#and also apparently knew how to play the drums AND ALSO DRAW

[nameification]

got tired of playing instruments quite a bit ago BUT I remember how my ninang has a drum kit laying around somewhere that she hadn't brought with her to australia and I'm feeling bored soooooo

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 12th February

I kind of appreciate when a novelty song lets you know on first glance that it's a novelty song. None of these novelty songs with plausible titles for me - I respect it when a song doesn't try and trick you into listening to it. And this song, whatever else one may say about it, is at least honest about its joke status.

Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavour (On the Bedpost Overnight?) - Lonnie Donegan (peaked at Number 3)

Yeah, the title of this song tells you everything you need to know. It's about whether your chewing gum loses its flavour when you stick it to a bedpost overnight. That's literally all you need to know. I have no clue why Lonnie wants to know that, or whether this was a common pratice, back in the day. And notably, "back in the day" here means back in 1913, which is when the first version of this song came about, and was used in a sketch by a Vaudeville artist. So yeah, despite the obvious silliness of the premise, this is actually a song with a history.

I think the Vaudeville connection explains a lot of the vibe of this song, actually. Because you've got that same quick shift between daft bits, like the one about a church choir interrupting a groom's wedding vows to ask the titular quesiton, or the nation going to the White House to ask the president, little unconnected jokes and one-liners, like the If tin whistles are made of tin / What do they make foghorns out of? bit, and even just nonsensical patter, like the line that's just a series of weekdays. It's scatter-brained, and just feels kind of random.

Also, a bit of a tangent, but after the lame foghorn joke, Lonnie shouts boom boom, which I only knew, before hearing it here, as the catchphrase of kid's TV talking fox Basil Brush. Intrigued, I looked it up, and it turns out that "boom boom" was an old music hall meme that developed from somebody playing a sort of "boom boom" on the drums after jokes, a sort of proto-"ba doom tshh" sound. Performers began doing it verbally, after that, which you still apparently get in panto - which is the tradition Basil's creator was drawing from. I'm really not a panto-goer, so I had no clue that was what was going on at all. A fun side-track.

Honestly, I'm having a lot more fun with this than I expected to. I normally don't like novelty songs, because they're trying to hard to get a laugh from me, and a lot of the time, the jokes just don't land. And it's not that they land here, exactly. Quite the opposite, there's a lot about the song that kind of grosses me out, but it's still somehow not as cringey as I thought it might be. There's enough skiffle in it, I think, between the frantic pace and strummy guitar and shouty, repetitive delivery, that I can kind of forget that it's Lonnie trying to be "funny" and just appreciate it as an extension of Lonnie's generally quite chaotic vibes. It's not an American folk song, but the overall effect is stunningly similar.

I also appreciate the live recording - the wild reaction from Lonnie's fans at the end make him sound much more punk rock than he has any right to come away from this sounding. By the end, I'm almost convinced I'm listening to something that's actually cool. And then I see the title and remember that this is a song about sticking chewing gum on your bedpost overnight. Which... yeah. Still gross.

I had a lot more fun with this than I expected to. I can absolutely see how Lonnie's mix of wild delivery, cheap production values and slightly daft music hall lyrics could have been pretty influential with later bands like the Beatles, honestly. Even the accent's not a million miles away - or it's at least a step towards proper regional British accents in music. Normally Lonnie's doing his best impression of an American hillbilly, so it's kind of nice to hear his "normal" accent here. Or at least a distinctively British accent, because he still doesn't sound very Glaswegian. Ah, well.

Favourite song of the still-gross-but-surprisingly-okay bunch: Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavour (On the Bedpost Overnight?)

[justmybizarro]

Things will get better someday.

They have to.

Today I forced myself to get out of bed early to go to life drawing. There was a girl I was supposed to meet. She's hot and cold. Apparently today she was cold. But I was already there and already paid for the session. So I went and drew. Now and Then came out the other day so I wanted to listen to it. While, searching through my walkman to get the music I wanted I had two of the old men who are always there come up to me, assuming I had my phone out and accuse me nonverbally (you could tell from their faces) of having my phone out trying to sneak pictures of the model or something. Utterly disgusting. They had to save face by telling me not to do that as if there's something wrong with doing that. Granted, my reaction out of frustration and anger because as the only mixed person there they apparently were watching me like a hawk instead of, you know, drawing.

Whatever. It was a single pose and I drew several drawings. I do actually like how they turned out but now I wonder if I'll be welcome back next time. It almost feels like I wouldn't have had that experience had I not gone and been stood up by this girl who apparently is mad I didn't want to sleep with her when she was so drunk she was slurring her words. Even though I invited her to go drawing and hang out after to get to know each other. I got out of the drawing session and found she had soft blocked me from her private account. My only guess was that I didn't confirm again last night that she was still coming. But, if she was worried about that why not just message like a normal person? I'm so sick of insecure people.

It's for the best I suppose. Why would I want to be with someone that impulsive, who apparently is willing to assume the worst .

So I rode my bike back. I took a nap and woke up with just enough time to go to my boss's gallery show and help clean up. I think she appreciated me coming. But something else weird happened. In addition to me being dead tired, a girl I matched with on bumble who essentially sent me a no effort gif and then didn't respond when I sent her a gif back saying hello appeared out of the blue. I told my boss that the girl(let's call her K) looked familiar for some reason. Unfortunately by the time I figured it out that I knew her from Bumble my boss had gotten us wrapped up in a conversation with K and her boyfriend, who is a permanent resident, who has a company, and apparently is a successful board game maker. They also apparently are in a band as well. She added me on Instagram and I hope either she figured it out as well and we can just avoid each other or she never figures it out. I think my boss figured out something was wrong and suggested I head to practice... Speaking of which, today I had practice. I also came an hour early to start to teach myself how to play drums. Idk why. It was actually a bit calming to only be able to focus on counting the beats. Playing with the Beatles... And then we had the best practice possibly ever

[vesuvianmess]

Popsicles?

Art by @jilljoycearts Drexxel is @vesuvianmess Vell is @deathbyarcana

A short fic recounting how these two met, pulled (with some edits) directly from a currently running roleplay.

Quick Warning: Contains mentions of stalking and harassment

"You are very welcome, have a good rest of your day!" He waved the group off with a smile. "Hiya, what can I get you?" He asked another.

Flitting back and forth from group to group, he greeted every single person with a genuine smile. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing others light up with joy. He’d taken up working at the bakery part time to help with some expenses of running his own shop. And he had to admit, the smell of fresh baked bread may have influenced that choice. The job was never boring as the market was always flooded with people, locals and travelers alike, all looking for something. Still, he only worked with Selasi during the mornings and early afternoons. When he’d had his fill, he would return home to open the doors to his own little business.

But today, he had something a little different in mind. Instead of selling little animal pelts, herbs, bits, and bobbles, he was in and out again in a flash. Having changed into something much more comfortable for the heat, he pulled a wheeled cart behind him to the town square. Near the fountain, he’d found the perfect spot and pulled the cover off the cart. It would take him a little time to set everything up, but once it was done, he noticed people already beginning to gather around. Some faces he'd seen many, many times before. Others, much more new. Taking a seat on an overturned wooden bucket, he twirled a pair of drumsticks between his fingers. 

“Hello Vesuvia, I’m bringing you a special late afternoon show! Now then," he sat up a little, the line of his back straightening. "For those of you new to my show, we have fun here! Here's how this goes!" making a grand sweeping gesture to the gathered crowd, he continued on. "You may request a song but there is no guarantee I will play it. I will not tolerate pushing, shoving, or otherwise harmful activity during my shows. And, as always, tips are appreciated but not required, come stay for awhile and feel the beat of the sound! I'm Drexxel Volkov, and may luck be forever in your favor!" 

It started with a small metallic chime, a shortstop of little taps on the rims of the set. But before long the square was alight with the beating of drums. His whole body moved in time with each beat almost as if he were dancing along to his own song. Small children bounced and tugged at their parents' sleeves, urging them to get closer. New comers stood with delighted expressions, some even getting a little antsy standing in one place, others giving way to bouncing their bodies to the rhythm. 

There was nothing better than this, looking out into the crowd as he thrummed away the minutes, flipping the sticks and singing along even though nobody could hear him over the heartbeat he'd created. 

The crowd was thick as usual but new faces stuck out easy to him. Even with the prick of sweat beginning to roll down his forehead, he was able to focus enough to make everyone feel included in his performance. One face in particular he stopped at for more than a split second. A taller man with vivid blue hair, dark skin, and a sort of shaken demeanor. He looked….out of place perhaps amid the crowd, like he could bolt at any moment. Drexel found himself stealing glances at the man throughout his show, a dizzying knot of butterflies in his gut as he saw the man start to meld into the hum around him. The thrill of the performance carried him through like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, his fiery passion shining through clear as day. Every movement felt natural, every breath felt like a whole new beginning. Drexxel never came from a background that favored this sort of thing, rather it was something he'd picked up on his own time. He had the extra energy to spare and needed an outlet to help with it. Besides, he always did like seeing people smile and what better way to do that then get them moving? 

Into the second song now and he felt a wave of static run through him. Someone in the crowd was a magician. He could feel it. Even through the loud beating of drums and the crashing of cymbals the low electrical humming filled his body. He was sure of it. But was this magician able to sense him as well? That he did not know. He wasn’t sure precisely where the feeling was coming from, but he was determined to draw it out. With it toying at his mind, he decided it was time to show off just a little more. After all, using magic was a good way to lure out another magician. 

Drexxel simply waited as he beat along in time to find the perfect moment to really show off his moves. Normally he would have saved this bit for later in the evening, but he just had to do it now. After feeling that little pang of magic, he knew he had to show whoever was producing it, that they weren't the only one with fancy magic at their fingertips. Just a moment longer....

When the final chorus of the song hit, he let it loose. His drumsticks sparked and crackled to life, enveloped in searing hot flames. With his sticks now burning with intense heat, he slammed away at his drums with more grandeur and energy than before. With each hit fire roared from the contact point, creating a dazzling display of towers of fire in varying sizes. If anything were to draw this other magician out, it would be this. 

By the end of the show, much to his dismay, this fellow kin had not revealed themselves. It was a bit of a shame really, he would have loved to have someone join in his performance. What a dazzling display that would have been. He could only imagine what kind of magic would have complimented his own.

"Thank you all for joining me this afternoon!" He gave a bow, his hair falling a bit loose from his bun. "It's a hot one out today so make sure to stay hydrated and get some good food in your belly!" 

 He stood and lifted his arms over his head in a long stretch before using the rad cloth tied to his side to wipe away the sweat that cling to his skin. The show was over, but people still lingered in the area, some tossing coins into an open bowl near the drum set, others approaching Drexxel with questions. He was small for his age of twenty-five, standing at mere chest (or just below) level with most other adult’s that spoke with him. He had a thin, but decently sturdy frame with most of his strength apparent in his legs. Most people would know him for a scar that ran along his right cheek. Whenever asked about it he would simply tell them he didn’t remember where it came from but knew he’d had it most of his life. 

The town square was still bustling with people as he began to pack up his things. Above it all though, he could hear footsteps approaching him. He paused a moment then spun on his heel to come face to face with a regular to his shows. The man was leagues taller than himself and had a strange look to his eyes. He was holding a piece of paper, crumpled and damp with sweat in his hands. Drexxel heard the man speak but didn’t quite catch the words. 

“I’m sorry?” He responded back, urging the man to repeat himself. When he did, a chill ran down his spine. “...Go out with me. Dinner.” He pushed the paper into Drexxel’s hands. “You’re so pretty.” 

The smaller pulled the note apart just enough to read it. In shaken scrawl it read:

‘Don’t make a scene. I’ve been planning this. You and I belong together.’

He’d seen this sort of thing before in books and screenplays. Some secret admirer gets too confident and goes after someone who isn’t interested and it becomes a problem. Problem being a kind way to put it. Harassment was a better word for it. Bold of him to make the attempt in broad daylight, let alone a busy square. In the kindest way possible, Drexel looked up at the man and spoke.

“I’d love to, but I have plans this evening. Another show I mean.” 

He felt the prickle of magic in the air again, but it wasn’t coming from the man in front of him. The magician was still in the area. 

"Excuse me, I'm talking to you." the man's voice broke him from his thoughts. "I'll be picking you up this evening."

Drexxel's brow furrowed, the energy around him shifting like hissing smoke trying to catch on damp wood. 

"I'm really sorry, I mean it." He offered a sincerely looking apologetic smile. "But I really must be getting home." He made a move to leave but was stopped when the man caught his wrist. 

"You're not going anywhere short-stack." 

This....could be bad. As much as the crowd had dissipated, there were still people lingering about. Too much of a risk to cause a scene. But every fiber of Drexxel's being was telling him to flee. He needed an out. In the most...nonchalant way possible, he attempted to wriggle his wrist free. 

"Your performance really spoke to me Drexxy. It's like you were composing a symphony just for me." As he was caught in his own little moment, Drexxel pulled his wrist free. But it only lasted a second.

He felt a pull against his skin before he heard a small snap. The man had missed when reaching for Drexxel's wrist and instead caught the beaded double bracelet on his wrist. Beads had gone flying haphazardly in every direction, landing on the stones below like pellets. In that moment he felt the pull of magic much closer than before. This other magician was close. Very close. 

Drexxel was unfortunately used to people approaching him with much more....fervor than he anticipated. However, this particular instance was something else. He'd never had someone so adamant on taking him home. If this were to go on for a moment longer, he was sure to lose his composer. He may be a pretty upbeat guy but he also had a notoriously short fuse. 

That hissing aura was rapidly kindling itself from a crackling campfire to a firestorm. When his bracelet snapped, he felt something in him switch. Rage bubbled up under his skin like pot boiling over on a stove set too high. His fist clenched and a growl escaped him. 

But then, out of nowhere, everything around him stopped. He was about to throw a fiery punch but stopped short when he saw another man between him and his new 'friend'. It was the man he saw in the crowd! He said he was there to help just now. But what was he doing here and how did he…

"How--?" Then it hit him like a hard slap to the face. "So you're the magician I was picking up on!" His anger flickered back to amusement and joy. "I knew I wasn't imagining it! Oh! The helping thing, yes." 

Drexxel offered the newest stranger a warm, bright smile. Without hesitation, he grabbed his hand and shook it furiously. 

"Nice to meet you, I'm Drexxel! What do you say we blow this popsicle stand and get somewhere far away from this creep?"

The other man seemed to freeze up, like he expected a much worse response. His whole arm wobbled when Drexxel shook it. His eyes were wide and his lips parted in shock. It took him a minute to process what the smaller man had said to him. 

“Oh, I…that is….popcicles?” The man felt his face go hot, blood rushing to his cheeks. He was sure the smaller man would mistake him for a tomato. 

Drexxel watched him curiously. It was like watching the gears of a clock turning, the way this man seemed to be having an inner monologue with himself about whether or not he’d made the right call to get involved. He could feel how shaken up the man was, his hand trembling. Not very good at keeping his cool was he? Finally he spoke again. 

“It’s localized. My….my magic…it…I mean I…no, it. It will wear off when we get a distance away. He could follow? I- who, well…popsicles?”

Drexxel had always been good at making new friends and getting people to laugh and smile. He was small, yes, but he made up for his size with seemingly boundless energy. It was nearly impossible to not like the guy. But, he could tell, he kind of took this one by surprise. But it wasn't the first time someone had responded this way. Not often he got to see someone turn that red before though!

Whoever this new guy was, Drexxel had never seen his face in Vesuvia before. And he’dbeen in the city for quite some time now. It'd been since he was about nineteen. He knew almost every face in Vesuvia, even if a good handful of them were only in passing. But this one, this one he wanted to know more about. Consider his interest piqued. 

When time came back and this new magician struggled to make a clear sentence, it was all Drexxel could do to hold in a laugh. Localized magic though, not sure he'd heard of that one before. He completely skipped over the popsicle schtick.

"Localized huh? Hey, think you could use your magic with mine? I'm thinking....a wall of fire!" He still hadn't let go of the stranger's hand. "I could put a wall of fire around him, just tall enough to trip him up of course. You could stop time around it until we get far enough away that your....localization wears off!" Mossy green eyes brimmed with excitement. He gave the hand in his a squeeze. 

"I bet we'll make a great team!"

He could see the man trying to process the words coming out of Drexxel’s mouth. He’ll admit, he was a bit of a fast talker when he was excited. 

“Wall of fire…” He repeated Drexxel’s words, more to himself than the other, considering the idea. Not terribly flawed, he thought. A quick fix but not long lasting. “Worth…worth a shot.” an unsteady voice. “Wait - a team?” Vell had barely gotten the words out before the air thrummed with magical energy and, just as promised, fire sprung to life around the note wielding creep. If the situation weren’t as it was, he might have taken time to admire the flames.

"That's what I said isn't it? A team!" He mused, giving this new friend a wink. 

When time did in fact stop around his flames, the passion in his eyes burned that much brighter. He beamed at this new stranger. 

"Talk about a cool party trick. Come on, let's get out of here." Still gripping that hand, he took off. Hopefully this new friend could keep up with him. 

They took off out of the square, rushing past pedestrians and shopping stalls in a race to escape the area. Drexxel had taken the lead, ducking and diving under obstacles like it was as easy as breathing. He felt his new found companion trip up a few times but he managed to keep up the pace. He was new to Vesuvia and hadn’t the slightest idea where the two of them were headed. Drexxel looked back to check on his new friend at just the wrong moment. The edge of his sandal caught on uneven stone, sending him tumbling into an unattended fruit cart, scattering oranges along the alley. He’d never let go of this new companion’s hand, and in turn, the two of them fell together. The other man now had him pinned, a leg on either side of him. 

“I-- We-- uh…” The stranger fought to find the right words, feeling like a tea kettle ready to whistle. “We fell.” 

Drexxel could feel his own face burning a bright shade. He would have been able to laugh it off if it weren’t for his immediate attraction to this man. Impulse guiding him, he offered the man a toying smirk. “You know, I think this might be fate.” He winked. “And I don’t even know your name.” 

“M-my name?” The other man stuttered.

He tried to stand, pulling on Drexxel’s hands to pull him up as well, only to lose his footing. He fell back onto the stone, the smaller of the two now sitting perched on his abdomen. The look in his eyes was….entrancing. Intoxicating even. He couldn’t look away. “I’m Vell.” 

“Vell…” Drexxel liked the way the name felt when he said it. He let his hands drift to the other man’s chest, watching him with bright eager eyes.

Now, what was that saying about playing with fire?

[klbwriting]

Unexpected Allies - Chapter 9

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader

Summary: The Dregs finally have some bonding time but its ruined

Note: So complete honesty, the second song that inspired this fic makes an appearance in this chapter and its uh ‘I2I’ from A Goofy Movie so yes, you can all imagine my surprise when I heard this play for my kids and instantly said ‘the Dregs would love this shit’ and well, I went with it, also I think I used this gif already but I love it so its appearing again

Taglist: @amwitherspoon​ @mcntsee​

Y/N spent the next day trying to catch up with everyone from her past, seeing old friends and even training the new Grisha that were volunteering for the army.  It was refreshing after being forced to play a role she hated for so many years.  She felt freer than she had in a long time and she felt herself coming out of her shell more.  She struck up an instant friendship with Nina as the women trained the up and coming Grisha and she finally asked about Kaz's time in Ketterdam more. "So in Ketterdam you were a servant?" Y/N asked, staring at Nina surprised.  "And I knew Kaz was in the Dregs but he wasn't the actual leader?" "I was an indenture," Nina corrected.  "And no, Kaz was second in command to Per Haskell and well, I guess since Per didn't survive the assault Kaz is sort of in charge now.  He probably said he was in charge to impress you."   Y/N blushed and tried to brush it off. "I don't think Kaz goes around thinking about how to impress me," she said, sitting down at the dinner table with her plate of food.  Nina smiled and shook her head. "Look, we all know that you and Kaz have a thing, Jesper can't keep his mouth shut, but we've all agreed that we don't want to say anything because no one wants to die by caning," she said.  "So yes, Kaz Brekker thinks about impressing you, and apparently stalks you since that's about the 6th time I've seen him looking at you since lunch."  She nodded her head towards the line for food where Kaz was standing.  When Y/N looked and saw him he looked at Matthias as if he had been listening to what the giant was saying.   Y/N shook her head and looked back at Nina.  "I'm impressed that you somehow broke through that icy wall he has around him." "I don't think I broke it, feels kind of like I just found a small door and crawled through," she said.  "I mostly just want him to be happy, well as close to happy as Kaz Brekker gets.  Though I'm not made of kruge so I doubt he's that happy." "Who knows, maybe he likes you more than kruge," Nina said.  Both women started laughing, drawing some attention to themselves.  Jesper and Inej soon joined them with Wylan coming soon after.  Matthias was next and finally Kaz.  He approached the table and cleared his throat.  Wylan looked up from his spot next to Y/N.   "What?" he asked, noticing the murderous look on Kaz's face.   Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled.   "Move merchling before he gets angry," Jesper said, pulling Wylan closer to him.   "I don't know how you tell...he always looks angry," the boy grumbled as he started eating.   Y/N saw Kaz throw him a look before he started eating himself.  

A few minutes into the conversation about the possible job that was going to be given to the Dregs Wylan threw a hand up and it smacked Kaz's shoulder.  Kaz had let down his guard some, not really paying attention and didn't expect the interaction.  He paled and felt a little dizzy for a moment, the world going a little fuzzy.  He hadn't had an incident like this in a long time.  He had come to expect the small bumps and touches from others and braced himself all the time for them.  Now however, after the journey and him having held hands with Y/N last night, he had let down that guard thinking he was getting better, but this proved him wrong.  No one else seemed to notice that he was struggling and he was glad, he didn't want them to see his weakness so clearly on display.  He had to recover quick but at the moment he didn't know how, his vision wasn't refocusing and he could feel his chest closing, feeling sickness rising in him.   "Kaz, listen to me."  Her voice, he heard it in his head.  At least he thought that's where it was.  "Breathe.  Breathe again.  One more time.  Now close your eyes and open them.  Look at me."  He did as she said and when he opened his eyes and looked at her he saw they were alone at the table.  She smiled at him.  "I told them you were still tired from the journey, they went to set up a fire circle for tonight, asked for us newcomers to join them."   "Alright," Kaz said.  He was still focusing on her voice, letting her talk and letting the sound ground him.  From the way she was looking at him he thought that she knew what he was thinking so she kept on the conversation for them both.  They wanted her to bring her guitar, wanted to hear her sing something.  She hoped she didn't embarrass him with her song choice, it was going to be a silly thing she had written while in school.   "Do you think you can stand and walk, they're waving us over now," she said.  He hadn't realized it had gotten truly dark already.  He was going to need to be better about keeping  his guard up, he couldn't let something like that happen again.  He nodded and stood, leaning more on his cane then normal.   Y/N rose and kept a good distance between them, giving him space that he desperately needed and he appreciated her for it.  They worked their way to the other Dregs and sat on seats around a roaring fire.

"Could have used your help with this thing Miss Inferni" Matthias said, giving her an annoyed look.  Nina elbowed him in the ribs.   "I could light your coat on fire if you really want to use my powers like I'm a trained dog," Y/N shot back, sitting down.  Jesper had run to her tent and gotten her guitar.  He sat down and handed it to her.  Kaz sat down next to her and she felt his mood shift, his panic attack was over and he was back.  He looked at her and nodded, confirming he was alright and she nodded back. "Play the song, I think we all want to hear it," Wylan said.  The others murmured agreement and Y/N blushed.  This song was so dumb and she was going to be mortified but she had promised. "Alright so remember I wrote this when I was around 14 so its going to sound like silly fantasy nonsense," she said.  She tuned the guitar a little bit to make it sound brighter and started playing.  It was more upbeat than anything she had played recently and she was really struggling with getting the rhythm down until she heard someone playing what sounded like drums near her.  She looked up and Wylan had a bowl and some spoons and was making a beat for her to play too.  'Thank you' she mouthed to him and he smiled brightly back as he kept playing.  She finally found the beat and started to sing.

"I got myself a notion, one I know that you'll understand To set the world in motion by reaching out for each other's hand"

She teasingly reached out to Kaz, a smile on her face so he knew she was playing.  She expected him to blow her off, roll his eyes and look away, but to her surprise he actually squeezed her hand for just a moment before pulling back.  She felt her heart do a little leap in her chest.  It was one thing for him to touch her in private, where no one could see, but out here with friends was another story, he was comfortable with her and was showing it around others.  The others didn't seem to notice as they were having fun moving in their seats, sometimes making wooping noises to the music as she kept singing about love saving the world.  It was silly but it made everyone smile and that was what she was hoping to do.  They deserved this time to bond as friends again. As the song ended they heard a mocking clapping from nearby.   Y/N turned to look at who was ruining this moment and saw an older man who looked rough, and well, his eyes held evil in them, covered in a thin layer of cruelty.   "That was lovely, just so sweet to see the Dregs back together," he said, voice light, like he was talking to old friends.  Inej stood up, folding her arms. "Not now Rollins, we will speak later," she said.  It clicked for Y/N who this was.  Pekka Rollins.  The man who had nearly destroyed Kaz.  Rage roared inside her and she stood abruptly.  She could feel the anger radiating off of Kaz next to her but he was controlling himself, biding his time.

"O, want to give me a private show little lady?" Pekka said.  This brought Kaz to his feet.  He had felt more then seen the rage that had filled Y/N when she realized who this was.  He was practiced at containing his malice for Rollins but she wasn't.  When she stood he stayed seated, hoping that Rollins would just finish whatever business he came here for and then leave.  Apparently that wasn't going to happen. "What business?" Kaz asked like they were in Ketterdam again.  He figured that's not how things worked around here but it would hopefully remind Rollins of whatever he came here to do.  Rollins laughed. "Living in the past my friend, time to catch up.  I just came to thank you Brekker, breaking me out of that Fjerda prison saved my life.  If I hadn't be escaping I wouldn't have heard those Second Army shits talking about demolishing Ketterdam.  Thanks to you I got most of my crew out, sorry about yours though, shame you couldn't get them out," he said.  Kaz took a deep breath, remembering that his time to kill Rollins was fast approaching.  He would do it in secret of course, take his time in the night and make sure that by morning the body would be unrecognizable.  This mantra kept Kaz from striking the bastard right here.  But it didn't keep Y/N at bay.   Before anyone could react she threw a large rock right at Rollins's face, cracking him in the nose.  Blood poured and he cried out in anger and pain. "You bitch!" he said.   Y/N had a fireball in her hand ready to fire. "Leave now, your business here is finished," she said, becoming every inch the Darkling's second in that moment.  Kaz could see her where someone evil, someone like him, could trust her, deep inside she was the same, she just worked to suppress those traits while he relished in them.  Rollins took the hint and walked away, some of his crewmates coming over to help, glaring at Y/N as they left.   Kaz and Y/N sat down again and they looked at each other.  He was asking her to help him kill Pekka Rollins, tonight, without saying a word.  She understood him completely and nodded. "Tonight," she said.  He wished she hadn't spoken it aloud but it didn't really matter. "You can't kill him Kaz," Inej said.  He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "His death is mine to collect," he said.  "I call the shots for the Dregs and I saw when I take a life."  Inej took a breath and he saw her change, her demeanor becoming one of a leader, ready to compete with him instead of work under him. "It doesn't work like that here Brekker," she said.  "Pekka Rollins did get most of his crew out so our people from Ketterdam joined together, everyone was a Dime Lion or a Dreg and we were forced to become partners.  If you kill Pekka Rollins then those sides will start infighting and this resistance already has enough of that.  Leave him be, a Dreg cannot kill a Dime Lion."  Kaz gripped his cane tight and stood, turning and walking a few steps.  He stopped and glanced back, knowing that Y/N was following him.  He let her catch up to him and they walked back to his tent. "I have a plan," she said as they entered.  Kaz looked at her a little surprised and a little proud.   "Let's hear it," he said.  He knew they probably were thinking of the same plan but he would let her have the credit for it. "I'll get Rollins, if I had to subdue him I will but with how he looked at me I think he'll come willingly.  We got out of camp and then you can have your revenge.  I'll burn the body after.  If he's found everyone will think I did it and after my display tonight I'm sure no one would be surprised.  I'll make sure to distance myself from you and the Dregs out there, make sure they can't pin it on you guys," she said.  Kaz smirked and nodded. Well, think you can work your magic in about an hour?  Head out of the camp and go east, I heard there's a hut there for skinning animals, I think I'll borrow it," Kaz said, feeling the sick thrill of knowing he was going to do something truly horrifying.  

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Business AU - Working Late, Part 8

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7

There’s one scene in there I had in mind ever since I started writing that small fic and HELL YEH I’m gonna draw something about it at some point because fsdfbbsfbsdhbfgsbgdfguidfg it just looks aesthetically pleasing in my head.

ENJOY.

(also reminder that I base Donnie’s place on this video. The only part I change is the “kids” area - which is horrendous imo :’D - and I make into a lab/small training area)

There was something different in the air when Vee got to work the next day. This feeling that wanted to explode out in the open, an incessant rush in her veins that made her heart beat faster whenever she’d spot the terrapin. Their tasks for the day didn’t give them much time to talk, but everytime they’d be exchanging words or documents, there was this longing sensation that slowed down time to a honey sweet pace. Fingers brushing against the other, light touches here and there. Professionalism remained king in the work place and they intended to keep it as such.

By the end of the day, she knew she couldn’t leave without at least wishing a good and proper evening to the mutant. She walked to his office, remaining at the doorframe as she watched him place various papers into a briefcase. Vee gently knocked, signaling her presence, to which Donnie responded by looking up to her and adorning the cutest smile.

“At least this time I didn’t scare you,” started the woman.

“As I said yesterday, I had a lot on my mind. At least today my thoughts are a little clearer, so I can’t be easily scared. Come in!” he added, gesturing for Vee to step inside.

“I won’t take much of your time, I just wanted to check up on you before leaving.”

The turtle placed some final documents in the case, snapping it closed afteward.

“I was actually about to leave as well. Want me to drive you back home?”

“Do you have something planned?” asked Vee, raising a brow with a small smile.

Donnie faked pondering, lightly drumming his fingers on his desk: “Hmm, I suspect I might be spending the evening with a pretty lady, if she agrees.”

“Lucky her, I’m sure she’ll say yes,” winked the woman.

Already on the move, Donnie offered a hand for Vee to hold, the duo then walking together in order to reach the indoor garage at some levels below.

“Is it okay, though? Did you have something to do after work?” asked the terrapin.

“I was planning on having a drink back home, but if I can share one with you, that’d be even better.”

“How about you have that drink at my place? I have a couple of bottles that might interest you.”

“You know that if I am to step foot into your place, I will be incredibly jealous, right? ... I’m sure you must be living in a luxurious place or something.”

“A little castle in the sky, but it sure is missing a beautiful presence inside of it.”

Vee blushed, definitely enjoying the compliments that were left here and there.

Once in the vehicle, the duo made their way to the streets, the conversation light and simply glad the week was finally over. Vee did notice that their path led them to streets that featured tall buildings in the Tribeca district. For a moment she felt out of place, definitely not the target audience for such a high-end environment, but her curiosity kept her on edge only to be able to get a view of Donnie’s place. They were first facing a tower with a blank stone facade, extending so high up in the sky. The entrance’s interior was as elegant and refined as the exterior, the place giving out this feeling of prestige from every corners. As they stepped inside an elevator, Vee’s eyes widened a little as she saw Donnie press the button for the 78th floor. Castle in the sky, indeed.

As they arrived at the desired level, they were soon facing the entry door, the turtle smirking to the woman as he held the doorknob and waited.

“Ready?”

“Open the damn thing already so I can cry a little inside,” answered Vee amusedly.

The door fully opened, she couldn’t retain her gasp as her eyes started to devour the interior of what was rightfully a penthouse.

The very first few rooms she saw around left her speechless, the single thought of ‘this is bigger than my whole damn apartment’ flooding her mind. She knew there would be more, her curiosity would lead her to visit every rooms anyway. She did notice french doors leading to an outdoor balcony, her instinct pushing her to get out and take in the view.

Stopping by the the rails, she could feel the refreshing gusts of wind go through her hair, accentuating the euphoria of being so high over the city.

“So, what do you think so far?”

She turned around to face Donnie, the terrapin leaning against the open doors’ frame, always this smile on his face - glad to see her reaction. Vee tried to play it cool, shrugging.

“Heh, I’ve seen better,” she joked.

“Ah damn, and I wanted to impress,” tsked the terrapin in a similar tone.

Vee couldn’t retain her smile any longer, happily trotting back inside.

“You still have your chances. Show me the rest!”

The lower level was also home to a small office and a formal living room, but the next area was what retained the woman’s attention the most.

The kitchen was a thing of beauty, Vee unable to resist the urge to feel the marbled island and counters, in awe of the space.

“Damn, I WISH I had such a kitchen. I'd be cooking all the time!”

“You fancy yourself as a chef?” questionned Donnie.

“I do like to experiment from times to times,” she winked back.

She clapsed her hands together, bringing another subject on a rather similar topic:

“SO! What should we eat? I could even prepare something if you want.”

The turtle waved that offer away.

“Nonsense, you're my guest, you shouldn't be doing anything of that sort. … I uh-” He opened some cupboards, then the fridge and its freezer. “Wow, I have almost nothing! Except one frozen pizza for dire situations,” he added, waving a box out in the open with an unpleased expression.

Vee was instantly on board: “You know what? Fuck yeah. It's Friday night, we deserve that.”

“Now that's a line of thought I can get behind.”

As Donnie was starting to preheat the oven, Vee got closer, some questions raising in her mind:

“Although, I'm kinda susprised you don't have much variety, judging by the size of this place.”

“Not gonna lie, I need to go grocery shopping,” shrugged the mutant. “Also that tends to happen at certain times of the month. Mikey has us go through our stock, fresh and canned, in order to donate to food banks and soup kitchens.”

“That's amazing and kind!” Vee was pleasantly surprised.

“He does have this city at heart, and he loves to give back to the people,” continued Donnie. “We all love the idea. Since we can afford pretty much anything we want, it's only fair that we help those in needs. … Heck, this city has done a lot for us in the past and we had to rely on what others were throwing away for us to survive. Now it's time to pay back.”

“I find that to be very admirable,” commented the woman gently. “… Not a lot of people would do the same.”

“Indeed. It’s not because we’re mutants that it means we’re savages. We do have some heart under our shells,” he playfully added.

The oven ready, the food was placed to cook and the tour then continued. As Vee was heading to the staircase in order to reach the upper level, Donnie stopped her, pressing a button nearby and opening a encased door in the wall to reveal a small elevator.

“Show off!” laughed Vee

“What?! It can be helpful!” he quipped back with a smile.

The second floor offered two sections, one part leading to the bedroom, but the other leading to entertainement and other things. They first got to the media room, the place cozy for a nice and quiet evening.

But Vee’s eyes brought her to the glass doors that led to a juliet balcony, not wasting any time to open them and take another good look at the city.

She sighed dreamily, barely hearing the faint clinking of glasses and a bottle opening back inside.

“You like the view, don’t you?” started Donnie as he next got near, offering her a glass of red wine.

“It looks and feels like a dream. Didn’t know such a place could be found in this city.”

As she took it, the terrapin next sled his free hand and forearm gently around her waist, unable to resist the need to feel her closer... Vee did not mind, actually leaning back a little against him, gladly taking a sip of her drink before answering:

“You’d be surprised, there are bigger places laying around.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t look as tasteful as yours.”

“Nonsense. It only looks good right now ‘cause you’re in here. ... Any places you’re in looks a thousand times better than before.”

Vee’s blush was more apparent as she could feel the other gently nuzzle the top of her head, slowly making his way to a temple and leaving a soft kiss there.

“You’re one heck of a charmer, did you know that?” added the woman with a smirk.

“I only aim to please, I can’t help it.”

She turned to face him, raising a brow in amusement.

“And so what now? You brought me to your place only so you could woo and please me?”

“That does sound like a good plan.”

The feel of his hand next cupping her cheek brought a shiver across the woman’s body, leaning slightly to his touch. His scales did feel foreign compared to human skin, but there was a certain softness to it as well that only made her crave for more...

“Each days I wake up and wonder if meeting you was ever a dream...,” softly said the mutant.

“I wouldn’t mind making it feel a bit more real to you.”

That brought a quiet chuck out of Donnie, but also gave him enough courage to lean in and place a sweet, slow kiss on Vee’s lips. Each instances would bring their bodies closer, the duo mindlessly making their way back inside and only breaking their kiss to leave their wine glasses on a nearby coffee table. It was that magnetism, a certain je ne sais quoi that sparked that fire in them whenever they’d get that close. Last evening’s passion was still lingering and right now it felt as if there had been no break at all since then. As Vee was starting to unbutton the mutant’s shirt, both heard a beeping sound, stopping them dead in their tracks. Their eyes fell on Donnie’s right wrist - his watch.

“Shit, the food,” said the terrapin. “I, uh, I’ll be right back,” he added, trying to gain back his senses. “I’ll get it out and let it cool for a bit on the counter.”

“Sure, go,” replied Vee with a small smile, slightly flustered as she replaced her crooked glasses and moved some strands of hair away from her face.

She took back her wine as she watched him go. A part of her was telling her to slow down, but on the other hand she couldn’t deny that the need was there - on both sides. What harm could there be? It was just about having a little bit of fun... She proceeded back to the hallway, sipping as her gaze scanned the decor. She heard hurried steps in the staircase, soon Donnie’s shape coming into view. He tried to play it cool as he noticed the woman looking at him, vaguely gesturing in the kitchen’s direction downstair.

“It’s ready whenever you want.”

Vee took another sip, then adding: “We still haven’t finished the tour yet. Let’s do that first!”

“There’s not much left, but alright.”

“‘Not much left’, says the guy who lives in a two-story penthouse WITH an elevator,” pointed Vee, amused.

The mutant chuckled, inviting the woman to follow him as he left a hand at the small of her back. The next part had been completely renovated in order to have one room be a small lab, and the other one be a private gym and training area.

“What kind of trainings do you do?” inquired Vee, looking around at the equipment.

“Mostly nin-uhm, martial arts,” Donnie quickly corrected himself.

“’Nin-uhm-martial-arts’, sounds interesting,” laughed the woman. “Any specialty?”

“Bōjutsu,“ he replied, grabbing a pole from a rack nearby.

Vee whistled in appreciation, her eyes scanning the weapon.

“I’ve heard that can pack quite a punch, surprisingly.”

“It’s good to whack some butts, not gonna lie,” added Donnie, rolling the staff in one hand. Then in one swift movement he brought the woman closer, the pole resting at her back. “It can also be helpful for some maneuvers,” he ended with a smirk.

“Such a tease,” said Vee, playfully tapping at his exposed plastron. “I wouldn’t say no to a demonstration.”

“Another day, perhaps.”

He let her free, putting the staff back to its resting place

“Aight, come on, one room left!”

“What about that lab part?” asked Vee, following the terrapin next.

“There’s nothing much to see, frankly. It’s pretty messy as well.”

“Or maybe you’re just a mad scientist and you don’t want me to see your evil inventions?”

Donnie faked a surprised gasp: “Alas, you’ve uncovered my secret!”

Both were laughing as they made their way to the last room; the master bedroom.

It was quite simple and charming, but the main feature remained the large windows that gave that same phenomenal view of the city. Vee took some time to appreciate the decor, sipping the last drops of wine from her glass.

“... I can’t imagine waking up every day with such a view,” she mused, her gaze drifting back to the windows. “You must feel on top of the world.”

“Wait, I can make it even better,” said the other as he moved to the light switch.

As soon as he turned the lights off, the room’s atmosphere changed, suddenly illuminated by a sea of stars below them.

Envelopped in darkness, yet glistening in colorful lights, Vee felt at peace - a hidden watcher over this tumultuous city. She next felt her glass gently get taken away from her hold, the mutant leaving it on a small table nearby. It didn’t take long for him to get back close to her, his arms surrounding Vee’s form as he stood behind her. The woman easily slipped into that feel good moment, closing her eyes and exposing a faint smile on her lips. He felt so strong, yet tender - the promise of a good man that would never do her wrong...

“... I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmured, his hands travelling along Vee’s arms in light touches.

Oh to hell with it. She decided to move out of Donnie’s hold, proceeding to remove her shirt. She turned around to face him, noticing his gaze studying her form and probably a bit surprised to suddenly see her in her bra. But she didn’t give a damn. That’s what she wanted.

“And I’m glad to be here,” she answered calmly.

She heard that deep churr rise again in the mutant’s chest, an expression of desire which would entice her so much in return... Vee couldn’t help bringing her hands to his exposed chest, feeling the faint vibration and appreciating the texture of his plastron. Her touch lowered, continuing her previous task of unbuttoning his shirt. The turtle helped a bit by detaching another button behind his neck and then at his lower back, allowing the clothing to be properly removed from around his shell’s attachment. Without a shirt, Vee could rightfully observe the terrapin’s muscles, her fingers lightly hovering his toned arms and appreciating every inches of what she saw. All it took was for their gazes to cross, her greens in his golds, to bring back that same need from earlier. Kiss me again and again, and never stop...

The feel of his lips was pure addiction at this point. A slow dance that lightened up all her senses. Soon enough he was sitting down on the bed, Vee inviting herself unto his lap only so she couldn’t break their kissing. To feel his three-fingered hands across her skin kept her in such an incessant need, feeling like she was drowning in-between her legs. The terrapin dared to unclasp and remove her bra, although the whole movement felt very natural. In return, the woman removed her glasses, as well as Donnie’s, taking a moment to admire his traits.

“... You have such beautiful eyes,” she cooed, next tenderly sliding his bandana away.

She couldn’t get over the feeling of his scales under her fingers, soon nuzzling his cheek and her lips trailing light kisses here and there.

“Fais-moi l’amour (make love to me),” she whispered.

Donnie answered with a stronger churr, his hands travelling lower on Vee’s body only to bring her closer into one delicious wave motion, her lower core meeting his hidden erection. The movements were repeated, getting a momentarily release for all that sudden need. It was when he started to hear quiet moans out of her that he decided ‘screw it‘ and proceeded to shift her position to have her lay on the bed, on her back. Bringing himself over her, he left some kisses on her lips before starting to trail along her features, his tone husky as he started:

“You smell nice...”

He went along her throat, his pace slow and delightful. His path led him lower and lower, from her breasts to her stomach.

“I’m sure you taste nice too,” he added.

Sitting on his knees, he brought Vee’s hips over his thighs, but he gave himself a pause, his palm caressing the front part of her jeans.

“You good? You still wanna go on with this?” asked the terrapin.

She nodded, biting her lip in delight.

“Absolutely, or else I wouldn’t be laying here, half naked. ... What about you?”

He smiled, already at the task of unbuttoning and unzipping Vee’s pants.

“I never want to stop.”

In one swift movement, he removed her panties as well, undressing her completely without issue. He took a moment to study her form softly illuminated by the lights outside. She was a work of art to his eyes and right now he felt like the luckiest man alive... He lovingly squeezed her hips and altered with languid caresses over the woman’s skin, only to next bring one of his hands closer to her core, his thumb starting in slow circles over her clit. He could feel the relief washing over Vee’s body, her waist lightly following his motion only so she could feel more. The greater her need, the more Donnie didn’t want to let go. He even got to slip one finger in her at some point, her moans an absolute delight as he took his time. After a moment, he dared get his finger out, his gaze plunged in Vee’s as he licked his digit with a low churr.

“... You do taste nice,” he commented lovingly. “Now I wonder how you’d feel around me.”

Vee was unable to speak, her heart beating so hard and throwing any reason out the window... As she saw Donnie about to unzip his pants, she got on the move and decided to take the matter in her own hands. They joined in a kiss as she got to the task, the mutant’s hands caressing her skin and sometimes getting lost in her hair, visibly as much in need as her for their imminent union. He was able to get out of his pants and underwear in a slight clumsy fashion, but he was quickly back on his knees, allowing Vee to observe him. Of a mixed pink and purple color, his penis did present some characteristics that were not human, such as a slightly flared tip. As it had been internal until now, the organ was coated in natural lubricant when out, most probably allowing for an easier penetration and accomodation to any partner. He was a bit longer than what Vee ever experienced with other partners, but right now her desire was surpassing any concerns. They didn’t need to speak, Vee bringing the mutant into another kiss, allowing herself to climb back into his lap only for their cores to meet and rub in a delicious manner. The world around them was a blur of shadows and lights, only their presence the most real and tangible aspect in the room. Their thoughts were a cloud of mixed emotions, but right now what mattered most was that they wanted this. They needed this. A demonstration of love they’ve been holding back for some time now... Donnie instinctively started to shift forward, getting Vee back on the mattress. He was careful enough to hold back some of his weight on her, having enough strength to sustain himself, even when the woman would cling to him. He felt her legs gently caress along his, finding the best position to hold close to his hips, his shell proving to be somewhat of a challenge. That slight shift in her position allowed for better friction, the turtle’s languid motions bringing delighted mewls out of Vee. At some points he could feel his tip trying to slip in, to which he thought ‘fuck it’ and decided to go all in. Vee’s gasp brought him to a pause, remaining inside of her only so she could adjust.

“You okay?” he murmured, encouraging her with some kisses here and there on her features.

She nodded, her fingers lovingly going across his scales at his neck and shoulders.

“I’ll go slow, I promise,” he added.

He’d never excuse himself if he ever were to hurt her, anyway. His churr rumbled again as he slowly moved his hips in a circular motion, Vee sticking to him like glue. Her toes were curling due to pleasure, her body soon following Donnie’s pattern only to better meet his thrusts. Some slurred “fuck” and “oh oui” would leave her at times, sometimes interrupted by kisses that translated all the desire in her. At some point Donnie shifted their position so they would lay on their sides, still facing eachother. He helped one of Vee’s leg to stay up, his palm resting behind her thigh, allowing her to feel his muscles at work.

“You feel so good,” he complimented, back into an amorous motion.

The friction created by this new proximity was bringing Vee on edge. She was unable to answer anything, her breathing making her lose her words. It was the only encouragement the mutant needed, nuzzling her as he kept going. Everything felt so natural. As if all the pieces of an intricate puzzle had finally been assembled. There was this sensation of completion between them, knowing that something in their bond would definitely shift - hopefully for the best.

“You like that, baby? I won’t stop. I wanna feel you cum around me...”

She moaned his name in return, her eyes remaining shut as she lost herself even more in the moment. Every touches and kisses heightened all sensations, bringing both of them to an edge they so very craved for. Feeling Vee’s body tensing up slightly, the terrapin knew she was close to an orgasm, lightly squeezing his hold on her and bringing her into a french kiss. His thrusts were a little more forceful, their bodies tingling in anticipation. It was when she gasped for air, her nails digging into his scales, that he knew she was high on a cloud. He could feel her walls deliciously clamp around him, the sensation bringing him to his own edge as well. His orgasm brought him to slow his pace to long and langorous pumps. Their moans intertwined, riding this wave together. Neither of them wanted to depart once the high died down, keeping close and slowly petting eachother. Vee did bring Donnie’s attention on her as she left small kisses along his jawline. His golden eyes seemed to shine in this surreal lighting, conveying many unspoken words. There was this feeling of peace he never experienced with anyone else before. An affirmation that this was where he belonged, in her arms, as well as she belonged in his. They were still connected and it felt so right...

“Well, now that really opened my appetite,” finally said Vee with a small smile.

He smiled in return, leaving a kiss on her forehead. His appetite was growing as well, and for many things too...

***

Only wearing their underwears and glasses, both were now cuddled up in blankets on the couch in the media room, the television on to a random channel as they were eating their pizza (which they had to reheat, to their amusement). As they finished their meal, Vee did not mind cuddling closer to the turtle, simply enjoying eachother’s presence. Her attention did drift from the television at some point, observing Donnie’s traits instead. She was used to seeing him with his purple bandana, but even with a bare face and only his glasses he still had a lot of charms. He had a kind face and the cutest snout, the mere sight of him a wonder when compared to humankind. The terrapin did notice her focus on him at some point, smirking.

“Yes? Can I help you, madame?”

“I have a question.”

“Outrageous,” he added playfully. “... Do tell.”

She shifted her position a bit, bringing an arm against his chest, softly petting the scales at his collarbone and base of his neck.

“Why do you and your brothers wear those bandanas? ... If it’s too personal, you don’t need to answer.”

His smile was renewed and sweet, his arm around her bringing his hand to pet her shoulder and skin in return.

“I don’t mind answering at all, although I’ll skip some details.... But long story short, it was a gift given to us by our father, years ago. It has a great significance for us and it’s still a great proof of all we had to learn and overcome in order to be who we are today.”

“Something symbolic then, that’s nice,” added Vee. “As long as it brings something positive in your life, that sure can be as nice as anything. .... Also, not gonna lie, purple looks good on you.”

“It’s my favorite and it’s the best color, that’s why! What’s your favorite color?”

Vee was amused by this simple question, but that brought her to move once more. She was now straddling the terrapin, her eyes scanning him as she answered:

“It’s green.”.

“Oh,” added the other in amusement. “So I guess I must be quite the jackpot for you?”

"You're everything I want..."

There was no ounce of hesitation as she leaned forward to give him a sweet kiss. Donnie easily gave in, his hands resting at the small of the woman’s back This time there was no shyness in-between them, only comfort and peace. Soon enough the television was nothing but background noise as they kept going for a second round that night...

((Part 9))

[sprnklersplashes]

songwriter!janis fic (unrequited crush, no-very-happy-ending) 

also on ao3

It all started because she loved Taylor Swift when she was in middle school. Who is she kidding, she still loves Taylor Swift, but that’s where all this began. A middle school girl’s obsession with Taylor Swift. A confused, sad girl with a broken heart and smudged black eyeliner, finding refuge in lyrics about loneliness and anger and revenge. They became anthems for her, mantras to mutter when the warzone of middle school became too much for her.

“Someday, I’ll be living in a big old city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean.”

“Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in.”

“I can still see you, this ain’t the best view.”

It amazes her. It’s honestly as if Taylor Swift has managed to look into her life and given her a bundle of songs for whatever she needs. For when Regina has thrown her one too many snide looks, for when she’s standing at the door of North Shore High on her first day, for when she eats lunch alone, for when her mom is the best mom she could have asked for, for when she and Damian are lying on the grass in her backyard, staring up at the sky, laughing at absolutely nothing. The songs become the soundtrack to her life, the chords and those raw, honest lyrics an emotional outlet she so desperately craves. Taylor, and her songs, become a confidant, almost a close friend who always knows what to say.

With all that in mind, perhaps it was only a matter of time before she asks for a guitar for Christmas. She’s fourteen, braces and a slight lisp, and jumps up and down like a mad woman when she sees it under the tree.

She practices for three days straight, until her fingers bleed, but Should’ve Said No is the first song she learns off by heart. She yells the lyrics with maybe a little too much passion, but her parents applaud her nonetheless.

Like she said, that’s how it all started.

Because that same Christmas, she realises that screaming her feelings while playing guitar actually feels pretty cathartic. And that if it worked for Taylor Swift, it could work for her. So she writes stuff down, plays around with chords and strumming until the beat on the guitar matches the one in her head. She grabs a page and a pencil and writes and re-writes her innermost thoughts and feelings on the page until they sound the way she wants them to. She plays around with rhyme schemes and structure and everything she’s been taught about in English class, and a thrill runs through her as she does so. It’s the same breathless high she feels when she paints or draws, the rush that comes from creating something.

Her parents sit on the other side of her bedroom door, no doubt exchanging worried glances as she repeats the same verse, same chorus, with only a word changed. She watches them when they think she can’t see, peering through the crack in her door. The conclusion they seem to come to is ‘well, as coping mechanisms go, it’s pretty good, and she’s happy, so who are we to stop it?’.

It takes her four days to finish her first song. And it sucks. But she keeps it, writes down the lyrics and chords in one of the few empty notebooks she has, and there’s no going back from it now. She writes, and she writes, and she writes, near enough every day. She likes to think she gets better with each one. She learns more chords, buys a cheap ukulele the summer after freshman year, tries her hand at piano during a particularly difficult few weeks. She doesn’t plan on doing anything with them. They’re just her little pieces to hold on to. Her therapy sessions outside the carpeted office.

No-one knows about it. She has a reputation to keep up, after all. The loner-by-choice, too-cool-for-school, aloof art freak. Everyone has their roles to play in the ecosystem that is high school and, much as she hates the entire system, that is hers to play. And she plays it well, if she may say so. The fact that hardly anyone knows her past that facade suits her just fine. After all, if people think she doesn���t care, she can’t get hurt. No-one needs to know that Janis Sarkisian actually has feelings.

Even less need to know that she writes songs about said feelings.

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By the time she reaches her junior year, she’s onto her third notebook. She keeps them tucked away in her sock drawer, expertly hidden so only she can find them. Damian teases her about it, calling her “the protagonist of a Disney Channel Original Movie”. She just rolls her eyes and reminds him that “if either of us is gonna be Disney’s first openly gay character, it’ll be you”. He can’t argue with that.

It should be noted that when Janis said that no-one knows about her songwriting, Damian was the obvious exception. He found out just weeks after she started. There’s no keeping secrets from him.

Between all her notebooks, she’s written around forty songs.

Then she meets Cady Heron one day. The human embodiment of a labrador puppy, complete with wide, lost eyes. She likes her instantly, decides to take her under her wing because Lord knows the girl needs it. Cady’s smile is infectious, her laugh like a summer breeze. She has dimples and caramel-coloured hair and really likes maths.

She meets Cady on a Monday.

By that Saturday, song number 41-titled “Dimples and Curls” is more or less complete.

She plays it for Damian, hands only slightly shaking as she changes chords, the strumming short and upbeat, the melody strangely happy for such a bittersweet song.

He applauds her, but the subject of the song hangs in the air even after she’s played the last chord and the music fades. Unsaid, but not unknown. Just like her songwriting, Janis couldn’t keep a crush from Damian if she tried.

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“Hey, check it out.”

Cady drops onto the seat across from Janis, the whole table shaking as she does so. Like a small meteor just hit Earth. Janis looks up from her lunch, pretending like she had been doing her own thing and not watching the door until Cady came in. Pretending like her stomach doesn’t do little flips at the sight of her crossing the cafeteria. She pulls the flyer towards her and hums in amusement.

“The winter talent show,” she reads before chomping off a carrot stick. “Oh, is it that time of year already?”

“Seems like only yesterday we was welcoming the young’uns into this brave new world during the harvest season,” Damian sighs, putting on a delightfully over the top Southern Belle accent, no doubt influenced by their reading of Streetcar Named Desire in English class. Janis cackles, and nearly chokes on her lunch as she does.

“And now the cold winds of winter are descending upon us,” she replies, her accent equally heavy. She bats her eyes for good measure, because she can and because it makes Cady laugh. “Oh but I pray the children will survive this season, it is often rough for them.”

“I am never showing you two anything winter related ever again,” Cady says.

Janis just shrugs and runs her hand through her hair before her eyes go back to the flyer. Clearly, whatever sophomore they got to design it this year did their best; found the prettiest looking snowflakes on Google Images to put on the cartoon stage, decided to write in some swirling, slanted font rather than the start-studded block lettering they usually went for. It’s still the same as it is every year, meaning just as mockable, but she’ll give them points for tying.

“Well, anyone here going for it?” she asks. She looks from Damian to Cady and back again, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Last year and all that.”

“Not sure I can,” Damian sighs. “I mean, I’m booked up with Spelling Bee rehearsals and spring cabaret auditions happening next semester.” He drums his fingers against his throat. “Gotta give the little vocal chords some rest, you know?”

Janis’ response is to sing the lowest note she possibly can before turning to Cady and giving her a pointed look, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Who? Me?” Cady’s cheeks turned crimson and she shakes her head so much that the caramel curls bounced around her shoulders. “No way. Damian can take the stage, I’m fine with my calculators and textbooks.”

“You could always solve equations in front of everyone,” Janis says. “I could call out college-level questions from the audience and you solve them in under 30 seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she giggles. She leans forward slightly, eyes glittering, and Janis does her best not to squirm. The effect Cady Heron’s eyes have on her should be studied by scientists. “What about you, Janis?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks back to when she helped on stage crew last year, as well as helping out (or taking over) with the set design. It had been fun, the kind of challenge she needed to keep her mind off the slowly-going-off-the-rails plan. And she was told it looked good on her college applications, because all people can think about apparently is college, college, college. “Maybe. They might need another genius stage manager.”

“And you’ll step in if they can’t find one?” She digs Damian in the ribs for that comment.

“But not performing?” Cady asks, and Janis freezes. Performing had never even crossed her mind before. She’s used to backstage, hell, she likes backstage. It’s not that she has stage fright or anything, and if she had, her stunt at Ms Norbury’s little healing session would have squished it. She had just never thought about it.

But Cady had, apparently.

“I-No, I-I don’t think so,” she stammers out. “Um, I might do backstage again, but not actually doing something, you know, talent related.” She bites her tongue and clamps her lips shut before anything else can come out.

“Okay then,” Cady replies slowly. She gets up from the table, her little empty water bottle in her hands. “I’m going to go for a refill, save my seat.”

“No problem,” Janis says, but Cady’s already jogging away.

She doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that Cady’s known her too long to think of her as cool, and so this kind of awkward babbling isn’t really surprising to her. Instead of thinking about it, she just sets her head on the table and lets Damian rub her back.

“You were nowhere near as bad as you think you were,” he assures her.

“Title of your sex tape,” comes her murmured reply. Damian chuckles and runs his fingers through her hair, like she’s his pet cat. It helps.

“So you’re definitely not going for the talent show then?” he asks.

Her first instinct is to say no, because of course she isn’t, because she never has before and she sees no point in breaking a three-year streak, but the answer catches in her throat. At the same time, something begins forming in her brain, pieces of a melody she’s already known, words filling in blank spots in her brain, and her fingers twitch involuntarily, playing the chords on an invisible guitar. Without a word, she grabs a notepad and pen from her bag and scribbles the words down before she forgets them, quickly becoming breathless just by sitting there. She forgets, for a moment, everything else, the talent show, Cady, even Damian next to her, and just revels in the task and the quick buzz she gets just from writing. Just like that she has one eye on the clock, itching to get home and put her notes into the rest of the song.

But with those notes came an idea, an idea so completely out of left field she almost laughs at it.

“Janis?” Damian asks, just slightly unnerved by her. If anyone else were at this table, even Cady (especially Cady), she would have had to excuse herself and run to the bathroom, or just hope the words stayed in her head long enough for her to get a quiet moment. “Did the Goddess of Music just possess you again?”

“Maybe,” is her response. He doesn’t know it, but she answered both the questions he asked in the past minute.

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She sits on her bed that night, her homework half-done and strewn across the desk, abandoned in favour of the guitar sitting in her lap and notebook open on her bed. She’s been working on his song for the better part of a week, inspiration and motivation seemingly striking and then fading whenever she gets a free moment. Abandoning it has crossed her mind-she’s no stranger to abandoning things that aren’t working-but for some reason she hasn’t quite been able to shake this particular song off.

Maybe it is Euterpe, the Goddess of Music, descending upon her because this song has to be finished, it has to be, Olympus willing it so.

Or maybe it’s because this song is one of the most personal things she’s ever written, a love letter she’ll never send, and the idea of it sitting unfinished drives her crazy.

She plays another chord and sings the line again, changing the ending slightly, and makes the adjustment in her notes.

She’s crazy. This is already crazy, her secret double life as a wannabe T-Swift, but now she’s gone beyond that. Thinking of actually playing it. On a stage. In front of people. She doesn’t care what people think of her, she stopped caring about that a long, long time ago, but holy shit what will people think of her after she does this? Life isn’t like the movies, she knows that much. It won’t be some pretty, softly-lit moment where the crowd sits with teary eyes, Cady runs onstage and kisses her and she’s offered a deal by some big shot producer, and they all live happily ever after the end. What could happen is people think she’s even more of a weirdo than they do now.

Or she gets tomatoes thrown at her head and she’s booed off the stage. That’s a possibility.

She calls Damian, because that’s the only way she sees out of her little thought cul-de-sac. She puts the phone on speaker and props it up against a pillow, keeping her hands free for her guitar and her pen. He picks up on the third ring, just as she’s strumming out a G chord.

“Oh, is someone prepping for her Grammy?” he asks. “You’re still taking me as your date, right?”

“Only if my dog can’t go,” she replies. She taps her nails against the wood, the rhythm too fast and frantic to just be a habit. Yes, she can tell Damian anything, and being nervous in front of him is laughable, but sometimes her body forgets that. “So, I was thinking about the talent show.”

“Oh? You’re going for stage crew again? Cool.”

“No-not exactly.” She knows he can’t see the smile creeping across her face, but she’d wager he can hear it through the phone. A small swarm of butterflies flutters in her chest, leaving her just slightly out of breath. “I… I. think I’m going to try performing in it.”

A burst of laughter comes through the phone, slightly tinged with static, and Janis wishes he were here so she could slap him. Even if it’s not malicious in intent at all, and she’s laughing right along with him. Slapping is kind of a love language for them.

“Okay, okay cool. What’re you going to do?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” she says, and then she plays the opening chords to her latest experiment. She doesn’t add in the lyrics, not yet. Still, she sits back and basks in his applause when she finishes, cackling into her hand. He might be one person, but he’s got enough enthusiasm to match a packed auditorium. “What do you think?”

“I’m into it,” he tells her. “So… that’s the one you’re doing?”

“Think so.” She tosses the pick between her fingers. Like he could feel her smile, she can feel his raised eyebrow through the phone, the elephant in the room poking her with its trunk. “Yes, I know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it,” she tells him, and he doesn’t deny it. She looks back over the lyrics she’s written and re-written. Despite some adjustments, it’s still in essence the same. Still about a girl with pretty hair who smells like vanilla and cinnamon, who has a boyfriend and is unknowingly breaking the heart of a girl with black eyeliner and paint stained fingers. Because her boyfriend is pretty and clean and smells like soap and can do math, and how is the poor art girl even meant to compare to that?

“Yes,” she says after a while. “It is about Cady.”

“Aw, my poor lovestruck songstress,” he sighs. He shifts then, and the air shifts with him. “You sure that’s the one you want to sing? I mean you have dozens of other non-Cady related songs. I’m sure Mr Duvall would love to hear Angry Teenage Lesbian Anthem.”

“First off, I gave that one a title, it’s called Shattered,” she reminds him. “And-” She freezes, the rest of her sentence catching in her throat. He’s right. She could perform one of her other songs, that are already finished and therefore removing the pressure to have this one finished, polished and stage-ready. And of course, it would mean she wouldn’t be standing in front of her entire grade and telling them all how badly she’s in love with her best friend. Showing her deepest secret to the people who have already driven her out of school once. It’s a far safer, potentially less traumatic option for her.

But…

“No,” she says. “I know it sounds crazy but I feel like… I feel like I need to do this.” She swallows thickly and picks softly at the guitar strings. “It’s like… like this way at least I’m telling her, you know? Even if she doesn’t know it.”

Of course, Damian gets it.

“That’s beautiful, babe,” he tells her. “So you’re actually doing this?”

“I’m actually doing this,” she replies firmly. “And tomorrow, I need you to make sure I don’t chicken out before I sign up.”

“Got it. I’ll just order you to do it as Senior Co-Chair of the Student Activities Committee.”

“That’s an abuse of power.”

“Then consider yourself abused baby.” He laughs and she laughs with him, and then she hears something on Damian’s end. “I have to go. A certain little sister of mine has a princess costume that needs attending to. See you later.”

“See you later,” she replies before he clicks off the call. She looks down at her paper, then at her guitar, and thinks about what she just committed to. “I’ve got some work to do.”

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The song goes through four rewrites in the weeks leading up to the talent show. The whole first verse is changed, the chorus scrapped and replaced with a new one, then that one is scrapped and she goes back to the old one. She sits hunched on her floor with a pencil in her mouth, wondering if what she’s written is too personal or not personal enough. If it’s too obvious that Cady, smart cookie that she is, will work it out and that’ll lead them down a new, scary path. She cuts some lyrics that give the game away, opting to replace one about love for numbers with love for learning, because that opens up the pool to half their grade. She writes about Cady’s blue eyes rather than specifically those double dimples that make her melt. Maybe she’s compromising her artistic vision, but it might be worth it if it’ll keep her crush a secret. She keeps the old lyrics tucked in the back of her notebook, just to have them.

Meanwhile, she’s also dealing with the fact that people know she has signed up for the talent show. That Miss Too Cool For School Loner Art Freak Janis is actually performing at a school event. And she doesn’t even get extra credit for it. They’re surprised, and curious, and none more so than Cady. The other girl appears at her side almost instantly after first period, skinny little arms wrapped around her bicep and blue eyes alight.

Oh, the things those eyes do to her.

“Janis!” she squeaks. “I saw-on the sign up sheet-your name! Oh my God, is this a joke? Did Damian put you up to it?”

“No, no, I signed up of my own accord,” Janis tells her. That only makes Cady bounce more, ponytail bobbing up and down.

“Oh wow, that’s amazing!” she says. She stops then, her mouth freezing in its place and her cheeks turning pink. Slowly, she comes down to Earth, like a balloon that had the air let out of it. Janis can almost hear the wheeze. “I mean um, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“It’s pretty grool,” Janis replies, and just like that Cady bounces back up again.

“Oh my gosh, what are you going to do?” she asks. “Or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“You think I have some secret knife-throwing talent?” she grins. She hesitates for a moment, looking down at Cady’s excited face, because even if this isn’t telling her… it’s telling her. “I’m… I’m going to sing.” She pulls on the strap of her backpack and avoids Cady’s eyes. “Something I wrote.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Hey!” she laughs. “I can write stuff. I can be deep.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about it,” Cady says, bumping her arm against Janis’. “But for real, Janis, I can’t wait to see it. I know you’ll be amazing.”

Warmth spreads across her pale cheeks, a pink blush no doubt colouring her face, and she somehow manages to choke out a “thanks” as her brain turns to static. Her only thought is ‘Cady thinks I’m going to be good’, and it’s written in glitter pen across her brain.

“This is going to be great,” she goes on. “Oh, wait until I tell Aaron. He’s got a break in his schedule that week so he’s coming up to see the talent show! Isn’t that great?”

And just like that, Janis’ good mood falls. Her face stays the same, because she’s trained to do it, but everything behind it crumbles.

“Yeah, that’s great,” she replies. Cady squeezes her hand, oblivious, and drags her along the hallway, chatting away about some lion documentary she had watched last night.

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She finishes the song that night. She arrives home with a heavy chest, so full of complicated, messy feelings, and her conversation with Cady still so fresh in her mind, her ears still ringing from the emotional whiplash. Her parents barely get a ‘hello’ as she enters and bolts up to her room, her hands shaking, the thoughts swirling around her brain desperate to be let out.

And let them out she does. She writes so quickly they look more like smudges than words, her fingers flying over rapidly changing chords, her voice broken and panting as she sings. The words almost write themselves, like the song has taken on a life of its own and she’s just along for the ride. She barely remembers to pause, to breathe, so wrapped up in the storm she’s created with just her guitar and pen.

It’s only when she finishes and falls back on her bed that she notices the tears in her eyes. She blinks them away and pulls herself up, her notebook in her hand. It’s done. The perfect blend of her own honest feelings and just enough smokescreen to keep people from knowing who it’s really about.

There’s no backing out now, she thinks. Her stomach drops, like she’s on the top of a roller coaster about to go down. A laugh bubbles up in her throat and leaves her breathless, her head spinning while she’s still laying there.

If holy shit were am adjective, she'd use it to describe how she feels. Because holy shit.

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Being backstage when she’s not on crew is a strange experience. She stands with her guitar slung around her body, in the middle of a current of students moving around her, half with the clunky microphones and walkie-talkies she’s used so many times before. She asks five of them if she can do anything to help-because they’re her people and she needs to do something to occupy her time-until she finally takes the hint and leaves them to it. Stagehands are the most efficient parts of any production, as she told Damian once. They’re a well-oiled machine at this point.

“Yo!” For a second, Janis thinks she imagined the whisper, just one in a jumble of backstage noises, until Damian appears at her side. A tiny ‘shit’ escapes her mouth, her body jerking. Barely anyone bats an eye at her, except him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Don’t worry. I think at this point a small breeze could knock into me and I’d crumble.”

“The great Janis Sarkisian gets nervous?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Only when she’s doing something incredibly personal and scary in front of her entire grade,” she whispers back. She swallows past the lump in her throat. “Aside from that I’m a beacon of confidence and unshakable will.”

“Hey.” He taps his knuckles against hers. “Remember how scared you were at Norbury’s assembly?”

“You mean after I had my picture all over the school with the d-slur written underneath it?” she mutters. “Yeah, I was shitting myself.”

“And yet, look what you did there,” he reminds her. “You were amazing. And you’re going to be amazing here too. Once you get on that stage, all those butterflies are going to make you fly, kid.”

She smiles, her heart warm, and pressed her face into the crook of Damian’s neck.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky to have him, but she knows better than to tempt fate.

“Janis Sarkisian?” She lifts her head to find a freshman girl with a headset around her neck looking at her. “You’re up next.”

“Okay.” It’s only now she becomes aware that the last minute of Fairytale Of New York is playing, the notes will soon fade out, and that’s her cue. She turns to Damian and lets him straighten her black cardigan and fiddle with the collar of her shirt. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.” He drops a whisper of a kiss to her nose. “But good luck.”

She holds her half-heart necklace as he goes, the twin to the one around his neck. It’s as close as she can get to having him with her. Her chest tightens as she makes her way to the stage and she tries to breathe through it, because the next thign she knows, Mr Duvall is announcing her name, and she’s being greeted by a blinding spotlight that thankfully obscures most of her peers’ faces.

“Uh, hi,” she says into the microphone placed out for her. It’s just people , she reminds herself. Somewhere in that crowd, second row, seat 14, is Damian, and she breathes easier. And next to him is Cady, the girl this song is about, and for some reason that straightens her spine and irons out the shaking in her voice. She takes the pick out of its holder and tosses her hair back. “This is a song I wrote about being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back.” She blinks and hopes no-one sees the tears in her eyes. “So sing along if you get into it, because we all know it’s a shitty ass feeling.”

She plays the first chord, and then any and all doubts she had about this flee her. As cliche as it sounds, the song takes over her, and she blows through the nerves in the first verse. The experience becomes cathartic instead, like releasing a pressure valve on her soul. Even with the little diversions she threw in, she hasn’t felt this open and god damn free since last year, paraded on her peers’ shoulders with both middle fingers up. Except now she’s not flipping anyone off, or proving a point, she’s just finally telling someone how she feels, and holy shit, it’s amazing. Whatever the aftermath of this is, she won’t care, it’s worth it just for this feeling.

As she sings the last word, and that final note rings in the auditorium, her hands are shaking, her cheeks wet with tears and her hair sticky with sweat. She touches beneath her eye and her fingers come away stained black.  She hasn’t cried in front of people since middle school. She doesn’t care.

The cheers of her classmates ring in her ears, Damian’s whooping the loudest of all, and as she takes her bow, she hopes she’ll remember this moment for a long time.

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“Oh my God!” she’s barely into the auditorium when Cady launches herself at her, arms wrapped around her neck and legs circling her waist. Janis nearly topples over, digging her back leg into the ground just in time, and hugs Cady with the same ferocity. “You were amazing!” she yells into her shoulder, the sound muffled by Janis’ hair.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” She sets Cady down, but the other girl keeps a tight grip on both her arms. Janis wonders if it’s to keep herself from flying away, given the amount of bouncing up and down she’s doing. “I can’t believe you wrote that! It was so good! You need to record it, Jan. Do you have any other songs?”

“Just a few,” she says. “And I don’t know if I’m in the business of making an album any time soon.” She swings her guitar case a little. “This might have been a one-time thing.”

“Well, even if it was, it was awesome,” she says.

“Thank you, Caddy,” Janis replies. “That means a lot.”

Her mouth runs dry as Cady smiles, all baby pink lipgloss and sparkling eyes and full cheeks. If this were a movie, she thinks, this would be the part where they kiss. No need for talking, or an explanation. Because Cady would have just known. The music would turn soft and twinkly, and the lighting would match it and it would look like they’re in a dream and they’d just kiss, and it will fix all of Janis’ problems. Maybe a single tear will run down her cheek. And then they’ll run off into their new lives as the end credits roll.

How sweet that would be.

But her life isn’t a movie. If she wants anything, she has to go for it herself.

And that includes-

“Caddy.” Her name is delicate on her lips, handled with care. Cady looks at her, giving a simple ‘mm-hm’ in response, and Janis’ heart beats out of control. “That song I just sang, it-”

“Hey, guys.”

Also if this was a movie, Cady’s sweet, lovely, nice boyfriend would not be barging in right now. He’d either be a douchebag who she doesn’t feel bad about hurting, or he’d be nonexistent.

Unfortunately, this is not a movie, and Aaron Samuels exists and is the human equivalent of a squishmallow.

“Hey Aaron.” He slings his arm around Cady’s shoulders, and she leans into his touch almost instinctively. “Janis, you were great up there. I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“It’s a bit of a new hobby,” she says, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat, and finds a bottle of water being handed to-thrown at-her.

“Hydrate those chords,” is Damian’s greeting.

“This is what I get for being friends with a theatre kid,” she sighs before she takes a drink. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was until now.

“Okay, so we’re all going for pancakes,” Aaron says. “I take it you two are coming?”

“How can I say no to pancakes?” Janis asks. “Uh, you guys go ahead, I have to get my stuff from the green room.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for you,” Cady says. “Aaron brought his car so he can drive us.”

“Grool.” Cady and Aaron turn around together, Aaron spinning his eyes around his finger and Cady lacing her fingers through his, talking about something she can’t hear. It’s like watching them through a sheet of glass.

Not a movie. Not unless it’s one of those really, really sad movies. Sad homophobic movies.

“You okay?” Damian asks. She snorts at the question. Nothing has changed, so of course she’s okay. But then, nothing has changed, so she’s not really okay.

“I did it,” she sighs. “It’s out there. I told her, unofficially. Whether or not she works it out…” She runs her hand through her tangled hair. “That’s something else entirely.” Damian hums in agreement, a sympathetic look on his face that soon morphs into a grin.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Mom.” They snort, Janis caught between a laugh and a sob, and squeezes Damian’s hand. She’s not optimistic about any romance in her future, at least where Cady is concerned. She and Aaron are still rock-solid and she’s happy for them, whenever she isn’t angsting about it. It’s a weird combination to have.

And at least she’s done this now. Despite a future for her and Cady not being in the cards for now, she’s glad she did it. The secret isn’t out, not entirely. Just written on the walls in invisible ink.

“Come on,” she tells Damian. “I actually do have to get my bag, and you can use this as an opportunity to double check the ghost light is on.”

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Cady and Aaron keep their promise and wait for them, waving off their apologies as they jog across the parking lot. Cady lets Damian take the front seat with Aaron and slides into the back with Janis instead. Janis frowns, confused as to why she isn’t taking her normal seat up front, and Cady rolls her eyes.

“There was a draw on the way here, and we lost,” she explains. “And now Damian has control of the aux chord,” She gestures with her head to the passenger seat, and Janis turns just in time to see him open his Spotify and scroll through his playlists. As the opening notes to Waving Through A Window fill the car, it’s met with three loud groans. Damian only turns it up louder, and adds in his own backing vocals.

“So, that song you sang,” Cady asks, leaning back in the seat. “Was it about anyone in particular?”

Janis looks down, her hands pressed together in her lap. If this is the moment the universe decided to give her, it’s a really terrible moment. Not only is Cady’s whole boyfriend sitting an arm’s length away from her, but she left her nerve back in the auditorium. Clearly, her and fate aren’t on each other’s wavelength.

“You wouldn’t know her,” she says. “She doesn't even go here.”

“Oh,” Cady replies. Her face falls, but she’s not too put out by it. Why would she be? She nudges Janis’ shoulder, a proud smile on her face, and squeezes Janis’ hand. “Well, if she has someone like you into her and she hasn’t taken the chance yet, then she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Janis only thanks her, and quickly changes the subject.

Someday she might tell her for real, but for now she'll stick to the songs.

[trentsleatherboots]

Carach Angren, interview translation Dutch > English

Published in the magazine Rock Tribune, edition June 2020, nr. 192.

Text by Morbid Geert. Fotos: Stefan Heileman.

WILL THE REAL FRANKENSTEIN STAND UP NOW?

At the end of last year you could already read about how we kept close watch on Carach Angren. Back when they were still heavy in the production process, on Halloween Day we went over to Ardeks homebase and studio to see the first glimpse of their new work and later Rock Tribune got invited to listen to the album in Germany. Now it's almost time for 'Franckensteina Strataemontanus' to be shown to the world and that's why we wanted to take an even deeper look. Weaponed with an oil lamp and shovel we went onwards towards the graveyard to uncover the soul stirrings of Ardek. (Text: Morbid Geert)

---

Ardek, the last time I talked to you the songs were still in a very early stage and what we heard was more of a pre production. Did you tinker more afterwards to come to an end result or did you purposely keep your hands off to avoid overproduction?

"In terms of song structures and lyrics not much changed on the premature songs that you heard. What followed however was another production-finish, where especially the mix and mastering made a big change. That last stadia really lifted it all to another plane and you can really hear that."

A FRESH LOOK.

As far as I knew, Patrick Damiani was still fully onboard working on the songs at Tidal Wave Studio in Germany. How important was it for you to pull an extra producer into the process? After all, you are very much at home with that as well? Or maybe not as much as you'd like?

"Back then he worked on drumediting and played the basslines, but his role is way bigger than that. We've worked together a lot and now we're doing something for L'Âme Immortelle, where we vibe together perfectly and know exactly how to handle such a project.  When he takes on production for Carach Angren however, I notice how much better he controls it. He has so much knowledge about drum sounds, mixing,... and he's really specialised in it. It is nice to add that knowledge, it brings a lot of added value. These days a lot of bands record at home and that all makes it a lot cheaper, but a good producer brings a lot of experience and equipment, it ends up with a whole different result. Besides, we left the mix and mastering to Robert Carranza."

That last one is a pretty big name, who among others worked with Marilyn Manson. I can imagine that has a big impact on your budget, but was it worth it?

"I think so. When I listened to 'Killing Strangers' by Marilyn Manson on headphones and heard the bassline, it went so deep that it turned me upside down. Apparently Robert Carranza mixed that album.  Furthermore he does a lot of different things such as make latin music and win grammy's, but in the extreme metal scene he is totally unknown.  However, he wanted to help himself to our record and yes, the price was steep, but I managed to convince both the band and the label… even though that wasn't without some doubts, since all eyes were on me for a bit. I had a good feeling about it and shared it, with the result being having a record now that doesn't sound like the others.  He had a fresh look on our work and thus we could avoid the recognisability of the average metal producer.  There are too many records that when you hear them you know exactly who had their hands on them and in which studio they were recorded.  Contrary to what you might think, there was constant contact with him (Robert) and a lot of talking about how we wanted it to sound. In particular the clarity of the sound is massive and gives it a bit more of a cinematic effect. There was no compression applied where everything sounds constantly loud and where as a listener you'd get easily tired, but the dynamics were preserved."

DIDN'T FEEL LIKE IT ANYMORE.

To refer back to Patrick Damiani: if he does so much and even plays the basslines, do you see him as sort of a 4th band member or is that just a bit too much credit?

"That's not how we see him. He's an amazing producer and musician, who gives us his opinion and helps us out. On the other hand he is not part of the creative process and he isn't on stage with us… but it is a relationship that's been going on for 12 years and something we get a lot out of."

Now I'm saying '4th band member', but after the recordings of your new record ended, your brother and drummer Namtar left the band. Can I ask what happened and if you saw this coming, or whether it was a bolt from the blue?

“In November he recorded his drum tracks and back then everything went fine, but then there came an offer to play at '70000TONS OF METAL'. Since we always looked at the financial side of the band together, we talked about the offer and he was immediately against it.  I thought that was strange and to me it seemed better to sit around the table with three to talk about it. Then it became apparent that he'd been wrestling with it for sometime and in brief didn't feel like it anymore.  We offered him to take a break of a few months instead of just throwing away what we've worked for the last 20 years, but that wasn't a solution.  It wasn't an easy decision, but afterwards we saw it had been an issue for a long time and at that point you rather put a stop to it.  That hit us hard, but you can never force somebody to stay in a band.  To keep our motivation high we played '70000TONS OF METAL' after all with Michiel van der Plicht of God Dethroned as replacement. That pleased us all and he's willing to help us out in the future."

Michiel van der Plicht in indeed an amazing drummer. Are there any plans to keep him in the band permanently or is this an emergency solution and is there an offer still standing?

"I discussed that extensively with Seregor, but together the two of us stay the core of the band. We already have an extra guitarist live and in the studio we will definitely have those people join again, but all decisions will be made by us two in the end.  We want to avoid that other people leave a mark on the band, causing us to lose our individuality (personality). It's about so much more than just making music: the stage decor, our own stage outfits,... for us it is very clear and it's going well, so we only need help to fill in with the music in the studio and during lives."

MILKED OUT?

Let's get to the core of business. At the end of this month is the release of your 6th album, 'Franckensteina Strataemontanus'. Now lends the Frankenstein story itself perfectly for a horror metal band, but I wondered if the story isn't too milked out by other bands… unless you do it with a completely new vision. After all, that's what you did with 'This Is No Fairytale', where Hans and Gretel were transported to the now and the horror became bigger than ever. 

"When we started, I had the same feelings about the Frankenstein story, but there's a twist to it. Everything started for me as a dream, where I flew through an old house. There, I heard dissonant piano tunes and I got sucked into a room where a portrait of an old man hung on the wall. Later I made a drawing of that portrait and it got stuck in my head. When I began doing research for the album months later and even read Mary Shelley's amazing book 'Frankenstein', I found out that there is a theory that when she wrote her book she was influenced by Johann Konrad Dippel, an 18th century alchemist.  Then when I looked him up, he turned out to look like what I had seen in my dream, which personally motivated me to dig deeper. Dippel is an unknown figure for the masses and that's why it seemed fascinating to us to do something with it.  There is fiction and truth mixed in our story. By the way, Dippel lived in Frankenstein Castle near Darmstadt, where he was looking for the elixir to eternal life. He was also a theologist, but he clashed with the church and was therefore cast away. Because he also did experiments on cadavers and sought life extending resources, he would've inspired Mary Shelley for her story. What we did was make a concept around the source of her story instead of following the clichés.  That monster with screws in his head, we've seen it already before…"

Yet it doesn't seem like a concept album, because I notice that you address very diverse subjects.

"It is definitely a concept, since all stories are connected to one another, even if it's not noticeable. 'Operation Compass' is about the North-African desert war between the Brits and Italians. In official documents the Brits were ordered that if there were to be a fallback, to make all sources unusable for the enemy with 'Dippel's oil' (a nasty substance that made water undrinkable but did not poison it, so it was in battle with the Geneva protocols).  In our story it leads to a demonic outburst that went towards the soldiers. So you see, Dippel comes back throughout different moments in history. 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' is about a real figure that is still alive. He committed necrophilia, killed people and drank their blood, … but is now at large. In our story he lost his ways after reading Dippel's books, which once again links it with the core story. 'Here In German Woodland.', the opening song, is about a boy that gets lost and dies in the forest surrounding Darmstadt, but later comes back and eats his parents. In the closing song 'Like A Conscious Parasite I Roam' it all comes full circle: Dippels life elixir only works for his soul, and his body rots away, so he searches for a guest body and his spirit creeps into that little boy." 

In a few songs, some German lyrics show up. Is that besides the concept also because of the grim sound of the language or is it simply because you live so close to Germany and it has a certain impact? 

"The subject lends itself to it of course and Seregor speaks German very well, which made things easier. And yes, the sound does play a certain role. 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' sounds way better than the English translation, it immediately sets the right tone."

Some of these stories are the result of reality, but are often at least as gruesome as many fantasy stories: such is the bonus song 'Frederick's Experiments' about the sick science experiments of emperor Frederick II, a man who apparently was not inferior to the Nazi doctors?

"Yes, you can say that he set a good example! Seregor came with the idea and somewhere the story did fit within the total picture, even though we couldn't fit it into the big story. Our label Season Of Mist however asked for a bonus track and that's how we managed to include the song after all."

CROSS-POLLINATION.

What I noticed with the first sneak preview, but what has become clear now, is that Carach Angren this time worked very innovative musically.  Watch out, it is immediately clear that it is from Carach Angren, since you already have your own sound, but at the same time there are noticable things we haven't heard from you before. The title track has a considerable industrial touch and we also hear something from Laibach in it, just like 'Monster'. Is that something you've only recently been getting into or have you maybe secretly been an industrial fan for years?

"It is more recent, even though I've always been appreciative of it. By also collaborating with Till Lindemann for his project Lindemann, I also came into contact with it more and started taking it up unconsciously. Afterwards I got to experiment with it for my solo project and that's how I came up with the song 'Monster'. Seregor tested some things out for singing for that song and it just made sense.  It was very cool to experiment like that, which you should when you're making a record based on Frankenstein…"

It became a musical experiment instead of scientific experiment, but you do create a parallel, yes.

"Inside Carach Angren we like to put a lot of variety in the songs and if you can also give that a different look, then that is something you should try. We ourselves are absolutely crazy about it! Some fans will have to swallow when they hear those songs, but for them there are plenty of old school songs on it."

To come back to Lindemann: he and Peter Tägtgren got you involved since you are so good with classical orchestras and arrangements, but in the end it seems to have become two-way traffic, doesn't it? Have you learned a lot from it and developed other visions? 

"We worked together in a very awesome way and you do learn a lot from that. You grow as a componist, as musician and as producer. It made me compose more compactly and I sometimes pursue slightly less complex songs, like the two more industrial based songs. Always great to be able to take a different approach."

Both those songs have an easier buildup, but in the other songs you go back to the complexity that you left out purposefully 'Dance And Laugh Amongst The Rotten'. Is it a way to generate more contrast?

"In some ways yes, but it depends on how it works out in a song. We tried to make the title track a bit longer, but then the effect fell away and it didn't feel right anymore. But strangely enough I write a complex song like 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' easier than a less complex piece like 'Monster'.  With less arrangements it quickly becomes hard to keep it exciting(engaging), but seeing as you want to keep the concept to level, you need to have enough variation. The industrial songs sound a bit less complex, but there is a lot happening in the background and they are full of tiny details that make the difference."

MIXING COLOURS.

With the new approach you have opened some doors to maybe do more experimenting in the future. Is that actually your goal or is there nothing reasoned behind it and do such new influences pop up sooner when they seem to be able to improve the song?

"It all almost comes down to what the concept of the album requires. Back when we wrote 'Death Came Through A Phantom Ship' we added swirling waves and custom/adapted sounds to it. With the new record the 'marching' of the pulsing industrial beat seemed to work the best with our Frankenstein theme. You have to see it like a painter who is mixing colours to make a new colour to fit his vision. We don't do any different and we would love to experiment more in the future. If we see what we've already tried with singing now … in the long run we were completely out of control trying to do crazy things."

The singing is indeed a very remarkable part of 'Franckensteina Strataemontanus'. We always thought Seregor had a good black metal voice, but we were very impressed by the way he twisted his voice this time around and helped set the mood.

"We are very happy about that ourselves. He delivered an excellent job and we really pushed everything to get to that point. We actually took several weeks to make sure my home studio was in perfect condition and sometimes Seregor had to redo a certain part up to 10 times to get the result we wanted, but he did it without struggling. A lot of singers that ask so much from their vocal chords are dead on their feet after an hour, but then there is Seregor who gets through the day without complaining, even while screaming his lungs out.  While recording 'Operation Compass' we did however find out it is better to record a deep grunt in the early morning, since your voice is still a bit slow and heavier from sleep.”

MUSIC AS A BOOST.

The whole corona crisis made it so that as a band it is way more difficult to promote an album now, since all concerts got cancelled. Did that have a big impact on Carach Angren or can you make it?

"I myself am very concerned with the people who are really affected by the disease and that is why I can partially ignore the inconveniences for ourselves. Nevertheless, it has a serious effect on the music industry, although that is secondary to me. We are dealing with a pandemic, people are dying and we all have to work to keep everything under control. In addition, it is strange to release an album in a full crisis, but we decided to go for it anyway. It's a cool record and we already started the promotion, so we just keep going. For now, tours are not planned, but that does not mean that we will now stream all kinds of performances to attract attention. We are not that type of band… what is a shame is that our plans for a very cool video clip are now also being abandoned. We had to go to Germany and there are also the social distancing rules, which make such a recording impossible.  But should we really want that and turn it into drama? Of course it sucks to have to promote the release like this, but the whole world is just not what it was a few months ago."

Do you have any alternative ideas to bridge that gap? I know that you guys always have enough visual ideas and there already is a lyric video for 'Monster', but I can imagine that there is more to come.

"We are working on that yes, because last month we made one for 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' and next month we might take another song in hand. We will keep doing those sorts of things together with some 'making of-' videos that we recorded in the studio, that way we can give the album some extra promotion.  Nothing for us to worry about so… by the way, there is something about releasing a record in times like these. The people have been stuck at home for months and have nothing to do, so if we can give them a new piece of music to listen to to get through the day, then that is awesome too. It would be disappointing for the fans if we just put our new work on the shelf because of this pandemic. Every band should do what they think is best, but we had already started our press campaign anyway and we would also be a lot less driven if we only had to arrive 'with old stuff' within six months or later."

Carach Angren already has a few beautiful video clips which are build up with a real story and don't only have something musical to offer. In addition, there are also the lyric videos, where certainly those for the complete album 'This Is No Fairytale' with comic images by Costin Chioreanu stand out from the crowd. Have you never thought of bundling everything on a DVD?

"We've honestly never thought about that, but that's actually a really great idea! I think it would be nice to bundle everything together and that way we immediately remove some (away) from youtube. That can always be a good idea for the future."

LEARNING SCHOOL.

As songwriter of Carach Angren you may have previously absorbed a lot of influences that shaped you into the musician and songwriter you are today. Can you list the five most essential records or artists that shaped you personally and what exactly were their interests?

"That is a good question that doesn't let itself be answered very easily. In the classical field and orchestras I think Tchaikovsky and Stravinski are very important. They both had a lot of influence on me as a componist. Another important inspiration to me in that respect is John Williams (modern componist famous for his film scores for Star Wars, Jaws, Jurassic Park..) They helped shape me even more when it comes to layered composing, although I don't come close to what they do. As a child I followed keyboard lessons for 8 years, I did a year of conservatory and studied a year of music and media, as well as cinematic orchestration. Those last two were online, but on a serious level and you really had to write pieces for an orchestra. I learned a lot there, but ever since then I kept learning by actually doing it myself, looking through books and analyzing musical pieces.  But if I hadn't gotten the theoretical basis I had as a child, I would've never been able to do this today. On production level I have to mention Nine Inch Nails and, something you'd might find strange, Michael Jackson! If you see how well their albums are produced, and how many layers are incorporated, it's amazingly well done! You can say about Michael Jackson's music what you want, but the way the songs are built up and how much dynamics are in there thanks to the arrangements by Quincy Jones, it is absolutely astounding.  There is no lack of bells and whistles and sometimes, for example, the snare drum comes in in four layers, something you don't hear so loudly even in extreme metal. I mainly listen to those albums as an audiophile to analyze them and see what I can get out of it as a producer. Last week I checked the solo record of Roger Waters, in which I heard effects that seemed to be situated outside the loudspeaker field. Then I want to know how that is done and whether I can integrate it with Carach Angren. That kind of thing is the reverse of the compression they use too often today and you wonder why we don't all go in that direction anymore."

---

Translated by Jeordie/Trentsfishnets.

(For the record, if this interview already exists in English, I will just see this as translating practice C:)

[dickwheelie]

Some soft Jmart cuddles but in some kind of au of your choosing? Maybe from one of those generic "fanfic au prompt" lists?

ohhh Oran u spoil me....I don’t have any of those lists on hand BUT I would like an excuse to do something for my spooky mer jon au!

EDIT: oh my god Oran I. forgot that you asked for cuddles. I wrote this whole thing and there are no cuddles in it fjkfksdf I am so sorry. I’ll make it up to you but it’s late so have this for now! I’ll do a sequel for it probably tomorrow with actual cuddles. fuck I can’t believe I missed that lmaoooo sorry againnnnn

____________

Martin had heard the rumors, of course. Myths. Legends. Whatever you wanted to call them. Stories of dubious legitimacy about the creature that lurked in the waters of the bay that bordered their tiny village, who was either a menace or a blessing, depending on who you asked. The woman who sold flowers at the market said it had once frightened her daughter while she was playing in a tide pool. One of the grizzled old fishermen claimed it had saved his cat from drowning. There were as many stories as there were people in the village, all who had claimed to have seen it, or at least known someone who had. No one could say exactly what it looked like, only that it had a humanoid upper half, a long, slithery fish-tail, and was horrific to look upon. The more exaggerated tales claimed that its face, if one could call it that, was enough to send even the most seasoned of sailors swimming for land.

Yes, Martin had heard the stories, but he was, as far as he could tell, the only one in the village who didn’t believe this odd creature of ambiguous morals actually existed. He was a practical man, and although he enjoyed the idea of impossible things like ghosts and fairies and mer-creatures, he knew, deep down, that none of it was real, especially not so close to the utterly ordinary, unexciting place he called home. He’d lived in the village all his life, and had never, not once, caught so much as a splash of the thing’s tail.

Until now.

He had been out on the bay on his sailboat all afternoon, trying to muster up the inspiration for a poem or two. The sun had begun to set, and, with no more ideas in his head than when he’d left, Martin had started to head back to shore.

That was when he had spotted it: barely visible in the dappled light of the sunset on the water, a dark shape was moving just under the surface. It wasn’t the shape of an ordinary fish, or even a dolphin, and Martin had leaned over the side of the boat to try to get a better look.

He was almost smacked in the face by another figure rising up out of the water, splashing water all over Martin and sending him falling backwards into the boat, flailing in surprise. The figure had grabbed the side of the boat and pulled itself up, leaning over Martin as he stared up at it, dumbfounded, and rethinking everything he knew about stories of dubious legitimacy.

In the warm light of the sunset, the creature was clearly visible. Its skin was dark grey, not quite black, paler around the gills which frilled out around its neck and sides. Its torso was, indeed, humanoid, with two appendages that certainly looked like arms, ending with webbed, clawed hands. Martin couldn’t see its tail from where he was lying, but he imagined it must have been eel-like, for the creature’s face reminded him of an eel. Two huge eyes were set in its face, clearly meant for seeing in the dark of the sea floor, and a wide mouth with innumerable, close-set, needle-point teeth gaped down at him. Apparently, this was what had sent sailors fleeing in terror. Martin was honestly a little disappointed. He was well-versed in marine wildlife (or at least, he’d thought he was), and he thought it looked more cute than scary.

The creature stared down at him, as though waiting for him to do something. It certainly seemed intelligent enough; maybe he could try talking to it. Martin cleared his throat. “Um. Hello.” He managed a little wave.

The creature’s eyes darted to his hand as it moved, then back to his face. It cocked its head, then did something utterly amazing, and answered him. “Why are you not running away,” it said. Its voice was . . . properly British, actually. It spoke with a solid southern accent, the sound a bit muffled and strangely deep, but apparently this creature didn’t need to use lips or teeth to enunciate.

Martin could think of nothing else to do but answer its question. “I . . . can’t really run anywhere,” he said, gesturing at his tiny, stationary sailboat. Once again, the creature’s eyes tracked the movements of his hands meticulously. “You, uh, sort of caught me by surprise.”

“Oh,” said the creature, its voice almost sounding sheepish. It drummed its webbed hands on the edge of the boat, in a surprisingly human-like manner. “Right. Yes. That . . . makes sense.” Its throat moved as it talked, and Martin supposed that must be where its clipped, precise voice was coming from.

“Why would I want to run?” Martin asked.

“Because you’re scared of me,” the creature said, rather unconvincingly.

“Am I?”

“You . . . you should be,” it said, drawing itself up slightly, which made the sailboat rock precariously, so it caught itself and stopped. “Um. I could hurt you. Kill you, even.”

Martin supposed that, yes, this creature was capable of killing him. Though it certainly didn’t seem like it wanted to, and none of the stories he’d heard about it had involved murder. It had even saved a cat once, apparently. Besides, he thought, there were plenty of humans capable of killing Martin just as easily, if they really wanted to. “Are you? Going to kill me?”

“Uh.” The creature lowered itself slightly, so its head was barely visible above the edge of the boat. Martin shifted upwards into a sitting position to see it better, and spotted a dark, rapidly undulating shape in the water, which must have been the creature’s tail. “Well. Er. Not now.”

“Should I leave and come back later?” Martin said, mostly for his own amusement. He didn’t expect the creature to understand the joke.

But it surprised him once again by laughing. Or at least, it sounded like a laugh, and the creature immediately put its hand over its throat, as though to stifle the sound.

Martin couldn’t help but smile at it. “Is that how you talk?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “With your--?” He gestured at his own throat.

The creature stared at him, even more wide-eyed than it usually was. “Um. Yes. I believe humans also have a voicebox, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Martin said, “but ours doesn’t articulate sound the way yours does.” He grinned. “That’s so cool.”

“Oh,” said the creature, and it lowered itself even further into the water. “I, um. Thank you?”

Martin leaned forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the boat, so the two of them were now face-to-face. This close, he could see intricate little patterns in the creature’s skin, dotted across its cheek and around its neck. Not quite freckles, but something like them. Then the creature shifted, and the dimming light of the sunset caught them, turning them iridescent. The light caught its huge eyes as well, revealing that they weren’t just black pupils surrounded by a thin circle of white, but that there was an iris, colored such a dark brown it was almost black. “Wow,” Martin said, unthinkingly. “You’re beautiful.”

The creature’s claws scraped the edge of the boat as it clenched its webbed hands around it. Martin saw its tail thrash just under the water. “I--um--I have to go,” it said, and launched itself off of the boat and back into the water with a splash.

Martin barely had the chance to feel disappointed before its head popped up again, bobbing just above the waves a few meters from the boat. “Um,” it said, “I wanted to ask, before I go--just in case I want to find you again to kill you later--what’s your name?”

“Martin,” said Martin, smiling.

“Martin,” the creature repeated, and coming out of that voicebox it sounded lovely. It paused a moment, just staring at him with those huge, pretty eyes, and then said, “Jon,” before slipping back underneath the waves.

Martin had heard plenty of stories about the strange, terrifying creature that lived in the bay that bordered his village, and he was fully willing to believe them, now. However there were none, in his opinion, that measured up to the real thing.

[edettethegreat]

review of King Lear at the New Spruce Theater

OK OK OK so on Wednesday I went and saw King Lear (I was supposed to go see it on Tuesday but it was canceled because of a storm- how ironic)- and now I shall tell you all about this production

Side Note- I waited a few days too long to write about this and chances are I forgot a bunch of stuff by now- sorry about that

Overall Opinion on the play as a whole:

-Every single actor was incredible and the stage (which was sort of non-existent) was set up/ designed really well. Acting and Stage design (I’d call it set design but there really wasn’t much of a set) gets a 10/10.

-as for the overall stage directions, they were neat most of the time but more noticeably, very unexpected. But that made it better (more on this in the more detailed section of the review). They get a 9/10

-as for what was cut/changed from the original text of the play? Yeah that gets a -3/10. Just. I’ll explain this in a sec but. Ugh. Not happy about the changes.

OK NOW FOR THE MORE DETAILED REVIEW:

(I’m gonna try to go in order of the play, but if I remember more stuff later I’ll add it in at the end)

-The actress playing Cordelia was so pretty I can’t she was gorgeous (all the lear sisters were pretty but specifically the one playing Cordelia

-ALSO Cordelia was 100% ready to punch something the whole time

-and the tone she said her lines in 100% conveyed “oh wow dad I can’t believe you’re actually doing something this stupid Wow you can’t be serious. Oh OH HECK YOU’RE SERIOUS”

-at the opposite end of the acting spectrum, the actor who played Gloucester was apparently so forgettable that I can’t picture any scenes he was in. I just don’t remember A single thing he did. I mean I know logically the story of King Lear but I just can’t picture this guy. I’m trying to remember what he looked like and I just can’t.

-in 1.2 when Edmund’s totally trying to hind the letter, he blatantly drops it in front of Gloucester, and then tries to pick it up and drops it again before putting it in his pocket

-OH WAIT before I forget let me mention the doublecasting! SO France and Edgar were played by the same guy, Albany and Oswald were played by the same guy, and Cordelia and Servant 2 were played by the same person. Then any random messengers or whatever were played by the same background actor. And The Gentleman was cut entirely. 

-Regan and Cornwall were 100% a great ship here- every time they were together it was clear they loved each other- they were normally holding hands or something. On the other hand Goneril and Albany never stood as close together as Regan and Cornwall did.

-Kent’s insult to Oswald was delivered entirely like this and that made it 10x funnier

-AND OSWALD. Let me just say. He was the #1 best actor there. His whole thing in this performance was that he’s absolutely terrified of everyone. In his fight with Kent he has a regular sword and Kent has a small knife, and Kent just calmly walks up to him and knocks the sword out of his hand. And Oswald backs away and covers his head/face in self defense as Kent continues approaching him, and Kent just calmly hands Oswald his sword back, which he eventually takes. AND STILL LOSES THE FIGHT. 

-just. Comedy. 

-and in Oswald VS Edgar, Edgar was unarmed and Oswald had his sword, and Edgar just kinda grabbed the sword from him and stabbed him.

-WAIT I STILL DIDN’T MENTION THE BEST FIGHT. Edmund vs Edgar round 1 (ie the fake fight Edmund has them do for Gloucester to overhear). Edmund’s all like “draw! seem to defend yourself!” And Edgar has no idea what’s going on so he kinda motions “wait what?”. Edmund doesn’t have the patients for that so he grabs a second sword and sword fights himself while Edgar’s just standing there. 

-and now let me mention The Fool

-who used his ukulele for comedic effects (idk how to phrase that, but what I mean is he’d do the ukulele equivalent of the drum’s ba dum tss whenever something funny happened)

-OH ALSO they would break the forth wall every five seconds

-best example of it was when Kent was like “I have seen better faces in my time”, he made a big show of examining the audience

-ALSO. at the end when Albany was accusing Edmund of treason and all that, Edmund went “oh yeah? You wanna see treason? I’ll show you treason!” And started making out with Goneril right in front of him. So. Good for him.

-when Cordelia was about to be lead away to prison she punched the guard in the stomach and tried to get away. So. VERY good for her.

- NOW ONTO THE STUFF I DON’T LIKE THAT THEY CHANGED

-they cut Curan

-they cut Edmund’s opening lines in act 5 (where he says something like “hey has Albany made up his mind yet about the battle plans? Because he keeps changing his mind and it’s annoying”). Yeah this is a pretty minor complaint, but I always felt like that line sort of establishes him as a person leading the war, and therefore makes the whole argument with Albany in 5.3 make more sense.

-also they changed Cornwall and Regan VS Servant 1, by having Cornwall stab servant 1, Servant 1 fake dead, Cornwall turns around to talk to Regan or something, Servant 1 gets up and grabs the knife and stabs Cornwall, they both die. Which takes away Regan’s only kill. 

-and earlier in that same scene Cornwall did the whole “I’m gonna kiss you so you shut up for a bit” thing, which was fine but combined with taking away Regan’s only kill it made Regan come across as meeker than I would have liked.

-AND ONTO THE ABSOLUTE WORST CHANGE THEY MADE- 

-in 5.3 when Edgar shows up to fight Edmund and before the fight they ask him “who are you”, he’s like “yeah I’m Edgar I’m here to fight Edmund, my brother.” And then they fight. And they cut all of Edmund and Edgar’s conversation afterward because it’s all irrelevant now that everyone including Edmund knew it was Edgar from the start. 

Ok yeah I think that’s it (unless I come back and edit this later)

[fluffymisha97]

Not enough - Part two

So here you have it. Part two. I started working on this late last night feeling on a roll due to the fact the someone actually read the other two imagines. I had a whole idea with this thing and hopefully it’s not completely bs.

The day when you and Chris were supposed to move you out of the house came too soon. You hadn’t licked your wounds just yet. You were dreading the whole thing. You felt like you had given up too soon. A mantra kept playing in your head while going over to the house. ‘Move out, move on. Moving out, so he can move on.’ It felt like a bad record that wouldn’t stop playing.

So, there you finally were. Just outside the house that you once lived in and could call home. For a while you just stood outside and took in the view. At the same time, you wondered to yourself ‘do I knock or not’, it wasn’t your home anymore. So, doubting what to do you rang the doorbell and heard Dodger and Chris on the other side of the door. You came face to face with Chris who sported a nervous smile.

Chris was wearing a tight-fitting shirt, knitted cardigan and loose pants that still somehow did wonders for his body. You had to stop yourself from perving even more. You looked down at your own outfit. You were wearing a pair of overalls and a white t-shirt and suddenly felt very self-conscious.

“Hi, come on in. You really didn’t have to ring the doorbell.”

Chris said with a small smile while fidgeting with his hands. He seemed nervous too.

“Well I didn’t feel like I should just barge in.”

You stepped inside and your nostrils was filled with a smell of home and you almost had to stop yourself from choking on your emotions. Dodger was playing around happily while the two of you tried to make a game plan for packing etc. The house was mostly filled with Chris’s things seeing as you were the one who moved into his place and therefor only had less things with you.

“Well we better get to it then. Although I don’t really know how or where we should start or if we should spilt up and each do a room.”

Chris tried not to feel like he was about to burst at any minute. Instead he offered you a smile. One that didn’t reach his eyes completely.

The two of you ended up each packing up a room. But it wasn’t as easy as you’d hope for. Occasionally, Chris or you would come across an object that the two of you had bought together during your relationship. You found several things that you had bought while on vacation and it brought back all the amazing memories. That’s what was left now. Memories of your time spent together. A few tears fell and you quickly wiped them away as you heard Chris’s footstep approach.

“Oh, you found some things too. I was just coming to ask you what we should do with these things. I mean there’s a lot for example the drum set, pillowcases and vases etc.”

“Yeah. I hadn’t really thought about that. It just seems sad to break up the things that are meant as a set. You get to keep the ones you liked the best and then we’ll take it from there.”

If this didn’t already feel like a divorce it certainly did now. You had reached the part of dividing the valuable items between the two of you. You felt sad all over again but did your best to hide it. You even tried to lighten the mood a bit and fail miserably.

“well it’s a good thing that we didn’t adopt that puppy that I wanted last year. Then we would have to co-parent.”

You let out a breathy and nervous laugh. Chris looked very uneasy about your statement. You then wished that the ground would swallow you whole while internally face-palming yourself. You cleared your throat and moved on with something else. ‘Move on, move out’ you heard the mantra again.

Almost three hours later you were all done. You had spent an hour cuddling and playing with Dodger as if saying goodbye to him… which you would have to do. In the hallway stood two moving boxes and a smaller box filled with the last remains of your relationship. One and a half years’ worth of relationship could apparently fit into a small dump box. You gave box the evil eye before joining Chris and Dodger in the backyard.

When you were all done Chris ordered a pizza, your favorite kind. When the pizza came the two of you moved out to the patio with a six-pack beer. Chris had been the one to teach you to drink beer because he could tell the good kind from the bad. He also came up with great argumentative points about how drinking beer is cheaper than ordering a tequila sunrise at a pub. And he was right. He was always right or at least most of the time.

You both ate in a comfortable silence. It felt like the old days. Dodger was laying by Chris’s feet looking up at your face. You started to realize how much you would miss this. Dodger, the house his family but most of all, Chris. You had met Chris while working on a Marvel movie and befriended the lovable meatball rather quickly. You were friend for years before neither of you had the courage to ask the other one out. He was always there for you whenever you needed him and the other way around. You helped Chris with his anxiety when you all would be on press tour. You kept him grounded.

Both of you had a hand resting on the table. No words were said as the two found each other. Chris’s fingers intertwined with yours and you could have sworn that you felt your heart skip a beat. He was looking out at the view from his house in silence. You held hands for what seemed like forever. While holding your hand, you had to look the other way so Chris wouldn’t see the tears now freely flowing from your eyes. You had to use your free hand to keep quiet to muffle the sounds that were threatening to come out. You feared so badly that once he’d let go of your hand that would be it. The end.

But a loud sob escaped you and Chris turned his full attention to you. His whole face softened when he saw you. Without any words he simply stood up and went over to where you were sitting. He kneeled in front of your chair and leaned forward to hug your waist. You were practically a sniffling and snotty mess, but Chris only urged you further out in your seat. Chris felt his shirt soaked several places but only held you tighter. He held you while you cried and trembled in his strong embrace. Chris didn’t say anything or rushed you in any way. He simply let you be and tried to do his best comforting you.

After some time when you finally felt like there were no more tears left in your body you let Chris come up from where he was almost cradling you. He cracked a reassuring smile and wiped your tear-filled face with his sleeve.

“So…move out, move on? What was that about? I heard you mumbling while earlier.”

Chris didn’t move from his spot on the ground and kept his eyes on you. He was drawing circles on you one knee and arm with his calloused hands. The movements felt soothing.

“Everything just sort of hit me. You and me, us. Everything leading up to this the break, the distance, London and now this. I just don’t want you to feel like I’m holding you back or anything. I get that you would want to move on at some point. That you have to move on.”

Your voice still sounded a bit shaky and not as convincing as you’d hope for.

“You think this is what I truly want? Don’t you know me at all?”

Chris looked hurt while saying this. You just shrugged while not knowing what to say. Chris’s latest actions showed different from what he was now saying. Actions speak louder than words something your mother always told you growing up. You felt yourself being tugged at in two different directions. But then again here he was looking at you with those deep blue eyes. The same eyes you’d fallen in love with.

“London was never about that. It was stupid. I buried myself in work and tried to move on. But dammit. I never wanted this Y/N. Never. I just went along with it because that’s what you wanted. You seemed so determined about it. I thought you were tired of me. I thought maybe you didn’t love me anymore.”

You were almost crying again while vigorously shaking your head at his words. You had let him believe that you didn’t love him. You moved out of the chair and slid onto his lap to wrap your arms around him in a bone crushing hug. His warmth engulfed you. In your mind you tried to hug away the last couple of months. If only it was that easy. You then felt Chris tremble in your arms. It was now him who let go of everything, that he’d been holding in since you left.

“I left because I love you too much Chris. I had to. The way you made me feel scared me so much. I was scared so many times that you would leave me for someone else. Someone better. I felt like I didn’t deserve you or your love. Like I wasn’t worthy of it.”

Chris suddenly looked at you and you felt the world still around the two of you. His hands now came up and rested on each side of your face. His hands caressing your face, you leaned into the touch. He looked as if searching for something. Ever so slowly he leaned forward. You could feel his breath as he came closer. Your lips collided. His soft lips on yours. Your body knew exactly how to respond having a mind of its own. It was like no time had passed. You fit perfectly together. You had to pull away to catch your breath. You couldn’t help yourself from smiling at Chris who looked just as flustered as you. He let out a breathy chuckle still holding you close to him as if you could disappear at any time.

“Well that was something.”

You agreed with him with a wide smile on your face. Both out of breath. The two of you couldn’t hold back a small laugh. You leaned forward and rested your forehead on his. Your hands wandered to his back and neck drawing all kinds of shapes.

“Seems like we just wasted an entire day packing your things. Hell, we wasted several months.” You hummed silently feeling content.

“Yeah, I know. On the bright side, I travel lightly so that’s that.”

You could feel Chris’s chest vibrate from a laugh. You leaned into Chris wanting to be closer if that was humanly possible. This feeling right here was everything.

“I love you”

You almost whispered to him. Chris let out a deep sigh and leaned into kiss you once more. He wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon not that you would let him. You weren’t’ going anywhere. You belonged right here with him.

[jjkpls]

crayons ‘hana’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 4.5k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

> Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> next

**words in italics are spoken in Korean

It's a grey day.

The Sun is acting up. As if It had been vexed deeply and now, no matter how loud the kids are calling after It, It just won't budge. Hidden behind the thick clouds, not hinting a tiny ray through the heavy shower, It won't show the tip of Its nose today, you have no doubt about that.

It takes some time to persuade the kids of that fact though.

The better half of recess is spent arguing, they just won't admit that for today, the break will be taken in class. It renders most of them gloomy, unable to accept the harsh reality, even if they've lived before -back in the beginning, when you were still too lenient, letting yourself drag into endless quarrel leading to stupid and quite irresponsible compromises- the traumatizing experience of standing in the middle of a storm. You still remember the awful concert of cries and the race to pick every kid somehow induced in a panic paralysis, one under each arm, to bring them to safety in urgency -thank god, Jeon Jungkook had been there, with his stature, able to stack up five of them at the same time, incredibly useful, pretty much life-saving. What you remember even better is the severe scolding you received from the principal, who thought -as you should have- that no matter how bad the children insisted, they shouldn't be playing outside in the rain.

You knew that. They just wouldn't believe you and you thought that, maybe, they just needed practical proof. No harm was supposed to be engendered. And quite frankly, none occurred. Children sometimes just enjoy being dramatic and it was the perfect, quintessential occasion to do so, especially if the principle is in earshot -which she was.

In any case, you learned your lesson. However, they did not.

Charlotte, standing on her pretty polished pearl white shoes -that you know, for a fact, that you'll get in trouble if her mother comes to pick her up to find them ruined by the terrible weather-, chin up high, hands tucked to her side, won't stop arguing with you as the main spokesgirl for the class. Apparently, it's “unfair”.

And it is unfair. Weather is not meant to be fair and you have not a single take on it. Try to explain that to a five-year-old.

“Ok, everyone, listen up!” Everyone's little heads swing forward like those car bobbleheads, wide eyes ogling you with burning impatience and clear, obnoxious delusion. They're all waiting, expecting you to open the door and let them free into the wild. “Let's make a deal, alright? Who wants to make a deal?” And everyone, even if they, for the most part, have no clue what's going on, wants to -except for Charlotte who's eyeing you with a suspicious glare and for Jimmy who's hiding in the corner, a sad scowl on his face. “You know that I don't have any power over the rain. But I do have powers over how long recess will last.” You act smug as you say that, their little impressed faces adding to the effect. It becomes painful to conceal the giggles blooming in your chest. “Since you already wasted half of your time, I have a proposition for you. You'll stay twice as long on break, meaning until it's 3:45,” You explain, pointing on the big clock hovering your desk where the long hand will be standing when the break ends. “if you can stay calm in class, ok?”

The announcement sends them in a fury, the simple idea of having a longer break overwhelming them with hysterical joy. So much for staying calm and collected.

Fortunately enough, I've been gifted with overall sweet children. It doesn't require more than a collecting "shh" and a reminder of the term of the bargain for them to quietly divert into groups, colonizing different lots of the classroom. Some ask for books, for paints or crayons, for the plushies and the toys they brought along to school -even though they're not allowed to- and a tranquil atmosphere rises and sets itself upon the room.

It's very nice, even for you. Sitting at your desk, watching over them with a distracted eye, you wonder if you'd be allowed to spend the rest of the day like so. They're talking, laughing and creating, sharing, being kind to each other and this whole ambience, slower than usual, calmer, more peaceful seem greatly beneficial for them. They don't feel any kind of pressure from having to learn, having to follow a predesigned, normative rhythm. It's pleasant and healthier than usual. Even if you try your best, constantly, to render every single day as filled with positivity through the required productivity as you can, you can't help sometimes stress and tension from blooming. It suffices one Kevin to come to class, sleepy and upset from a bad night, triggering a Charlotte who ends up scowling and nagging at everyone all day, and then everyone is in a terrible mood. Exercises are a pain to go through. Keeping their attention on you a quasi impossible challenge to overcome. Bringing their spirits up an unreachable, delusional aspiration.

But here and now, spending their time and energy on what they want with their chosen friends, in the comfortable warmth of the safe classroom, with the rain gently drumming on the windows, you can sense peace and joy and it fills your heart with content to the brim, or, almost to the brim.

Your heart could be spilling out with joy if it wasn't for this one, tiny pout adorning one tiny chubby face. Jimmy hasn't budged much from earlier. He had to leave his own desk to relocate at the very end of the room because a few girls decided to set up their library on the adjacent table.

His posture is the same though. Sitting quietly, his back pressed into the corner, hands tucked together against his belly, his big dark eyes are observing his classmates attentively. You read fear but also curiosity that's eaten up by something else, maybe sadness. It's a heartbreaking sight you're unfortunately too used to witness.

Jimmy arrived two months after everyone else. You don't know much about him. Because you haven't had the occasion to meet his parents yet, but mostly because he hasn't spoken a word since his arrival. His pouty mouth, shaped like an adorable button, hasn't opened once. Not even that one time you tried to have him participate and had him tearing up and crying, overwhelmed as he felt under the attention. He just sat silently, eyes drawn downwards, munching on the inside of his cheek, while tears ran down his round cheeks while all the other kids watched, as bewildered as you.

You almost quit your job that day. Certain you were not cut for it, somehow, finding out only now, at 26 years old, that you were a horrible, cruel person and your vocation and higher call were just all a blatant lie.

It doesn’t come as a surprise that today, once again, he’s hiding in his corner. You've tried a few things before. You didn’t just watch, waiting on time to operate and break his thick shell on its own. You've consulted the principal, colleagues, the internet. You've looked for clues, for tricks and after having tried quite a few, with little to no success at all -you've made him look up to your eyes, a thing he had been incapable of before-, you've decided to lay off a bit of that zeal.

You were getting too invested, even as this child’s teacher and you knew it wasn’t a good idea to pursue. As for him, you didn’t want to harm him in any way. No matter the benevolence and kindness and softness you put in every single one of your interaction, you thought, he seems so wounded already, you could break him, without meaning to, by simply trying too hard to smother his hostile edges.

You calmed down.

It tastes like defeat, coating a heavy layer in your throat, it never ceases to remind itself to you each time your eyes fall upon the sad pout and curious eyes. 

Today is no different.

Everything would be perfect if only, for once, he could mingle with his peers and if you could, for the first time, see the shades of his smile. If he even knows how to smile. 

Rising from your chair, you pick up a few pencils from your personal collection -the precious ones, unbitten at the top, unbroken at the tip, tall and seemingly unused. You don’t ever lend those to the kids as you know they’re not mature enough, and they won’t be for a long time to come, to care for your stuff the way those crayons need to be cared for-, a few white sheets and a sharpener and quietly make your way to him. He catches you and your intention from afar, his gaze fixed on you as you get closer.

He doesn’t utter a word, nor adumbrate a movement as you crouch next to him, soft smile, soft gestures. It’s a bit hurtful to think about it this way but it’s like approaching a wild tiny, tiny helpless creature -you're terrified to see it flee away.

“Hey Jimmy,” You say kindly, ignoring pointedly Charlotte who’s watching you (you can see her from the corner of your eyes) so that she knows to not interrupt or try to interfere in any way. “Would you like to draw a little?” You lay the material in front of him. His whole attention is offered to you and while you're glad you’ve reached that point where he can actually look at you, you can not help but wish he’d look away as his heavy stare suddenly makes you feel anxious. “Those are my personal crayons. I’m sure I can trust you to take care of them well, right?” He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile. You're not sure if he’ll even pick one of them up. You know he won't in front of you anyway and not wanting him to feel cornered and pressured, after another sugary sweet smile, you wave him goodbye and let him be.

The afternoon goes on, calmer than usual. It's as if they were brought to a state of peace so deep, they're now willing to accept any unfairness the world has in store for them. When the school bell rings, the children quickly run to the racks, grabbing their coats and little bags. A few of them start piling up at your feet, whining for the teddies and toys and lip balms they brought to school this morning and that you had to hold hostage as they are not supposed to bring them to school.

“Could we have another recess like today, miss? Tomorrow?” You see the shimmery eyes, the pressing pouts and impatient wiggling of the butts, waiting as patiently as they can for an answer. You're glad they had a good time today, still, a part of you can't help but regret it all. That part, conscious from the start, of how it'll all come back to bite you in the arse. No matter how cute they are, those little monsters always end up munching your arm up to the shoulder if you only do as much as tend an open hand their way.

“We'll see.” You say, waving them off. You don't mean to be so misleading but there's no way you're sending those kids home crying hysterically because they haven't heard the answer they were looking for.

Quickly they're all out of the class, seen outside to their carers by Adrianne, the lovely woman who helps out you, along with all the other teachers, with the kids every day.

There's only you and a little mess that you're able to tidy out quickly. In the corner, lay the little pile of papers and the crayons that had been obviously unused. Your heart squeezes briefly uncomfortably but you were not expecting any different from him. Since he arrived, two months ago, Jimmy has only drawn or traced letters or painted or built anything when the rest of his classmates were doing it too. You assume it's because he feels like he can't refuse to do something everyone else is doing. When it's just about him, when it doesn't concern directly the course, when it's just for pure personal entertainment, he simply would not do it.

You notice something. If he didn't draw anything on the sheets, he touched the crayons. They're piled very neatly, all tips turned the same way, one next to the other on top of the papers. What a sweetheart.

What a lovely, lovely kid.

It sends a rush of hope and determination back into your heart. You're not utterly desperate. It might take time. Maybe you won't be able to make significant progress until the very end of the year, when you'll have to say goodbye to him once he changes classes, but you don't despair to reach him, eventually.

And maybe that's all the universe needed -the conviction that you're not holding into this kid in pure vain- to offer you a generous little push. The magical manifestation comes in the form of Jimmy himself, escorted by Adrianne whose hand hovers few centimetres atop of his dark mop of hair, standing in the doorway, eyes drawn to the ground as if he's in trouble.

“Jimmy's father is running late and I-” She winces a little, grimace accentuating the lines carved on her face around her easy smile.

“You want to ask me something, don't you?” You tease knowingly. She looks embarrassed until she catches your wink, understanding she's probably fine to ask you anything.

“It's Felicia's birthday and I promised I'll be home early...”

You have to contain yourself, to not sound as ecstatic as you feel, to not drop to the ground, hands held high in gratitude towards the sky, settling for a simple: “Okay, I'll stay with him.”

“Are you sure?” She asks because she's nice and considerate but she's already turned her body towards the hallway. It doesn't take much more convincing to have her disappear.

It's only Jimmy and you now.

You're giddy but anxious. He doesn't even raise his head once she's gone. He just stands there, little raspberries tinting his cheeks and you're filled with a fondness tightly intertwined with sadness because he shouldn't look this guilty when he's done absolutely nothing wrong.

“Come have a seat.” His black eyes raise high enough for a split second, just to see where your hand is patting before quietly, he makes his way to the chair adjacent to yours. You've laid the papers and the crayons you'd picked up from the ground, an idea had come to you. There's no chance you'll have him draw something for you but you could draw for him.

You don't know if it'll have the same effect as it does on the other children. It's this special, unique teacher power that turns every single one of your shitty doodles, gifted to one of them, into a priceless, beautiful gift. It's the funniest thing and one of your favourites. The feeling is like the one you get when they fight and have to make serious arguments and deals to decide who will be the lucky one to hold the teacher's hand today.

Surely it's ridiculous but it does flat your ego grandiosely.

You're not expecting this kind of reaction from Jimmy, you'd just like to create some sort of contact, an interaction. Staring down at the white sheet, you're left speechless, nervous. It's been a while since you've sat in front of one of those, with no clear indication of what you were supposed to lay on it. Quite frankly, your crayons you only use to grade. The feeling is terrifying and you realise, gulping, that you didn't miss it. Maybe that feeling is the reason why he didn't pick up a pencil to draw himself. Was he filled with the same irrational paralysis that comes with the fear of the unknown?

“I'm not really good at drawing, to be honest with you... Do you like cats, Jimmy?” His big eyes watch you carefully. No answer. He simply munches on his lips, waiting for you to fill in the silence. “You probably do. Or, I hope you do because cats are what I draw best. Let's see.” You mumble, picking up a blue pencil to start -another consequence of the unusual anxiety you're feeling, suddenly picturing cats being blue.

It takes him a hot minute to open up the slightest. Actually, it takes about half an hour. Half an hour of you talking on your own, making conversation for the both of you; of you struggling to draw the cat you were certain you knew how to draw; of stopping every now and then to go over the basic body shape of a cat. It starts in the form of him snorting discreetly -you almost miss it- when you almost curse, fishing your cellphone out of your back pocket to look for the ugliest but easiest drawing of a cat you can find online for reference, tired of erasing and redoing the same damn curve of the cat's neck and messing up each time. It continues with him accepting to chose the next colour for what you keep calling “our cat”. He picks a deep purple for the back of the kitty, a bright yellow for the paws and apple green for the eyes. It's kind of funny looking but in a way you've done it together and your heart is filled to the brim with happiness. When it's done, sort of, you're ready to grab a new paper, hoping that maybe, on this one, he'll feel comfortable enough to grab a pencil himself and leave an actual mark on his own but the universe taps gently but firmly on the tip of your fingers, reminding you to be thankful for what happened today but not to be too greedy.

It's the tall and dishevelled man, stumbling loudly through the door that interrupts and determine the end of today's progress. Jimmy raises on his seat on reflex, running into the man's -you assume to be his father- legs. The man seems a bit uneasy, with his trench coat poorly buttoned, his dark hair messy with a thick strand sticking up to the roof, forehead crossed with worrisome lines. He reaches for the little boy, carrying him up to his chest, smacking a big kiss on his forehead; Jimmy's short arms are reaching far, far away, wrapping as much as he can around his father's neck and the previous wrinkles simply fade away.

“I'm so terribly sorry!” He apologizes, voice remarkably low, sounding lovely somehow even through the tension straining it. “I had this meeting that just lasted forever, I'm so, so sorry. It won't happen again.”

“No it's totally fine, don't worry about it!” You might be screaming a little bit because the big, impressively built man is now bowing with Jimmy draped around him like a koala and you feel so embarrassed because 1) no one has ever bowed to you, 2) you sincerely didn't mind staying a little bit later (especially given it happens more often than not) and 3) you were glad, you feel fortunate for the chance you just had to spend more time with Jimmy and see a spark of something you've never seen before. The reason you made a good improvement, you believe, is because the circumstances were favourable. Having a class filled with twenty-five other rambunctious kids that require great attention, at all time, doesn't, ever, allow you to bond with the boy. “Please don't, it's fine.” You insist, forcing him with wide gestures to stand up straight again. “Jimmy is one of the sweetest kids of my class, honestly, it was no bother.”

The dark eyes, perfect imitations of the ones Jimmy carries, display a lovely glint at my comment. He attempts to look at his son who’s snuggling in the crook of his neck, smiling softly.

“Is that right, Jiminie? My good boy.”

Jiminie. Without knowing what he says, the sonority of his words sounds so gentle and lovely, you can tell why the boy turns all sheepish.

There's a loud kiss pressed to his cheek and you can hear a high giggle, shy but sweet, as Jimmy squirms a bit in his dad's arms, pressing a hand to his ear. The scene is so, so adorable, you would cry if only you were not too worried to give off a terrible portray of an unbalanced and ugly-crier of a teacher to this father.

Father that you’re meeting for the first time.

And this fact, lost in the middle of a storm of agitated thoughts, manages to find his way to the surface after a little while of just awkwardly standing there, not really knowing what to say.

“Mr Kim, actually, I'm glad you're here. I meant to- meet and maybe have a little conversation with you, I don't know if Adrianne told you-”

“Yes, yes, she did. Of course. I apologize, I was supposed to get back to her with a date but work has been pretty- hectic. I've just changed job and-” You nod, genuinely understanding. If you don't know much about this man, nor this family in general, you can tell from the layers of fatigue that even the tender smiles he generously grants his son can't diminish, that he's not having the best of times. “It's not that- I don't want you to believe that I'm not invested in my son's education, it's really not the case-”

“Oh no, I don't believe that!” Quite frankly, you'd say that to any parents that come to you with these kinds of doubts, it's probably the worst thing you can do to a parent to criticize their parenting, their love, especially when you know from experience than most, even the ones that mess up and scar, don't commonly mean to. Parents are just adults and adults are just humans. Trying to figure shit out and actually not knowing jack shit about much. As a teacher, of children that young too, you owe to help them turn their progeny into the best versions they can be, as a team.

But this dad, standing there, distress and something akin sadness shading so much of his face, there's so little room for softness, a hand tenderly massaging the back of his boy's hair, you have no doubt, whatsoever, that it's not the case. That he tries and probably struggles, with whatever their circumstances are, but means the best. “I really don't. It's just I'd really like- I mean, I need, to have a little meeting with you. I receive every parent at the beginning of each year, it's important for me to understand better the child...” You would point out that in Jimmy's case, it's absolutely necessary given his behaviour but you don't want to say it in front of him. You've been reassured before by the principle that you weren't to worry too much. Jimmy was not, in any case, in any kind of danger at home, she had made sure of that after you first came to her with your concerns.

It's supposed to be a case of extreme timidity. It's confusing. Still, you were ready to accept this as the plain simple explanation if only you could talk to his father, have him confirm it and validate with your own personal impression. “I understand that you're working and don't have much time to yourself and that it's a bit- I mean, even as adults, no one likes to have to attend a teacher's meeting,” Only the corner of his lips twitch a little, yet you gladly accept it as a win. “Would it be possible for you to make just a little slot in your schedule for me? I won't take too long, twenty minutes at most? Whenever you can! Before class if you want or after, in the evening, sometimes I'm still here until 7. Or at lunch! Absolutely whenever is good for you.”

“That's very kind.” Is all he says.

You don't know what to say to that. You're not sure he is right. You are especially invested in your work and your pupils. You've been told before that, maybe, you should lay off a bit -you're told each time you cry at the end of a school year, thinking about all the faces you adore but won't be seeing every day anymore. But most teachers are, you want to believe. Min Yoongi, from first grade, wouldn't be as generous with his time, that's for sure. He'd probably come up with a date that'd fit his agenda and if possible inconvenience the most the parents' schedule and demand that they do make the time and be present, guilty-trip them if they seem reluctant. But that's just him, being a lazy cynical asshole. You want to believe he's an exception and any other teacher, in your shoes, would act the same way.

That being said, the way he's saying it, wide eyes sort of laced with a certain confusion, serves to thicken the compliment.

“Whenever is fine.” You repeat, lacking a direct response to his words. There's a tiny curious eye, picking from the collar of the trench coat, observing you attentively. You smile to Jimmy, picking up the drawing of the cat you've drawn earlier and handing it to him. “I'll let you off now, Jimmy is probably starving.”

After a few seconds of just staring at it, Jimmy sneaks a hand out to accept the drawing, face instantly burying further in the fabric of his dad's clothes, all shy and embarrassed.

“Thank you. Thank you very much for today and for any day really. I promise I'll make sure to meet you very soon.”

“Sure, perfect. Jimmy, see you tomorrow?”

“You say goodbye, Jiminie?”

He mutters something you don't quite catch, enshrouded as he is in the fabric adorning his dad, but his father and you decide that it's the answer you were waiting for. A wave and a stumble down the hall later -one that nearly gives you a heart attack as the prospect of the man actually eating shit with tiny Jimmy still in his arms hit you-, they're gone, out of the school and on to their way home you assume.

You're entirely alone now. Giddy as a school girl overly excited about something mundane that doesn't require this type of enthusiasm. You're not precisely sure why. It's a storm. Again. An overwhelming storm of emotions. In the mix of it all, you can decipher the loud, brilliant thoughts regarding the tiny shy little boy, and a future brighter than the one you used to picture for him. One where he's not scared of everyone, where you can hear his voice and see him giggle without his dad for him to hide behind. And something else.

You're not sure.

You don't suck at your job, you decide, as you think back about the adorable chubby finger pointing shyly at the crayons he wanted you to use.

A/N : as always, a lot of love send your way, thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoy it :)

[gemstoneconstellations]

The Happiest Place on Earth

Summary: Epilogue to Angle with a Shotgun. Watch how Bakugo tried and tried again to ask you one simple question.

Word Count: 2443

A/N: thank @voicesoffiction for this, they inspired me to do something for AWS since I was already doing some for HBAN and they also suggested this idea to me. Thank you again!

“So Fujio has had his quirk the whole time?” You placed down a red seven on the tray in front of you. Katsuki and you were on a bullet train heading towards Disneyland to celebrate your one-year anniversary. To pass the time, the two of you played Uno as Bakugo told you the story of how a boys camping trip with Fujio led to them finding out Fujio already had his quirk.

Katsuki placed down a blue seven. Damn, no blue. “Apparently. Ei couldn’t remember him ever scraping his knee before or having to kiss any ‘boo-boos’.” He smirked as you had to draw a card; lucky for you, it was blue.  Katsuki scoffed as he looked over his cards. “Guess it also explains why he didn't get hurt when Dunce Face dropped him that one time as a baby.”

You gasped, smacking him in the arm as he laid down his card. “Bad Uncle Suki.”

Katsuki frowned at you, making you laugh. “The fuck. It wasn’t my fault. Shitty Hair is the one who trusted him to watch his infant alone.”

“Hmmm, I still can’t believe he jumped in the firepit and came out fine.” That was not a phone call you ever expected to receive from Katsuki. You could hear Kirishima’s panicked rambling in the background as you were told the camping trip was going to be cut short and they were on their way to take little Fujio to the hospital. Turned out that his pretend hero name he uses for games was pretty accurate; he really is the Unbreakable Fuji

“My first thought was, ‘Shit, the kid is seriously hurt, there goes my fucking bed and Ei’s balls.’ Remember, you can’t tell anyone about how we found out his quirk, especially his mother.” You snorted into your cards when Katsuki gave you a serious look, like your life depended on keeping this secret.

“Yeah, I know. And it’s our bed now, mister.” You slam down a yellow two. “Uno.”

Katsuki’s nose flared, glaring at his hand that held ten cards, while you were on your last one. “You are fucking cheating.” He changed the color to red, smirking, thinking he’d caught you. The poor fool.

You bat your eyelashes at him. “It’s all about luck sweetie. And I win.” You place a wild plus four down. He gaped at it before slamming his hand down and pushed the cards away, completely done after losing three times in a row.

He crossed his arms, staring out the window pouting. You smile and scoot closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. Katsuki’s body relaxed as you snuggled against him, one of his hands grabbing yours and weaving your fingers together. “Not competitive, my ass,” he grumbled as he rested his head against yours.

“Shhhh, I’m sleeping,” you giggled, closing your eyes to sleep the rest of the way to your destination. The two of you had left before the sun rose so you would get to the park early. Within minutes, you were out cold.

Katsuki was jealous of how you were able to relax so easily while he was trying not to show how panicked he was on the inside. A small box weighed heavily in his pocket.

~

Katsuki grumbled from the table, chewing on his straw as he watched you gush over the fucking park actor dressed like a duck in a sailor outfit. Second attempt at a proposal foiled. He’d first tried at the park entrance, wanting to pop the question in front of the sign that said “Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth”, potentially making that one spot literally the happiest place on earth for the both of you. The plan was to have him go through the metal detector with the ring in his pocket, setting it off, and having the security guard in on it pull the two of you to the side by the sign and have him take out the ring. 

But nooooooo. You have to be so connected to your inner child that you ran ahead without him to grab an itinerary and a map before he even had a chance to scan his ticket. The security guard patted his shoulder, sympathetic. 

Then at lunch, he tried to do that cheesy, ‘Oh, what’s that in my dessert? A ring?’. Nope. Before he could even order the dessert and slip the waitress the ring, you saw that fucking duck waddle his ass over and suddenly your boyfriend didn’t fucking exist. 

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Katsuki slammed a few bills on the table and walked towards you, ignoring the bewildered waitress and not caring about his change.

You were waving goodbye to the stupid duck when he took hold of your wrist, pulling you away. “Come on, glow worm, we got more ground to cover.” 

Time to go to plan C: the giant ass princess castle, the most stereotypical place to propose at this particular park. He knows you’d enjoy it, so who fucking cares at this point. He just wants to put the damn thing on your finger already. 

“It doesn't matter how many times I see it, I’m still in awe,” you sigh, leaning against the railing as you admire the castle. Katsuki wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You know you can go inside? If you are willing to pay the price, you can eat in the ballroom and even get married right where Cinderella met her Prince Charming. So romantic.”

“I like the original better. Especially the eye gouging part.” You elbow him in the gut, making him chuckle. He watched as you took a few more pictures of the castle. It was time. 

Katsuki cleared his throat as he dug into his pocket for the box. “You know, if you wanted, we could be one of those people willing to pay the—”

                                              BOOOM BOOOM

Over on Main Street, confetti cannons went off. A fucking parade with floats slowly moving down the road had randomly started up. Why is there a fucking parade!?!?! You launched yourself out of his arms, your body knocking into his hand holding the box and sending it to the ground. “Fuck!”

“It’s 2 p.m. already?! Come on, Katsuki.” Not even looking back, you ran off to get a good view. Katsuki groaned as he searched the ground for the box. 

He found it, but he’d completely lost you. “Are you fucking serious? Does the fucking universe hate me? What did I do to deserve this?!” Katsuki dragged his hands down his face. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he started to look for you. Lucky for him, your quirk made you stick out. At least he knew you were happy.

After the parade, Bakugo let you drag him onto a miniature train that would take you to the other side of the park with a wildlife tour on the way there. One more attempt. While you stepped away to use the bathroom, he waited right by the entrance to the platform to get a chance to convince the conductor about helping him propose. He had the best chance on this train. No mascots for you to run off to, no extra loud distractions, and no way you could run off without him again. You were trapped to sit through his entire proposal whether you liked it or not….hopefully you did like it….

Katsuki was starting to grind his teeth, becoming more irritated. Where the hell was the conductor? His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing. He turned around and answered when he saw who was calling. “What do you want, dumbass?”

“Did you do it yet?! Did she say yes? Of course she did, I’m so proud.” Kirishima’s overly cheerful voice rambled on as Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose.

Through gritted teeth, he groaned. “I didn’t ask yet.”

“What? You guys have been there for hours! Why the hell not? You get cold feet, bro?”

Katsuki gripped his hair in frustration. “NO! I tried three god damn times! Happiest place on earth, my ass. This fucking place is the worst; why did I think this place would be good? It’s fucking full of distractions and interruptions left and right. I’m lucky enough for her to be next to me for a solid five minutes. I take my eyes off her for a second and she’s fucking gone!”

“Did you even plan it out? Or are you winging it like when you fight?”

He rolled his eyes, turning away from the people who were shooting him looks. “I had a plan; I had three. All failed! I got one more idea but if this goes down the shitter too, I give up for today.” Katsuki was starting to think he should have planned something more isolated like his friend; that had been a smarter idea than what he’d been doing all day.

Kirishima hummed in understanding. “I’m sorry, bro.”

“Is that Uncle Suki? I want to talk to him!” Fujio’s little voice whined over the line.

“Not now, kiddo.” That wasn’t the right thing to say to a four-year-old who had been experiencing more mood swings.

A loud wail rang through the phone; Katsuki yanked it away from his ear in surprise. “Hey, put a cork in the fucking brat before he damages my ear drums.” Kirishima tried to shush Fujio and promised that he could talk to Katsuki later tonight but that wasn’t good enough.

“Are you talking to Fujio?” Katsuki jumped as you stepped up beside him. His head shot up towards the front of the train. The conductor was already there setting up. Fuck. “Hi Fujio! Why are you crying sweetie?”

“Shit.” Well maybe he could still do it on the train ride, it’s not that big of a deal to get the staff involved.

Yeah, he can do this. You’ll calm down the little shit fast and then you both will go on the train.

“Of course I can talk to you. I heard you got your quirk Fujio! That’s so cool, do you want to tell me about it?” 

“All aboard!” The conductor yelled as the gates opened. Okay, so you’ll talk for a bit on the phone. That’s fine. Everything is fine. The two of you sat in a booth as you kept talking to Fujio, listening to him talk about his newly discovered quirk.

The train started to move and you were still on the phone. “No, don't worry about it, Kirishima. I don't mind talking to him. We are only on the train ride getting to the other side of the park. I got time.”

Why….why did he have to fall for a decent person? Your kindness is completely screwing with him right now. You kept talking to Fujio, working out his emotions with him and making him feel better. It’s a good reminder of the qualities that had made him fall for you but why did it have to happen now?

The train was arriving at your stop when you finally said goodbye to Fujio. Katsuki was mentally and physically exhausted; he dragged his feet as he got off the train. You handed the phone back to him, not noticing the scowl on his face was not the same as his usual one. “I’m so sorry, bro.”

“You’re dead to me.” Kirishima whimpered into the phone causing him to sigh. “.... for the rest of the day….I’ll fucking talk to you later, Shitty Hair.”

After hanging up, Katsuki let you drag him wherever your heart desired. You fluttered around like an excited glowing butterfly, having to see every inch of everything. Seeing you glow so much did raise his spirit a bit. You being this happy from just being with him here was worth the amount of time and preparation to get here, even if he didn’t get to do what he came here for.

“No… anything but that,” that was the final straw that broke him. The ultimate torture. The ride straight from hell. It’s A Small World After All. Fuck whoever wrote that damn song; Katsuki would howitzer his has into space if he could right now.

You pulled on his arm, dragging him over to the ride. “Please, for me.” He groaned towards the sky as he was easily pulled into the little boat. He sat in the boat like a grump as you sang along to the song before you’d even entered the tunnel.

Katsuki could already feel a migraine coming on. He better get some therapy sex for the trauma you were putting him through on this ride. With his eyes shut, he tried to tune everything out. Finally everything was quiet….wait, the boat had stopped moving. 

He sat up straighter as his eyes opened to see only darkness. “What the fuck happened?”

“Attention, guests!” Someone who sounded like they were using a megahorn shouted down the tunnel. “There was a small powersurge and a few of the rides are currently without power. Please stay inside the ride until the problem has been resolved. Once everything has been fixed and you get off, everyone will be given a free meal token to any restaurant at our park. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Well that fucking sucks,” Katsuki grumbled. Fingers slid across his bare arms as you quickly latched yourself onto him as soon as you were able to find him. He could feel you trembling slightly. “Are you scared?”

“It’s a little creepy to be sitting in the dark with all those dolls staring at you,” you mumbled into his arm. 

He sighed, leaning back and letting you cling to him. “Relax, I’m here dumbass. I’ll always be here for you.” You smiled against his shoulder, humming happily as you held his arm closer to your slightly glowing body. Fuck it, he came here to do one thing and damn it, he’s going to do it. “You know that, right? I’ll do anything for you, even get on a stupid ass ride like this. Cause you love it and I love you.”

His free arm reached into his pocket as the room became even brighter. Now he can clearly see your smiling face right in front of him. “I love you too, Katsuki.” 

You leaned in for a kiss, but he stopped you as he whispered, “Prove it.”

“Prove it? How?” You pulled back and furrowed your brows.

“I've been waiting all day for this. You better fucking say yes.” Finally, Katsuki held up the open box to you. “Be my wife, ___.”

[littlekatleaf]

Offer me my deathless death

This took me way longer to write than I expected - but it also wouldn't leave me alone. Had to finish before getting back to "My heart as spent as ashes". This takes place in the same universe as "Be still my indelible friend".

The only Heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well Amen, Amen, Amen ~ Hozier, Take Me to Church

“Lúcio wants us to go where,” Roadhog asks without looking up from his knitting. Not that Junkrat minds - knows well how focused he can be, and just as well how to capture his attention, when necessary.

“A Cosmic Mass.”

Roadhog frowns and his gaze is still on the yarn. “The fuck is that?”

A little more blunt than Junkrat’s own question (tries to be on his best behavior with Lúcio, generally speaking) but idea’s the same. “Apparently it’s like a rave, but with some sorta spiritual shit mixed in. He’s DJing a set at the end of the night.”

“He really wants us to be there?” Roadhog actually sounds wistful. He’s got his mask off, feet up, cup of tea on the table beside him, and before Junkrat’s interruption he’d been listening to some overly relaxing music. Makes Rat want to laugh. As if sitting around like an old cunt would be better than a party.

“Ain’t got no one else, with Hana away. Can you imagine Morrison trying to fit in at a rave?” Suddenly imagining the commander in makeup and neon rave gear, Junkrat bursts into laughter. Takes a minute to collect himself, as Roadhog attempts to ignore him. “Ah come on, Roadie, it’ll be fun.”

“...” Doubt clear in the stubborn set of his body.

Junkrat crosses the room, drapes himself over the back of Roadie’s chair, lets his voice go low, teasing, and speaks right in his ear. “There’s incense, to make it seem proper church.” Roadhog stills, like he’s been frozen. Not even sure he’s breathing. Junkrat grins, showing teeth. Ups the ante. “An’ I been feeling a little sniffly. Little sneezy. Maybe coming down sick.”

“You don’t play fair,” Roadhog grumbles and Rat knows he’s won.

“Not if I can help it,” Junkrat agrees, nuzzles against Roadie’s neck for an instant, then pushes himself off to find something to wear.

By the time they find the open space preserve Lúcio’d described, the sun disappeared behind the surrounding hills. Long shadows fall across the path, but the way is lit by luminarias’ glowing circles. The air is cool, crisp with the scent of bay and laurel. In the distance there’s the thump of bass, like a heartbeat. They follow the trail of candles through the forest, across a wooden bridge and up, up into the hills that rise gently, steadily, around switch-backs and through groves of oak and pine and the music grows louder, more insistent, until they crest the hill. Something’s making Junkrat’s nose run. Maybe the cool air. Maybe the joint they’re passing back and forth. Maybe he actually is coming down sick. Doesn’t matter. Sniffs once, then again.

Roadhog’s given up on the grumbling. Rat feels his attention laser-focused. Glances at him sidelong. Behind the smoked lenses Roadhog’s eyes burn, raking over him so intently that it feels like physical touch. His body goes loose and easy, imagining those hands on him, strong. Someone walks by, swinging a gold filigreed container that wafts smoke from its numerous tiny star-shaped holes. Breathes deep the spicy, sweet scent of incense and smiles through the rising wave of desire.

Feels like each tendril of smoke drifts directly to a point somewhere in the center of his nose and stays. “Fuh… fucking allergies,” he manages to say and then the wave is crashing over him and pulling him down. At the last minute he ducks to the side, away from Roadie, because he’s a shit and knows it’ll tease. “Hih-k’tchh! It’chh! Chh!” Drags in a breath, but only manages to stifle two of the next three. “Ah-R’iissshuh!” The last bursts from him loud enough that people around them glance over. Tries to look contrite. “Pardon,” he says.

“Saúde! I knew that had to be you, Junkrat.” Lúcio appears from the crowd, slings an arm around Rat’s shoulders.

Junkrat raises a brow. “How d’ya mean?”

“Uh, what I mean is,” Lúcio clears his throat, a brief flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. “Like, you’re…”

Junkrat laughs, passes him the joint, lets him off the hook. “Not exactly inconspicuous, are we?” He gestures to the crowd, mostly older, mostly hippie throwbacks. Even though he and Roadie’d left the armor and rip tire at the base, they don’t exactly look like many of the others. Not to mention Roadhog is a good foot taller than anyone else.

“Not exactly.” Lúcio’s answering grin is a little lopsided and it catches Junkrat’s interest. What had Lúcio noticed about him? Had a sneaking suspicion, though it was something he expected of Hog, not Lúcio. Have to test the situation, because if he’s right… well, the evening might be even more entertaining than he’s been hoping.

Lets Lúcio draw him through the crowd, arm still around his shoulders. Roadhog walks, solid and protecting, at his other side and the focused attention between the two of them make Junkrat’s skin feel electric, tiny sparks lighting up his synapses. Bass is still throbbing off to one side. Nose tickling in that odd, feathery way. Just enough to keep him sniffing but not enough for actual sneezes. All of the stimulation swirls together until it all fizzes through him like a shaken beer. Wishes vaguely that he’d brought even one grenade. Just something small. Release a little pent up energy.

Lúcio’s explaining the way the Mass goes, the set he’s going to play, talking just a little too fast, little too bright, not quite meeting either Junkrat’s eyes, or Roadie’s. Junkrat’s trying to pay attention but keeps being sidetracked by the tension under the words. An odd edge. Makes him feel like he’s gonna vibrate out of his skin. Finally, Lúcio’s obvious discomfort urges Junkrat to give him some shit.

Bumps his hip against Lúcio’s, lightly. “Never took ya for a God-type.”

Lúcio shrugs, gaze sliding away to the people they’re passing. “A gig’s a gig,” he says. “Come on, mate. Ain’t no need to be that way about it. Not criticizing ya, just curious.” Curious, wanting to get beneath the surface, to figure out what makes Lú tick. Always gotta figure how things work, how they’re wired. Bombs. People. Different types of explosions, but equally thrilling. So, if they’re gonna be more than… if they’re gonna be more, he needs to figure Lúcio. “This ain’t just a rave to you, is it?” Considers. There’s an energy to the night, a frisson that he can almost taste.

After a surprisingly long pause, Lúcio meets his eyes, straight on. “You really want to know?”

“Course. I want to know you, Lú.” Means know in all the flavors of the word, Junkrat realizes.

Lúcio sighs, tips his face to the sky and takes a hit off the joint. Holds the smoke for a few beats. Exhales. Directs his words to the stars. “Sometimes when I play? The music is... different. Sometimes it’s a bridge, a web. Starts with the beat. The drums, the bass. They come in a wave. Break over me. Flow through me. Like I’m a conduit. If I can hold the connection, it flows into the audience and we’re all connected. More than the sum of our parts. When that happens, the power in it…” Lúcio closes his eyes. “Like sticking your finger into an electric socket. The first time it happened, in one of the clubs in Rio, I think I was high for a week.” Lúcio frowns, opens his eyes. “Then, once in a while… even more rarely… you can shape that energy, turn it to a new thing. Revolution.” He blinks, coming back to himself. “Words don’t really encompass...”

For the first time, Junkrat begins to understand the connection between Lúcio’s music and his role in the uprising of the favelas. Even so, he isn’t sure what to do with the knowledge, so he makes a joke. “Expect you’ll be providing the experience, then.”

“Always do my best. But,” Lúcio fixes Junkrat with an unusually intense gaze. “If you keep yourself separate, you won’t feel it. It’s a mutual thing.”

“Meant ya need to hand over the joint, mate.” Holds out his hand for it, bites his tongue on a laugh.

Roadhog cuffs the back of Rat’s head, growls,“Don’t tease him. He’s tighter than a nun’s arsehole.”

The blow, though light, is enough to snap Junkrat back to serious. Lúcio shifts uncomfortably under his scrutiny and hands him the joint.

“Ya are,” Junkrat says thoughtfully. Lúcio’s never tense about a gig - performing natural as breathing for him. And the joint’s done nothing for the tension in Lúcio’s jaw, his shoulders. “Relax, mate,” he murmurs, leans forward and kisses Lúcio full on the lips. Smells of patchouli and weed and Junkrat pulls him closer, deepening the kiss and the tension hums between them. Different than Roadie, Lúcio is lithe and wiry. Dancer’s body. Tastes of clove, of cinnamon, sweet and hot. Desire pulses with the bass as heat rises in the slight breath of air between them.

Only for a second, before Junkrat’s nose is tickling again and he’s forced to step back. Through eyes that keep fluttering toward closed can see Lúcio’s expression of confused dismay. Holds up a finger - wait, he wants to say. Can’t. Needs to sneeze; the feeling’s just right there, lingering. Insubstantial but insistent. The tension between the desire and the action is unexpectedly pleasurable. Wanting in more places than one. Feeling Roadie staring. Breathes slow, careful, until the need suddenly spikes and he wrenches forward.

“Huh’issshew!!... Iishh! Heh…” The third one disappears, leaving him a little off balance. “Ugh, definitely coming down sick. Sneezes only stick like that when ’m getting the wog.” But even as he’s complaining, he smirks, rewarded by the flush coloring Roadhog’s neck, the way Lúcio fidgets, both trying not to seem to be staring but also darting glances at him as he rubs his nose against another rising tickle.

“Shouldn’t be smoking, Rat.” The slightly strangled tone of Roadie’s voice makes it obvious- only saying it because he feels a little guilty for enjoying. Which he shouldn’t, because Rat wants him to enjoy.

Junkrat lifts his chin in challenge. “Ain’t my daddy, Hog.” Sucks in a long hit off the joint, holding Roadhog’s gaze.

Lúcio snorts and swipes the joint from Junkrat, breaking the tension. “He’s right, though.”

“Oi, ain’t no excuse for stealing. We’re supposed to be the villains. You’re supposed to be th… the… ” Resurgence of the feathery itch sidetracks him. Breath hitches, snagged by the urge to sneeze. Presses a knuckle to the tip of his nose. Tingles. Not sure if he wants to rub it away or urge it closer. Just presses, gently. The sensation subsides, but only a bit. “The hero,” he manages to say.

Lúcio purses his lips, blows a stream of smoke that drifts directly under Junkrat’s nose and the tickle is a thousand times worse. Or better?

“Oh that heh… heh…helps...” His face falls, gaze hazy. Can’t focus on anything when he feels like this. Really wants to sneeze. It’s right there, right on the edge. Maybe?... No?... Another breath. Yes... “Heh… H’t!” Only half a sneeze and it’s gone. “Shit.”

“Helps with what?” Roadie asks, deadpan.

“Fuckin’ nothin’, apparently. Unsatisfying,” Junkrat mutters, sniffling like a kid and wiping his nose on his sleeve. Still has to sneeze. A diffuse, faint feeling, sometimes there, sometimes not. Wispy. Keeps his breath shaky, his hand hovering uselessly halfway between his nose and his chest. Might sneeze. Might not. His cheeks go hot. Weird to have both Hog and Lúcio watching while he makes an idiot of himself.

“You okay, Rat?” Lúcio asks, forehead creased with concern.

Junkrat shakes his head, slowly. Not because he’s not okay but because the sneezes finally decide yes and the need rises so sharp and overwhelming it’s almost pain and he ducks his head. “Huh-t’chhew! Ihht’chew!” A beat, two. Fucking shit.

“Something missing,” Roadhog asks, insufferable bastard, and he wants to answer, wants to say something cutting but only manages to flip him off before the missing third reappears with vengeance.

“Ah’Riiish-uh!” He sighs with relief. “Fucking finally.” Blinks tears from his eyes and realizes both Roadhog and Lúcio are staring with identical hunger. Goes suddenly hard, their desire stoking his own. Grins. “‘Scuse me,” he says but it sounds more proud than apologetic.

“Saúde,” Lúcio says just as Roadie says, “Bless you.”

The look that goes between them is surprise and a measuring-up and Rat laughs. Shakes his head. “Can’t believe you two cunts gave me the wog, and now you’re fuckin’ enjoying my misery.”

“You said you never get sick,” Lúcio argues, even as a guilty expression crosses his face.

Roadhog shrugs off Lúcio’s concern. “Rat’s full of shit; he don’t care,” he says, shifting alliances like a bastard.

“Oi, Roadie, blowin’ me cover? Get stuffed.” Not angry, though, not really. Knows what his sneezing does to Roadhog and seems like Lúcio might be the same. If he’s right, the fun they’ll have more than makes up for a minor inconvenience. Hopes he is because suddenly Rat wants both of them. Rubs his nose against the feathery tickle that’s still threatening to both disappear and to explode, but patently unclear which will happen.

In that moment of stillness between possible explosions, the music goes abruptly silent and Lúcio glances at the stage where the previous DJ is taking her final bows. “Gotta do my…” he gestures with his chin.

“Go be the conduit,” Roadhog says. “We’ll be here.”

Lúcio grins at both of them, presses a quick kiss to Roadie’s cheek then bounds onstage to thundering applause.

As the lights sweep over the audience, Junkrat suddenly realizes the people he’s assumed to be old hippies are no such thing. The cloth and cut of their bohemian outfits is expensive, the patchwork bags designer. The gold of the incense burners actual gold. He eyes the diamonds, obviously real and expensive, practically dripping from one sheila’s ears and draped around her neck, sparkling at each of her fingers. Clasp looks surprisingly cheap for the likely cost of the necklace. Be a shame if it somehow got broken.

Glances at Roadie, raises a brow, tilts his head at the shiela who is completely entranced by the beginning of Lúcio’s set. Ain’t paying a bit of attention to her surroundings.

Roadhog shakes his head and Junkrat knows he’s frowning behind the mask.

“Not like she’d miss it,” Junkrat urges. “What Morrison don’t know ain’t gonna bother him.”

“And if Lúcio gets blamed?”

“Ain’t planning on getting caught.”

“Rat, no…”

Junkrat just grins and slides into the crowd, following the glitter of the sheila’s jewelry. The bass vibrates in his ribs, merging with the flutter of anticipation. Moves with the rhythm of the audience, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. Cloying and overly floral. But he’s focused. Eyes on the target, vaguest idea of a plan beginning to form. Takes a deep breath and lets the sneezes crash over him. “Huh-R’iiisssh! Issh! Isssha!” Just manages to throw his arm up over his mouth and stumbles forward on the explosion. Bumps smack into the sheila and uses the ensuing scuffle to snap the clasp of her necklace.

She turns. “Watch it, asshole,” she says, looking disgusted.

“Oh, shit, sorry, mate! Touch of allergies or something. Hope I didn’t get you!” He apologizes immediately, profusely, playing up his accent. The necklace slides off and into his waiting hand. He pockets it, then lets the crowd flow between them and makes his way back to Roadhog.

“Cannot believe you sinned during fucking church,” Roadhog says.

Junkrat shrugs. “She ain’t a good Christian. Didn’t even bless me.”

Roadhog shakes his head, but Rat catches the rumble of his chuckle. Roadie draws him away from the crowd, into a pool of darkness at the side of things. It’s not private, but no one’s watching them - the focus is on Lú, center stage, surrounded by his equipment, face alight with joy. The music spills from the stage like a waterfall, flowing around him, the spotlight shines over him and he glows. Counts down the beat with one finger til it drops, breaking into a new pattern.

Junkrat’s seen him in battle, burning with a fierce joy. Seen him wielding his sonic amplifier to heal, equally bright and fierce. But this, this is where Lúcio belongs. “Join me,” Lúcio’s voice amplified drifts over the notes of the music. “Float. Ride the currents and eddies. Slide down deep into the darkness. Into the depths. Further down to the deepest part. Sink in, curl in, and in that place touch truth, touch love. Touch the One, because that is you, too. You are safe here in the womb of the world.”

Junkrat does, feels the darkness swirling around him.

“Now feel the touch of the moonlight, uncurl into that light. Stretch into the night, reach for the God beyond God that is unlimited and free. Let’s dance our prayers in community.”

The music surrounds him, a shining bubble. Feels like Junkrat can reach out and touch it. Press against it, barrier between him and whatever Lúcio is creating. Like a window he can’t penetrate. Maybe it’s the necklace? Maybe Roadie was right and he shouldn’t have stolen it. Maybe...

Then a hand on his shoulder, grounding him again. “You’re okay, Rat,” Roadhog says and it cuts through the smoke fogging his thoughts and suddenly he realizes two things. He is okay, and he’s going to sneeze and it’s not going to be contained.

“Heh-issh! Issh! Ish! Sh! ...Ehh..Hehh.. R’issh-iishhuh! Fuck.” Keeps his face buried in the sleeve of his shirt, trying to gather his scattered thoughts and assess the damage. His cheeks are hot and he’s uncomfortably hard.

Suddenly Roadie’s fist’s tangled in his hair, tugging his head up. “You’re a mess,” he says, examining Rat far too carefully.

He is a mess. Wants to hide, to turn away but he can’t do either - Hog’s fist still tight in his hair, holding him immobile. “Sorry,” he says and this time he actually means it. Wonders vaguely, through the floating fog of weedsmoke and lust and the lingering urge to sneeze, if someone actually could immolate from embarrassment.

“You should be.” Roadhog pulls a bandana out of his pocket and wipes Junkrat’s nose, then raises his mask just enough to press their lips together.

Junkrat groans into the kiss and wraps his arms around Roadhog, tugging him closer, closer, aching with desire.

Lúcio's song shifts, and though the beat still throbs, an ethereal voice sings a melody in a language Junkrat doesn’t understand. He closes his eyes and the notes float cool and light over his skin. The music casts a glittering web over and between them, connecting them each to the other and both to Lúcio. A low thrumming, slowly building vibration buzzing along his skin and through his body. Rumbling deep and dark, then tenor notes over the bass like hope. Until the melody opens like dawn breaking and cracks him open too and washes him in joy.

Only the roar of applause from the crowd interrupts. Junkrat looks up just in time to see Lúcio bound down from the stage, still glowing with the leftover power of the music and he dashes over to them and they open their arms and pull him in.

The three of them make their way down the hill, back to the hovercar waiting to take them back to the Watchpoint. Roadhog’s hand on one elbow and Lúcio’s hand on his other shoulder keep Junkrat from stumbling, his head still swirling with music and weed and want and the heat of Lúcio’s touch and the strength of Roadhog’s hand.

Finally, finally he collapses onto his bed, tugging Roadie and Lúcio down with him. Their hands are roaming over each other, legs entwined. And he’s going to sneeze again. “Hold on,” he manages to say. Freezes, stuck teetering on the edge. Feathery tickles whisper at the back of his nose.

“All right?” Lúcio asks.

“Something wrong?” Roadhog adds.

“F...fuck ya both. Gotta… gotta… Huh-R’iiisssh! Issh! Isssha! Ugh,” he sighs. “Still gotta… Itchhh! Huh-isssh! Isshew!” It’s like no matter how many times he sneezes, just can’t clear the tickle. But it feels so unbearably good. The build and build and tremble and release only to build again right after. And Lúcio’s hand closes over his cock and he reaches for Roadhog and Roadie takes Lúcio in his hand and they move together, still tangled in Lúcio’s web. Pleasure throbs through Junkrat in waves pushing him higher and he draws Lú and Roadie with him, high and higher and when he tumbles over the precipice, they fall too.

And as he drifts in the aftermath, Lúcio pressed warm against his left side, Roadhog against his right Junkrat feels maybe he’s glowing too.

[hrina]

Dopamine (A Serotonin Extra)

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M  WORD COUNT: 5.7k REQUESTED: um sorta? everyone wanted more TArry so here it is!

hey guys!!! i couldn’t get enough of my serotonin babies (and apparently, neither could you), so i couldn’t resist churning this out. i really hope you guys enjoy it! if you do, please don’t hesitate to send in feedback to my askbox because i love hearing your thoughts! also, here’s my masterlist if you’re interested in checking out some of my other pieces :-)

read Serotonin HERE

~*~

November 29th, 2019

“What are you smiling about?” Margaret grumbles, drumming her fingers on the countertop.

You’re smirking down at your phone, watching three little bubbles wiggle above the keyboard. The line at Grounded is long today, and Margaret isn’t in the best mood. She’s been venting all morning, but you’re sure that once she has some caffeine in her system, she’ll calm down.

“Hm?” you ask, peering up with raised brows and innocent eyes. When she gazes at you questioningly, you shrug. “Oh. Um—just Harry.”

“I knew it.” Her lips twist up wryly. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

You scoff, shutting your phone and tucking it back into your pocket. “What look?”

“The ‘Harry’ look,” she explains, snickering softly. The barista bustles over and hands you your drinks; he shoots Margaret a wink, and her face flushes crimson. You giggle as you step back and begin to make your way down the hall.

“I think someone’s into you,” you murmur, grinning widely.

“Shut up,” she scoffs, placing the back of her hand against her hot cheek.

“He was cute!” you say, nudging her gently with your elbow. She bats your arm away and lifts her latte to her mouth, taking a tentative sip. You give up on provoking her, for now. The subject of the cute, flirty barista will no doubt surface again in the future, and when it does, you’re sure that it’ll be because you brought it up.

“So,” Margaret starts, smacking her lips and humming appreciatively, “You and Harry. Have you guys fucked again, or…?”

You sputter, nearly choking on your coffee. “What?” you spit out, shaking your head vehemently. “No!”

“I’m just asking!” she protests, smiling deviously. You cough and glare daggers at her; it seems as though her mood is already improving.

The two of you pass by Harry’s office. The door is closed, much to your dismay. Instinctively, your gaze falls to the silver plaque standing out against the wood, and you feel an urge to run your fingers over the inscription. Harry E. Styles.

“Are we going to be doing a review for the final in class today?” Margaret asks you, snapping you out of your trance. You focus your attention back on her, your brows knitting together in thought.

“I would hope so,” you say. “The exam’s next week, and I haven’t even started studying.”

“Neither have I.” Your friend sighs, playing with her hair anxiously. You purse your lips; your shoes squeak against the floor.

“Well,” Margaret starts, tracing her index finger along the bottom of her coffee cup. She bumps your arm gently and shoots you a small, pained smile. “At least we’ll fail together.”

You snort and nod in agreement. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fish it out quickly. Immediately, a smile breaks out across your lips; your eyes eagerly scan over Harry’s message, drinking in each letter as though it’s the last thing you’ll ever read.

Wednesday night is perfect. See you then. H. x

  December 4th, 2019

You want to bash your head against the wall. The information just won’t stick.

You know that you’re in dire need of taking a break. But the final is the day after tomorrow, and it’s worth thirty-five percent of your grade, and you’re stressed beyond belief. Your grey sweatpants have been rolled up to the knee, and your red crewneck is wrinkled from where you’ve been pulling nervously on the hem. You need to wash your hair—you’ve been putting it off for two days now. The mere sensation of it sitting atop your head makes you feel greasy and gross.

But you don’t have the time.

“Content validity, face validity…,” you mumble to yourself. You’re fairly certain that there’s a hollow on your mattress in the shape of your body (particularly your bum), but you haven’t moved enough to properly gauge the severity.

“Construct validity…,” you mutter, shaking your head. “What the fuck is construct validity?”

The pages of your textbook flap loudly as you search for the definition in the glossary. Your eyes are tearing through each word when suddenly, a loud knock echoes down the hall of your apartment. You freeze for only a moment before bouncing to your feet.

You make your way out of your bedroom and toward the front door, your mouth watering at the promise of the Chinese takeout that’s waiting out in the corridor. When you twist the knob and pull the door open, however, you come face-to-face with Harry instead of your usual delivery man.

“You’re not Chen,” you say blankly.

“No,” Harry replies. “I’m not.”

The first thing you notice is the casual brown suit jacket draped over his torso. His trousers match. There’s a khaki button-up beneath his coat; the first few clasps are undone. His hair is parted down the middle, framing the sides of his face. He looks like he’s just stepped straight out of the nineties, boyish and rugged and incredibly handsome.

“Oh fuck,” you say, your eyes widening as the realisation dawns on you. “I’m an idiot.”

Harry rakes his fingers through his hair, humming as his gaze skirts down your body. “You forgot.”

It isn’t a question.

“I forgot,” you admit, covering your face with your hands. You groan loudly, shaking your head. “I’m so sorry. My exam is on Friday and I’ve been studying all day—I literally haven’t left my room. It completely slipped my mind.”

“It’s alright,” Harry tells you, brushing your apology aside. “I get it. Do you want to just reschedule?”

“Of course.” You nod, digging your fingers into the pockets of your sweatpants. Harry nods, and you hesitate. “But, um—,” you start, peering up at him hopefully, “I actually ordered some food. It should be here soon, if—if you wanna stick around?”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Sure.”

“Cool,” you say dumbly, stepping back and motioning for him to enter. “Come on in.”

Harry carefully toes off his shoes as you close the door. You watch as he arranges them meticulously against the wall, a small smile curling along your mouth. He looks at you when he stands back up, smirking slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head. He chuckles quietly as you lead him down the hall. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“I’m alright,” he responds. You concede with a meek shrug of your shoulders. You guide him into your bedroom, cringing immediately at the untidiness of the space.

“Sorry it’s so messy,” you ramble, picking up a dirty sweater from the floor and tossing it into the hamper standing a few feet away. “Like I said—I’ve been holed up in here all day. All week, actually.”

“It’s alright,” Harry says. “Like I said—I get it.”

“I look gross, too,” you continue, though you’re speaking mostly to yourself. “My hair’s all greasy, and I feel disgusting—”

“I think you look wonderful,” he cuts you off.

His palm lands on the small of your back; you stiffen, your head snapping to the side to look up at him. You’re suddenly painfully aware of the proximity between your bodies. Harry steps closer to you, and your heartbeat picks up beneath your ribs. Part of you wants to veer backward, but your feet stay rooted to the ground.

“Can I have a kiss?” he murmurs. He slips his fingers beneath the material of your sweater and draws gentle circles against your skin. You feel like your knees are about to give out.

“No,” you say quickly. His brows knit together, and you hasten to make amends. “I mean—I need to shower, still, and brush my teeth. Give me, like, twenty minutes, okay?”

His features soften, lips curling upward into a soft smirk. “Okay.”

~*~

When you step out of the shower, the smell of noodles and grilled vegetables is unmistakable. You quickly change into an old sports bra, a baggy grey t-shirt, and a pair of bright green shorts. Your hair squelches as you wring any excess water from the sopping strands. You brush your teeth, smacking your lips together and savouring the minty taste of toothpaste on your tongue.

Upon re-entering your bedroom, you find Harry sitting on your mattress amidst the mess of sheets, flash cards, and books. He’s removed his jacket and undone another button on his shirt. There’s a plastic bag on his lap; the smell wafting from the food inside lures you closer, like a moth to a flame.

“Takeout came,” Harry says. “I got it.”

“How much was it?” you ask, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “I’ll pay you back.”

“No need,” he tells you.

“Harry—”

“No need,” he repeats sternly, but the look in his eyes is lighthearted. “It’s my treat.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, approaching him and blowing out a sad sigh. “I fucking ruined our first date.”

“You didn’t,” he assures you.

You chew anxiously on your bottom lip as he removes the takeout from his lap, setting it on your bed and spreading his legs. He reaches out for you, grasping your fingers with his and tugging you forward. You shuffle closer, absentmindedly placing one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. He splays his other palm out onto the back of your left thigh, giving a light squeeze.

“Can I have that kiss now?” he asks softly. His gaze is sincere.

Despite the regret flowing through your veins, you smile and nod, untangling your fingers and cupping his jaw delicately. Harry hums as you plant a chaste peck onto his lips. He’s smirking when you pull back.

“We can eat in here, if you want,” you inform him.

You make room on your mattress, gathering up your textbooks and papers and setting them aside. Harry turns to face you as you collapse onto your bed. You groan dramatically into the duvet before scrambling into a sitting position. The takeout doesn’t stand a chance—you snatch it up with greedy hands, rifling through the bag and producing twin sets of plastic cutlery.

“I may have ordered enough for two,” you say sheepishly, your cheeks heating up. “I was hungry.”

“I can leave you to it,” Harry replies, his words laced with subtle mockery. You scoff, reaching out and swatting his shoulder weakly.

“Shut it.”

“Don’t be rude,” he warns. “Or I won’t help you study once we’re done.”

“I don’t recall asking you for your help,” you say, tapping your chin with your index finger.

Harry grins, his expression saturated with salacious mischief. “I’m a generous man. Have you forgotten?”

The memory of his head buried between your thighs pops into your brain, flashing like a neon sign and wailing as loud as a hundred sirens. You gulp violently, shaking your head and busying your hands with pulling a container of noodles out of the plastic bag. You keep yourself occupied longer than necessary, not wanting him to see the embarrassment warping your features.

“You’re gross,” you tell him plainly, though you can’t ignore the flash of heat that streaks through your stomach at his words.

“Hey, now,” Harry starts, snickering. “What did I just say about being rude?”

~*~

“Can you explain to me the basic concept of reliability?”

“The act of yielding consistent results.”

“Exactly.” Harry grins, tossing the flash card down onto your mattress. Your back rests against the headboard, hands convoluted in your lap.

There’s a handful of cards already lying in a messy pile on your bed, but neither of you pay the clutter any attention. Harry’s too busy studying the definitions that you’d written up earlier this week, and you’re too busy studying him.

His large hands practically dwarf the stack of papers clutched between his fingers, and his big, gaudy rings glimmer in the warm light of your room. His gangly legs are crossed as he sits in front of you. With each question that you answer correctly, he nods in approval.

His eyes have gotten brighter, you think, because whenever he looks up at you, the grassy green of his irises is all that you can see.

The air still smells faintly of the food you’d scarfed down. You’re surprised at how easily the two of you had fallen into conversation. Harry’s actually really funny—his humour is underrated (and definitely one of your favourite things about him, now). You’d always found him to be intimidating, but it’s refreshing to know that under that stoic exterior, he’s just as quirky as anyone else.

“Next one,” Harry murmurs, his eyes skimming over the cursive definition on the subsequent card. “What is a longitudinal study?”

You bite your lip. “It’s when…researchers follow the same participants over a longer period of time, right? Like, they retest them throughout the years.”

“Brilliant,” he says, nodding proudly. Your cheeks heat up at his praise.

Harry covers his mouth as he yawns quietly.

“Am I boring you?” you ask, your lips kinking up into a wry smile.

He shakes his head. “No, not at all. This is absolutely riveting.”

You snort; he smiles. He stretches out his arms, his mouth curling around a quiet grunt and his forehead creasing with a rough wince. “Fuck. My back’s killing me.”

“Should we switch positions?” you offer, sitting up straight. “You can come over here and lean against the headboard, if you want.”

“I love switching positions,” Harry hums; that adorable dimple carves into his cheek as the innuendo slips from his mouth. You swallow heavily and shake your head, rolling your eyes. You hope that it’s enough to hide the way your spine has stiffened at his words.

“Okay, let me just…,” you begin, shifting quietly.

“Actually,” he says, placing a hand on your knee. “What if I…?”

His exhale is guttural as he uncrosses his legs and turns himself around. You laugh incredulously when he flops backward, his head now snuggled securely in your lap. Your hands reflexively curl into his hair, and you run your fingers across his scalp, falling into a soothing rhythm. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a pleased grin spreads across his lips.

“There we go,” he says, nodding once. “Much better, I’d say.”

“You’re so dumb.” You chuckle and flick his nose gently. His eyes snap open and he releases a short, petulant whine. The sound is extremely adorable, but of course, you’re not going to tell him that.

“Can I have another kiss?” Harry asks.

Your gaze falls to his face—even though his features are upside down, he’s still ridiculously handsome. This time, there’s nothing teasing about his question—the inquiry is completely sincere. You chew on the inside of your cheek and try to ignore the butterflies flapping around in your stomach.

With a short nod, you lean down and seal your lips to his, your nose brushing against his chin. This kiss is longer than the one you’d shared earlier, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. It’s only when Harry parts his lips that you finally pull back, skirting your thumb over his Cupid’s bow and propping yourself up against the headboard. A strangled puff of air gets caught in your chest.

“What’s the next definition?” you prod, breathless.

Harry clears his throat, tapping the stack of flash cards against his chest once to organize them properly.

“No peeking,” he tells you, aware that if you tried, you’d be able to read each definition once he flipped them around to the other side.

“Cross my heart.”

“What’s an observational study?”

You know this one. “It’s when researchers don’t manipulate any variables—they just observe what’s going on and try to draw conclusions based on natural behaviours.”

Harry peers up at you. His eyes are shining. “You’re a clever one, y’know that?”

The compliment catches you off-guard. You avoid his gaze, shrinking into yourself. “Oh. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he replies. He angles his head to the side and presses a smacking kiss to the crook of your knee. Your fingers falter in his hair for only a moment—you hope that he doesn’t notice.

“What’s a theory?” Harry asks.

You hesitate. “A set of statements that describe how variables relate to each other…right?”

“Close,” he says. “You left out the part about ‘general principles’.”

“Shit, yeah.” You sigh. “That one’s always tricky for me. I don’t know why.”

“You’re fine,” Harry assures you, reaching up blindly and giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Next one…what is a control group?”

“It’s the group that doesn’t receive the treatment,” you say. “It just kind of serves as the standard.”

“Perfect.” He nods and turns his face to the side again. You’re expecting another chaste kiss against your leg, but instead, you gasp when you feel his teeth sink gently into your skin.

“Ouch!” you exclaim, laughter trickling into your voice. Harry smiles, dragging his tongue over the shallow dents decorating the inside of your thigh. He soothes the brief sting with a series of quick pecks, and you nearly melt into your mattress.

You expect it to end. You’re waiting for him to pull away and fix his attention onto the next term needing to be defined. But—to your eager surprise—he seems completely happy with just lying here and making love to the sensitive skin on the inside of your leg. Your flash cards end up abandoned on the bed, still tucked into a neat little square. One of Harry’s hands reaches up to cup your knee, while the other splays out flat against the bed so that he can roll himself over with a soft grunt.

“What—what’re you doing?” you breathe, your eyes glued to his face. There’s a smug smile tugging at his lips, but overall, he does a good job of masking his glee.

“Nothing,” he muses, shaking his head. He’s on his stomach now, his chest flat against the duvet. You swallow down the hard lump in your throat when he snakes his arms beneath your legs and tugs you closer to him. He continues to pepper kisses over your knee, slowly making his way toward the hem of your shorts.

“Just…lovin’ on you,” he murmurs, inching the fabric further up your thigh.

His words are warm and sticky against your skin, though they’re quickly cooled by his saliva as he chases them with open-mouthed imprints of his lips. You exhale heavily through your nose; the noise is high-pitched, loud enough to be a sigh. There’s something hot brewing in the pit of your stomach, and you can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing moment.

Can he smell you? Like how he had the last time?

“Harry,” you stammer when he kisses a spot right at the crease of your upper thigh. “I need to study.”

Despite your reproach, though, your fingers once again find a home in his hair. He chuckles darkly.

“And you will,” he says. “But first, tell me—,” he inhales deeply, a low growl resonating in the back of his throat, “—have you got any knickers on?”

You squeak when he brings one long, sure finger up to the apex of your legs and runs the digit down the middle seam of your shorts. He’s got his answer, now, because you’re positive that he can feel the protrusion of your lower lips and the budding of your clit. Harry pinches the nub through the material of your bottoms, and you moan quietly.

“Guess not,” he mutters, answering his own question with a snicker. Your abdomen tenses when his finger slips lower; he looks up at you with wide eyes when he feels just how wet you’ve become. Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, but you hold his gaze.

“I’m…,” you trail off, not sure of what to say.

“Soaked,” Harry murmurs in supplication, rubbing his fingertip delicately over where your opening lies beneath your shorts. He coaxes your legs into a bent position so that your knees point upward at the ceiling, and your toes subconsciously curl into the duvet.

“I need to study,” you repeat stupidly, your voice quivering.

“Fine.”

Harry sighs, shooting you a small smile as he reaches over retrieve the stack of forgotten flash cards. You wait for him to pull away, now, but you’re sorely mistaken. Instead, he sets the pile down next to your hip, plucking a definition from the top and scanning over the words.

“What’s a cross-sectional study?” he asks, his index finger skating back up your center. You bite your tongue when he begins to rub slow, languid circles into your clit through your shorts.

“A—a design where researchers test different people of different ages. It’s like…the opposite of a longitudinal study.”

“Well done.” Harry nods, tossing the card away and reaching for another. “Want your reward?”

You gasp when he applies a bit more pressure to your clit. The change only lasts for a few seconds before he slows and reverts back to his previous pace. You swallow heavily.

“This one’s easy.” Harry smirks up at you after reading the next term. “What’s an independent variable?”

“The variable being manipulated,” you answer immediately. He’s right—it is a simple question. The definition has been hammered into your brain since your first year of university; you can recall it just as effortlessly as you can remember your own name.

Despite that, though, Harry still says, “Good girl,” and leans down, swiping his tongue over the full length of your clothed cunt. You moan in surprise, the sound tearing itself from your chest. He pulls away an instant later, an evil grin tugging at the corners of his lips. You peer down at him with dilated pupils and flaring nostrils, your mind going blank.

“Please.” The request falls from your lips before you have the chance to register what you’re saying.

“Thought you needed to study?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. You frown.

“Harry—,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“A few more,” he bargains, picking another flash card from the pile. “Define empiricism for me.”

“Er…fuck.” You close your eyes, inhaling deeply and taking a moment to collect yourself. Harry switches his fingers—the pad of his thumb takes up the task of rubbing you through your bottoms. Your exhale is shaky and forced; you wrack your brain for the right words.

“It’s the theory that—that all knowledge can only be derived from sensory experience. It’s what all branches of science are based on. I think.”

“Correct,” Harry replies, littering kisses along your inner thigh. You mewl when he hooks his middle finger into the left leg of your shorts, entering from the side and coming into direct contact with your folds. The digit glides down until it reaches your entrance. A faint curse falls from Harry’s mouth.

“Fuckin’ drenched,” he whispers. His features contort in what can only be described as pained desire.

Your walls bear down, clenching around nothing. Harry withdraws his finger, studying the way it gleams in the light of your room. You open your mouth to speak, but before you can, he envelopes his lips around your juices, sinking down to the knuckle. You suddenly find yourself struggling to breathe.

“Another,” he states, producing what feels like the millionth flash card from the pile. “What’s a—?”

“No,” you whimper, shaking your head and snapping your thighs shut.

As you anticipated, the action catches Harry by surprise. A small wrinkle forms between his brows, and he quickly pushes himself up onto his knees, fiddling nervously with the corner of the card. You sit up straight against the headboard, your hands flat on the mattress next to your bum.

“You alright?” Harry asks, no longer teasing. “Did I do something—?”

You launch yourself at him.

He grunts when your chest collides with his. The force of your attack is enough to push him backward, and his shoulders hit the mattress with a hard thump. You quickly scramble up his body, knees boxing him in as you straddle his hips. His hands reflexively land on your waist to steady you, and a loud laugh falls from his mouth.

“You’re mad,” he tells you, trapped in a fit of giggles. “Absolutely mad.”

“I don’t care,” you whine, flopping down and burying your face into the crook of his neck. “You’re such a dick.”

“That’s not nice,” Harry says, though he’s anything but upset. You pepper hot, frantic kisses along the column of his throat, circling your hips and applying the slightest bit of pressure to his groin. A low grunt reaches your ears, and you smile to yourself. Your fingers slip down his torso, hurriedly unclasping the remaining buttons on his shirt.

“Fuck me,” you murmur, nibbling softly on Harry’s earlobe. “Please?”

“Shit,” he wheezes. His fingertips dig into your sides; little pricks of anticipation whizz through your veins.

It’s all over, after that. In a matter of seconds, your baggy t-shirt has been discarded. Harry yanks down the material of your sports bra, catching one of your nipples between his teeth and biting down gently. You moan; the pain feels good, and it only spurs you on.

Harry’s button-up is next. You undo the last clasp before ripping the shirt from his body and yanking it down his arms. He chuckles at your eagerness, but the sound quickly melts into a soft sigh when you lightly scrape your nails down his toned stomach. You take a minute to trace the ferns inked into his hips before diving lower. The metal on his belt clanks loudly as you pull it from the loops on his brown trousers. The sound of his zipper being tugged down by your clumsy fingers is just as noisy, if not more.

“Help,” you beg, shimmying down Harry’s body so that you can properly grab onto the fabric of his pants.

His hands shoot down, swiftly pushing the material from his hips. You tug the trousers off the rest of the way, your damp hair falling into your face as you climb back into his lap. Now, the only things standing in your way are your shorts and his boxers.

“Glad to see you wore underwear, this time,” you say, the faintest hint of mockery snaking into your words.

Harry grins. “You didn’t.”

“We’ll take turns.” You shrug, concealing a smile. Harry chuckles, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and wrestling them down. You sit up on your knees, strategically lifting one leg at a time to slide the material down your thighs.

“Smooth, right?” you ask, lips quirking up when you position yourself back over his crotch. You can feel his cock beneath his boxers, hard and heavy. Reflexively, you roll your hips, and the two of you moan in unison at the sensation.

“Very smooth,” Harry chokes out, his large palms splaying against your ass. “Pull me out, love.”

You oblige, your fingers dipping past the elastic of his underwear. They wrap around his cock, and you gently tug him from the confines of his briefs. He hisses when you swipe your thumb over the leaking tip and give him a firm, steady pump.

“’Ve got…,” Harry swallows heavily. “There’s a condom in my trousers. Back pocket.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?” you tease. A weak laugh tumbles from his lips.

“Not presumptuous,” he corrects. “Just…hopeful, maybe.”

“I guess I’ll believe you.” You smile, reaching behind your body and blindly patting around for his pants. When you find them, you quickly fish through both back pockets, producing a gold foil square and holding it up between your fingers.

“Magnum,” you state. You think you see Harry’s cheeks tint with the lightest shade of pink.

“I used it last time, too,” he says.

You hum. “Guess I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“How rude.”

You giggle at his words, ripping the packet open and pulling the condom out. Harry groans softly when you roll the latex down the shaft of his cock, your fingers careful and delicate. Instinctively, his hips buck up; you place one hand over the butterfly on his abdomen to tame him.

“Gonna put me in?” he asks breathlessly, his fingertips pressing against the small of your back as you lift yourself up. “Gonna ride me?”

“Mm-hm,” you reply, positioning him at your entrance. You force your muscles to relax when you feel his tip prodding at your hole, and slowly, you sink down his cock, enveloping each inch as though you’ve done it a hundred times before.

“Fuck!” Harry hisses, throwing his head back into the duvet. Your walls flutter around his length, stretching to accommodate his girth. He looks up at you with glazed eyes, his lips pulled back over his teeth.

“Gimme a kiss, love,” he pleads, his hands stroking over your spine. “I’ve not kissed you once.”

“How rude,” you echo his previous words back to him, and he laughs. You fulfill his request, though, leaning down and smearing your lips against his. He sighs appreciatively against your mouth, and you slowly raise your hips, moaning when they drop back against his thighs. Harry swallows the sound, licking into you and cupping your face with one of his hands.

“Good,” he murmurs brokenly, squeezing your waist. “Y’feel so good.”

“So do you,” you breathe, your foreheads pressed together. “I feel…full.”

“Shit,” he says, and then he’s pawing at your chest, which is still partially covered by your sports bra. “Take this off, yeah?”

“Okay,” you whisper. You sit up straight, your fingers spread out just over his collarbones to keep yourself steady. Harry’s palms sweep up and down your sides as you rid yourself of the garment, tossing it away unceremoniously. Immediately, his gaze falls to your breasts. He wastes no time, cupping them and rubbing his thumbs over your nipples.

“’M not gonna last,” he confesses, his cheeks growing a darker shade of pink. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” you tell him, bouncing up and down quickly on his cock. “I won’t either. You—oh, right there—you’ve got me all worked up from before.”

“Was just trying to help you study.” His grin is forced, but it’s blinding.

You intentionally clench around him. Harry releases a loud swear, your walls nearly suffocating his dick. He reaches up, using his index finger to gently flick your chin in admonishment. You giggle, but the sound is short-lived, interrupted by the gasp that bubbles up in your chest when his hand fits around the curve of your throat. Your eyes go wide, and you peer down at him, stilling abruptly.

“This okay?” he asks gruffly. He makes no move to tighten his grip.

“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding vehemently and subconsciously arching your chest forward. You place your fingers over his and squeeze, encouraging him. “Do it harder.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters. His hips snap up into yours as he begins to apply more pressure against your neck. “You’re so—fuck.”

You smile dreamily, eyelids fluttering shut. Your hands find their way to Harry’s abdomen, using his body as leverage so that you can hasten your pace and ride him properly once more. He meets you halfway, bucking and slamming in profoundly every time. The room devolves into heat, pathetic little whimpers, and the telltale smell of sex and sweat. Harry’s now choking you just enough for you to feel a bit light-headed. It’s like you’re floating.

And it’s fucking wonderful.

“Har—oh my God, Harry, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.

The movement of your hips slows as you begin gyrating against him, aiming for something deeper, now.

Harry grunts in response. The hand that’s not wrapped around your throat snakes down to the apex of your thighs; he begins plucking messily at your clit with two fingers.

“Cum,” he says, breathless. “Lemme see it—cum for me.”

Your orgasm triggers his own. The fingers pressed against your neck twitch as he shoots into the condom. The two of you ride out your highs together, panting and groaning and trying to control the little spasms that rocket through your limbs. You fall forward, your chest smearing against Harry’s when you seek out his lips. It’s not even a proper kiss, permeated too heavily with gasps and sighs, but it’s enough. You don’t speak, sucking in deep gulps of air and trying to regulate your breathing.

Shoulders heave. Toes curl.

You squish your mouth to Harry’s temple. He sinks deeper into the duvet.

After a few long moments of silence, you feel a pair of hands cup the sides of your face, tucking your hair behind your ears and stroking the apples of your cheeks.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” Harry murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Glad we got to do that again.”

You snort softly, your heart hammering beneath your ribs. Harry wraps his arms around you as you bury your face into his neck, pressing haphazard kisses along the underside of his jaw. You shift your hips, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he’s still inside of you.

He’s still inside of you, and he’s…

“Are—are you still hard?” you ask, the words laced with disbelief.

His body rumbles as he chuckles. “It would appear so.”

You laugh quietly, your breath fanning out over the sticky skin of his throat. “We’ll go again,” you promise him, giving his shoulder a weak squeeze. “Have you got another condom?”

“No,” he says mournfully, stroking his fingertips up and down your spine. You sigh, nuzzling your nose against his cheek.

“It’s okay,” you say airily. “Maybe I’ll just blow you, instead.”

Harry groans at your offer, twirling a damp tendril of your hair around his pinky and tugging lightly. You hum appreciatively at the pulling sensation. He fixes you with an incredulous look—you just giggle in response.

“I’ll only give you head if you actually help me study afterwards, though,” you tell him, a teasing smirk spreading across your face.

“Deal,” he says. He pauses for a moment, but it’s clear that there’s something else on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it?” you press softly, drumming your fingertips over his chest.

Harry shrugs, shooting you a small smile. His next words fill you with giddy pride.

“Dunno why you thought you’d ruined our night,” he says. His eyes are brimming with sincerity. “This is probably the best date I’ve ever had.”

~*~

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[zwiezraczek]

She's the first one that I see

Note: Hello hello! 💕 So this is what I wrote for @interwebslandfill’s donation commission for the BlackLivesMatter movement (the list is up right here!) ~ Thank you again for your donation and I hope you’ll enjoy it! 

~~~

You breathed in and then out. Dying was tougher than you thought it would be.

You looked back looking for someone. No one. You smiled, because you knew that your death was for greater good and that you could save much more lives than by being by yourself, parkouring in the parking lots and running away from security guards. You had a gift, they said you when they recruited you as a solo artist. You liked to think about you as an artist, a flying dancer grabbing things while in the air and falling down on Earth graciously like a swan to live a peaceful – yet hectic life on your own.

You were running, wind in your hair, and you knew you had to trip and fall and that was the easiest part. The whole situation happening right after was a lot more touchy because you had to land in order to be unnoticed by the camera on your left while you had to leave the place, and that was the plan. You had to be seen one last time falling somewhere, probably in a dumpster, and that was supposedly how you died. In a dumpster. A brilliant idea, but not very practical and from what you had heard about other's deaths yours was a really original – and laughable – one. But honestly, you didn't mind about it, as long as you were able to help them in these tiring times.

You were focused, looking right in front of you as you jumped after the fake tripping situation before falling on the matters that were put right next to it. The camera had caught you, you were sure about it but now, you had to change your clothes and wear this black hoodie on top of your regular bright t-shirt to slide from the camera's attention. As you opened the plastic bag, swishing it, you looked up one last time. This was the city where you grew up, you got these scars – the ones on your knees – on this very ground and you were about to leave it and give your soul to a great cause, and you hoped all of this was worth it. You had to make it happen.

You put the hoodie on, looked right and left before you slid against the large dumpster in order to come out to the light where a car was parked waiting for you. A new beginning. The man opened the car window and had sunglasses on and a smile drawn on his face.

“Hello Eight, I'm glad you made it.”

~~~

He drove you to their place, for about seven hours as you looked at the landscapes changing around you. When you entered the car he politely asked you how you felt about this, and more importantly if your ideas haven't changed since the last time he had spoken to you about this great mission. You looked at him and smiled, and he seemed to understand what that meant. He understood you without a word before he began to drive, while some music played in the background.

“What it is like to... Be dead,” you finally asked as he stopped at a traffic light, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel after the first few hours you had spent in the car with him, half-asleep.

“It's like being alive, but with the perks of being dead,” he replied and put his foot down as the light turned green. “The whole fun begins once you're legally dead, which you are not yet. We have to make things up so your people will find out about it quickly and you'll be able to play with us in this playground.”

“Nice,” you mumbled, your fist on your cheek as you held your head against the window. “I truly can't wait to be part of the Ghosts.”

“You already are.”

Whoever decided that this abandoned place in the middle of nowhere was a great lair for an illegal group of superheroes fighting for justice was either a genius or the devil themselves. But apparently it was only One's idea. You opened your eye as you arrived at the place, with the car jumping up and down because of the shitty road he was driving on. The middle of the night and you were there, with your new ones, the new “yours”. Which you couldn't meet right away because of the ungodly hour One drove you in there, and honestly you were also exhausted by all the preparations that you had made for this day to finally come.

One showed you your new home, a trailer in the desert. In the cold night giving you chills, this trailer looked like heaven with hell's warmth. You didn't even ask questions when he left you so you could make yourself comfortable, he mumbled something about tomorrow but you didn't bother to listen to him at that very moment. You just needed a shower and some sleep. Luckily, somebody had thought about you and left some clean clothes on the sofa that was your bed now, along with some products for you to wash yourself. Immediately after your shower, you put the clothes on and threw yourself on the bed, sleeping like a solid rock for hours and hours not thinking about the major change you made in your life.

You finally met them, after the great night you had spent sleeping in your new home. A new home and a new family. When you entered the room, they were already there looking at you opening the door. You breathed in and waved at them, with a shy smile not knowing how to react. You used to work solo, but now you had to adjust to this new way of life.

“Here's our Eight,” One said and got up from his chair. “New parkourist, parkour expert and she's good at it.” The blond man standing next to the brown-haired woman looked at you and crossed his arms with a smirk.

“I'm Five,” the woman you were looking at said. “Nice to meet you.” And then, they all proceeded to present themselves as numbers, as One told you.

“So you're my new teammate,” Four asked and looked right into your eyes. His arms were still crossed over his chest as he was sitting on the table next to Five.

“Clever,” you replied with a smile. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah, me too. One told me you were playing Robin Hood out there, sicker than what I was doing with parkour,” he admitted.

“We have our different paths, I'm not judging, parkour-fam rule.”

“General rule here,” Five added with a warm smile. “We're all coming from different backgrounds, so we know who we were but that doesn't affect who we are.”

“I'm going to cry, so much inspirational shit told there,” One interrupted them and put his hand on Three's shoulder. “Now we have our new birdie we need to turn it into a ghost.”

“On it,” Three replied. “With Two we're almost there sending anonymous messages about someone falling into the dumpster.”

“Great.”

This was probably the beginning of something new, your hometown was far behind you now. You were becoming a Ghost.

~~~

This wasn't going as good as planned. Not at all.

You trained with Four for the past seven months, parkouring in the desert together almost hand in hand with the soft breeze at night and under the hot-burning sun. You shared laughs, you heard how melodious his was and how his eyes were shining under the day and night's stars. He didn't soothe you, he enhanced your Robin Hood tendencies with his straight-forwardness and his unpredictable ideas. And you liked being pushed forward like this, out of your comfort zone – often ending up between Five's arms who was applying some pain-killing cream on your ankle as you were complaining about Four and his ideas.

But now, you knew you had no time to complain as you were running next to him on the roof, being chased by armed men behind you, shooting bullets all around. You had to split, you going more on the left and him on the right. You felt the wind in your hair, it wasn't as easy as it was when you played the Robin Hood in your hometown, it was gambling and you offered your life to play. What had crossed your mind when One came to your house in order to recruit you? It wasn't the moment to think about it. You jumped on the right, avoiding a bullet from hitting you, but at the same time you felt your feet slip on the roof. You already felt death. You cursed your ankle – the one Five had to repair a few times during the past seven months – and hoped that the sweet call of death wouldn't be as sour as predicted. At least, you knew that the guys would focus on you, on catching you alive in order to help them gather information about the Ghosts which would give time to Four to escape. And you knew how to resist if you would be caught, but you hoped for death. But a hand caught you after you heard a gunshot – Seven's probably. Your feet were pedaling in the air as you struggled to look who saved, or cursed, your life. You rose your head, and a well-known hooded face was looking at you, concerned and drawing you up to him. Four. I was him.

“Let me go down,” you shouted to him and almost let your hand slip out of his. But he grabbed yours harder.

“Darling just hold on,” he said looking into your eyes. “I'm not letting you go, Eight.”

Another gunshot behind him. You heard people falling on the roof, and hoped that they weren't on your side, that it wasn't Two. But you heard her thick French accent behind Four hurrying him up, and pulling him closer to her, drawing you up at the same time. And, as you reached the roof again and felt the ground beneath your feet you couldn't get his “darling” out of your head.

Five took care of you right after the mission, even in the car, but in your trailer mostly. She told you to be way more careful with your ankle next time because you seemed to overuse it lately. You nodded being a bit off and smiled. She then revealed you, with a little spark in her eye, that someone was waiting outside your trailer to see you. And you knew this look too well to not expect something to happen, Five always had this mischievous spark in her eye when she was about to do something she was excited about for a reason or another, and seeing this spark was rare and followed by some unexpected event. You told her to let the person enter the place as you began to fidget your hands.

It was Four, again. And again, his words began to resonate in your mind, his “darling” and the fear you saw in his eyes earlier when you were about to fall, to die. But he grabbed your hand, to net let you fall down. Maybe to not lose you, who knew. He entered the trailer, looking a bit clumsily at you with a little shy smile before sitting next to you and grabbing your hand, but this time gently stroking it with his thumb.

“How you're feeling,” he asked delicately as if he didn't want to disturb your peace of mind – at least, he thought your mind was peaceful at that very moment.

“Fine, fine,” you repeated blushing from the contact of his hand against yours and this gentle touch. You suddenly felt that it was pretty hot in here, out of nowhere and looked down, your other hand running through your hair a bit anxiously. You were also biting your lower lip.

“Look at me love, please.” You looked up, hardly believing what you had just heard. Your heart began to race, you thought that it would explode in your chest right now. You never thought that this gentleness, and the pet names would make you feel so weak and you blamed your near-death experience for that.

“L-love...?”

“I have loved you since we began to practice together,” he revealed and you felt the butterflies in your stomach merge with your beating heart, ready to make you explode from the inside. “I mean... It may sound a little bit creepy, and the situation isn't really helping but when I saw you slipping from that roof I thought that my heart would just stop and I had to run to catch you. I knew that I had to save you at that very moment...”

“Four,” you whispered, taken aback a bit.

“I know, this sounds crazy and insane and creepy but I needed to tell you this. I just needed to tell you that you became really important to me, and even if you don't love me the way I do I'll be there for you if you need me, Eight.”

“I think that... I have some feelings for you Four,” you replied shyly and you saw his eyes glistening with joy. “I think it's worth the shot, I owe you my life and even if I didn't it would be worth it, I swear.” You then pressed your lips against his hot cheek and he looked at you again, squeezing your hand.

“I'm Billy.”

You smiled before telling him your name. And from the smile on his face you knew that this would be his sweetest secret, and the most cherished name – as his was to you.