#CLICK. on it for the quality to go up PLEASE. it looks so bad otherwise 😭😭😭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

princemick · 2 years ago

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hi kyle, please explain your process of making graphics! <3

hi anon! I definetely will, I'll walk you though how I get to a graphic like this:

(warning, half of my process is just 'throw it at the wall, see what happens' so like, idk how easily explainable it is.)

first off, I get all my inspiration from pintrest, instagram graphics artist and random stuff I find. inspiration is everywhere and I always keep a notebook with me where I draw/write what I come up with.

all my photo's are from pinterest and google, I dont sell these, if you're going to please make sure the photo's you're using are free use.

all my fonts come from dafont.

the program I use is photoshop.

now, I'm going to break up my editing process into 7 parts.

inspo

images

editing

colouring

font

colour blocking

textures

hopefully it's clear enough

gather inspiration.

so I really like this and this edit I made before and they're pretty easy so I wanted to make a new one.

but normally if I wanna make an edit I scroll through my poster/edit inspo pintrest board which you can find here.

normally if I dont have such a clear way I want to go I'd make some sketches to see what works and how to get the idea out of my brain.

2. gather images.

I wanted to make a Danny one so its not to hard to find stuff as I have a specific search for this edit but I also have a growing archive of folders of drivers full of pictures ive found over time that I'd normally go through to find good stuff.

when you use google please remember to click on 'tools' and select 'size' and big otherwise you'll cry because of the bad quality

this is the picture I wanted to use for the danny edit.

I thought this would work well because it has depth and so will show the colour blocking well, it also has the flag and the shoe which is clearly recognizable.

3. trow it into photoshop baybee.

this is going to be hard to explain but I basically jsut fuck around. most of the time I kind of know what I want to do and the way I want to go but one of the first steps is always to raserize the layer.

I also make sure to copy the original picture for later so you have the same picture twice

I do this so i can be lazy and go to quick actions and remove the background because then, I get this.

without basically any work. (it's almost never perfect so after I let photoshop do it's work I fix up the parts that need it.)

this is what your layers should look like fter.

that lil black and white thingy is really useful and if you select that and go over it w the erase tool it doesnt permenantly change anything.

next thing I do is smart sharpen to spice it up, here is the sharpening settings I use.

a small problem with this picture is that it's to small for an A4 size (which is what I'm making it on) so I need to extend the background a little. which I do in the laziest way.

I select the most of the top of the picture I can and copy paste + extend it out. like this:

then, for this edit, I'm gonna add a black and white filter to the background so everything behind daniel is in black and white with an adjustment layer. I do this to keep the focus on our subject and remove any and all focus from the bg.

I also add a guassian blur to the bg to once again, keep the focus on daniel.

this is the before and after of that.

now, kinda boring right? yeaaah so now onto

4. colouring

first off CLIPPING MASK IS YOUR BESTIE!!!. if you right click on the adjustment layer and click on clipping mask it will ONLY grab the picture right below it, this way it wont affect everything else you've added to your edit.

anwyay. this is the fun part, and the only way I can explain it, is fuck around, see what you wanna do and what works.

I always add, levels, curves etc to just deepen the blacks and add some contrast. heres the before and after of that.

for this edit I kind of wanna focus on the contrast of blue and orange, kinda like the seb one but a lil different so what I'm gonna do is add hue/saturation and remove the yellow and blue from the picture.

you use this adjustment layer by grabbing the little hand and selecting the colour you want to change.

so I'm gonna play around and remove the blue and yellow from this picture. here's the before and after of that.

now I'm going to add selective colour, i wanna up to an extreme the reds in the suit. this is kinda hard as you'll obviously grab his skin with that too so I'm gonna use that black little mask on this too, it already exists when you add an adjustment layer

it's that little white box, if you select that and ue the erase tool you can basically remove that adjustment layer in places you want to, this is what it looks like on my layers and on the picture.

I want to upp the red even more then this so I'm gonna copy paste that layer two more times and THEN add a non erased selective colour and play around with the depth of the skintone until I'm happy with it.

now I'm almost happy with the colour, I want it to be a bit more blue so I'm gonna go to 'colour balance' and play around with that a little more.

this is the before and after of all that

then I'm done with the colouring on the picture itself. I'm also gonna put all my adjustment layers into a folder to make my layers less busy

I'm also going to add noise to both the BG and front picture. it just gives a bit more texture and grain that I like

5. typography!

now the stressful part lol.

I know what I'm gonna add so that makes it easy. the name of the race, place and year. this is hard to explain, I know where I'm gonna put everything because off the other edits so it's just about finding a good font.

for this I'm not gonna fuck around with shapes and text layers and adjustments etc. if you want me to explain that please ask away that's just a whole other 5k worded essay.

I know what kinda font I wanna use at first already these choices have to do with a few things which is basically one questions I ask myself:

is there a vibe that already exists around the race and/or win and how do I translate that into the font? (is it fancy, cool, magical, incredible, bold etc etc)

here's an example of how a font can change the vibe

so the vibe I want to go with for this edit is fancy smansy n stuff so I'm thinking of flowly maybe 1930s vibes this is the font I ended up with

I'm still gonna move the place around but the idea if there.

(I change and play around with my text a lot so, again, ask if you want me to go deeper into this)

6. colour blocking

now for this edit I'm going to add a box of colour, I do this if I want to add a bit of an oomph and contrast to it, I like what I have now but I want to add some contrast to make the colour and him pop even more.

this is petty easy I'm basically just going to add a colour box behind him, I'm gonna do blue as well, thats the opposite of red on the colour wheel AND its the other colour red bull is associated with, also colour theory and all that etc.

I'm also going to add gaussian blur and noise to add some texture and use and overlay. heres the diff in with and without that to show the use of it.

at this point I'm also going to move the text around (as you can see) to make it fit better with the added box

7. texture

the moment where it starts feeling like its finished.

for this edit I kinda want to add some photo texture and more grain. here are the textures I used:

I added these and put it on a screen overlay layer and added some adjustement layers to tweek the last few things.

you can find different textures on google, pinstrest and some awesome artists have texture packs you can pay for w just a few bucks. for these, again, if you're going to sell your work MAKE SURE ITS FREE FOR USE!!!

THATS it!

I add my watermark and maybe fix a few little things but thats all and then I'm done, I reccommend playing around and seeing what works for you.

enjoy and have fun <33

#I dont know how clear this is BUT this is how I work so askjdbajksda #kyle.answers #design.stuff

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flygonscales · 1 year ago

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I’ve made myself sad by thinking about Pokémon Mystery Dungeon but also game conservation in general. As I said in my last post, my second hand 3ds broke. To be honest I’m not to broken up about that. It’s a decade old piece of tech. What I am broken up about are the games that are now inaccessible in their original format. I can’t play Monster Hunter 4 Ultimate anymore. I feel so lucky that GU is on the switch for old world goodness but, like, I can’t walk around the everwood. Or listen to the different guild hall tracks. Or climb up Heaven’s Mount. My ace Palico is gone. And I can’t even restart again.

Similarly, I’ve lost my Pokémon mystery dungeon explorers of Darkness save. My partner Gara the torchic. I don’t think I realised how much that game meant until now that it’s gone. Or Grovyle? Or Marill and Azurill? Even Bidoof. I know the story was leading to a dramatic separation, I’ve listened to ‘Don’t Ever Forget’ many times. But not like this? I wasn’t done. And like before, I can’t even start it again without buying another 3DS destined to fail.

It feels so bad that these games are being lost due to only being on the 3DS. What makes it sting more is that GU got on the Switch and not 4U as well (I’m no game developer but porting a fourth gen monster hunter from 3DS to Switch can’t be that difficult, seeing as they did GU), and Pokemon Mystery Dungeon could be ported too. I even have online already. I’d pay more for online if it meant Pmd explorers. I’ve looked into playing other older games on the switch, it seems to have a good e-shop for those sorts of titles - resident evil 1 remake, devil may cry, rune factory 4 special. The framework is there. But for each game ported up to better, newer hardware, there’s many that aren’t.

If I can go back into the PS2 library for games that I’ve played on our one (that was also a wedding present for my parents, they’re cool like that) I would like to mention SSX Tricky. I’m not usually a sports game or dance music fan but I absolutely love Tricky. It’s easy to get the controls, hard to master, that commentator is great, great characters, the tracks are so fun and all very different and it has such cool crazy energy. This game deserves to be preserved! But it’ll be gone soon, locked onto old discs for broken consoles.

This also feeds into my feelings towards Silent Hill. Never played any of the games, listened to the SH2 soundtrack and watched enough video essays on the topic to obsess over the games though. If Konami can put the Metal Gear Solid games on switch, they can do Silent Hill. I don’t want a high fidelity remake, I want to play the original, not only because i find the lower quality graphics scarier in a ‘mind filling in the blanks, nothing is scarier�� kind of way. And I don’t have £60 for an old game on an obsolete console.

I just get such strong feelings of sadness and anger when these amazing games, not even obscure games, are stuck on old hardware. And for most of them, I don’t even want a remake. I want to come home and see all my friends and listen to the music in these virtual places! Please, I want ports of these games so I can play them with as close an experience to the original!

(I realise piracy exists and yes that is a valid method and games can be preserved that way too. While not all bad, I place a bit of value on playing the game the way it was intended on the console. I’ve played quite a few gen 3 Pokémon ROMs. They were how I got started with mainline Pokémon. I’m never going to forget the first time I played emerald. But I never got the music working. And I played using WASD keys. And the screen was a lot bigger than a Gameboy. And then I got a DS and played Pokémon sun, and everything really clicked. Games are at their best on the hardware they’re designed for, but some or most of that can be captured by porting them up. eg. MHGU. I’d much rather show my support for these ported or remade games that may not exist otherwise by buying a new port than pirate them.)

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berlinbisque · 2 years ago

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Hand looks bigger there, I have not added any filter so you can see the actual colour of the phone, Gold definitely goes with all kinds of transparent collage covers but Silver has an altogether different cult following, there are bloggers who have come up with a new aesthetic it’s Black & Chrome so they obviously take shots of their shiny steel Delonghi machines and chrome edges in completely dark high contrast vignette videos to maintain that black in it, what was once basic has now become a glamorous shade of white.

As for me like I’ve already shared in my blog article, that I liked Black out of all the deeper shades and otherwise Gold cuz it’s still like a Latte but a light & at times “sparkly” latte colour, I’m more into Vanillas and warmer tones like Beiges and Creams as an aesthete even though I don’t have an aesthtic blog yet, I do have a website and blog (www.lilacnights.com/blog) so I would call it a gallery here on Instagram, I don’t have something like that for now. But I’m into those shades so I like Gold. The power button had gone completely inside and it wasn’t coming out I was so scared I panicked… then I removed it from the cover and I tried to see what was wrong then it was working fine like I said two covers were not cutout properly and they were totally bad cuz they were not from my regular site I’ve shared about that on my blog, so I had to use the liquid silicone case’s dupe which was very slippery (hence I was careful with phone) BUT I hated it from day one cuz the images were misleading and this cover had no finishing at all, I realised the buttons were not made in any proper manner and they were boasting about them in the description box, the button is anyway not as tight as my mini and it had become very lose and it had gone inside when I used it with the cover on although the cover was properly fitted and this happened today after 24 hours. I tried launching Siri with another cover and it had no problem the button didn’t go inside this time. Please stay away from Aprozone or liquid silicone covers even if they don’t have any branding or apple’s logo they are still dupes they might look minimalistic and posh but those covers are problematic. I placed an order yesterday for 2 more covers on an urgent basis as I’m always very careful with my stuff, they arrived early today by noon. I got them for around 1450/- approx 700 each, there was a time when I would pay 999 for the classic transparent cover which would come with nothing but a foam stuffing inside, no box luckily this time I paid slightly less but I got a box packed cover fresh piece, it’s a US/UK brand it comes in a matte box and a proper cover for the case, it was actually for 1899/- MRP but I got it for 700 or so. Its important to have one of these it’s a basic transparent silicone case which is completely flexible (not hard base at the back) but this one’s more thicker and resilient that the 999 ones that I’ve used before they were very soft and light, so I’m glad I got a good quality cover this time. It also has lens protection. Next my Starbucks cover hasn’t been dispatched idk if they’d be shipping it at all, it was again from a private website and it’s anyway for 360 bucks so let’s see, I ordered this Starbucks cover as an alternative and it has a barista bear sticker too, I didn’t want that Casetify borders (I’m assuming it’s a dupe) but the black goes with certain stickers which are printed, print quality is okay… cover is good and I love it, I like it more than the actually casetify cuz they don’t have this print and they are stiffer or more bulkier. I immediately changed the case after that button issue and used the Starbucks one, I haven’t tried the other plain cover but I’ve kept it as an extra in spare.

Click on the image for better quality

I’ve had Crocin (paracetamol) for my headache and fever which is due to the right wisdom tooth hopefully and I’m guessing the mental confusion and numbness is because of my flare up and sinus (it’s making me loopy) I’m scared though. Anyway I had to buy a power adapter cuz even after the huge price tag it’s never included and the one which I had been using for years was the old iPhone 7 USB adapter, I realised my new iPhone would require a bigger watts adapter so I had to order it on CC 💳 due to current financial problems but I’ll disperse the amount within the next cycle (had to mention that cuz some people are showing jealousy and it’s just shocking because they believe we are super rich, I have already shared how I even took this phone and it’s my first PRO that too as an adult I’m not a teenager but people compare like anything! I can’t take names it’s someone close, I’m bed ridden I can’t earn for now I feel horrible and my father is the sole bread winner in the family but some people keep asking his profession and taunting us they keep saying with anger that this is how you’ve got so much money 💵 right? He’s a civil engineer 👷 and he’s into construction biz he doesn’t give us anything happily and he would earn only 20k when we were toddlers, today’s teenagers have not seen actual poverty like us, he kept getting promoted that’s all and now he’s freelancing so it’s been very difficult since 2017 but considering how envious people are it’s as if I can’t share any happiness at all, I have covered everything in my iPhone post it says why I got this phone and also how) this adapter is meant for a USB C charger and after taking the Apple one, I had to spend less on the other charger so I got something from a 3rd party brand it’s US based but they’ve started manufacturing in India someone had an issue with their USB C port and they got it exchanged and it’s working now, luckily I found one for 299+45 shipping & disc. with dual USB ports, it has an LED indicator, it’s for my wireless charger (couch one) and my other vanilla coloured silicone night lamp which I had shared in my post and the rest of my fav stuff such as the mini portable speaker, all of them require at least a 5 W adapter and I decided to upgrade from my spoilt iPhone 7 USB adapter (which has even twisted now lol by pushing in different plugs several times) to this dual one which offers 12 watts if used together, for iPhones I have taken Apple’s original adapter like I said.

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whats-k-popping · 3 years ago

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"My stomach hurts so bad! Please make it stop" for Jungkook

Thanks so much for the request! I combined this prompt with another prompt in my inbox. Thank you so much for your patience. I made sure to give this a good deal of attention. I was just going to write an intoxication fic, but things just unraveled this way. Hope you enjoy it! <3

Pairing: OT7 - platonic intentions but read as you want.

Prompts: "My stomach hurts so bad! Please make it stop." || "He won't uncurl enough for me to look at him. I think he's in too much pain."

Words: 3332

Warnings: Emeto || Graphic Descriptions of Vom!t || Excessive Alcohol Consumption || Stomach Ulcer || ER Visit || Hospital Admission || Drunkenness || Mentions of stress and guilt || Hiccups

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Jungkook’s favorite part of filming In the Soop with the members is the after hours activities. When the cameras are off, the members get together to have some additional fun. Now they're seated around the table playing various drinking games. Drinking games are the only types of games where Jungkook likes to lose. He gets to consume more alcohol that way. So he's throwing game after game, chugging every cocktail that Yoongi mixes for him and knocking back every shot with practiced ease. He’s getting rather drunk rather quickly, but continues the festivities in the interest of quality time with his hyungs.

Everyone is getting pleasantly buzzed, but Jungkook is already entirely too drunk. Seokjin decides to cut him off; the rest of the members nod in agreement. Yoongi gets up to fetch water and carbs for Jungkook to help flush the alcohol out of his system. He shouldn't be too obviously hungover for the next day of taping. Jungkook doesn't argue. He sips the water and eats the leftover ramyeon from dinner but he also steals sips from the member's drinks when they aren't looking. Jimin is pouring six shots when they start to notice Jungkook's not really there with them. He's still sitting at the table, but he's not with them mentally. He's so zoned out. It's not uncommon for Jungkook to zone out, especially after drinking, so they leave him be and carry on with their games.

As the games progress, Jungkook finds himself plagued with a nasty case of drunk hiccups. After several minutes, the sharp, pitchy sound every few seconds is starting to get on Taehyung's nerves. Taehyung tries to get Jungkook's attention, but he doesn't respond to his own name. He’s still far too zoned out. Taehyung pushes Jungkook's shoulder and the maknae nearly falls out of his chair. Namjoon on his other side has to quickly slide in and steady him. All the external stimuli finally shocks Jungkook enough to acknowledge the rest of the members. He recognizes that Taehyung is glaring at him.

"Tae T-Tae" He jolts sharply with another loud hiccup, "Wha-what's wrong? Are you ma-mad at me?" He sounds like he's on the verge of tears.

"I'm not mad. Your hiccups are getting annoying. Can't you get rid of them." He crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. Usually he finds it cute and funny when the members get hiccups, but his own drinks are starting to affect him. And drinking too much makes him irritable.

Jungkook looks back at Taehyung like his heart has fallen to his feet. He quickly nods and chugs the remainder of the water Yoongi brought him. But then Hoseok scolds him. "Don't drink too fast, Kook-ah. You might upset your stomach."

Jungkook shatters. Now two of his hyungs are mad at him. And it didn’t even work. He’s still shaking with hiccups, possibly more frequently now, and the water mixes poorly with all the alcohol in his stomach. Each hiccup is now accompanied by a sloshing sound. Hoseok was right, his stomach started to hurt.

Taehyung clicks his tongue when Jungkook hiccups again. The sound fills the otherwise silent room. Jungkook can sense Taehyung's annoyance. So he quickly fills his lungs with air and tries again to rid himself of the hiccups.

Jungkook's still hiccuping into his mouth. At least it’s quieter. He believes Taehyung won’t be mad at him any more. But holding his breath is making him lightheaded. He usually has a good lung capacity, a benefit of being a career performer. But he's only been holding his breath for 12 seconds before he wobbles in his chair and his irises start to roll toward the back of his head.

Namjoon shakes the maknae's shoulder, snapping him back to reality. "Jungkook, hey. Breathe. Don't pass out on us."

Jungkook lets out the breath he was holding. The exhale is followed by another hiccup that proves his efforts were for nothing. He whimpers, now three hyungs are mad at him. And he's suddenly dizzy, and his stomach is swirling. He's not having a fun time. What even happened to the fun drinking game they were playing? Did he ruin that for everyone? He hiccups again.

"You really overdid it tonight, Kook. I'm going to bed." Taehyung excuses himself from the table. He can't stand to be in the same room as Jungkook any longer.

Jungkook also stands from the table to chase after Taehyung. "TaeTae-hy-hyungie. I'm sorry. Please don-don't go!" But when he's on his feet, he stumbles over his steps and ends up on the floor, falling belly first against the hardwood flooring. The maknae doesn’t get up right away, which frightens the hyungs. Everyone, Jungkook excluded, sobers up immediately.

It’s silent, spare Jungkook’s persistent hiccups. Yoongi fears Jungkook’s passed out, “Did he hit his head when he fell?”

“He hit his everything, hyung. He fell pretty hard.” Jimin answers, sitting closest to the scene. He jumps from his seat and goes beside Jungkook on the floor. He’s hesitant at first to touch him. “Should we call an ambulance?” He asks, directing the questions at those older and more responsible than himself.

Seokjin bites his lower lip. “It’s five minutes right?” He looks around the room for confirmation, “If he’s passed out for over five minutes, we call an ambulance.” There’s a hesitance in everyone’s eyes but a few nods so they decide that’s the plan. “How long has it been already?”

“Like, maybe one minute?” Taehyung responds. He’s positioned himself on the opposite side of Jungkook. Any resentment he harbored previously vanished. He's only feeling fear and guilt now.

At the two and a half minute mark, Jungkook stirs. But before any of the hyungs can celebrate, the room fills with a shriek of pain that comes from none other than the maknae. Jungkook curls in on himself, wrapping his arms protectively around his stomach and rolling around on the floor. The hyung line rushes to the scene at the sound of the screaming.

“Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon speaks, “Can you hear me.” He uses his hand to try and direct Jungkook’s attention toward him. When Jungkook looks, he continues, “What hurts?”

Jungkook struggles to speak through the pain, but he hears his hyung talking to him. He vaguely registers the look of concern on Namjoon’s face. “My stomach.” He winces, “Hurts so bad!” Another shriek of pain. “Please.” A sobbed hiccup. “Make it stop!” He’s rolling like a turtle stuck on its back, knees pulled up to his chin.

“Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?” Yoongi asks, knowing the youngest had too much to drink.

"Burns," Jungkook cries, "Feels like burning!" Before anyone can answer, Jungkook lets out a burp that comes from deep within his belly. It sounds like a precursor to a mess.

Taehyung reacts quickly, pushing the maknae onto his side. He props Jungkook's large body against his knees and holds him in place. There's no further warning. Vomit pours from Jungkook's mouth into a growing puddle on the floor. There's no force behind it. No retching or gagging. That just goes to show how desperate Jungkook's stomach is to rid itself of the contents. Jungkook doesn't have to try at all. His stomachs doing it all on its own. He just has to focus on not choking.

Every sickly drunk burp brings up more of his sour stomach contents. It's mostly liquid, presumed to be the dozen or so drinks he consumed. But there's a few chunks of undigested ramyeon that add some texture to the pile. The sound of gurgling and rushing liquid fills the room. The air smells like a cheap bar, the combined stenches of vomit and alcohol fill the air. They know they will have to clean it up before the cameras turn on for the day.

Hoseok steps away, lingering in the doorway to the next room. He doesn't want to leave because Jungkook needs all of them. It's a cowardly thing to do, to just abandon the situation. But the sight and smell of vomit is making his own stomach turn. And he doesn't want to add to the mess.

A few minutes pass and nothing else spills from Jungkook's mouth. But he's still whimpering and curled into himself. He's desperately clutching his stomach despite it being empty. Taehyung shifts him away from the wide puddle of vomit, giving the rest of the members more space to huddle around him.

Seokjin jumps in first, falling to his knees beside the maknae. "Kook-ah, do you feel any better now?" Obviously not if the clinging and crying are anything to go by. But he asks anyway. Maybe the pain has relocated. Or maybe it's not alcohol induced at all. When Jungkook doesn't respond, Seokjin goes in with his hands. He wants to see Jungkook's torso. Maybe there's bruising from the fall, some indication of internal bleeding. Something that can serve to figure out why Jungkook's in so much pain. But Jungkook doesn't let Seokjin get a finger in.

It's like prying open a particularly stubborn clam shell. With equally minimal success. In the background the other members watch curiously, all waiting for the eldest hyung to make a decision. Finally, Namjoon asks, "Hyung, is Jungkook okay?"

Seokjin huffs, falling back in his heels. "He won't uncurl enough for me to look at him. I think he's in too much pain." He runs his fingers along Jungkook's jaw. It's clenched tight, trying to fight against the pain. "I think we need a manager. He needs to go to the hospital."

Hoseok's running out the door before anyone else can volunteer. He has been waiting for an excuse to leave the room. Now he gets to leave and be helpful to Jungkook. It's a win-win.

After Hoseok's already gone, Jungkook pleads. "No," he winces. "No hospital."

"You won't let me look at you," Seokjin barks back, "you're going to the hospital. That's final."

"Hyung, what about the taping?" Jimin asks. Not that he's against Jungkook seeking medical attention. But it's an important question.

"We pause for a few days. This doesn't even air for months. The directors can figure it out." Yoongi answers quickly. Seokjin looks about ready to blow from the stress.

Hoseok returns quickly with a pajama-clad manager in tow. The manager quickly assesses the situation and deems medical attention appropriate. Thank goodness, otherwise the poor manager would have received the unrestrained wrath of Kim Seokjin.

An ambulance is always on standby, never too far away from the boys for emergencies like this. Jungkook is rushed to the hospital, Seokjin rides along. The rest of the members pile into a van to meet them at the hospital. It's the middle of the night, they aren't worried about drawing attention to themselves. Hoseok had the least to drink, pacing himself well. He's not a big drinker, he tries not to overdo it. He knows how his own stomach gets with too much alcohol. So he drives.

At the hospital, Jungkook is immediately rolled into an examination room and Seokjin is left in waiting. When the rest of the members find a park, they join Seokjin in the waiting room. There's minimal conversation. Even Taehyung and Jimin, usual troublemakers, are eerily silent in their seats as they wait for any updates. Seokjin's replaying the night in his mind, trying to wrap his head around how a fun night could have gone so horribly horribly wrong.

Hoseok is comforting Seokjin, trying to help the older man relax and promising that everything will be okay. Yoongi and Namjoon are speaking with the managers about events leading up and how they can rearrange schedules if Jungkook has a serious condition. And Jimin is consoling Taehyung, who is shouldering all of the guilt around Jungkook's condition.

Taehyung blames himself. If he hadn't lost his temper and stormed away from the table, then Jungkook wouldn't have stood up. And if Jungkook didn't stand up, then he wouldn't have fallen. And if he wouldn't have fallen, then he wouldn't have been in so much pain. It's a cyclic anxiety pattern that's playing over and over in his head.

Despite the fact that Taehyung hasn't said a word out loud, Jimin knows exactly what's going on. He can read his expressions. They share a telepathic connection. He knows just how much Taehyung aches from the circumstances. He pulls Taehyung closer to himself and hugs his oldest dongsaeng. "It's gonna be okay, TaeTae." He whispers, trying not to draw the attention of the other members. This is a moment for only them.

"They were just stupid hiccups, Minnie. Why did I make such a big deal out of it?" Taehyung chokes on a sob and throws his head into Jimin's shoulder. "This is all my fault." His voice cracks when he speaks.

Jimin hushes him, pressing the younger's head further against his chest to muffle the cries. "Nothing is your fault, Tae. Jungkook just got sick. It happens sometimes." Jimin reassures, "Everything's going to be okay. I'm sure Jungkook isn't even a little bit mad at you."

Finally, the ER doctor who first wheeled Jungkook away approaches the group. Everyone's on their feet when he addresses them. Taehyung wipes at his watery eyes. The doctor scans the mass of people. "You're all here for Jeon Jungkook-ssi?" He asks for clarification.

Their manager explains the affiliation and the doctor nods in understanding. "Very well." He continues, "Jungkook-ssi is doing better now. We found an ulcer in his stomach that was nearing the point of rupture. Thankfully, he was brought in before it ruptured, so we were able to get the situation under control and ease the symptoms."

Namjoon scans the doctor's coat for any identification. "Hak." Namjoon wasn't nonchalant in his action, so the doctor answers the unspoken question.

“Hak-nim, what caused the ulcer.” Namjoon asks.

"It can be caused by a few different things. We did test for a bacterial infection, but that came back negative. So it could just be an imbalance of stomach acids. Some other factors could be spicy food, alcohol, stress. Anything that might cause Jungkook-ssi to have an upset stomach." He clicked his tongue before continuing, "We did notice during our assessment that his BAC was nearing poisonous levels. That could have been what triggered the ulcer to flare up and inflict so much pain."

The members nod their heads as the doctor speaks. Jungkook loves spicy foods, drinks regularly, and the life of an idol is always stressful. A few members start to wonder if they have an ulcer inside their stomachs waiting to burst. Taehyung lets out a relieved sigh. "What can we do about it?" Jimin asks.

"We have already gone over all the treatment with Jungkook himself. So he knows what to do with his medications. And we'll go over it again when he signs his discharge paperwork. But you all can help him by making sure he avoids spicy foods and alcohol for at least 6-8 weeks. And helping him manage any stress. Ideally, he should be stress-free, but I understand how unrealistic that is in your line of work." He then addresses the manager, "He will also need a follow up appointment with a gastroenterologist in 4-6 weeks to ensure that it's healing properly with the new medication. You should schedule that now since there may be a wait." The manager goes off and makes a series of phone calls.

"Anything else I can help you gentlemen with?" Dr. Hak asks the remaining members with a smile.

"Can we see him?" Taehyung's voice is quiet, still a bit hoarse from crying.

"Absolutely. I'll take you to his room." He turns and starts walking down the winding halls, "We admitted him just so we can make sure he reacts well to the medication. Also, we pumped his stomach to wipe his system of any remaining alcohol, so we hooked him up to an IV for hydration. Just so you aren't alarmed. He does have to be sobered up before he can be discharged."

They arrive in a single hospital room. Jungkook is laying in the bed looking a hell of a lot better than the last time they saw him. He's got a single needle poked into his elbow, connected to a bag of fluid. He's awake when they walk in.

"Hyungs," he greets them with a thankful smile. It drops instantly when he recalls earlier events. "I'm so sorry. I drank too much tonight."

"Well I hope you enjoyed it because you won't be drinking anything else for a long time," Seokjin scolds. It's light and friendly but he absolutely means it.

"Or eating that spicy ramyeon packet you love so much." Namjoon continues the sentiment.

"And those hot chips you’re always snacking on." Hoseok adds. Jungkook didn't think he was getting out of a lecture, but this just feels like a personal attack.

"I know, hyungs. I know." Jungkook acknowledges, "I don't want to ever be in that kind of pain again. Believe me. I'm gonna follow the rules and take better care of my stomach."

"The important thing is that you're feeling better, kid. You really had us all scared." Yoongi approaches the bed and ruffles Jungkook's hair.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, hyungs." Jungkook leans into Yoongi's touch. "Thank you for taking care of me. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"Of course," Jimin smiles with a soft laugh that eases all the tension in the room. "That's what brothers are for."

Taehyung throws himself around Jimin's shoulder, "And we're going to keep taking good care of you."

Their manager enters the room shortly after. In that short time, several bodies have joined Jungkook on the bed, cuddling and snuggling to squeeze onto the small surface. "Okay, here’s how we are going to move forward. We're going to pause filming for two days. When Jungkook-ssi gets discharged, you will all go back to the lot. The motion cameras will remain off and no camera crews on site for two days. We can pick up filming on Thursday and we'll extend filming until Monday. All of your future schedules will be adjusted to accommodate the additional shooting. And Jungkook-ssi's schedule will be lightened at least until after his follow up appointment." He explains tapping away on his phone.

Namjoon nods on behalf of the group. They don't want to talk about work right now. They just want to be thankful that it wasn't anymore serious and Jungkook's going to be okay. The manager gets the message and leaves them. He notes to check in on them later in the day.

Jungkook is discharged from the hospital a few hours later. They all make their way back to the estate, all piled up into one van. It's 8 AM when they make it back and they all shuffle off to bed. Taehyung follows Jungkook to bed, not yet ready to part from the maknae. He doesn’t think he’ll leave Jungkook alone anytime soon.

They all emerge late in the afternoon for dinner. Seokjin cooks for the group, something light and easy on all their stomachs. He's more attuned to the spices he's using. Namjoon makes sure that Jungkook takes his medicine. Everyone asks Jungkook a hundred times over if he's feeling okay. They all agree to abstain from alcohol for the remainder of the week in solidarity with Jungkook.

Jungkook's good about taking his medicine without the extra reminders from all of his hyungs. He understands the importance of taking them. But they come with an unfortunate side effect. The medicine is supposed to reduce the amount of acid in his stomach. Each time the tablet reaches his stomach, he gets hiccups. Taehyung is sure to giggle and laugh each time it happens, reminding Jungkook of how cute he is and sticking with him until the case passes.

It seems Jungkook doesn't even remember, but Taehyung will never forget.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: As always, thanks for reading to the end! Feedback is always appreciated. And please let me know if I missed any tags or TWs. Please call me out for any errors you notice!

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prose-for-hire · 4 years ago

Text

UC Sunnyhell: Part five

Hello Jealousy!

Previous part // Next Part

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: College AU. Part five of eight. Spike is the campus bad boy with a secret soft heart. Spike realises something as he faces more time without you.

Warning: I think only like a little sex reference on this one.

Original request by: @sunflower-stan

Other tags: @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @harpersmariano @artsymaddie @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard @cameo-greaves

You began to get comfortable around Spike. More so than you ever believed could be possible. He let you in more and it made you want to allow him to know you even more.

You were getting on well. It was strange and you hadn’t really been able to express it to your other group of friends but you really found yourself enjoying his company. He was sweet in a kind of gruff way. He never really showed much emotion on his face other than a scowl before now. But now you were getting to know him more, you could sense subtle changes in his demeanour.

Like how he was much more comfortable when he was at home. When he was in your company now he could almost… relax. You could both be yourselves in a way you never truly felt with anyone else.

Today you were trying something new together. You were sat in his room. A place you had never been invited before. He even opened the windows so you didn’t asphyxiate from the smoke fumes that appeared to cling to every piece of furniture.

You looked around it, smiling at the way it just screamed ‘Spike’. It was pretty dark, even with the curtains open.

You and Spike had been writing. Together. It was strange and very new but you found yourself enjoying it so much. To have a friend that understood. A friend that wanted to explore life through writing. Through words that can describe complex emotions that you would otherwise never be able to capture properly. To discuss it with him, even if you were doing most of the talking, it was so pleasant.

You would pause every so often and share little lines or swap and read through the other’s work and both be desperately nervous for the other’s approval. Neither of you need worry though, you were so entranced by the others mind. You hoped this would become a regular thing, it was special.

However there were other things clouding your mind. It was getting closer and closer to the presentation and you and Angel were out together more frequently. You were making sure to drop some good words in for Buffy here and there. You found yourself getting on quite well with him, you often found him reading while he was waiting for you. Sometimes you spoke about the book if the both of you had read it. He was a lot more sensitive than you had guessed upon first meeting.

It was actually really nice getting to know this popular frat guy, much more so than you had expected to be. You knew what Buffy saw in him. He wasn’t necessarily your type though. Although what your type was, you were still yet to realise. It still hadn’t quite clicked yet to you.

The presentation was on your mind a lot, you were still working on your confidence despite you now being a frequent performer at the open-mic nights. Luckily, you had your friends to distract you. You were sat with your group at lunch. You had all been laughing really loud. You had been laughing so hard your tummy began to ache. None of you could stop it, your humours matched. It was infectious. As soon as it began to die down, suddenly one of you caught it again and sent a wave around the rest of them.

Eventually the laughter died down as different people had different places they needed to go. The others had to go but you and Cordelia didn’t have any more classes for the rest of the day. She was going to cheer practice in an hour and you would go to the library or something when she did so you didn’t look like a complete loner (although nobody would have really been bothered if you had just been sitting alone).

Talk, as it so often did when it was you and Cordy, turned to mindless gossip. You enjoyed it usually she knew pretty much everything about everyone. But today, her sole focus was on Xander. She was complaining about how she couldn’t help that she got a lot of attention from people because she was so pretty. She like being pretty, she did it on purpose but Xander didn’t enjoy the way people would stare.

“So, why shouldn’t people appreciate me if they like the way I look?” She complained with a pout.

“I get that” You offered, nodding along. You were a good listener and Cordy liked this about you.

“Well, Xander doesn’t! Someone even looks at me and it’s like, hello jealousy, y’know?” You nodded along as you usually did, not realising how pertinent this phrase was about to be to your own life. You usually switched off from the conversation when Cordy spoke about Xander. They were so hot and cold no matter what advice you gave her she tended to do the opposite anyway. They weren’t particularly bad for each other they just got hung up on stupid stuff.

Thankfully, Cordy gave you a reprieve. She stopped the conversation, looking up with the meanest expression she could muster. You frowned, looking behind you. Revealing none other than Spike standing behind you.

He had come over to say hello to you. Bracing the cruel eyes of the canteen to get to you. You couldn’t help smiling, it brightened up his day to see you react that way at seeing him.

“Go away, you’re looking at me!” She scowled at him, trying to shoo him from your table as if he were a stray dog asking for scraps.

“Don’t worry, young dumb and full of-” Spike had started and you mimed at him pleadingly not to finish that sentence. To both yours and his surprise, he did. He cut himself off and changed tac, “-stupid thoughts… isn’t my type”

“Oh, God, why is he even speaking to me?! Shut up Spike your type is, like, anything that moves”

“Listen here you stupid bint-”

“No, you listen here you punk reject! Nobody wants you around here, look at yourself! You’re so gross”

You cringed at what they both said. Not knowing what to say yourself. You stayed silent and this was suddenly noticed by them. They looked at you for support and you groaned. This wasn’t working out. One wrong move and the other would try to cut you out of their lives. They both had reputations for being mean but they were both nicer to you than most. You wanted it to stay that way. You valued both of their friendships.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be. Please don’t rip each other to shreds” You offered, suggesting that you weren’t picking a side as you slid everything from the table and into your bag and hurried off.

After this, Spike had decided the fact that you didn’t side with Cordelia was a good sign. He so wanted to see the obvious good in you. Have you as a friend he could rely on. Share his time and his thoughts with you. His mind. Having you in his room, to himself, speaking those words he had started to want to hear more and more of.

You had been lying on your bed when he knocked on the door. It had been less forceful than his usual knock and it made you frown. Almost as if he was nervous to enter. You sat up, calling for him to come in if he wanted. He entered, with something in his hands. He stumbled over his words as soon as he stepped into your room.

“I, uh, found these… they’re really stupid. But I, uh, though you might like ‘em” He said, thrusting the plastic bag into your hands and looking away immediately. You peered into the bag, gasping in excitement.

Old movie scores. Musical numbers. Soundtracks.

Your eyes watered at the thought. To have a friend that thought about you. Wanted to make you smile.

“They were cheap” He shrugged, as if you had stopped this way because of the quality and not as how special this gesture was. How much it meant to you.

You threw yourself at him, getting overexcited in the moment and tried to hug him. He stiffened, his body completely rigid as you did. He didn’t know what to do with him self. In one sense, he was beside himself. Couldn’t shake the elation that you had wanted to hug him. On the other, he was embarrassed. Wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

He wanted to reciprocate the feeling, the warmth of the embrace, but he was still afraid that any show of vulnerability could open him to ridicule. Could make you jeer at him. His hands moved to hover over your body for a moment before they briefly contacted your skin.

You pulled away, his hands now lingering slightly now as you did. He almost felt as if he wanted to pull you back in for another hug. But… that would be absurd. Right?

“You wanna listen to them with me?!” You asked, an excited smile on your face. He couldn’t resist. He rolled his eyes but then nodded softly as you selected one to play.

Spike was sat in the shared living space. One that you both now truly shared. Spending your evenings laughing and making fun of something dumb on tv or just talking. He loved it when you leaned in to turn the set down so you and him could just talk. You had done this well into the night on several occasions.

He shouted for you from where he was sat on the sofa. He asked if you want to watch something on the box – that you can study or whatever later. He turned and saw that you were dressed up a little more than you usually would for lounging around the house. He subtly scanned his eyes along your form as he spoke.

“We goin’ to a party, love? Type with, say, free booze?” He tried his luck but you shook your head. He couldn’t help feel such acute disappointment that you had rejected it so quickly.

“No, just meeting a friend” you explain softly. You didn’t mention who it was, that you were going to have a drink with Angel and talk about your presentation. You knew how much Spike hated Angel. And you didn’t owe him an explanation about where you were going anyway. He never told you. So... why did you feel a little guilty to leave him this way?

You shrugged. Instead, you waved your goodbye with a little smile that he was beginning to find endearing.

He frowned at the idea of you leaving, something was bugging him and he couldn’t figure out what. He didn’t want you to go out and leave him lonely. He valued your friendship so much. He wanted you to come back and spend the evening with him. The way he usually pretty much always chose to stay in with you.

The feeling had been there for a while now, building up in his mind. He hadn’t even identified it until it had started to push itself to the forefront of his mind. He frowned but shrugged. Turning back to the tv for company.

It had been a few weeks since you went out for that evening and Spike had noticed you had been really busy lately. Instead of your time being his, spent in the house like you usually would, you had been out almost every day.

And, when you weren’t out, you were smiling at your phone. He caught you laughing out loud once. It made him tense his jaw. Mutter under his breath. You barely looked up to the tv anymore when you were sat together, let alone at him. Not that… he needed you to look at him, obviously. You hadn’t written together for over a week though either. You were busy messaging people he would insist he was too cool for.

It bugged him to no end though. That even in his company you would rather be talking to other people. He almost felt as if he wasn’t enough. As if you wanted to be away from him despite your insistence that he was someone you now considered a good friend.

On one rare occasion you deigned to stay in with him (an evening you had enjoyed more than any in that week because you could finally relax). It had gotten too much for him though. His annoyance that you had been using your phone so much rather than giving him attention he had started to crave. He ended up checking through your phone.

You had just left it lying there while you went into your bedroom to get something – what was he supposed to do?

He swiped it from the arm of the chair where it had been left. He opened it up and scrolled through your messages. Finding something that made his stomach drop. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

Angel. You were sat beside him but texting Angel. Sending him smiley faces and sweet replies. He tensed his jaw, a stone in the pit of his stomach. This feeling he couldn’t name weighing him down.

He had become suspicious. Of your intentions. There was a weird distance when you thought you had become friends. It made you a little upset. You didn’t know whether to broach it with him, you wanted to just enjoy your time with him.

Another evening and you were going out again. The library and then some dumb party after. Spike hadn’t caught where or he would have crashed. He knew how nervous you could get. Wanted to make sure you came back safe.

Came back to… him.

He frowned. That was a weird thought. Still, he shrugged it off and looked back towards you. He didn’t realise how much he had needed a friend. No, not just any friend. You. He couldn’t get over just how much he enjoyed having you around.

“Don’t go” He had whispered as you left, it was inaudible to you. He frowned at himself again. At the way he heard the pleading note in his voice. About how much that sentence really meant.

He refused to think about it. To delve deeper inside. To get why he had thought this. He just couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he lit up a cigarette and walked to the liquor store. He planned on taking the bottle to bed with him tonight rather than some cheap imitation of…

You frowned as you walked. Wishing you could spend time in and feel that bond you had started to become so sure of with Spike.

He drank to forget. His loneliness. The fact that he didn’t have you this evening. He found himself looking forward to every moment you would spend together. Just talking. Laughing.

Another afternoon rolled by where he had been staying in in the hopes of you being around the house too. The roles appeared to have switched since you began to get to know each other. Ever since he had found a real connection, a proper friendship, he had wanted to cling to it.

But you were now more popular than ever, having to split yourself between so many people. Because they all saw in you what he did, how kind you were. How nice it is to be in your company.

“Alright, pet?”

“Yeah, you know. Busy” You sighed. If you were honest, you would be pleased when the presentation was over. All this work you were doing, evenings and afternoons you were spending away from home. Not to say that you weren’t friends with Angel but being out so often when you were used to staying in was starting to exhaust you.

When he saw that you were going out again his face dropped. You were packing up your bag with all of the stationery you appeared to have a never-ending stock of. He was planning to ask if you were running a black-market, coloured-highlighter export on the side.

“Date?” He asked, the tone was light but his face was tense.

“Yeah like I would have time for that!” You smiled at him and he scoffed.

“Yeah, m’sure Angel would love seein’ your vast stationery collection”

“What? Is that a euphemism that my mind isn’t dirty enough to understand?” You aimed for a teasing joke but as soon as you said euphemism and assigned it to talking about Angel, he got even more tense. Launching into his petty review of Angel’s character.

“Yeah, well maybe he is popular and has somethin’ going for him but-but he has a massive forehead a-and stupid hair”

“Okay, childish. Do you want some crayons to keep yourself occupied while I’m out?”

“Don’t get smart, don’t suit you” He quipped which made you smile a little but his face was sullen. He wasn’t in a good mood with you again. And you didn’t properly understand why.

“Why don’t we write tomorrow?!” You said excitedly, “I have the entire afternoon free… maybe we can do what we did last time?” You smiled in his direction, your enthusiasm making the corners of his mouth tug into an almost-smile. But when he saw you begin to leave as you spoke, he said something else.

“Yeah if you got time in your oh so busy life”

“Offer’s there! I’ll see you later”

“Yeah, whatever” He said, slouching in his chair which made you sigh a little. You would be in a gloomy mood for the rest of the evening now that he was in a bad mood with you. You cared so much about what he thought and felt now, it was so strange.

He carried on this way for a while even though you mentioned several times you and Angel had been paired up together and were only ever working on the project. Hinting that you really wouldn’t be spending so much time out otherwise.

Angel was friendly and nice to you but the long silences were hard to navigate at times. There just wasn’t that effortlessness you had when you were with Spike. He had annoyed you a little because what with all of his commitments you had ended up doing more than your share of the workload because of his busy schedule.

Spike had began to withdraw himself from you a little. It made you sad, this man who you had been forming such a strong bond with. Exploring this supportive friendship you suddenly had. Was suddenly turning his back on you.

He wasn’t really sure why he was in such a bad mood with you. He knew you had a presentation. He had given you a bit of help when he saw how much of a workload you had on. He had also seen Angel’s name on the form next to yours so he knew the reason you were spending so much time with Angel.

However, what neither of you really understood at the time was that Spike’s insecurity was winning over. He was comparing himself to Angel because he had so much of your time. Made him feel less-than. It made him believe that you probably felt that way too.

He couldn’t help his insecurity. The way it festered in his chest. Why would you want to spend time with him when there was someone like that you got on with so well?

His snide comments and tense nature was worrying you still. He thought he had been slick but you had seen him put the phone back onto your chair as you returned to the room that evening. You weren’t so bothered, you weren’t hiding anything it just meant you put a lock on your phone when you realised.

He had asked about your day and you told him. You had mentioned Angel all of once and yet it was the only part of your day he was thinking about.

“Oh yeah, and did you and Angel have a bloody brilliant time? Did you have a right giggle and skip through the merry streets-”

“What is going on with you? Why are you being like this?” You finally confronted him, you just wanted your friend back.

“Not being anything. Just tellin’ you what’s what” He shrugged, avoiding your eye contact.

“You’ve been in a horrible mood ever since I started my project – I can’t help that I’ve got so much going on! I swear with Willow’s blood-drive and Xander’s basketball games as well as Buffy’s parties and all of my work I have no time to even think for myself!”

“Well, at least your priorities are set, right pet?” He said, this time the bite in his voice was evident. He hadn’t even made the list. He wasn’t even on your mind as someone you wanted to spend time with was all he had gotten from your sentence.

“What that I can’t be friends with you if I’m friendly with them? With Angel?” You said this pointedly, you could tell that was why he had been so weird now, “It doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Uh… about our friendship” You realised the way you had phrased it may have sounded a bit ambiguous and so you added the latter part. He just stared at you. Stopping dead.

But he hadn’t stopped because of the awkward way you covered your sentence. He stopped because those words made him want you to mean that. That you would want to be in a relationship with him.

It was like a switch turning on. Those words. He was finally understanding it.

“Yeah, well, whatever” he just shrugged, adjusting the leather duster back on his shoulders before storming away.

But the conversation you had was still swirling around his mind. He finally realises why he’s being like this.

It all made sense to him so suddenly. Hit him in the gut.

The way he had enjoyed the interactions with you, even if you had been arguing. How he had acted with you in mind, to get a reaction. Even if it was anger. The way he couldn’t take his eyes off you in the room. Positioned himself closer to you. Wanted to spend all of his time with you. Had begun waking up earlier to spend more time with you. The way your words, your writing appeared to fill up his soul. The dreams he had about you…

“Oh balls!” He muttered throwing himself down onto his bed, “I bloody love them!”

He was aching under this realisation. His heart near-beating for you. His mind always on you and what you were doing. The idea of you being with a man that wasn’t him made his skin crawl. Made his mind fog with red mist.

He wanted to hold you. To catch your lips with his. Show you exactly what you meant to him. Wanted to have you with him more, sharing your hearts and minds. God, he made himself dizzy just lying there in bed thinking about having you that way. In every way.

The day of your project suddenly came and he did say good luck for it beforehand despite all of his weird behaviour. He knew that it meant a lot to you. It went well and you and Angel were so relieved. Neither of you were the best at that sort of thing, but you were definitely getting better. Your project was finally over and you and angel remained fast friends. Also, he had a thing for Buffy too you had never been more sure of it.

Spike seemed to relax when your project was done and your friendship had continued. He hadn’t brought a one-night-stand home in almost a week and even before that there had only been one or two people you had seen recently.

You even asked if he needed medical attention for his wrist because you were sure it was being over-used. You were becoming much more comfortable talking to him about sex. You were becoming so comfortable with him in general.

He threw a cushion at you and muttered something under his breath but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t even try to make an excuse up he just turned back to the soap opera.

You glanced sideways at him, trying to figure him out. You caught glimpses but you wanted more. You wanted to ask and have him tell you about him. His past. His thoughts. But you knew better than to push him. It might make him completely close back up again.

He just gestured with his head towards the tv. To tell you to watch the soap again. You had been caught looking. You snapped your gaze away too quickly. Staring at the tv, feeling a heat rising in your cheeks. You felt something when you looked at him. You couldn’t even begin to understand.

He acted as if he was watching the tv but he wasn’t. He was sneaking glances at you when he thought you couldn’t see. Inching slightly closer in his chair so that he was nearer to you. Wishing he could reach between the space. Embrace you like you had that one time.

He was used to quick sex, one-night stands and getting them to leave straight after. But when it came to you… this was so new. This feeling – he was sure of it. He was intoxicated by you. You were in every thought. Every waking moment. And in his sleep too.

The dreams he would have. He wanted you. He really wanted you. Only you.

#UC Sunnyhell #Spike btvs #Spike x reader #Spike x you #Spike imagine #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #gn #gender neutral

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geordiewrites · 4 years ago

Note

Hey i just read exile inspired fic and it is soo good. I think you should write one based on the song tolerate it by ts? With harry plz. The drama, fight, tears.. I think you will reflect the emotion so well omg.

Tolerate It | Harry Potter

A/N: Hi lovely! First off, I adored this request so much and I really hope I’ve done it justice. Tolerate It is such a beautiful song and defo one of my favourites off of Evermore to cry to, there’s just so much detail hidden within the lyrics and I adore that. Harry too!! There’s not enough stuff for Harry, so I hope I’ve done well for you! ( Also this is super short, but I’ve been swamped with coursework xox )

Summary: Y/N is in love with The Boy Who Lived, and due to marry him in the Spring with a beautiful April wedding. Friends to lovers to that engaged couple who are just too in love to function, they share the most perfect story. But when Y/N begins to see their relationship for what it is, her entire world is thrown off key...

Warnings: angst and lots of it, loneliness, sadness, swearing.

“You’re coming home tonight, right?” Y/N asks, excitement and anticipation heavy in her tone, cherry red nails clicking against the cold metal of the answerphone.

“Of course, I’ll be back soon, love.” Harry Potter, her beloved fiancé, answered back on the other side from his workplace all the way in central London. His office is almost empty, devoid of any homely photos or colleagues: they had all gone home to their families long ago, and yet he stayed behind. He had no work to finish, no cases glaring to be solved. There was nothing to do but leave, but Harry didn’t.

“You’ve said that before.” Y/N pointed out blandly, her forced smile fading slightly. Many times had Harry said he was on his way home, only to send a letter the next morning apologising for suddenly getting swamped with unavoidable paperwork. “Please come home Harry, I’ve even made your favourite for dinner.”

“That sounds good, I promise I’ll be there soon. I’m just leaving the Ministry now.” Harry replied monotonously, not sounding nearly as happy as Y/N wished he would. Perhaps he had just had a bad day at the office, he must have done. But he had just one too many bad days now, and the reality that he might not want to see her was beginning to sink in.

Shaking off that horrible thought, Y/N inhaled a sharp breath and chewed the edge of her top lip. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.” Harry said shortly before putting the phone down and staring at his office, desperately trying to find a reason to stay at work. He did love Y/N, he did. Heck, he had even asked her to marry him and kissed the edge of her lips as they set the date. And then postponed it. And then postponed it another year after that, all because of some urgent work that Harry had suddenly come across. He was just so young, forced to grow up so quickly he didn’t even have time for a scrap of a childhood. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to see Y/N, why going home to their apartment often felt like a chore.

Back at their cosy flat in the nicer part of Greenwich, Y/N put the phone down after hearing an abrupt beep on the other end that let her know he had hung up. She sighed before walking over to a tall cabinet that stood to the side of their kitchen, taking out a set of nice china plates her Grandmother had left her and crystal wine glasses. It was the lovely cutlery only used for things like Christmas and obligatory dinner parties her family forced her to hold.

After setting it out on the table, Y/N checked the time and supposed that if Harry really had left as he said, he would be back in just a minute through the wonders of apparation. Carefully so she wouldn’t somehow spill the food in her clumsiness, a quality Harry once said he loved about her, Y/N moved the food from the oven, to plates and then through to their front room where the fancy cutlery was set up. A smile made its way onto her face, a beaming, gorgeous smile of confidence that her and Harry would finally have the night she deserved. One where work or his reluctance to put effort into their relationship, even if she did pretend she knew nothing about this, didn’t get in the way.

Alas however, minutes passed and there was no sign of Harry anywhere. The food grew colder and that wonderful, rare smile of hers faded into an all too comfortable frown, the crease between her eyebrows deepening with not only disappointment, but anger. A growing resentment for Harry’s lack of care or even acknowledgement of their engagement. He didn’t seem to give two hoots that she had made a lovely meal; after all, he had only called it ‘good’. Not fabulous or decadent or even something praiseful. Just good.

They hadn’t said ‘I love you’ before they hung up the phones. Harry had only said one word. Y/N’s mind began to spiral, her breathing growing quicker and sharper as the thought that it might be time to confront Harry about the buildup of letdowns over the course of the last few months. A year even, since he had properly spent time at home. At their home, the one in which he had knelt down on one knee and told her he wanted to grow old with her by his side, failing at muggle card games on the front porch as they watched their grandchildren play.

Not knowing exactly what to do, Y/N retreated to grasping at the doorframe to keep her body from tumbling to the ground. Her mind whirred with the usual possibilities to try and chase away his lateness. Got caught at work, perhaps Ron called. But none of it compared to the looming threat that Harry was scraping any old excuse together in order to stay away. That he was lying, something she never thought she would have to think about him doing. Harry had always been such an honest person, even as a child.

Y/N remembered how nervous he was when he first asked her out during their fifth year at Hogwarts. He had been on this disastrous date with some Ravenclaw she couldn’t quite remember the name of, and come back utterly defeated. Feeling sorry for a friend she had always harboured a crush on, Y/N had stayed up all night convincing him something better was around the corner. It occurred to Harry quite quickly after that that Y/N was that somebody. She liked him, and at the time that was enough to make him think he was in love. To some degree he was, but not nearly as much as Y/N had fallen for him.

It was almost midnight when the front door to their apartment clicked with the turn of a key, and Y/N, still standing in the same sad place by the door to their living room, finally saw Harry step into their home. It had been hours since they were supposed to eat the food that Y/N had worked to hard to create. There it still sat however, with the plates and crystal glasses and unopened bottle of wine in the same place, completely untouched.

Y/N had a thousand things to say to him. Usually it would begin with her asking him where he had been galavanting off to, but not tonight. Tonight was the final tear in her elastic heart, just enough to finally make it tear into two broken, hollowed out pieces. She stood, silent and just watched as he took off his shoes and put his coat back in it’s place without saying anything. Harry wasn’t even trying anymore, and that hurt more than him being late to begin with.

“Sorry for the delay, something came up.” Harry said, standing a few metres away from her. There was no affectionate kiss to the forehead like when they were fresh out of Hogwarts with teenage dreams and ambitions. No arm comfortably slung around her waist in a protective manner. Y/N missed that especially out of all the things that had faded away. That simple gesture that showed he wanted to hold her above all else, above everyone else who had ever wanted to touch the Chosen One like she did.

“Something.” Y/N repeated, no emotion in her voice. It sounded almost like a recording being played back to him, just with any tone sucked away. “It’s always something, isn’t it?” She continued, not finding quite the right words to encompass the flummox of emotions seeping into her veins. “Work. Ron called. Hermione called. Work. Work again.”

“There really was something.” Harry pathetically added. It was a lie of course, he had spent the hours at his desk alone and staring aimlessly at a fountain pen as it leaked ink onto the black carpet of his office.

“Do you really think I don’t know you at all? Stop lying to me, Harry, just stop it. I’m done with being lied to.” Y/N says, her voice remaining as monotonous as ever as if she’s already grieving something. “I want to know what was so important that you’ve missed the dinner I made. The last thirty dinners, in fact.”

Harry just runs a hand through his messy hair as he tries desperately to think of something to say. But he can’t. There’s nothing to say that would make him any less guilty.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He manages to whisper.

“You’ve said that already.” Y/N points out without missing a single beat. She’s exhausted of pretending that she doesn’t know what Harry’s been doing, drained of all energy to put in effort anymore.

“Just tell me what the problem is and we can fix it.” He begs, but his voice is shaky and the words sound as though he’s reading them from a script.

“Fine. When did you stop being in love with me?” Y/N asks, sadness seeping into her voice. Tears began to form in her eyes but were quickly blinked away; the last thing she wanted was for Harry to see her as weak. She might be pathetic, pitiful, stupid for not realising earlier... but Y/N was not going to be weak. Not now, not ever.

“Why would you think that? Y/N, I could never stop loving you.” Harry said, trying to wrap her into a hug only for Y/N to quickly wriggle out of his cold grasp. His fingers left icy burns where they had briefly touched her arm, and Harry’s face dropped as he realised she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

“But you have, Harry. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming home at ridiculous times, or avoiding even looking at me like you are now. You don’t love me, you tolerate me because you don’t want to be alone. I feel like I’m begging to be in the footnotes in the story of your life, not a main character anymore.” Y/N explained quietly, neither expecting her to be so frank but once the blunt words were spilling from her lips, not even she could stop them. She watched as Harry’s face crumpled, sadness twisting her gut as she fervently tried not to cry herself.

“Y/N... I don’t know what to say.” Harry trailed off. Y/N used to be so infatuated with him, so desperately in love that she was blind to his flaws, much like his ridiculous fan base. But she had grown up from the teenager with a crush to a young woman with heart and with ambitions, and Harry was no longer apart of what she wanted out of life. She had stopped being a part of his long ago, she just hadn’t realised it then.

“Is this in my head? Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow, Harry. Because please believe me, I could do it. I could leave.”

“I can’t.” Harry finally said. “I did love you once, Y/N. I’m not even sure what happened to us if I’m being completely honest.”

“That’s the problem: you don’t really even want me to stay. But that’s the thing... you built an entire new wizarding world after you defeated You-Know-Who, and where was I? I’m sorry for being dramatic and shit but I’m taking this dagger out and finally going where I need to be.” Y/N continued, not pausing as not to give him any time to ask her to stay, not that he would. Her mind was made up, and even Harry could see that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Harry whispered, his voice trailing off as Y/N went to get her coat from a peg just beside their front door.

“It’s alright, really. I know you don’t hate me, but both of us know this isn’t working anymore. I deserve someone who celebrates me and my love, and that isn’t you. I’m not really sure that it ever was.” Y/N said, a sad smile gracing her delicate features. She looked almost relieved. Utterly broken-hearted, but relieved all the same. “I’ll come back for my stuff tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving me?” Harry said. Even though she had told him why, it still came as a shock. Y/N nodded. “I’m so sorry I didn’t treat you how you deserve.”

“I’m sorry about that too.” Y/N replied, both warmly and coldly at the same time. “Goodbye, Harry Potter. All the best.”

“Goodbye.” It was all Harry could fathom to say as she pressed her engagement ring back into his hand, the final recognition of their relationship officially being over. It was a beautiful piece of jewellery, one she at one point she thought she would never take off her finger. There were no more words exchanged about the gesture for none were needed, all had been said already.

One simple word that locked the door on their relationship, the one that Y/N had finally gained the courage to close in the first place. It had taken her so long, so pathetically long, to realise that something wasn’t right. That Harry was meant to love her, that love shouldn’t and can’t survive while being one sided. It shouldn’t have to be tolerated, and Y/N had finally learned that through all those lonely nights of wondering where Harry was, what he was getting up to at work, if he even was there.

But as Y/N’s grandma used to tell her every Christmas, as one door closes, another always opens.

A/N: hoped you liked it anon!!!

Nancy xx

#harry potter angst #harry potter fic #harry potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fluff #Gryffindor #golden trio era #harry potter x yn #harry potter x you #nancy writes

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imagine-always-and-forever · 4 years ago

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Flutterings & Tequila - Part 13

A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: you’ve decided to go clubbing with your best friend the last summer before college starts to take your mind off of the Mikaelsons who have invaded your life this summer. Specifically, you’re trying to distract yourself from Niklaus Mikaelson and the flutterings he has caused you. Tequila is your friend tonight.

Part Summary: Clue hunting.

Warnings: typical stuff you’d see in the show

Word count: 3,115

Tags: elle88531, violentmommabear42, pisicakawritesshitatfour, a-quarter-horse-called-biscuit, hoeofnjadaka, thegingerthatwaited, despressolattes, aomi-nabi, pie46733, (let me know if you want to be tagged or I missed you out on the tag list!)

Authors note: so I’ve been saying I’d get back to this for ages. I know. But truthfully I hit such a brick wall that writer’s block as a concept had to add another tier to it’s existence just for me. Thankfully, for no clear reason whatsoever, it poofed away as some strong desire to write this again came to me after work. So... tada? Also I am sorry but so so many of you asked to be tagged (I’m very flattered!!!) that I think I’m missing a bunch of people. If I missed you send me a message and I’ll add you to the list. Enjoy 😊

You’re trembling slightly as you walk down your stairs, breath coming out shakily as you try to calm yourself down. You had 24 hours to find out at least something about what the Mikaelsons were doing here. 24 hours and no clue where to start.

Through the back window you could see Klaus and Elijah making their way out of the guest house. Their expressions were drawn and Klaus had a small black bag clutched in his hand. Your eyes darted to the door to the house. Were you that stupid?

The fact that your feet were already moving you forward gave you a clear yes, but at least you could report back to Josie that you did, despite her belief, have some sort of self-preservation. It was just a really fucked up kind.

The door to the guest house opened with ease. Of course the Mikaelsons didn’t think to lock it. What was the point? Who would try to get in to their home without their permission and who would live to tell the tale?

Well, hopefully you.

The painting supplies were still right where you left them. Your eyes swept across the room in front of you, cataloging what you saw. You’d helped Josie redecorate last summer, but it looked like the Mikaelsons took it upon themselves to do some of their own renovations. It was a little bit embarrassing how little of the place you’d payed attention to when you were here with Klaus.

They’d rearranged half the furniture for gods sake and you hadn’t noticed at all. With a frown on your face, you examined the new layout of the room. You wondered what prompted the rearrangement. The couches being moved about made sense to give Klaus extra space for his easels. But what was the purpose of switching the office area with the dining room?

The office, which you were truthfully rather proud of last summer, looked like Elijah’s doing. Two bookcases now sandwiched in the desk against what was supposed to be the accent wall of the room. Not a single bit of the pop of color on the wall was visible now. The imposing set up didn’t even look touched. You could feel your eyebrows tense as they tried to furrow further with your deepened confusion. Dust collected across the books on their shelves. You swiped a finger through it. Coated.

It surprised you that Elijah wasn’t as much of a neat freak about his environment as he was abou his appearance. Though, you suspected if he was he’d have spent most of his millennia+ on earth cleaning up after his siblings. You snorted to yourself. Didn’t he already do that?

A blank space on one of the shelves drew your eye. Amongst a sea of books and paperweights, a patch of dustless real estate on an otherwise packed bookcase stared back at you. If those Nancy Drew books you read as a child had taught you anything, that prominent rectangle of empty space meant that something had been moved. And recently.

That, you smiled to yourself, was a lead.

A scan of the desk and the rest of the shelves confirmed that whatever it was hadn’t simply been reorganized. You pulled open the drawers of the heavy oak desk. Pens, paperclips, highlighters, sticky notes, stapler, hole punch, scissors, and more pens. No. Notebooks, empty folders, the coffee maker’s instructional guide. No. Empty space with a single pen cap rolling around. No.

A dead end.

You got down on your knees. The floor was clean. Under the couches, too. The ottoman with the lift up storage option, empty. The side tables small draw with it’s tendency to stick (a single missing screw from Ikea can really screw your building abilities), empty. You moved to the TV console, frustration building.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

You checked the shelves. You were too short to reach the top ones but the Mikaelsons weren’t. You grabbed a chair and stepped up. It was in vain. Careful to put it back as you’d found it, you moved the chair in defeat. You checked the kitchen. Drawers and cupboard were empty. The fruit salad in the fridge seemed to judge you and you sighed. You didn’t expect it to be in the fridge but it was almost eight at night and you’d torn the downstairs of this house a part.

The Mikaelsons could be back any minute and you’d found nothing. What if there was nothing? Had you wasted hours of your short time frame on trying to find something that didn’t exist?

It dawned on you that Klaus’s little black bag just might have –

A groan escaped your lips. What a colossal waste of time. Time that to you did not have to waste. You closed the fridge, head coming down to lean on the cool stainless steel door in defeat. Maybe there was a clue you could find back in the main house. Josie’s room might have something that you could give Jess.

With a deep breath, you straightened up. No point in giving up until Jess’s voice was ordering you to kill yourself. Josie would expect nothing less from you, and in truth, so do you.

As you walked through the house to the door you passed by one of the many shelves you checked and just like in one of those long rumored witch’s intuition stories, something pulled your eye to it once again. Something pulled your eye directly to an unassuming wooden framed photo that you didn’t register as new. So, something you’d had to have seen a million times by now, surely. But why then did it feel so very important to look at it?

You walked over, cautious of this intense urge in your blood. It was often hard to tell with magical urges if something was for good intent or bad.

The photo was in black and white. A little girl sat on a dock, one tooth missing right in the front. A man in an ornate three piece suit that had to predate the Georgian era stood by her, looking out of place but pleased with himself. Beside him was a boy that looked around your age. He was scowling in the photo. In his had he held something tightly, as if he would die if it were ever lost to him. Your eyes scanned the photo back and forth, that feeling still present. What was it? What were you supposed to see?

The background of the photo was just water. A lake most likely. There were no lakes here. Where were they? Who were they? You leaned in to get a closer look. The photo quality was bad and it wasn’t until you looked hard that you realized it wasn’t a photo at all. A painting. A small, incredibly detailed painting.

Klaus?

But no. How? You knew this painting wasn’t unfamiliar to you. You also knew that some how you had never noticed it. How could you go so long seeing something so often, convinced it was just a photo of something unimportant?

Almost like magic. Why would anybody spell this little painting with an unnotable spell? More specifically, why did Josie (because it had to be her) cast this spell when you were the only other person than her to see it? You didn’t have guests usually. It was why you had been so surprised when she had announced the renovation of the guest house last summer.

The moment the skin on your fingers touched the painting’s surface, a vision clear as an actual photo slammed into your mind’s eye. Blinded by the image, nothing existed but it and you were enraptured what you saw.

It was the exact image that had been painted, but the details were sharp. You could see the threads of the man’s suit. The pours of the little girl. The splintered wood of the old dock. Everything of the moment preserved perfectly in a snapshot.

There was no sound. You felt nothing from the scene. This was not a vision of the past that let you experience the moment with those in it. You could see the wind sweeping through the girl’s locks but you couldn’t feel a thing. This was the scene of the painter through the painter’s very eyes.

But who’s eyes? And who were these people?

You looked focused on their faces. The little girl’s slightly downturned nose and her rounded jaw clicked in your mind as your eyes rested on her’s. Josie. A young Josie. This made sense. This was a memory Josie had that she wanted to keep private. But why? And why keep the painting if she wanted it secret? The man beside her was probably her father, right?

As your eyes shifted to his features and they sharpened into view for you, Josie’s body blurred away. No, you realized. That was not Josie’s father. Though you had never met the man or seen his photo before, you knew this was not him. Because this was Elijah Mikaelson.

At least it made sense now how they knew Josie. Old friends indeed. But what on earth was Elijah doing standing on a dock on some lake with a Josie when she was a child and a boy? As your eyes darted to the boy, the change of the image didn’t surprise you. Josie and Elijah blurred and he came into focus.

Despite not having known him for as long or studying his face too much, it was clear by his eyes that you were staring at a teenage Jess.

You gasped and were ripped from the image.

Around you, the guest house came back into view. In your hands, clutched tightly, was the photo. Your heart rate was up and you didn’t know when you had started to breath so quickly or so hard. You blinked your dry eyes. Josie, Jess, and Elijah?

The sound of wheels pulling up on the gravel drive had your head shooting up. They were back. You didn’t have time to get to the house and though beautiful, Josie’s flower filled garden didn’t actually give you much cover to hide. Without a second thought, you dashed up the stairs.

The bathroom door was open and from downstairs, it was easy to see. Too obvious someone was here. The bedroom beside it was locked and you didn’t have time to find the spare key somewhere on top of the door. The closet next to it was too small with the vacuum in it. It wouldn’t do. You spun around, unsure how close the Mikaelsons were and if they were listening.

The other bedrooms had their doors open. Shit. Too suspicious. One door, directly across from the stairs remained. Could you even make it before they opened the door?

You didn’t have a choice. The handle to the room jiggled and the door clicked open. You slipped inside and went to close it as gently as possible when the front door opened. You froze. The door was still a jar. They’d notice if for sure.

“Well that was fun,” Kol sighed and you heard him flop onto the couch.

“It wasn’t supposed to be fun,” Rebekah huffed and her heels clicked on the floor as she made her way through the house.

“Drink?” Elijah asked nobody in particular.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebekah said with a short tone and you almost squeaked in fear as you realized she was starting up the stairs.

“Don’t be so dramatic, sister!” Kol called after her.

“You’re a reckless idiot without a scrap of self-control,” she seethed back.

“It’s not like he actually liked you,” Kol scoffed.

Something expensive sounding shattered followed by Kol’s laugh.

“May I remind you that this is not our home?” Elijah’s calm voice of reason came.

You waited with baited breath for something to happen next. If Kol could get one more quip in to make Rebekah break something else you could use the distraction to close the door properly.

“What happened?” Klaus said, evidently just entering the house.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebekah stated and you closed your eyes as a curse tried to come out of your lips.

“Sister,” Klaus stopped her and his voice was much closer now. He was on the stairs with her, you guessed. “You cannot get angry every time one of your many suitors gets eaten by our brother. You know how he is,” he explained in a hushed voice with a taunt.

Something smashed against the wall again.

“KOL,” Elijah reprimanded.

A thud sounded against the wall and you reached for the door, ready to close it if another opportunity struck.

“Enough property damage,” Klaus told his brother.

“It was her fault anyway. You know it,” Kol argued.

“I was getting him to trust me,” Rebekah’s voice was further away. She must have joined her brothers down stairs again.

“And that involved opening your legs for him, did it?”

You knew it was coming so as Rebekah jumped to attack her brother, you ceased the moment to shut the door. The soft click would be lost to them as they tried to pull their sister and brother apart.

The room you were in hadn’t been touched since the renovation. You walked over to the window to see if there was any feasible way down.

“Deal with it,” Klaus’s voice came from just outside the door.

You whipped around, eyes wide, as you realized they solved the little dispute far faster than you thought they would. You dropped to the ground as you heard Elijah reply to his brother. The door clicked open as you lifted the duvet and scooted yourself as quietly as possible under the bed.

Luckily, Klaus’s instructions invoked a lot of opinions from his siblings. He stood in the doorway and barked out orders at them. Something else was thrown. As you spelled your breath silent, you spared a thought for all the things you’d have to replace by the time the Mikaelsons moved out.

Klaus shut the door with a harsh thud and switched on the light by the bed. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sheer bad luck you had that this of all the rooms was his.

Klaus moved around the room, silent except for his steady breathing. Something was placed delicately on a surface in his room. Then, he moved to the window and you heard it slide open. He breathed deeply. The rustling sound of fabric peaked your interest. Something landed on the bed. The unmistakable sound of a zip had a flush come to your face. Oh no.

Another thing was thrown on the bed. You imagined Klaus’s shirt and jeans piled on his sheets. This was bad. He was going to bed. You were going to be stuck down here for the night.

Klaus opened his door. Huh? And then he left. Wait what?

Cautiously, you lifted the duvet and peeked out. Nothing. You scooted to the other side of the double bed, wincing as the underneath spring of the bed caught your hair and it pulled. The other side confirmed that he had definitely left and shut the door behind him.

Apparently the plus side of hiding under the bed of a paranoid hybrid with even his siblings at times out to get him was that he kept his room strictly closed off to everyone else.

You scooted out from under the bed. The window, now open, was your best bet. Who was to say if the path to the door was empty or if you could open the front door without alerting anyone. A well timed cushioning spell would make the rose bush you’d land on hurt a little less. The thorns would still be a bitch though.

A sudden realization hit you that you forgot the painting at some point in your scooting. You rushed back to the bed and had to scoot back under a bit to reach it. As your hand touched it, you were once again rushed into the snapshot of the scene.

This time you knew you weren’t the painter. You looked down to your right at the top of Josie’s head. To your left was Jess. This was Elijah’s view. Which meant, if you looked straight ahead you’d most likely see –

It wasn’t Klaus.

You frowned. You were sure it would be Klaus. But you didn’t recognize the man painting on the tiny canvas in front of him with a concentrated look on his face. He had brown thinning hair and a sullen face with cupid bow lips and a nose people would pay good money for. He was an odd man that was handsome and not. You wondered who he was and tried to get the image to focus in further to find some distinguishing feature of some sort.

You were once again ripped back into reality as you registered the sound of footsteps outside the door. The window would have to wait and you dived back down and rolled under the bed, hitting you head as you did so. You bit your lip in pain as the door opened.

Klaus was back.

You couldn’t say if he was gone long or not as you had no idea how much time you had been lost to that vision. It didn’t seem long, but then again they never did.

Klaus sighed. The distinct sound of a towel rubbing against hair was the only sound in the room for a while as you put together that he just came from a shower. So, he was probably naked. You bit your lip for a different reason. You listened as Klaus toweled himself dry. He pulled a drawer open and assumingly put on some kind of clothing. You hopped it was at least a pair of underwear.

The bed dipped as Klaus sat. The lamp was clicked off. Shuffling from above. The bed dipped in different places as Klaus got comfortable. As luck was not your fan, he settled directly above you. You didn’t dare scoot one way or another. He’d surely hear it.

So you were spending the night here then. Great.

Klaus fidgeted above you again, having the gal to not find a comfortable position for the night. You stared at the springs and mattress centimeters from your face in annoyance. To be fair, this could have been the comfiest floor in the world and you still wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Not with Klaus above you and the rest of the Mikaelsons scattered about the house. No hope of escape until morning.

A sharp inhale cut through your self pity. Another one. Was he…?

#Klaus Mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikealson x reader #the originals imagine #flutterings & tequila #part 13 #niklaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #oh my god it's been over a year since the last part #damn writers block and inspiration really be like that #idk why i'm back at it either but let's hope it lasts i'm having fun

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ieromoon · 4 years ago

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gif tutorial

here is a very long tutorial showing you how i made this gif:

i use photoshop cs5 and KMPlayer to make my gifs. KMPlayer you can download here and you can probably find a photoshop download if you do a bit of completely 100% legal searching...

this is not the only way to make gifs, there are probably much much easier ways to do it but this is the method i learned like 5 years ago. it may seem long-winded at first but with practice it becomes much easier and quicker

i apologise in advance if this is hard to follow, and also please remember to save after like every single step. photoshop has a habit of randomly not responding.

anyway, without further ado......

so first of all you need to create a new folder somewhere (i just put mine on the desktop so it’s easily accessible) and name it something like ‘caps’ or ‘screencaps’

then make sure you’ve downloaded the video you want to make the gif from

open the video in KMPlayer

press ctrl+g to open the frame extraction window which looks like this:

first change your extraction location to the folder you just created (caps/screencaps/whatever you called it) and then choose your settings.

these are the settings i use when i take screencaps. the only thing i ever tend to change is the number of frames to extract. i like my gifs to be smooooooth so mostly i extract every frame, however changing it to every 2 frames looks just as good and your gif will have more ‘action’ in it (because you’re extracting from a longer period of the video - if that makes sense?? lol)

once you’ve found the scene you want to gif, make sure the frame extraction window is open (ctrl+g) and then press ‘start’ when you want to start capping and then ‘stop’ when it’s over. (when you press ‘start’ the frame extraction screen might disappear. it’s still taking screencaps, just press ctrl+g to open it again to press ‘stop’)

now your screencaps are done you can close KMPlayer and open photoshop.

first, go to file>scripts>load multiple DICOM files

when this window appears find your caps/screencaps folder, select it and press ok

this is what photoshop looks like after pressing ok. you need to go to the bottom right corner of the timeline and press the button with 3 squares on it (convert to frame animation):

then after it’s changed, press this thing:

and then choose ‘make frames from layers’:

now it should look like this:

now delete any frames you don’t want/need by selecting them in the frame animation timeline thing at the bottom and dragging them over to the trash bin:

then go to this bitch again:

and click on ‘select all frames’. they should all be highlighted. click one of the little black arrows on any frame and choose ‘other’:

and choose what you want your time delay to be. i tend to go for 0.05s

now when you press the little play button in the bottom left it should move. wow, we’re doing it!!

if you want the gif to loop click the arrow next to ‘once’ and change it to ‘forever’:

now we’re gonna crop and resize this baby. the recommended post width for tumblr is 540px if you’re uploading one gif. (268px if it’s two gifs side by side)

so go to image>image size

and when this box pops up change the width to 540px:

now that it’s the right width i’m gonna crop it to get rid of those ugly black bars from the top and bottom of the gif. (this step is probably unnecessary in most cases tbh)

go find the crop button on the toolbar:

then just crop the image like so:

it looks great!! yay us. nearly done, i promise.

now we need to go back to the bottom right corner of the frames and press this funky lil button (convert to timeline animation):

and now it looks like this:

next step is to select EVERYTHING by pressing ctrl+alt+A so that it’s all highlighted, and then go to layer>smart objects>convert to smart object

to check it’s worked press the little play button again. if it’s moving, congratulations you now have a gif!!!!

you can immediately save it but i recommend sharpening and colouring it first.

to sharpen it go to filter>sharpen>smart sharpen

these are the settings i used, but it differs from gif to gif depending on the quality of the video:

then you just need to colour it if you like:

and then save it.

to save go to file>save for web and devices. you can change the settings if you like to see what looks best. just make sure at the bottom it says ‘Forever’ under Looping Options instead of ‘Once’

oh, and make sure the file size is under 8mb otherwise it won’t upload to tumblr properly.

and voila! you have a gif you can upload to tumblr and make everyone jel of your mad skillz.

if you made it this far and it worked, congratulations, well done and i’m so sorry this tutorial was so convoluted and bad. there’s a reason i’m not a teacher. if anything’s confusing or doesn’t work just message me and i will try to help lol

and if anyone wants to know how i coloured the final gif then just let me know too! i ran out of space on this post.............

#gif tutorial #tutorial #this is prob the worst tutorial anyone has ever made #anon do you regret asking for it yet hsksks #like i said if you wanna know how i coloured it just ask #can you tell i lost my mind halfway through this

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oloreaa · 4 years ago

Text

Orbit - Battle Scars

Part 1 ▪ Part 2 ▪ Part 3

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Summary: Mandalorian? Injured. Hurt/Comfort with a lot of fluff? This got you covered. Cuddling again? You betcha. Set before Din finds the Child.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: description of blood/injuries, otherwise domestic interaction

You were immediately on high alert when you heard the Mandalorian near the ship, the wiring you were trying to fix completely forgotten.

He appeared on the ramp of the Razor Crest, dragging a quarry behind him, a Kiffar with electric blue markings, who had a recently broken nose and blood on his lips that were curled into a snarl. Carefully, you stood up, and positioned yourself further away so that you’re not in the line of vision for the quarry. It went without saying that the Mandalorian didn’t want people to know that he picked up someone, making you a target. It wasn’t as if you were defenseless, but it was still easier to deal with some discretion here and there than with rumours and assumptions from the Guild. You didn’t particularly mind as well, just silently acting upon the cues the Mandalorian gave you.

The snap and hiss of the carbonite freezer let you know that you could appear again. “He was a quiet quarry,” you remarked as you came into view of the Mandalorian.

Immediately, you saw something was wrong. He was standing with slumped shoulders, swaying slightly, holding his side and putting his weight on one leg only. You couldn’t see blood, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Sitrep,” you demanded, voice sharper than you intended.

He gave a low wheeze as if he was struggling to breathe. You couldn’t help the worry for him that was starting to build in your chest, and the longer he took to respond, the more you begin to become anxious.

“Modified gauntlet,” the Mandalorian finally rasped, breathing in deeply, “stabs as it punches.”

You were at his side in seconds, ignoring the flinch he gave when you got too close too fast.

“Where?”

He grunted and patted his side, helmet hanging low. You ran your fingers along the edge of the cuisse, and felt sticky warmth hanging on the fabric underneath.

“Get this off,” you told him, “I’ll get the bacta.” Turning around, and going to the little storage room for the med kit, you could faintly hear him taking off the necessary parts, a loud clang on the durasteel floor making you flinch. It must have got him pretty bad if he couldn’t show the control you knew that he had.

Gathering the med kit, you briskly went back, the dim orange light reflecting on the beskar helmet, the man underneath having removed enough for you to get to the wound.

It was a ugly, jagged stab, blood oozing out slowly as you stared in horror.

“Maker, Mando—” you whispered, and he just gave a grunt that was quiet but pained.

Switching on the light for a clearer view, you quickly got to work and cleaned the wound, stitching him up as efficiently as possible, putting bacta on it afterwards. Even if you’re trying to be careful and not apply too much pressure on the wound, he still gasped occasionally, so softly that you would have never caught it if you weren’t so close to his body.

It was not the first time you patched him up.

It would most likely not be the last time either.

You finished in silence, only heavy breathing between you, his entire body tense as his fingers curled into fists.

“Any other?” you asked, dreading the answer.

“Nothing I can’t take of myself,” he told you, voice surprisingly steady, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome," you replied with a frown, "Mando, please be more careful.”

You’re too occupied with studying the beskar helmet to feel embarrassed by the pleading note in your request. The blank slate of steel and dark visor only offered one expression, but somehow, you thought, you could see how he was looking at you.

Thinking back on how he had let you trace his features late at night, you could almost picture him. Almost.

Being under his scrutiny was both terrifying and exhilarating, and with how close you both were, you couldn’t help the flush coming to your face, warming your ears as well. “If you need anything else,” you offered, sounding more shy than you had hoped, “just tell me.”

He just nodded, and then started to push himself up, the patch of skin around the wound tensing and rippling, an angry red from the inflammation. You helped him get in an upright position, and checked the wound again.

“Easy,” you scolded him, knowing that he wouldn’t listen, that he would simply cauterize it if the wound started to bleed again. You hated that thing with a passion, but it had come in handy more often than not, so everytime you considered just simply throwing it away, you knew that it would be foolish. He would get another one after having some words with you.

He sighed deeply, and then started to stand up. Staggering towards the fresher, his steps were loud and forceful as if he was trying to convince the world and himself that he was strong enough to withstand everything.

You watched him go, and hauled yourself up into the cockpit as soon as the door to the fresher closed with a ‘click’. The Razor Crest was travelling at light speed, towards some nameless system the Mandalorian hadn’t told you about yet. The next quarry awaited, the next job would need to be finished. There were already three slabs of carbonite in the belly of the Crest. The next one would be the last before you head back to Nevarro.

The blue streaks were mesmerising to watch no matter how often you had seen it already. Checking over the stats that were displayed on a screen, and with everything in order, you took out your holopad that had some music saved and played it.

The song that came out was tinny and the speaker of low quality, but listening to it helped passing the time some more. You could hear the shower was on, and hoped that he was careful with the water on his wound.

Relaxing into the pilot’s seat, you just listened to the music and stared into the warp of the hyperdrive, the space around you folding and moving faster than the ship itself does. You felt yourself getting sleepy, your eyes starting to droop. You had no idea how many hours you have been awake now, but the sleep you got last night was not restful at all.

How many times have you tried to suppress yawns today?

Too many.

Telling yourself that it was alright to just doze off a bit, you closed your eyes and just rested with them closed, breathing in the cool recycled air of the ship.

You weren’t sleeping, at least not yet, but the rest was… much needed.

After a while, the shower turned off, and you could hear the Mandalorian stepping out shortly after. Following him in your mind, cataloguing the sounds you heard and cross-referencing it with your knowledge of the ship, he was checking up on his weapons and taking care of his armour. He knew that you were up in the cockpit and wouldn’t come down for some time yet.

Meaning that he probably was not wearing a helmet right now.

He came up when you were almost asleep, making you jerk up, blinking sluggishly at the man. He only wore dark trousers and a brown long-sleeved shirt, the shirt so washed out and worn that it was a bit loose, showing his collarbones.

You knew that you could only see this, see him because of how long you have been his crewmember, and he trusted you to continue your arrangement with him in a way that doesn’t let him disrespect his creed.

To have a Mandalorian’s trust is a heavy thing.

And for you, especially the trust of this Mandalorian threatened to crush you some days.

From what little of skin you could actually see, his body was littered in scars. Some of them were blaster shots, puckered and light, like a constellation of the night sky. Some from knives, small ones, big ones, dozens of small nicks that left their mark on his body.

The newest one on his side was probably relatively tame in comparison to those that have already scarred over, those he had survived long before you met him.

“Hey,” he greeted you with crossed arms, leaning against the door of the cockpit in a manner that seemed almost lazy. Nonetheless, you could see that he was curling protectively around the newest wound in a way that was almost imperceptible.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, leaning back against the pilot’s seat, mimicking his stance playfully.

Noticing his fingers tightened slightly around his biceps, and the shuffle of his stance, you hid your smile, already guessing what he wanted to ask.

And he did. “Do you wanna—?”

There was only one possible conclusion to come to when he willingly showed up without his armour, even if he didn’t take off his helmet. He told you once that as long as long no one sees his face, his creed is not broken. Since you were willing to take anything he would give you, starved for his affection, you did not even mind that this was the only way you could have him. Even incompletely.

But having him in your arms, or his around you? There wasn’t one single place in the galaxy you would rather be. That feeling? It was worth all the pain and heartache that comes with falling for a Mandalorian.

You did not hesitate in telling him yes.

He nodded, looking a bit awkward and you had to suppress a smile. Getting up, and following him into the small captain’s quarters, the light inside was on. He didn’t turn these off, but carefully lowered himself on the cot while you blinked, taken aback.

“Blindfolds?” you ask, confused.

He hummed low. “Not yet.”

With your heart fluttering in your chest, you lowered yourself on the cot as well, careful to avoid his wound. Both of you shuffled around a bit until you were both comfortable, settled into each other, the motions familiar through many times of practice.

“How was your day?” he asked after a few minutes of the two of you just breathing with each other, sharing body warmth.

“Hm,” you replied, sleepy once more, “it was fine. Quiet.”

He hummed in reply.

You continued, eyes slipping closed, “We need to stock up on food soon. Fuel should cover us for a few jumps yet, I’m keeping an eye on it.”

“That’s good.”

You both fell into comfortable silence, and you were so close to him that you could hear his breath from the source instead of through his modulator.

You traced a finger across his skin with your eyes still closed, drifting dangerously into sleep territory again.

One scar that you were scrutinizing with your fingertips spanned across his collarbone, curling down to his shoulder. You followed it carefully, hesitantly, blinking your eyes open to look at it.

It must have been some kind of knife or a small dagger. The Mandalorian didn’t tense under your fingers as you expected him to, either too tired to care or trusting you with your touch.

Maybe it was both.

“I wish I could heal these,” you told him softly, voice on the verge of being too quiet even for a whisper. I wish I could take the pain you felt away.

“They don’t hurt,” he said, sounding far off.

“Not anymore?” you asked into his skin, pressing the slightest kiss on the scar, light as a butterfly’s wings.

He didn’t respond to that, but you didn’t expect him to. He didn’t need to bare his soul to you, or put on some kind of show to tell you that it’s all right.

Snuggling into him, you took him in, admiring the contrast between the dark shirt he wore and his tan skin. Looking at him, you saw his helmet tilted towards you, and you could almost imagine the features you had traced with your fingertips on him.

Soft scruff. Shaggy hair.

You would probably let him do anything he wanted, tell you anything, show you anything; you weren’t picky. You didn’t owe each other, but at the same time you would give everything you had.

At least you would, for him.

This was an unspoken agreement, similar to the one that had you wrapped up in each other almost every night: Simply just two lonely souls enjoying each other's company.

Brown hair. Brown eyes.

The scars on his body showed the battles he had been in, what he had survived and endured. You could only guess at the scars in his heart when your limbs were tangled together, breaths were shared, and fleeting thoughts were spoken out loud.

“Stop thinking so loud,” the Mandalorian told you, voice slightly slurred from sleep. He grasped at your hand and laced your fingers together. You squeezed his hand back.

“Sorry,” you whispered back, and smiled at the huff he gave in response. “Didn’t mean to.”

He just pulled you closer and hummed deep in his chest.

Thank you so much for reading!

Tags: @binggrae-banana-milk @b0n-chann @pisss-offf-ghostt @chibi-liz05 @din-damn-djarin @soldade @chaotic-noceur @ezrasarm

#the mandalorian #star wars #the child #din djarin #pedro pascal #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the Mandalorian x you #fluff #yearning #soft feelings #oloreaa writes #orbit

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mouse-fantoms · 4 years ago

Text

Easier Than Speaking

I just want to say that this only popped into my head because I saw @16fandomlover’s post about this. I’m the type of person to where if an idea is had then my brain will just start writing on it’s own and then I can never get it out of my head until it is written down. So without further ado, here it is!

Julie sat on her bed, criss-cross, using her binder as a hard surface to write on as she did her homework. Her dad was very clear about the whole “school-first” rule when it came to being in her own band, which was understandable. She was only in high school and she did miss the first three hours of school the night of the dance when the boys... well... ghosted her.

Once finishing her homework she could down to the garage and either hang with the guys or rehearse with them depending on if they had a gig to practice for or not. If Alex and Reggie weren’t in the studio and they didn’t have to rehearse for a gig that would be prime time for her and Luke to write together.

As she wrote the answer to the latest math problem on her paper, her phone light up besides her. A message from Flynn. She took a small moment away from her work to text back her best friend. Flynn had asked about what she saw Nick and her talk about earlier. Julie texted back and informed her of what happened about how he had asked her out but she politely declined. She saw the ‘Delivered’ message turn to ‘Read’ immediately upon sending. The light gray 3 dots appeared for a second then disappeared. She set her phone back down next to her expecting to get a reply later. When she sent it down she saw one of the guys poof to the foot of her bed from her peripheral vision.

“Oh you’re home.”

She looked up seeing it was Luke. “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to see if you were home yet so we could write.”

“Well I am but school first.” She guestured to her homework. “Unless you want to help me with givens and proves then you can stay but until then you can wait.” She didn’t expect to get an answer.

“Givens and proves? Ugh, that’s-” the words seemed to trigger a memory for him. “Those are so annoying. If you want math help go to Alex.”

“Really?” The guy’s lives before meeting her never really came up.

Sure, she was curious but there was probably a reason for it not coming up that often. Unless it came up in conversation she knew not to press for information. She knew to keep her boundaries (unlike some people).

“Yeah and if you need science help go to Reggie, even though he says he’s not that good, he was always better at it than Alex and I ever were.”

“What about you?”

“I was always decent at English.”

She nodded in agreement. “That makes sense.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well with how you write your songs and how they turn out I can see how that could translate into an English class.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “sometimes writing is easier than speaking.”

“Speaking of writing, you can try to write something with one of the guys.” She suggested instead of him just having to wait for her.

He shook his head. “Reggie mainly wants to write country songs.”

“...Is that a bad thing?”

“What is with you two and country songs?!”

“Just give Home Is Where My Horse Is a chance.”

“He showed you it didn’t he?! I thought you would be strong.”

“Come on! Riding through trees by the river, Feel the summer breeze smile gettin’ bigger. Those are some killer lyrics.”

“It’s not even-“ he decided to let it go. “Oh! Speaking of lyrics,” he pulled something from his pocket, “I was meaning to ask you-”

She saw him unfold the paper that was folded into fourths. Her eyes went wide as she realized the writing. The handwriting on the back side of the paper was readable (so not Luke’s) and was scribbled and rushed. As if it was written in a hurry to get it out of a mind.

“Where’d you find that?” She asked hurried.

“It was on the piano.” He responded. “Was it a quick little song inspiration before school?”

“Uhh... yeah. Song... inspriation.” She agreed.

“These lyrics are-”

The anticipation for his next word worried her. Did he figure it out? He probably did. The song was very obviously about him.

“-killer.”

Oh ok, that was fine. That didn’t entirely mean that he figured it out.

Just then Julie turned her attention to her left where she heard someone poof in.

“See I told you he would be here!” Reggie told Alex next to him.

“I knew he would be but she told us to stay out of her room.” He answered.

“At least one of you understands boundaries.” She said to herself.

“What are you two doing here?” Luke looked up to see the pair.

“Seeing if you were here and not to bug Julie because she has school first to do.” Alex replied.

“Yeah I do! That’s right! I should probably finish and if I could also have that song back too,” she grabbed it from his hands, “I accidentally left it out at the piano it’s not even that... good.” She folded it back into fourths and put it on her nightstand for the time being.

“Not that good? Seriously!? What are you talking about?”

She hoped he would stop mentioning it. It made her anxious that at any point he would figure it out.

“Whoever that’s about is so lucky! If it is about anyone.”

“If?” Alex still couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized. “Really you still-” Julie gave him a glare that could rival the one of when they intruded on the family dinner the first night they’d met. “Yeah,” he immediately switched topics, “who ever that song is about is really lucky.” He ended up agreeing with Luke.

“We’re heaven on earth, melody and words” he began to sing, “Those are rad! That’s exactly why you’re a star!” She could see the look in his eyes whenever he talked about music. The fire and the passion. Also the way he lit up when he talked about her. It was one of the qualities she’d learned about him.

“...like a bright and burning one.” Reggie said under his breath which in response Julie gave the same glare she gave to Alex. Meanwhile, Luke asked what he said because he didn’t catch it.

“Uhh...” Julie giving him the death glare did not help as he thought of a response to tell him, “like always! Julie’s always a star like you always say! Yeah, always.” He looked to Julie to see if he did good and she let out a small sigh of relief.

“Always.” He gave his Luke smile to her. He finally moved away from her bed to the boys who had poofed by her closet.

As he walked over to them the front door being opened was heard and then running up the stairs which turned Julie’s attention toward her open bedroom door. Within seconds she saw Flynn rush into her room, passing right through Luke, about to start one of her rants to her.

“Woah... that is weird.” He looked to Reggie in response to being walked through. It wasn’t like last time when Julie and him were in the kitchen and she walked through him with her sandwich ingredients. It was sudden and quick.

“Right!”

“She’s determinated.” He could feel.

Flynn took a seat on Julie’s bed with her. She began going on about school as well as about band stuff to her friend, meanwhile the boys were still in her room overhearing the conversation. Considering she was talking about some stuff referring to the band maybe she would mention some other things too and it was easier staying instead of having Julie bring it up to them later.

“Speaking of that,” Flynn continued on about what she was talking about as her friend just sat and listened, “onto the other, well MAIN reason I came. Please tell me you did not decline a date with an actual person, and the actual person being Nick of all people, because of the whole Luke thing.”

Julie’s eyes went wide. “Flynn...” she said worried hoping she would hear and get the memo to stop talking.

“Luke thing?” The one who’s name was mentioned raised an eyebrow at.

“You’ve waited for it to happened for how long? Only to decline him for what? Some air-”

“Air?” The statement offended him. He turned to his friends next to him. “Am I just air?”

“Well on the techinal side-” Alex bumped Reggie in the arm alerting him to look at Julie to show him that this was not the time for their antics. She had a flustered expression as she just wanted her friend to stop talking but was not getting the memo just going on and on.

“-oh no sorry “cute air” to quote you-”

“...Flynn.” She pleaded starting to put her head in her knees.

“-like I said Luke is next level to crush on. I mean you have liked Nick for how long? And then he gets up staged by this random ghost guy. I mean don’t get me wrong they brought music back into your life and that’s amazing but to decline Nick over some dead guy. Although I get that you two clicked but you could have also had that with Nick, but I mean it has been awhile. If he asked you before class the other day, when the whole time instead of dancing with Nick you were imaging Luke, would you have said yes then? He really just has bad timing all the time now doesn’t he?”

Julie sat with her head in her knees wanting to curl into a ball from... well... a lot of things.

“Jules?” She asked. “What’s- ...the guys are here aren’t they?”

Still with her head in her knees she nodded.

“...all of them?”

She nodded once again.

She hoped it wasn’t as bad as what she thought. “...Including-”

“What else does all of them mean?” She picked her head up to look at her, trying to disregard the ghosts she saw from the corner of her eye. “There’s only 3!”

“...you know...” she sat up from the bed backing up towards the door, “I think I hear your dad calling...” when she backed up against the wall close to the door she turned around, went out the room and rounded the corner going down the staircase.

As much as she didn’t want to, there was nothing else to do but look to the boys. Alex and Reggie gave the same look of uneasiness. Meanwhile Luke was, well, stunned to say the least.

“...it’s not so bad.” Alex tried to help.

The response in the form of a look told him otherwise.

“Reg, something tells me we overstayed our welcome.”

“...yeah... hey maybe you could hang with Ray and-” Alex poofed away before Reggie could finish. “Guess it’ll just be me and Ray then.” He concluded before poofing away himself leaving the... interesting pair alone.

“...cute air?” Luke finally found the words to say.

Julie groaned as her head went to the ceiling and her body fell into the pillows behind her.

“You know that song makes a lot more sense now.”

“Yeah...” she sighed, “it does. Sometimes writing is easier than talking.”

She felt the end of her bed go down. She picked herself up to see that he had taken a seat at the edge.

“...it’s still a pretty rad song.” He kept his space from her guessing her emoions. “Reggie and Alex seemed to put it together pretty quickly.”

“I don’t get how you didn’t.”

“My guess was it was about that Nick guy.”

“I wish.” She then realized how bad that sounded. “That’s not what I-”

“It’s fine I know what you meant. Falling for some ghost probably isn’t on your bucket list.”

“Well it wasn’t but then you guys showed up.”

“Well do be fair you did call us cute.”

“You also thought I was a witch.” She brought up.

“There were chairs on the ceiling. What else is the logical explanation?”

“Maybe tying them there for storage.”

“Reggie had a very convincing arugment.”

“Argum-” she paused, “it’s Reggie! What arugment?”

“Alex said that witches don’t exist then Reggie said how they say ghosts don’t exist but here we are now.” He gestured to himself.

They shared a laughed together. This was nice. Not having any tension in the air. No akwardness. Just Julie and Luke being... Julie and Luke.

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years ago

Text

in support of Texas relief, @merle-p donated $45, and requested Sam/Mick. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

This hotel really is a tip. Mick takes the keycard up with him—American quirk—and shakes his head at the identical thin carpets, the shoddy elevator, the spotting on the mirror, the bed with its awful polyester duvet. No, not a duvet—a thin bedspread, with a vile leaf-and-flowers pattern that wouldn't do for wallpaper of even the saddest pensioner. He leaves his bag on the cheap luggage rack and tosses his keycard onto the desk and looks at the bed, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

He orders dinner from what passes for room service. He doesn't know what the Winchesters are doing—probably dipping away to some diner, from the profile work Lady Bevell had provided—but they don't call for him, either way. A chicken marsala of decent quality, sticky rice, overcooked broccoli. He eats it efficiently with his mobile playing a midnight stream of the BBC World Service, sitting at the table with the lamps lit. He looks out the window, its view of overcrowded trees and the parking lot and the road, and he does see the Chevrolet pull back in, bulky and too-big and too-loud and too-American, and he smiles at it even if he shouldn't, and passes the napkin over his mouth, and sits back in his chair, to think.

Work of a moment to set up the typewriter. A quick twist of the ink-ribbon and a murmur of Farsi and he sends his report back home. Casefiles distributed to local hunter, he types, and pauses. Tests of loyalty continue, he types, more slowly, and doesn't have much to add. His reports are terse as a matter of course but he isn't often given to dissembling. Not, at least, before the massacre at the headquarters. He unclenches his jaw and tears the sheet of paper out of the typewriter. That's more than enough.

Quiet, since the alpha vampire was destroyed. Ketch has been doing his own work, directed by both Mick and by the old men on orders Mick isn't given to know, and he's been allowed replacement assistance at headquarters but it isn't as it was. The Kendricks-trained goons they sent are more of Ketch's ilk than his and he doesn't know them. Mary Winchester has been distant. It's only Sam Winchester, really, that Mick knows at all in this country, and Sam is…

Mick sits watching the trees in the moonlight, for a few minutes longer, and then goes to the minibar in the suite's kitchenette. Not much to inspire, there. He calls down to room service, again, and makes an order, and then goes to the ensuite and washes his face, and swishes the marsala-flavor out with mouthwash, and then looks at himself, his suit somewhat rumpled and no tie and his eyes—he looks away from his eyes, and thinks, well. If it goes wrong, it will hardly be the first time something has gone wrong.

The suites are all on the same floor. Dean's in 703, Mick's in 706, and Sam's down at the far end of the hall, 712, the hall ending with a great picture window looking out onto the moonlit woods, and Mick pauses in front of that last door, watching out for a moment. Not yet nine o'clock. Plenty of time to turn around and try for a different night.

The elevator dings, halfway down the hall. Mick's mouth hitches, without him meaning it to, and he knocks at Sam's door. A moment, while Mick stands placid in full view of the peephole, and then a muffled rattle while the chain is disengaged, and then the deadbolt and then the door opening by a foot, Sam standing in the gap and giving Mick a look like he's not to be trusted. "Yeah?" he says, not exactly unfriendly but not welcoming, either.

Mick smiles, as friendly as Sam isn't. "I wondered if we might have a talk, you and I," he says.

"It's late," Sam says, which it clearly isn't. His brow tightens. "Something about the job?"

"Something like that," Mick says, and at that moment the girl arrives with the room service cart, looking confused. "Ah," he says, and gestures. "Please come in, miss, Mr. Winchester was just waiting for his order," and Sam blinks at the girl and then gives Mick a look that would melt steel, but luckily Mick is not steel. He opens the door wider and Mick sees he's in bare feet, his jacket removed, the most informal he's been in Mick's presence since he was being tortured—and Mick follows the room service cart into the suite and Sam's too polite or too circumspect or too self-controlled to stop him.

The room's dim, illuminated only by the bedside lamp, and the girl's uncertain. "Where would you like it, sir?" she says, and Mick gestures at the table under the window, and Sam's silent while she unloads the bucket, the two glasses set down with gentle clicks.

Sam smiles at her as she leaves—very fake, it drops off the second her back's turned—and waits until the door closes behind her to say, "What the hell, Mick. Champagne?"

Mick shrugs, pulling the bottle out of the silver bucket. "Not a good one, if that helps," he says. Appropriately cold, at least. He starts working the wire cage, ignoring the look he's getting. "I thought it might be appropriate, that's all. Inauguration of a new stage in our partnership."

"Our partnership," Sam echoes, with unflattering skepticism. The cork pops smoothly and Mick smiles at Sam, eyebrows high, and gets at least a sigh, an eyeroll, a shake of head. Slight exasperation—how he looks, sometimes, at his brother. Mick pours while Sam watches, saying, "If it's about our partnership, then I should invite Dean over."

Mick watches the bubbles rise in the second flute and licks his lips. That was a particular sort of tone, from Sam. "I thought we might discuss some things privately, you and I," he says, and turns to hold out one of the glasses. "Dean, I think, isn't yet my biggest fan. Though I'd like that to change."

"Champagne probably wouldn't do it," Sam says. He's giving Mick another look. Assessing. Mick tips his head and can't tell if he's been found wanting. A beat, before Sam walks over and takes the glass. "Maybe if you brought whiskey."

Damn Ketch. Mick shakes his head and extends his own glass as a toast—but Sam's already moving away, sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the table, looking out the window. His hair's tucked behind his ear, lamplight on his cheek and moonlight on his brow. Like a sculpture. Mick sits opposite him and sips the champagne and it's—sugary, light. "This really isn't ideal," he says.

Sam glances at him, and then down at his glass. He takes a sip and makes a face. "Sweet."

Mick licks his lips and gambles. "Truth be told, I like the cheap stuff better," he says, and—yes, Sam looks up at him and it's with slight surprise. An opening. Mick shrugs. "I wasn't always top Kendricks material. Had to learn to drink like my betters."

Sam huffs air through his nose. "Sounds familiar," he says. Mick raises his eyebrows and Sam half-smiles, his head tipping. "At Stanford I think I was the only one who actually liked Hamburger Helper without the hamburger."

Not a reference Mick gets, but he gets the sentiment. "To not being posh," he says, lifting his glass again, and Sam snorts but nods, and takes a drink, and Mick watches his throat move as he swallows, the way his hand's delicate on the flute. The size of him.

"I wanted to thank you, too," Mick says. He sets his glass down. "I didn't really get the chance, before." A frown, Sam not understanding. Is it genuine? Mick clears his throat. "For—killing the alpha vampire. I would've died if you weren't there."

Surprise—god, it was genuine. Mick's out of practice, being around people who aren't hiding ten different agendas up their tweed sleeves. "You're probably right," Sam says, after a second. His mouth lifts at one corner. A dimple. "No offense. But I didn't do it for you."

"Oh, thanks," Mick says, leaning back, and Sam actually laughs a little, says: "I meant, that's the point, of being a hunter. You kill the bad thing and save whoever you can. That's what makes the whole thing worth it."

He shrugs, sips at his champagne again. Makes another face but seems to be getting used to it. Mick taps his thumb on the table, watching him. "I'm getting that," Mick says. "I think. It was always… very academic, before. Clean research, without the messiness of the real world."

Sam's eyelashes sweep low. "Sounds easier," he says, with a queer twist to his voice that makes Mick wonder.

He's not going to uncover everything there is to know about Winchester the Younger tonight, however. He makes a note, puts it to the side, and instead tops up their glasses, reaching over the table to fill Sam's without Sam much helping. "Mick," Sam says, sighing protest, though Mick notices he doesn't actually pull away.

"Once the bottle's opened you have to finish it," Mick says, easy, "it'll go flat, otherwise," and he lifts his glass in a little toast and drains it in a few frothy swallows—Sam sighs, and takes a gulp too—and then Mick gets up, comes around the table, and sits on the edge, a little too much in Sam's space to be mistaken for casual.

Sam blinks at him. His mouth's still damp a little from the champagne. "What's up?" he says. Almost warning.

"I said I wanted to thank you," Mick says. He reaches down—Sam's legs long enough that his knee's close—so Mick puts two fingers there, very lightly, feeling the twitch of reaction. Still, Sam doesn't completely pull away. "I can provide other benefits than not-very-good champagne."

Sam's chin tips up and he looks at Mick very steadily. "You're serious," he says, after a few seconds. Mick lifts a shoulder. Sam's eyes tighten, minutely, at the corners. "What's with the British Letters and using sex to infiltrate the enemy? That something they teach at Kendricks, too?"

Mick swallows. It is, but Sam's not to know that, unless—he'd wondered, if Lady Bevell had, but he hadn't been part of her debriefing. "Not the enemy," he says, forestalling the thought. "And not using. And not infiltration, either, and not even, really, the British Letters, here." He takes a breath and gives Sam a little smile, feeling unaccountably like he's at the edge of a cliff without belays to hold him. "Just Mick. Michael, if you like. Expressing my gratitude and wondering how I can show it."

"Most people just do beer and pizza," Sam says, still with those tight searching eyes.

Mick doesn't move his fingers, where they're still just brushing the warm denim. "Never much liked pizza," he says, which he knows is stupid as soon as it comes out of his mouth, but Sam hasn't moved—isn't moving, still as a watching tiger in square uncomfortable chair. He chances it, spreading his hand flat on the lean muscle of Sam's thigh. It flexes underneath his palm and he breathes out, slowly. "You're ridiculously attractive. You know that, I trust."

"Thanks," Sam says, after a moment. He grips Mick's wrist, tight but not bruising, and Mick swallows again, meeting Sam's eyes and trying to look honest. He's out of practice with that, too. Sam looks at him, and at his mouth, and Mick thinks for a second—yes—but then Sam detaches Mick's hand from his leg, firmly, and pushes it back against Mick's chest. His fingers are briefly hot through Mick's shirt. "But I don't accept payment," Sam says, with a quick hard press for emphasis before he lets Mick go. "Especially not—" he starts, and shakes his head instead of finishing. He pushes his chair back and stands, turning to the window. He pushes a hand through his hair and it falls messily right back into place. He blocks out the moonlight. He's so oversized—in everything—smarts and skill and beauty. Mick wants to touch him again immediately and doesn't.

"My mistake," Mick says. He bites the inside of his lip very hard, until it hurts more than he can stand, and lets it go, and waits for the throb the grow and swell and pass, and in all that time Sam doesn't speak. He stands up, fixing his cuff, at pitches his voice to lightness. "At least you enjoyed my champagne."

"I wouldn't go that far," Sam says, not precisely light but not cruel, either, and Mick turns to go—and is caught, by the wrist again, while Sam says: "Wait."

He's being looked at, again, and before he can decide what expression Sam's wearing he's pulled forward and he's being kissed. His hand flexes in Sam's grip and with the other he touches Sam's stomach, surprised. Sam's hand on his jaw, controlling, and his mouth—firm, not giving anything up, but good, too—not a hint of uncertainty, not dithering about. Mick breathes in through his nose and enjoys it. A man's kiss, he thinks, hard and uncompromising. He tips his head back, letting Sam guide him, and parts his lips, and there's Sam's tongue—for a second, a hot brief flash that jolts his gut—and then Sam pulls back, a centimeter, breathing against him. Mick strokes a thumb over the waist of his jeans where his belt is weighing them down, and Sam ducks his head, breathes against Mick's jaw for a second, and then steps back entirely, letting Mick go.

There's a warm throb in Mick's wrist. Sam gripped him very tightly, for a moment there. "That was unexpected," he says, after a moment. His lower lip is damp and he very much wants to lick it, but resists the impulse.

Sam has no such compunction, apparently. He licks his mouth and stretches his jaw, too, resettling. Mick's put in mind again of a tiger, looking at willing prey, and his cock flexes in his trousers. "Just wondering," Sam says, casual.

Mick's startled into a grin. "You absolute prick," he says, and Sam smiles back at him. A little smug. "And how was it?"

A lifted shoulder, like nothing. "Maybe we can stay here again when we're done with this job," Sam says. Then, a little more serious: "We can talk. If it's just Mick, and not anything else."

Mick runs his tongue over the sore spot inside his lip. "I'm looking forward to it," he says, and Sam nods. He steps back and Sam lets him go, and Mick hooks the bottle of champagne out of the bucket, dripping ice-water onto the carpet. "But I'm taking this." Sam snorts. "And I hope you don't mind if I have a furious wank over this in about ten minutes."

An eyeroll. "TMI," he says, the bastard, and Mick sighs at him and exits with what dignity he has, and when the door's closed behind him he stands in the overly bright hall with the bottle still dripping cold against his trousers and breathes out. He licks his lips and gets a taste of champagne.

After the case is done, he thinks, and can't imagine for a moment what might go in that space. It's a strange uncertainty. For the first time in his life, something unplanned and uncalculated-for, something the Letters haven't decided for him. Something just for him. He flexes his hand, still feeling the echo of Sam on his wrist. After the case. He really is looking forward to it.

#ffcc #sam/mick davies #spn fic #first kiss #my writing

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miracleonice87 · 4 years ago

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Say You Won’t Let Go

a Sidney Crosby wedding series

Part Two

a/n: here’s part deux! read part one here. this will have at least one more part, probably 2! worth noting that I know next to no French and am relying heavilyyyy on our pal Google Translate in this story.

summary: a little more background throughout, as Juliette and Sidney meet up with their families and hockey star-studded bridal party for a rehearsal at their iconic wedding venue. if you’re not familiar with the location (it’s honestly incredible), click here for a look!

warnings: mention of deceased father. otherwise, so damn fluffy it’s practically cotton candy.

_____

Sidney and I arrived at the church exactly on time, much to Lauren’s satisfaction, with two cars carrying Mario’s crew pulling in at the next moment. I closed the passenger door of Sidney’s steel grey Range Rover and turned to take in the sight of our wedding venue, Heinz Chapel on Pitt’s campus, reaching a hand up to shield my face from the early evening sun as I gazed. Sidney did the same, coming to stand next to me and snaking an arm around my torso.

“Not a bad place to get married, eh?” he teased, kissing the crown of my head. I smiled and shook my head. “I’ve dreamed of this since the moment I first saw this place,” I told him. “It’s perfect.”

He took a step forward, offered his hand to me and grinned, quite pleased that we had been able to reserve the coveted location last summer despite it typically being booked three or more years in advance. I didn’t often request many special favors in the name of my uncle or fiancé, but this was one that seemed a necessity. Taking Sidney’s hand and walking toward the cathedral-style landmark, I said a silent prayer of thanks that I’d gotten even more than what I always dreamed of, in so many ways.

My family and Sidney walked into the chapel to find his parents and our bridal party already mingling near the pews, excitement palpably buzzing beneath the magnificent arches and towering stained-glass windows that decorated the exquisite interior. As we stepped through the doors, they turned our way, and I let out an echoing, very French-Canadian-sounding, “Allooo!” making them all laugh.

I first greeted Troy, Trina, and Taylor with hugs and warm hellos. Sidney’s parents were staying at his former townhome on Mt. Washington, which previously served as his bachelor pad and now housed Taylor in light of her recent move to Pittsburgh. We had spent much quality time with the elder Crosbys since their arrival from Nova Scotia a few days ago, helping us with final preparations and enjoying each other’s company ahead of my official entrance into their family.

Both Trina and Nathalie had accompanied me earlier in the week to my final dress fitting and pickup appointment at the bridal boutique where I had selected my gown. Though my mother did plan to attend the wedding ceremony as a guest, she was uninterested in playing the traditional mother of the bride role and joining me for such commitments, which hadn’t surprised me but still stung sharply, especially when I was fastened into the gown and presented by the salon attendant to a waiting Trina and Nathalie.

Bitter tears pricked my eyes as I allowed myself to feel robbed of sharing that moment with my own mom. My sadness was quickly overcome, however, when the women, sensing my sadness, warmly embraced me and fawned over me, admiring the perfect fit of the gown, both becoming emotional when Nathalie tucked my headpiece and veil tenderly into my hair.

The three of us stared at my reflection in the mirror for a few moments as we let tears of many complicated emotions fall, with joy prevailing above them all. I couldn’t keep the enormous smile from my cheeks when Trina squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “Oh, sweetheart, just wait until Sidney sees you.”

Now, we were less than 24 hours away from that moment, with our bridal party and family bustling around us in the chapel.

As our officiant, Father Antonio, announced that we would be lining up for the rehearsal momentarily, Lauren approached me with a grin, extending a bouquet she had made of the countless ribbons and bows from my bridal shower gifts acquired a couple of months ago. I giggled at how cheesy yet adorable the arrangement looked, thanking her as we huddled at the back of the aisle with my bridesmaids and Sidney’s groomsmen.

“This place is a little beat up,” Nate MacKinnon, our best man, ribbed Sidney from between the two of us. “I don’t know why you guys picked this dump,” he added, pulling me to his side. Sidney shoved lightly at his chest before the two of them laughed and embraced.

“Yeah, the old barn in Cole Harbour was booked this weekend, so we kinda had to settle for the next best thing,” Sidney played into Nate’s teasing, as his longtime best friend Mike, also a Cole Harbour native, approached us.

“Kind of a shithole,” Nate whispered, earning a warning glance from me as Austin tried to hold in hysterical laughter. “You can’t say shit in church!” Austin forced out from under his breath. “Oh, we’re going straight to hell,” Mike commented softly. Sidney gave me an apologetic look and I smiled up at him.

“It’s fine. These are our people!” I said to him, flicking Nate’s elbow as I passed him. “Besides, we’ve already been living in sin,” I added, winking at Sidney. He gave me a look of mock disbelief and insisted, “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a nice Catholic boy.” I giggled and pushed onto my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, which smelled of his fresh aftershave.

In addition to Nate, Mike, and Austin, we greeted Sidney’s other groomsmen as we prepared for the rehearsal — his current teammates Kris Letang and Evgeni Malkin and former Penguin Marc-Andre Fleury. They had all graciously accepted the invitation by Sidney to play this special role in our day, with Geno flying in from Russia and Kris and Marc-Andre from Quebec.

Marc-Andre had brought a few other important components to our day along with him — not the least of which was his wife and my best friend, Veronique. She and I had first met when Sidney and I were only casually seeing each other, and she had predicted this wedding long, long ago. She had been one of our biggest cheerleaders since the day we met, and despite her and Marc’s eventual move to Las Vegas, the four of us remained the closest of friends, visiting each other when the men’s respective teams played and whenever else possible.

With Lauren as my maid of honor and Stephanie, Alexa, and Taylor as three of my other bridesmaids, my friend Jacqueline, a Pittsburgh transplant with Canadian roots whom I met while studying at Duquesne, rounded out my crew of six ladies who would stand by my side on this long-awaited day.

To up the cuteness factor, Sidney and I had selected Marc-Andre and Veronique’s daughters, Estelle and Scarlet, as our flower girls, with Geno’s son Nikita and Kris’s son Alex as our ringbearers. Nikita was still a bit young to understand his role, but grinned broadly when Sidney told him when they arrived just how important he was to our day. On the other hand, Kris told us that Alex had cried after his parents had asked him to be in our wedding, because, as much as he adored and was attached to Sid, Alex had been under the impression that I was his girlfriend, not Uncle Sidney’s.

Eventually, after Sidney and I made the rounds to greet them all, the entire bridal party was grouped together to begin the walk-through. The venue’s wedding planner wrangled the children as the priest noted that Sidney needed to leave my side to approach the front of the church alone, in preparation for his emergence from one of the side doors at the front of the sanctuary tomorrow.

Playful “oooh”’s erupted from our groomsmen, who teased Sid about having to pry himself away from my hip. Sidney rolled his eyes, nodding and smirking, before turning his full attention to me. He tucked some hair behind both of my ears before caressing my cheeks with his thumbs.

“You gonna be okay, Jules?” Sidney asked, eyes wider than normal as he searched mine carefully.

I knew he wasn’t asking if I would be alright once he left my side to stand twenty yards away for the next five minutes, but rather if I would be able to contain my emotions as Mario walked me down the aisle, even during a practice run, in place of my father.

We had talked about this specific part of our day a number of times, with Sidney even pondering aloud whether he should walk me down the aisle himself because walking with anyone except my dad felt impossible to me. His sweet dad had even offered to do so, should I desire. After each conversation, Sidney and I both kept arriving at the same conclusion — that the best and most appropriate plan of action was for Mario to give me away and also to join me for the traditional father-daughter dance at the reception.

I nodded, holding onto Sidney’s wrists. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I’ll be okay,” I promised. He nodded solemnly in return and kissed my forehead before pulling back with a wink.

“You can do this,” he encouraged. “I’ll see you up there.” I gave him my best smile as he turned and walked to the front of the chapel.

As our wedding party lined up in front of me to take their positions, Nate stopped me for one of his signature bear hugs, resting his chin on top of my head just for a moment before releasing me. The rest of our group squeezed my hands and rubbed my arms lovingly as I walked to the back door of the sanctuary where Mario waited, hands folded in front of his hips and a tentative smile on his features. He, too, gave me a sweet kiss on the forehead before holding my shoulders at arm’s length.

“Listen, princesse, it was one of the greatest honors of my life when you asked me to walk you down the aisle,” Mario said, soft enough that only I could hear. “But if you’ve changed your mind and would rather do this some other way, please, just say the word.” I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his waist just as the piano music began.

“No, you are exactly the person my dad would want doing this if he couldn’t,” I told him confidently. Mario let out a small exhale, and I could tell he was trying to remain composed. As we parted, he said, “Then let’s go make him proud.” He offered his arm to me and I wrapped my hands around it firmly, leaning my head into his shoulder briefly.

We watched pairs of our party head down the aisle toward Sidney and the priest at a relaxed pace: Jacqueline and Geno led off, followed by Veronique and Marc-Andre, Taylor and Kris, Alexa and Austin, Stephanie and Mike, and finally, Lauren and Nate. Alex walked down the aisle in a near-skip, holding a fake pillow very carefully just as his mother, our beautiful friend Catherine, had instructed him, with Nikita by his side mimicking his every move. Their fathers gave them thumbs up and everyone clapped lightly when they reached the end of the aisle.

Next, after a bit of prompting from both their parents at the front, Estelle and Scarlett followed the boys’ path, scattering fake rose petals in place of the real ones they would have tomorrow, earning their own quiet round of applause. As the children were seated at the ends of the front pews on either side, the music shifted, and our wedding planner turned and gave Mario and me the nod.

“Ready, Juliette?” he asked softly. My eyes traveled down the long red carpet in front of us to the steps where the love of my life stood centered in between our closest friends and family, waiting for me. He gave me a warm, adoring smile and at that moment, I felt my unease melt away, just as it always did when Sidney was near.

“I’m so ready,” I whispered.

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years ago

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The Call Pt. 1

Summary: Marie is not crazy. She isn’t. Or she hopes she’s not. But the happenings that follow a mysterious phone call begin to make her hope otherwise.

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, maybe mildly creepy

A/N: Well, if you’re tagged it’s because you said you were interested in taking a peek at my original content. This is the first half of a short story I’ve been using as kind of a warm up/playground for a few weeks. Kinda hate the title (so if you’ve got suggestions hit me with them) and am open to literally all feedback! (If you want to know when I share original content lmk!)

“I’m not crazy. I know how this sounds but I am not fucking crazy!”

Funny enough, I’m also not an idiot. I know that screaming I’m not crazy at 4am after tearing my room apart to find a picture that apparently doesn’t exist implies otherwise. But still-

“I’m not crazy, Alex.”

“Ok. You’re not crazy.”

The way he’s looking at me really makes me wish I was.

“But Marie, what you’re asking me to believe-“

“Is crazy,” I say, collapsing on the edge of the bed.

I stare down at my hands. There used to be a scar on the left one, thick and rope-like carving a path straight through the center. The original wound had cut to the bone.

I know it was there.

I know because I remember how it didn’t hurt at first. It was like a dull warm sting, too many nerve endings cut to make my brain register what happened. I remember how I was fascinated by the blood welling, dark and thick and so different from any time I’d seen my own blood in my short 13 years. I remembered the drip, drip, drip.

And then I remember screaming.

“Marie…” He takes a deep breath, pacing away from the bed.

I don’t move, don’t respond. Just run my fingers over where the scar should be.

Another thing I remember is the choice I made that resulted in the scar disappearing. I remember that conversation, both sides of it like two images superimposed on one another.

Somehow, remembering those disparate, impossible, things so clearly only makes me more certain that I am not insane. Which may actually make the whole insanity argument stronger…

The first phone call happened on a random night in December. I was baking, trying to recreate those Levaine Bakery cookies and, honestly, not sucking at it.

I was not drinking.

I was not on drugs. None that I wasn’t supposed to be on anyway.

Everything was normal.

My phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. Usually, I would have just ignored it but the area code was from my home town and I know far too many messy people back home to ignore an unknown call on a Friday night.

If someone was dead, I didn’t want to find out through a voicemail.

“Hello?” A muffled voice responded, warped by a shoddy Bluetooth connection. “Wait, sorry hold on.”

Fucking useless $100 earbuds.

“Hello?”

“H-hi… Hello.” The voice on the other end was clearly a kid, a little girl. I didn’t know any kids save for my nephew and he was eight months old so children should not be calling me.

“Yes?”

“Hi, ma’am,” the girl paused, clearly restraining a giggle. The line crackled in a way that sounded odd but I assumed she was just muffling the mic. “Did you order a pizza? This… This is Pizza Hut.”

I stifled a laugh of my own. Who knew kids still did prank calls. I thought those died off with the landline. Amused, I played along.

“No, I didn’t order a pizza.”

“Oh, well, I guess we called the wrong person. Sorry!” The kid hung up.

I shook my head and reconnected my earbuds. As far as prank calls went, I had my criticisms on their form but hoped they enjoyed themselves.

Quickly, I fell back into my baking rhythm, my audiobook of the week keeping any further exploration as to why kids would bother with prank calls when the internet existed at bay. At least until the book paused, accompanied by an off-putting crackle in one earbud.

“Motherf-“ My phone ringing interrupted my expletive.

I looked over, it was the same number.

I don’t know why I answered. Maybe I was getting soft after 30 years of being, by default, a cold bitch—I had been crying at far more commercials recently. Or maybe the novelty of a prank call was too good to pass up.

“Hello.”

For a moment there was silence. Then, someone breathing. Something about it made me feel uncomfortable. Not in the whole, I’m calling from inside the house, kind of way. More like the feeling you get when you almost fall asleep at the wheel, the adrenaline rush of waking up just in time.

“Hello?” The breathing quickened. “Look, kid-“

She started speaking. Rather, she started making sounds, gibberish with the inflection of words. After a string of them, she paused.

“Uh-huh, well then,” I said choosing to humor them.

This was followed by another string of gibberish. Only this sounded more frantic, there wasn’t the undertone of laughter. They stopped.

“Kid, are you ok?” I began to worry.

“Em raeh uoy nac?” She said with the inflection of a question. I realized suddenly that this may not be the same person. There was something similar about the voice but it didn’t sound as young as my pizza prankster from earlier.

“Look, this is just getting weird. Don’t-“

“On!” The person yelled into the phone. “On! On! Esaelp!” The voice cracked, a stifled cry sending chills up my spine.

On… On… On… Something clicked.

No. This person was saying no.

Maybe I am crazy. Because the moment I realized the words were coming to me backward they righted themselves and the person began speaking in the proper direction.

“Please, don’t hang up.” She took a ragged breath, “Please.”

Sitting on the edge of my bed now, staring at my scarless palm, I could still feel her desperation.

“Marie,” Alex knelt in front of me, eyes wide and pleading. “I have known you since we were 15. You’re my sister and I love you.” He takes my hands in his own, sighing, “You’ve been under a lot of stress recently and that-“

“Jesus,” I pull my hands back getting to my feet, and push past him. In the doorway to my bathroom, I pause, turning back to face him. He now sat on the floor with his back against my bed.

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s all been too much. That’s all. There isn’t any shame in that.”

“I know there isn’t. Don’t you think I, of all people, fucking know that?!”

I mean for fucks sake, I was the head of HR at my company. I had a bachelor’s in counseling and a master’s in communications. Not to mention years of therapy under my belt. I understood what stress could do to someone’s mind and I understood that this wasn’t that.

“Ok,” he holds his hands up in surrender. “Ok. Sorry. I know you know. But you want me to believe you’re really ok when you-“

“I don’t want you to believe shit. You asked me what was happening. I’m just telling you.”

He studied me, trying to find something to hold on to, some way to believe me.

For a moment I studied him too. Burning this image of him into my mind.

This was real. He was real. Just like everything else was real.

On that first night, the shock the voice on the other end of the line sent through my whole body was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

“Please be there,” she begged.

Our own voices always sound weird when we hear them played back. Something to do with the way sound travels through the body. The way it resonates in our bones. It’s easy to not even recognize our own voices when we hear them.

“I called this-“

“You called this number 10 minutes ago,” I cut her off, my unease giving way to anger. “What do you want? If you’re in trouble-“

“I called this number when I was eight,” that edge to her tone was too familiar. “I’m 15.”

“Hilarious, kid. Find something better to-“

“0606.”

“Yup, that’s the last four digits of the number you just called. Owned by a woman who is very-“

“Those are the last four numbers of the cell phone I got when I was 13.”

“Very funny.” I had no idea who had put her up to this but I was over it. “I’ve had this number for 17 years.”

“I always thought it was funny because I remembered those numbers ever since I made that prank call. Funny that they’d be the last four of my own number.” Her voice had a disconnected quality to it. I rubbed my finger over the scar on my palm, a nervous habit.

“Kid-“

“Wait,” she cut me off, something which was starting to wear on me. “You said 17 years. How… how old are you.”

“Thirty,” I answered automatically.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Ancient to you I’m sure.” The timer went off for my cookies. “Look. If you’ve sated your gen alpha need to dip your toes into the nostalgia pool-“

“So, I don’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“On April 13th, 2006 you decided you would kill yourself you your 16th birthday.” My heart stopped. “Maybe you don’t remember that…”

I remembered it.

If I tried I could remember the way my room smelled. I could remember how my hands didn’t even shake as I wrote those words in my journal. I could remember sitting on my bed, picking up my phone…

And calling my own number.

I looked down at my phone. I’d only paid attention to the area code before, nothing more than a passing glance. Now I realized, it was my grandparent’s old landline number.

She continued, “Anyway, I just called my own number to-“

“Leave a voice mail,” I said finishing her thought. It was my substitute for a note, something that if they found they found but if not then fuck them.

“Yeah. But instead of it going to voicemail, you answered. My phone is sitting in my lap but you answered. And I remembered your voice from when I was eight and…”

“What the fuck,” I breathed.

“I don’t know…”

My head was spinning. I had never spoken to anyone save for my therapist about my intention to end my life when I turned 16, so it seemed unlikely someone was playing a cruel joke. But it was even more unlikely, or rather completely fucking impossible, that I was currently speaking to my 15-year-old self.

“Look,” I sank to the floor of my kitchen, sliding my glasses up so I could massage away the tension headache building between my eyes. “Clearly, you’re not me. But it’s pretty obvious that you’re in a bad way.” There was silence.

“Kid?”

“I’m here,” the voice was so small.

“I don’t know what you’re going through, but the best advice I can give you is the same advice that my best friend gave me when we were your age. ‘If you can’t find any other reason to keep going, just do it out of spite.’”

To this day, do it out of spite, was the motto we lived by. I embroidered pillows for us with it, we signed off letters to one another with it when he took a year to wander Europe with his ex, hell we got the word ’Spite’ tattooed on our wrists in the other’s handwriting when we were 19—thanks to Alex’s terrible handwriting people always asked me why I had ‘Sprite’ tattooed on my wrist.

She snorted.

“I know it sounds oversimplified but-“

“No. I’m just not into listening to people who don’t take their own advice,” the anger in her voice was searing.

“What do you-“

“Alex Cameron, said the same thing to me yesterday.” My ears started ringing, my whole body tingled like a limb when you’ve sat on it for too long.

“Then,” she took a shaky breath, “he killed himself.”

My smoke alarm began to scream, the smell of burnt sugar seeping from my oven.