of sunshine on Virgil’s lanky arms and pale legs, but it was just from the heat. Just the heat.

Not that any of that mattered. Logan was too busy watching Virgil nearly trip over his feet as he shambled about in his lawn, momentarily blinded by the sun, to think any more about Virgil’s limbs. As his eyesight adjusted, Virgil noticed Logan standing in his own yard, then saw the speaker blasting music, and put two-and-two together.

“Do you know what time it is?” Virgil groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Logan snickered.

“It’s nine-fifty-two a.m., which is a more reasonable time than ten-forty-five at night,” he shot back. Virgil snorted before covering it with a cough. “Even if you wake up late, you should at least go to bed at a reasonable time. A good bedtime is crucial to a healthy life,” he lectured as Virgil raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Oh, getting worried about me, now? Careful, teach, or someone will think you’ve caught feelings for me,” Virgil chaffed, his eyes bright now in the daylight, intelligent and unrelenting in their mirth. Logan spluttered, unable to form a proper response. “Beware, Logan Guiscard. You’ve opened up a Pandora’s Box now.” Virgil’s voice was deep and full of laughter—like Logan was missing out on the funniest joke ever told. “I hope you like punk rock.”

He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “It’s you’ve been playing, how could it ever get old?” This time, Virgil snorted for real, chuckling uncontrollably as he backed away towards his house. Logan knew he wouldn’t get that sound out of his head for weeks. Virgil paused as he reached the doorstep of his home, glancing back over his shoulder.

“…I was finishing a report for my theoretical astrobiology class, by the way. I finished a little past midnight. Sorry for wanting to sleep in. I’ll make sure to let my professor know next time that I wasn’t able to finish my paper because my neighbor cared about me.” Logan physically stepped back, stunned. Virgil was taking university classes? And astronomy-related classes at that? Sweet heavens. Somehow, Logan’s face grew even more heated in the August sun.

Too bad Virgil had already left before Logan could find out more.

It wasn’t like Virgil hadn’t warned him. Logan could clearly recall him referencing Greek mythology (which another one of his passions that just so luckily gave him an advantage in astronomy) as he swore to wreak havoc on Logan’s life. Now, perhaps he hadn’t used those exact words, but it was exactly what was happening at nine p.m. on a Tuesday night in the middle of his late-night astronomy class. The class was too far gone now to be reigned back in, the music was still pouring in through hidden speakers, and all Logan could do was stare at Virgil like his whole world had been shattered as his neighbor laughed with his whole body, the sound loud and full of life and shaking Logan’s very core.

He had been in the middle of explaining which constellations appeared during which seasons—it was the beginning of the semester and he had learned the hard way to always begin with the basics—when the music first started. He had been so envirgorated in his explanation of the importance of the North Star that he hadn’t heard it until one of his students asked if whoever was listening to Fall Out Boy would please turn the volume down. Logan had stopped in his tracks, eyes snapping back to reality with a sinking feeling of déjà vu, and listened.

Unfortunately, his dread was well-met. The sounds of Fall Out Boy’s “Thnks fr th Mmrs” were pouring in from all sides of his classroom; Logan scowled, already searching for the familiar pair of inky eyes that bedeviled his dreams and late-night musings. “Virgil Savage!” he yelled, praying that the incident was actually Virgil’s fault and not some poor student who just happened to have the exact same music interests as his neighbor. “You better show yourself before I make you!”

The laughter was more of a giveaway than anything else. Virgil slumped in the doorway, his smirk so infuriating yet charming all the same. He gave a two-fingered salute to the professor as he held up his phone, waving in his trademark teasing manner. Virgil paid no mind to the students staring at the occurrence with rabid curiosity; his focus was on Logan as he bit his bottom lip and held out the phone towards the professor as though inviting him closer.

“You want the music off?” he asked, his deep voice gliding out of his mouth and wrapping itself around Logan’s body like venti of the ancient age. Logan nodded silently and unceremoniously, unable to think of a good retort. “Come and turn it off yourself.”

That was what had sent his class into chaos. One of them had yelled “Dance party!” immediately after, jumping up from his seat and flailing his arms around in what Logan could only assume to be dancing—an attempt at dancing, at the very least. Logan glared at Virgil as he stalked slowly towards the interloper, the sounds of students nothing but background noise at this point. He leaned closer to Virgil, his eyes full of wrath.

“Turn that music off right now,” he hissed.

“You’re staying up too late. If I can’t sleep in, you can’t stay out,” was Virgil’s only response. Logan stuttered.

“You—I—I am teaching a class!”

“And I’m not turning the music off,” Virgil continued. “I told you, if you want it off—” Virgil other hand grabbed Logan’s waist, pulling him into a dip as the professor yelped in surprise and the students cheered Virgil on. “—you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

It took a full five seconds to pass before Logan’s brain rebooted, shutting down the moment Virgil’s warm touch had met his starved skin. Once his reason returned, he wrangled himself out of his neighbor’s arms with several muttered swears and all but ripped Virgil’s phone out of his hands, turning the music off quickly and shoving the device back towards his neighbor. He glared daggers at the interloper for good measure as he retreated back into the comforts of his classroom with a scowl on his face.

“You’re not getting enough sleep either, teach. What was it you said? Yeah, I remember now: ‘a good bedtime is crucial to a healthy lifestyle.’” Virgil smirked as he watched Logan try to reign in his class, to no avail, those dark irises of his eyes holding something mysterious Logan would love to unravel if it weren’t for the classroom of fifty students in the process of losing their minds. “Of course, not letting loose every once in a while and refusing to humor your everloving neighbor really takes a hit on you, doesn’t it?” Logan glanced at Virgil as he paused from removing a recording phone from particularly stubborn student, focusing on the annoyance swirling through him instead of the rapid, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wave of warmth that overcame him at the sight of Virgil’s eyes, half hooded by his black-painted eyelids and full of curiosity—curiosity for Logan. That particular feeling he shoved back into the recesses of his mind.

“Virgil Savage, escort yourself out of this room or I will have security do so. We will continue this at a later date.” Virgil only grinned wickedly as he saluted once more and slinked behind the door frame, disappearing in the myriad of hallways.

“How about we continue it tomorrow at Bourbon Coffee? I hear they make great croissants!” Virgil shouted back. Logan stopped dead in his tracks, his head whipping towards the door in shock. But in true Virgil fashion, he was gone before Logan could find out more.

His only hope to gain another piece of the puzzle that was Virgil Savage was to meet him at Bourbon Coffee tomorrow morning.

He prayed he would survive their encounter.

Logan woke up to the mouth-watering smell of french toast the next morning, a smile already on his face. He found his brother in the kitchen, slipping Lola little bites of bacon as he cooked.

“What is all this for, Patton? Don’t you trust me to make my own breakfast?” he asked as he patted Lola, who showed off her canines with a beam.

“One of Emile’s former patients is one of your students. They told a little story on Twitter, and Emile found out and told me!” Patton swiveled around, almost whacking Logan in the face with his spatula. “How come you didn’t tell me you were going on a date?” Logan huffed, swiping a slice of bacon from the plate where they were cooling.

“It’s not a date,” he argued. “This might be my only chance to actually deal with Virgil besides throwing a pillow over my ears.” Patton chuckled, leaving the conversation as he finished cooking and slid two slices of french toast onto a nearby plate and handing it to Logan, throwing a smaller slice on the floor for Lola to wolf down. He continued his points as he ate. “Besides, I wouldn’t even call our relationship a friendship—”

“Alright, first off, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Patton interrupted as he maneuvered them both to sit at the dining room table. “Second of all.” Patton waited until Logan looked up at his brother, holding his gaze. “Do you want it to be a friendship?” he asked gently, knowing the look that was growing in Logan’s eyes.

“…Truth be told, Patton… I do. Virgil…” Logan sighed, unsure how he could ever explain his interest in Virgil if he couldn’t explain the greatest mysteries of the universe, which were far more comprehensible than the mind and soul of his neighbor. “…Virgil is unexplainable. I try to understand him. But I can’t… Am I wrong to want to understand him?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Patton’s lips as he regarded his brother. “No. Not at all.” Patton’s grin turned mischievous. “But date or not, I still get to be excited! You never go out, it’s nice to see you having fun for once.” For once, Logan did not respond to Patton, allowing himself to genuinely grin.

Fun…

It wasn’t a foreign word in his dictionary, but its page wasn’t dog-eared the way other words were. It didn’t have the significance of ebullience (bubbly enthusiasm—it reminded him of his brother), it didn’t have the importance of syzygy (the alignment of celestial bodies—he always found some way to weave it into his lectures), it didn’t roll across his tongue with the same effortlessness of hiraeth (homesickness for a place that never was or cannot be returned to—plus, it tied into his efforts to learn the Welsh language). Fun was not an unknown word, but it was not one mulled over like wine as he pondered his place in the universe.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t reintroduce it to his vocabulary, relearn the way it sounded, the way it felt running along his vocal cords.

Patton could tell what was going through his brother’s mind. He sat back lazily as he ate his breakfast, his smile just barely concealing his pride. “It’s almost nine, by the way,” he added. “You should get ready soon.” Logan nodded, only a little disappointed that they had to end their moment of peace so quickly.

Far too soon, he found himself ready to go, with the exception of a stomach that wouldn’t stop churning. Logan had no idea why he was so nervous—at best, he and Virgil would get coffee and talk without tearing each other’s head apart, and at worst they would just continue their feud like normal. It wasn’t like things going wrong would ruin his life irreversibly—so why did Logan feel the need to impress Virgil, to make things go perfectly?

He pushed those musings to the back of mind for later analysis. He headed outside to be met with the uncomfortable heat he was so used to yet hated all the same. Wearing a black cotton button down did nothing to relieve the suffocating heat against his body. Silently, he cursed the sun as he glanced about, wondering where Virgil was. It hit him that they had never agreed to a specific time. For all Logan knew, Virgil could already by at the coffee shop waiting for him.

Swallowing thickly—he didn’t know why, he had no reason to be nervous—Logan walked over to his neighbor’s house and rapped his knuckles against the door, tapping his foot incessantly as he waited.

The door opened to reveal… not-Virgil. Logan vaguely recalled him as the drunken man who had popped up behind Virgil the first time he had given his neighbors a visit, though he could not remember the man’s name for the life of him. The man yawned, staring at Logan.

“You’re that teacher Virgil’s obsessed with, right?” he asked.

“…Yes?” Logan wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that, even if his heart did flutter a little bit at it. “Is he inside? We’re supposed to meet at Bourbon Coffee, but he failed to give a time. I thought it would be logical to go with him so we arrive at the same time.”

The man at the door chuckled. “Virgil’s got a date, eh?”

Logan flushed against his will. “Alright—first of all, it is not a date, and second of all, would you please just tell me where he is?” he pleaded. The man nodded with a lopsided grin, glancing behind him.

“He’s still asleep. Probably thought the date would be a late one,” he drawled, laughing at the way Logan grumbled at the continued use of the word “date.” The man stuck out his hand, at last (re)introducing himself. “I’m Roman. Nice to properly meet you.” Logan took his hand politely, shaking it as he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he looked inside the house to hopefully see Virgil.

“I’m Logan Guiscard. Pleasure to meet you as well,” he said, biting back his frown when he couldn’t see his enigmatic neighbor. He drew his hand back with an awkward sigh. “Well, please let me know when Virgil wakes. I would rather go with him to the coffee shop than wait for him.” Roman nodded, saying he would, and closed the door to leave Logan standing on the porch with a heavy heart, though he decided it was better not to analyze why he felt disappointed that he wasn’t able to see Virgil.

Logan felt his phone vibrate and saw a text from his brother. Are you there yet? it read. He texted back a quick response, smirking devilishly when a notification from his music service popped up, giving him a positively evil idea. He tapped on the notification, opening the app, and scrolled until he found a song Virgil would adore waking up to.

“Would you mind if I listened to some music while I waited?” Logan asked Roman as innocently as possible. The neighbor shrugged. He bit back his sly grin as he subtly turned his volume all the way, connecting to his speaker, which remained on the porch from their last morning encounter. He pressed play, and let himself smile at last as chaos erupted to the sound of My Chemical Romance’s “Planetary (GO!)”.

The first thing to happen was Roman bursting into laughter as he realized what was happening. The second thing to happen was a series of shouts from inside Virgil’s house. Two people emerged from the shadows—someone Logan had yet to meet, and Virgil. He felt himself smile without thinking at the sight of his neighbor. Virgil’s eyes were hooded and full of exhaustion, bent on the murder of whoever woke him up so early. They cleared upon seeing Logan, lighting up like fireworks, but quickly narrowed as he put two and two together and realized Logan was behind his early wake-up.

“Y’know, if it weren’t for the fact that I love this song, I would be throttling you, you damn player,” Virgil mumbled with a tired laugh. He was murmuring along to the lyrics, holding out a hand to the teacher. “Come on, aren’t you going to dance with me?” For a moment, Logan felt like he had landed on an alien planet, because in no galaxy would this ever happen, but the moment passed as soon Logan realized, foreign planet or not, there was no way he would ever refuse.

He took Virgil’s hand with a sheepish smile, a silent apology for his lack of skill when it came to the aesthetic movement of his awkward limbs. Virgil didn’t seem to mind as they danced—well, to call it dancing would be pushing it. It was more like what Patton had once described as “moshing”, a frantic but energizing thrashing of arms and legs with no regards of what others thought. It was fun. Logan found that he actually liked it—or perhaps it was only because Virgil was dancing with him, and in a few minutes they would be grabbing coffee together like a real couple… of friends.

When at last the song ended, both of them were gasping for air as they laughed like the idiots they were. Logan was grinning so hard it hurt, but he found he didn’t care. I like him. I really like him a lot.

For once, the thought didn’t scare him.

“I’m guessing you want to head to Bourbon Coffee?” Virgil was asking him. Logan nodded wordlessly, unable to speak as he regained his breath. Virgil smiled softly. “I’ll go change, then. I’ve shown up wearing pyjamas too many times, they’ll probably kick me out this time.” Virgil hurried inside to change out of his night clothes, leaving Logan alone with Roman and the new person.

“We haven’t met before, I’m Logan Guiscard,” he introduced, holding out a hand to them. Their eyes flickered over Logan for a moment.

“Desmond Inoni. Call me Dee. You’re the teacher Virgil’s obsessed with,” the man stated cooly, amused as Logan blushed furiously, spluttering incessantly. The teacher was unable to voice his objections further, as Virgil came running out, hopping on one foot as he shoved a black sneaker on. “You two have fun,” Dee called as they set off. Virgil flipped him off playfully over his shoulder as Logan motioned for him to get in the teacher’s car.

In ten minutes, they were sitting down in the cafe with their hot coffee. Logan had gotten a simple black coffee, with about a bucket of added sugar, and Virgil had ordered some complex drink the bartender seemed to have had memorized. They sat in a corner booth by the window, enjoying the company of some calming, though probably fake, spider plants. Logan tried his best to be inconspicuous as he studied Virgil Savage, the mystery himself. He studied the way Virgil bobbed slightly to the cliché electro swing, the way the sunlight lit up the dusk in his eyes, the way his lips curved when he smiled as he spoke about his short-lived endeavor to become a musician to pay his way through college.

“What about you?” Virgil inquired. “How did you pay for college?”

“I won a scholarship by writing about astronomy. Being a teaching assistant helped to pay for the rest,” he explained. “I had to work quite hard to keep my scholarship, so I never had as many chances to make relationships—platonic or otherwise.” He caught Virgil’s gaze as he mumbled, “This is actually the first time I’ve been out with someone besides my brother and his partner…” Virgil’s eyes visibly widened in disbelief.

“Never?!” Logan shook his head, less melancholic than the last time he had mused over the young adulthood he never had. Somehow, sharing his woes with his neighbor lessened their meaning. Virgil took a sip of his drink before continuing, looking out beneath his thick eyelashes. “…I’m glad you thought my company was worthy enough for you, Logan.”

Logan knew he would treasure the way Virgil said his name for eons, forever and ever until the final star burned out and left the universe dark. He would always remember the way his heart skipped a beat, something slotting into place. Even if nothing came of this experience, even if by some reason he never saw Virgil again, even if the world ended right that moment and he was the last being alive, he would know that he had fallen in love with Virgil Savage.

But his neighbor was not meant to be his soulmate. Virgil didn’t love him.

“Logan? You okay?” Virgil was waving his hand in front of his face, worry swimming in his eyes. “You kinda disassociated for a moment. Don’t worry, I do it all the time.” Logan almost chuckled at Virgil’s small blush. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he promised. “Just… glad you think my company is worth an early rise.” Virgil cracked a smile with a huff, shaking his head.

“Don’t think this changes things,” he warned. “I have a whole playlist you’re going to fall asleep to.”

“That would sound adorable and affectionate if I didn’t know what a scoundrel you truly are,” Logan fired back with a smirk of his own. “I promise I’ll have my own songs to share with you in the early morning hours.” Virgil laughed loud enough to draw the attention of other patrons, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

They sat and talked for what must have been hours, trading anecdotes, questions, and life advice. He learned that Virgil had grown up half an hour away in the backwoods of suburbia, that his favorite color was violet, his favorite animal was a bird of paradise because their dances were beautiful and stupid at the same time, that his parents were divorced but were still friends, that his biggest wish as a young, dumb kid was to be an astronaut and die among the stars. In return, he told Virgil about himself, how his mother had died when he was nine but he loved his stepmother just as much, how his adoration of space began when an astronaut came to his school, how his favorite article of clothing was an old baggy sweatshirt from his first year teaching.

Yet all good things must come to an end, and eventually Virgil had to ruefully apologize that he had an appointment he needed to go to, and had to leave.

He watched Virgil leave wistfully, stirring what remained of his coffee with a cheap plastic stick as he let his thoughts wander over mountains and meadows. Somehow, by some chance, he was in love with Virgil Savage.

Even if Virgil never loved him back, he would make sure to cherish him. He would love and he would lose, yes, but he knew it would be better than to love and to imagine what could have been.

The climax to it all came about a week later, after many continued meetups. Virgil had been hinting at some big finale to it all for the past few days, and Logan was both incredibly excited and incredibly terrified of what his neighbor was planning.

It happened on a clear October night, just as Logan was winding down from a particularly tiring day. Patton was packed and ready to leave tomorrow morning, already sleep despite the early evening hour, and as much as his puns and jokes exasperated Logan to no end, he was going to miss his brother.

The teacher was sitting at the dining room table, finishing up reading a student’s paper. He rubbed at his fluttering eyelids, trying to keep himself from falling asleep as he took another sip from his water, determined to have all his papers graded before he went to sleep. He glanced at his watch every few minutes, chastising himself for checking so often as though he were waiting for something, quickly righting his course of focus back to his yet-to-be-graded papers.

He was about to call it a night and resign himself to an early morning finishing yesterday’s work when it happened. Through the window, which he had left open so he could enjoy the sounds of the night, came the telltale beginnings of trouble, a faint rumble Logan had come to recognize as a bassline emanating from his neighbor’s house.

As he began to hear the lyrics, he tipped back his head with a groan that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be exasperated or amused. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” he muttered as he pushed away from the table to stumble to the window and stand bewildered at the apparent absence of life in the Savage household. Not even a bedroom light was on inside, and it seemed either Virgil had fallen asleep to The All-American Rejects, or this was Virgil’s finale. He knew it was the latter.

Sighing, he pushed away from the table with a clatter of his chair. Running a hand through unkempt tangles of hair, Logan all but shoved the door open and walked out into the brisk night, letting the overwhelming intensity of the song wash over him and take all worries of the papers on his kitchen table away from his mind. Then he noticed movement from one of the windows, and Logan knew to prepare himself for an overly dramatic performance that would have cemented his love for his neighbor if the secret space enthusiasm and the wistful eyes hadn’t already done so.

Logan’s hypothesis proved correct when the bridge of the song began, and people poured out of the house, just like in the music video—which he had watched dozens of times, in a long playlist titled “virgil’s favorites -- memorize!!”, because if he was going to be in love with the man, he might as well know more about what he liked.

And, just like in the music video, they began chanting the ever-plaguing verse as Virgil, playing the role of Tyson Ritter, strutted slowly and calmly down the steps to the teacher’s driveway, where Logan was waiting for him, an exasperated smirk greeting his neighbor.

As soon as Virgil was within an earshot, Logan called to him. “Is this your finale, then?” Virgil’s eyes lit up with playfulness as he stood toe to toe with the teacher, his grin bigger than a full moon.

“Was it too predictable for you?” Virgil retorted with a glimmer of affection in his voice.

“Perhaps,” Logan replied in the same dramatic air as Virgil. “Though I’m beginning to think maybe it’s because I’m rubbing off on you.”

“And maybe it’s because I’m letting you rub off on me. Maybe I like it,” Virgil laughed as he stepped but an inch closer. Logan could see the little discolored speckles in Virgil’s eyes now, from how close they were. Almost close enough to kiss, his brain supplied (un)helpfully.

At once, Logan’s entire demeanor changed. They were close enough to kiss, weren’t they? He’d been fantasizing about it on more than one occasion, though Logan always classified them as nothing but. Nothing but fantasies to tuck away for reminiscing. But here, under starlight, with Virgil looking like a Lunar Queen, with those mesmerizing eyes trapping his, those fantasies seemed more like memories.

“Logan,” Virgil whispered. And like that, the spell was broken. Logan broke from his dreaming to hear a silent night once more, the song having ended without his notice. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Virgil beat him to it. “Look up.”

And, oh, wasn’t that a sight.

“I was wondering why you weren’t outside watching the meteor shower, and when I texted Patton, he said you were grading papers. Can you believe it? Missing the coolest thing in the world for a couple of dead trees?” Virgil was saying, his voice soft and gentle as a blanket.

Logan, of course, was too busy looking to hear him.

Not looking at the meteor shower—oh, no, no. As gorgeous as the black-blue-purple swashes of paint across the heavens was, as breath-taking as the falling stars were, as inspiring as the night sky captured in pure happiness was, none of it compared to the beauty he was so enraptured by—the beauty, of course, being the look of pure awe in Virgil’s eyes as he watched the meteors shoot across the sky.

Without thinking, Logan leaned over, and kissed him.

It was brief, but as soon as he pulled away, he said, “I think I love you.” Just to cement it, of course. To make sure Virgil knew.

The man in question stared at Logan, his eyes wide with surprise, and lips parted in an unspoken gasp. Virgil said nothing. He only grabbed the back of Logan’s neck and pulled him for a second, better kiss.

Two shooting stars crossed the sky together above them, as if in love.

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luminous-grace · 5 years ago

Text

DeanCas fic, ~3.5k words

Based very closely off the comic Fated by Jasmine Walls.

“Your teammates are either incapacitated or unconscious. You are the world’s last hope of salvation. Your enemy is an angel, a celestial being against whom neither reasoning nor weaponry have been proven to be effective. You’ve won the initiative: what do you do?”

The question floats through the air, Cas’s low rumble granting it a unique solemnity. Every faces around the table turns towards Dean.

“Alright”, Dean grins, throwing his die down confidently. “I roll to stab him through the heart.”

Next to him, Sam pulls a face.

“Seriously, Dean? You’re a rogue. You’re not even going to try for anything, I don’t know, stealthy? You know how bad your chances are?”

Dean smirks. “Never tell me the odds.”

When he see’s the outcome of his roll, however, Dean feels the grin drop off his face. “Uh.”

“Shit.” Sam groans, as Eileen pats him consolingly on the arm. “We were so close.”

Charlie sighs. “Well, it’s been nice knowing everyone.”

“If I may, I’d like to keep this moving.” Cas’s voice cuts through the chatter, and he glares sternly at each of them in turn.

Dean flushes under his gaze, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry man go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Clearing his throat, Cas begins to steadily narrate the outcome.

“With a critical fail, the knife does make contact. However, it does not appear to have any effect. Indeed, the angel reaches into his chest and pulls it out slowly, otherwise unharmed.”

“Furthermore,” Cas adds, amusement creeping into his tone. “At such close proximity you notice that the angel is very attractive, and as he brings his hand up to grip at your shoulder, you feel a sudden spark of electricity.”

Cas reaches across the table to demonstrate the action, his hand coming to rest warm and solid on Dean’s left shoulder. Unbidden, Dean’s stomach gives a pleasant swoop, and he feels his face warm.

“Well,” he says, “my bad I guess.”

“Alright, Cas,” Eileen signs, mercifully putting Dean out of his misery. “Time to get him back.”

Cas nods obligingly, withdrawing his hand. “Very well. The angel tightens his grip, preventing your escape. He raises his other hand to put you to sleep until he has further use for you in his plans.”

Their DM shakes his dice out onto the table, a frown line forming between his eyes. “Well that is... unfortunate,” he grumbles.

Sam cranes his neck forward, trying to see. “What’d you get?”

Cas doesn’t answer right away, but Dean is well-versed in reading the annoyed slump of his shoulders. “You fucking missed, didn’t you?”

Disgruntled, Cas jerks his head in acquiescence. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it.”

Before Dean can ask what he means, Cas is opening his mouth to continue the scene.

“While the angel had intended to get rid of you until further instructions were received, he finds himself hesitating. There’s something about this you that is enticing, drawing him in in a way that nothing else has in his millennia watching over Earth. Perhaps it’s the shine of your soul, the brightness greater than anything the angel had seen before. The colors are beautiful, and the angel finds himself leaning closer. Where before he had been prepared to simply zap you away, he now finds himself tugging you closer.”

Dean drops his face into his hands, cheeks burning. Relentlessly, Cas’s voice drones on.

“For the first time, the angel finds himself doubting the plans of his brothers and sisters. Surely something as lovely as this human does not deserve to serve as a pawn in Heaven’s scheme. Bringing a hand up, the angel cups his hand around your face protectively, as he has seen so many of your kind do. You shiver in his grasp, and he watches as your eyes drop to the mouth of his vessel. The angel has never experienced the physicality of human attraction before this day, it’s workings seemingly unnecessary and therefore unknown to him. For the first time, he discovers he wants to find out.”

The table explodes into laughter, and Cas shrugs unselfconsciously. Dean, however, squirms in his seat. Cas describing a fictional relationship between the two of them wasn’t exactly how he had planned for his day to go, and it’s left him feeling more than a little hot under the collar. Eager to get through the scene, Dean barely hesitates before flinging his die down.

“I roll to hit the banishing sigil we set up earlier. I don’t care who I have to get through to get there.”

The die hits the table, and Cas closes his eyes at the result. Dean thinks he may be silently counting to ten.

“With another critical fail,” Dean groans, “you stumble for the banishing sigil but find yourself faltering, and end up missing it by quite the mark.” Dean grimaces, but Cas isn’t done yet.

“The angel follows you, spinning you around in his grip. Before you know it, you feel your back hit the wall and then the angel is looming over you, eyes dark. You feel your breath coming faster. Here is an ancient creature, a being of power so immense that he could destroy you in the blink of an eye. Instead, he appears lost as he gazes at you, and you feel something in your chest tighten, wanting to erase that look.”

“Reaching up, you wind your arms around his neck, tugging him downward. He ducks his head easily, millennia of cosmic power submitting to the whims of a mere human such as yourself. The pull between you is undeniable, and you know without knowing how you know that you would be great together, perhaps even something entirely new. The thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should- in fact, the thought doesn’t scare you at all. Suddenly, you know his name where seconds before it had been a mystery to you. Leaning forward to brush your nose against his, you whisper it against his waiting mouth…”

The table erupts into laughter, and Dean groans. “Please end my fucking life. Cas, why the fuck did you name your character after yourself?”

“The NPC is an angel.” Cas says snippily, but Dean can see the pink dusting across his cheeks. “I am named after the angel of Thursday. It seemed… the most appropriate.”

“Oh, really. This seems appropriate, to you?”

Cas meets his eyes defiantly, but Dean can see that he’s embarrassed. “Well, I certainly wasn’t intending to start a romance with your character, of all people. Maybe in the future you should consider your rolls more carefully.”

Cas’s words strike a nerve he didn’t know existed and inexplicably, Dean finds himself lashing out.

“Really? Me of all people, huh? What’s the matter, Cas? Afraid you’ll like it?” Dean waggles his eyebrows to cover his own reddening face.

Cas opens his mouth to respond, and then seems to think better of it, cutting himself off. He looks, of all things, hurt.

Next to Dean, Charlie snickers, breaking them out of their glaring match. “I’m so glad I have 1 hit-point left so I can see this hot mess.”

Dean grits his teeth, locking eyes with his longtime roommate and soon to be former best friend. Dean knows that if he were truly uncomfortable Cas would relent in a heartbeat. It’s fun to pretend to be people they aren’t, but not to the point where it stops being enjoyable for the people involved.

The problem- Dean thinks bitterly, rolling his die in his hand- is that this is straying dangerously farther away from “pretending to act out a romance between two characters” and closer towards “Dean Winchester confessing his long time feelings for his in-real-life best friend and promptly gets rejected” territory.

Deep down, Dean knows he has no reason to be upset. It’s not as if it’s Cas’s fault that Dean’s too chickenshit to admit his feelings. But Dean’s been pining after this guy for-fucking-ever, and Cas is glaring at him like he’s the one whose feelings are being toyed with, and Dean thinks that maybe it’s time Cas gets a taste of his own medicine.

“Fuck it.” Choosing his words carefully, Dean flings his dice down with trembling hands, holding Cas’s eye while he does so. “I roll to seduce Cas.”

There’s a beat as the table watches in rapt attention. Then everyone starts speaking at once.

“Dean-”

“Holy shit-”

“Dude, that’s a 20-”

Steeling himself, Dean meets Cas’s gaze and is startled to find that it is, for the first time, uncertain. Dean had expected him to roll his eyes, to snap at Dean for prolonging the situation, or even tell him to re-roll entirely. Instead, he looks almost… wary? Dean falters for a moment, but as quickly as it’d come the look is gone, replaced with grim resignation.

Cas raises an eyebrow challengingly, as if to tell Dean to get on with it, and the unfairness of it all sends Dean catapulting way past stubbornness and straight into spite. Any hesitation forgotten, Dean’s opening his mouth to launch into a confession as lurid and sickeningly sweet as possible when Cas interrupts him.

“With a natural 20, you shouldn’t need to tell me what you do. It is enough to assume that you were successful in your seduction.” Cas clears his throat, continuing in a clipped voice that’s jarringly different form the storytelling tone he’d adopted previously.

“Swayed by your heartfelt speech, the angel sees the error of his ways. He agrees to betray his position with the enemy and in turn help you in preventing the end of the world.”

“Furthermore,” Cas falters for a moment, before seemingly steeling himself. “He is flattered by your professed affections and offers his own hand in marriage, to further cement the alliance. In this way, you have successfully cancelled the apocalypse. Congratulations,” Cas mutters, almost as an afterthought.

Charlie starts snickering first. This is quickly followed by Eileen’s laughter, and finally Sam’s bellowing guffaws fill the room.

Reaching over, Sam smacks Dean loudly on the back. “Didn’t know you had it in you, man. Can I be your best man?”

“Yeah.” Dean grins, but it feels forced, and something about the way Cas won’t quite meet his eyes across the table leaves him with a sinking feeling in his stomach “No sweat.”

On Dean’s other side, Charlie pretends to swoon, fanning herself. “You sure do know how to spin a proposition, Winchester. I don’t even know what you said but it must have been a tempting offer.”

Eileen’s laughing so hard she can barely talk, her hands flying to cover her mouth halfway through. “I’ll pay you real gold to be there when you introduce him to your parents.”

Cas doesn’t respond except to give them all a flickering smile. When Dean catches his eye, he abruptly stands from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to start cleaning up.”

Frowning, Dean cranes his head to look after him, but Cas keeps his head ducked low, quickly collecting the dishes and disappearing around the corner before Dean can catch a glimpse of his face.

Weird.

Eventually, the other three guests bow out with various excuses, leaving Dean to clean up the mess from tonight’s session. He shakes his head affectionately.

“Fucking freeloaders.”

When ten minutes slips into twenty without any sign of Cas’s return, Dean gives up any pretense of waiting and heads into the kitchen.

Cas is standing in front of the sink, drying the same glass over and over, gaze fixed somewhere a million miles away. Dean watches for a second before making his way over, dropping a hand to his shoulder and forcing cheer into his voice.

“How’s it looking?”

Cas startles so badly that the glass he’s holding tips over, clattering into the sink and sending dirty dish water everywhere.

“Dude,” Dean grimaces, reaching blindly for a towel to scrub at his face. “You okay?”

Cas pointedly does not look at him. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh, because you’ve been acting like a fucking weirdo all day? Come here.” Reaching over, Dean swipes at Cas’s face with a towel. “Gross.”

“Dean, just.” Cas breaks off, catches Dean’s wrist to tug his hand away. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be alone right now.

Hurt, Dean retracts his hand. “Jeez, okay. Sorry, man.”

“It’s fine.” Cas turns away, but something about his clipped tone sparks Dean’s earlier irritation.

“Okay, what’s your deal? Did I do something?”

Cas ignores him.

“I mean, if I did could you at least let me apologize like a normal fucking adult?”

Cas sighs, rubbing at the glass with more force than necessary. “I said it’s fine, Dean.”

“Is it about the game?” Dean presses, because Cas is pissed at him for something he started, then Dean has a right to know.

Cas doesn’t answer, but the way he tenses, entire body stiffening is a dead giveaway.

“I mean,” Dean scratches at the back of his head, not even hiding the hurt creeping into his voice. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but you started it. It’s just a game, man.”

Cas’s fingers go white on the dishcloth. “Exactly, Dean.” He snaps, voice bitter. “It’s a game. It isn’t-” Cas breaks off, flushing red and returning his focus to the now completely dry dish.

Dean frowns. He’s got a pretty good grasp on Cas over their six years of friendship, likes to think he knows him about as well as he knows himself. That’s why Dean knows Cas doesn’t feel the same way he does, that Dean is doomed to wallow in his feelings indefinitely.

But Cas could at least have the decency to not be a dick about it.

“Yeah, okay.” Dean can’t help the resentment that rises up sour and sharp in his throat. “I guess it’s weird acting out a romance scene with your best friend, but seeing as it’s all fake,” Dean adds extra emphasis on the word, vindicated when Cas flinches, “I really didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. Sorry if I was wrong.”

Cas doesn’t respond, and Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “Alright then.” Dean turns to leave, to slink off into his room to nurse his wounded pride. “Let me know if you want to talk about it, I guess.”

Dean’s already out the door when he hears his name. Taking a deep breath, he counts to ten before sticking his head back into the kitchen.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to hear some fake confession.” Cas says, voice brittle and so low that Dean has to take several more steps into the room to hear him. “I couldn’t- deal with it. Not when-” Cas turns away, voice breaking, and Dean’s gut punched to realize that he seems to be on the verge of tears. “Not when it didn’t mean anything. Not from you.”

Dean pauses, his mind struggling to connect the dots. “What are you talking about?”

Cas spins around to glare at him. “Are you really going to make me fucking say it? I’d think it should be obvious.” His eyes are bright and red-rimmed, but his face is dry, and Dean feels something painful twist in his chest.

“Cas-”, he reaches out again, but Cas jerks just out of reach.

Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t understand what you want me to do, man.” He spreads his hands wide in supplication. “But if you’re gonna be pissed you gotta talk to me. I’m not a mind reader.”

His words seem to reach Cas, finally, and the latter deflates, sagging against the counter. “I apologize,” Cas says, scrubbing a hand across his face. “It is… unfair of me to take my frustration out on you. You deserve better than that.”

“I mean, if you don’t want to tell me that’s fine. But it’s clearly bothering you and I want to help make it better.”

Cas shakes his head. “It’s not something you can fix. It’s fine, I promise. I’ll be fine-”

“Why don’t you try me, Cas.” Dean says, feeling suddenly tired. It’s been a long day of being faced with the blatant confirmation of his unrequited feelings, and Dean honestly just wants to faceplant into his bed and sleep for the next week.

“Tell me what you were going to say,” Cas blurts out, and that’s the last thing Dean was expecting.

“What?” Dean asks, but Cas is already shaking his head, covering his mouth with one hand.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Ignore me-”

“What I was going to say when, Cas?” Dean presses, but Cas is shaking his head, eyes skittering around the room like he’s planning the best way to escape. His eyes linger briefly on the game table in the living room, and that’s when it clicks for Dean.

“You want to know what I was gonna say during the game? At the very end?” There’s a burgeoning hope trying to take root at the center of his chest, but Dean avoids looking at it too closely lest it disappear.

Tentatively, Dean moves a step closer. When Cas doesn’t immediately shove him away he tries for a little more, reaching out to slide his hand down to Cas’s wrist. Cas’s eyes dart down to the contact, but he doesn’t jerk away, and Dean takes a deep breath, bolstering himself with feel of Cas’s hand in his.

“I was going to say, uh.” Dean swallows. Cas’s pulse point is hammering under Dean’s thumb, or maybe that’s just his own, and he tightens his grip automatically.

“You said that Castiel had never met anything like me, that I was special and unique in the universe, yada yada,” Dean says. “Well I was gonna say that he’s got that backwards. I say that I’ve never quite met anyone quite like him. And that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, ever.”

Cas makes a noise, but Dean pushes on, determined. “I know he’s way out of my league: that I don’t deserve someone as awesome as him. But I’d tell him that if he gave me a chance, I’d spend my entire life trying to make him happy. That we could make each other happy, forever, if he’d let us. I would tell Cas that, whenever I look at him, everything feels right.”

“You said Cas,” Cas interrupts.

“Huh?”

“You said Cas, not Castiel.”

Dean lets out an exasperated breath. “Yeah, no shit, dumbass. I was talking about you.”

“Oh,” Cas says, in a small voice. He’s quiet for a moment, and Dean struggles against the panic clawing at his chest. Finally, Cas says: “You were going to say all that in front of everyone?”

“I never said it was a good idea.”

Cas stares at him. “You never would have heard the end of it.”

“I mean,” Dean laughs, “I’ve only been in love with you for like, the entire time I’ve known you, so I’m pretty sure everyone already knows-”

Cas surges forward to kiss him. Dean grunts, caught off guard, his hands flying up to grab Cas’s shoulders. Cas’s lips are soft and hesitant against his own, every movement creating a spark of electricity that Dean feels down to his toes.

All too soon, Cas pulls back, causing Dean to make a pitiful noise as he chases his mouth. “I didn’t,” Cas says, staring at him intensely, and Dean stares at his mouth as it shapes the words, feeling as if he’s missing something.

“I didn’t know.” Cas repeats, hands coming up to frame Dean’s face. “I didn’t know.”

“Oh,” Dean says, rather intelligently he thinks, and then Cas is kissing him again.

Dean stumbles forward, hands flying up to clutch at Cas’s wrists in an attempt to get as close as possible. Cas groans, spinning them around to press Dean up against the sink.

The edge of the counter digs painfully into Dean’s back but he barely notices. Not when Cas is warm and solid against him, and Dean slides his hands hungrily up his arms, across his chest. One hand finds its way into Cas’s hair, tilting his head so that their mouths slot more fully together. And then Cas’s tongue is there, curling warm and wet against Dean’s and it’s perfect.

It seems to go on forever, one kiss leading into another, and then another. It’s like a drug, every time Dean pulls back to speak, he’s struck by the sight before him. Cas, his eyes dark, his mouth spit-slick and swollen, and he has to dive back in, dragged back under as if he can’t stand to be apart for more than a second.

“For the record,” Cas gasps, an indefinite amount of time later. “I’d say that your seduction technique was extremely successful.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean grins, sliding his hand down to graze against Cas’s belt. He’s rewarded with a groan, Cas’s hips jerking forward. “You wanna show me how much?”

Cas does. He really, really does. And Dean is more than happy to let him.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @casbean, @hellfire37, @mishatho, @sudo-apt-get-destiel, @charmedbycastiel, @feraladoration

#this took my so long and i dont love it but oh well dfsfs #deancas fic #destiel fic #my fic #drabble #destiel drabble #destiel

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mikauzoran · 5 years ago

Text

Adrienette Drabble: Daisy Chapter Thirty-Two: Game

There’s a Daisy Chapter Thirty-Two: Game

(It’s baaaaaaaack. ^.^)

“It’s good to know that you haven’t lost your skill,” Kagami remarked condescendingly as she removed her mask to reveal a sly, fox-like smile. “I had been concerned.”

“I mean, I did go for a run on Monday,” Adrien snorted, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “It’s not like years of training are going to instantly evaporate just because I spend a few days moping in bed.”

Kagami clicked her tongue reproachfully. “My mother would disown me for neglecting my art like that.”

“I’m sick.” Adrien shrugged dismissively.

“In my family, mental illness is viewed as weakness and inferiority,” she countered ruefully. “Be grateful your father is so lenient and understanding.”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighed, relenting as he rested his mask against his hip. “He’s really stepped up lately. I am grateful. A couple years ago when I asked to see a therapist, he told me it would be disgraceful to talk about private family matters with ‘one of those charlatans’, and when I started having panic attacks, he insisted that I was just fatigued from all the work…. He’s come a long way.”

Kagami nodded, beginning to pack up her equipment.

“…Do you think I’m weak?” Adrien wondered.

Kagami paused, her head tipping slightly as she considered her response. “…I think it takes a very strong person to admit to their weaknesses.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “I think you’re admirable.”

A pleased blush slowly rose in Adrien’s cheeks. “Thank you. I admire you too, Kagami.”

She waved away his compliment. “Flatterer. I’m commandeering a guest room to shower and change. You should do likewise, and, then, as a reward for your fencing skills not deteriorating despite your negligence, I will allow you to take me to lunch.”

Adrien frowned. “I thought you said that I couldn’t pay for your meals unless it was a date.”

Kagami shrugged. “Those were the old rules, and they have outlived their usefulness. I no longer have any delusions about the two of us ever being a couple, Adrien. You’re sweet, and I’m glad of your friendship, but now that I’ve gotten to know you better, I can see plainly that we’re not meant to be.”

“O-Oh.” Adrien shifted uncomfortably. “…Did I do something wrong?”

Kagami shook her head. “I did. I decided who you were without really knowing, without consulting you. I acted on assumptions and incomplete data. I apologize.”

Adrien opened his mouth to apologize in turn, but Kagami cut him off: “Whatever you’re about to say is superfluous. If you’re about to tell me all is forgiven, it’s unnecessary because I know you forgive me. You forgive so easily, Adrien—too easily. If you’re about to apologize and try to take some of the blame onto yourself, that too is unnecessary because, like I said before, you are not the one in the wrong.”

Adrien smiled softly at his friend, silently thanking her. “If you say so,” he replied aloud. “…Do you like Chinese food?”

Kagami raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I would not be opposed to trying Chinese food if that’s what you really want, Adrien, but we can’t tell my mother. She doesn’t approve of commoner food.”

His soft smile morphed into a mischievous grin. “You can just say I took you to La Bauhinia or Shang Palace at the Shangri-La.”

Kagami rolled her eyes. “Devious boy. Go shower.”

Wednesday evening, several hours after Kagami’s departure, Gabriel stood in the doorway as Adrien finished a spirited rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody on the piano and Plagg crooned along.

“Your playing has improved in these past few weeks,” he observed, clapping reservedly.

Adrien gave a start and turned on the bench to smile sheepishly. “It’s more incentive to practice when you’re playing something you want to be playing—no offense to Ravel.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“And yet you were playing Ravel’s Une Barque sur l’Ocean the other day,” Gabriel hummed.

Adrien shrugged and tried not to blush. “That one’s been stuck in my head for some reason.”

Plagg snickered.

Adrien swatted halfheartedly at the kwami.

Gabriel nodded, ignoring the interaction. “Do you like Queen?”

Adrien shrugged again. “Select Queen songs. Bohemian Rhapsody and The Show Must Go On. There was a lot of Queen music featured in the show Elise and I watched yesterday, so…”

“I’m the one who requested Bohemian Rhapsody,” Plagg spoke up from where he was lounging on the piano. “I like Queen. Did you need something, Gabriel? If not, you should come over and play a piece with us.”

“Maybe later,” Gabriel excused himself, actually intending to make time to play with them at a later date. “Monsieur Lahiffe is in the foyer. I told him you did not wish to see him. He asked to appeal the matter with you. Are you still upset with him?”

Adrien held out a hand palm down and wiggled it. “I think I’m going to be hurt about this for a long time, even if I’m not actively upset. Right now I’m playing hard to get and seeing what he comes up with as far as grand gestures to win my forgiveness. He snuck into my room the other day, and that was kind of impressive.”

Gabriel frowned. “How did a teenage boy get past our security system?”

Adrien waved away Gabriel’s concern. “Magic. Don’t worry about it.”

Gabriel doubled down in the concern department. “Wait. Actual magic, or is that just a figure of speech?”

“The magic of friendship,” Adrien clarified, getting to his feet. “Let’s go hear what Monsieur Lahiffe has to say for himself.”

Gabriel reluctantly followed his son, hanging back to observe the confrontation.

Nino was waiting in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. When he saw Adrien up and dressed, he smiled. “Hey, Mec. Looking good.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you into my bedroom, Nino,” Adrien snickered, stopping at the top of the stairs and crossing his arms. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do this to somebody else,” Adrien hummed, looking down imperiously at his friend.

“Dreams really do come true sometimes,” Nino snorted, not enjoying being in Adrien’s usual position.

“This is kind of a power trip,” Adrien mused, standing more erect. “…So I hear you asked to appeal your case?”

“Yeah,” Nino sighed. “Dude, call your dad off.”

“Nope,” Adrien chuckled. “I’m taking the high road and trying to suck it up and be mature about so many other things in my life right now. You get to deal with the childish temper tantrum.”

Nino inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “Lucky me.”

Adrien bit his lip. “…How’s Marinette?”

Nino smiled sadly. “Hanging in there. Throwing herself into her work at the moment. Inside, she’s a mess, but she’s putting her game face on and going out there and getting things done.”

Adrien nodded, unsure how to feel about that. Part of him wanted her to be a complete and utter wreck. Part of him didn’t want his Lady, his Princess to feel anything like the pain he was going through.

“You should write me a sonnet to prove your undying friendship,” Adrien remarked offhandedly, turning to head back to his room.

“How about a limerick?” Nino bartered.

“Am I only worth a limerick?” Adrien pouted, passing his father and slipping back into his sanctuary/cage.

Ten minutes later, Carapace opened Adrien’s window.

“You came prepared this time,” Adrien chuckled as he plugged a second controller into the game console.

Nino sighed as his transformation dropped. “Dude, you’re worth this.”

Adrien paused, letting the words warm his chest while simultaneously trying not to let on. He looked up expectantly at Nino. “So, where’s my limerick?”

Thursday, Wayem came over to play through Adrien’s collection of board games.

“You know, I haven’t even played three quarters of these,” Adrien muttered, getting down a copy of The Settlers of Catan.

“How come?” Wayem looked back over the couch to arch an eyebrow at his friend.

Adrien shrugged, coming and setting the game down on the coffee table. “I’ve never had enough players for most of them. My father has only relented in allowing people over the past month or two. Before that, I had no one to play them with.”

Besides Plagg, put Plagg was hard to convince to play and often had to be bribed to participate and take the game seriously.

“Some of them I was able to play multiple roles myself, but…with strategy games or games like Cluedo, for example, looking at another player’s cards is cheating, and it’s difficult to plot and scheme against yourself. I mean, it can be done, but…it’s really not as much fun to screw yourself over.”

“I need to take you to a board game café,” Wayem realized.

Adrien blinked. “That’s a thing?”

Wayem winced. “Next week we’re getting some of the others together and going to Dernier Bar avant la Fin du Monde. I’ll bring some of my friends too. You’ll love it. Do you think your dad would let you go?”

“I think he could be convinced, especially if Elise goes. He’s somehow gotten it into his head that she’s a responsible adult,” Adrien chuckled.

Wayem cracked up. “Does he know she smuggles in Pop-Tarts?”

“Shhh!” Adrien shushed urgently through laughter, frantically waving his hands. “The walls have ears around this place.”

Wayem shook his head, looking down at the assortment of games on the table before them. “So what do you want to play first? Is there one in particular that you’ve always wanted to play but’ve never gotten to?”

Adrien bit his lip, scanning the lineup. Tentatively, he picked up the box of a game that neither Plagg nor his father would ever deign to play with him. “Exploding Kittens?” he asked hesitantly, peridot eyes wide and overflowing with hope.

Wayem applauded. “Good choice!”

Friday, mid-morning, Chloé, Kagami, and Elise came parading into Adrien’s room without warning.

Adrien jerked up from where he was lying on his stomach on the couch reading volume two of Seven Days. He hastily snapped the manga closed and shoved it under the couch before his friends could see.

Plagg, who had phased into the couch at the sound of the door opening, snickered at Adrien’s expense.

“Guys,” Adrien whined in frustration. “A little privacy? Could you please knock?”

“Your father said we could show ourselves in,” Chloé snorted. “Why? Were you looking at porn or something?”

Adrien’s already rosy cheeks exploded in a flood of scarlet. “No! I was just researching!”

“Oh?” Chloé snickered as she approached. “And what’s that?”

“Something personal. Relationship stuff,” Adrien huffed.

Kagami and Elise looked on sympathetically, knowing from experience that Chloé would not back down until she was satisfied with the answer she received.

Chloé bent behind the couch and felt underneath.

“Chloé!” Adrien squeaked, ducking down and reaching for the book.

Her hand found it first, and Adrien was left to blush in horror as his oldest friend began to flip through.

“It’s a comic book,” Chloé observed, looking disappointed. “There’s not even any nudity. Why were you so embarrassed to be caught reading this?”

“No reason. Give it back?” Adrien asked hopefully, holding out his hand with a nervous smile.

Chloé turned to Kagami, and Adrien’s heart sank. “What language is this in? Can you read it?”

Kagami blinked as the book was thrust into her hands. “…It’s Japanese.” She flipped through perfunctorily, and her eyes widened just a touch. She closed the book.

“It’s just a teenage love story. He’s being overly sensitive,” Kagami reported, her tone of voice informing the others that this was the final verdict as she strode over to the couch and handed the book back to Adrien who was a blush personified.

He took the manga without meeting Kagami’s eye. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

With a sigh, Kagami switched to Japanese. “You’re researching relationships between men?”

Adrien shrank, replying in a small voice in Japanese, “I am.”

Kagami pursed her lips. “I’ve heard that these kind of manga are not realistic representations of same-sex partnerships. They’re mostly for the entertainment of women. You probably shouldn’t base your expectations on them.”

Adrien returned to French with a bashful smile. “That’s kind of a relief. Thanks.”

Kagami gave a decisive nod. “Friends,” she tested the word out on her tongue. “Friends look out for one another.”

Chloé turned to Elise. “What just happened?”

Elise chuckled. “I don’t speak Japanese, Lemon Drop, but I’m guessing they had a friendship-solidifying moment.”

Chloé snorted. “When do I get to have a friendship-solidifying moment with Kagami?”

Elise shrugged. “Not with Adrien?”

Chloé waved Elise away. “The friendship between Adri-chou and me is like bedrock.”

Adrien’s bedroom door opened once more to admit an annoyed-looking Gabriel Agreste. “I’ve just been arguing with Monsieur Lahiffe about his admittance. Adrien, would you care to weigh in on the matter?”

Adrien pursed his lips. He slipped the manga back under the couch and stood. “He can come in since there are others. Keep giving him a hard time when he comes alone until further notice.”

“Very well,” Gabriel sighed, turning to call over his shoulder. “Monsieur Lahiffe? You’ve been given a special dispensation.”

Nino trotted up the stairs and eagerly made his way into Adrien’s room, announcing, “I wrote you a limerick.”

Adrien blinked. “For real?”

Nino nodded. “It’s rubbish, but it technically fits the definition of ‘limerick’. I’m not a poet, Mec.”

“I know you’re not,” Adrien snickered. “That’s why I asked you to write me a sonnet.”

Nino frowned deeply. “Is this like that story you told me about the moon chick who sent her suitors out to fulfill impossible requests?”

“Kaguya-hime?” Kagami cocked an eyebrow at Adrien who shrugged.

“The main difference is that Kaguya-hime meant for her suitors to fail,” Adrien explained. “I’ll be very pleased if Nino succeeds in winning my forgiveness.” He turned to Nino expectantly as Adrien took a seat on the piano bench, crossing one knee over the other. “Limerick?”

Nino cleared his throat.

“There was a young man named Agreste whose best friend was a real pest. The friend was a snake. He made a mistake, and their friendship was put to the test.

“I told you it was rubbish,” Nino concluded. “But there’s your limerick.”

Adrien and the girls applauded politely.

“I’ll take it,” Adrien decreed, looking pleased.

Elise chuckled. “Candy Floss, you’re being mean torturing him like this.”

“And torturing us by extension,” Chloé snorted. “That was painful to listen to.”

“He did his best,” Kagami allowed.

“I’m not being mean,” Adrien protested with a pout. “I’m practicing holding a grudge with someone who I know won’t hate me for it, someone I know I won’t lose just because we have a fight. My therapist said it was unhealthy to avoid conflict by disregarding my own feelings and always folding like I do just because I’m terrified people won’t like me and will leave me if I stand up for myself. I’m practicing engaging in conflict in a safe environment,” he explained.

“He’s fine,” Nino assured, waving the girls off. “I can take it. Our friendship is stronger than this, so don’t worry about it. …Anyway, as a bonus, I wrote a haiku,” Nino informed, lightening the topic of conversation once more. “Do you want to hear that too, or have you had enough of my poetic buffoonery?”

“I’m game,” Adrien decided, making Chloé audibly groan.

Nino stood up straighter. “I feel deep sadness and regret for hurting you my beloved friend.

“How’s that?” Nino shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Now, that was sweet,” Elise cooed.

“The syllables were correct,” Kagami remarked.

“Too sappy,” Chloé sighed.

It took Adrien a moment to formulate his response. “You took the time to come up with that for me?”

Nino replied with a wide-armed, what-else-was-I-supposed-to-do shrug. “I thought you’d appreciate it, even though I suck at poetry…I mean, since I can’t even begin to write a sonnet for you.”

Adrien pushed himself up off the piano bench and tackled Nino in a crushing hug. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you putting this much effort in…you thinking I’m worth it.”

Nino smiled tiredly, returning the hug. “Of course you’re worth it, Mec.”

“Bleh,” Chloé grumbled. “The bromance.”

“I think their friendship is beautiful,” Kagami remarked, coming to stand between Chloé and Elise.

Chloé gazed sidelong at Kagami. “…I guess there are some nice things about it…. Would you want to have a bromance?—Hypothetically.”

“I think it would be nice to be that close to someone,” Kagami affirmed with a wistful smile.

Chloé made a mental note.

“Does this mean that all’s forgiven?” Nino wondered as he and Adrien pulled apart.

Adrien laughed, smacking Nino on the arm playfully. “Hell no. You stabbed me in the back. You’re going to be groveling for a loooong time.”

Nino’s face fell, but he took the news in stride. “Yeah. Okay, Mec. I get it.”

“I love you,” Adrien sang, winking as he made a little heart with his hands.

“I freaking love you too, you sadist,” Nino muttered, giving Adrien a shove that was half playful, half letting out some of his frustration.

“Okay!” Elise announced, calling the meeting to order. “Nino was going to show us how to play Dungeons and Dragons today, if that works for everyone?”

“Princess Celestia of Monte Carlo steps in a bog, and a Rodent of Unusual Size bites her ankle,” Nino reported.

Chloé let out a bark of indignation as she rolled her die. “…Two.”

The entire party winced collectively.

“It tears your dress,” Nino informed her.

Chloé shrieked.

“I’ll try to kill it with my arrows,” Adrien proposed, rolling his die. “…Six?” He looked up uncertainly at Nino.

Nino shook his head. “Princess Luna of the Night Elves fires an arrow and wounds the beast but misses the vital organs. Now the Rodent is angry.”

“Crap,” Adrien sighed. “Sorry, Princess Celestia.”

“You tried, Princess Luna,” Chloé assured, patting him on the knee. “It was a good shot.”

“A lot better than when you accidentally impaled my medicine bag when we were fighting the orcs,” Elise sighed. “Can I heal her?”

“I would wait until we defeat the monster and can get her to safety. Dungeon Master, I’m going to attack the Rodent,” Kagami announced, rolling her die. “…Twenty.”

The group collectively gasped.

Elise let out a low whistle.

“Damn,” Nino chuckled. “Musashi the Warrior from the East makes sushi out of the Rodent, gallantly pulls Princess Celestia from the bog, and carries her in his arms out of the Fire Swamp.”

“My hero!” Chloé sighed, clasping Kagami’s hands in her own.

Kagami smiled shyly, a pleased blush colouring her cheeks.

“Why does Musashi always get the girls?” Adrien grumbled.

“Is Princess Luna interested in girls?” Elise teased.

“Princess Luna is lonely and confused and thinks other people are pretty in general,” Adrien reported with a toss of his head. “She is keeping her options open.”

“I’m going to heal Princess Celestia now that we’re out of the Fire Swamp,” Elise chuckled. “Musashi, if you and the princess could please stop gazing longingly into one another’s eyes for a sec?”

“If we must,” Kagami giggled, enjoying the theatrics.

Elise rolled her die. “Twelve!”

Nino nodded. “Princess Celestia is fully healed.”

“What about my dress?” Chloé demanded. “The Rodent ripped it, right?”

Nino’s brow crinkled in a bemused frown. “Who do you think Elise is, Ladybug?”

“Why not?” Elise urged. “Everett has been training with monks on the tops of mountains for the past forty years. Why can’t he heal the dress?”

Nino considered briefly before giving up. “Okay. Whatever. Roll for the dress.”

“Thirteen,” Elise chuckled, pleased with herself.

“The dress is good as new,” Nino decreed.

“Good because that dress is made out of spun gold,” Chloé snorted. “My daddy had it commissioned specially for my sixteenth birthday.”

“It’s not very practical for adventuring, Chlo,” Adrien remarked. “Maybe you should go shopping when we reach the next village.”

Chloé gave a snort. “Like your chainmail bikini is any more practical?”

“It’s not a bikini,” Adrien whined. “It’s a halter top. Why would anyone go adventuring in a chainmail bikini? I’m wearing actual pants.”

Gabriel cleared his throat from the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt your campaign, but, Adrien, your phone is…I believe the phrase is ‘blowing up’, and I thought you might want to know so that you could have the option of answering.”

Adrien’s eyes widened as he got up off the bed where they were all seated and reached to take the phone from his father. “…Marinette?” he inquired in a small voice, half filled with dread, half with hope.

Gabriel shook his head. “Luka Couffaine.”

Adrien fumbled the phone but managed to catch it before it could hit the floor. “L-Luka?”

“Isn’t that Marinette’s boyfriend?” Kagami whispered to Chloé.

“Why is he texting you?” Chloé arched an eyebrow curiously.

Gabriel frowned. “I did not mean to invade your privacy, but the phone kept buzzing, and I thought it might be important. That does not appear to be the case, but…I took pity on Monsieur Couffaine when I happened to glimpse some of the messages. It made me appreciate the fact that they didn’t have texting when I was young. That way I couldn’t text stupidity that I later regretted to your mother. All the inane things I said to her had to be said out loud, and I find that that dramatically cut down on their number. Monsieur Couffaine is not so lucky. Perhaps you could put him out of his misery?” Gabriel suggested. “If you wish. If not, I can take back the mobile.”

“What does he say?” Nino wondered, confused by this development.

Adrien looked down at his screen to find nearly twenty new messages from Luka.

They started out casually enough for two people who hadn’t texted in two years with, “hey how r u doing”, “this is luka by the way”, and “i hope this is still your number”.

Things quickly snowballed after that: “i was worried about u”, “im sorry i didnt know about what was going on”, “i hope youre ok”.

“Why are you blushing?” Chloé demanded.

“I’m not blushing,” Adrien grumbled defensively. “He was texting because he was worried about me. It’s sweet of him. I appreciate it.”

The downward spiral in the texts continued:

“sorry im so stupid of course youre not ok”

“im sorry i hurt u”

“im really really sorry”

“for a lot of things”

“sorry if u dont want to hear from me”

Adrien’s heart clenched. He’d been wondering the same thing: Luka had expressed interest in renewing their friendship at Chloé’s graduation party, but would Luka even want to hear from Adrien after finding out about the complicated mess between Adrien and Luka’s girlfriend?

“i couldnt stop thinking about u”

Adrien’s heart fluttered.

“sorry for texting u in the first place”

“i miss u angel”

It had been a long time since Adrien had last heard that nickname. It brought back all kinds of memories from the summer he had spent sneaking out of the Agreste Mansion and practically living on the Couffaine houseboat. The guitar lessons with Luka, cooking with Rose, asking the Capitaine’s advice and listening to her wild stories, trading snark for snark with the surprisingly witty Juleka…movies and giving each other hell…teasing relentlessly, snuggling when Adrien was feeling down or unwanted or just because…talking late into the night and early into the morning…whispers in the dark, secrets and laughter and finally feeling like his feet had touched down on something solid. Feeling like he belonged. Feeling like a part of a family. Five months of happiness…until Gabriel had found out and ripped it away.

“god i wish it were possible to unsend things”, Luka’s text barrage continued regretfully.

“just ignore me”

“please please ignore me”

“im so sorry for bothering u”

“please take care of yourself”

The last message made Adrien smile. Luka still cared. Somehow, despite the ugly relationship drama with Marinette, despite the way things had ended between Luka and Adrien two years prior with Gabriel’s threats, Luka still wanted Adrien back in his life.

“What’s he say, Mec?” Nino cautiously inquired.

The flickering emotions on Adrien’s face made Nino uneasy. Surprise, delight, a pleased blush, a nervous smile, conflict, guilt, apprehension, an intrigued look, a charmed smile. The fact that Adrien was having so many varied, complex reactions to texts from the boyfriend of the girl Adrien was in love with did not bode well. Adrien was making the face he usually wore when he had his very worst ideas.

Adrien shrugged, waving dismissively. “He just wanted to check in on me, but he wasn’t sure I’d want to hear from him.”

Adrien’s thumbs started moving in a blur as he typed, “Hi, Orpheus. <3”. He figured his old nickname for Luka would quickly dispel the musician’s anxiety.

“Can’t talk right now. I have company over.” he explained and then added, “Thanks for worrying about me.” with a broad smile, a warmth building in his chest that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like a long time…since things with Marinette imploded…since he’d lost his Lady.

“What are you grinning about?” Chloé accused, feeling like she was being left out of a joke.

“Nothing,” Adrien insisted, looking up from his phone. “It’s just nice to be worried about by people you thought hated you. I’m just…I’m happy he doesn’t hate me and still wants to be friends. We used to be close, so…it’s like when you and I reconnected, Chlo. This feels like I’m getting something I lost back. I’m happy.”

Gabriel pointedly looked away. He understood Adrien’s longing for his old friend and Plagg’s reasoning that the boy could be good for Adrien, but Gabriel was still against his son renewing an acquaintanceship with the Couffaine boy who had been such a bad influence in the past, especially now with the further complication of the boy’s relationship with the girl Adrien was in love with.

Adrien turned to his father. “I think I’m okay to keep my phone now. Thanks so much for babysitting it.”

Gabriel frowned down at his son. “You’re sure?”

Adrien nodded. “In case Luka texts me back. I’ll let you know if I change my mind and need you to take it away again if it proves to be too much of a temptation.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to respond, but a tremendous jolt cut him off, rocking the house and nearly knocking both Gabriel and Adrien off of their feet.

Car alarms started to scream.

Nino cursed.

“An earthquake?” Elise wondered aloud, voice high and wavering.

“Akuma,” Adrien breathed, running to the window.

“That’s impossible!” Gabriel argued, a step behind his son. “I didn’t—I mean…Papillon has been dormant for nearly two months!”

“There!” Nino pointed, coming to stand at Adrien’s side, one hand on Adrien’s shoulder.

“That’s a sentimonster,” Gabriel gasped, mind whirling. “Why would…? Why is…? Why?!”

#Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Adrien Agreste #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrienette #Adrien Agreste #Kagami Tsurugi #Nino Lahiffe #Wayem #Chloé Bourgeois #Elise O'Leary #Gabriel Agreste #Plagg #Mikau's Writings #There's a Daisy

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sortblog · 5 years ago

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Nørrebro Pride

It is difficult to know where to begin. It is difficult for me to know what to say and where to start.

Last year Andrea Coloma and Cecilie Viet drank too much wine and hyped each other enough with talks about marching down Nørrebro. These beautiful people were tired and wanted something new. And I was tired too and foolish enough to join them. Last year we were overwhelmed by your power – but this year! Holy shit!

This year – please put your hand up! Give your self a round of applause. This year a lot of people are coming together. This is something else now. There has been so much effort into the community kitchen, to the security team, to outreach, to meeting with different groups the past six months. There are many lessons we have learnt organising this year, are learning right now, and have to continue to learn for this to continue. Thank you.

And there’s a reason that you’re here; there is a reason why I am here. First of all, Pride is political! Queer and trans folk face hardships – both locally and globally. Isolated from families we create our own. For wanting to live in the bodies that we desire; for wanting a world in which we can desire, we are shamed, silenced, institutionalised, sterilised, assaulted, raped, and killed – either by others or the straight world order leading us to kill ourselves at extreme rates. Sometimes going outside is the hardest: being reminded of what limited place you have. Even if I am privileged I am reminded that the public is a hetero public, it is a white public – this was made totally clear to me just days ago when a man told in the calmest voice that if only I followed him, he and his friends could burn me alive – with no police watching he added. Repeatedly he told me of his intended crime. Repeatedly I witnessed how no one intervened. Repeatedly I was reminded that my black body, my black queer trans body is a body that can always be transgressed and don’t belong in this world. Reminded that I do not know how old I will get, faced with the reality that way too many black trans and gender non-conforming folks do not live to see 40.

What ever reasons you have felt to come here today; whether it is to grieve loved ones you have lost or the lives that you cannot yet live; if it is to be joyous with friends and comrades; or you do not yet know why you’re here – know that you belong, on this earth. That you deserve to belong here.

But there are also other reasons why we are here.

Nørrebro is a battlefield. It is one of several places politicians like to legislate on and against. When the government legislates against the homeless it’s also about the people here in Nørrebro; when the government makes squatting illegal it’s about the political extra-parliamentary movements in Nørrebro; when the government and police agree on stop-and-searching and special zones it is about brown and black boys in Nørrebro; when the government wants to privatise and limit social housing it’s about controlling Nørrebro & Nordvest (Gellerup, Vollsmose, etc); when it allows for Rasmus Paludan to be paraded around it is about provoking Nørrebro, and earning cheap political points in the rest of this fucking racist country; when the government legislates against muslim women wearing the veil it is concerned with Nørrebro. We could go on.

How the government acts when it sees Nørrebro and other places like it, is nothing short of fascism; a place infested with brown and black people and migrants who should be deported, vilified and discriminated against; a place where working-class communities are to be punished with higher rents and costs of living and cuts to social infrastructure. Until all of Copenhagen is free of single-mothers, muslim women and men, the sick and homeless folks, working-class folks and impoverished folks, black and brown folks, the government will not rest. The government wants many of us – some more than others – gone, and this neighbourhood turned into a paradise for the white middle- and upper classes.

It does not make sense to talk about what Nørrebro Pride is – because it is nothing yet – but all of the things it wants to be and could be.

Nørrebro Pride wants to be anti-commercial and anti-gentrification, but for this to happen we have to find ways of making sure businesses don’t just pinkwash themselves with our lives, but also to make sure that everyone – with or without papers – in this neighbourhood, in this city, in this country have access and the right to housing, transport, health care, safety, and workers rights. If we want a Pride which takes gentrification seriously, we have to think of how to stop global capital mangement funds like Blackstone’s undercover assault on the neighbourhood, as well as be ready to put our bodies on the line when people in Mjølnerparken soon will be evicted. We need to prevent and stop this.

Nørrebro Pride wants Black people, Indigenous people and People of Colour to the front, but, as it was stressed during the community kitchen thursday, must acknowledge the limits of this when even marginalised communities aren’t even equal between each other; when anti-Blackness runs through society and every community; when Greenland is still colonised; when Denmark sold 100.000 black caribbean people to the USA, who still cannot vote to this day; when muslim communities are targeted daily; when adoptees are ignored and their lives made into accessories for white heterosexuals and increasingly the lgbt community; when there are people in camps. In order to organise together, it will require work; it will require staying with the trouble; it will require conscious effort. It will require time. It will require white people decentralising themselves.

Nørrebro Pride wants to be accessible but is not. There is work to do in making the City of Copenhagen to make a place for people without homes or living on the streets; people unable to attain shelter and health care because of their lack of cpr-numbers; people who are racialised and denied access to even the smallest resources to make our communities accessible; people with disabilities facing an infrastructure that tries to deny and limit their agency at every moment.

Let Nørrebro Pride be one of many places where we can conspire about our next actions! Let it be the place where lovers meet, kiss and fuck!

But most of all do not walk away from today without anger, pride or a plan. We need to build; we need to organise; and we need stronger communities! If every poor person, homeless person, working class person, migrant, black person, person of colour is not to be driven from this neighborhood or the next or the next – we need to ask questions and act on them.

Close your eyes *insert joke*

There are things we need to ask ourselves and act upon together.

Who gets the right to have a home?

What kind of people have a right to claim a home? Home is often defined by white heteronormativity, but who are all of the other people that do not fit into that box?

What do we have to leave behind to be welcomed home?

How can we reclaim home?

What does home mean if you cannot leave it, are forced to stay in it, or do not have access to it?

How do we keep our cultures and histories alive when separated from our roots?

How do we connect across generations?

How do we make sure that our movements don’t just become the next hashtag that you can sell on a t-shirt?

How do we make sure that it isn’t about individuals who can earn money of the struggle? Liberation doesn’t pay; it costs.

How can we create sustainable economic structures that allow marginalised communities the time to have their voices heard and their own power grown? Survival is no joke.

What do you have access to that others do not? Are you sharing it?

How do those of us privileged outside the asylum system, create sustainable structures that are capable of fighting for justice together with those imprisoned in the camps?

How do we make sure our own communities stop accepting the premise of border regimes?

How do we make sure our own communities stand in solidarity with sex workers?

How do we prevent the lives of queer and trans folks from being marginalized in the struggle? As we have been in every struggle, in every political space, on every continent. No matter the movement, no matter the time.

How do we ensure that queer and trans lives don’t become excuses for bombing, sanctioning or further exploiting the countries all diasporic folks are part of?

How do we expand? How do we sustain? How do we lift each other? As a close friend and comrade says: How do we learn to organize with intention? What shall we do to remind each other of the fact, that we once too believed in the lies of the system?

Open your eyes. And dream.

Thank you.

#nørrebropride

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sophieakatz · 6 years ago

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Thursday Thoughts: Space Jews and Subverted Expectations

Major spoilers for Captain Marvel below the cut.

I cringed when Nick Fury referred to the Skrulls as “lizard people.”

That phrase was just the icing on the cake for what I’d feared – no, for what I’d known – that the Skrulls represented.

A race of shape-shifting lizard people who infiltrate other cultures by disguising themselves so well that we can’t tell the difference between them and normal people, and so they threaten the majority, secretly pulling the strings of the universe?

They’re Space Jews.

If you want to learn more about the antisemitic conspiracy theory which claims that Jewish people are alien lizards disguised as humans and secretly controlling the world, I recommend the following articles:

“‘Alien reptile’ and cloaked figure in Yair Netanyahu’s meme have old-new origins” by Times of Israel

“Your conspiracy theory is anti-Semitic” by Varsity

“The Alice Walker anti-Semitism controversy, explained” by Vox

But even if we drop the frankly bizarre “alien lizard” part of this propaganda, the Skrulls are unmistakably Jews, and for the first half of the movie they are presented in the antisemitic way that Jews often are in real life. They look like anyone else, but it’s just an act; you might trust them until you realize what they really are.

It’s an experience I’m all too familiar with, though it’s happened less often since I graduated high school – the moment I “out” myself as Jewish to someone, and their eyes go wide, and they say “Oh, I didn’t know,” and they keep their distance from that point onward. There is an assumption of untrustworthiness, of malice, of secret power and riches. I consider myself fortunate that keeping their distance is the reaction they usually chose, rather than being violent.

And I was ready to grit my teeth through yet another movie that used these tropes as though they were simply fantasy and had no real-world consequences. I was ready to watch the Skrulls go to their deaths without complexity, without sympathy, and without redemption. I was ready to be told to root against the sneaky scary Jews.

But that isn’t what happened. Instead, we learned more about the Skrulls.

We learned that they are a culture that refused to take on the way of life of the Kree majority, and that that is why they were deemed a threat. We learned that they are struggling to survive, that they are hunted wherever they go. We learned that they are scattered across the universe, that their families are in hiding, that they are desperately seeking a homeland.

And that changed everything. That’s when I began to fully enjoy the movie.

The Skrulls were still Jews. But they were no longer an antisemitic stereotype. They were sympathetic. They were real. And they were treated with dignity.

I looked at the Skrulls and I saw my people. I looked at the Kree and I saw our supremacist oppressors. And I looked at Carol Danvers and I saw something incredible – a repentant oppressor, who did not pat herself on the back for realizing that the oppressed were people too, but rather took the harm that she and her people had caused very seriously, and vowed to put all of her strength and resources into making concrete reparations. She defends the Skrull refugees with her life, and exits the film intending to destroy the Supreme Intelligence and help the Skrulls find a home.

It would have been so easy for this film’s writers, directors, editors, and actors to just keep the Skrulls as the bad guy. There are years of “aliens infiltrating human society” films that lead me to expect it to simply be the thing that just happens.

And even after they made the Skrulls sympathetic, it would have been just as easy to continue to torture them. I couldn’t help but look at the Skrulls hiding in Mar-Vell’s lab and think of Holocaust refugees. And if this were a different film – like Avengers: Infinity War, which also made use of Holocaust imagery, but in a reckless way �� all or most of those Skrulls would have died a terrible, tragic death.

But Captain Marvel doesn’t take the easy way out. Instead, they set up the tropes, and then they show the rest of the story. Because in real life, when people talk about insidious lizard people, they’re actually talking about an oppressed diasporic community. The creators of Captain Marvel humanized that community, and then they gave it a champion. In this film, they show the world as it is, both the good and the bad parts of it, and then they show the world as it should be: better.

I don’t know if the creators of this film knew what they were doing. They might have. Anna Boden, one of the film’s two writer-directors, is Jewish – so it’s absolutely possible, and I would absolutely love to pick her brain about it. But even if antisemitism never once crossed her mind while creating this film, writing a story like this, instead of writing a story that’s like all the other stories, is a conscious choice.

And this isn’t the only subverted expectation to be found in Captain Marvel. It is overwhelmingly a surprising, positive story in which “the thing that just happens” does not happen.

Maria doesn’t die. Neither does Talos (though I was not at all surprised to see him shot during the escape). Nobody has a dead family to angst over, or a lost lover to pine over. Carol has some doubts about her own abilities midway through the story, but after a pep talk and hug from a female friend (all things that are still rare in media!), she never once doubts herself again. She doesn’t go on a journey to become a better person; instead she realizes that she always was that better person. She never makes any cheesy speeches about what it means to be human; the film trusts that the audience is smart enough to connect the dots. And when the villain demands a fair fight, she zaps him and says she owes him nothing. And then we see two of the most badass characters in Marvel Studios history joking around while washing the dishes.

I could write an entire article on any of these excellent subversions, intentional or not, that make Captain Marvel such an important story. At the very least, I’ve started with this one, which is particularly important for me as a Jew. This is the kind of story that the world needs, and the kind that I want to write.

#captain marvel #skrulls #carol danvers #nick fury #antisemitism #antisemitic tropes #lizard people #subverted tropes #film analysis #analysis #growing up jewish #holocaust #marvel #marvel studios #thursday thoughts #nonfiction #antisemitic stereotypes #conspiracy theories #reviews

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crimethinc · 6 years ago

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The G20 in Buenos Aires: Logbook November 20-22–Security Zones and Shantytowns

On November 30 and December 1, the 2018 G20 summit will bring together the rulers of the 20 most powerful nations for a meeting in Buenos Aires, Argentina. In the third installment of our coverage of the 2018 G20 summit, our international correspondents describe the unprecedentedly massive security operation that is accompanying this summit, the international protest mobilization, and police violence against the poor population in the periphery.

Tuesday, November 20

Border Controls, Security Zones, and a City Blockade

The government announced on Monday, November 19 that it will be tightening border controls, focusing on the border triangle with Uruguay and Brazil as well as the international airport. They claimed to have “extensive international lists” and that they “will strictly prevent the entry of radical G20 protesters.” In case friends and activists are detained at the airport, the Protest Alliance has set up a round-the-clock legal emergency service.

On Tuesday, the “security junta” chaired by Minister Patricia Bullrich held a press conference; Bullrich is a machine of repression with an oligarchic family background and also some (decidedly dubious) past association with the Montoneros. Everyone expected large security zones and restrictions on freedom of movement, but the scope of what Bullrich announced went beyond the expectations of the assembled capitalist press.

The graded security zones will cover an area of about 20 square kilometers only in the inner-city area—a tenth of the total area of the capital. There will also be “variable corridors” and closed roads to the international airport 40 km away. Within the dark red security zone, the “Villa 31” is located—the so-called “Villa Miseria”—with its approximately 30,000 residents, which is close to the conference venue. As it appears, the residents are to be locked in or out of their homes and their neighborhood. They have virtually no lobby at all to advocate for them; on the contrary, they are highly stigmatized.

The square-shaped area below (to the south) in the following city plans is justified as “protection of the Theatro Colon”—where this Friday, the feudal dinner of the heads of state is to take place. However, the theater is not located in the middle of this zone, but close to the upper left edge, between the metro line B and the zone border. More than 200,000 inner city residents live in this square, which also houses the political and historical center of the city and the entire country, including the Congress and the Plaza de Mayo. The security zones also include the entire port, the inner-city airport, the city’s main arterial roads including the sixteen-lane Avenida of July 9, Retiro Central Station, large parts of the historic Recoleta district, and the expensive new Puerto Madero port quarter. For the latter two, we are talking about approximately 50,000 more residents who will be directly affected by the security around the summit. In addition, there is a smaller control area to the south, near the Plaza Constitución, which can only be explained by a “troop site” planned there.

In addition to all these security zones, restrictions on local public transport have been announced, on a scale that has never been implemented before at any previous summit. The entire regional rail network and the metro (“Subte”) network will be completely shut down during the G20. This will render travel impossible throughout the city. The same is true for all shipping traffic on the Rio de la Plata, the river that separates the neighboring cities of the metropolitan region and Montevideo in Uruguay from Buenos Aires.

On the other hand, some buses within Buenos Aires “may still run.”

All this is hard to swallow for city residents who have only experienced such conditions during general strikes. This time, however, the aim of the intervention is not a social concern—and certainly not “guaranteeing the safety of the summit”—but rather, cutting off or inhibiting the flow of protest towards the center. In the city center, only police and politicians should move freely. Everyone else—the inconvenient others—should leave for the countryside or stay locked inside their homes.

The affected areas.

Wednesday, November 21

A Book, an Article, and a Call for a Demonstration

On Wednesday, the widely read national online newspaper Infobae published an article about the multilingual book To Our Compas in Buenos Aires by activists from Hamburg and Paris. Infobae is considered to be close to the reigning government; it is often cited by the German Foreign Office as a “serious source.” The lengthy article was titled “Take Care Compas—The Handbook of International Protest that the Government Is Studying ahead of the G20.”

First, the text briefly presents the concerns of the Argentine government, highlighting the alleged threat posed by international opponents of globalization. After that, however, the article quotes the book at great length in a fairly unbiased manner. For example, the book description appears unabridged and passages referring to the forthcoming summit in Buenos Aires are highlighted. The text is framed as a kind of “guide to protest,” though this is already refuted by the quotations. However, the article sketches a relatively comprehensive picture of the courses of events in Hamburg, chiefly through the quotations. Infobae describes it as “ridiculous” that the authors of the book describe the attendance of 80,000 people at the central demonstration as a “success”—a rather small number of participants, by Buenos Aires standards.

To Our Compas in Buenos Aires.

Surprisingly, on the same day, the short call for a demonstration in Hamburg to show solidarity with the protests in Buenos Aires, translated into Spanish, appeared on the front of the local protest website in Buenos Aires. The call is for a demonstration on the afternoon of December 1 after an FC St. Pauli home game. The preceding evening, there will be a meeting in a left cultural center in Hamburg to follow the events in Buenos Aires. The December 1 demonstration is also intended as a reaction to the anticipated repression.

And International Protests?

In addition to those in Hamburg, parallel protests will take place in Paris and London. There are probably also plans elsewhere. Very few activists from Europe or North America will come to Buenos Aires, and not only because of the announced border controls. The flights are expensive and harmful to the environment, police repression is expected to be intense, and the strange conditions in which the G20 will take place in Argentina are likely to deter many more protesters.

The alliance “Confluencia” expects activists from neighboring countries. In view of limited resources and the long distances, however, even within South America, travelling to protests in neighboring countries is by no means standard. Now, the Argentine government has added the offensively announced border closure. The national government and international security management are doing everything they can to minimize the number of participants from outside Argentina. Even journeys from other regions of Argentina will be rendered considerably more difficult by the interruption of the railway connections into Buenos Aires. It is even conceivable that this will extend to regional train connections and bus routes. The announced repression is also having an effect: one of the larger Peronist trade unions has already toned down its mobilization for this reason and in view of next year’s elections. One does not want to be associated too much with the foreseeable (or even conjured up) “riots.”

Thursday, November 22

“No Roof, No Land, No Life”

This is the headline of the progressive, left-leaning daily newspaper Página 12. Rodolfo Orellana, 36 years old, of Bolivian origin and father of five children, is dead, most likely murdered by the police. What happened? In the early morning, between 100 and 200 residents attempted to occupy a vacant site in the huge suburb of Matanza. In fact, the owner had already signed a far-reaching temporary use agreement with the local neighborhood association, in which Rodolfo Orellana was also active. This agreement document has been pushed from office to office for a long time in order to take effect legally.

Despite this legal grey zone, the police immediately arrived at the occupation in full gear and shot numerous rubber bullets, seriously injuring several people. A video shows Rodolfo Orellana, likely after his death. As became known later during the autopsy, he died as a consequence of live ammunition entering his shoulder. Based on the exit wound, the shot must have hit him when he was in a stooped posture, either standing or squatting with his back to the murderer.

Police maintain that neither the bullet nor the shell were found; the caliber of the bullet is supposed to be determined in a second autopsy. The police deny the use of firearms, alleging that there were hostilities between Bolivian and Paraguayan groups within the occupiers. Since the bloody political unrest of 2002, it is forbidden for the police in Argentina to carry firearms during demonstrations—and even more so to use them. But it is absurd to imagine that now, during a brutal evacuation, the demonstrators would have shot each other under the eyes of the police.

There were four more arrests, including a mother who was “allowed” to have her baby in the police cell for a short time every three hours to breastfeed. On the following day, there was a fierce and emotionally moving protest rally in the city center.

Housing Shortage in the Periphery

Officially, the city of Buenos Aires covers only 203 km² with 2.9 million inhabitants; by contrast, Berlin covers 891 km² with 3.6 million. However, there are officially almost 14 million inhabitants in the immediate metropolitan area. In the periphery there are also some isolated “islands for the rich” and areas with a mixed character, but by and large, the “outskirts” range from poor to extremely poor districts and informal settlements. The social and cultural contrast to the official “capital” is dramatic.

The “suburb” Matanza (in English, “slaughter” or “bloodbath”) hosts 1.8 million inhabitants—as many as the city of Hamburg. There are also several “villas,” places with improvised buildings. The housing shortage is most clearly visible in these shantytowns and their surroundings. Migrants from neighboring countries often live in highly crowded and inhumane conditions. Empty spaces are often squatted in order to open up a little more space for survival and life. In addition, there is a widespread “economía popular” via which people organize their everyday lives. Rodolfo Orellana was an activist there.

Rodolfo Orellana, murdered by the police.

Income throughout Buenoes Aires

The proportion of “villas” as a form of housing in 2010.

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lichlover · 7 years ago

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a continuation of this delightful concept, featuring double entendres galore, a dark and stormy night, and yet another goddamn ouija board.

“Okay, Krav!” says Taako. “Here’s the dealio!”

The avant-garde clock hanging from their wall displays 12:32—that’s his best guess, anyway, as it consists entirely of two nearly translucent spindles and twelve brightly colored circles. One of the spindles stands nearly upright, and the other is inching tentatively past blue, so 12:32 it is. Its quiet ticking is the only sound that occupies the space, apart from Taako’s own voice. Lup and Barry are still out, wherever they are, which means that for now Taako has their apartment to himself. If they burst in while he’s attempting to summon the manifestation of Death himself, well, it won’t be the strangest thing they’ve walked in on him doing.

Admittedly, their cramped family room isn’t nearly as atmospheric, unless fairy lights and the kitchen’s dim glow count as mood lighting. The storm rages persistently outside, soaking their shallow balcony and lashing against the sliding doors, and he supposes that’ll have to do for now. He’s propped a broom between the door and the wall, bracing it closed, just to be safe. That’s about as much preparation as he’d done before he had set his sopping wet bag on the sofa, unzipped it with a flourish, and retrieved his prize.

Obtaining this particular ouija board had taken some actual effort on his part. He’d ventured into the thrift shop’s back room with a very reluctant cashier, shoving aside dust-covered boxes and bins full of sequined bodysuits, holding up his Stone of Farspeech to shed light over towering shelves. The one they’d found hadn’t even come in a box. It was draped in spiderwebs and sitting next to a DVD copy of an interpretive jazz workout, which he’d pushed aside with one acrylic to get to the board and its planchette. The cashier had recoiled, surveying it with a wrinkled nose and slightly watery eyes. “Are you—” He’d sneezed and nearly sent his glasses flying. “Are you sure? I mean, if you’re all hung up on this spirit-summoning thing, I’m sure we’ve got some haunted dolls or somethin’ around here that would do the trick—”

“Hey,” Taako had interrupted, brandishing the planchette at him. “Who’s the paying customer here? Yes. Correct. I know what I’m about, son. Ring me up.”

The ouija board now sits indolently on the coffee table behind him, looking for all the world like someone’s pathetic idea of a Scrabble game. For all the fanfare surrounding its existence, it isn’t terribly relevant right now. Taako jabs a thumb in its general direction as he taps his foot impatiently, staring down the far wall.

“Been a hot minute, hasn’t it?” he says, smirking at the cracked plaster. “I don’t usually call so soon after a first date, but wouldja just look at that—” This time, he swivels around for dramatic effect and gestures widely to the board. If possible, it’s even more depressing than the last one, with a lengthy crack across one side and dismal, fading letters. “As luck would have it, I found another one ’a these just lyin’ around, gathering dust. Sure looks like it’s lived, a, uh… a full life, but I’d bet it’s got a couple more summons in it.”

Taako turns his gaze back on the wall and reaches out, crooking a finger invitingly. “So, what d’you say, reaper man?” He grins, wide and full of anticipation. “Come ’n get it.”

He waits, propping himself on a heel, for a good several seconds. The rain beats against the windows, and a rush of wind thoroughly rattles the trees below their apartment, but it’s muffled from where he stands at the center of the family room. Otherwise, everything is quiet. If he strains his ears, he can just barely hear the clock ticking.

12:34 by now, surely.

A low, barely-perceptible breeze passes through the room and ruffles the hem of Taako’s skirt. Like a gaping wound in reality itself, the air splits in two, parted by a blade that trails black, gauzy smoke. The space crackles with arcane energy and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. However much of a sucker Death really is, he thinks, there’s some seriously powerful magic at work here.

That is kind of his jam, though.

It takes a moment for the main event to make his appearance, but when he does, Taako isn’t disappointed. If anything, a vaguely irritated Kravitz is even more gorgeous. His gaze snaps to Taako almost straightaway, which to be fair is what most people tend to do in his vicinity, and a tiny frown creases his brow. His smooth, perfect brow. Taako notes with amusement that Kravitz’s cravat is just slightly off-center, and as soon as his lips twitch in a tiny smirk, Kravitz catches his heel on the rift and nearly stumbles. He rights himself as Taako snickers behind one splayed hand.

“Well,” he says. “Didn’t mean to trip you up, handsome, but I gotta say I’m glad I did.”

To his credit, Kravitz covers his surprise with a smooth and extremely impressive eye roll. If that isn’t an attractive quality in a guy, Taako doesn’t know what is. “How long has it been, exactly? An hour? Two?”

“Already counting the hours we’re apart?” Taako clicks his tongue, only half-trying to stifle a grin at his own quip. “I mean, that’s a little whack, my dude, but—but if that’s how you roll.”

“You know that isn’t what I—you know what? Nevermind.” From where it sits in his hand, Kravitz’s scythe dissolves, and the rift phases out of existence behind him. Someone on the outside could have mistaken them for two normal people standing in a living room, having a normal conversation. To be fair, that’s what Taako intends to do, although he isn’t feeling particularly attached to the normal bit. He notes the gold embellishments on Kravitz’s vest as the reaper continues, still looking altogether extremely vexed. “Look, I’ve already made one too many house calls tonight. If you don’t mind, I’ll need that ouija board so I can be on my way.”

As he says so, Kravitz steps forward as if to make for the coffee table, but Taako slides easily between them. “Oh, not so fast, fella,” he says. “You and I have got some business to conduct.”

He’s rather proud of how easily his interference forces an Emissary of Actual, Literal Death to stop in his tracks. Kravitz sighs. “Business regarding what, exactly?”

“No need to be so formal,” Taako drawls, and lowers himself to perch on the table’s edge. He crosses ankle over ankle and looks up at Kravitz through dark, heavy lashes. “It was kinda… uh, kinda rude of you, wasn’t it? Just dropping in, scarin’ the shit outta everybody, and swingin’ right back out with no explanation?”

Kravitz arches an eyebrow. The undersides are highlighted faintly with gold, which would have made Taako weak in the knees had he been standing. “You don’t seem terribly intimidated.”

“I,” says Taako, “am an excellent thespian. Now, c’mon.” He shifts and tips his head toward the ottoman adjacent, and Kravitz follows his gaze uneasily. “Y—You said it yourself, right? Tough workday? I’ve got some questions, you got all the answers. Sit down, take a load off, and I promise I’ll go easy.”

He can’t resist a smirk, then, because it’s far too easy to get double entendre with this guy. That’s got to be a good sign of some sort.

Still, rather impressively, Kravitz lets that one roll right off him. He shuffles awkwardly to the ottoman and sits, fluffing his mantle out behind him, and Taako watches the feathers ripple and shudder in response. Now that they have less than a foot of space between them—gods bless this apartment’s tiny floor plan—he can make out their iridescent shine, among other things. Kravitz’s subtly pointed ears, for instance, and the golden cuffs that cling to their tapered edges. Or the way his coat sits a little too snugly around his shoulders, as if it isn’t quite well-tailored enough to contain perfection. Or how briefly but noticeably his eyes flick to the curve of Taako’s lip, then dart away without any indication that he’d been looking to begin with.

Sometimes, Taako decides, actions really do speak louder than words.

“Alright,” Kravitz says, and Taako forces his attention back in line. “You said you had… uh, questions?”

“Well, yeah, no fucking kidding. You’re Death. I—I mean, I think we all confronted our mortality tonight, literally. You can’t expect me to, uh, to just take that in stride.”

But Kravitz is already shaking his head. “Emissary,” he says. “That’s different. There’s no such thing as Death as an entity. It’s more like… like a law of the universe that we, uh, enforce.”

“Law enforcement, huh?” Taako purrs. “Never woulda pegged you for the officer type, but I could see it.” He imagines Kravitz in the polished uniform of the Neverwinter militia, brass buttons and jaunty cap and all, and has to bite down on his lip. “Yeah, I could deffo see it.”

He’s getting off track, but hell if Kravitz doesn’t make it easy. “Anyway. Emissary. Seems a tad too important for making house calls, hm? Don’t—don’t tell me we were something special.”

Kravitz’s mouth twitches. “The only thing you’re special for is using a ouija board. Do you know how outdated those things are? I think they were popular when I was alive.”

Well. That’s new information. “Okay,” says Taako, and lets his gaze dip to Kravitz’s chest, trying to ignore the flattering fit of his vest as he scrutinizes it for a rise and fall. Sure enough, he can’t make anything out. “So that makes you—”

“Immortal,” says Kravitz, at the same time Taako says, “Dead.”

He tips his head. “Well, yeah. That too.”

It says a lot about Taako that he immediately wishes he had paid more attention to Lup and Barry’s Thursday morning is-it-really-necrophilia-if debate. He can’t even recall the consensus, which had been reached with a few contentious glances from nearby professors. Once again, it’s up to him. “Okay, then,” is all he says. “That explains it.”

Kravitz blinks. “Explains what?”

Maybe it’s a little brazen—okay, scratch that, it’s incredibly brazen, but it’s also after midnight and Lup’s residual impulsiveness is starting to rub off on him. Taako shifts forward, and it’s not like there was much space between them to begin with, but now their knees nudge together when he leans in. He swears he hears Kravitz’s breath catch in his throat (which makes this even better, because the dead don’t need air, do they?) as he reaches up and thumbs over Kravitz’s cheek, and sure enough, a chill rockets up his arm and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“This,” he murmurs, and they’re close enough now that Taako can make out thin, feathery eyelashes and the hint of a shimmer across Kravitz’s upper lip. “You… you’re Arctic, my man.”

“Really?” says Kravitz, faintly. “I—I hadn’t noticed.”

Taako can make out his own heartbeat in his ears, thrumming with want and begging him just to edge a little closer, to kiss the life back into this beautiful man. He swallows, reins it in, and sits back with a brisk pat to Kravitz’s thigh. “Well! Mys—uh, mystery solved, I guess. Def—” He’s never hated his stutter more than he does right now. “Definitely dead as a doornail in there. But that means—I mean, if you die, you don’t just… automatically become an emissary, huh? What is there, some kinda lottery? An internship program? Application process?”

Kravitz stiffens. Taako can tell when he’s touched a nerve, and not the good kind, either. “Ah… no. I was a special case. Still am, I guess.”

“Seems kinda fucked up that someone would just decide that for you.”

He shrugs a little helplessly. “It might be, but I’m grateful. I get to spend eternity doing work that matters. Barring having to go after the occasional idiots who decide to mess around with a ouija board.”

His tone is so pointed that Taako can’t help but snicker, although he chokes back his amusement before it morphs into full-on laughter. “Yeah, okay, you got me there. That one’s on Taako, ’kay? Totally wasn’t tryin’ to break up your… whatever it is you even do in the astral plane. They got wine and cheese over there? You strike me as a wine and cheese sesh kinda guy.”

A wry smile breaks across Kravitz’s face. “I prefer brandy, actually.”

“Brandy! You’re chock-full of surprises, huh? See, I’m a cocktail man myself, but I’m also—I’m open to experimentation, if you catch my drift.” He grins, and the way Kravitz’s eye twitches suggests that he does, indeed, catch Taako’s drift.

“Anyway,” he says, looking very much like he’s trying to keep another smile at bay, “we’ve gotten off track. I have some questions for you, too.”

“Who, moi?”

“Yes, toi,” says Kravitz drily. “I don’t care what you told me, ghost summoning isn’t just a fun Saturday night time-waster. There’s got to be a bigger reason you went to the trouble of digging up a ouija board from gods know where.”

Taako bats his eyelashes. “Can’t a guy summon Death without having any ulterior motives whatsoever?”

With what is apparently a fair bit of effort, Kravitz fixes him with a deadpan—ha—stare. “Honest answer? No. Never. And I already told you, I’m not Death.”

“Yeah, but it rolls so well off the tongue.” He leans back on the heels of his hands, returning the stare in full. “So you seriously wouldn’t believe me if I told you that it was all for shits ’n giggles? Like, it’s gotta be for some nefarious—I mean, c’mon. My dude. Do I look like a necromancer to you?”

Kravitz opens his mouth, evidently with the intent to respond, and stops short as his eyes snag on the folds of Taako’s off-the-shoulder blouse. Entirely impractical for the weather, of course, but all of a sudden Taako is extremely glad he’d worn it. He pulls his shoulder inward and lets one sleeve slip just so, and it must have the desired effect, because Kravitz suddenly purses his lips like they’ve gotten very, very dry. “Well?”

“You—no,” he says, and gives himself a tiny shake. The feathers covering his mantle perk up and cockle as he does so, and weird factor aside, it’s actually one of the most endearing things Taako has ever seen. “No, I’ll admit you don’t. But appearances can be deceiving.”

Taako thinks of his sister’s absolute maniac of a boyfriend, and says, “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

That earns him a suspicious glare from Kravitz, and he sighs. “Y’know, I’d give you my word, but we both—we know that means jack shit. So I guess you just gotta be willing to trust ch’boy on this one.”

The speed with which Kravitz’s expression drops is almost hilarious. “I really do, don’t I?”

“If it makes you feel any better, handsome, I give you full disclosure to keep an eye on me.”

Kravitz starts to reply, trips over the beginning of whatever he’s trying to say, and releases a long sigh instead. “You think you’re very charismatic, don’t you?”

“Just above average,” says Taako. “Wink.”

He chuckles in the way people chuckle at gods-awful jokes, which is to say, more than a little guiltily. Manifestations of Death have no business being this inadvertently charming. “I believe it’s your turn for a question.”

Taako scoffs. “When did we start taking turns? Last I checked, th—that isn’t the way an interrogation works.”

Kravitz regards him with lingering amusement in his eyes. There’s a warm but unmistakably sharp glint to them, and he’s reminded of Lup, ready and raring to burn spell slots just to prove somebody wrong. “If anyone should be doing the interrogating here, it’s me. You’re the one with the contraband.”

The universe can’t possibly pin this one on him. Everything about their situation—the setup, the exchange, Kravitz—it’s too good to be true. It’s precisely why Taako can’t bite back a smirk as he says, “Oh, so you prefer to take control, huh?”

“No,” says Kravitz, a little too quickly. To his credit, he doesn’t give much reaction other than that, although Taako notes that his dark complexion makes it near-impossible to discern a blush. Lucky bastard.

“Thought not,” he says. “I’m never wrong about that stuff. Okay, so… you—uh, you mentioned someone decided to make you an emissary. Who was the someone?”

Kravitz’s mantle fluffs around his neck. “Her Majesty the Raven Queen,” he recites. “She who presides over the passage of life and death and all governed by it. She’s my… well, employer, I guess, if you’re putting it in modern terms. And a goddess, of course, but you—I’m sure you already knew that.”

“She give you that?” Taako levels a finger at the mantle.

He glances back at it as if he’s just noticed it on his shoulders. “Oh. Yes, she did. It’s meant to be protective, but it’s also a… a mood detector, of sorts? Evidently it can react to what I’m thinking, but obviously I wouldn’t know… ah, sorry if it’s been distracting you.”

Taako wants to say You’re plenty distracting on your own, but he’s not that far gone. Not yet, anyway. Instead he says, “It’s cute, bird boy. Chill. Your turn.”

He sits back, because he doesn’t want to let on exactly how compromised he’s been by Kravitz and his ridiculous feathered cape. There are a thousand more jokes to be made in that vein—something about quoth the raven, among other possibilities—but all he’d been able to manage is It’s cute, bird boy, and the strangest thing is that he means it. This isn’t an off-the-cuff affection like the ones he’s so quick to dole out. No, Taako thinks, with a growing horror in the pit of his stomach, Kravitz is cute. He’s also snarky and dorky and very, very attracted to Taako, if he hasn’t been hallucinating all the cursory glances and small intakes of breath.

And the worst part is that if the flush of heat across Taako’s neck is any indication, he’s very, very attracted to Kravitz, too.

He can just imagine the look on Lup’s face when he tells her. So, he’ll say. Last night the boner squad and I summoned Death, and then I summoned him again to try and seduce him just for the hell of it, and, well, fuck, he’s actually amazing and now I wanna do it for real. How was your night? Knowing her, she’ll probably top his story with some outrageous tale of attempted resurrection and a car chase or two (with a ridiculously sappy rant about how much she loves her boyfriend thrown in for good measure), but not before she loses her entire shit at his expense. Taako’s blush flares hotter at the very thought.

Go big or go home, as the saying goes. He’s already home, which means there’s only one thing left to do.

“Okay,” says Kravitz, startling Taako out of his reverie. “Are you going to give me that ouija board?”

By the grace of whatever god is feeling particularly benevolent towards him tonight, Taako is able to make a seamless recovery. He pushes himself to his feet and puts a hand on his hip, looking imperiously down at Kravitz on the ottoman. “Depends,” he lilts. “You willing to work for it?”

To his surprise, Kravitz follows suit, standing up and immediately regaining the height advantage. Taako is halfway tempted to climb up onto the coffee table again, but there’s barely enough room for him to turn around—in fact, the cramped space between the table’s edge and the ottoman has them sandwiched right up against each other. Sure enough, a chill radiates through the fabric of Kravitz’s shirt. The resulting shudder that grips Taako’s body isn’t entirely unpleasant.

As a matter of fact, he realizes, it’s not unpleasant at all.

He really wishes he’d paid more attention to the necrophilia debate.

“Make me work for it,” Kravitz hums, and his voice and their godsforsaken closeness sets Taako shivering all over again. “And how would you do that, exactly?”

Taako forces himself to muster every iota of his usual bravado. It’s not much at the moment, but right now he needs every bit he can get. “I dunno if—if you’ve noticed, my man,” he says, and pointedly ignores the break in his voice, “but I’m a pretty smart cookie.”

“Mm. I, uh… I don’t doubt it.” He’s looking about as distracted as Taako feels, all attempts at intimidation forgotten, as some innate gravity coaxes them closer. Taako’s hands meet with Kravitz’s chest, sliding over the fine material and numbing quickly against the cold. He can’t possibly care less.

They’re inches away, and Taako just knows that any minute now, Lup and Barry are going to come stumbling out of the entryway and tell him to keep a lookout for the police. Or it’ll be Magnus and Merle, a little sloshed or a little high or both, begging him to reconsider his incredibly stupid plan. It really is stupid, Taako thinks. The plan, that is. But the plan also has him pressed up against an unfairly gorgeous man who seems just a tad punch-drunk on the moment, and he would be lying to himself if he said he doesn’t feel the same.

Taako is waiting for fate to kick down the door and flip him off when their lips meet. He’s not sure who initiates it and he honestly doesn’t care. All he has the capacity to care about is how incredible the icy thrill of Kravitz’s lips feel against his own, and the way they rock forward into each other in perfect synchronicity. He bares his teeth and tugs lightly because he’s earned it, and everything in him soars and burns with the gasp he gets from Kravitz in return. The moment is dizzying and so absolutely beyond anything he could have asked from a Saturday night—or a Sunday morning, he realizes, because midnight is a distant memory.

Everything seems a little distant, actually, when they part. Kravitz is staring at him, half-lidded and disbelieving, and Taako is sure he’s staring right back. He’s too lightheaded to do anything else.

Eventually he says, “Well, that’s, uh… that’s how we do.”

“I—you’re unbelievable,” says Kravitz, and he clearly doesn’t mean it to come out as breathy and dumbstruck as it does.

“Damn right,” Taako shoots back, and sidles out from between an Emissary of Death and the coffee table. “But I dunno if that was worth one whole ouija board.”

Kravitz’s eyes flare, bright and unnatural under the dim lighting. “You can’t be—oh, for Her sake.”

He cuts himself off and holds out a hand, and from his peripheral Taako catches the ouija board and its planchette disappearing in a plume of black smoke. They appear seconds later in Kravitz’s hand, and he folds them up and tucks them away with a huff.

Taako’s mouth falls open. “You could just—are you telling me—you could just teleport that shit the whole time and you didn’t—you didn’t just do it?”

“I don’t like to just magic my problems away,” says Kravitz, sounding wholeheartedly offended. “I wasn’t about to just—stop smirking, Taako, please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Taako says, even though he’s never been less sorry in his life. He watches as Kravitz materializes his scythe, mantle tousled hotly around his neck, and only speaks up again as it starts to cut through the air. “H—Hey, hey, one more question?”

“Mm?”

“Just wondering,” Taako chirps, and winds his braid around a finger. “If I were, to, y’know, want to get ahold of some more astral plane contraband—”

“Do you want my frequency?” Kravitz interrupts.

Is he really that transparent? Taako gives a noncommittal shrug, like they haven’t just done something completely worthy of trading frequencies. “Sure, sure. If you’re down.”

Kravitz gives him an awkward smile and ambles over to attune his Stone to Taako’s. Their hands brush, because of course they do, and electricity shoots up Taako’s arm, making his skin tingle. He sucks in a breath and does his best to stay unperturbed. This is not the time to lose his cool. Not now.

No, he’ll save that for his sister’s return, when he tells Lup about how he not only flirted with Death and lived to tell the tale, but got away with Death’s digits and a Sunday morning to remember.

#the ouija board sequel is reborn! or reposted rather #sorry for the technical difficulties darlings #the adventure zone #taz balance #taakitz #fic #mine

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