#I will actually implode oh my goodness gracious | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghostaholics · 2 years ago

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BIIIIITCH I CHECKED THE WORD COUNT, AND THEN I CHECKED MY CALENDAR, BECAUSE I HAD TO MAKE SURE IT WASN’T ALREADY CHRISTMAS.

My reaction to seeing the update was damn near Pavlovian. I feel like I should be embarrassed to admit that, but I don’t care. Not religious, but definitely blessed this evening (not actually evening, I woke up at 1:30 in the morning and couldn’t sleep so I’m treating myself to this even though I have to officially be up at 5).

Anyways, here’s my live commentary, because you deserve nothing less.

I read the first line and it demolished me, so thank you for that. I thought I knew what I was in for, and clearly I was wrong because I was blushing the entire time. Price is too smooth. I can’t deal. I’d be a big old non-functioning ball of mush in his presence, so kudos to reader for being able to carry on about her day like business as usual, because if he were in such close proximity all the time that way, I don’t think I could relate if I’m being completely honest.

Such a slut for the pool game tutorial. Beyond feral. The ‘good girl’ praise outside of the bedroom rocked my shit. Jesus fucking Christ. Trying not to implode and failing miserably. I have read a handful of fics where he says good girl that at this point, I should be immune. But guess what? This one made my brain short-circuit the worst so thanks for that!

The whole birthday sequence was adorable. I like how you’re expanding the fic to include relationships with other characters because their dynamics as a whole and on an individual level are interesting. They seem like they’d all die for each other and if I don’t have friends like that then I don’t want ‘em at all. Also very nice considering that in the first part she didn’t know anybody and was basically on her own, so seeing them accept the Reader throughout the series has been extremely heart-warming. I’m a soft bitch for the group.

Reader is so real for thinking about whether Price’s chair can hold two people. Because honestly, same. I feel like I have to take breaks when I read because that entire office sequence almost made me combust and they were literally only talking.

Would die for domestic Price. The sweater? The apron? Cooking? CRYING. Soft touches and gentle kisses? SCREAMING. Reader has more willpower than me because I would’ve folded so fast if he asked me to stay the night. Perished during that part, not gonna lie. Like babe, you want to host a sleepover in your cozy house? Aha~say less. Price was gracious about it, but even if he manhandled me into agreeing (which I would not object to) and I would’ve been all, ‘oh no, I guess I’m spending the night in your wonderful home, how… :/ unfortunate.’ Me at Reader even though she declined politely:

The color coordinating with the dress – you’re a genius; big brain behavior right there. Commence more of me blushing. I actually can't fucking deal. I was basically devolving into something less human towards the end of this fic. Every interaction? Pure gold. Me? A settler migrating west for the California Gold Rush in 1848.

The end?? G O D. Plotting to hide a body: just cute, couple things <3 Or either way, whatever’s about go down can’t be legal and I’m here thinking that Price, who partakes in criminal/illicit activities is the same person who wears an apron with flour on it – like yes, get you a man who can do both. Also somebody else said it in another comment but the fact that she called him first when she didn't know what to do. I am quite literally not okay. Deceased.

vii. wise men say, only fools rush in

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Warnings: alcohol, heavy flirting, violence, blood, minor character death Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: this chapter is dedicated to the wonderful @chaoskrakenuwu, who was kind enough to let me name a character after her, and also to tumblr user @deadbranch, who mentioned that tags in taglists might not work if you have your visibility settings set to make their url unsearchable on tumblr!! i tested it out a few times and sometimes it works, sometimes not but if your tag isn't working below maybe double-check your visibility settings and turn them off (if you're comfortable with that) and I'll try updating your tag!! small edit: tumblr cut off part of the middle, so i re-added it in case you saw it when it first posted and it didn't make sense LOL prev | next

In the following weeks, you learn one very important thing: John Price is a relentless flirt.

(After that first conversation, he had disappeared into his office for the remainder of the day not reappearing until you had returned to the club to get ready backstage. You took your time, heart racing as your attention was split between preparing for the show and trying not to imagine Price joining you backstage and making good on his offer to wish you luck.

He never did, but once you took your place on stage, you immediately spotted him sitting at the bar between Ghost and Nik, eyes trained solely on you. He stayed in that spot for the entire show, his gaze never once leaving you, even when others came up to speak to him. He bought you a congratulatory drink afterward, handed to you with a sly smile and gentle squeeze of your hip.)

He hadn’t stayed long after that, whisked away by something important Ghost whispered into his ear, but you find him in that same spot every night after that, watching your performance with a singular intensity that sets your skin on fire.

Farah takes over the two weeks leading up to her and Alex’s departure, giving you a welcomed break and letting you enjoy the club and her flawless performances.

Price maintains his spot at the bar, making eyes at you anytime you pass by as you spend your time between dancing with Kyle and watching Valeria hustle unsuspecting patrons at the pool table. When you occasionally stop at the bar, you make it a point to stand next to him as you wait for your drinks.

Regardless of what he’s doing—whether he’s drinking with his eyes glued to you or talking to someone else, his attention focused entirely away from you—a warm hand always winds its way around your waist, slowly feeling up the fabric of whatever outfit Valeria’s put you in for the night before it settles on your hip. You lean into the touch, lightly skimming your nails across the back of Price’s hand as you wait for your drinks.

Alex serves you with a knowing look—one you make a show of ignoring—and you squeeze Price’s hand. He presses your hip in response, the slow glide of his hand as he pulls back his arm, leaving a blazing trail across your skin that lingers as you take your drinks and return to Kyle or Valeria.

“You know,” Valeria says one night, sharp gaze following you as you return from the bar with a drink for her and lemon water for yourself, “you still owe me a game.”

“Can’t say it’ll be much of a game,” you laugh, sitting beside her. “I’m shit at poker.”

“I wasn’t talking about poker,” Valeria grins, eyes sliding to her right where the pool tables sit.

“Alright, but fair warning, I’m about as good at pool as I am poker.” Valeria pays you no mind, taking her drink and sauntering toward the tables, crimson dress flowing with every step.

The table she approaches is occupied, surrounded by a small group that isn’t so much playing as they are holding cue sticks and talking. Valeria joins them, easing into their conversation with a coy smile and light touch to the nearest man’s arm. You don’t hear the conversation, but Valeria tilts her head and says something, and one of the group hands her his pool cue before leading the rest of his friends to the dancefloor.

“That was nice of them,” you laugh, joining her at the table. She hums a small laugh, handing you your own cue stick.

Valeria starts the game, and it ends almost as quickly as it begins, a look of absolute disbelief plastered on her face.

“I told you I was bad at this,” you tease her.

“I never thought I’d meet a worse player than Alejandro.” Valeria shakes her head, unable to compose herself for the first time since you’ve met her. You’d take some pride in being able to surprise her if it weren’t followed by the pitying gaze of disappointment she turns to you with.

It’s a quick, momentary glance before that tell-tale smirk crawls across her face. She lays her cue on the table, sights set on something behind you. “We’ll fix this, don’t worry.”

Valeria pats you on the arm, disappearing into the crowd of people before you can stop her. You let it go, setting your cue next to hers and taking the time to sip from your water and turn your attention to the stage where Farah gives another flawless performance.

“Enjoying yourself, Птичка?” You turn, finding Nik leaning against the other side of the pool table, dressed in solid black with his sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

“Very much so, actually.”

Nik laughs, tipping his drink to you with an easy smile as Valeria reappears beside him. You don’t get the chance to react as a hand slides across your waist, your body tensing at the sudden touch.

“Glad to hear it.” You relax as the baritone of Price’s voice reaches your ears, and you turn to land a playful slap against his chest.

“Let’s try this again—,” Valeria says, picking up both pool cues and holding one out to you and the other to Price, “—two against two.”

You’re reluctant to take the cue stick from her, but you do, sending Price a sympathetic smile, “Apologies in advance.”

“C’mon now, you can’t be that bad,” he chuckles. Valeria lets out a bark of a laugh as Price takes the other stick from her. She turns away swiftly, trying to bite down on the smirk stretching across her face as Nik re-racks the balls.

Valeria is gracious enough to convince Nik to let you go first, and you do your best on the break. Your best is…not great, laughable even.

And laugh Valeria does. Nik lets out a low whistle, turning away the moment you look at him, his shoulders shaking with unmistakable laughter. You turn to Price, your last saving grace, only to find him staring back with a pitying look that you think you hate more than the laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, get your laughs in,” you pout, setting your cue stick against the table and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Valeria coos, lips pursed tauntingly.

“You weren’t…awful,” Nik adds, though it’s choked out through stifled laughs.

“It’s the way you’re holding it,” Price laughs, making his way toward you. “Here, I’ll show you.”

You expect him to take over your turn, but he holds his cue stick out to you instead. You pout for an extra second before giving an exaggerated sigh and taking the stick from him. He catches your wrist before you can pull away and lightly pulls you toward him, guiding you to stand in front of him.

If you couldn’t play before, you don’t know how anyone expects you to concentrate when the solid warmth of Price’s body presses up against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder so you can feel the soft fanning of his breath against your neck. Gently, he adjusts your elbows, guiding you to hold the cue stick properly. When he’s satisfied, his hands glide down from your elbows, one settling on your hip and the other against your back. He takes his time, feeling the velvet material of the sapphire blue dress Valeria put you in. He hums appreciatively, the vibrations skating down your spine.

“Lean forward,” he murmurs into your ear, the club’s music drowned out by his voice. A small press to your back, and you bend forward, trying not to lose your grip on the cue stick as he purrs, “A little more.”

When he’s satisfied, his hand leaves your back to settle on your shoulder. He turns you slightly to the left, adjusting your angle before he steps back with a soft, “Now try.”

Keeping yourself composed is a struggle, but you do as he says. The cue ball sails, a successful break scattering the rest across the table. The group around you cheers as you stand up straight and instantly reach for your water. You sip the icy water, trying to cool to fire, crawling beneath your skin as Valeria takes her turn, but Price stands at your side, leaning down so close you can feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

“Good girl.”

You swallow hard, nearly choking on your water as he pulls away with a wide smirk, and you realize that he’s here to play an entirely different game.

After five rounds, your team loses 3-2, but Price leads you to the bar for a consolation drink with an arm around your waist, and you feel like the biggest winner in the club.

Kyle’s birthday comes mid-summer.

He doesn’t tell you about it, but you get a suspicious text from Soap one night inviting you to a “secret meeting” at the club and telling you to bring cash.

It’s the middle of the night, far too late for you to be safely leaving your motel room, but you get ready anyway.

Curiosity killed the cat, not the canary, after all.

When you get to the club, you text Soap, and he tells you to come through the front, lock the door behind you, and head straight backstage. You follow his instructions, finding backstage empty and vacant save for the soft echo of voices from the dressing room. You follow the voice, knocking twice before opening the door.

As soon as the door opens, the room goes silent. You’ve apparently interrupted a very serious meeting between Soap, Ghost, Roach, and König as their attention snaps to you. The room fills with a tense silence as you stand in the doorway, a stack of cash in hand as they stare you down.

You speak first, eyes bouncing between the four nervously, “You’re not about to kill me, are you?”

That seems to break the tension as Ghost scoffs and the others relax.

“’Course not, Owl,” Soap rolls his eyes, reaching over to take the money from your hand and add it to a small pile sitting on Farah’s vanity. “Assumin’ the worst there, aren’t ya?”

“You send me a cryptic text telling me to meet you in the backrooms with a stack of cash and expect me not to be suspicious? This is how people get killed in horror movies,” you argue, shutting the door behind you.

“You still came, didn’t you?” Ghost counters.

“He has a point,” König shrugs, and Roach nods.

“Why am I here?” you ask flatly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Right, so you know how Gaz’s birthday is comin’ up?” Soap speaks as he counts through the small pile of money.

You blink, asking, “It is?”

He hadn’t said anything to you. Would it be rude to ask him about it?

“Every year, we always try to get him something, y’know, from all of us,” Roach explains.

“But every year, Valeria and Alejandro always get him something extra just from them,” Soap huffs. “So, we started doin’ the same.”

“It’s become a bit of a competition now,” Ghost sighs, obviously not as enthused about this as Roach and Soap.

“Of course,” you hum. A little more relaxed now that you know why you’re here, you lean back against the door and ask, “So, what’re you getting him?”

“Oh,” König starts, “we were thinking of—”

Roach smacks his arm as Soap lets out a sharp whistle, shaking his head furiously when König turns to him.

“Really?” you scoff. “I gave you my money—”

“And we greatly appreciate your donation,” Soap says, turning to you with a sly grin and your cash in his hand. “As will Gaz, I’m sure.”

“What am I supposed to get him, then?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Soap teases, “’m sure you can figure that out on your own.”

“You’re not even gonna give me a hint?” You look to the others, but Ghost and Roach stay silent, König giving you an apologetic shrug. “Fine. Just know I’m not showing up next time you need something from me in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, y’will,” Soap laughs.

He’s right, but he doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Whatever, keep your little secrets. I’m going home.”

“Night, Kiwi!” Soap calls as you leave the dressing room. You let the door swing closed behind you, but the thud of it shutting never happens. You turn back, finding König closing the door softly before he catches up to you.

“I’ll walk you out,” he says softly, glancing back to the dressing room. There’s something slightly off as König trails behind you, constantly looking over his shoulder—not like he’s nervous, but as if he’s about to do something he shouldn’t.

He holds the front door open for you, giving one last look over his shoulder.

You have to ask.

“Are you oka—”

König leans down, almost uncomfortably close, and mumbles, “He likes practical things.”

“What?”

“Mostly clothes, preferably socks. Oh, and food. Especially pastries.” König takes a small step forward, getting close enough that you can see tiny flecks of amber brown in his eyes.

“He has a big sweet tooth,” he whispers conspiratorially, and it clicks in your head.

“Oh,” you say as König steps back, leaning against the door. “Thank you.”

“Viel Glück.” König gives you a short nod, the edges of his mask rising with the apples of his cheeks as he smiles at you.

The drive back to your motel room is spent formulating a plan to figure out the specific day Kyle’s birthday falls on and what to get him. You spend more of the night trying to think than sleeping, doing your best to devise a way to ask him about it without sounding too obvious. It should be easy—getting information out of someone is nothing you haven’t done before—but Kyle’s sharper than he lets on. You’ll have to be a bit more careful this time.

You’re still thinking about it when you get to the club the next morning, so focused on your plan that you nearly run into Ghost as he steps out of Price’s office.

“Watch it,” he grumbles, wrapping a hand around your arm to steady you.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Bit distracted this morning, are we?” You look up as Kyle walks out of the office behind Ghost, amused smile on his face.

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep,” you shrug, sending a quick, pointed look to Ghost, who stares back at you with his usual monotone expression.

“Been there,” Kyle chuckles, pulling his car keys from the pocket of his black jacket and handing them to Ghost.

“Going somewhere?” you ask.

“Doing something for the Boss,” Kyle winks.

“It’s a small business errand, nothing to worry about.” Ghost’s answer leaves no room for more questions, so you nod in acceptance.

“I’ll see you two later, then.” You watch them walk to the front and out of the club, waiting for the doors to click shut before you turn and slip inside the office. Price sits behind his desk, writing something in a small, black journal, and you grin at the sight.

Maybe you don’t have to talk to Kyle at all.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask as you walk up to the desk. Price’s hand stills against the journal as he looks up at you in slight surprise. You’re sure you’re probably not supposed to be in here without being invited in, but you see how his eyes dip down over your form and decide that he probably doesn’t mind.

“Just the one?” he smiles, setting his pen down to give you his full, undivided attention.

“Just the one, I promise,” you laugh, sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “When’s Kyle’s birthday?”

The smile stays, but his brows draw together curiously, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Right, and which team are you asking this for?”

Ah, so he knows.

“Neither. I just wanted to get him something nice…and maybe get back at Soap for conning me out of my money.”

Price laughs at that, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair. It creaks softly, and you’re momentarily lost in the thought of how comfortable it looks.

It definitely looks like it could hold two people—

Stop.

Focus.

Kyle’s birthday.

“It’s next Thursday,” he says, breaking you out of your momentary distraction. “The club will be closed that night while we celebrate.”

That gives you eight days. You can work with that. All you have to do now is figure out what to get him.

And you’re sitting across from the one person who would know best.

“Do you have any hints for what I could get him?” you ask, giving your sweetest smile that he definitely sees straight through.

“That’s more than one question,” he chuckles.

“I mean, they both go together. Think of it as two halves to the same question.” You bat your lashes, keeping that tauntingly sweet smile aimed at him.

“So, you get an extra question,” he says, leaning forward and clasping his hands together atop the desk. He tilts his head, staring into your eyes, and purrs, “What do I get in return?”

“The satisfaction of helping out your favorite employee?” you tease, setting your elbows on the desk to lean toward him.

“You’re my favorite, are you?” he laughs softly, inching just a bit closer.

“You just said so yourself,” you grin. He hums, amused and impressed, a fondness in his eyes that sends a slight pang through your chest.

“He likes desserts,” Price tells you.

“Anything specific?” you press, slowly leaning forward until only a few inches are left between you.

“Careful now,” he warns, all silk and want and looking two seconds from jumping over the desk. “That’s a third question.”

You sit there for just a second, letting him watch your eyes fall to his lips as you lean a little closer before—

“You’re right,” you sigh dramatically, pulling back entirely, smug grin across your face. “I’m sure I can figure it out myself.”

“You’re a cruel woman,” he laughs, settling back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. You throw him a wink that earns you a playful roll of his eyes. Your phone chimes from your pocket, and when you check it, you find a message from Farah asking you to meet her backstage.

“Time for me to head out,” you sigh, standing from your chair. You turn to look at Price, giving him an earnest smile, “Thanks for the help. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Dove.”

You head toward the door as Price picks up his pen, ready to return to what he’d been working on before you came in.

“If you can bake,” Price calls out just as you grab the door handle, “try an apple sponge. It’s one of his favorites.”

You turn back to thank him, but he’s already focused on his work. You stash the information away in your mind, heading into the club to meet Farah with a wide grin.

(It takes a lot of trial and error in your motel room’s dingy little kitchen—little more than a hot plate and a mini fridge—but you’re eventually successful with a small apple sponge pudding the night before Kyle’s birthday.

When you present it to him, waiting until the party’s died down and everyone else is focused on something else, his eyes go glassy at the first taste. For a moment, you’re worried you’ve messed up the recipe, but he sets the plate down and wraps you in a tight hug.

“Used to make this with my mum,” he laughs into your shoulder, watery and sad and so, so appreciative. “Haven’t had one in years.”

He pulls away after a soft squeeze, his signature bright smile a little tighter than usual.

“Thank you, really.”

He goes back to the dessert, offering a couple of bites to his date, the woman who had worn the purple and teal dresses and whose name you’ve learned is Tabby.

You glance up from the happy couple, eyes roving over the rest of the party until you catch eyes with Price. He grins, winking at you, before returning to his conversation with Nik and Alex.

You don’t know how you’ll thank him, but you have a few ideas.)

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

You nearly jump out of your skin as Price startles you, not only with his question but also with his sudden appearance at your side.

The club is closed for the week—you’re not told why—but you still come in to clean in the mornings. You’d been enjoying your small break at the bar, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly.

You thought you were alone, but apparently not.

“Not that I know of,” you say, trying to calm the jittering of your nerves. “Why?”

“Would you like to have dinner?”

Your mind blanks.

Your heart skips a beat, stunned at the idea that he might actually be asking you out and even more stunned by the instant yes that sits on the tip of your tongue.

“I—”

“We’re having a small get-together for whoever wants to come.”

There’s a painful squeeze in your chest that you’re forced to ignore, and you do your best to cover the sting with a smile.

“Sure! Sounds fun.”

“Perfect.” He smiles back wide, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of your head before turning and walking away. “I’ll have Gaz send you the address,” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing into his office.

You stand there, staring at his office doors, doing everything you can to quell the sudden heat flooding your body.

You add extra ice to your water and bury yourself in your work as a poor distraction.

Kyle texts you the address that night, along with a message telling you not to come into work the next day, and a single sentence after that reads: Wear something blue :).

You sleep in the next morning—the first time in years—taking your time to go through your clothes and get ready. Your wardrobe is limited—all of the outfits Valeria’s had made for you sitting in the dressing room at the club.

Those would probably be too formal anyways.

You decide on your usual jeans and boots, but dig out a lighter shirt—more grey than blue, but passable—to wear under your black sweater. It’ll have to work as you spend the rest of your time fixing your hair, relaxing, and singing along to the music on your phone.

You leave an hour early, still unfamiliar with the city streets outside your commute to and from the club. The directions are simple enough to follow, your phone’s GPS taking you through the city easily, but after almost twenty minutes, you take a turn and realize you’re being led out of the city.

The drive is almost peaceful, the bustle of the city melting away into broad open landscape then into large trees filled with lush greenery. You’re directed to an off-road leading deeper into the thicket, your car protesting as it leaves the pavement and starts down the dirt road.

It takes half an hour of driving through solid forest before the trees around you begin to thin, and the dirt road slowly turns to gravel, then to smooth stone. The road curves and winds through the trees before you take a sharp turn, and you catch sight of the house.

No, house isn’t the right word. Manor would be more accurate.

The car comes to a halt as you hit the brakes, hands tightening around your steering wheel until your nails dig into the heels of your palms.

A sprawling estate surrounded by lush greenery that grows up the front of the house, you’re reminded of your family’s old summer home. That house hadn’t been nearly as big as this, but Price’s manor carries the same quaint feeling you remember having every time your father took you on vacation at the summer home.

The knot that grows in your throat is sudden, the rush of nostalgia slamming into you without warning.

The last time you had been to that old house was for your wedding.

You still remember the smell of lilacs and sweet peas that drifted up from the beautifully decorated courtyard into the bridal suite, the gorgeous bespoke gown that had once been your mother’s—gifted to you by your father as your something borrowed—and the beaming smile you carried for the entire day.

The last good day you remember having in your old life.

That’s over now, you remind yourself. You’re safe here.

You take a deep breath, loosening your grip on the steering wheel and easing off the brake. You drive slowly, taking in the beautifully laid out gardens around the front of the manor, trying to push down the painful fondness that stabs at your heart.

You park behind the various cars at the end of the driveway, locking your car behind you just once before making your way to the front doors.

Just like the club, they’re unlocked.

As soon as you walk in, you’re hit with a delicious smell and the sounds of quiet laughter. You follow the noise, taking in the interior of the house. It’s homey, understated, downright cozy, and somehow fitting for what you’d imagine as Price’s home.

“Look who it is!” Alex cheers as you walk into a sitting room. He sits on one of the couches, an arm draped across the back and around Farah. Across from them is Kyle, spread out on the other couch, busy typing away on his phone, his feet almost in Nik’s lap. You’ve never seen them so dressed down before, all in some type of hoodie, sweater, sweats combination—or pajama pants in Nik’s case.

Farah and Nik give you the same eager greeting, but Kyle continues on his phone, ignoring your presence entirely.

“Don’t mind him,” Farah scoffs. “He’s too busy with his new girlfriend.”

“It’s no problem,” you laugh, looking around the room. Farah watches you, smirk plastered on her face.

“The old man’s in the kitchen,” she says, nodding toward the other side of the room. Alex and Nik bite back their laughs, and you choose to ignore them.

“Thanks, Farah.” She nods, and you head in the direction she gives you. You head in the direction she gives you, passing through the dining room before you’re able to find the kitchen.

It’s not exactly like the one from your old summer home, but it’s damn close—spacious yet comfortable, all earth-toned and welcoming—and it’s a fight to swallow down the knot in your throat.

“You’re here!”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts as Price catches sight of you, setting down the knife in his hand and making his way over to you. You’ve never seen him in a sweater before, but you know how you’d kill to see him in one again. Like the others, he’s dressed down from his usual club attire: a deep maroon sweater with rolled sleeves, jeans, and a black apron with small spots of flour across it.

“Yeah, didn’t want to miss out on seeing my boss in an apron,” you joke as he pulls you into a hug, followed by a kiss on the head. You let yourself melt into him, missing his warmth the minute he pulls away.

“You can have a drink and wait with the others if you want. Grab whatever you want from the fridge,” he says, heading back to his station.

“Actually,” you take a deep breath, setting your hands on the island counter, “I was wondering if there was anything I could help with?”

He seems surprised at the offer, brows raised as he looks up at you. But the surprise is quickly replaced with a fond smile.

“You any good at chopping vegetables?” he asks.

“The best,” you tease, inching your way over to him, giving him time to tell you no.

“You can take over here, then.”

He takes a step back, and you take his place, picking the knife up from the cutting board. You’re about to start when you feel his hands settle on your hips and his lips brushing against the skin of your neck. You tilt your head automatically, pressing back into him as he murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.” He pulls away immediately after, leaving you to your work.

Time flies by, the two of you work almost seamlessly together in the kitchen. You laugh and joke and enjoy as Price takes every opportunity to put his hands on you. Small, teasing touches, but they send your heart racing each and every time, and soon you find yourself returning the favor.

By the time the food’s ready, you’ve shed your sweater, the kitchen heat, and the man next to you far too much for you. You take it in stride, having more fun than you’ve had in a long time and allowing yourself to enjoy this moment.

Dinner passes by equally as fun, feeling like those rare dinners you got to have with your father—just you and him, just family.

The others bid their goodbye, Alex and Farah heading home after dishes are done, Nik heading upstairs to one of the many spare rooms, and Kyle leaving to meet Tabby at her place. You help clean, waiting until everything is spotless to take your leave. Price walks you to the door, hand on the small of your back the entire walk.

“You know,” he says as you reach the front door, “you could stay here for the night.”

“What? You mean you don’t want to come back to mine?” you tease, lightly nudging him with your elbow. When he doesn’t laugh, you still worry creeping up your spine.

Please, don’t ask me to “repay” you for dinner.

“There’s plenty of room here,” he says quietly, pulling his hand from your back so he can turn to face. “I just—I’d sleep better knowing you were somewhere…safer.”

Oh. Oh.

You don’t know how you can possibly feel more endeared than you do in this moment, the worry so genuine on his face.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve been fine so far,” you offer, voice soft as you set a hand on his arm. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, wrapping his hand around yours, “There’s always room for you here if you ever change your mind.”

“Thank you.”

And even if you don’t take up the offer now, you mean it with all your heart.

Summer nears its end when you find a sleek red box sitting atop your vanity that was definitely not there before you went on stage.

A small white card with your name written on the front rests on top of the box, a handwritten note with an address and a date for Saturday afternoon. You don’t recognize the address or the handwriting, so you set the card aside cautiously, sliding your fingers under the box lid.

You lift the lid, curiosity winning out over your caution.

Laying inside, pristinely folded, is a dress. A very beautiful, pale dress covered in pale blue columbine flowers. You run your fingers along the fabric, admiring the softness of the organza against your skin.

What is this for?

You wrack your brain trying to think of any upcoming birthdays or events, but nothing comes to mind. You’re sure you’d know; things like that are usually a big deal for the club.

You’re left wondering as someone knocks on the dressing room door. You quickly put the lid back on the box, tucking the card into the pocket of your jacket draped over the back of your chair.

When you leave for the night, you take the box back to the motel room, setting it on top of the duffle bag that holds your clothes, where it sits untouched for the rest of the week.

When Saturday comes, you wake up an hour before your alarm and head straight for the box. You set it on the bed and spend the morning getting ready with a long, room-temperature shower.

A small voice nags in the back of your mind as you stand in your underwear, staring down at the box on your bed. You’re excited and nervous, eager to try on the dress but unsure of what to expect from all of this.

The last time someone surprised you with a dress…

You shake the thoughts from your head, pulling the lid from the box, lifting the dress out, and finding a pair of nude flats lying at the bottom.

It’s long and light, made of a soft, airy material that falls to the ground with short, sheer puffy sleeves and a slit up to the knee. You have no trouble putting it on, the smooth silk gliding against your skin in a fit so perfect that you immediately think this must be Valeria’s doing.

You twirl, watching the material fan out with a wide smile. You leave the shoes in the box while you fix your hair, putting in the effort to get your hair just right and make yourself look as good as the dress makes you feel.

When you’re done, and looking far more stunning than you anticipated, you slip on the shoes and grab your keys.

You head out to your car in the early afternoon, pulling up the address on your phone. Your destination is just outside the city, opposite from where you are. It doesn’t take long, even in the afternoon traffic, and it ends with you pulling up to a large house with a driveway full of familiar cars.

You park behind Kyle’s car, giving yourself one last look in your slightly crooked rearview mirror.

When you step out of your car, you’re instantly met with music and laughter echoing from the backyard. You follow the path up to the front door, knocking twice as you admire the front garden.

The house is far enough out of the city to not be near anyone else but close enough to not have to drive an hour to get to the club like Price’s. Large, spacious, and a yard covered in different types of flowers.

A sharp whistle startles you as you take in how well taken care of the daisies look.

“Canary!” You step back from the door, looking across the driveway where Kyle stands, waving his hands at you, Roach next to him, holding open a gate that you assume leads to the backyard.

It’s weird to see them out of their standard black, but the bright summer colors fit them just as well. You make your way over, Kyle meeting you halfway to pull you into a hug.

“Glad you make it!”

“Me too!” you laugh, following him to the gate so you can hug Roach. “What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion?” Roach asks, holding the gate open with his foot so he can sign to you.

“It’s just a party,” Kyle says with a curious tilt of his head. “Valeria didn’t tell you?”

“Why would she tell me?”

“Because it’s her house?” Roach blinks.

“No one told me anything. I found a card with a time and place sitting on my vanity. And this—” you gesture to the dress, “—with it.”

“That’s one way to invite you, I guess,” Kyle shrugs, throwing an arm around your shoulders with an easy smile. “Either way, we’re glad you’re here.”

He and Roach lead you into the backyard, equally beautiful as the front, with tall trees providing shade and a large pool in the center. The entire club is here. Alejandro and Alex stand near the grill, laughing and passing jokes while the rest of the club is gathered at the few tables set up in the shade near the back doors to the house.

Valeria spots you instantly, making her way over with a wide grin. Kyle slides his arm from your shoulders as she gets close, and she pulls you into a quick hug.

“You made it!” she cheers, taking a step back and giving you an appreciative once over. “And you look fantastic! I’m proud of you.”

“It wasn’t all me,” you say, a little shy under the praise. “Thank you for the dress, by the way.”

“Hm?” Valeria raises a brow. “Well, it is lovely, and the blue’s a nice touch, but it’s not one of mine.”

“What?”

If it wasn’t her, then…who?

You look around the yard, glancing over the rest of your friends and coworkers. They all seem busy talking, laughing, enjoying themselves.

All except for one, John Price, who’s sitting between Ghost and König, wearing a pale blue shirt to match the color of the flowers on your dress and staring at you with an intensity that sets your skin alight.

“Oh,” Valeria laughs, following your gaze.

“Explains the blue,” Kyle snickers, nudging your arm with his elbow.

You pull your eyes away from Price to smack Kyle in the chest. You’re met with laughter from the three of them, covering your face with your hands in a poor attempt to cool the heat in your cheeks.

“I hate all of you,” you grumble, their laughter growing as you head for the tables. You do your best to smile and not appear as flustered as you are, returning hellos and hugs as everyone notices you. When you reach the back table, Ghost nods in greeting while König stands to hug you. However, when he pulls away from you, he pulls out the chair he’d been sitting in and gestures for you to sit.

“You don’t have to—”

“I have to help Alex soon, anyway,” König shrugs.

“Okay, then,” you smile, taking the seat, turning to add a quick thank you before he leaves for the grill.

“You look lovely,” Price says the moment you turn back to the table. “Blue suits you.”

Ghost doesn’t speak, simply picking up his glass and sitting next to Soap at the table across from yours.

“Like this color, do you?” you ask, setting your elbows on the table to lace your fingers together and set your chin atop them, smiling at him with a raised brow.

“You could say I’m partial to it,” he shrugs casually, eyes trailing down the expanse of your leg exposed through the slit of your dress. “Especially on certain people.”

You can’t help but giggle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair.

You take a moment to feel the warmth from the sun, cooled by the gentle summer breeze carrying a soft bite of autumn’s inevitable chill.

You don’t remember the last time you could simply enjoy a day outside.

“Thank you, by the way,” you speak up, turning to Price with a soft smile. “You didn’t have to get me a dress, but I appreciate it.”

“Not a fan of gifts?” he asks, an unusual hesitance in his voice.

“I like them. I’m just…not used to them, I guess.”

Or ones that don’t come with ulterior motives, anyway.

He stares at you for a brief second before his hand slides across the table to settle over you with a light squeeze. “Think you better get used to it then, love. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the smug grin on Price’s face.

“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of that, am I?”

“Not at all,” he laughs, and you laugh along, turning your hand over to lace your fingers through his.

You give a soft squeeze of his hand, soaking up the warmth from his hand, “Price, I—”

“Sparrow, get over here! We’re starting karaoke!” You turn as Soap yells from his table.

“In a minute!” you call back.

“Fine, but I’m pickin’ your song!”

Price chuckles next to you, releasing your hand. Disappointment swells in your chest before his hand reaches your bare knee. “Go have fun. We can talk later,” he smiles.

You nod, and he lets his hand linger a second longer before pulling away as you stand up. You adjust your dress before glancing over to Price. As soon as the idea comes to your head, you act. Setting a hand on his shoulder, you lean down to press a kiss to his cheek before whispering into his ear your promise of later.

You step away quickly, making your way over to the rest of your friends, looking back only once to catch Price’s eyes. He sends you a wink, standing from his chair to join Alex, Alejandro, and König.

You don’t know what later entails, but you’re certainly looking forward to it.

Everything changes at the beginning of autumn when you return to your motel room exhausted from an incredibly long week.

You don’t take notice of the new car that sits in the usually empty parking lot.

Or how your door doesn’t click when you turn the key.

Or that your duffel bag sits open on top of your bed, instead of under it like you’d left it that morning.

If your father had been here, he would’ve killed you being so careless, for letting your guard down so much.

But the man who’s broken into your room takes up the job for him, waiting until you reach the bathroom door to shove his way out and tackle you to the floor. You don’t get the chance to scream as your head slams into the floor, and your vision goes blurry.

You feel his weight over you as he tries to grab at your arms, words coming out of his mouth that your fuzzy brain can’t process right now. He gets frustrated, hands wrapping around your neck before they squeeze, and your neck burns.

You squirm and push, fighting back with everything you have until you can land a kick to his stomach that sends him stumbling to the side.

You roll onto your stomach, stumbling to push yourself up to your feet. You make it to your dresser before a meaty hand wraps around your ankle and yanks.

You're sent back to the grab, scrabbling to grab hold of anything you can on the dresser. Your hand catches something, and you wrap your fist around it on the way down, waiting until the man tries to climb over you again before you swing.

You make contact with him, the object in your hand causing an audible crack against his head. He falls over, and instinct takes over. You swing again, then one more time before you toss the object aside—it's the table lamp that never worked, now that you're given time to look at it—and scoot back until your back is pressed against the foot of your bed.

It takes a minute before your vision can fully focus, and you process the man lying on your floor, blood pooling out from the cracked open dent in his head.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

You don't know what else to do, going straight for your phone. Your eyes glassy, you struggle to find the contact you need and gulp down as much air as you can while it rings.

"Hello?"

I'm sorry to bother you. Please, don't be mad.

"H-Hey. I—I um—"

You can't get words around, lungs constricting too fast to get air in.

"Canary? Are you okay?"

"I don't—I don't know what—what happened. I—"

"Breathe, love. Where are you?"

"He at—he attacked me. I didn't mean to—I didn't—"

You hear conversation in the background, multiple voices.

"Are you at home?"

"I—"

"Yes or no, love."

"Y—yes."

"Stay there, okay?"

"Okay."

You don't mean to hang up, but your hands are too shaky, and you hit end call button trying to put Price on speaker.

You don't know how long you sit there, hyperventilating as you stare at the man bleeding out on your floor. Minutes? Hours? You have no way to tell; time passes too quickly yet drags second by second.

You don't hear your door open or the soft call of your name, but you do feel the hand on your shoulder.

"No!" You try to pull away, but the person moves in front of you, and you go into full panic mode.

"Stop, it's me. It's me. It's okay. It's me, love."

Two warm hands settle on either side of your face, turning you to look forward, where you find Price on his knees in front of you, concern etched deep into his features.

"I—he tried to—"

His hands fall from your face, instead wrapping around you to pull you into him. You go easily, tucking yourself against him, against the familiar comfort as the knot swells in your throat and the dam finally breaks.

"Shh, it's okay," Price coos into your hair. "I've got you. You're safe."

Despite the circumstances, you believe him.

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe, @meepetteoneonly, @anitaebee, @honeyr4ven, @curasimp, @jxvipike, @frazie99, @reiya-djarin, @urfavsunkissedleo, @hauntingtherosebush, @aerangi, @ofmenanduhhhwellmen, @warners-wife, @xx4rcticxx, @mundane-frogola, @marytvirgin, @nyooom, @gogh-with-the-flow, @arctic-writes, @thriving-n-jiving, @deadpoetsandhoney, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @blurpleuni-squid, @dead-noodles, @urfavsunkissedleo, @tapioca-marzipan, @averyyreads, @sourire-acide, @nivalis-dies, @froggi-mushroom, @carla019083-blog, @urlovecarla, @fvfvxcvfxcvf, @digitalsins, @dectectivejjbittenbinder, @330bpm-whiplash, @warners-wife, @das-conk-creet-baybee, @dudewithastick, @x-jeff-johansen-x, @calypsoonn, @octopiys, @tbrfic, @pssytrux, @pastelpixies, @bloodyfoxes12, @emma342561, @scattermind-001, @kereseth, @iwaszoomingg, @schlafenderbruder, @sanfransolomitatm, @solidly-indulgent, @oastertoaster, @whovianwar, @kateanacall, @luvmariax0, @tbrfic, @gh0st-r1der, @certainlynotasimp, @pheobees, @fivedicksinatrenchcoat, @sarapaprikas-blog, @moriflos, @laeilaps, @furiousshepherdclambailiff, @tactical-shrimp, @rosesgaylol, @marvelranger, @msdrpreist, @riverrka

#i feel like i overshared #pairing: john price x reader

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kaaytea · 3 years ago

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Kuramochi Youichi x reader

Warnings: slight Sawamura slander

Summary: You are his muse, his love, his canvas.

A/n: once again pushing my art nerd Kuramochi agenda. You can't stop me, this hc will be apart of my characterization of him. Enjoy, fellow Kuramochi simps ♥️

He was being so very gentle with you.

Your hand laid in his, forearm exposed as he layered more and more color onto it's surface. His brush —old and caked with dried paint chipping off the ferrule and handle— languidly dragged over the delicate skin of your arm. The touch was feather-light, almost undetectable to your body as he continued spreading the cold paint onto you.

Art had always been Kuramochi's creative outlet; there was something so calming about sparking one’s imagination. It made him feel grounded, in control. Over time this hobby became a sort of escape; hiding in pages smudged with ink and graphite was much easier and quicker than anything else.

The acrylic smell embraced your senses in a familiar welcome as he swiped more green onto your skin, messily tapping the bright color into place. Kuramochi didn't usually work with paint much —he was far more familiar with pastels and markers than the liquidy, free form substance— but recently he'd started to branch out a bit to test his skills.

He started on scrap papers then quickly moved to more niche items like sneakers and baseballs. Painting on skin hadn't even crossed his mind until you picked up a dirty brush and drew a smiley face on the back of his hand. He was instantly intrigued with the idea and you, being your gracious self, offered to be his canvas.

You Had been watching him for about half an hour now. In that half-hour the shortstop hadn't spoken a word —apart from a few choice swears when he messed up. You watched his face scrunch up in concentration, his brows furrowed and tongue slightly poking out from the corner of his mouth.

He hated when you said it, but Kuramochi was absolutely adorable when this absorbed in something.

You unconsciously let out an amused huff while watching him, the noise prompted said boy to look up at you briefly before redirecting his attention to your arm.

"What's so funny?" He grumbled, a slight pout tugged at his lips.

"Oh nothing," you drawled. Your free hand reached up to run through his hair, which was still slightly damp from the shower he had taken after practice. You gently pushed his bangs back only to watch the strands flop down across his forehead again. "You just look really cute right now."

Kuramochi stiffened slightly at your words. He had his head down but you could tell he was blushing by how red his ears were turning. He looked up at you, but in his flustered state he stumbled over his words, "Y-you can't just say that to me while I'm trying to work!"

You laughed at him and leaned forward to press kisses onto his warm cheeks. The action made his face burn even more as he tried to wiggle away from your unprompted affections. Despite his resistance, he still pressed a firm kiss to your lips when you finished your assault on his face.

"Jokes on you because the cutest person in this room is sitting right in front of me," he huffed out as he returned to put the finishing highlights on your arm.

You hummed at his response. Should you mess with him? It would be so easy to poke fun at him right now. Maybe just a little, teasing never really hurt anyone anyways, right?

"I don't know, personally I think Sawamura has me beat in the cute category."

It felt like your body was imploding as you fought the urge to laugh, your lungs screamed for air and body shook as you held everything in. Youichi's face was absolutely priceless; a mixture of shock and mild disgust twisted his features.

"I'm sorry but did you just call Bakamura cute?" Kuramochi's brain was malfunctioning. You just called the boy that annoys half the team daily and who is currently passed out on his bunk snoring cute.

"C'mon Youichi," You laughed, finally letting everything bubble over with a hearty slap to his knee. "He's like a little puppy!"

"Yeah, a jumpy, un-house-trained puppy."

You blinked owlishly at his hunched form, no longer entranced by the graceful tracing of the brush against your arm.

"Mochi did you just imply that if Sawamura was a dog he wouldn't be house-trained?"

"Yes I fucking did," he said, looking up At you briefly, "are you opposed to that statement?"

"I mea-"

A loud snore cut off your response. The two of you looked up at the boy half falling out of his bunk with drool slipping from the corner of his mouth, before turning back to each other. It seemed as though Sawamura had answered Kuramochi's question for you.

"I take back what I previously said."

"Good," Mochi leaned back from your arm and placed his brushes into the dirty water cup on the floor next to him, the wood clinked sharply against the glass as the brushes swiveled into their resting place.

"Finished?" You asked.

The boy nodded before reaching his arms up into a full-body stretch, looking akin to a house cat after a long nap. A soft groan rumbled from him as he rid himself of his sore back and shoulders.

Your attention drifted from your boyfriend to his artwork splayed across your arm. Your eyes were met with an even blend of greens and brown as they trailed over the painting. It started at your palm, a bountiful and bright tree intricately traced over your skin, the plant’s trunk extended down and broke into roots at your wrist —roots that were following the same path you knew your veins happened to make.

"Trees are supposed to represent life and veins carry blood. Get it? Lifeblood?" Kuramochi watched you expectantly as he explained his inspiration. A short snort of amusement was what he got in return.

"Yes you're absolutely hilarious —and incredibly talented," you whispered the latter part as you pressed —what was supposed to be— a chaste kiss onto his lips. Kuramochi had other plans as he pulled you into his lap and deepened the kiss, but pulled away before it could get too heated.

"You know you'll always be prettier than anything I could ever paint," he whispered in between the small pecks he was placing across your cheeks. It wasn't a rare event for the shortstop to be so affectionate; you had him wrapped around your finger and he knew exactly that.

"If the team ever found out how sappy you actually are they would roast you alive," you quipped.

"It's a good thing they'll never find out then," he responded, bumping his nose against yours before sealing his response with a final kiss.

#kuramochi youichi #kuramochi youichi x reader #kuramochi x reader #kuramochi imagine #kuramochi youichi oneshot #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace #ace of the diamond x reader #ace of the diamond #diamond no ace x reader #daiya no ace oneshot #daiya no ace imagines #ace of the diamond oneshot #kuramochi yōichi #Kuramochi yōichi x reader

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fromzerotoeuphoria · 4 years ago

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me watching Free!: Take Your Marks!

(reposted from original blog, Aug 2, 2020)

I can’t believe it’s pretty much been a week since I watched the Timeless Medley films 1 and 2, and now I’m finally watching Film 3: Take Your Marks.

I’m super excited but also a lil anxious because my RinHaru fangirl-heart needs to be FED and I know I will implode out of frustration if I don’t get any quality RinHaru content.

Yes, I know it’s an addiction, but at this point I really don’t care ✌🏾😎

Anyways, I’ll be live-journaling my thoughts while watching this again. Honestly, the only reason I do this is because I actually love going back and re-experiencing my initial reactions. Again, addicted.

Plus I really wish I had better journaled my thoughts while watching Season 1, but who knew I was gonna be snatched by the throat and dragged down deep into the murky depths of this anime. Well, ya live and ya learn.

Disclaimer: this is literally just the random thoughts that came to me while watching the film live, so it’s neither coherent nor is it a proper review; I was too caught up in watching the movie, screeching into my hands every time Rin Matsuoka came on screen, and finally coming to grips within myself to the fact that I actually was in love with this beautiful red-haired sharkboy.

Well, without further ado, let’s get into it.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Free! Take Your Marks

• Episode 1 • 2:23 AM | Rin’s been on screen for like 45 seconds and already he’s making me smile like an idiot UGHHH. Even just a minute in, it seems like flickers if his elementary school-self are shining through in the way he readily agrees to help the Iwatobi gang with their video project. He’s so willing and happy to help, it’s like I’m watching Little Rin 😭😭😭💖

✧

2:32 AM | Aww why does Haru not like Kisumi?? :((( I like him! Even in middle school, Kisumi was so chill and kind and just an overall nice kid. Aww, come on Haru! 🥺

✧

2:44 AM | I’m GAGGING OMG WE ARE SEEING MORE OF RIN’S PERSONALITY (when he’s not all emo) AND IT’S LITERALLY GROWN UP ELEMENTARY SCHOOL RIN AND SHANJSNSJSJS I’M LIVINGGGG

Seriously why the heck is he making me all giddy like this >_A LOT to handle and I’m over here melting at 3 o’clock in the morning. 🥴

(I’m really crushing on Rin Matsuoka WHATTHEHECK)

✧

2:50 AM | Honestly though Makoto is so sweet and I actually love his and Rin’s friendship too, I wish we got to see more of it. I’m so happy for Makoto and his dream, babie you’re gonna do so well as a coach! 🥺💙

✧

2:53 AM | OMG IT JUST HIT ME! I BET I KNOW WHO THE OLD SWIM COACH WHOSE APARTMENT HARU IS TAKING OVER IS!!! Omg it’s totally that guy friend Starting Days, the quiet nice student coach who had the eye surgery. I forget his name but I’m certain it’s him!

SEE WHAT DID I TELL YOU the old tenant is the Haru and Mako’s middle school student teacher swim coach!! XD (still forget his name tho)

✧

• Episode 2 • 3:02 AM | Oh good GRACIOUS, Rin with a ponytail though T_T

BLESS.

✧

3:20 AM | So Ikuya’s older brother from Starting Days is at the same hot spring as the Samezeka gang and now he’s talking to Sousuke (who’s totally growing on me more and more) and eeeek I’m actually really looking forward to interactions! Also…dang he and Sousuke are like…really attractive. Could they be the best looking guys on the show??? 👀

✧

• Episode 3 • 3:32 AM | Am I going to take this moment to point how Rin and Haru are both sitting up front in the car??? WHY YES I WILL TAKE THIS MOMENT TO POINT OUT HOW BOTHRIN AND HARU ARE SITTING UP FRONT IN THE CAR (as opposed to any other pairing just sayin 😌)

Okay but the way the camera zoomed in on Haru’s face when Rin was leaving and Nagisa told him to make sure he visits them *cue rinharu fangirling*

✧

• Episode 4 • 4:00 AM | This boy I swear.

Rin is freaking CRYING at a cheesy sad romance movie I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIMMMM.

Also ilowkey think I may love Ikuya too, lil babie 🥺 I hope he’s not a jerk in Season 3 and doesn’t become annoying with the whole Haru-drama, because he’s a lil cinnamon roll and I wanna love & protecc.

✧

4:10 AM | okay sorry but not sorry to be that person but like RIN OMG!! 😍😩 The way he’s totally being such a knightly older brother to Gou—even though he’s under the wrong impression that Gou is dating Momo—is so cute and sweet and wow, I literally love him. I’m over here dying at the way he’s all concerned about Gou and how he accepted the duel with Momo over her and just, UGH THIS ANIME BOY THO

✧

4:19 AM | I’m actually about to VOMIT OMG, this has all gotten hilariously out of hand and now Haru thinks Rin is quitting swimming and he’s having an intense heart to heart with Rin, telling Rin how HE’S the reason Haru was able to move towards the future and UGH THIS RINHARU MOMENT IS LITERALLY EVERYTHING OMG I’M DYING AND RESURRECTINGGG 😭

(gifs by @sapphiresflame)

Okay literally Haru is shouting out Rin’s name when Rin dove into the water during their relay, and the look of awe on Haru’s face when Rin dove in over his head is EVERYTHINGGG MY RINHARU HEART IS THRIVING Y'ALL

(gifs by @sapphiresflame)

*cries in RinHaru*

✧

4:31 AM | THE WAY IM JUST AJSNSJSNSSKKBCUEHDH this episode was so sweet and hilarious and IMINLOVEWITHRIN and just wonderful! This was my fav episode out of the film, it was just so sweet and everyone came together to give Rin a going away party. Seeing Samezeka and Iwatobi both having fun together was so touching, and it was Fun who brought them all together. Really goes to show how special Rin is to everyone; Coach Sasube even was looking on at Rin interacting with everyone and had flashbacks of Lil Rin laughing and having fun with other back then. Rin really leaves a mark on everyone he comes across, and I adore him for it. I actually want to be like that to be like Rin in that way. Wow. I love these boys and I love Rin’s friendship with all the people in his life and I LOVE RIN MATSUOKA.

Now time to finally move onto Season 3! I want to so badly do it right now, but it’s really late on a Sunday and it really sucks trying to document my thoughts on the same device that I’m watching the anime :P But I will definitely be starting it soon, no procrastinating like I’ve done with AOT and Haikyuu, PROMISE!

#THIS MOVIE WAS EVERYTHING #EPISODE 4 #EPISODE. FREAKIN. FOUR!!!!#THE BENCH SCENE #DID YOU NOT SEE HOW EMOTIONAL HARU GOT OVER RIN?!??#MY OTP PEOPLE #this was when i fell in love with adult rin #or at least finally admitted it to myself #free!#free! take your marks #rinharu #harurin #free! iwatobi swim club #anime journaling #me watching free!#me watching anime

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makeste · 5 years ago

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BnHA Chapter 250: Why Is This Family Not in Therapy

Previously on BnHA: Fuyumi invited everyone over to Camp Todovid for a wholesome family meal because what could possibly go wrong. Kacchan and Deku proceeded to spend the evening blinking distress signals at each other in Morse code while Natsu shoved breadsticks into his purse and skedaddled after getting mad at Endeavor in a completely unexpected turn of events which absolutely no one could have foreseen. After dinner, Shouto had a heart to heart with Fuyu (and then Deku) about whether or not he was ready to forgive his dad, and meanwhile Endeavor said a prayer for his very dead son Touya. Poor Touya. He was such a nice boy. You know what he really used to like? Messenger bags. He’d put the oddest things in them, too. I wonder if Touya would still enjoy collecting strange and disturbing things in bags if he was still alive today. Alas. We’ll never know.

Today on BnHA: Some guy named Takami who just got out of prison decides to show up out of the blue and fucking kidnap Natsuo because WHY NOT. But before that happens, we get a nice scene of Kacchan and Deku sitting down with Shouto and Fuyu, who finally decide it’s high time they talked about THEIR SECRET DEAD BROTHER seeing as LET’S BE REAL, THAT WAS THE WHOLE POINT OF THIS DINNER TO BEGIN WITH. So basically, (1) he’s definitely dead! For sure! 100% deceased!, and (2) Natsuo apparently blames Endeavor for his death, lol no big. Deku and Kacchan are for some reason super fucking chill about hearing this, and then Endeavor comes over and is all “TIME TO HEAD BACK” and omg I’ve never hated him more. And then as they’re driving away from Todofield Hall, Takami shows up and is all “HEY ENDEAVOR LOOK I KIDNAPPED YOUR CHILD AND I’M GONNA KILL HIM!” and holy shit but Horikoshi is just fucking with us now, though.

(As always, all comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity afterward, and added some ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

all right manga, do your worst. I’m completely spoiler-free on this one. watch it not even be a flashback, after all of that lmao

(ETA: lol I read these two asks after I read the chapter and they’re pretty great:

honestly this week wasn’t that bad, though! the worst part of it was the whole “only 13 pages again” thing honestly. next week, though, it looks like we’ll be in for some fun times. oh goodness.)

so it appears night has fallen on Todofield Hall, and hoooooooooly shit you guys, are they. are they all gonna have a sleepover at Shouto’s house, because fdszllk I. I’m gonna. ldskfjla

(ETA: [kicks Endeavor in the shins] why do you hate fun!?)

who is talking?? are these prison stripes??

so is this the Takami guy narrating, then? just like we all predicted last week. ???

(ETA: so I saw all these people going “wtf is this Hawks’s dad??” and I was like “lol what” and it took me longer than I’d like to admit to put two and two together, but anyways, long story short, “Takami” just so happens to be Hawks’s recently revealed surname (with the same kanji and everything -- 鹰見). so while every instinct in my body is screaming at me “gtfo no way they’re related”, it is an extremely bizarre coincidence, so uh. ?? I got nothin’, basically.)

WHAT THE FUCK

IS THIS GUY STALKING THE TODOROKI HOUSE. ABOUT TO BREAK INTO TODOFELL IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT WHILE MY CHILDREN ARE ASLEEP!? CAN THEY JUST NOT CATCH A BREAK

also I will never understand villains who get all smug about being captured alive. “your one mistake was not killing me when you should have!” like okay, so you’re admitting you’re a piece of shit who should have died, and that the hero totally could have done it, but they were nice enough not to so SHAME ON THEM, apparently

anyways I really don’t understand what’s going on at all lol. some guy looked up to Endeavor and then got himself captured by him for some reason. let’s continue I guess

oh lord it keeps getting creepier

-- oohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiit, is this fucker about to air Endeavor’s dirty laundry?? is that what this is about?

AHHHHH

NATSU SWEETIE WHERE ARE YOUR SELF-PRESERVATION INSTINCTS?? IT IS NOT SAFE! and also what the fuck, does Endeavor just not have any security in his home at all? surely he must, if for no other reason than the fact that HE HAS KIDS and he’s not always at home! I have to imagine that any pro hero with a family understands that they’re a potential target for villains and would take precautions. I wonder if we’re about to see this sneaky guy get wrecked

(ETA: nope, Endeavor really has no security whatsoever and Natsu got snatched while waiting outside for his Uber. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he was too busy missing his brother and being sad to remember that he actually has a quirk himself. c’mon Natsu.

-- actually, come to think, props to Horikoshi for once again bucking the trend and having a guy be the one who gets kidnapped and becomes the damsel in distress. I’m just going to assume that had Fuyu been the one to get captured, Endeavor wouldn’t have even heard about it until he received a text from her with a picture of the guy encased in ice and a caption asking “so dad, uh, what should I do with this?”)

BUT FIRST, WE’RE CUTTING BACK TO THE TODOROKI KITCHEN, WHERE TODOBAKUDEKU ARE CURRENTLY HAVING TEA WITH FUYU BECAUSE SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME YESSSSS

hhhglkohhhhh myyyyy godddddd

I KNOW!!! WHAT’S WITH THAT! WE’VE WAITED 250 FUCKING CHAPTERS PUTTING UP WITH YOUR SLY-ASS HINTS ALL “ALL RIGHT THEN, KEEP YOUR SECRETS” but is it finally time now? IS IT??!

Shouto says it’s not exactly an easy topic to bring up, and okay, fair. buuuut also, this is the same child who ambushed Deku in a corridor back when they barely knew each other and was all “let me tell you all about my dad’s quirk marriage and how he abused me and my mom and how I got this scar” so like. what exactly do you consider “easy to bring up” though

OH MY GOD IT’S HAPPENINGGGGGGG

we’re getting DETAILS. ABOUT. TOUYA’S PAST fkdslfh holy motherfucking shitballs someone pinch me

she says it happened right after Rei got hospitalized, which yeah, we all figured based on the middle school uniform in the photo. so that definitely pins down his age then, doesn’t it? Shouto was six when that happened, so if Touya was in middle school he’d have been between 12 and 15. so it’s very likely then that he was 14, the exact same age as Fuyu, so therefore THE TWIN THEORY IS CONFIRMED! WE DID IT TUMBLR

anyways back to being sad though, because

can someone please hug this child?? what are you all even doing?! do you not see his face?? jesus christ

oh no oh my god are you serious are you

okay, before I go on to the next panel and commence FREAKING THE FUCK OUT, I need to stop here though, because the thought that the Todos actually were in the process of healing nine years ago and could have potentially been spared years of additional pain had it not been for this tragedy is. just. I fucking can’t. I need a minute here. god

anyway. so now on to the freaking out though, because

:) :))) :))))))) huh. you don’t say

(ETA: hmm in hindsight I promised freakouts and then all I did was go “:)” but please understand that the “:)” conveys so much more inner freaking out than words could possibly communicate. just picture me screaming and waving my arms around like a Kermit the frog gif okay.)

look at this you guys. this revelation is so stone cold fucking sober that it even got Katsuki to make an actual normal face for the first time in god knows how many chapters, wow

by the way, words can hardly express how much I appreciate that Katsuki is sitting here chilling out drinking tea with the rest of them and listening to this tale of woe and empathizing like a normal, well-adjusted person, though. I will never take that for granted. thank you character development gods. y’all are bros

anyways the face in question that Natsu was making is so fucking sad, and just. THEY ALL NEED HUGS. why is this family not in therapy

NO!!!!!!!!!!!

YOU SON OF A BITCH!! JUST LIKE THAT YOU’RE RIGHT BACK ON MY SHIT LIST, ENDEAVOR!! CHRIST ALMIGHTY ARE YOU SERIOUS, SO WE’RE REALLY JUST GONNA LEAVE OFF THERE? “LOL SO YEAH, NATSU STILL THINKS DAD KILLED OUR BROTHER AND THAT’S WHY ALL THE TENSION” and Deku and Kacchan just nod like that is in any way a satisfying explanation rather than an INCREDIBLY OMINOUS STATEMENT which only goes and raises about A BILLION MORE QUESTIONS OMG. “oh okay, so he hates your dad because he thinks that he murdered your mysterious other brother we’re only just now hearing about. say no more. no further context necessary” fucking --

listen, you two. where the fuck are your investigative skills?? SOME SCOOBY SQUAD YOU ARE!!

oh my goodness gracious

listen guys, things I was not expecting to check off my character development bucket list today: Katsuki joining the Fuyumi fanclub and bonding with her over recipes. I wasn’t even aware that was on my list. BUT IT SURE WAS, AND IT’S CHECKED NOW AND I LOVE IT

also love that Shouto tells Fuyu to just text the recipe to him, and then he will share it with Katsuki. because they are best friends

also Deku is the only one here with any manners at all but oh well. we all been knew

(ETA: though to be fair, Katsuki asking for the recipe is about as big a compliment as one can give to a chef, and it kind of serves as a combination “thanks for the meal” and “everything was really good” tbh. shit, now I want her recipe.)

fdlkjfg

... [reaches out to gently touch the panels] so soft

-- BUT DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S EVEN SOFTER?

[faint sound of my heart imploding] ah

oh my god his face

and Katsuki’s face too. boy are you jealous. to think you were all “WHY THOUGH!?” coming here, only to walk away from it all with a kickass new mapo tofu recipe as well as a new person to add to your secret list of people you would literally die for. awwwwwww

and Shouto. omg. this is the most bashful panel I’ve ever seen. what a blessed chapter

anyway so now they’re all driving away (back to school?? I think he said?) and Endeavor’s talking to them about their upcoming schedule. so I guess they are heading back to school, then

anyway so he wants them to work the weekend as well as two weekdays? damn that’s a lot of class to be missing, he’s asking them to skip literally half the school week (since they have Saturday class too)

wow you guys look at this panel

takeaways from this: 1.) I honestly would have thought Deku would be the one tutoring other people in English, if anything. as of the midterms, he was above Shouto in academic rankings, but more importantly he’s also the biggest All Might fan on the planet, and All Might spent a lot of time in America in his youth and presumably speaks decent English himself, so you’d think Deku’s English would be passable just from his obsession alone. but I guess you just can’t beat that fancy private school education

and the other takeaway: Katsuki doesn’t like being squished in the backseat of a cramped Japanese car with Deku and Shouto. this one is absolutely shocking. I’m gonna need a moment to process this for sure. anyways poor Deku, he’s probably getting so many elbows to the ribs right now. I hope he elbows back

(ETA: actually the fact that Katsuki is apparently sticking his head out the window here in addition to complaining about the cramped conditions makes me wonder if he’s actually getting carsick. my poor baby do you need some dramamine.)

guys, meet Endeavor’s chauffeur

so anyway this is a bit sudden but I have a new favorite character now. life is funny like that. does he remind anyone else of Major Armstrong

wow Endeavor is answering the question seriously

okay but shit, I really fucking love this answer, though. he’s so matter-of-fact about it. because the thing is, the question isn’t really “when did you start baby-sitting a bunch of kids”; it’s “when did you actually start caring about something other than yourself?” and the answer is that it happened when he finally reached the top and realized the responsibility that went hand in hand with that role. it forced him to finally look past just himself, and to think about what it really means to be a hero. shit, I feel another essay coming on, but it’ll have to wait for some other time lol. we still have to see if Natsu’s going to make it out of this alive

anyway so now Armstrong is chuckling and saying that status really does change people huh, and they’re driving on into the night

OH SHIT

THAT’S A NICE SON YOU’VE GOT THERE, ENDEAVOR. IT WOULD BE A SHAME IF SOMEONE... okay you know what, I’m not sure where I was headed with that joke, but in any case I can’t finish it because this isn’t funny at all actually, this is actually SO FUCKING BAD oh shit oh shit

NATSUUUUU

oh no he’s so scared oh fuck. fuck. he’s only 19, he’s just a kid still. god. why do I always get so worked up over these parts. what am I doing reading a shounen manga if I can’t handle seeing kids in peril. HORIKOSHI PLEASE BE KIND TO MY BABIES

holy shit

okay, is this implying that Katsuki was sticking his head out of the window in that previous panel?? I realize more important things are happening and this is hardly the time to dwell on this, but jesus christ my kid is out here trying to get himself decapitated. boy what is wrong with you

anyway so now something is going "pop” and I have no idea. ??

(ETA: lol I guess it was Endeavor? you know, how Endeavor sometimes just goes “pop” for no reason. that’s just the sound someone makes when spontaneously bursting into flames.)

far be it from me to start whipping out analogies about a mama bear and her cubs, but. damned if that ain’t what’s happening though. motherfucker, you mess with his kids? so would you like to die fast, or slow

so now some weird fucking shit is happening to the car, and I guess it’s this guy’s quirk again?

wow my man, so you’re really attacking the car with the three protagonists with SOMETHING TO PROVE in the backseat. you really do have a death wish

(ETA: on top of that, attacking the car mere minutes before the winter break ends, and with it, the deadline for “defeating a villain quicker than Endeavor.” HMMM anybody got some popcorn?)

now Endeavor is shouting “LET HIM GO!” because that’s what superheros shout when someone is being kidnapped

lol poor Natsu looks kind of awkward now

like, don’t get him wrong, he’s still scared for his life. but also he’s starting to get a bit of that same feeling that Katsuki and Deku were getting in the last chapter, like he’s suddenly found himself right in the midst of some grade A melodrama from which there is no escape. anyways don’t mind him, he’s just going to chill here in this big pile of bandages and see where this goes

so Endeavor is all “........... YOU’RE FROM SEVEN YEARS AGO!” and honestly that’s impressive. I guess the quirk is a pretty memorable one, though

wow now they’re suddenly being all coy with this guy’s name? what the hell

?? Natsu bud, I feel ya, this really is some awkward shit right here

ohhhh!

that’s the name of the chapter! well all right then, so at least that much makes sense now

so now Ending is apologizing to Endeavor, and wow, tons of essay fuel in these next two panels here

“you had so many things that I could never get” doesn’t this sound remarkably similar to Deku’s speech to Kacchan during their second fight at Ground Beta? huh

and also, I think we are slowly dancing closer and closer to the Thing Katsuki Lacks That He Needs To Learn From His Internship From Endeavor. what do you guys think? I have a lot of thoughts about this, but again, I’ll save it for another post seeing as shit is hitting the fan right now and all

OH SHIT

ARE YOU SERIOUS, OF ALL THE TIMES TO HAVE ANOTHER THIRTEEN PAGE CHAPTER! HORIKOSHI YOU ARE FUCKING KILLING ME HERE

well shit. okay so when he says “don’t make the same mistake twice”, he’s clearly talking about Endeavor letting him live the last time they met, but also I can’t help but feel like there might be some kind of double meaning here as well. the fact that he went from theft to kidnapping and attempted murder, on top of him mentioning earlier about how he went digging into Endeavor’s past, makes me wonder if he could possibly be trying to recreate a specific set of events. or is that crazy??

but just, hear me out. what if something similar to this went down before, with Touya perhaps being taken hostage by a villain (though it couldn’t have been the same guy because the timing is off, and also Endeavor didn’t recognize him right off the bat), and Endeavor making some critical mistake which resulted in him failing to save him, and Natsu then blaming him for that and holding him responsible for the death. honestly that makes the most sense to me, since I would think that “literally murdered his own kid” would be kind of a deal-breaker as far as the rest of the family ever reconciling with him. so yeah, this could get very interesting here

(ETA: hoo boy, so I’ve been browsing the bnha tags a bit, and it seems that a lot of people are interpreting the hints in this chapter very differently from me lol. I admit I could certainly be wrong about the “don’t make the same mistakes” bit having a double meaning. but like, do we really believe that Endeavor just straight up murdered his son and got away with it, or that it was covered up or something? or that he drove Touya to suicide? I think it’s much more likely that Touya pushed himself too hard, or that he accidentally got caught up in one of Endeavor’s attacks, or something along those lines.

what really struck me, though, was that a lot of people actually seem to be hoping for it to come out that Endeavor really is responsible, though. like, to the point where they’re prepared to be outraged if it turns out he’s not, and this part of the story doesn’t end up conforming to the narrative of Endeavor just being a sinister cartoon villain. and like, I don’t really know what to say about that. except that I really hate this idea that if an abuser is ever portrayed as something other than a heartless monster then it’s super-problematic and/or just bad writing. that Endeavor not murdering his son = Horikoshi endorses child abuse. or something. anyways I don’t have the spoons to really throw my hat into the ring here, but basically my opinion is that life is rarely just black and white in that way, and this story reflects that, and I think it’s absolutely the right call to make and is actually very good writing and I respect it.

and also like, it’s not some all-or-nothing thing here where he’s either a perfect saint, or the worst person to ever exist! what he is is a man who made some terrible choices in the past and abused and hurt the very people he should have loved and protected the most. and what he is, also, is a man who has realized the awfulness of the things he’s done, and is trying his best now to be a good person. what he is is a human being. and acknowledging that doesn’t mean that you condone the abuse; it simply means that you acknowledge that people are made up of more than just the worst things they’ve done in their lives. that’s it.

anyways, for all of my “not gonna through my hat into the ring” nonsense, I’m doing a pretty good impression of exactly that, so I’ll shut up now. damn you Endeavor and your controversy-sparking ways. what kind of psychopath looks at the fucking BnHA fandom and says “not bad, but you know what this place could use? more discourse.” you knew exactly what you were doing, you fiend.)

anyways I’m going to hope and assume that Natsu isn’t actually about to meet his end here at the hands of this bestriped man and his peculiarly thematic villain name and sinister bandage arrows (are they bandages?? maybe not since they seem pretty solid and he’s threatening to stab Natsu in the eye with one. idk). and for all of my joking earlier, this guy actually does appear to have a real, genuine death wish since he keeps talking about how Endeavor should have killed him before. so in addition to all this other drama, toss in an attempted suicide by cop as well! this fucking arc, man. goddamn

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stormquill · 6 years ago

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One Equal Temper | chapter one [V/Reader]

As hell itself wreaks havoc upon your city, an angel lands on your doorstep—one who doesn’t seem to realize he has wings.

Author’s Notes: Follow the blog @one-equal-temper.

Notes: actual, literal footage of V trying to comprehend that someone finds him physically attractive

The flowers kept you going.

Kneeling on your balcony, you pressed a finger to the soil, ensuring the loose earth was damp enough to the touch. Every flower had been misted, their white petals bright against the backdrop of a half-ruined landscape. Their stems were more frail than they were the last time you checked, weakened by a lack of sunlight; the thick fog of clouds blanketing the sky only seemed to be getting worse by the day.

An occasional sound would pierce the silence—the unearthly reverb of a demonic roar, the thunderous collapse of another distant structure to rubble and dust.

The earth had her orbit. You had your routine.

The city could be destroyed if it wanted to be.

Eventually, you looked up from your handiwork, only to be met by a massive demonic bird perched atop your balcony railing.

“Hello,” you said, dumbstruck.

“Heya,” it said back.

The bird’s beak split into three as it spoke, its masculine voice laced with an unnatural echo. His dark, iridescent plumage shined a royal azure beneath the polluted sunlight, boasting stripes of electric blue bright as beetle shells across the length of his feathers.

You tried not to panic. All you had was a spray bottle, and unless you wanted to spritz at him like an unruly housecat, not much could be done if he suddenly decided to tear your face off.

“You’re very beautiful,” you observed.

“Yeah, wish I could say the same about you.” He cocked his head, his eyes a pair of gold beads behind a bony crown. “Soooo. Whatchya doin’ down there?”

“Gardening.”

“Gardening!” he cackled. “Trimmin’ the hedges, even in the apocalypse. Talk about priorities. Look, pal—not sure if you noticed, but your entire city’s gone straight to hell. Last place on earth a human like you should be playin’ around in the dirt.”

You offered an uneasy smile. “You’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

“Ohoho, someone thinks highly of themselves! Nah, you ain’t worth my time. You’re as good as dead hangin’ around a place like this, anyway. Might as well be diggin’ yourself a little grave down there.”

“A grave, huh?” You looked back at the flowerbed with mock concern. “I’m gonna need more soil.”

“You’ve really got no sense of self-preservation, do ya?”

“Now you sound like my surgeon.”

“Whatever, buddy. It’s your funeral.”

With that, the bird took from your railing, sinking away from view with several beats of his great wings.

As you returned to your work and daydreamed about the hypothetical dimensions of a planter large enough to bury yourself in, there was a knock at your door.

Your stomach dropped.

There was a knock. At your door.

You rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a knife with the blind, reckless determination only shown by those who had no idea what they were doing.

More knocks followed—slower, louder than before. You could tell they were using some heavy, blunt object to tap against your apartment door.

You kept several feet between yourself and the locked entrance, as if it were liable to implode at any moment.

“How did you get past the barricade?” you demanded.

“I used the fire escape,” a dark voice answered, with a lilt that sounded almost playful.

You spat out a curse. You’d forgotten about the fire escape.

“Pardon my intrusion,” the stranger continued, “but I couldn’t help but notice those delightful flowers adorning your balcony.”

“You climbed six stories to talk about my plants?”

“Of course. They are deserving of proper compliment, though such curated beauty would not have survived unaided. And, as demons don’t typically make a habit of keeping gardens…”

“You knew someone was here.” You ran a hand through your hair. Not blocking the fire escape, leaving your greenery out in the open—you’d been careless about your continued presence here, and now you were going to pay for it. “You here to kill me, then?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Par for the course for everything else in this fucking city.”

“I assure you, I mean you no harm. I am simply...curious.”

“You know, curiosity didn’t do any favours for the cat.”

“And yet satisfaction still brought it back.”

“What would satisfy you, exactly?”

“A proper introduction.”

The nerve.

Ignoring the pounding of your pulse in your ears, you approached the door to sneak a look through its peephole. The fisheye lens gave you a muddied view of a man in black; he held an open book in one hand and a steel walking stick in the other, the handle of which he must’ve been using to knock on your door.

Whoever he was looked human, at least.

You took a deep breath.

Slowly, carefully, you unlocked the door, keeping the chain lock in place as you inched it open.

The man stood taller than you, slender and well-postured, his dark, sweeping hair looking impossibly soft. Though he was wearing a pair of black jeans, he was shirtless beneath a sleeveless leather coat, showing off tattoos swirling across the pallor of his skin like ink bleeding in water.

You stared up at him through the gap in the door. “And you are?”

Drifting from his book, his eyes met yours—a green so deep they were almost black.

“My name is Wonderful. Inquire not after it, seeing it is a secret.”

“I...what?”

“Just kidding,” he smirked, snapping his book shut. “Call me V.”

You felt like he was telling some kind of joke you weren’t in on.

Trying to hold your nerve, you introduced yourself in return. He repeated after you, and hearing your name in his voice made something warm stir inside your chest.

“Thank you for indulging me,” he said, giving a slight bow of his head. “My apologies for the disruption.”

To your surprise, he turned heel, using his cane to lead himself back down the hallway.

“Wait,” you sputtered, still trying to peek after him through the two-inch gap of the chain-locked door, “where are you going?”

“I’m on a timeline, I’m afraid,” he called back.

Panic set in at the prospect of being alone again, the sudden fear of it rattling like ice in the hollows of your ribcage. You hadn’t seen or spoken to a single living person since the catastrophe started, and the powers that be were gracious enough to dropship you someone who spoke like a poet and dressed like a victorian harlot—who were you to not welcome the distraction?

A fleeting thought had you wondering if vampires were real, too.

(Was that what the ‘V’ stood for? It was a little on-the-nose.)

You unchained the door and swung it open, half-stumbling into the hallway, catching him before he rounded the corner and disappeared from your life, forever.

“Would you like some tea??” you shouted after him.

V stopped in his tracks and turned to face you—you, with your hopeful expression, your knife by your side, your fingertips still caked with garden soil.

He smirked at the sight of you, and your heart skipped a beat.

The electricity in your complex had been out for quite some time, but the plumbing was still fully functional: you could fill a kettle with water and light a burner of the gas-powered stove without issue.

“Sorry for being an asshole,” you said from the kitchen. “I’m a little...well, you’re the first thing with the right number of limbs I’ve seen in a week.”

“Do not apologize for your caution,” he replied. “It is what has been keeping you alive, after all.”

V looked a little out of place on your living room couch—such elegance and proper posture sitting amongst a dragon’s hoard of supplies you’d stolen from neighboring apartments. He was surrounded by small hills of plastic water bottles and canned food, but he didn’t seem to pay the mess around him any mind. You noticed he was wearing sandals. Who wore sandals to the apocalypse?

“Have you been here long?” he asked.

You took a seat across from him and tried not to look at his feet. “Since a few days after the incident, I think.”

“Is there a reason for not evacuating with the others?”

“Oh. I, um.” Hesitating for a moment, you pulled back your sleeve and held up your arm, revealing a band still wrapped around your wrist. Why you hadn’t removed it yet, you didn’t know. “I guess you could say I missed the boat.”

He glanced at your wristband, putting two and two together. “You were in the hospital.”

“Car accident. I remember an ambulance, being taken to a room...a lot of it’s hazy, but by the time I came to, everyone was already gone.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you figured simply getting up and walking home was your best chance of survival?”

“I needed to get out of there one way or another.” You tried to laugh it off, but you just ended up sounding terrified. “Those creatures weren’t as rampant then as they are now, but I was still dodging hellspawn armed with a hospital gown and the worst headache of my life. Felt like I was in a fucking horror movie.”

“Impressive. For a civilian,” he amended.

The qualifier annoyed you. You thought it was pretty damn impressive for anyone.

“Only people who aren’t civilians use the word ‘civilian,’” you said, irritated. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I am many things,” he explained, and you wondered if he was being deliberately obtuse. “For one, I am tasked with purging this realm of the evil that’s befallen it.”

“Yeah? How’s that going?”

His expression flickered. “There is...much work to be done.”

“No kidding.” Glancing away, you tried to keep your anxiety about it from being too obvious. You’d still get the occasional mental flash of the monsters you encountered during your escape—too many eyes, too many legs, too many goddamn teeth. “Is it like this everywhere?”

“No, the breakout has been contained to this city alone.” He tilted his head towards you, a sudden glint in his eyes. “Which is precisely what makes your survival so remarkable.”

“Lucky me.”

After your recent series of unfortunate events, suspension of disbelief was a luxury of the past: if this guy had dropped in telling you he was the King of France, you would've swapped his pronouns for ‘Your Majesty’s without a second thought. Deep down, you knew the true, supernatural, cataclysmic magnitude of the situation was far beyond your understanding, but you still couldn’t help but wonder about the man sitting in front of you. With the way he spoke, the way he carried himself...if he really was ‘tasked with purging evil,’ as he put it, maybe he was an angel of some kind.

If demons existed, angels did too, right?

“Thank you,” you started, feeling a sudden wave of humility, “for taking the time to talk to a complete stranger. I’m sure you’ve...y’know. Got more important things to do.”

“You seemed like you needed the company,” he said. “I imagine it gets quite lonely.”

A nervous laugh escaped you. “I just never knew how quiet the world could be.”

“You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough. The sentiment resounds doubly for silence.”

You could tell by his tone he was quoting something, but wherever it was from was lost on you.

Until this point, the disasters you witnessed felt like an adrenaline-induced fever dream, mostly because you’d experienced them alone—but being seen, being acknowledged by someone else gave it all a gravity it didn’t have before. As your state of constant terror and survival began to fray at the edges, the full weight of your catastrophe settled somewhere between your shoulder blades, and you felt as if you’d aged the entire week’s events at once.

Eventually, you met his eyes again, and there was a warmth in them that wasn’t there before, as if he, too, had heard the quiet of a barren world and knew just how loud it could be.

“Are you alone?” you asked, finally. “Doing the whole demon-killing thing?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. With regards to the city, my allies and I have chosen to divide and conquer.”

‘Allies,’ he called them. Fellow hunters. You wondered what they were like. Did they all dress and speak like he did? They probably had matching tattoos. And motorcycles.

“And what of you?” he asked. “Do you know anyone who may have escaped the city? Friends? A loved one, perhaps?”

(The way your eyes flickered to your balcony did not escape his notice.)

“No,” you settled on. “Do you? Have any loved ones, I mean.”

He hummed. “Love is but one of many luxuries time has not seen fit to afford me.”

The weight of his statement gave you pause. A handful of words birthed a hundred implications, none of which could be clarified in any marginally polite manner. You hadn’t even known he existed fifteen minutes ago—it wasn’t any of your business, if he’d ever loved anyone before. If he’d ever been loved in turn. If time itself was a mitigating factor, or if he was simply running out of it.

“You seem surprised,” he said, snapping you from your reverie.

“A little.”

“Why?”

At this point, you were sure he was teasing you, just a ploy to trick you into a compliment—you’re impossibly attractive, V, how could you not have the world at your feet—but you found his expression of earnest curiosity catching you completely off-guard.

Did he not recognize himself as someone who could be loved?

The kettle whistled.

You were quick to your feet.

The way he’d looked to you for an answer—it wasn’t a matter of low self-esteem or self-deprecation, it was a moment of sincere confusion from someone who had never considered himself in that light. He was ethereal. Alien. An entity from some other world, some alternate plane, naive to his effect on mortal beings on this earth, and by some horrible twist of fate, the universe saw you fit to be the first to bring it to his attention.

Heat rose in your cheeks.

If he were an angel, there would a very special place in hell, reserved just for you.

You busied yourself in the kitchen for much longer than necessary, in an effort to put as much space between you and the conversation as possible. As you had no milk or cream to speak of, and the sugar was already in its own little jar, you spent an agonizing four minutes rifling through the cupboards, pretending to decide between tea mugs as if it were the single most important decision of your life.

By the time you returned to the living room, V was reading. You could see his book more clearly, now, bound in brown hardcover and embellished with gold embroidery.

“Is that your journal?” you asked, setting a mug down in front of him.

“A collection of poetry.” He smiled a little, pointing to his initial on the cover. “Fifth volume.”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking. You found yourself returning his smile, anyway.

Keeping your cup in your hands, you slid back into the seat across from him. “Will you read to me?”

“No need to fear, I will spare you the tedium.”

“No, I mean.” You looked everywhere, anywhere but him. “I—I’d like to hear it.”

He glanced askance at you from above the edge of his book, but your slightly-flustered look of interest eased his suspicions at once. To his pleasant surprise, you were being serious.

“Well then,” he teased, a slight smirk curling at the edge of his lips, “since you asked so politely.”

You wrapped your fingers around your steaming mug to keep yourself from fidgeting. You watched his slender fingers turn the pages, slow and deliberate, until he found what he was searching for.

And he spoke.

“Love seeketh not itself to please,

Nor for itself hath any care,

But for another gives its ease,

And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.”

He continued on, speaking as if his voice wouldn’t still your heart to silence, glancing up between verses as if the deep green of his eyes wouldn’t make you feel like you were drowning.

He was enchanting.

And you were in trouble.

#v x reader #v x you #devil may cry v #dmc v #dmc5 v #one equal temper

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accidentally-logince · 7 years ago

Text

School Project

A/N: This is the shitpost-iest fic I’ve ever written, and it should not be taken seriously. The events in the fic are (mostly) based on a real-life experience, and there is absolutely no plot-line whatsoever. I put zero effort into this random piece of crap, I wrote it in less than an hour and did no editing. Enjoy my shitshow.

Warnings: Swearing, jokes about fighting each other, “I want to die” jokes, random jokey reference to “Y’all need Jesus” meme (that I really hope is not offensive), minor food mention, maybe a tiny tiny bit of Logan angst(?)

(If there are any more, PLEASE let me know!)

Word Count: 841

Pairings: Platonic LAMP

---

Working without distraction was never exactly easy when it came to Roman and Logan. Roman would often get bored and start to mess around in the room. And when both of their roommates are invited (well, technically Virgil wasn't invited, he was already in the dorm room when Roman showed up with Patton) it's pretty much impossible to focus.

It had been all of two hours, and the room was hectic. Patton had accidentally broken Logan's little white board- which isn't too much of a big deal, he supposes, he still has his large one- and was now using just the laminated bit to scrawl stupid messages and shove them in the other's faces, hoping for a laugh.

Roman let out a little snort as Patton dropped the "white board" into his hands from the top of the bunk bed. Scrawled across it in orange white-erase marker was the word "Succ" in all capital letters.

Patton steals the board back and wipes the word off, giggling as he opened the marker again.

"What are you writing?" Logan huffed.

"Amazing things, okay?" Patton answers, the marker squeaking on the board.

"Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh." Patton sticks his tongue out. "Don't doubt my hilarity." He then flips the board over and holds it out to Logan. This time, the board says "You can't spell 'Sass' without 'Ass'"

"That is definitely not an 's'," Roman butts in, pointing to the last letter on the board.

"It definitely is," Patton argues jokingly. "You wanna fight me about it?"

"Yeah, you wanna fuckin' go?" Roman teases back. "I'll fight you."

"Ughhh. I screwed up," Virgil groans from the other side of the top bunk. "I broke my stupid keyboard. God dammit." His brow furrows, and he tries to click a key, but it pops off the computer. "I hate my life. I wanna die."

"Nooo," Patton says.

"I'm gonna die. I'm gonna," Virgil says. "I'm gonna do it," he jokes. "You can't stop me! I'm gonna do it!" He leans dramatically over the side of the bed, mock falling off.

Roman laughs again, and Patton giggles as he goes back to his white board.

"Stop laughing at me, I'm dying," Virgil says. "I'm dying inside." After a moment, he lifts himself back up and mutters, "We're all dying. I'm just dying quicker."

Logan sighs, pushing a strand of hair out of his face. "You're fine, Virgil. You can press the keys back onto the board." He types something down on his own laptop and nods to himself. "I think that'll work," he murmurs to himself

"Ah, crap, these don't look right," Patton mumbles, rubbing at the white board.

"Are they 'S's?" Roman teases, hoisting himself up to lean over the side of the bed. On the board are a bunch of deformed "A's". "Okay, those look like half-assed stars." Patton lifts the board and wiggles it in Roman's face, causing him to jump back to the floor.

"Ack! Stop, I'm gay and afraid!"

"I'm gay and depressed," Virgil pipes up, trying to stick the broken key back onto his keyboard.

"Shit, I don't know the word," Logan groans.

Patton places the white board marker onto his lap and holds up the board, which now says "Ur pretty gr8". "Here, Logan, maybe this'll spark your creativity!"

"That is a Falsehood," Logan grumbles. "I'd like to inform you that not only is your spelling abhorred, but the message you're trying to convey with these... I don't even know what these are, it looks like you threw alphaghetti onto a page and wrote down what you saw. Either way. Falsehood."

"No, no, no," Patton says. "I think you need to go back and study because this is all correct." His eyes slide over the words again. "Even the spelling."

"Oh, goodness gracious what is the word?" Logan grips the sides of his laptop, looking just about ready to toss it across the room.

The room is silent for a moment after Logan's outburst, until Patton flips over the white board again. "...'Git Gud'?"

Roman reaches up and grabs the board and marker from Patton, scribbling over his words. He holds it up to Patton when he's done. "Git God, ya filthy minded freak" he jokes, transferring the board to Patton, who falls over into Virgil's lap, laughing.

"Can my space button work? Please?" Virgil complains. "Until it started sticking, I actually liked space."

Patton leans his head back. "Good one."

Virgil taps aggressively at the 'D' key that's popping off of his keyboard. "Why is it so detached?"

"Don't you mean 'D'-tached? Cuz it's a 'D' key?"

"Please stop," Logan mutters from the floor. "Why are you like this?"

"Okay, we need to take a break, or else Logan and I are going to implode from frustration," Virgil says, pushing his laptop onto the bed. Patton lifts himself back up as Virgil swings his feet over the ladder.

"Alrighty! Let's go get something to eat," Patton suggests.

"Come on, Lo. Your laptop will still be here when we get back."

---

My Other Fics (They’re better than this one, I swear)

Tag List: @lilbit-gay @succanegg69 @emi-loves-them @logicaltimeink @thelogicalloganipus @monikastec @misstallip @aikogumi @pastel-patton123 @drunken-ghost @confinesofpersonalknowledge @crofters-junkie @well-love-has-failed-me

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howtobangyourmonster · 7 years ago

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Boris, Part 1

Since people seem to like Boris and there have been requests for a story, here it is! A bit holiday-flavored and late, but I hope you like it anyway. It’s just a big pile of awkward adorkable fluff.

Part 2(nsfw)

There's this great coffee shop in my neighborhood. It's trendy and bit hipster-ish, really popular with the college crowd. I don't actually like coffee, but I brave the early morning pre-lecture rush because they make the most amazing London Fog in the city.

I like Thursdays the best because that's when their cutest barista has the morning shift. I extra don't mind getting up early for my morning cuppa on Thursdays. I'm not the only one with that opinion either, because I swear there's a good fifty per-cent more customers on Thursday mornings than the rest of the week.

This Thursday it was pouring buckets outside, and I was grateful to duck into the cafe and warm up a bit. I guess the rain was dissuading some of the regulars because the line was shorter than I'd expected. Boris, the cute barista, smiles as I approach the counter. I always wonder how he knows it's me, he doesn't have eyes(at least not that I can discern). Maybe it's scent? Oh, god, I hope not, sometimes I don't have time to shower before I come in...

“Hey, Boris!”

“Good morning! Pretty bad out there today, huh?”

“Ugh, yeah, it's like monsoon season or something.”

“Your usual?”

“Yep! Thanks.” I swipe my card and take my receipt. Sometimes I try flirty banter with him, but I'm so bad at it and I think he must cringe at my sad attempts. He's always very gracious about it and laughs at my terrible puns.

I thumb idly through my instagram while I wait. He says my name with a smile, and our fingers brush as he hands me my cup. It might sound depressing, but our brief interaction is kinda the highlight of my week. I glance down at my cup and see the little doodle of a smiling raincloud he's drawn there instead of writing my name. It's different each week. I don't keep them, I'm not that far-gone, but I do have a collection of snaps of all the doodles that I like to look through when I'm having a hard time.

I sip my London Fog in my depressing cubicle at my soul-crushing job as a glorified code monkey. The happy little rain cloud on the cup cheers me up enough that I manage to slog through the day. Maybe I'll draw him something, Christmas is coming up, I could make him a card. I'm certainly not doing much with my MFA in this hellhole.

When I get back to my apartment, I pull out my pencils and gouache supplies and start sketching.

It's almost Christmas. I haven't had as much time to work on Boris's card as I'd like. Dad's getting worse and I've been spending a lot of time helping Mom out taking care of him. I can tell we're getting close to the end, and so can she. Most of the time, she's barely keeping it together. I'm trying to be strong, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I cried myself to sleep more often than not.

The coffee shop is packed, people filling the sofas and chairs and booths, the snow outside painting the city white and making for a picture-perfect holiday scene. I get in line and check my email while I wait. When it's my turn, I put my phone away and look up, and immediately have to suppress the giggle threatening to spill out.

Boris is wearing a red santa hat with a little bell on the end, and it makes him look so cute that I nearly implode. The red of the hat brings out the pinker tones of his violet skin. He's got a holiday sweater on, too, completing the look. His shoulder spikes poke through the knit fabric.

“You're looking very festive today!”

“Yeah, 'tis the season, and all. Hey, I'm sorry, but I ran out of earl grey earlier, I sent Sasha out to get more, but...”

My heart half-sank. “Oh, that's okay, um, I can just have...”

“Actually,” he interrupted, “I've been wanting to try something, if you're up for it. You kinda inspired me.”

I'm a bit taken aback by that. I inspired him? I have to tell inner-teenage-me to calm down. “Uh, I'm game!”

“Great.” Boris grinned, showing off his tusks and sharp teeth. “I picked up this orange gingerbread chai at the import market this weekend, and it immediately made me think of you.”

He turned and busied himself with the tea, glancing over and smiling at me every so often. Truth be told, my heart was pounding and I felt like I was in tenth grade again and Jake LeSalle noticed me. Boris picks up his sharpie and scribbles on the side of the cup. He hands me the drink and I don't know if it's my mind playing tricks on me, or if his fingers linger a little longer against mine as I take it from him.

“Uh, wow, it smells great!” I take a sip. “Mmmm, oh, wow, that's really good. This definitely needs to go on the menu board.”

“Yeah?” his grin widens. “Ah, I'm so glad you like it!”

“Yeah, totally, I love yo-this, I love this, that you made, I love that you made this for me.” Oh, for fucking sake...

Boris half-smiles and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Ha, yeah, you're welcome, I guess...well, have a good day!”

Oh god, he's embarrassed for me. That was so bad. I can never come back here. “Thanks,” I reply, “you too!”

Turning to hide my shame, I glance down at the coffee cup in my hand. Instead of the usual adorable doodle, it's a phone number. A phone number, and a little heart. Oh...

My face is on fire and I glance back up, but Boris is talking to the next customer and I can't catch his attention. Instead I push back through the morning crowd and toward the door. I need some air, even cold snowy air.

It takes me all week to work up the nerve to call him. And of course he doesn't answer and I get his voicemail instead. I panic and hang up. Then call back.

“Hey, sorry, it was me earlier, the hang-up message. Sorry. I already said that. Sorry I didn't call sooner, god I'm apologizing a lot. Um, I guess you're busy, so...call me back when you can? Okay, uh, bye.”

I hang up, groan, and bury my face in my hands lest the objects in my apartment witness my shame. I jump as my phone suddenly rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, hi, it's Boris.”

“Oh, uh, hi!”

“Hi.”

Awkward pause. Why isn't he saying anything? “So...”

“Uh,” I hear him clear his throat. “So, I was wondering if you'd maybe like go ice skating with me Saturday? At the Pavilion?”

“Yeah, yes, I'd love that!” Stop saying 'love' so much!

“Great! Want to meet me at the shop, say 7? We can walk together?”

“That sounds perfect.” I try to keep the elation in my voice in check. “I'll see you then.”

“See you then.” I can hear the smile in his voice, though.

“Bye.”

I hang up, and sit for a moment, the blood rushing in my ears. I have a date. I have a date with Boris. I have a totally romantic ice skating date with Boris the hot barista. Not even my shit job can kill my buzz. I realize I still haven't finished his card, and pull out my paints. It's pretty simple, just a study of the coffee shop from the outside, in the snow, though a violet figure can be glimpsed through the window. I just hope he doesn't think it's childish, a homemade card.

Boris is waiting outside the shop for me when I walk up. He has two cups in his clawed hands, steam rising from them. He has a wool peacoat on over his usual sweater and jeans, though this one seems to have been made for him. His shoulder spikes don't poke through. Boris hands me one of the cups.

“I know you don't like coffee, but how about hot chocolate?” He smiles at me over the thick scarf wrapped around his neck.

“I love hot chocolate! Thank you.” I smile back at him as I take the cup. “Shall we?”

We start slowly strolling along the sidewalk, the crunch of snow under our feet. The trees that line the street are decked out in string lights and everything feels magical. I love this time of year.

“I've been wanting to ask you out for a long time, you know.” Boris is looking straight ahead, but he has a little smirk on his face.

“Yeah? What stopped you?” I have to admit, I am curious.

“To be honest, I wasn't sure if you were into me or not. I mean, we flirt and I draw pictures on your cup, but I couldn't tell if we were just friendly flirting or flirting flirting, you know?”

“Wait, don't you draw pictures on everyone's cups? I just thought that was something you did?”

“No,” Boris looks down at me, his expression warm and affectionate. “Just for you.”

He reaches over and takes my hand in his, long claws resting lightly against the back of my hand. I swallow, thickly.

“Oh.” is all I can manage.

We walk in silence for a ways after that, my hand in his. His skin isn't rough, but it is firmer than mine, and surprisingly warm. The Pavilion comes into view ahead of us, lights and festive garlands all over it, the sound of the carousel music wafting out at us.

Inside, there is a modest ice rink next to the antique wooden carousel. I haven't been ice skating since I was a kid, and I tell him so.

“Neither have I, actually. It's okay, we can support each other.”

Boris and I pick up our skates from the counter and lace in. He's already steadier on his feet than I am, but we're both pretty slow and careful as we step onto the ice. We sort of shuffle along slowly, me clinging to his side like a barnacle. It's pretty nice, almost like cuddling.

After about an hour of clinging to each other and falling down, repeatedly, we decide our egos and knees are bruised enough. We grab some food at one of the food trucks outside the Pavilion and settle onto one of the benches near the carousel.

We chat over steaming bowls of rice and bulgogi and I learn he has an older sister and a younger brother, but both his parents have passed. I talk a bit about my dad, but I don't go into details, too heavy for a first date. Boris is a really good listener. We discover we share a love of terrible horror movies.

“Yeah, my great-uncle actually played the monster in that one.”

“You're kidding!” I gasp. “You're related to Chneya Szim?! I looooove 'Horror From The Deep'!”

“Ha, he'd have loved to hear that, he was such a ham. That whole side of my family was big in the industry back in the '50s.” Boris grins, fork in hand. I'm always amazed at how expressive his face is, even without eyebrows or eyes. The folds on the upper half of his face are much more flexible and pliant than they seem at first glance.

“How'd your family get involved in that?”

“Well, my great-great-grandparents were first-generation extradimensionals, back when the tears were uncontrolled, they just kinda fell through. My great-great-grandpa was working construction on a backlot when some character actor quit and they needed someone fast. The director saw him, and let's be honest, we're waaaay scarier than the foam and rubber suits you humans were wearing back then in the movies.” Boris looks a little sad. “He didn't really like playing monsters in movies, I guess back in our dimension he was some kind of professor, but work was hard to find and he had kids by that point, you know?”

“I'm sorry.” I have a sharp stab of guilt about my earlier enthusiasm for basically ex-ploitation flicks.

“Hey, it was the '50s, right? Anyway, it kind of became a family business, and my great-uncle really took to it well. Thus spawning the 'Horrors' franchise.” He grimaces. “The whole disco-phase in the '70s embarrassed the hell out him, though.”

“What disco-phase? Everyone knows 'Return to the Deep' was the last 'Horrors' film.” I reply, gamely.

“Oh, of course! I'm mistaken.” he laughs. “What about you? Other than your latte order and your penchant for horror movies, I don't actually know a whole lot about you.”

“Uh, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.” His face is so open and earnest. I swallow my discomfort.

“Well, I got my MFA at XSU a few years ago, and I do web design for some local corporations, I work mainly at an office share downtown, but I do some stuff from home. It's kind of soul-killing, to be honest. When I graduated, I thought I was gonna take over the world, you know, and instead I'm grinding away at a 9-to-5 in a cubicle, well, more like 7-to-6.”

“You don't do any of your own stuff anymore?” Boris asks.

“I do a little, when I have time, but between work and helping out at home, I mean at my folks' place, there's not a lot of energy left over for my own art. I do miss it though, creating something just for the joy of it.” I dig around in my purse. “Actually, the last thing I made of my own is for you.”

I hand him the card in it's red envelope. He turns it over slowly, examining it in some way I can't understand. “This is for me?”

“Yeah, I hope you like it.” I bite my lip, very nervous.

Boris slices the envelope open with one claw and pulls out the card. On the front is my watercolor of the coffee shop. After a moment, he opens the card and appears to be reading, his brows coming together. I had tried to keep my message simple and not too romantic, in case the date went badly.

“This is...beautiful. Thank you.” he looks back up at me. “You painted this?”

“Yeah, it was nice to flex my watercolor muscles. I'm glad you like it.”

“It's really good. Why don't you show your work in galleries? There's that art walk every first Friday of the month, we always hang up local artists' work in the shop.”

“The gallery scene in this city is ridiculously hard to break into, unless you know someone or you get 'discovered' I guess.”

“You should let me hang some of your work up in the shop, there's a gallery guy who comes in all the time. I'm sure he'd love your stuff.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “That's really sweet, but I don't want to get you in trouble with your boss...”

“I am the boss.” Boris states, flatly.

I blink. “What?”

“I own the shop. It's mine. I live in the apartment above it.”

“Oh, I didn't, I feel silly for assuming you just worked there, now.” I reply. I guess I never thought about how old he was, extradimensionals don't really visibly age, I assumed he was close to my own age and just working in the coffee shop. “How old are you? Just, I realized I don't actually know, and-”

“And you suddenly worry you're out with a 50-year-old guy?” he jokes.

“Not that that's bad, or anything!” I try to recover, in case he really is 50.

“I'm 32.” he responds. Oh, well then.

“And you own your own business, nice.”

“Don't be too impressed, I inherited it from my folks. Tycha, my sister, wasn't interested in running the shop, and Zloan went into film like Dad's side of the family. Except he's directing instead of acting. So it's me.”

“Do you like running the shop?” I ask.

“I do. I really do. I love the sense of community. I grew up here, you know, and while I've traveled my fair share, I always knew I was going to come back here to stay.”

“Well, I'm glad for that, you make the best London Fog in the city.”

“Ha, so I've been told.”

Our walk back to the shop is easy and slow, our conversation drifting back to horror movies, then to horror novels, books in general, the writing-a-novel-at-the-coffee-shop trope, and some amusing stories about his regulars. He walks me the extra distance to my place, after asking if it's okay. Apparently he had me meet him at the coffee shop in case I didn't want him to know where I lived, in case the date went poorly. Turns out we're both pragmatic realists. Or pessimists. Whichever. I do not mind him knowing where I live.

“I had a really great time tonight, thanks for inviting me out.” I say as we pause at my door.

“I had a really great time, too. I'm really glad you called.” he smiles down at me, hands in his coat pockets, as he leans against the wall. “Eventually.”

He's teasing me. I deserve it.

“Yeah, well, I had to work up the nerve, you're intimidatingly handsome.” I toss back.

He ducks his head down and chuckles. “Well, I'm glad you think so. Can I see you again?”

“Yes, absolutely. If you want, we can stay in and watch terrible horror movies, order some delivery?”

He straightens up and gives me a satisfied half-smile. “It's a date. Can I kiss you goodnight?”

“Absolutely.”

We both lean in to the kiss, his hand brushing my cheek as I stretch up on my tiptoes because he's just so damn tall. After a few moments I feel his tongue brush against my mouth and I part my lips slightly. Boris deepens the kiss, his tusks ghosting over my skin. I sigh into his mouth as we part.

“That was a hell of a first kiss.” he remarks, sounding a little breathless.

“I have high hopes for the second one, too.” I can't hide my smile as I open my door. “Goodnight, Boris. See you Thursday.”

“Goodnight.”

#monster love #monster boyfriend #Boris the barista #short story #sfw #fluff #exophilia

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gretagerwigarchive · 7 years ago

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Greta Gerwig wants to hug every Lady Bird crew member after Golden Globe nominations

by Devan Coggan, December 11, 2017

source: http://ew.com/movies/2017/12/11/greta-gerwig-lady-bird-golden-globes-nomination/

EW caught up with Gerwig after nominations were announced to get her reaction to the news and talk about why so many moviegoers are falling in love with Lady Bird.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: Congratulations! How did you find out about the nominations this morning?

GRETA GERWIG: Thank you! Well, I knew they were coming out this morning. [laughs] I made myself sleep, and I said, “Don’t set an alarm. Sleep, wake up, make a cup of coffee, and then open your phone.” So I kind of forced myself to do everything, but I just wanted to look at my phone. And then I looked, and I had like 36 text messages and I thought, “Okay, something must have gone really well.” And then there was a lot of screaming and excitement and joy. That’s just sort of continued up until this moment. I think today is just going to be a full-on celebration screaming day.

The best kind of day.

It really is! [laughs] I’m just so proud of everybody who worked on it and so honored it was included in this year’s group of extraordinary movies. I want to see everyone who made the movie and give them a hug.

You’ve been nominated before as an actress, but what does it mean to you to be nominated for this film specifically?

Well, this is my first writing-directing solo situation, and it was nominated for Saoirse and Laurie and me and the movie. It’s like the most exciting thing ever! [laughs] And it’s a movie that was such a labor of love from everyone who made it that for it to be received this way and celebrated like this just means the world to me. We could never have anticipated this. It was just kind of this movie that we poured everything into, but you just never think it’s going to be received like this. It’s something that’s beyond our wildest everything.

Since the film has come out, the reaction has been so strong, and so many people have connected with Lady Bird and her story. Have you been surprised by how people have identified with it?

Yeah. I feel like movies are such a collaborative art form that it’s really the response to every single person who gave so much of themselves to the movie. There is this feeling of love around it because there was all the love that went into it.

And I also think it’s such a specific story, but it ends up being universal because it’s specific. I was in France and I was in the U.K., and I was talking to people there, and there were journalists saying, “I’ve never heard of Sacramento, but I feel like this is my story.” [laughs] It’s about home and how home is something you only really come to understand as you’re leaving it, and I think that’s something that everyone has a connection point with. That’s something that people can relate to. But it’s the wildest thing to be in a country that’s so far away, and yet they’re saying, “That’s me and my mom, and I grew up in Paris.” It’s very moving.

There’s that moment where Lady Bird and her mom go look at open houses, and I was sitting there, like, “My mom and I used to do that when I was growing up! Whenever we were sad or stressed, we’d do that and imagine what it’d be like to live there!” There’s a universality in that relationship that is so lovely.

Yeah! It’s funny, so many people have said, “I used to do that with my mom!” Men and women. It’s this thing where you go and almost imagine another life. Like maybe our lives would be perfect if we lived there. And I think people understand what that is.

As you mentioned, Saoirse Ronan and Laurie Metcalf both got nominated too. What was it about each of them that made them the right people to portray these two characters?

They’re both just such formidable actresses in their strength, and also in their powers of empathy. They have such a deep need to communicate, and I think for me — I had cast Saoirse, and then I cast Laurie next — it was this feeling where they could really take each other in the best way in both love and conflict. They could hold what the other person was putting down because they’re both just so formidable as actresses. I think that even though we were telling this very specific story of one year of this life, they would be able to bring the sense of a whole life. And that was true for every single actor, but for me, the heart of the movie is really a love story between a mother and a daughter, and I knew I needed two women like that to inhabit that space and really give it the stakes of something that’s monumental, even though it’s about a quotidian life in some ways.

One of the other key relationships that I love in this film is the relationship between Lady Bird and her best friend, Julie. That friendship feels so smart and real. How did you approach that friendship between the two of them?

Well, Beanie Feldstein is a treasure. She walked into the audition and she basically gave the performance you see on the screen. She was just so funny and so real and so heartbreaking and so detailed. She knew exactly what this relationship was and how to play each moment.

And the thing that made me so happy was I had cast Saoirse early, and we had a year before we actually shot the movie. She was going to go be on Broadway in The Crucible. So there were times where I would just get her and Beanie together to just hang out. Not to make it perfect or rehearse the scenes, just so they could trade phone numbers and get some inside jokes going. They got so close as people that I felt like that really translated onto the screen, and the scenes that still make me so happy are the two of them cracking each other up. These two young women making each other laugh, and genuinely making each other laugh. We just kept rolling on them laughing because they so got under each other’s skin in the best way. They knew how to make each other break, and it was so much fun to watch because it did feel like we were just getting to document a friendship.

I also have to ask about the music because it’s such a wonderful element of this film. When you were sitting down to write the screenplay, did the music change or evolve over time, or did you always know, “These are the songs I want”?

I did write Alanis Morissette and Dave Matthews and Justin Timberlake and Ani DiFranco and Stephen Sondheim. Those were all written in. I didn’t really have a plan B when it came to those songs. [laughs] I just felt like I need these songs. I went on an extensive letter-writing campaign, and they were all so gracious and kind that they let me use their music. And then I had the good fortune of being able to work with Jon Brion, who’s one of my favorite film composers of all time. I knew I wanted the music that was playing in the world that these teenagers would listen to to be very specific and very clear and tell the story of the time, and then the score that exists in the world of the movie is this lush, romantic, achy, old-fashioned score. And he was able to understand what that juxtaposition was. So to me, when I think of the music of the movie, I think of those two things together and how they play off of each other.

That makes sense, having those two juxtaposed elements.

Jon Brion was so fun too, to work with. Especially because I’m not a musician, so it’s like somebody doing a magic show! I would explain a feeling to him and he’d play a chord and say, “Is that the feeling?” And I’d say, “How did you know the chord that went with the feeling!” He’s like, “That’s what I do!” It’s like, that’s amazing!

How did you approach 2002 without making it feel kitschy or like a throwback?

I think the thing for me was to treat everything with utmost respect and like it was very real. So to acknowledge the fact that, yes, this is a Justin Timberlake song that came out that year, but also the songs on the radio were still songs from the ’90s. Or cars on the street, not every single car was from that year. To sort of have the traces of earlier times in the year that it’s taking place. Because I feel like that always makes it feel more realistic to me. That was something with the production design and the way that we put the movie together that we were very careful about because we didn’t want it to be too cute. Even though it’s recent history, it still is not now.

In making this film and directing your first feature, was there anything about the process that really surprised you?

The thing I had a hunch about, but I didn’t know until I’d really done it, was how much I’d adore directing films. It’s absolutely the most fun I’ve had doing anything. I love directing films. I love working with a team. I love working with actors. I love being the person who’s able to bring all these people together with a common purpose. I thought I would love doing it, but then when you’re actually there, you think, “This is the best time I’ve ever had.” You don’t totally know how it’s going to work out.

And then in terms of challenges, I think one of the benefits of how long I’ve worked in film and how my film school happened on set — both in front of the camera and behind the camera — is that I knew in my bones that the difficulties that you’d face along the way in making a film were necessarily part of making a film. That doesn’t mean that the film is going to completely implode. That’s just part of it. Every day there’s going to be something that comes up that seems insurmountable. And then you all get your heads together and figure out how to get through it! [laughs] I think because of working in movies for so long, I knew that that was the path. That wasn’t some aberration from the path.

So I’m assuming you want to direct something else very soon?

Oh my God, there’s nothing I more want to do. I’m itching to do it again. [laughs] I also feel like it’s hard to codify what you’ve learned because so much of it is developing your intuition. It’s hard to break it down into, “I’ve learned the following 20 things!” But there was that feeling when I got to the end of it, like, I want to do this again right away because I have so much more information about how to do this and how to go ahead and how to push something forward. And it’s wanting to continue to grow and challenge myself. And the truth is, on the next one, it’ll be a whole new set of challenges. But I think you just keep adding to your toolbox. So yeah. One hundred percent. I can’t wait to get back on a set.

#2017 #Interview #Greta Gerwig #Lady Bird #Golden Globe Awards

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anodyne-sunflower · 8 years ago

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Love me like you do (Part 5)-Balem series

A/N: I recycled a character from another Balem fic I did haha I’m too lazy to make another….goddamn you Balem and your charming ways. Making Reader not give in is so hardddd. Also, I feel like this chapter sucked but…well eh. lol it’ll get better. ❤️

****

Slowly, people began to walk into the banquet hall, each one dressed in fine clothing that spoke volumes of their status. You had no clue as to who any of them were, but they looked important. In fact, you’d imagine if you were invited to dine with Balem you had to be someone special. Though, you ventured a guess this was strictly business not for pleasure.

“Here.”

You looked up to see another girl handing you the pitcher you left on the table, and with a smile she walked off to gather some food. Being Balem’s personal waitress was hardly a gift, but when you thought deep on it, the choices before you weren’t plentiful. So, with all the pride you could swallow, you sighed and walked over to the stern looking man, standing beside him as he glanced at everyone entering the room.

“Wine.”

Balem held his chalice up, not meeting your gaze but directing his demand at you. There was something degrading about it all, and as much as you wanted to throw the wine over his head you didn’t. You lifted the pitcher, pouring him half a glass and backing off just enough to give him some space. He eyed the chalice for a moment, before taking a sip and placing it on the table.

“I’m expecting good news.”

His smooth voice rang through the hall, and just like that the entire room went silent, and alert as they all turned to their host. Balem tapped his nail along the arm of the throne he was in, eyes set straight ahead at the businessmen. He looked displeased already and no one had even spoken up.

“My Lord, we-”

Balem held his hand up, gesturing towards another man who sat near him. This man looked a bit older, his hair white, and beard a peppery color. He was clad in gray and silver, gold rings adorning his fingers as he stood up to address the room.

“As you’re all quite aware by now, the proposition that was placed before me was the allowance of towers to be built upon my land.”

As he spoke his eyes trailed over to the First Primary, an amused glint in his eye as he explained the reasoning behind his visit.

“Lord Balem, our most gracious host, has offered me a generous sum to do this. While I was against this before, I believe this may actually increase all of our lives in a very positive way.”

He smirked, clearly pleased with his own words and reached for the tablet in the middle of the table. He tapped across it, waving his hand over it as he fixed a hologram of charts and numbers in the center of the room.

To say you were in awe of the technology would be an understatement, but you stood silently next to Balem, trying not to look like you just found out other life existed. It was hard not to stand out though, and you shifted awkwardly on your heels as you waited for your captor’s next demand. But, he was far too preoccupied with the holograms in front of him, and he squinted at them as if he was trying to find any errors in the numbers.

“You’ve done your research, Mr. Salik.”

The First Primary rested his cheek upon his hand, calculating the business profits in his head as he looked upon the graphs. He seemed content with it, but there was something nagging at you. Like the room itself was slowly building a tension that was ready to implode on itself.

“Profits would increase by 10% within the month, my lord.”

This Mr. Salik person smiled widely, proud of his research, and you couldn’t help but feel like there was some ulterior motive behind it. But, business wasn’t something you were great at, especially when it came to intergalactic meetings. However, you always had a great intuition, and something told you this wasn’t right.

Balem leaned back into his throne, fingers settled over his lips in deep thought. He clearly wanted more explanation behind all this, and he looked over at Mr. Salik as he spoke.

“And you’re certain of this?”

“Yes, my lord. We’ve done all the research, extending your refinery to my land will in fact increase everyone’s stocks, including your own. As of now the house of Abrasax is the head of all families in business, with this business plan it would be almost untouchable.”

He lost you at that point, and your head almost started hurting at the mention of all the numbers and every individual family. It wasn’t something you understood even a little, so you just set your mind elsewhere. You thought of your small apartment back home, and your odd yet somehow charming neighbors. It was strange though, how even though it was something you were accustomed to, you couldn’t quite say you missed it much. Maybe because there wasn’t much to go back to. However, being there was more appealing than some palace filled with aliens hell bent on destroying planets.

“Wine.”

Balem lifted his chalice once more, holding it out towards you as he continued his conversation with the men at the table. The arrogant ass, you thought. But, you still filled his cup, frowning the entire time and as you pulled away you caught his gaze. You both seemed to stare at each other for a minute, not moving, just observing as if that would help you better understand one another. Except, as he looked at you his mind seemed to be elsewhere and his green eyes slowly descended on your chest, admiring the perfect view of your cleavage. The low cut dress you wore clung to every curve of your upper body, and you could practically feel him undressing you with his stare alone. It was uncomfortable, especially in front of all these other men who were basically doing the same thing, just not as obvious as he was. Though, judging by their initial stares you guessed they realized you ‘belonged’ to this lord and him alone. No doubt no one attempted to take what was his.

You moved the pitcher closer to your body, covering your exposed skin and blushing softly as you straightened up to your full height. You looked away from him, gnawing on your lower lip as he chuckled slightly. Thankfully, no one appeared to care for the exchange between you two, and they continued on with their business conversations.

“So, can we expect your payment soon, Lord Balem?”

Salik smirked over at him, one arm behind his back as waved at the First Primary in question. Balem merely hummed back in response, holding his chalice up in acknowledgment as he took a quick sip.

“And when can I build these towers?”

The pitcher began to grow empty, and you took that as your chance to get away for a bit. You turned on your heel, rolling your eyes when you were out of sight and headed towards the large table just outside.

“Assholes, the lot of them.”

You flipped the tap of the barrel that hung on the side, filling the pitcher back up to the rim with wine. It still felt too overwhelming to return to him, so you risked the small moment of freedom to just stand idly by around the food. Nothing on the platters looked remotely familiar, and you made a face at most of it. You weren’t even sure any of this was meat, let alone vegetables or fruit. But, your stomach was in need of sustenance, so with a hesitant hand you reached towards the small glowing orbs on the silver plate, scrunching your nose at how slimy they felt. It was like a smooth gelatinous type of morsel, that held its shape really well even when you squished it down between your fingers. It wasn’t something you’d normally go for, but hunger can make people try crazy things. You popped it into your mouth, squealing as soon as the strong bitter flavor hit your tongue.

You made mumbling noises, waving your hands around as you tried to figure out where to spit it. Biting down wasn’t even an option right now, and you glanced around desperately only to find two royals walking by with odd stares. They both looked you over in disgust, as if they’d expect better of Balem’s servants, but when they got a closer look at your face they smiled.

The well dressed woman leaned over to the man giggling as she fed him lies.

“That’s Lord Balem’s new play thing. Picked her right off earth they say.”

They both laughed at her words, and you narrowed your eyes at the both of them, wanting to speak up and defend your honor only to realize you had more important matters to deal with. Like where to spit out glowing alien food and not be punished for it.

“Girl!”

You looked up to see Mr. Night glaring at you, his rat like features twisted in annoyance as he waved you back into the hall. “Hurry up! Lord Balem is not the most patient of men and he’s out of wine.”

“Mmhm.”

It was all you could manage to say, and he gave you a weird look before scoffing and heading back inside leaving you to figure out your issue for yourself. It took forever, but with whatever willpower you had you bit down on the treat, gagging at how awful it tasted before swallowing quickly.

“Oh god…”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, shaking off your disgust and grabbing the pitcher before Balem himself came sauntering out to find you. As you entered the room again you could feel the stares on you, and as much as you tried to ignore their lecherous gazes it was becoming increasingly difficult to put up with. You passed Salik on your way to Balem’s side, gasping when you felt his hand brush against your behind. You swiftly turned, face a bright red and before you could even say anything the older man laughed.

“And where did you find this one, Lord Balem?”

The room was heavy with silence, and you stood, mouth agape, as Salik just looked you over with desire written on his features.

“She’s quite charming…”

Salik reached his hand towards you, and you felt your anger slowly rising. The pitcher shook a bit in your hand, your rage getting the best of you but before you could pour the wine over his ugly face a hand gripped yours and you looked down to see Balem pulling you towards him.

“Take the wine.”

He waved over another servant, and you watched as a young boy quickly grabbed the container from you. In the heat of the moment you hadn’t realized how close you were to possibly offending his guests, but frankly they deserved it.

Balem’s hand remained over your own, and with a rough tug he pulled you down into his throne and onto his lap. You gripped his clothing in shock, looking up at him as he curled you into his chest. His eyes scanned over you for a moment, but he just as quickly glanced over to the man who would dare touch his property. You expected him to yell, to scream and threaten death to all in the room, instead he smirked. It was an odd reaction to you, but there was an anger in his eyes that only you seemed to be privy to.

“Mr. Salik…”

His voice was even, almost eerily calm as he lifted your hand in his. He pulled it towards his mouth, smirk still upon his lips as he dragged them across your knuckles in a possessive yet somehow charming manner. “She is rather captivating, isn’t she?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, making you stiffen under his intimate touch. You never expected him to be this…kind to you right now, at least not in this way. Sure, he was obviously attracted to you, but this hardly seemed the reaction he’d normally have. Maybe it was all the wine he had consumed, but you believed he was the type of man who held his drink well.

“Yes, quite.”

Salik, unaware of the rage glowing behind Balem’s green eyes, smiled even wider, licking his lips in a manner that made you shrink back in disgust. However, Balem didn’t let up on his show of ownership, he just pulled you flush against him, your breasts almost against his cheek as he led his lips up your sternum. You froze in his hold, face no doubt a brilliant shade of red as he pressed his lips into your heated skin. Normally, if any man touched you like this without a warning you’d of slapped them hard on the cheek. Yet, with him, all your senses seemed to stop and your thoughts became a jumbled mess of panicked screams.

“Then let me make this perfectly clear, Mr. Salik…”

Balem stopped his hot trail of kisses at your collarbone, his eyes coming up to meet yours as he said the last part of his sentence.

“Touch her again, and I will have your head decorating my walls.”

With every word his tone began to rise, the anger now very clear to all in the room. You could almost feel the dread that ran along all their spines, and as Salik made to open his mouth and speak Balem held his finger up and screamed.

“SILENCE!”

He turned his rage filled gaze towards the older man, corner of his lip twitching as he tried to stop himself from being rash. You flinched a bit at his yelling, hand clutching his shoulder tighter to maintain some balance in his lap. It was all too clear that he didn’t take kindly to those who touched his things, and his mood swing was proof enough of that.

He gritted his teeth, jaw tightening as he leaned back into his throne. His eyes didn’t leave Salik’s and he took one last sip of wine before tossing his cup on the table unceremoniously.

“Leave us. NOW!”

All the other businessmen scrambled out of their chairs, heading out of the banquet hall as Balem kept his gaze fixed on the old man. You could tell Salik was frightened, yet you had to give him some credit for sticking around and attempting to meet Balem’s gaze with equal fervor.

“Balem, I will not stand to be humiliated-”

“Understand this, Mr. Salik. I will build my towers on your miserable planet tomorrow. With your consent.”

“And what makes you think I’ll give you it now? I rescind my offer, and all the others will know that you’re the reason they lost profit.”

Salik stood from the table, throwing his napkin to the table and turning to storm out the room. Before he could make it to the doors the guards shut them, holding their weapons in front of him.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

Balem looked over his shoulder, gesturing for a servant to come get you. “Take her to my chambers.”

“Yes, my lord.”

They bowed, and gently removed you from his lap as they rushed you out the room.

****

“How disappointing. I’d of admired your spirit more if you put up a fight.”

Balem paced around the throne room, eyeing the tablet he held with a pleased look on his face. The contract was set, and the rights to all of Salik’s holdings were now in his possession with no one to contest it.

“Balem! Do not do this!”

The First Primary looked down at the floor, the marbled tiling becoming transparent as the harvesting docks became visible beneath. Mr. Salik was laid inside one, squirming around in a panic as the needles and saws drew near his body. His screaming was muffled by the thick walls, and Greeghan stood above him, awaiting his Lord’s command.

“You promised!!! I gave you what you wanted now release me! I beg of you!”

Balem ignored his cries, and instead walked up the steps towards his hovering throne as he turned dramatically and sat upon it. He crossed his legs, looking down at the pathetic man with an amused expression.

With one wave of his hand, Greeghan growled darkly and pulled down on the lever, and the only sound in the room was that of Salik’s pained screams.

****

A/N: If there was mistakes…well, oops. I never proofread because I’m lazy. Haha. Feedback welcomed!

#balem x reader #balem abrasax x reader #balem #balem abrasax #Balem x you #jupiter ascending

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artificialqueens · 8 years ago

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Victorious - (Shalaska) - Dottie

A/N: This is based off the song Victorious by Panic! At The Disco, so I hope you enjoy it!!! And thank you to the lovely pureCAMP for betaing, and thank you to everyone who has left me feedback and asks, I appreciate all the feedback you can give me :) Okay, so enjoy! (Also, I am not claiming for anything in this fic to be accurate, scientifically and realistically speaking)

summary: Sharon and Alaska are notorious criminals in 1980s America who are known for burning down buildings via fireworks after robbing said buildings.

It started out with a dress. It was a complete accident, honest to satan. It had been Alaska’s birthday, and being the kind, gracious, warm, loving, caring, and wonderful girlfriend that she was, Sharon had decided to get Alaska that very expensive cheetah print dress she’d had complete heart eyes for every time they passed the window display. The only problem being, they were flat-out broke and on the verge of being kicked out of their already small, dingy apartment. So really, there was only one solution. Sharon may not have thought it through completely, because if she had then the poor sales associate would probably still be alive, and she and Alaska probably wouldn’t be on the run from the police. To be completely fair, Sharon hadn’t meant to kill the poor guy, she hadn’t woken up that morning to seek him out and kill him. She had simply tried to knock him out so she could have a head start, but she may have hit a little too hard, and there may have been a lot more blood than she expected - but at least she got the dress. Alaska was tickled fucking pink, until she watched the evening news. Sharon was lucky she was the only one in the small store and that they hadn’t upgraded to security cameras yet. Sharon was also lucky, she had been told, that Alaska didn’t leave her dumb ass.

After the dress, it escalated. Sharon wouldn’t have ever imagined that she would be the type of person who enjoyed a lot of power - Alaska always gave her weird looks and passed snide comments when she said that - but Alaska was a bitch, so who the fuck cared what she thought? Okay, maybe Sharon did, just a little.. Sharon also wouldn’t have ever imagined that she would actually enjoy the power that came from taking human life, and Alaska agreed with her on that statement.

So of course it escalated. It escalated to robbing banks, which helped a lot with their financial situation. Though it didn’t help too much because they ended up having to leave their apartment because they were being chased by the law. Which, who knew? And Alaska wasn’t sure how she became involved with Sharon’s god-awful schemes, (probably their first date if she was being honest with herself) but Alaska was a ride-or-die girl, so Sharon wasn’t getting rid of her that fucking easily. So naturally, she let Sharon think up the heists, and Alaska fine-tuned it and tweaked it until they covered all of their tracks, and she was the one who had the brilliant idea to set off fireworks into each building they hit, just for the excitement and drama of it all.

Alaska made them follow three critical rules. The first one - always wear gloves. The second, never stay in the same spot twice, or for more than 24 hours, unless crucial to survival. And the third, but most important, never go back for each other. It was the one they hated the most, but they knew and understood how important it was. They trusted each other enough to know that if one of them was caught, they knew exactly what to say in order to protect the other.

It was supposed to be just another bank heist, a plain and simple, in and out type of deal. And as usual, Sharon got the money and ran to their designated meeting spot, while Alaska stayed behind and set off the fireworks. They weren’t counting on there being a panic button.

Alaska got caught.

They had an agreement that if five minutes had passed and one of them was not at the meeting spot then the other was supposed to go to wherever they were staying without them and wait out the night there. Sharon was positive Alaska would show up at some point in the night. She always did. That was until the entire night passed without any signs from Alaska, and Sharon’s world turned upside down. She couldn’t do this without Alaska. She didn’t want to do anything without Alaska. She knew that she was probably in police custody, and if they stuck with their plan then everything would be okay and in 24 hours Alaska would be back out on the streets. Except what if she got caught in the act? Would that change anything? Was she okay? Were they hurting her Lasky? What if they charged her with all those murders Sharon had committed? That was all Sharon, not Alaska. Well, Alaska had helped a little… sometimes.

Sharon had made many, many (many) mistakes in her lifetime, and she had regretted doing and not doing a lot of things, but not going back for Alaska was at the top of her list. She knew that Alaska would be pissed at her, and that she probably would get caught too, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything without Alaska, her girl, her ride-or-die soulmate. She followed their rule of moving from city to city, and pulling off a few small robberies here and there, but it didn’t feel the same. She didn’t feel as powerful. She felt… powerless.

She kept up with the news, torturing herself by watching it every evening, no matter where she was, to hear updates on Alaska’s trial. Every single time her heart broke. Every day they got closer and closer to finding a verdict. Sharon prayed to satan for them to let Alaska walk, even though she knew that it was impossible.

But then it happened. Alaska was charged with multiple counts of first degree murder, theft and destruction of property, and was sentenced to death in the state of Texas, where she had been caught. Sharon’s world imploded. Her Alaska, her sweet, beautiful, innocent Lasky was going to die for something Sharon had done. She had to do something, anything. Alaska deserved the moon and the stars and everything good in the world. Alaska deserved to live a long happy life, with two and a half kids, a dog and a white picket fence in the suburbs. She didn’t deserve this.

Now, Sharon was normally thirty different kinds of crazy, on a good day, but once you messed with her Lasky, there was no stopping her from destroying everything in her path. She turned up the crazy, and started to make a plan to break Alaska out. She had looked calm, cool and collected on tv when she had heard the verdict, but Sharon knew she was terrified on the inside. Perhaps the context wasn’t exactly appropriate, but wow, Alaska looked fucking good in orange.

Sharon thought her plan was simple enough, all it came down to was throwing the bait and waiting for the sharks to bite, then make ‘em bleed with all of the explosives she had. Getting into maximum security prison dressed like a guard was a lot easier than she had anticipated and really, with all of the tax dollars paying for these facilities, the fact that she could just walk in through the front door and into the lion’s den without being questioned was a little concerning. She set up the fireworks and other explosives as she went, so she could focus on getting Alaska out and safe first. She knew instantly which cell was Alaska’s, based on the three huge guards standing in front of it. It put a hitch in her plan, but not too big of one. This was why she had a tranquilizer gun, Alaska could suck her entire big toe for telling her it was useless. The guards went down fast in a surprisingly convenient silence. Sharon swiped the keys from one of the guards, unlocked the door and poked her head inside. Her heart stopped, and moths swarmed her stomach when she caught sight of Alaska, who was curled up in her ratty bed, sound asleep. Sharon almost cried at how innocent she looked (almost, because she actually cried when she realized how much she had missed her. Stupid bitch, making her feel things.)

Sharon walked up to Alaska as confidently as she could, wiped away her tears, and took a deep breath.

“Alaska.” Sharon said, not expecting Alaska to shoot up from her position on the bed. She blinked around the room, confused, before her eyes landed on Sharon, and Satan, did she miss those eyes.

“Sharon?” Alaska rubbed her eyes before opening them again. “Oh, my God.” Sharon smirked and opened her mouth to speak but Alaska cut her off. “You fucking bitch. What are you doing here? We agreed that we’d move on if one of us gets left behind, and I got left behind.” Sharon groaned. It hadn’t even been two minutes and Alaska was already nagging her. She had missed it so fucking much. “Are you crying?” she asked incredulously.

Sharon wiped at her face and pouted. “No.” Alaska let out a laugh before she enveloped Sharon in a hug. “I’ve missed you so fucking much, Alaska. I can’t let them kill you, you don’t deserve that, it’s my fault we even got into this whole mess in the first place.” Alaska pulled back and smiled at Sharon before pulling her into a much needed kiss. What Sharon wouldn’t do to make it last forever.

Pulling away, Sharon said “We have to get going now, or we might die.” Alaska looked like she wanted to question it but decided it was better to just go along with it. Smart girl. Sharon grabbed her hand and lead them off. Alaska wasn’t quite sure how they got so far in a maximum security prison without running into another guard, and Sharon didn’t want to tell her that it was because they were all outside, dealing with a huge riot Sharon may or may not have started.

Sharon made Alaska change clothes before they walked out the final door just so they wouldn’t be questioned by the receptionist. It was the infamous cheetah print dress that Sharon had gotten her all those years ago for her birthday, the dress that started it all. It still fit Alaska like a glove and Sharon still loved seeing her in it. They made it out of the entire building without being stopped once, and Sharon couldn’t stop thinking about how brilliant she was. They got into the car Sharon stole and took off down the road, both relieved and exhausted. Then the building exploded behind them. The entire building went up; Sharon may have gone overboard on the explosive to building ratio, but she was too busy being disappointed that the fireworks didn’t go off like she was hoping they would, to care.

“Sharon.” Alaska said, looking behind them at the wall of smoke.

“Yeah, baby?” She asked, concentrating on the road.

“I love you.” Sharon smiled and pulled over, reaching behind her seat and pulling out a bottle of champagne.

“I love you too, Lasky.” She said as she uncorked the bottle of champagne, breaking one of the back windows in the process. She handed the overspilling bottle to Alaska. “Tonight, we are victorious, my love.” Alaska rolled her eyes and pulled Sharon in for another kiss.

#sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #shalaska #fluff #angst #cisgirl au #dottie #tw death mentions #tw blood mention #tw minor character death #rpdr fanfiction #submission #lesbian au #crime au

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copyrightedsnakes · 8 years ago

Text

All’s Fair in Love, War, and Politics (3/5)

Title: All’s Fair in Love, War, and Politics

Length: ~33k words (this third part is ~7k words)

Summary: In an impulsive moment of weakness, Mark agrees to a bet set by Bob and Wade. He has to be elected class president at his university to win, so to save his hair he now needs a way to get his name out there so that people will vote for him. As luck would have it though, he ends up catching the eye of the school’s radio DJ.

Warnings: Swearing, slight drinking/mentions of alcohol, all of the cheesy fluff tropes rolled into one disaster of a conglomeration

Author’s Note: I noticed that I posted part 2 four days after the first bit, so four days between it is! I guess. You guys are all seriously way too nice to me, I can’t believe it <3333 thank you all so much, I hope you enjoy this part too!

Previous Parts: 1 | 2

Mark woke curled up on the floor. His arms were around a couch cushion, and Wade was standing over him with a grin.

"What?" He asked, groaning and rolling onto his back. He blinked a few times, clearing his throat. "Where's Jack?"

"Shower. I told him you wouldn't mind if he borrowed some of your clothes."

Wade still had a weird smirk, making Mark ask again.

"What? What is it?"

"You guys were all curled up together, asleep. It was so cute."

"Oh. Well..." Mark glanced down, hiding his face under the guise of fixing his hair. The cuddling--closeness that he had initiated--had seemed fine at the time, especially considering how affectionate being sleepy made him. In hindsight though, it wasn't normal. Not normal for him. Not normal when no one was watching, and the relationship wasn't supposed to be real. "Yeah. Thanks, I guess."

"Jack thought it was cute too. Or, that you were cute."

"He did?" That made Mark sit up, Wade nodding.

"He took a picture. Put it on Twitter, I think."

Wade went into the kitchen, Mark opening his laptop and going to the social media site. He'd gained an exponential amount of followers overnight, his little notification symbol showing a small "99+" in the corner. He went to Jack's Twitter, his eyes growing wide. There was a very close shot of his face, and while he didn't look bad, Jack's caption was something else.

He's a cute sleeper, but... I kinda want to draw dicks on his face.

Mark quickly checked Jack's follower count, groaning. Slightly over three thousand people had seen the tweet.

"Morning! Sort of. It's noon by now."

Mark glanced up at the voice. Jack was walking over, his hair damp and frizzed from drying, his hands deep in his jacket pockets. The jacket was his own and the jeans were too, the shirt Jack was wearing the only thing Mark recognized as being taken from his room. "I was hoping you'd still be asleep, to be honest."

"Why?" Mark asked, Wade reentering and taking a seat on the couch. "So you could draw dicks on my face?"

That made Jack laugh, and he shook his head.

"You saw that, huh? No, actually; since you made me dinner last night, I wanted to surprise you with breakfast."

What could only be described as a delighted squeak came from Mark's right, looking over to see a completely mushy expression on Wade's face. Jack was a mixture of amused and delighted at that, Mark laughing.

"Can you even cook?" He asked, extending out an arm as an ask for help getting up. Jack took it, pulling him to his feet.

"Of course I can! Well enough, anyway. Omelette?"

"It's noon." Mark deadpanned as they entered the kitchen, sitting at the table as Jack opened the fridge.

"It doesn't matter the time--if it's your first meal, it's breakfast. You should set Twitter up on your phone."

Mark nodded at the suggestion, downloading the app and logging in. He hadn't actually used it yet, and despite that was already sporting seven hundred some-odd followers, deciding to compose a tweet.

Good morning everyone! Have an awesome Saturday

He added an emoji for good measure, barely having sent it out before his phone began buzzing. It was surprising to say the least, Jack glancing back when he heard it.

"Mister Popularity already, huh?"

"I didn't think so." Mark picked his phone up. The notifications were mostly retweets and favorites, but there were some replies. "A few people want to talk to me, a few people are just saying hey... Four people in a row want to know if we had sex last night..."

Jack laughed out loud, shaking his head. "Of course. Go ahead and answer a few people. Just not those people."

Mark did as Jack cooked, getting back to a good fifteen people before he heard a sharp curse.

"You okay over there?"

"You, uh... Like scrambled eggs, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Didn't you say we were having omelettes?"

"...eggs are hard to fold." Jack answered after a second, making Mark laugh.

"Scrambled eggs are fine." He answered, a omelette-scrambled egg combo being placed in front of him when Jack was finished. They actually tasted quite good, but Mark couldn't refrain from taking a picture and putting it on the internet.

It's a bit late for breakfast... And @Jack_Septic_Eye sucks at making omelettes.

Jack's phone went off as soon as the tweet was posted, opening his mouth in indignation.

"Don't fucking sass me!" He responded, tapping away.

@markiplier shut up, ya big smelly!

After about an hour of Wade cooing at them in the background, Jack declared that it was time for him to go.

"Want me to walk you back?" Mark asked, watching him put on his shoes.

"Nah, it's alright. You can walk me to the door though."

So he did, closing the front door behind them.

"Thanks for having me." Jack said as soon as they were outside.

"Of course. Thanks for showing up; it was fun."

"I like Wade too, I'm glad I could meet him." Jack laughed. "Though it's good thing there's not any actual romantic affection here," he gestured between himself and Mark, "He finds us so cute already that if we were actually dating, I think he might implode."

"I... Yeah." Mark laughed, the vocalization sounding fake as soon as it reached his ears. "Good thing."

Jack gave him a shrewd look. "Don't you fall in love with me." He said again, and after a parting wave he was gone.

The next week was hectic. Mark had a boyfriend, a Twitter account, and a presidential campaign to all take care of, and on top of school itself, he was having a hard time keeping up. As someone that didn't even like wearing pants, by week two the whole suit routine was getting exhausting. He was slightly re-encouraged when Jack complimented him and played Timberlake's "Suit and Tie" on the radio, but that didn't last long. Between their brief, fifteen minute meet ups for coffee and their short back-and-forths on Twitter, Mark was really beginning to miss Jack. He wanted to hang out with him, and talk to him; he wanted them to spend another weekend together, and had a strange feeling in his gut when he realized the kiss on the nose Jack gave him probably had something to do with that. By Thursday he gave in, walking to Jack's apartment building and knocking on 302.

Jack opened the door almost instantly, his eyes widening in surprise. He had his cell phone held up to his ear, Mark stepping in sheepishly as Jack closed the door behind him.

"Yes, that was the front door. It was Mark." Jack paced a little, talking to whoever was on the other line, Mark sitting on the couch and stretching one arm over the back of the seat. "Yes, as in the boyfriend I told you about. He isn't president yet. I don't--" Jack reddened. "I don't have to hang up, it's okay."

Jack sat heavily on the couch, pulling his feet up and nestling a little under Mark's arm. Mark could just barely hear female tones on the other line, Jack saying "yeah, you can talk to him" and shoving the phone in his direction.

"It's my mom." Jack said in a loud whisper. "She thinks we're dating, and she wants to talk to you."

"What?" Mark hissed back, but a loud questioning greeting from the other line had him quickly grabbing the phone.

"Hi! Sorry about that."

"Hello! This is Jack's--or do you call him Sean? He goes by Jack at home. Anyway, I'm his mother."

"Oh, I call him Jack." Mark answered. He made his voice a bit deeper and more gracious, a tactic he often employed while talking to parents--mostly mothers--that helped earn him a few brownie points. Jack’s head shot up sharply when he heard it. "Hello Mrs. McLoughlin, it's wonderful to meet you."

There was a bright smile in her voice, a quality Jack had in him as well, and it made Mark like her, despite how little about her he knew.

"It's wonderful to meet you too, finally. I kept hounding that son of mine to let me talk to you, but he always told me you were busy. I was about to start doubting your existence, honestly. Mark, was it?"

That had Mark laughing, nodding a little.

"Yes, Mark Fischbach. I'm real. I've definitely had my hands full though; school isn't easy."

"I wish Jack could say the same. He's taking minimum credit hours, did you know that? Spends more time with the radio crew than in the classroom."

"Well, he really loves it. He's excellent on the radio."

Jack shifted slightly next to him, Mark glancing over to see him looking down, a small smile on his face.

"You are sweet. I can see why he likes you so much. That's all, I just wanted to say hello."

"It was nice to talk to you."

"You too! Goodbye, hopefully we'll meet soon."

The call disconnected, Mark handing Jack's phone back to him with a self-satisfied smirk.

"I handled that excellently, if I do say so myself."

"You turned the charm on my mom." Jack deadpanned, placing his phone in his lap.

"And she loved me." Mark said with a grin. "Which you are welcome for, by the way. Thanks for putting me on the spot like that."

"Just trying to help keep those improv skills sharp." Jack suddenly pulled back, giving Mark a confused once-over. "Wait. What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?"

"Are you the only person in this relationship that can show up to people's apartments unannounced?"

"I announced that to the whole campus!" Jack protested. "Did you tweet at me or something, and I missed it because I was on the phone?"

"…no." Mark looked at his hands, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I thought we could hang out, or something? I haven't seen you in like a week and a half."

A smile slowly grew on Jack's face, the expression only a little teasing.

"We grabbed lunch together two days ago."

"You know what I mean."

"So you missed me, is what you're saying."

"No. Shut up!" Mark retracted the arm he'd put over the back of the couch, crossing them both and huffing. Jack chuckled, letting himself lean against Mark's side and pulling out his phone.

"Twitter needs to know about this."

"Shut up." Mark said again, frowning harder as Jack composed a new tweet.

@Jack_Septic_Eye: This goober says he missed me

Then he tapped the photo icon, holding the phone up for a selfie.

"Do something cute." He told Mark, but Mark didn't feel like complying.

"You're embarrassing me." Mark argued.

"Come on, don't be like that." Jack's voice had turned pouty, making Mark roll his eyes and laugh. Jack turned his attention back to the camera and Mark pulled a duck face, turning to Jack and pressing his nose against the side of his boyfriend's face. It was nearly a kiss on the cheek, his lips just quite not touching Jack's skin, and he let out a breath through his nose. The hot air must have tickled because Jack eyes closed in a giggle, Mark hearing the shutter go off.

Jack nodded to himself as he saw the photo, showing it to Mark for review. The picture was incredibly cute, he couldn't help but admit, nodding back. They photographed adorably together, Jack sending the tweet with a satisfied expression.

"Is there anything in particular you wanted to do?" Jack asked, Mark shaking his head quickly. He felt a little silly now, showing up uninvited for no real reason, but Jack just shrugged, standing up to turn on his console, tossing Mark a controller and dialing something on his phone.

"What're you doing?" Mark asked, Jack giving him a bright smile.

"When in doubt, pizza and video games."

They demolished the entire pizza in less than an hour, Mark leaning back on the couch, embarrassingly full of food, when Jack glanced over and asked

"So, are you ready to be on the radio tomorrow?"

It took Mark a moment to realize what Jack was talking about.

"Oh, right. I think so."

Both himself and Ken were going to be on the radio tomorrow, answering caller questions about their campaigns. Mark was actually looking forward to it. Being on the radio would probably be a good deal of fun, the only concern of his being the people calling in. If they were anything like the people that responded to his tweets, there would be some skirting around awkward questions about Jack and himself.

"I'm looking forward to it." Jack was grinning. "I love having guests on the show. Especially when they're some of my best friends."

Mark just looked over at him, Jack not noticing he was staring until Mark's character died from lack of attention to the game.

"Of course you're one of my best friends." Jack nudged him hard with an elbow, Mark letting a smile flow freely onto his face. "Don't stare at me like that."

So Mark settled for sitting as close to Jack as he could on the couch, Jack rolling his eyes and leaning his weight on Mark's shoulder. Leaning into him was something Jack did a lot, Mark noticed, and he rather liked it. He liked a lot of things Jack did though, like the way he leaned back when he laughed hard, or how he would randomly burst into song, or just how animated he was when he spoke. It made him fun to be around.

It was nearly 10 p.m. when Mark finally decided he needed to leave. He had both class and the radio show to prepare for the next day, and he didn't want to keep Jack up either. He declined Jack's offer to walk him home, so Jack just walked him to the front door, standing in the doorway.

"See you tomorrow."

Mark nodded and met his eyes, feeling this small, expectant tug that he ought to do something. Times like this always had such an "end of date" feeling to them that the thought of maybe kissing Jack always crossed his mind, but he just shook it off as usual and responded to the farewell, pulling his phone from his pocket as he turned to head home.

It wasn't until Mark was sitting in the broadcasting room, a pair of headphones on and a mic in front of him, with 5 minutes until the show was starting, that he actually felt the nerves stirring in his stomach. He was sitting next to Ken, with Jack across from both of them at the table and asking if they were ready.

"Yeah!" Ken clapped his hands together, the jarring noise making Mark give him a glance. "Let's do it."

Jack turned to Mark for his answer, his eyebrows raised, to which he just nodded. Then a red light told them all they were on air, an easy smile making its way to Jack's face as he greeted listeners, saying his opening remarks.

"And I have not one, but two very special guests on the show with me today. Two names that anyone that listens to this show should know by now: Mark Fischbach and Kenneth Morrison. How are you guys doing today?"

"Great!" Ken responded enthusiastically, Mark nodding in agreement.

"I'm really excited to be here. I'm sure we both are."

"I'm excited too." Jack met Mark's eyes, smiling a little. "This show is for our two student pres candidates--these two ruggedly handsome men in front of me--to talk about what it is they want to achieve upon being elected and to answer caller questions. Both of these men are very close to my heart, with Ken being a good friend and former roommate and Mark being a good friend and current boyfriend, so I'm just going to be playing moderator here. There are no sides being picked."

"But he's voting for me." Ken said in a stage whisper, his voice low and his lips close to the mic. Jack laughed.

"I don't know man, Mark's gotten me a lot of free food. And he cooks better than you can, too."

"Hey!" Ken's mouth was opened in mock offense. "Don't go telling these people I can't cook. You like my specialty mac and cheese."

"I'd just like to point out that my specialty is gourmet Korean chicken and dumplings, so I feel compelled to agree with my boyfriend on this one." Mark popped in.

"You haven't made those for me yet." Jack said. Mark shrugged.

"You free after this?"

"As free as you are."

"Get a room!" Ken exclaimed loudly, Jack laughing at him.

"Maybe we will. But first, please enjoy this song: The Hit by Tupperware Remix Party!"

Jack sent them thumbs ups as the song began, a confirmation of how they were doing, Mark responding in kind as Ken nodded. It was weird being here, but the scary part of answering questions hadn't started yet, so Mark couldn't complain.

"We're going to open the phone lines soon," Jack said as the song ended, adjusting his headphones as he spoke, "so I wanted to establish a few ground rules. A lot of you guys out there know about Mark and I's relationship, but just because he's on my show today doesn't mean you get to ask him questions about it. Ken's here too, and that wouldn't be fair to him. Today is all about politics. That being said, I thought up a few things you guys might want to know, and I'm going to answer a few questions in an attempt to... Lessen the urge of you guys calling in."

Mark sent Jack a look. He hadn't known anything about this; they hadn't discussed any questions or answers, and he was genuinely afraid of what Jack was about to say about him. He could already feel his face turning red.

"So, to get this out of the way, here we go. What are the pros and cons of dating Mark? One pro are that his shoulders are broader than mine, meaning I can fit into all of his shirts and he can't fit into any of mine, so really it's just me stealing his clothes. A con are that between the two of us, he's the hot one."

"You know, I think I agree with that." Ken said. "Sorry Jack."

Jack laughed, nodding, Mark seeing something he hadn't noticed until then, unable not to point it out.

"You're wearing one of my shirts right now."

It was the shirt Jack borrowed after showering at Mark's apartment, light blue and a little form fitting. Jack plucked at the fabric with a grin.

"Yeah, it's comfy. I can give it back."

"No, that's alright." The blue in the shirt brought out the blue in Jack’s eyes so well that for a moment Mark caught himself staring. "Keep it. It looks good on you."

"If you guys keep looking at each other like that, I'm going to leave." Ken threatened, Jack clearing his throat and turning back to the paper of questions in front of him.

"Mark's best features? Biceps and cooking. Best thing Mark's done so far? He did tell me that the upside-down kiss at that Halloween party was the most romantic thing he's ever done in his life, but he did throw up on my shoes afterwards, so I feel bad for anyone else he's ever dated."

"Shut up." Mark grumbled at him, Jack bursting into laughter.

"And finally, because tons of people want to know on Twitter: have you guys done 'insert-relationship-milestone-of-your-choice-here' yet? We've been dating for three months now. Fill in the blanks yourself."

Ken was chuckling, and Mark was pink in the face. He had no reason for being embarrassed--they hadn't even had to kiss each other yet--but the insinuation was enough to get him blushing.

"We'll be opening the phone lines after this short break. Please be respectful, and remember to stick to campaign related questions!"

Jack grinned at him when the music began, pointing at his cheeks and at the blush on his face. Mark flipped him off, Ken snorting in laughter.

The answering of questions went rather smoothly, and Mark was grateful. There were a few things brought up that he hadn't considered, glad that they were brought to his attention. Ken had the first answer to everything, and they actually agreed with each other on a good amount of subjects, something that surprised Mark for some reason. Jack just nodded along, not giving much input, answering and hanging up the phone. Things were going smoothly with Ken too, both better than at the party and better than he expected. They only hit one snag, but it was enough for the whole thing to come crashing down.

Mark was in the middle of talking about learning guitar, something he was interested in, saying since Jack knew about it, maybe his boyfriend could help him. Ken looked at him first, confusion on his face, Jack shooting him an "oh shit" expression, and Mark knew that immediately, somehow, he had fucked up.

"Jack was in a band, right?" He asked hesitantly, giving his boyfriend a questioning look, needing to know the problem but also trying not to tip Ken off that something might be wrong. Jack nodded at him.

"Yeah, but he played the drums." Ken said slowly, pointing between Jack and Mark, his eyes narrowed.

"You're a shit boyfriend." Jack's tone was light and joking, Mark trying to fight the internal panic and think of an excuse for why he would imply that his boyfriend actually play a different instrument.

"But the band had guitarists, right? I've never really even been around a guitar, so he's better off than me."

"Right." Ken was still looking at them, still scrutinizing, definitely not convinced. Mark just tried to keep his mouth closed, avoiding his eyes until the broadcast was over. Thankfully that only was for about ten minutes, and once Jack had thanked callers and signed off he hurried over to Mark and pulled him to his feet.

"What?" Mark whispered, frowning at the look on Jack's face.

"Quick, kiss me while he's looking."

"What?" Mark choked that out a little louder, the question definitely getting Ken's attention, and Jack put a hand on the back of Mark's neck, tugging him down a little and meeting his lips. Mark tried not to be surprised, knowing they were supposed to have done this a hundred times over already, but he couldn't help it. Jack was pressed close to him, kissing him, and his brain was all but short-circuiting.

Mark would be lying through his teeth if he said he'd never thought seriously about kissing Jack. He had. Part of him was surprised that it hadn't happened sooner, simply because of the lie they were living through together. He thought it would be strange, or uncomfortable, or awkward; nothing like this.

Jack was still as dynamic as always but now he was so close that Mark could feel that energy, his right hand curled in Mark's hair, his lips moving so gently they were almost hesitant. Every one of Mark's nerves was hyperaware, suddenly conscious of the heavy beat of his heart, the pressure of Jack's lips, and just how purely kinetic he was.

When Jack began to pull back Mark found himself pushing closer, but only until he realized what he was doing, stilling as his face grew warm. Jack detached their lips only enough for them to breathe, tilting his head to the side so their noses wouldn't bump.

"So?" he whispered. "Did it work?"

It took a second of hazy searching for Mark to even realize what Jack was asking about, blinking and pulling back a little further.

Ken was looking at them, pulling an exaggerated face. Mark didn't think he could say something even if he tried, the broad-shouldered candidate pulling himself to his feet.

"Alright there, Smoochie Poo and Googly Bear. I get it. You guys want to be alone." He shot finger guns in Jack's direction and winked, requesting that the DJ text him before slipping out the door.

"I think it worked." Mark said, and Jack took a step back, bursting into giggles and looking at his feet. His face was completely red, rubbing the side of his face and avoiding Mark's eyes.

"So... That happened."

"I... Yeah."

Mark had no idea what to say, Jack finally meeting his eyes and laughing again. Mark couldn't stop smiling either, watching Jack's face, a squeeze in his chest making him want to kiss Jack again. He didn't though, keeping one hand firmly planted on the table behind him until Jack spoke.

"I don't know about you, but that felt a little awkward. Like... Theatrical, or something."

"Wasn't that the point?" Mark asked, the little smile that was still on his face making Jack reach out and hit his shoulder.

"Yeah, but we've been supposed to have been doing... That," the skirting around the word "kissing" amused Mark for a moment, but then he realized he probably wouldn't be able to say it either, despite how childish that felt "for three months now. It should be more natural, shouldn't it?"

"What are you saying?" Mark felt he knew, but he could feel embarrassment inching up his throat, not wanting to suggest anything outlandish.

"Shouldn't we... Practice?"

Something flipped in Mark's stomach but he tried not to show it, just nodding a bit and straightening up.

"We probably can't stay here, huh?"

"As hot as it would be to make out in the recording studio, no." Jack chuckled. "I'd probably get in trouble."

Mark blanched but Jack didn't see it, already headed to the door.

"Your place or mine?"

"I... I think Wade is home."

Jack just nodded, Mark falling in step next to him and taking his hand. They chatted briefly about how the radio show had gone, but they had both been there, and it felt like small talk. All he could think about was the kiss they'd just had, and how electric it had felt, and the urge he had to stop Jack, spin him around, and kiss him again. Not for show, not for his campaign, not so someone could take a photo and put it on Twitter. Because Jack made him smile. Because Jack was nice, and clever, and laughed too much, and had spectacular blue eyes, and was passionate, and loud, and colorful, and... And hell, because he wanted to.

"You thought I played the guitar? Really?"

Jack's voice broke him from his thoughts, sounding amused. They had reached the apartment building, dropping hands and climbing the stairs.

"Most guys have." Mark defended, Jack considering the statement before nodding.

"Drums are easier." He explained. "And so much more fun. I was pretty good, too."

"You should show me some time."

"Just give me a drum set."

Jack unlocked his front door, pushing it open. The place was becoming quite familiar, with Mark having been there just yesterday. Jack walked immediately into the kitchen, calling out the offer of a glass of water as he went, which Mark accepted. Then they sat together on the couch, the silence heavy.

"Well, this is nice and awkward." Mark remarked. Jack immediately became defensive.

"It's your turn! This was my idea, and I instigated the first one."

"Yeah, why did you do that?" Mark asked, willing his face to stay a neutral color.

"Did you not see Ken's face?"

Mark shook his head--he had been making a large effort not to look in that direction.

"Oh. Your flub made him all suspicious."

"Just from that?" That seemed excessive, Mark telling him so. Jack immediately glanced away, looking sheepish.

"He might have made a comment at the beginning of this whole scam about how much of a coincidence it was that you were running for president, and... Let's just say I could have handed the conversation better. So he’s a little skeptical."

Mark shook his head and laughed, Jack frowning and shoving lightly at his shoulder.

"Mark."

"What?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

The request had his face turning pink, Jack grinning, raising his eyebrows, and letting him lean in. His heart was pounding and he pulled back just a second later, getting a concerned look in response. This was supposed to just be practice; it wasn't supposed to affect him, and Mark realized that if he moved a certain way, or made a sound, it was game over, and he wasn't sure he trusted himself.

"What?" Jack asked him, his eyes traveling over Mark's face. "You alright?"

"What are we doing?" Mark asked back. It was stupid question, but he was stalling. "Do we just kiss, or...?"

"That's how we'd practice." Jack's mouth opened slightly in inspiration, grabbing quickly for his phone. Mark's heart sank for a moment, but Jack didn't open Twitter, going to his clock app instead.

“I'll set a timer for... How long?"

"Seven minutes in heaven?" Mark proposed. It was meant to be a joke, and while Jack laughed out loud, he also nodded. He set the timer, phone in hand as he faced Mark again.

"You ready?" He asked. Then he hesitated. "This isn't weird, right?"

"Right." It didn't feel weird, per se. Sure, Mark was nervous, but it wasn't like he didn't want to kiss Jack. The problem was that he really, really did.

"Okay." Jack let out a breath, rolling his shoulders and meeting Mark's eyes. Then he tapped the "start" button, placing his phone on his thigh, and leaned in.

Mark met him halfway, a spark racing down his spine as though he'd been shocked. The hesitance from earlier was gone, Jack's lips moving deliberately, insistently against him, Mark ignoring his own misgivings and kissing back. Usually he had a technique, something he did to ensure himself some brownie points in the making out department, but with Jack he found himself forgetting all of that and just doing what felt right; what felt natural.

Jack pulled back slightly, his forehead pressed against Mark's, eyes still closed and voice breathless in the best way as he said,

"You can... Touch me, if you want to. Like my arms, or my hair, or something."

Mark froze at that, speechless, Jack leaning back in to capture his lips. It took Mark a moment to respond, needing time to recover, but when he did he went ahead with Jack's new allowances, shifting closer and moving his right hand up to grip the back of Jack's neck.

That got a reaction, Jack leaning forward and gripping Mark's bicep, a small sound coming from the back of his throat that Mark wouldn't have heard if he weren't so close. Jack's other hand found his chest, fingers light against the muscle as he drew back slightly to bite his bottom lip. It was gentle, but the pressure was enough to send another electric jolt down Mark's spine.

All too soon, the phone's alarm began to blare. Time was up, but that didn't seem to matter; Jack knocked the device off his leg dismissively, his hands traveling up Mark's shoulders to loop around his neck. The cell phone shrieked in protest as it fell, landing on Mark's foot.

It didn't hurt really, but it was something he definitely wasn't expecting, making him jump. Jack's lips turned up into a smile against his own, and he began to giggle slightly, having to break the kiss and laugh. His arms were still around Mark's neck, leaning against him a little, chuckling still as he let them fall.

"Sorry."

Mark felt almost breathless as he let himself meet Jack's eyes. Jack was glowing, beaming at him, eyes bright with amusement, lips slightly pinker than usual and looking a little abused. It was definitely a sight Mark could get used to.

"Well... Did that help?" Mark asked as Jack picked his phone up, turning the alarm off. Jack adopted a thoughtful expression, leaning in without warning and kissing him quickly. It's was soft and sweet, nodding when he pulled back. Mark was afraid his heart was hammering against his ribcage so hard it was audible.

"I think so. A little."

"Practice makes perfect."

"I've got more free time." Jack responded with a shrug. That hadn't been what he was insinuating, but Mark wasn't about to complain, unable not to smile as Jack slid up as close as possible and wound his arms again around Mark's neck.

The end of the semester was upon them quickly, finals beginning as the weather grew cold. Mark's sleep schedule quickly became extremely screwed up, staying up late to study, sleeping when he could, which was anywhere from four am to half past noon. He made sure to tweet out an encouraging message at least once a day though, something his Twitter was becoming known for, being called "really adorable" on the school radio for it. As the semester came to a close, the student radio staff decided to put on a "wild and crazy" party for crew members and friends, and Mark found himself invited, agreeing easily.

"I can't believe I still can't drink." Jack whined as they walked in, sticking a pouting lip out in Mark's direction when he was laughed at. "I don't want this party to be as lame as the last one."

"There's a decent room to dance in this time." Mark pointed out. "Plus, remember what they taught us in high school? You don't need drugs to have a good time."

Jack snorted out a laugh, leading the way on to the dance floor. They had shown up fashionably late, the party already in full swing when they arrived. Jack knew just about everyone, waving and smiling and blowing kisses at multiple people as they squeezed their way through the masses to the middle of the dance floor.

"So, do you know how to dance?" Jack asked, raising his voice quite a bit to be heard over the bass-heavy music.

"Actual dancing, or..." Mark gestured to all of the writhing bodies around them. "This?"

"Either one."

"Nope."

That made Jack laugh, Mark asking

"What about you?"

"Not really, but it's not like I've never been to a party before. This isn't my first rodeo."

Mark raised his eyebrows, but Jack just grinned back. They didn't have the chance to actually dance much, with the amount of people coming up to talk to Jack. He was obviously very well liked at the radio station, and since it was the radio station putting on the party, he was well liked by everyone there. Mark hoped that meant he himself was well liked too, but aside from a few nods and winks he received, it wasn't easy to tell.

"Hey." Jack leaned in close, whispering into his ear to avoid having to shout over the music. It made a shiver shoot down his spine, jumping back a little, only to be reigned in by Jack's hand on the small of his back.

"What?" Mark stammered back. Jack was close to him, closer than he had been the entire time of the party, and Mark glanced away to avoid bumping noses.

"How freaked out would you be if I grinded on you right now? We're leaving so much room for Jesus that we're standing out."

Mark glanced around, realizing that Jack was right. Everyone around them was more or less having sex on the dance floor, so he shrugged in consent. A little bumping hip bones couldn't hurt. What he didn't expect was Jack to step even closer, put a hand on his shoulder, and roll their hips together.

The sharp intake of air was unavoidable, Mark glancing down and biting his lip hard to avoid any sound passing through his lips. Jack chuckled, and the little smile on his face was so intoxicating that Mark knew he either needed to get away from Jack or start giving him a hickey, and the second option wasn't anywhere near plausible.

"Can... Can we go outside?”

Jack's expression turned immediately into concern, nodding and taking his hand to tug him towards the door. He needed to think. He needed to breathe. Their relationship had gone from zero to about a thousand in no time at all, and there was a mess of jumbled up feelings that Mark was still deciding whether to try wading through or just shoving aside altogether. With Jack not feeling the same way, with everything being so one-sided, even the innocent things that had become second nature, like their flirty tweets and holding hands, held a new meaning. The casual smooches and butt pinches that Jack had begun integrating went without saying.

"You alright?" Jack asked once they'd made it outside.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"It's fine, it's not like we were doing anything important." There was a bench a few steps away from them, walking over and sitting down. "I'm sorry too."

Mark just waved a hand, feeling uncomfortable now about making them leave. It wasn't fair of him to be acting strange like this.

"If anything is ever, you know..." Jack gestured vaguely with his hands, "Too much, it's fine. Seriously. Just tell me."

"No, it's not that." It wasn't like he hadn't enjoyed anything they'd done together thus far; not that he was telling Jack that. However, the assurance had implied something was up, Jack fixing him with a look that prompted some sort of explanation. There was a question Mark had on his mind though, and he figured now was a good time as any to ask it.

"Why did you agree to this?"

"What do you mean?" Jack frowned at him, looking confused.

"This entire 'pretending to date me' thing. It's way too time consuming just for free pizza." Mark insisted, raising an eyebrow. Jack sighed, leaning back and glancing away.

"Remember my mom? You talked to her on the phone the other day."

Mark nodded, unsure of where this was going.

"Well, she--or my parents--or my whole family, really--are super into relationships. They all believe monogamy is like... The key to happiness. And I don't have anything against that, but..." He shrugged. "They pestered me about dating all through high school, and by my first semester here I was sick of it. I told them I was dating someone, but they were too excited to hear my sarcasm, apparently. I even told them it wasn't a girl, to be discouraging, but as it turns out I have the most accepting family in the world."

He laughed a little, Mark catching on to where this was going.

"I'm the fake boyfriend you've had since your first semester of college?" He asked, slightly incredulous. Jack met his eyes, giving him a sheepish grin.

"They all think we're living together. We have for a year now, as far as they know."

Mark just blinked, trying to process what Jack was telling him.

"Your parents think we've been together for three years, and that was the first time your mother had spoken to me? No wonder she didn't think I was real."

"Yeah, the lies got creative." Jack chuckled lightly. He glanced past Mark for a split second, his eyes incredibly soft as he spoke again. "At least I don't have to do that anymore, because now I have you."

He leaned in close, capturing his lips in a strong kiss. Mark couldn't help a muffled sound of surprise, leaning back slightly. His expression and tone had sounded so sincere that Mark needed to ask about his words. They were the only ones outside; there was no one to put up the front for, no reason for Jack to act affectionate. But Jack just chased his breath back into his lungs, reaching up to grip the nape of Mark's neck.

"N-no, wait, what--?"

Mark pulled back, all of his questions stopped by Jack giving him another chaste kiss, then leaning close to his ear and murmuring

"I don't know for how long, but Ken is standing over there. I think he could hear us."

"Oh." That was both an explanation and a nervous weight that dropped into the pit of Mark's stomach as he glanced back. Sure enough to, Ken was there, off a few yards with his phone in his hand, the screen lighting up his face. He was a good distance away from them, but it was so quiet outside that Mark wouldn't be surprised if they had been within earshot. Ken was his rival; if Ken knew this was fake, they were done for.

"What should we do? Should we just make out until he believes us again?"

"Or until he gets uncomfortable and leaves." Jack pulled back, Mark seeing all thought Ken leaving his mind, replaced by a serious expression, his eyes searching his face. "But only if that's okay."

"It's fine."

Jack was not convinced, frowning slightly, stroking the back of Mark's neck lightly with his fingers.

"But you've been acting weird since--"

Mark gave him a quick kiss to shut him up. Sure, feelings were starting to creep in and make the whole thing messy, but top priority was making Ken go away. And running his hands down Jack's chest was something he'd had at the back of his mind since their practice session on the couch.

"It's fine." He repeated. "I promise. Don't worry about me."

"Okay." Jack grinned a little. "Kiss me then."

#my fic #septiplier #fanfic #fanfiction #allsfair #idk this part is a lil lackluster to me???#but it's got some cute bits #they get super touchy-touchy in this part ayyyyy #that's always a good thing #who doesn't want touchy-touchy septiplier

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halfmoth-halfman · 2 years ago

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the devil works hard, but tumblr user ghostaholics works harder omg you put in effort here bestie this is beyond sweet i'm just-

i really loved your comments, so i hope you don't mind me adding a little bit of writer's commentary for some of the things you mentioned!!

honestly same, i prob would've folded like four chapters ago, but i'm so glad you find him smooth. i'm not great at writing flirty/smooth characters, but i wanted price to come off as a gentleman, but still a little cocky like he's respectful but he knows he could get anyone he wants and it seems i've succeeded so far!!

Actually foaming at the mouth for the way he touches her. I'm a grown-ass woman. I shouldn't be giggling like a fucking school-girl over here. Butterflies in my tummy and whatever. This is fucking blasphemy. Such a slut for the pool game tutorial. Beyond feral. The ‘good girl’ praise outside of the bedroom rocked my shit. Jesus fucking Christ. Trying not to implode and failing miserably. I have read a handful of fics where he says good girl that at this point, I should be immune. But guess what? This one made my brain short-circuit the worst so thanks for that!

the pool game tutorial was one of the first scenes i thought of for this au, so i was so excited when i got to write it. it's such a fun moment where price gets to tease her like the little shit he is, and at this point, everyone knows what's going on and they're all pretty much in on it (ie: valeria bringing him over in the first place) so the gang's having as much fun watching her get all flustered as price is flustering her.

i read a lot of mafia!au's while i was planning this series, and it was something i noticed where the gang/family dynamics weren't explored as heavily (deeply??) as the main couple's and i felt like since the 141 seems so close in the games, it would only seem fitting to explore those dynamics in the fic as well. they all work together under price yes, but they're their own people with their own roles and goals that deserve to be explored. this is a love story, but it's also about canary finding her place among the club and their little found family.

it's not a mothie fic if someone isn't being disgustingly domestic, i live for that stuff. i think it's a big thing for me to really establish how different price is from canary's ex, something we kind of see through her thoughts and her initial panic that price expects her to "pay" for dinner and also that we'll go more into the future, by having him offer her to stay but also respect her boundaries when she either hesitates or turns him down. they flirt, they have fun, but when she stops or pulls away he lets her go and she's slowly letting down that guard and realizing that he respects her just as much on a personal level as he does on a romantic level.

i'm sorry but that gold rush comment is taking me tf out 💀 i cackled when i first read that!! i love the dress scene so much because it's not only the first hints of price spoiling canary like she deserves to be and being a total softie while also giving himself that little ego boost of marking her as his, but it's also their conversation afterwards when he's worried he may have overstepped and is totally ready to ease up if it makes her uncomfortable. it's the conversation where i think canary realizes that this is something a little more than flirting to him.

mob!price is the epitome of "get you a man who can both" yes! this man is out here burying bodies and beating people to near-death, but also makes sure he's home in the morning to make you breakfast in bed. also, it's not only the fact that calling him was her first instinct, but the way he literally dropped whatever he was doing to go to her even though they aren't actually together yet. i just love these two and the way they love each other.

also, i am living for the reaction images mixed in here, i'm equal parts touched and dying of laughter.