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theshedding · 4 years ago

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Lil Nas X: Country Music, Christianity & Reclaiming HELL

I don’t typically bother myself to follow what Lil Nas X is doing from day to day, or even month to month but I do know that his “Old Town Road” hit became one of the biggest selling/streamed records in Country Music Business history (by a Black Country & Queer artist). “Black” is key because for 75+ years Country music has unsuspiciously evolved into a solidly White-identified genre (despite mixed and Indian & Black roots). Regrettably, Country music is also widely known for anti-black, misogynoir, reliably homophobic (Trans isn’t really a conversation yet), Christian and Hard Right sentiments on the political spectrum. Some other day I will venture into more; there is a whole analysis dying to be done on this exclusive practice in the music industry with its implications on ‘access’ to equity and opportunity for both Black/POC’s and Whites artists/songwriters alike. More commentary on this rigid homogeneous field is needed and how it prohibits certain talent(s) for the sake of perpetuating homogeneity (e.g. “social determinants” of diversity & viable artistic careers). I’ll refrain from discussing that fully here, though suffice it to say that for those reasons X’s “Old Town Road” was monumental and vindicating.

As for Lil Nas X, I’m not particularly a big fan of his music; but I see him, what he’s doing, his impact on music + culture and I celebrate him using these moments to affirm his Black, Queer self, and lifting up others. Believe it or not, even in the 2020′s, being “out” in the music business is still a costly choice. As an artist it remains much easier to just “play straight”. And despite appearances, the business (particularly Country) has been dragged kicking and screaming into developing, promoting and advancing openly-affirming LGBTQ 🏳️‍🌈 artists in the board room or on-stage. Though things are ‘better’ we have not yet arrived at a place of equity or opportunity for queer artists; for the road of music biz history is littered with stunted careers, bodies and limitations on artists who had no option but to follow conventional ways, fail or never be heard of in the first place. With few exceptions, record labels, radio and press/media have successfully used fear, intimidation, innuendo and coercion to dilute, downplay or erase any hint of queer identity from its performers. This was true even for obvious talents like Little Richard.

(Note: I’m particularly speaking of artists in this regard, not so much the hairstylists, make-up artists, PA’s, etc.)

_____

Which is why...in regard to Lil Nas X, whether you like, hate or love his music, the young brother is a trailblazer. His very existence protests (at least) decades of inequity, oppression and erasure. X aptly critiques a Neo-Christian Fascist Heteropatriarchy; not just in American society but throughout the Music Business and with Black people. That is no small deal. His unapologetic outness holds a mirror up to Christianity at-large, as an institution, theology and practice. The problem is they just don’t like what they see in that mirror.

In actuality, “Call Me By Your Name”, Lil Nas X’s new video, is a twist on classic mythology and religious memes that are less reprehensible or vulgar than the Biblical narratives most of us grew up on vís-a-vís indoctrinating smiles of Sunday school teachers and family prior to the “age of reason”. Think about the narratives blithely describing Satan’s friendly wager with God regarding Job (42:1-6); the horrific “prophecies” in St. John’s Book of Revelation (i.e. skies will rain fire, angels will spit swords, mankind will be forced to retreat into caves for shelter, and we will be harassed by at least three terrifying dragons and beasts. Angels will sound seven trumpets of warning, and later on, seven plagues will be dumped on the world), or Jesus’s own clarifying words of violent intent in Matthew (re: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” 10:34). Whether literal or metaphor, these age old stories pale in comparison to a three minute allegorical rap video. Conservatives: say what you will, I’m pretty confident X doesn’t take himself as seriously as “The true and living God” from the book of Job.

A little known fact as it is, people have debunked the story and evolution of Satan and already offered compelling research showing [he] is more of a literary device than an actual entity or “spirit�� (Spoiler: In the Bible, Satan does not take shape as an actual “bad” person until the New Testament). In fact, modern Christianity’s impression of the “Devil” is shaped by conflating Hellenized mythology with a literary tradition rooted in Dante’s Inferno and accompanying spooks and superstitions going back thousands of years. Whether Catholic, Protestant, Mormon, Scientologist, Atheist or Agnostic, we’ve spent a lifetime with these predominant icons and clichés. (Resource: Prof. Bart D. Erhman, “Heaven & Hell”).

So Here’s THE PROBLEM: The current level of fear and outrage is:

(1) Unjust, imposing and irrational.

(2) Disproportionate when taken into account a lifetime of harmful Christian propaganda, anti-gay preaching and political advocacy.

(3) Historically inaccurate concerning the existence of “Hell” and who should be scared of going there.

Think I’m overreacting?

Examples:

Institutionalized Homophobia (rhetoric + policy)

Anti-Gay Ministers In Life And Death: Bishop Eddie Long And Rev. Bernice King

Black, gay and Christian, Marylanders struggle with Conflicts

Harlem pastor: 'Obama has released the homo demons on the black man'

Joel Olsteen: Homosexuality is “Not God’s Best”

Bishop Brandon Porter: Gays “Perverted & Lost...The Church of God in Christ Convocation appears like a ‘coming out party’ for members of the gay community.”

Kim Burrell: “That perverted homosexual spirit is a spirit of delusion & confusion and has deceived many men & women, and it has caused a strain on the body of Christ”

Falwell Suggests Gays to Blame for 9-11 Attacks

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

Pope Francis: Gay People Not Welcome in Clergy

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

The Pope and Gay People: Nothing’s Changed

The Catholic church silently lobbied against a suicide prevention hotline in the US because it included LGBT resources

Mormon church prohibits Children of LGBT parents to be baptized

Catholic Charity Ends Adoptions Rather Than Place Kid With Same-Sex Couple

I Was a Religious Zealot That Hurt People-Coming Out as Gay: A Former Conversion Therapy Leader Is Apologizing to the LGBTQ Community

The above short list chronicles a consistent, literal, demonization of LGBTQ people, contempt for their gender presentation, objectification of their bodies/sexuality and a coordinated pollution of media and culture over the last 50+ years by clergy since integration and Civil Rights legislation. Basically terrorism. Popes, Bishops, Pastors, Evangelists, Politicians, Television hosts, US Presidents, Camp Leaders, Teachers, Singers & Entertainers, Coaches, Athletes and Christians of all types all around the world have confused and confounded these issues, suppressed dissent, and confidently lied about LGBT people-including fellow Queer Christians with impunity for generations (i.e. “thou shall not bear false witness against they neighbor” Ex. 23:1-3). Christian majority viewpoints about “laws” and “nature” have run the table in discussions about LGBTQ people in society-so much that we collectively must first consider their religious views in all discussions and the specter of Christian approval -at best or Christian condescension -at worst. That is Christian (and straight) privilege. People are tired of this undue deference to religious opinions.

That is what is so deliciously bothersome about Lil Nas X being loud, proud and “in your face” about his sexuality. If for just a moment, he not only disrupts the American hetero-patriarchy but specifically the Black hetero-patriarchy, the so-called “Black Church Industrial Complex”, Neo-Christian Fascism and a mostly uneducated (and/or miseducated) public concerning Ancient Near East and European history, superstitions-and (by extension) White Supremacy. To round up: people are losing their minds because the victim decided to speak out against his victimizer.

Additionally, on some level I believe people are mad at him being just twenty years old, out and FREE as a self-assured, affirming & affirmed QUEER Black male entertainer with money and fame in the PRIME of his life. We’ve never, or rarely, seen that before in a Black man in the music business and popular culture. But that’s just too bad for them. With my own eyes I’ve watched straight people, friends, Christians, enjoy their sexuality from their elementary youth to adolescence, up and through college and later marriages, often times independently of their spouses (repeatedly). Meanwhile Queer/Gay/SGL/LGBTQ people are expected to put their lives on hold while the ‘blessed’ straight people run around exploring premarital/post-marital/extra-marital sex, love and affection, unbound & un-convicted by their “sin” or God...only to proudly rebrand themselves later in life as a good, moral “wholesome Christian” via the ‘sacred’ institution of marriage with no questions asked.

Inequality defined.

For Lil Nas X, everything about the society we've created for him in the last 100+ years (re: links above) has explicitly been designed for his life not to be his own. According to these and other Christians (see above), his identity is essentially supposed to be an endless rat fuck of internal confusion, suicide-ideation, depression, long-suffering, faux masculinity, heterosexism, groveling towards heaven, respectability politics, failed prayer and supplication to a heteronormative earthly and celestial hierarchy unbothered in affording LGBT people like him a healthy, sane human development. It’s almost as if the Conservative establishment (Black included) needs Lil Nas X to be like others before him: “private”, mysteriously single, suicidal, suspiciously straight or worse, dead of HIV/AIDS ...anything but driving down the street enjoying his youth as a Black Queer artist and man. So they mad about that?

Well those days are over.

-Rogiérs is a writer, international recording artist, performer and indie label manager with 25+ years in the music industry. He also directs Black Nonbelievers of DC, a non-profit org affiliated with the AHA supporting Black skeptics, Atheists, Agnostics & Humanists. He holds a B.A. in Music Business & Mgmt and a M.A. in Global Entertainment & Music Business from Berklee College of Music and Berklee Valencia, Spain. www.FibbyMusic.net Twitter/IG: @Rogiers1

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magioftheseas · 4 years ago

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Kazuichi & Yasuke

Summary: Souda Kazuichi’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. It’s also half and half but for more unfortunate reasons.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and references to violence.

Notes: For REASONS, I ended up writing Souda’s FTEs when I initially intended to write Sonia’s. I’m disappointed in myself too, but...hm. I enjoyed writing these. I think it’s fun (?) to write social events where the two parties just don’t get along and that doesn’t change by the end. It’s played seriously, and I’m curious how people will take it. But I wrote these close to the heart!

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

“Blue skies! Beautiful beaches! Babes! By all accounts, this should be a dream come true! So, why—why, why, why, why, WHY does a guy like YOU gotta be here?!”

“That’s fucking rude,” Matsuda scoffed. “All I’m doing is reading.”

“You keep staring!” Souda accused, shaking his fist in frustration. “And I can feel ya judging, too!! Are you EVER in a good mood?!”

In reality, Souda had been the one to constantly steal glances instead of looking at his own damn magazine. Matsuda, subsequently, had gotten annoyed by it. He really had thought if he focused on his own manga, it’d be fine even with the dipshit mechanic present, but he was a fool. He was a real fucking fool.

Although not as much an idiot as this guy...

“You’re judging!” Souda screeched. “I know you are! Why do you have it out for me?!”

“I don’t,” Matsuda grumbled. “I barely consider you at all.”

“T-That’s hurtful, man! Real hurtful!” Souda even sniffled, he was so hurt by it. “This is why you don’t have any friends!”

...I could leave. I could just...leave. He’s not going to follow me. I could just leave and go someplace quiet.

But, because there wouldn’t be any events if he just left, he was stuck.

Great...

Souda was still glaring at him. He was glaring pretty hard, but also pretty...desperately.

“Even if your face freezes like that, it won’t make you more intimidating,” Matsuda muttered. “Actually no matter what you do, you can’t change that.”

Souda froze immediately. Matsuda gives him a look, but before he can say anything more, the guy flees the scene.

Had the line being broken?

Guess I hit a nerve.

Souda had even abandoned his magazine. Matsuda doubted the guy had the brain capacity to retrieve it later, although he himself hesitates before plucking it off the ground. Thankfully, while it was a little crumbled, it wasn’t sticky. Or oily.

Hm.

He should probably return it.

The first thing Souda did upon opening the door was let out a shriek. The second thing he did was slam it in Matsuda’s face.

This fucking guy...

Matsuda took a deep breath and knocked once more on the door.

“Nobody’s here!” Souda’s voice came through muffled. “A-And even if there were somebody—you’re not welcome!”

“For fuck’s sake—I’m just here to give you back your magazine, not because I...” Matsuda bit his tongue, kneeling down. “You know what, I’ll just shove it under...”

“Wait-wait-wait!”

The door was almost flung open, Souda now looking frantic.

“Don’t do that!” he exclaims. “You’ll wrinkle it! You’ll mess with the illustrations! Hasn’t anyone taught you how to treat a magazine?!”

Matsuda straightened up, handing it over without much more fanfare. Souda does take it, but he continues to grumble.

“Seriously, you’re such a slob. That’s like, super unsexy to women. H-Haven’t you heard?”

Matsuda wordlessly glances past into the mechanic’s cottage. There are some miscellaneous gears and gizmos scattered across the floor. Some bottles of what looked to be motor oil. It certainly stank of motor oil.

“Oh, this old thing?” Souda asked, mistaking his staring for interest. He grins suddenly and it might’ve been the first time he’s smile like that at Matsuda. “It’s a lil vroom-vroom I’m working on! Pretty spiffy, huh?”

...spiffy? That’s...something only elderlies would use... Not to mention that’s not even the correct usage?

“I guess you mean it’s neat,” Matsuda muttered.

“I know right?!” Souda exclaimed excitedly. “It’s real neat! It’s gonna be a real wham bam when I’m finished!”

“Right...”

“Right, right!” Souda agreed, nodding frantically now. “You get it, you get it! I guess even a jackass like you still has a right eye for this kinda thing, Matsuda. Just this once, I’ll let you have a closer look! Come in! Don’t be a priss!”

He worked himself up as usual, but I guess this time he at least did so positively.

Mortifyingly curious as to how far this could go, Matsuda does step inside. Souda eagerly gestures to the lump of metal on the ground. Matsuda looks at it closely and—yet.

It’s a lump...of metal. Incredible.

“This baby is gonna go places when it’s done,” Souda sighs happily. “I won’t be able to test it—but I’m sure of it. It’s gonna go far, kid!”

Show him how to lie. You’re getting better all the time.

“I’m sure it will,” Matsuda replied, doing his best to give a decent nod of approval. Souda does preen, but just like that—Souda realizes himself. And he realizes Matsuda.

Specifically, he re-realizes that he and Matsuda don’t have the best relationship.

“You’re not just saying that to make fun of me, right?! You almost got me going, too!”

Although he still seems confused about the intricacies of said relationship.

“It’s nothing like that,” Matsuda waved his hand, shaking his head for good measure. Souda seemed unconvinced, much to his annoyance. “I was just curious.”

Except he really wasn’t. He was the kind of guy who had about as much interest in cars as he did in answering surveys. Souda’s eyes narrowed sharply in suspicion and, seriously, where did this guy get off on presuming so much shit about him?

Matsuda sighed.

Whatever. I delivered the magazine back.

“If I’m not welcome here, I’ll leave.”

He’s not sure what he expected when he turned on his heel. He might not have expected anything, and indeed nothing really happened. He walked out of the cottage, shutting the door behind him, and walked the rest of the way back in silence.

Pretty uneventful overall, but it was still something.

“H-H-Hey! Matsuda!”

He supposed he wasn’t really expecting to be called out. When he turned, however, he was already prepared.

“What is it? You better clarify because you’re on a different frequency than I am.”

“Eh? Come on, dude, it’s not like we’re speaking different languages here!” Souda huffed, shoving his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. “I’m just...trying to get yer attention. It’s...like...”

He’s slurring his words a bit.

“You made me feel bad, y’know,” Souda grumbled. “With the way you left. I’m just checking because the last thing I need is you having another reason to...”

“You really are convinced I have something against you, huh,” Matsuda droned, unimpressed. “Would you believe me if I told you that I really don’t care?”

Souda groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Of course you don’t care. You’re a jackass.”

He’s not wrong...but he’s also not right. Not caring goes both ways.

“Hm.” They’d just go in circles at this rate, so it was best to change tactics. “You’re...”

Aah, what to say? Not my type? Not really understanding? This guy...

“You’re here because you say you felt bad.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius or something,” Souda huffed. “Like...a brain guy, right?”

“Right.” That doesn’t mean I understand every irrational, idiotic choice a person makes. “I understand the physical sciences. Psychology, however, is its own thing.”

“I mean, I know that,” Souda said, sounding completely unconvincing. “It’s like—the difference between fixing and programming. I can fix a computer, but when it comes to all the typing, clicking, and trouble...finding... I don’t get that stuff.”

“Troubleshooting,” Matsuda corrected.

“Computers aren’t my thing anyway,” Souda went on, unbothered. “I’m more of a vehicle guy!” He lit up so easily. “Like! Vroom, vroom! Wham bam!”

He made other engine noises for that matter.

Matsuda would lie if he said he didn’t find it mildly amusing.

Any moment the two could have had was quickly ruined, however.

“Anyway! There! I spoke to ya!” Souda twisted away. “We’re good, then!”

...it’s not like I’m expecting an apology, but what a shitty fucking thing to just say. And to say loudly, at that.

“Argh! Not good?!” Souda flinched, cowering. “You’re giving me that awful judge-y look again! What is your PROBLEM?!”

For once, the glare was intentional and only intensified, making Souda crumble and whimper.

“C-Cut it out, seriously...! You’re going to make me cry!”

“Is that really my problem?” Matsuda asked coolly. “This is just how my face looks a lot of the time. I can’t control that but you could be less of a fucking coward.”

“I’m not...a coward,” Souda muttered, pulling down his beanie. “I-I’m not! You’re just... You’re such an ass! Seriously! Seriously! How the hell is someone like you—?!”

“Someone like me?” he prodded, eyes half-lidded. Souda recoils whenever he makes any attempt at coming closer. Sure, this dipshit is easily spooked and intimidated, but...

Is there more to it?

“Q-Quit it,” Souda squeaked. “S-Stooooop...”

It’s not...my appearance, is it?

Matsuda backed off anyway, playing with his hair to stave off the irritation. Fidgeting could only do so much.

“I really don’t get it,” Souda said, then, and it sounded almost morose. “It pisses me off so much that you’re the kind of guy that’s just...popular with girls.”

Matsuda pinched a lock of hair hard enough to dig his thumbnail into his finger pad. The pinch did little to soothe his nerves.

I’m more or less hopeless when it comes to tech. A wrench in my hand would only ever be used as a weapon. But, this guy...

“That’s definitely not my problem.”

He’s incredibly basic.

“Maybe you should just take more showers?”

“LIKE YOU’RE ONE TO TALK?!”

A basic bitch for sure.

“Hmm.”

“NO COMEBACK?!”

Matsuda stuck his tongue out, Souda screamed in frustration.

The rest went about as well as anyone could expect.

“This really is just the wooooorst,” Souda laments, sounding dangerously close to a sob. “For my first field trip ever, to have it be such a bust is just the woooorst.”

“First time?” Matsuda asked, only feigning curiosity as he flipped the page. He didn’t care, but any conversation was better than listening to more whining. All Matsuda did was sit down to read and he was too spiteful and stubborn to leave when he hadn’t done anything. “Skipped the one in middle school?”

The reason I didn’t go was to study, but for a guy like this...

“Huh? Oh, yeah...” Souda shrugged. “I uh, faked being sick and stayed home instead. Not like I could go with how poor my folks were—not like I wanted to go with how shitty my boring asshole classmates were. My old man was pissed though. Beat the shit out of me.”

“I guess overcompensation ran in the family,” Matsuda muttered, but Souda hadn’t heard him.

“He knew we couldn’t afford it, too,” he just went on. “We had this bike shop but like—not super, uh...”

“Profitable?” Matsuda guessed, to which he nodded along.

“Yeah, people just wanted to fix tires and pump air. We barely sold anything.” Souda sighed loudly before grinning and pointing to himself with a jerk of his thumb. “But! Yours truly still turned out to be a genius mechanic! From bikes to cars! Toys to appliances! You got it, I fix it!”

“You’d make a lot more money as a mechanic than a bike salesman,” Matsuda noted. “It’s a well-paying and sought-after service.”

“I’ve been taking apart and reconstructing things since I could walk,” Souda said proudly. “Even though my old man is just—hopeless!”

“Hopeless,” Matsuda echoed disinterestedly.

“That said, I was still looking forward to this trip,” Souda sighed again. “It sounds nice to go on a trip with friends and stuff, but...you and I are like...the furthest thing from friends.” He does perk up when he remembers, “I guess Hinata’s alright. He’s kinda cool. A real soul bro. Soul pal? Soul friend!”

In that case, why aren’t you seeking his company?

Matsuda’s not quite that petty. Not to mention how childish it’d make him sound while asking that aloud. It’s not like he has a problem with Souda and Hinata getting along.

Although...

Hinata has a thing for Komaeda. That might end up complicating that soul bromance or whatever down the line.

Not that it had anything to do with him.

“I have an unlikeable personality,” he just reminded Souda sardonically. “I didn’t come to Hope’s Peak expecting or wanting to make friends.”

The idea is just...absurd. I haven’t been able to connect with peers in over a decade, why the hell would that change now?

“I know!” Souda groused. “Which is why! A guy like you just shouldn’t be LIKED by girls! Who knows how you’d treat them! If you don’t watch yourself, your alarm clock’s gonna get modified into a ticking time bomb!”

“Try it, coward,” Matsuda snapped, making him falter back. “I fucking dare you.”

“E-Eep...! W-Why do you have to make such a scary face, Matsuda...?!”

“...it’s just how I look.”

Haaaah. This is exhausting. So...exhausting.

“Bad looks and a bad personality, but even you can admit I’m a genius, yeah?” Matsuda turned away. “When you’re smart, people flock to you either as a crutch or a springboard. Especially when you’re young.”

“I mean, I’m a genius too,” Souda grumbled. “I actually could just...modify clocks into bombs if I...really wanted to...”

“I want to change the very scope of neurology,” Matsuda went on, ignoring him this time. “I’m going to make it so that no person will ever be lost to us again.”

“Wait...you’re gonna like...cure death?” Souda asked, gawking. “T-That’s...dude...!”

Matsuda couldn’t help but smirk, all too aware of the growing alarm in the mechanic’s eyes.

“If you could just upload a person’s consciousness to a computer like a program... That’d change more than just our understanding of the brain. It’d challenge our understanding of humanity itself.”

Souda went pale.

“T-That’s, uh...”

“Of course it’s pretty unlikely,” Matsuda said, shaking his head. “And so absurdly sci-fi to the point of fantasy.”

But... It could have been possible at Hope’s Peak. Not on this stupid fucking island though.

“It was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh.”

Souda was left in stunned silence.

“I guess it was a bad joke,” Matsuda admits grumpily.

“Y-You know, I, uh... I just wanted to make a rocket ship someday,” Souda says, slowly and stupidly unsure. “But, you, uh... Your ambitions are fucking scary. Count me out.”

Just like that, Souda stood up and left. Without another word.

That was more or less what Matsuda learned to expect.

I really do just have a bad personality.

He knows this already, obviously. But it’s a fact that gets hammered in sometimes. Especially right now, when he sees Souda chatting amicably with Hinata. Souda’s wearing a smile that’s only been directed at Matsuda a couple of times. Even when Souda falters, Hinata ends up saying something that makes him perk right back up.

Hinata’s not that social of a guy in the first place.

The two of them banter with ease even when it’s clear that Hinata still gets exasperated by the other’s antics. Then—something is said. Souda’s expression changes into one of frustration and unease. Hinata’s worried, but when Souda excuses himself, Hinata makes no move to follow him. Likely to give the other space. Be respectful. All that.

Matsuda does trail after Souda, however. He’s not a considerate or patient guy. It’s why he doesn’t have any friends.

“Urgh, hate this, hate this, hate this,” Souda’s muttering under his breath through gritted teeth. “Seriously, why did this have to happen? There’s no escape...the ships and planes are useless...no engines... What the hell can I even do...?!”

“Boo.” Matsuda blew into the mechanic’s ear. “Gimme your lunch money.”

Souda screamed loud enough to blow off mountaintops. Matsuda thankfully had the foresight to cover his ears.

“M-M-M-MATSUDA?!” Souda yelped. “What the actual FUCK was that?!”

“A prank,” is his droning response. “You can laugh now.”

“THAT SHIT WASN’T FUNNY!” Souda screeched back. “Y-You, you, you—! Fucking watch it! I’m not in any mood to be messed with!”

Matsuda waved his hands.

“Alright, alright.”

Souda gave him a withering look. After a while, he backed up even more.

“...why are you here? A-Are you here to...?”

Matsuda waved his hands again, shaking his head for good measure.

“If I were, I wouldn’t have gotten your attention.”

“T-That could just be part of the trap!” Souda sputters. “Y-You... You’re not playing with me, are you?!”

...I was, but not because I wanted to murder you. Jeez. I like to think I’d be more pragmatic.

“You’re free to scream, then,” he said simply. “Scream as loud as you can. It can even be my name if you want.”

Souda shuddered.

“U-Urgh...dude, seriously... You’re just messed up,” he groans, burying his face into his hands. “What I’d give for a vehicle to get as far from you as possible. Even if I get sick afterward, it’d be worth it.”

“Haha,” Matsuda droned without a hint of mirth. “Sure.”

“Come to think of it, if anyone would be tempted to be the one to escape at the expense of everyone else...” Souda does raise his head to give him a look.

Matsuda stared back.

“You don’t know me,” he said. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I-I don’t know,” Souda huffed, feigning assurance. “I think I’ve been around ya long enough to get a good idea of your character. And you’ve got like—scary ambitions.”

I’m not a considerate person, nor am I patient. I know I should be. It would ultimately make my life a lot easier.

“By that logic, I must know you pretty well in return,” he said.

Souda scoffed.

“Yeah, right. You’re just trying to psyche...”

“Dyed hair. Contacts.” Matsuda gestures to the entirety of him. “The way a person chooses to look says a lot about them.”

Souda’s mouth immediately shut, all blood draining from his face. It was easy. Too easy.

“Wonder what happened? Was it just bullying? Or a betrayal?” Matsuda went on. “People who change their natural appearance like that usually have something deeper to throw away.”

“Don’t—talk about shit you have no idea about...!” Souda growled. “It’s none of your damn business!”

He’s so basic.

It’s true I don’t know what I’m talking about, but you’re still falling for it, aren’t you?

“I’m not the traitor,” he says simply. “If I were, I’d manipulate you to like me. You’re about as easy to play as a cheap kazoo.”

Being a little cruel, aren’t you?

His head’s starting to hurt. For some reason—he himself feels sick. And Souda, well...

Souda’s already sniffling. In tears. Whatever he tries to say just comes out as blubbering. It’s pitiful. So much so that Matsuda pulls back with a groan.

His head really, really hurt. He rifles through his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and a pill bottle. He lays the former on top of Souda’s quivering head before prying open the bottle. As he turns on his heel, he pops a couple into his mouth and swallows them dry with a groan.

He needed a nap after all that, thus he’s on his way.

“Hey. You.” Souda jerked his thumb off to the distance. “We’re going. We need to have a talk.”

“Huh. Kay.”

Once they got to the beach, Souda took several deep breathes. Psyching himself up for what was to come.

There really were only a number of ways things would culminate. A simple exchange of words was not going to be it.

“Y-You—!”

At the same time, when Souda spun on his heel—

“OOF! L-Let go! Let go!”

Matsuda was a bit surprised that Souda had the gall to throw a punch first. Not so surprised that he lacked the reflexes to dodge, to seize the mechanic by the arm. He threw the mechanic down, pinning him down front-first into the sand with Matsuda sitting on his back. Souda yelped when his arm was twisted in Matsuda’s grip.

“L-Let go,” he choked out, slapping the sand. “U-Urgh... Urgh...!”

His eyes were screwed shut, likely to keep the sand out.

“S-Seriously?! You couldn’t let me throw one punch for what an asshole you’ve been?!”

“I mean, if you want to upset the princess, that’s your prerogative,” Matsuda hummed before pulling back. “Unfortunately, I don’t like getting punched if I can avoid it.”

“T-Then what about—?!” Souda ended up coughing. The idiot must have inhaled some sand. Feeling bad for him, Matsuda helped him to his feet. Souda’s still coughing pitifully. “Urgh... You’re suuuuch a piece of wooooork.”

“I carry scalpels around,” Matsuda reminded him, making him freeze. A look of fear and then—that fright melted into exasperation.

“Alright,” Souda sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Alright, I get it. You really like flaunting, don’t ya? You’re the worst.”

Matsuda hummed, but Souda went on.

“Y’know...you’re scarily good at reading people, too. You were right about me. I changed my appearance to throw my old self away,” he admits. “I used to be a cowardly loser who thought highly of anyone who bothered to give me the time of day. Even if they lied to me...even if they betrayed me. I was just too much of a wimp to admit that I was being taken advantage of.”

I was just guessing, Matsuda internally admitted. And I still think you’re a coward and a loser. But for different reasons.

“Accepting vulnerability is the first step,” he ended up saying. “You can’t just say you’ll change even if you’re dramatic about it.”

“W-Well, a lot did change when I...changed...” Souda trails off.

“But not the kind of positive change you were hoping for,” Matsuda guessed again. “Were you uncomfortable?”

Souda blanched.

“God, I hate to admit it, but...you’re too sharp for your own good.”

Matsuda said nothing.

“You’re smart. You’re really fucking smart.” Souda gritted his teeth and met his gaze head-on. “That’s why—I’m gonna keep my guard up around ya.”

“That’s fine,” Matsuda replied, shrugging. “There are people you can relax around, and people you can’t. I don’t blame you at all.”

“You’re fine with it,” Souda reiterated as if he wasn’t sure. “Even if...I never trust you...or believe in you... You’re just...fine with it?”

“I’m fine,” Matsuda repeated. “Are you?”

Souda flinched.

“I... Geez! Playing those sick head games with me again!” He shook his head furiously, covering it with his hands as if that’d be a good defense. “W-Well! I won’t let ya! Better fucking watch yourself, Matsuda! Don’t even THINK of trying anything funny!”

“Got it,” Matsuda droned with disinterest. “Would you like to shake on it?”

“K-Keep away from me,” Souda yelped, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Just—just stay the hell away from me! I’m gonna keep an eye on you, but... I don’t want to have to deal with you if I don’t have to!”

“Alright. Fine.”

Souda gave him a suspicious look. He got flustered and quickly turned away. Without looking at Matsuda, he blindly threw back the handkerchief. It only fluttered to the ground, landing in the sand.

“Save your pity,” Souda muttered darkly. “Goodbye.”

When Souda left, it was with an air of finality. Matsuda decided to just leave things like that between them.

Kneeling down to retrieve his handkerchief, Matsuda did pause for a moment. He shook the sand off the fabric.

“...I don’t plan on betraying anyone, not even you,” he spoke slowly and stupidly. “I do in fact...care about lives and I don’t want to see them lost.”

Would that have really been so hard to say?

He really did have such an awful personality. Even if it wouldn’t have worked out for him, it wouldn’t have hurt to have tried.

There are people you can relax around and people that you can’t. There are people you can be friends with and people you that can’t. People you should trust and people that you shouldn’t. You can’t always control which one you’ll be, because it all depends on how others feel. You can’t control that. Even if that’s technically true...

He feels like he’s making excuses. It feels bad.

His head hurting doesn’t help. As he gripped that handkerchief, he took notice of a crab burying itself in the sand down below.

I should do better. I should be better. Maybe if I tell myself enough times, it’ll happen.

#yasuke matsuda #matsuda yasuke #kazuichi souda #souda kazuichi #dr0 #sdr2 #Protag Matsun #Magi fics #SouMatsu #except not really #There's a lot I want to say but I want to know people's own raw thoughts #Unfiltered?

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uzumaki-rebellion · 4 years ago

Note

You really think he’ll marry white? 😩

He’ll do a Jamie Foxx on us. Have a bunch of mixed kids in secret then hope we’ll not notice when Calista is sitting next to him at the Roc Nation Brunch. (I’m teasing!)

I have as much faith in MBJ marrying a Black woman as I do Lil Wayne having a healthy head of glossy locs like me. It is not in the cards. I adore him but I don’t see it. And that’s okay. As long as he doesn’t disrespect or denigrate Black women in word or deed (I still check him for colorism in casting) he is free to marry who he wants. Black women really don’t care. I promise. I know it hurts when negros we support for years don’t fuck with us, but that’s America and white supremacy grooming for the most part in Hollywood. I just know that if you have never flown a Black woman in to be with you anywhere on a trip with photo proof, I don’t see it happening. I’m talking about normal Black women like the basic Becky’s he’s been seen with on vacations and shit. Not canoodling with a Black female celeb at a big PR event. Having a cute Black woman on the back of a jet ski or on a boat with you. Looking unbothered. Never seen it. Not gonna happen.

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n1ghtxngel · 4 years ago

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Don't let them fuck up your vibe, know you got it out the mud

Yeah, I do it for the love, know they do it just because

Remember times was hard, now we really made a way

#spotify

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scullysexual · 5 years ago

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Just a lil something I decided to write. I know nothing of us colleges, how they work, i know nothing of us towns or states or anything. basically im a stupid british person who only knows british things. oh and how to spell play in german. uhhh hope you like

Would he be lying if he said he took this class for any educational value? Yes.

There were, however, two very good reasons why he made this decision. Numero Uno being; Scully was also in this class. Number Two; Frequent trips to big, open spaces.

Mulder wasn’t interested in looking at stars, more interested in what was around and beyond the stars.

And Scully knew this…if the look she was giving him now was anything to go by.

So he throws his own look back, an innocent, toothy smile.

And she rolls her eyes.

Does he expect anything less? Nope.

He’s tying his shoelaces when a shadow is cast over him.

“I hope you’re not getting any ideas about this trip, Mulder.”

He looks up to see Scully above him. Tying the knot, Mulder shrugs, “They practically brought this on themselves, Scully.” Tightening the lace, he stands, “They chose a place that just so happens to have a field for frequent UFO sightings nearby.”

Scully’s head falls back and her eyes shut in exasperation. “Mulder…” she huffs to the sky, “Promise me you won’t use this trip as an excuse to watch spaceships fly.”

Mulder just smiles, picking up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulders.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on her arm. “We don’t want to fall behind.”

Since the stars only come out at night the trip was an overnight job. Two nights, actually. The weather forecast had predicted clear skies for their first night but it was always to have a backup night, too.

Anyway, this meant dorms, rooms, cabins- whatever you want to call them- and, of course, the cabins were sorted by sex; boys with boys and girls with girls which Mulder had pouted at first until he got news that his roomie caught the flu and had to miss out, his cabin was free. In response to Mulder’s suggestive eyebrow raise when he found out, Scully had certifiably said no but Mulder was still hoping.

During the day they were left to their own devices; lunch would be served at 12, dinner at 6 and then, as soon as the sun began setting, off they would go to the clearing to look at stars. Between that time, they could nap or explore (within the perimeter, they were told) or there was a games room they could stay in. Mulder had no care for any of it. It was relatively warm so he sat outside, headphones in, bag of sunflower seeds at his side and his Best Spots For UFO Sightings book open on the page were they where at.

The field wasn’t too heavily guarded, the book told him. Officials occasionally scoured the place but it was nothing serious. Stoner Steve had told him of the broken fence that people used to get in and well, if it was that serious then that broken fence would’ve been fixed, wouldn’t it?

He felt a poke on his shoulder and turned towards it. Scully stood behind the log he was currently resting against, fingers tangling together and staring at the book in his hands.

“You’re going to that field tonight, aren’t you?”

He took an earphone out and sighed, “Look Scully, when’s the next time I’m going to get a chance like this?”

She bites her lip and sits down on the log, crossing her arms across her body. “I thought you liked space.”

Mulder laughs, thinking about his space themed pencils and planet posters that he still has in his bedroom. “I do,” he says, looking down at the grass. “But I can see stars from anywhere, this,” he waves the book lightly, “is a one time thing.”

Scully nods, about to say something before Mulder cuts her off. “And I’m not expecting you to come with me this time. I’m sure Reyes can’t wait to tell you the name of every star and constellation you see tonight.”

They both glance over to the girl, who stands awkwardly a few feet away from them. Since finding out and she and Scully were sharing a room, the girl hadn’t stopped bothering them with little titbits about horoscopes and other astrology related stuff. Her obsession could arguably put Mulder to shame when presented side by side.

Scully smiles a little, yet her hands still fiddle together, an indication to Mulder that she’s still nervous about something.

“I just want you to be safe,” she tells him, concern for him evident in her eyes.

Mulder reaches up, nudging her reassuringly on her arm. “I’ll be fine,” he says, having little concern for himself. “This place is harmless, people go there all the time.”

It seems to calm her worries.

He’s had a plan from the start: stay with the class for an hour or so then gradually wander off. He doubts his absent will be noticed by the majority but he also plans to be back before the night ends.

Repacking his bag, he packs it full of the things he needs; his camera, snacks and a blanket. He also reties the string Scully gave him a few months ago around his wrist again- a good luck charm of sorts though he knows Scully would just roll her eyes at the notion.

He’ll miss her not being there with him, he thinks. Since this…thing…between them had began she’d been something of a companion to him, a partner in his quest to find the truth. Many a night had she stayed up till 3am listening to him go on a rant about how the government was hiding this or that bee-pollen yogurt she’d had for breakfast this morning was a big massive lie to get her to think it was actually good for her. She had come back at him with some very strong arguments against his claims that were good enough to throw him off path and even spread doubt in his beliefs but it just made him fight harder.

He wondered what arguments she’d have for anything unexplainable he’d see tonight. If she was coming with him, what would she say? How would she explain away the thing she was seeing before her?

Near enough ready, he tosses his bag on his back and leaves the cabin.

It comes as no surprise that Scully is waiting for him outside it, her camera hanging around her neck.

“So when do we go?” she asks.

At first Mulder’s puzzled as to what she’s on about- they’re going now, he thinks- but then it dawns on him what she means. Mulder shakes his head, a smile forming, “What about Reyes?” he asks.

Scully turns and Mulder follows her eyeline. On the log sits Reyes, a book open in her lap as she, very animatedly, tries to explain something astrology related to a boy who- if his head in his hands is any indication- looks like wants to be anywhere but here right now.

“I think she’s good,” Scully says, turning back to him.

Mulder giggles at the scene. “We’ll stick with the class for a bit then we’ll go,” he tells her.

It’s a clear night just as the weather forecast said it would be which pleases Mulder greatly. If he can see the stars, he can see the spaceships. He tries to pretend that nothing is amiss; takes his photos, names the constellations he sees but he’s constantly checking his watch. An hour he’d told himself but 30 minutes in and he’s ready to go.

He looks over to Scully who is doing the same as he is; taking the photos and naming the stars. With a glance towards the teacher who is distracted, Mulder walks over to Scully.

“You ready?” he whispers.

She checks her watch, “Now?” she asks. “I thought you said an hour.”

He’s practically jumping with excitement, unable to contain it, a sudden worry that it might get cloudy soon and he’ll miss his chance.

“An hour, half an hour, what’s the different?”

Scully chuckles slightly. She places her camera around her neck and gives her own peek towards the teacher. “Let’s go, then.”

Nobody notices them leaving, and if they do, they stay nothing. Taking out the homemade map from his pocket, Mulder follows it away from the class and through the trees. The leaves block the moon and he begins wishing he’d thought to bring a torch with him when he was ‘packing the essentials’, a stupid move on his part. Suddenly overcome with the worry of losing Scully, he grabs her hand with his free one, holding on tight. The action startles her a bit but she soon settles into him.

“How much further?” she asks a little later.

Mulder looks to the map, then ahead. If he (and Frohike) are right, it should be through these trees.

“Just through here,” he says. He bats a branch that obscures his view out of the way and it opens up into a clearing he can see ahead. A fence wraps its way around the field and just in front he spies the broken part.

They head towards it. Mulder climbs through first before pushing the wiring out of the way so Scully can get through mostly unscathed.

“So this is your field you’ve been so anxious to see,” she says, a humorous glint shining in her eyes.

“Yep,” Mulder answers as they walk to what he decides is the middle of the field.

He stops, taking his bag off his shoulders and opening it up.

“And what if you don’t see anything tonight?” Scully asks.

He takes out the blanket, flattening it out on the grass and sitting himself upon it.

Mulder shrugs, “Then I don’t see anything.” He pats the space beside him. “Sit, we’re gonna be here for a while.”

Scully sits, crossing her legs as she does so.

Mulder lets out a deep breath, looking up towards the sky. A breeze drifts across them and out of his peripheral he sees Scully shiver. She hadn’t been so practical tonight, her clothing consisting of shorts and a T-shirt. Unbothered by the cold, Mulder takes off his alien sweatshirt and holds it out towards her.

“Take it, you’re freezing,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t take that for answer and pushes it further towards her. “Put it on.”

Giving in, she takes it out of his hands and puts it on.

“Better?” he asks.

Scully nods, covering her hands with the two-big sleeves.

He turns back to the sky, “Looks better on you anyway,” he says. All his clothes would look better on her, he thinks.

They grow quiet, the only sounds are the breeze and the distant sound of traffic and their breathing. It doesn’t take Mulder long before he’s rummaging through his bag and pulling out his seeds.

“You hungry?” he asks, dinner wasn’t that long ago so he doesn’t expect her to be.

“Somehow I don’t think sunflower seeds will fill me up,” he says.

“Better than bee pollen yogurts for breakfast,” he throws a shell to the side, missing Scully’s look.

“It has nutritional value,” she says, pointedly.

“It’s a scam, Scully.”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” she throws back to him and then she’s yawning.

“Tired?”

“No. What else have you got in this bag?” She moves the backpack closer to her and pulls out his book.

He tears his gaze from the sky and watches her turn it over. The book his handmade, the book’s title handwritten across the page.

“Who wrote this?” Scully asks.

“Frohike.”

She rolls her eyes and huffs, “Of course he did,” placing the book down.

She yawns again and Mulder watches as she shuffles about on the blanket before laying down and trying to get into a comfortable position. A lazy, happy smile flitters across Mulder’s face at the sight. She’s adorable.

“You’re tired.” It’s not a question.

She lets out a quiet hum in response and adjusts her head on her arms, eyes shut.

Mulder ponders for a moment, looking at her trying to get comfortable, before he shifts himself.

“Come here,” he says, wrapping his hands around her body and tugging her towards him. A bit of manoeuvring and finally her heads resting in his lap, her hand against his leg and his hand running up and down her arm.

He moves both hands to her hair, taking out the hair tie and letting his hand smooth through her hair repeatedly, a soothing motion that has her relaxing, snuggling deeper against him.

Mulder looks back up to the sky, watching, waiting, whilst his hand and fingers do their own thing.

He smiles to himself, a thought crossing his mind as he looks back down at the sleeping person lying on him in the middle of a field.

“Hey Scully,” she shifts a little. “It’s our first date and you’re not even awake for it,” he teases. Barely a sound comes out of her.

Laughing to himself, Mulder looks back up to the sky when a ball of light flicks across the darkness. His smile fades as he watches, hand stilling in Scully’s hair. She protests, moving her own head to perhaps get his fingers moving again but Mulder is awestruck; watching as one, two, three, four balls of lights dance in the sky.

“Scully…” he says, not looking away. “You need to see this.”

She moans a little, her head moving upwards.

“Scully,” he says again watching the lights move in unexplainable ways. “You’re missing it.”

“I see it,” she mumbles sleepily, eyes falling shut again.

Mulder breathes out as the lights disappear as quickly as they came.

He saw it…he realises as he looks away from the sky, trying to process it.

As he looks a little down the field another light catches his eye. Large, white, and around. Mulder narrows his eyes, trying to see. A figure emerges from the bushes, the light bouncing around, until its beam lands directly on him and Scully, illuminating them in the darkness.

A cry of ‘Hey!’ has Mulder furiously trying to wake Scully as dread pulses through his body.

part 2 soon. maybe

#i suck at prompting my own shit #this is not how you do it #college au #txf fic #i write things #i hope peeps like #uhhhh i know nothing #i like writing sleepy scully #dunno why #imma shut up now #bye

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oniropsiconauta · 4 years ago

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#Spotify

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bubble-tea-bunny · 6 years ago

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monster monster!

[link x reader]

author’s note: was really hurting for inspo when suddenly i got an idea revolving around fang and bone not being owned by kilton, but someone else ;))) (also i did tweak how the shop works a lil bit for the sake of this story, which i hope you do not mind)

word count: 6,125

With the amount of rain beginning to pour from dark clouds, which had slowly crept in these last several hours and concealed the sky, one may hardly believe it had been perfectly sunny this morning. The expectation that the weather would be agreeable the whole day is why Link had decided to begin his journey this morning and not tarry any longer. He still has a large distance to cover until he arrives at his destination, and while he would have liked to continue on a bit more before stopping for the night, it wouldn’t be a good idea. A small voice in the back of his mind reasons he could keep going, if he really wants to, but the quick flash of lightning in the distance and the rumble of thunder close on its heels kills that notion in a heartbeat, and Link finds himself taking shelter at the stable just off the main road.

After he checks his horse in with the stablehand, he steps beneath the canopy and heaves a deep sigh of relief, the roar of the storm now muffled. Warmth washes over him, sinks into his skin and seeps through damp clothes. He does his best to wring himself out by the entrance so as not to track water along the wooden flooring. As the minutes tick by, his shivering ceases, and he digs enough rupees out of his pocket to pay for a bed.

There are a few other travelers here. One sits at the table writing in a journal, the scratching of pen on paper overpowered by the relentless shower outside. The two others are asleep on the far side, so Link takes care in setting his bag gently down by his bed, to make as little noise as possible. Instead of following the leads of those slumbering Hylians, he walks back to the threshold, leaning against the wooden frame to watch the rain. Another streak of lightning illuminates the sky for a brief moment, and Link absentmindedly counts off the seconds in his head—One, two, three…—until thunder growls so strongly the earth seems to shake.

The noise of the torrential downpour makes it difficult to hear much, but Link’s learned to be perceptive. Boots thud heavily against the floor, sending shockwaves Link can feel traveling towards his own. The silent newcomer claims the open spot to his left, but doesn’t assume a casual stance like he does, remaining straight and on high alert. Link spares a quick glance at the one who has joined him—a guard—then turns back to the scene in front.

Both of them stand there quietly, but that doesn’t last long. Link’s eyes pass over the blue flame flickering in the lantern, wholly unbothered by the raindrops, just as the man next to him speaks.

He introduces himself as Hoz, and he shares with Link rumors of a shop only open at night, featuring wares of the less savory sort, and some might even say the ominous or unsettling. It isn’t simple to stumble across, and perhaps that’s on purpose, for the cover of darkness ensures not everyone has the opportunity to peek at the sinister merchandise. It’s called Fang and Bone, Hoz says, and if you’ve an interest in monsters, that’s the place to go.

Link hadn’t been too absorbed in the topic at the start of this spiel, but his curiosity grows the more Hoz expounds on the hearsay that’s been flittering throughout Hyrule. If this shop had been restricted to this one region, here in Akkala, Link might not have been too invested in finding out more immediately, and would consider it a topic set off to the side for another time. But it’s something else entirely that its reputation stretches across the whole land, because though that’s true, there are few who are able to attest to its existence and its goods and, most importantly, its owner, for who could possibly be at the center of the sinister business of dealing in monsters?

Apparently Link needn’t voice his newfound interest in discovering this shop for himself, for Hoz to pick up on it. The man merely looks over at him and smirks.

“I see the glint in your eye,” he remarks. Though they stand next to each other, he needs to raise his voice to be heard over the rain. “You want to find it too.” He suggests asking around the region as a way to glean useful information of its whereabouts, and politely requests that should Link come across this mysterious emporium, that he return to these stables to tell him all about it.

Link, feeling sleepy now, gives a sleepy smile in response and nods, a silent promise that he’ll do just that. Hoz bids him a goodnight then makes his leave to give Link some time on his own. Link watches as he does a quick scan of the interior, in search of suspicious activity he knows there is none of (there isn’t much to be on high alert for), before he walks up to the counter to chat with the stable master.

Another bout of lightning. Another roll of thunder. This storm shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. Link crosses his arms as he lingers to observe it for a couple more minutes, and he wonders distantly if Fang and Bone is still open for business somewhere out there.

By morning, his plans have changed. If he resumed his original route, he would be in the next region over by sundown, especially since the skies have cleared up and, unlike yesterday, remained as such. But he decides to stay for another day or two instead, inquiring from those in the area about a store that specializes in monsters. He’s hoping to learn of details that at least point him in the right direction, provide a starting point, but the vast majority of those he speaks to look at him like he’s suddenly grown two heads and they don’t say it out loud but they’re wondering why on earth he could be seeking out anything like that. And those who don’t react that way, those who know what he’s talking about and pretend they don’t but Link can tell deep down they do know something, however small, aren’t very eager to share.

It takes a good deal of convincing to get the answers he wants. His words worked most of the time, but when they didn’t, he used rupees to make up for it. He’s lower on money than he would’ve like to have been at the end of all that, but somehow it’s easy to brush off when he sinks into one of the chairs at the Tarrey Town inn and studies the map on his Sheikah Slate.

The name Skull Lake is so on the nose it almost makes him laugh. It could also be no more a fitting location for a place called Fang and Bone to set up shop. Now that he thinks about it, he’s surprised, and a little irritated, that he hadn’t figured it out himself, because if he did, he’d have saved himself a lot of trouble (and rupees). Though he supposes the idea may have been so ridiculous in theory that his subconscious hadn’t bothered to make the connection, already assuming it would’ve been a dead end. His subconscious really ought to get out of the habit of doing that. Who knows what else he could miss…

“I heard tell of your hunt for a shop of monsters.”

Link’s gaze slides from the screen over to Kapson standing behind the counter, the only other occupant of this building. Link’s brows furrow in confusion, wondering how he could know that when he hadn’t said anything, but he realizes Pelison must have mentioned something. The young Goron is always excited to hear of Link’s most recent adventures, and of course, on this visit, Link recounted the rumors Hoz had shared, though in less frightening terms. He has no desire to be responsible for nightmares.

“Another traveler came through here just a few days ago looking for the same thing.” Kapson walks the short distance to the table Link sits at and takes the seat on the opposite side. He has no reason to stay by the counter. It’s late, most of the town is asleep, and there aren’t many who arrive in the middle of the night. “I imagine they must’ve found it by now.”

Link sets his Sheikah Slate aside, the zoomed in image of Skull Lake staring up at the ceiling for several seconds before disappearing as the screen shuts off. You believe it then? he asks. The stories.

Kapson inhales deeply, as though to take those moments to put together his response. And when he has it, he smiles slightly, amused in a sardonic kind of way. “There have been much stranger things afoot in Hyrule.”

Link can’t help chuckling and nods in agreement. He’s witnessed many of said “strange things” up close, often being at the forefront to investigate and, if need be, set them right. The whispers about Fang and Bone hardly sound bizarre in comparison. And he realizes that’s how he’d been approaching it this whole time—he had never believed it to be just rumors. Once Hoz had brought the topic to his attention, Link had every intention to find it, had been confident there was anything to find. A clear contrast to those he had asked for more information who assumed he’d gone crazy. Perhaps his sense of what was normal and what was atypical has been skewed, but he takes comfort in the fact he’s not alone in his sentiments, judging by the words Kapson has shared.

He’s due to set off for Skull Lake the next day, but he’s in no rush. The ride won’t be long and the shop is only there at night. So he wakes at mid-morning and kills time restocking his supplies and talking with the other villagers. Then when the sun has passed its highest point, now beginning its journey to the western horizon, he packs up his saddle bag and mounts his horse. He gives a final wave to Pelison as he leaves, and gradually the sounds of Tarrey Town fade behind him.

The last minutes of the dying light paint the world orange. Link pulls out his Sheikah Slate to ensure he’s riding in the right direction, and surmises that the cluster of rocks up ahead are part of the lake’s shoreline. The lake itself is still hidden and would require getting closer and maneuvering through stony outcrops to be able to spot it. Link has to hand it to whoever owns this shop—this is no easy place to happen upon. Which he supposes is exactly what they want, for it means that those who do find this place have sought it out intentionally, and possess a legitimate, vested interest in a selection of goods not entirely conventional.

As though sensing that Link has reached his destination, the last slivers of sunlight extinguish themselves in a sigh, blowing strong enough to ruffle Link’s hair and cold enough that he sees his own breath when he exhales. To minimize noise, he dismounts from his horse and tethers it out of sight from anyone who might be on the lake, then proceeds on foot. Pulling his cloak tighter around him, he peeks around tall columns of stone, eyes narrowed as he scans the expanse of Skull Lake.

It’s a full moon tonight. Link makes a habit of tracking the phases, and earlier today, he had mused that if the moon were waning on this particular evening, he probably wouldn’t have adequate visibility to discern anything out on the lake. But while standing here, with his blue gaze on blue waters, he learns that his assumption was wrong. Even if it had been a new moon, the dim yellow light from the center of Skull Lake would draw his attention right away, a beacon in the dark night.

There are no patrons browsing from what he can tell. He guesses he might be the first of the evening. Stepping out from behind his hiding place, he walks across the small land bridge leading to the island where the rumored monster emporium stands alone, lanterns hanging from the wooden counter with more attached to what Link notices as he gets closer is a large patchwork hot air balloon, the colors of each piece mismatched and oddly charming. And painted on the wooden sign hanging above the shop counter window in thick black paint, so the words can’t be misread: Fang and Bone.

The shop owner is turned away, preoccupied with organizing the shelves. Link surveys the selection, passing over the horns and fangs of various creatures; guts and hearts that he swears twitch every few seconds; severed wings and tails and eyeballs that squelch as the merchant grabs a few and drops them into a glass jar. Finally, among the many other spooky items in stock, are small purple flasks with gold accents and gold stoppers.

Nearly a minute passes and the shopkeeper has taken no notice of Link, and he’s not sure what he should do. Does he talk? Does he rap his knuckles against the counter a few times, for lack of a bell? Eventually he decides to clear his throat, loud yet succinct, enough to announce his presence but not enough to startle.

“Yes?” the merchant says as they twist around, prepared for any inquiries. “Is there anything you’d like to see?”

Bright eyes are trained on Link from beneath a hood, and it catches him off guard. To be honest, he had envisioned the owner of this kind of shop to be much more… menacing, with mad eyes and a suspiciously wide grin, gnarled and sharp fingernails like claws, surrounded by an aura that spoke of trouble and disturbing delights. It’s certainly not the most outrageous expectation, and he’s confident anyone else who’s heard of Fang and Bone has thought the same. But you’re none of that.

Lithe fingers push down the hood to reveal your face and you look, well, perfectly normal. Your eyes show you’re sane as can be, and you smile a tight-lipped smile that matches those of the other shop owners in the villages, who wear them to be polite as they deal with customers. He feels no sense of dread to be this close, has no inkling that you could be evil or up to something bad. Poking out from your hair, which is tied back into a neat braid, are long pointed ears. Just like his.

Link has no need to stock up on monster parts. He gathers his own during his travels, and he’s not running short on any supplies. But you’re watching him intently, waiting for him to talk, to ask about what items you’re offering, and it’s fair for you to assume he does want to buy because why else would he have come all this way? The biting curiosity, Link thinks to himself. It’s what keeps him rooted to this spot despite harboring no intention to purchase anything. However, there is one thing he wants to ask about…

He glances over your shoulder at the small purple flasks and asks what they are. You smile at his piqued interest and reach back to grab one, holding it up, the soft glow of the lanterns bouncing off the glass. Monster extract, you explain. An essence of my own creation. Cook with it and you’ll experience a significant energy boost.

While you spoke, you’d been staring at the flask, gaze and voice filled with pride at your work. Thus, you miss the mixture of emotions lining Link’s face, but when you finally do notice his dubious expression, knitted brows and a slight frown that bordered on distaste, you laugh, and he sees sharp canines that look remarkably like fangs.

“Don’t worry, I’ve done careful research. Mix it well, and you can hardly tell it’s there,” you state. You pull the stopper off and stretch out your arm so Link can take a closer look. His eyes drop down to the flask then slide back up to you and you nod in reassurance. “Some customers like to inspect the wares more closely.”

Tentatively he grabs it, fingers curling around the narrow neck. Dark purple tendrils float from the opening and dissipate in the air as they rise. He brings it close to his nose to take a sniff and does his best not to recoil at the stench. He fails, and you chuckle again quietly, reminding him of its concentrated nature. You aren’t quite drawing the extract from flowers.

Link hands back the flask and you replace the stopper, asking what he thinks. Initially he’d been on the fence, and was leaning towards saying no thanks, but your stare is piercing, like you can see right through him, and he finds he doesn’t want to say no. So he doesn’t. He says he’ll buy one and you smile in satisfaction at another satisfied customer and there’s a glint in your eye like you know what you’ve done. Who could say no with a gaze like that?

Before Link can get rupees from his pocket, you inform him that monster extract can only be paid for with monster parts. And as he has no shortage of those, he pays easily, and the disorganized mess of guts and tails and wings in his bag is replaced by one neat purple flask.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Your grin is courteous and you don’t appear to be affected by the fresh smell of rot emanating from the monster parts now sitting on the counter between you. “I hope you’ll stop by again.” For a moment this statement gives Link pause, and he wonders if you say that to everyone. (And would it matter to him if you did?)

No one else is in sight as he makes his leave, but the night is still young, which leaves plenty of time for others to arrive. Once on the shore, he glances over his shoulder and sees you’ve returned to your original task of sorting your inventory. Your back is turned to him and you’ve brought up the hood of your cloak again, and he’s staring at two large, different colored buttons and a piece of fabric sewn and stuffed to resemble a beak. The goofy-looking makeshift monster makes him smile as he walks to his horse.

The following morning, he finally resumes the journey that had been put on hold these last few days. It’s still a lengthy ride down to Necluda, but with little to no detours, (certainly not any that last as long as his hunt for for Fang and Bone had been), he arrives by the end of the week.

He deeply inhales a breath of fresh air as the houses of Hateno come into view just over the hill. His body seems to know he’s home, for suddenly his shoulders sag, full of fatigue from his extended bout away from the village, and he’s yearning for a good night’s sleep in his own bed. It’s dark when he passes the gateway and steers his horse onto the main road stretching through town, but there are plenty of people outside who wave in greeting.

Ivees’s face lights up as Link pushes open the door to the general shop. Pruce isn’t behind the counter, which means she’s the one in charge tonight. She sets her broom aside and asks how he’s doing and what he’s been up to. Link’s response is curt, borne out of exhaustion, and as he talks, she’s smiling sympathetically because it’s not difficult to tell from the tone of his voice that he’s tired.

“I’m glad to know you’re okay,” she says. “No cuts or bruises on you, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Link chuckles good-naturedly, then picks out produce to bring back with him to his house. His food stores were depleted right before he left, done purposely so nothing spoiled while he was gone. Ivee counts the costs of everything he’s chosen and placed on the counter then provides a total, and Link opens up his bag for her to place it all into while he counts out the correct amount of rupees.

“What’s this?”

At Ivee’s question, Link tears his focus from the rupees in his hand. Her fingers are wrapped around the neck of the flask of monster extract, not taking it out of the bag but merely angling it so she can see the accents on the glass more clearly. Because she isn’t a child, he doesn’t have to sugarcoat his answer, but he does take a moment to figure out how to explain. He settles on starting with a question: Have you heard those rumors of a shop selling monster parts?

Ivee purses her lips in thought, and several seconds later, she nods. Link tells her it’s real, and that’s where he got the flask from. It’s monster extract. Ivee’s eyes widen in shock once she learns what she’s holding, and she emits a horrified squeak and lets go. He laughs and assures her it isn’t toxic, and that the only danger to be worried about is the stench.

After the produce is put away in Link’s bag, he shrugs it back onto his shoulder. But one more query from Ivee prevents him from leaving.

“What’s the owner look like? You know… of that shop.”

Link smiles but it’s not so much directed at Ivee as much as it is to himself, as he remembers your eyes reflecting the low lights of the lanterns and remembers your lips forming a delightful curve he wanted to see again as soon as it was out of sight. And all he tells her is that the owner isn’t nearly as scary as she might be imagining.

He’d been excited to make dinner once he returned home, but the intimate, cozy setting makes him incredibly weary, and instead, he drops right into bed, still in the clothes he’d worn since this morning. The weather is cold but within these four walls, with the gently crackling fire, he has no need to burrow beneath his blankets. Not that he’d have much energy to do that anyway.

The rooster crowing wakes him up, but the pain in his neck is what prevents him from being able to go back to sleep. He passed out the moment he hit the bed, and it hadn’t been in the most comfortable position. Rubbing at the sore spot, he sits up and walks downstairs to make breakfast. His stomach grumbles as he cooks, having missed out on a meal last night. The last time he’d eaten was yesterday early afternoon.

His day is spent in town, catching up and swapping stories with the others. They usually prefer to hear more of what he’s been up to, reasoning that there’s never anything too newsworthy that occurs here, nothing worth sharing, but Link doesn’t think that’s true. The monster-slaying and traveling across the whole of Hyrule has become standard for him, so to listen to stories of the goings-on of home is refreshing. He voices this to Tokk, who laughs and, with a smile that crinkles the corners of his aged eyes, muses The grass is always greener, isn’t it?

Link also fills his time doing any odd jobs anyone approaches him with. He pitches hay for Dantz on the farm, carries in the boxes of produce for Pruce to restock his store, helps Sayge clean up the floors in the dye shop. He’s moving around until sundown, and while he’s tired by the end of it, he also feels satisfied to have been so productive. Offering his assistance around Hateno is his method of relaxing. He isn’t sure if he’d be able to sit around. If he tried, it’s inevitable that he would get the itch to do something, and he’s in luck, for the villagers are sure to have that something to keep his hands busy.

A practice of his had gone neglected since he came back, one he should’ve done yesterday but failed to carry out due to fatigue clouding his mind. Once his tasks are done and the moon is high in the sky (it’s a crescent tonight), he traipses over to the goddess statue, his boots sifting the grass with each step. The statue is barely lit by the light of a nearby torch, and he kneels down before it to pray to Hylia. It’s a tradition he has had for a long while now, done after every safe return to Hateno.

At the tail-end of it, a hard gust of wind blows out the torch, and the orange glow which had run down the length of the statue disappears. Link stands and makes his way over to it, prepared to grab it from the sconce and reignite it with one of the torches farther down. But a faint light in the distance grabs his attention, and he squints in an attempt to discern the faraway source better.

His head tilts and internally he’s debating if he’s actually seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. No, it can’t be that, he tells himself. It can’t be because that wouldn’t make sense. But the fact is it’s hard to deny that what rests on the hill is a large balloon, stitched together with a curiously mismatched patchwork. Kapson’s words flood back—There have been much stranger things afoot in Hyrule—and Link concedes that to discover the balloon here, quite far from Akkala, is not the most outlandish phenomenon he’s ever bore witness to.

So when he finally accepts that yes, that is exactly what he’s seeing, he turns left and right to check if anyone else had noticed the balloon’s presence, but no one is staring, nor had anyone noticed him staring and tried to check out for themselves what he’s concentrating so hard on. He places the torch back in the sconce, still unlit, and jogs down to the dirt path leading out of town.

He follows it for a while, then veers off as he approaches the hill where Fang and Bone has set up for the night. The numerous lanterns bathe him in soft light, their radiance like a greeting, and his eyes slide down from the balloon to you behind the counter. Your back is turned, just like last time, but he doesn’t have to clear his throat or speak up or knock on the counter because, as though you could feel someone there, you turn around, and upon seeing him, you smile widely. You do it so well you could put the moon out of business.

“Hello again.” Clearly you recognize him, based on the familiarity in your eyes which are striking beneath the hood of your dark cloak.

Link’s chest bubbles with warmth to learn that you remember him, but that heat tempers as he wonders if you remember everyone. How large could your customer base be? You must have a sizable pool of patrons to stay open, but small enough that knowledge of your shop isn’t widespread, remaining for the majority of Hyrule a simple rumor. Those who buy your wares are most probably repeat customers as well, giving you ample opportunities to memorize faces. So perhaps he is not so special as to stand out as much as he assumed he had.

“Here for another flask of monster extract?” you ask, interrupting his train of thought. “Or something else?”

Your opening questions would typically merit no extra consideration. They’re signs of a good merchant assisting their customer, initiating a discussion to help them find what they’re looking for. But Link’s hesitation to respond is only a reasonable reaction when he’s been arguing internally since you greeted him about whether he does stand out, and therefore whether your questions mean anything more. Now he stands here, silent for an amount of time toeing the line of awkward, if it hadn’t crossed that already, wholly unsure if you’re implying something. Are you referring to the other products behind you or yourself?

He scolds himself: This is ridiculous. He’s reading too deeply into it. The case might very well be that you are implying absolutely nothing and he’s projecting his own feelings because it’s true that he is here for something other than monster extract but it’s not the pulsating bokoblin guts nor the glassy keese eyeballs on the shelves. He’s here for your utter fascination with the creatures he slays on his travels, a task he views as mere routine. He understands the basics, what parts of a monster he requires for what elixirs, but never has he been laden with the curiosity and pure elation burning in your eyes as you speak of those beasts, a distinct sense of fondness in your voice. It’s this seemingly paradoxical behavior which made him want to come back because he has never known anyone like you. He’s here for you.

Of course, he doesn’t just say that. In fact, he dodges the questions entirely, opting instead to admit that he hasn’t gotten around to making anything with his current flask of monster extract. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and you chuckle, nodding in understanding. Not intent on trying to scramble for answers when you inevitably ask if he’s interested in any of the other products in stock, he changes the subject: I didn’t know Fang and Bone changed locations.

You nod. “I move all over Hyrule. And tonight, luck would have me in the same village as you.”

Link’s speculations start up once more. Were you calling yourself lucky? Had you been wanting to see him again too? Maybe he’d been correct in discerning a reciprocated interest, and it hadn’t just been the result of paranoia and doubt, hazards against potentially making a fool of himself. And he’s silently agreeing that yes, the circumstances were lucky indeed.

Where will you go from here? he inquires, and you say you aren’t sure yet. You like to follow the road, let the wind guide you where it will. The corner of his lips lift in a small smile, and it widens as you continue to explain that this lack of a set destination gives you the freedom to track monsters’ movements in the vicinity if you happen to notice any. So I guess the wind points me towards monsters, and I just end up in the closest town, you state with a quiet laugh.

“Maybe I’ll run into you again,” you then remark offhandedly, and Link swears it almost sounds hopeful, and his chest tightens upon this realization. He isn’t imagining that softness in your gaze, filled with an optimism that luck would be on your side again—both your sides—and when you grin, he thinks his heart might burst.

He does buy three lizalfos tails, less because he needs them and more because he doesn’t want to leave empty-handed. The rupees they cost are worth it anyway, as he witnesses the care you take in grabbing the tails from the shelf and setting them down on the counter. He tucks them into his bag which is mostly empty now that he’d had the chance to offload unnecessary items at home. But before he can leave, you suggest out of the blue that he bake a cake with the monster extract: I’ve been told it’s quite tasty!

Link’s smiling to himself on the walk back through town. He passes no one on the way, for it’s late enough that even all the adults have turned in for the evening. The chill melts away once he enters his house, and as he prepares for bed, he’s already thinking ahead to the next time he should come across you, on another clear midnight with the stars a backdrop to that colorful hot air balloon. He’s envisioning it behind closed eyes, playing on a loop the gentle sway of it in the breeze. And he dreams of it too.

Eventually he’s on the road again, traveling west. He always hates to say goodbye to those in Hateno, but he comforts himself in the fact that it won’t feel like very long before he returns. It never does, perhaps owed to the innate longing for home that seems to make the days pass just a little bit faster.

The weather has been better too, with no risk of rain. The sky is cloudless and blue and the temperature has remained moderate and pleasant. Link’s sure that’s going to change as he passes central Hyrule and reaches the fringes, but he’s no stranger to the more extreme climates there, and he’d packed appropriately.

However, for now, any concerns of weather too hot or too cold are far from his mind as he spots a sleepy Outskirt stable. Smoke gently rises from the fire outside, and the air smells of baked apples. There’s only one other horse being tended to by the stablehand, and Link’s horse makes it two. He doesn’t plan to stay overnight, for there’s plenty of daylight left to keep going. Rather, he’s taking the moment to rest and give his horse a much-deserved break, since they’d gotten an early start today, packing up and moving on before the sun came up.

There is a third horse here, a large one, which is standing facing the main road. It pulls along a cart, the contents of which are covered up by a layer of burlap. Link passes it on his way to the fire, where he takes a seat on the tree stump. He assumes the one currently in conversation with the stable master is the owner, but he doesn’t care to linger on it for long as he pulls up the map on his Sheikah Slate. He’ll need to plot out the distance he’d like to travel with the remaining hours of sunlight and find a safe stopping point.

“Thank you!” the person talking to the stable master says, and the sound of their voice tears Link’s focus away from studying the map.

He only sees a profile of the Hylian’s face, given he’s sitting off to the side, but it’s unmistakable that it’s you walking towards the large horse waiting patiently. He notes how peculiar it is to see you without your large cloak and heavy hood, and with your features illuminated by the natural light of the sun and not the artificial lights of all the lanterns. No one might ever expect you to run such a monstrous business, though maybe that’s exactly what you want.

The point is, you aren’t any less wonderful to behold in broad daylight, and the shock to find you here, which makes Link’s stomach bubble as the world suddenly feels to have been turned upside down, prevents him from calling out to you. (Not that he would know what to say.)

You’re facing him when you angle yourself to mount your horse, and before you hoist yourself up, you spot him, and without missing a beat, you smile. To the outsider, it appears as nothing more than a polite grin, the likes of which are shared with a stranger when catching their eyes across a room. But Link knows better, and he detects a similar recognition in your own gaze.

The smile reaches your eyes and it’s amused, and you watch each other for that brief second you take to throw your leg over your horse to sit down in the saddle. It feels like eternity and Link is aware of the wordless connection flittering between you, an unbridled excitement like you’re doing things you aren’t supposed to, like you’re sharing secrets you shouldn’t have learned of in the first place.

He stares after you, your horse, and your cart leaving the stable and continuing down the road, and he watches until you’ve gone over the hill and you’re gone from view. A small part of him wants to follow you, to see where you might go this time, but he gets the feeling that if he were to mount his horse and run after you, he’ll discover you’ve disappeared into thin air, like a magic trick. Perhaps that hot air balloon of yours is secretly good for flying after all, and you take off in it when you’re far away from any prying eyes. So he figures he’ll spend his hours traveling through Hyrule with his eyes on the sky, in search of a mismatched patchwork balloon.

#link x reader #botw imagine #legend of zelda imagine #botw x reader #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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tinaanitab · 4 years ago

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N E W M U S I C F R I D A Y S

LIL SKIES – UNBOTHERED https://twitter.com/LilSkies/status/1352047496940441604?s=20 It’s been about 2 years since Lil Skies last dropped a project. “Unbothered” shows progression in Lil Skies career! Already a dope artist, but now Lil Skies has graduated in his skills. I know his fans will enjoy this project from the beginning to the end. ARAABMUZIK – TRAP SOUL…

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#araabMUZIK #check it out #jorja smith #lil skies #new music fridays #nolay #young dolph

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matthew-kellys · 5 years ago

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『 CHASE STOKES ❙ CIS MALE 』 ⟿ looks like MATTHEW KELLY is here for HIS SENIOR year as an ENGLISH student. HE is 24 years old & known to be EASY-GOING, CREATIVE, UNBOTHERED & APATHETIC. They’re living in GORHAM, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ sammie. 24. est. she/her.

looks at all of u and smiles with all my teeth

stats.

name: matthew connell kelly

nicknames: matt, matty, he doesn’t really care tbqh

age: twenty-four.

gender identity: cis-male.

pronouns: he/him

sexuality: bisexual.

birthday: january 19, 1996

star sign: capricorn, aquarius cusp

year of study: senior.

major: english.

occupation: gorham ra

place of birth: denver, colorado

height: 6′1

info.

a Colorado baby, Matt grew up partaking in a lot of sports and worked on ski hills and resorts for as long as he can remember. He’s always had a job, but his personality has never lent itself well to actually working.

His family owns a pretty successful small hotel, close enough to the city centre that they’re busy year-round, making them fairly lucky in that sense. Despite the proximity to so many things to occupy himself with, Matt was more interested in heading onto the slopes and snowboarding until there wasn’t a bit of snow left on the hills, or skateboarding until every pair of jeans he owned had holes ripped into the knees from falls over going to museums or learning anything.

Getting into Radcliffe was a struggle, he’d managed to kick up his grades by the end of his senior year of high school— through begging his friends to let him copy their homework or by asking his teachers for extra assignments that he then shirked off to someone else. He deferred his application for two years while he worked to save up for college, before entering at age twenty. It was strange, to want to attend college so far from home but he’d seen the appeal in the mysterious old campus, in the proximity to the water and just the fact that it was so different than what he was used to.

In truth, Matthew is quite lazy. He’s an English major with no interest in reading— and this is something that hasn’t improved in his senior year. He prefers to skip class in pursuit of surfing on the coast when he hears the waves are good, or to hang back and watch sports games happening in the quad or the athletics centre.

Getting the job as an RA had come to a surprise to nearly everyone, but Matt had charmed the woman in charge of dormitories with a story about how he’d taken charge at an overnight camp he’d worked at when he was sixteen (the story was a lie, he’d spent most of his counsellor days stoned and barely awake) and she’d laughed and said looking after residents was just about the same.

Gorham suits him well, the residents for the most part have a similar attitude as he does and instead of enforcing rules and becoming a villain in their eyes, he takes pleasure in teaching the younger students how to skirt the rules and avoid conviction for them. If he finds a bottle of booze during room checks, he’s more likely to show a better hiding place than to confiscate, and he’s always willing to show students the spots where the cameras won’t catch them, or where the fans in the shower room will usher away smoke and not set off the fire alarms.

On campus, he’s a nice enough addition. His personality is laid back, often he spouts nonsense that he’s learned from bullshit documentaries that he enjoys watching— did you know that the government is putting cameras in mechanical birds to watch us?— but he’s always willing to share a story from something he’s done (or avoided doing) and a cigarette.

Matthew pencils parties into the dorm calendar and always makes sure to attend them himself, decidedly crowning himself as a king of having a good time.

Frequently he wears a lil bandana tied around his neck, his hair is always a bit too long, cozy thick knit sweaters are his thing, as are stupid hats and his sneakers are always, always dirty.

#radintro #about

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5-secondsofcolor · 6 years ago

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Eres Tú

Summary: Calum never minded being alone until something broke and he always wanted to come home to her. This is an Spanish speaker insert fic, it’s primarily in English though. Fic inspired by Carla Morrison’s Eres Tu so go listen to that!

Words: Count: 2k ish?

Warnings: it made @calsophat feel (ty for helping btw)

He runs a hand down her thigh, hooking it behind her knee and pulling her towards him in bed. Her eyes hardly open as she stirs slightly.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” Calum asks playfully.

“Back so soon?” She murmurs with sleep thick on her voice.

“Yeah, found a key under the mat. Thought maybe I’d return it.”

“Wonder who left that there?” She jokes as he kisses her gently. There’s no rush today, just languished movements as he takes his time kissing her down the column of her throat before returning to her mouth. A content sigh leaving her lips as he settles into her side.

The week’s been spent drooling over her and all the things they do; Calum had forgotten that kind of hunger, that want that came back with a vengeance. Haunting him from morning till night, he could have a whole mess of women in his bed but he knows it would have been pointless; her, this one right here is the only one who could bring that calm.

“I missed you,” He regrets admitting it almost immediately. Her trip home had been brief but served a secondary purpose; it made Calum realize how much of a fixture she’s become in his life. He missed her riding shotgun, her conversations home a mess of Spanish and English; he doesn’t understand half of it but he loves the way she laughs louder, it’s clear that she’s coming home.

They met in the heat of the summer and he thought they wouldn’t make it beyond the seasons change; surely she would be gone when he shed his summer skin but she stayed. Surprising both of them, he stuck around too.

“The great and power Calum missing anyone other than Duke? Do my ears deceive me?” The softness in her voice makes it impossible for Calum to feel embarrassed by his admittance. Nothing feels wrong with her by his side; staring in her sleepy eyes, he knows things with her are simple, and he knows exactly what came next, “I missed you too.” She says returning his kiss.

That’s how they live for months. Just Calum and her locked away with Duke. They kept warm together as the days grew cold and short; the skies graying and leaves slowly losing their colors but, for once, Calum’s life did not follow suit. Those winter days warmed their hearts as they grew into one another’s life. Their lives coming together naturally as though the universe stitched them together.

None of the stress disappeared, nor the pain they’d been through, not her issues or his, instead they healed and built a simple relationship. Finding peace in the knowledge that, when the light when out, they’re never alone. He’s with her when her hands are shaking and the darkest shades of grey enter her life. She’s with him when his heart races and all he needs is to be held. They’re not alone, not anymore.

And when it’s time for the next press tour starts, they grow closer still. Having their share of awkward conversations, they establish a relationship with shaky knees; it is unspoken but they both know their only direction is forward as things continue to fall into place. A development new to both of them.

“You’re still seeing the girl from last summer?” Ashton asks surprised as he sees a new background on Calum’s phone. To anyone else it would be insignificant change, just a picture of Duke sitting in her lap, but this is Calum.

“Yeah. She’s my girlfriend,” Calum answers matter of fact with a small shrug. Calum’s an open book except when it comes to dating. He kept them in the dark, hardly ever holding onto a single person long enough for them to share a room with his band mates.

His nonchalant announcement takes Ashton by surprise but not by much, they’ve noticed the changes in him. The cynicism that slowly fades, the new music that slowly bleed in, and the secretive behavior around weekend plans; he’s begun to smile at the moments of affection between the boys and their significant others. Everyone notices that there’s a new hope in him but allow him his time. Until now.

“Guess that means it’s time for us to properly meet her,” Ashton teases.

When it is finally time to bring her into the fold, Calum’s nervousness grasps tightly to his throat. He finds himself praying that they don’t notice something in her he’s missed. He can hardly get a word out as the most important people in his life life gather in his house to help him add planters in his backyard. A garden had been a dream of his for a while, tiny and small he knows it’ll make her feel at home too.

Calum’s stress dissipates when she tosses aside the instructions and asks Luke for help carrying a beam. Luke’s more than happy to oblige, tossing caution to the wind with her as they immediately announce, “We’re going to win!” at him and the boys. No matter the pleading and reminders that it isn’t a competition. They work quickly and efficiently together. Building two planters before Ash and Michael can complete one and, by god, they’re never going to let them forget it.

Calum’s unbothered by the teasing, instead finding peace in the way she fits so well with his friends. He finds that for some one so quiet, she commands a presence with them. His bandmates approval is written on their faces as he asks endless questions and immediately takes interest in her hobbies.

She and Calum radiate together that summer as the familiar L.A. heat comes back around. As the days grow long, she finds herself staying at his house more, her tiny apartment doing little to alleviate the heat. Taking up her half and his half of the bed, she spreads across the bed in nothing but underwear and his t-shirt’s. The only creature that could compete with her crazy sleep is Duke; he’s used to making a bed where he damn pleases. Regardless of how they may sleep, the other is the first person they reach for, before they even open their eyes.

This summer he finds himself at more concerts thanks to her; Spanish or English, it hardly matters, as long as they’re together. He can hardly contain his hummingbird heart as he watches her freely sing and dance for most of the songs; it’s not until a slow song starts that she comes back to him. Nestling into his chest and reminding him of every reason why he’s there.

The way she looks up at him as she sings along softly in Spanish, there’s no need to understand the lyrics, the emotion gets across without it. The ground shifts beneath him as she begins to sway with his hands wrapped around her waist. He recognizes it as a song she sings frequently. It’s the song she’s always sings when she thinks he’s not listening. She sings it to Duke, in the shower, the car, she’s always sung the same song.

“What’s she saying?” He asks suddenly needing to know.

“I want to hold you, and kiss you, and tangle myself with you and never let you go. It’s you.” Wrapping her arms around him a little tighter she continues to sway with them. The whole world fading away for a moment.

“Ditto,” He says with a wink and a kiss to her temple.

“I love you,” She says placing a hand gently on his cheek.

“The great and powerful, Y/N , admitting she loves lil ole me?” Calum can’t help but joke, she already knows how he feels. It’s slipped out here and there in the heat of the moment or the dead of night; he knows he whispers it to her half asleep. It’s merely a formality that she pretends not to hear him.

“You play too much.” There might be an eye roll from her but the smile on her lips shows no sign of budging.

“Not with your heart,” he argues before planting a kiss on her lips, “Te amo, amor.”

He knows how she loves hearing things in Spanish, the way they hold a different weight to her. No matter how much English bleeds into her life, she makes sure to end her phone calls home with ‘te quiero mucho’ matching the sentiment of her family.

“Someone practicing their Spanish?” He didn’t think her smile could grow any wider but it does; her eyes nearly disappearing into her cheeks as she pretends to mulls it over, “I like it, mi vida.”

Short of their first year, news gets out. A picture from some event posted online, tweeted and retweeted time and time again. It was bound to happen but neither of them find themselves particularly happy about it.

Y/N wakes up with Calums arms wrapped around her feeling the heat radiating off him. Both of them safe in his room; she wants to bottle up the moment. To pause the clock and never leave but she knows it'll be gone soon. She doesn't dare move praying that Calum sleeps longer. That they'll stay warm and safe together.

They’re both afraid of the world outside. Their secret is is everyone's business before either of them was ready. Calum's afraid of the way it'll toy with the things in her brain but she knows if they lay here, together, it’ll chase away all the bad thoughts.

Calum shifts beneath her, opening his eyes with a small smile when he feels her hair tickling his face. He brushes his thumb on her cheek and lips. She sighs as she traces a finger over his collarbone, they lived for these morning when they'd wake up together, skin on skin, and remember what this is all for.

“Let’s go away,” calum says and without much more they pack up Duke and their camping gear into Calum’s car and settling onto the road. Only stopping when the desert met the horizon and they are sure they’re in their own universe.

Under a blanket of stars, Calum finally understands how lucky he got. 7 billion but his one, found him. She points to constellations and stars trying to make him remember names and lines but the only constellations he cares to commit to memory are the freckles on her skin.

“I was thinking maybe we start that garden soon? The planters have sat there a while,” she suggests as she holds him on her chest.

“You think we can keep one alive?”

“Of course,” her chest rumbles as a laugh escapes her mouth, “Look at Duke he’s the healthiest pup around! I’ll be sure to come over every day and water them.”

“Why leave at all?” Calum says

When they get home, they find the time to unpack the gardening supplies and her boxes as well. Getting excited for the new life of forget-me-nots and sunflowers together.

Early mornings spent together in the backyard together. The sun warming their skin as they pull weeds and try to keep Duke from digging up too many seedlings.

“What do you think of a spring wedding?” It isn’t until after he’s uttered the words that Calum realizes he doesn’t even have a ring. Nonetheless, he stands beside her watching her work; she doesn’t miss a beat as she moves through their garden.

“What’s that? The great and powerful universe trying to say something?” She jokes as she goes continues to tying their plants to their support beams. The silence is natural as she cuts another piece of string and takes his hand in hers. Flipping it over in her own before she takes the twine and ties it around his ring finger, “You know I think it makes a compelling argument.”

“Duke, you seeing this? Same care as the sweet peas!” Calum says as he places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“You are my sweet pea,” She laughs.

In that moment he knows life’s a little more complete. He doesn’t leave behind a life of fear, the insecurity, the complications of life; nothing disappears but all he needs to live it is here. Their love simplifies it all.

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