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madtype · 3 years ago

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Cabaret Club Czar Training - YUKI (Part 1)

i'm slowly working on transcribing every training sequence from yakuza 0's cabaret club czar minigame - figured i'd start with our first hostess, yuki!

highlights: - yuki giggling like a weirdo - majima getting emotionally decimated at multiple points by a completely oblivious yuki - yuki (excitedly): i... don't have any hobbies!!! - both of them being a little bit dumb and mean, bless their hearts

full transcript under the cut!

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MAJIMA: Okay, let's do a little conversational training.

YUKI: Y-Yes... Thank you for your help with this!

M: What's up, Yuki-chan? Ya nervous or somethin'?

Y: N-No, I wouldn't call it nerves. It's more like... battle butterflies!

M: That so? Well, I guess that's encouraging enough. Alright, ya ready to pretend I'm a customer?

Y: Y-Yes...

Y: H-Hello, customer! I-I'm Yuki! I look forward to a fun conversation with you!

M: Uh, you sure you've got this?

———————————————————————————

M: Okay, well, let's start with an easy topic. Tell me 'bout some hobbies of yours.

Y: S-Sure. Hobby talk... Um... So all I have to do is tell you about them, right?

M: Yup. Come to think about it, I don't know much about you either. Let's use this little practice to get better acquainted, eh?

Y: Hobbies, okay. Let's see here. Hobbies... Hobbies... Ah!

M: Got anythin'?

Y: Yes! I... don't have any hobbies!

M: Hey, hey, if you wanna be a hostess, that kinda talk ain't gonna cut it. You just flatlined the whole conversation.

Y: But, I really don't have any hobbies... Oh! I doubt it counts as a hobby, but I do write in my diary every day!

M: A diary, huh? That's a great start, actually. What do ya write about in it?

Y: Oh, just boring stuff like what happened today, what I should make for dinner, how my bonsai plant's growing... That kinda thing.

> Little details work.

M: You got an eye for detail then, Yuki-chan. That suits you just fine.

Y: Wow, Majima-san, you actually give people compliments?

M: What? 'Course I do, when they deserve 'em.

Y: Really? But Majima-san, I don't think I've ever gotten a single compliment from you.

M: Well, that's because you... Well, you're... Nevermind.

Y: Oh, you mean I don't deserve any compliments, is that it, Majima-san? You sure have a way of putting your foot in your mouth!

M: Hey, I ain't said squat.

> Bonsai?

M: Wait, wait, back up a bit. Bonsai?

Y: Huh?

M: Wouldn't you think that tending bonsai would count as a hobby? I bet your older clientele would love hearin' you babble on about that.

Y: Oh, I see! You're right, that might work. Majima-san, you're a lot sharper than you look.

M: ...Are you sayin' I look dumb, Yuki-chan? Anyway, why didn't ya mention your bonsai hobby in the first place?

Y: I-I only have about eight years' experience with bonsai, and in the bonsai world, that makes me a nobody. A more experienced hobbyist would just laugh at me.

M: Hmm, I see. Well, I think it's pretty amazin'.

> Yeah, boring...

M: Hmm, yeah, a boring diary like that's just gonna deflate some libidos... Not a great conversation starter.

Y: Wh-What's that supposed to mean? I may not be the most entertaining or glamorous, but you don't have to insult my poor diary!

M: Shouldn't you worry more about me insulting you than your diary?

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M: ......

Y: ...... (heh)

M: ......

Y: ......

M: You really clam up when the guest stops talkin', don't ya?

Y: Y-Yeah, I guess I do. It's just, I feel like it would be impolite if I just started talking all of a sudden.

M: Impolite? That ain't the right idea at all. Our customers are here specifically to talk to girls, Yuki-chan. You've gotta lead 'em in with some topics.

Y: B-But I... I don't have a clue what I should talk to them about! What should I do if it gets quiet?

> Try to smile a bit.

M: If a conversation's running thin, just put on a nice smile. A woman's tears can cut like a knife, but the steel of a smile is a thousandfold stronger.

Y: Y-Yes! I understand! I just have to smile a bit, right?

M: Yeah, give it a go then.

M: ......

Y: [smiling awkwardly] ...Hmhm. Hmhmhm.

M: ...?

Y: [nervously] Hehhehhehheh... Hehheh... Hahahahaha...

M: Whoa, Yuki-chan, let's put the brakes on that one.

Y: Huh? Why? I was just trying to smile like you told me...

M: Sorry, Yuki-chan, my bad.

Y: What? Why are you apologizing?

> Try to compliment them.

M: If you're drawin' a blank on somethin' to talk about, try a compliment. Ain't a man in the world who would turn down a compliment.

Y: A compliment? Like, say something nice about his face or something?

M: Yeah, his face, his voice, maybe his personality? If he looks even a little well-off, try sayin' something nice about his clothes, his shoes, or, hell, even his watch.

Y: Wow! Now I... Majima-san, this is the first time I've felt like I can really look up to you! I guess you don't wear that janky eye patch for nothing!

M: Wait, is that your idea of a compliment?

Y: Wh-What? I was trying really hard to compliment you... I-I'm so sorry.

M: Hoo boy... The road to success is gonna be long and bumpy for you, Yuki-chan...

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M: Let's see, what else is a good conversation starter... Do you have some kinda talent, maybe? Eh, on second thought, scratch that...

Y: Wh-What are you talking about? Even I have something I'm good at!

M: Oh, no kidding? Okay, what is it?

Y: Um, well... I'm... O-Older people do tend to like me...

> Older gents, huh?

M: Hey, ya see, everybody's got a hidden talent. That'd make you perfect for the older clientele.

Y: Oh, maybe you're right. I was always my grandpa's favourite, so I bet that's why I can speak a little more naturally in front of older customers.

M: Hey now, why didn't ya tell me sooner? We can't be lettin' a talent like that go to waste, Yuki-chan.

Y: Majima-san, I'm sorry. But thank you!

M: Then it's decided. Yuki-chan, you're gonna be our older customer specialist. Every grandpa who walks in here is gonna get assigned to you!

Y: Whaaat? I'd like to talk to some younger clients too...

> That's a talent?

M: Hmm, can you even call that a talent?

Y: Well, I suppose it's not exactly a talent... But sometimes the older customers give me candy, even if all I do is sit next to them doing nothing!

M: That's... amazing, but you should prolly try to take care of your customers instead of sittin' there like a mute.

Y: O-Ohhh. I-I'm sorry. I'll be careful, I'll be careful...

M: (Yikes. Come to think of it, it might be how green she is that's makin' her so endearing to the old gaffers.)

> You're a grandkid type.

M: I see, so the old guys fancy you, do they? I suppose ya do seem a little like a grandkid.

Y: R-Really? I'm not so sure about the grandchild part, but I was always my grandpa's favorite.

M: Makes sense. But that's actually a big plus in our line of work. I could let you handle all the grandpas who roll through the doors.

Y: Ah, thank you. But it would be nice to get a break from the grandpas every once in a while...

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M: Alright, let's change gears. Why don't ya tell me about a weakness you've got, instead. Anythin' come to mind?

Y: Weaknesses? I have a lot of those...

M: Why does that not surprise me?

Y: Hey, don't be rude!

M: Heh, I'm just messin' with ya. Well if you've got a lot, how 'bout ya pick one for me. Anything's fine.

Y: Let me think... To be honest with you, I-I guess I'm not very good at talking to men.

M: Eh? If you're no good at talking to men, why the hell would ya work in a place like this?

Y: Um, that's, uh... it's because... Oh, I know! It's because I'm not good at it! I thought I could get used to talking to men by working here!

> Y'know, I'm a man too.

M: Yo, you do realize... I'm a man too, right?

Y: Oh, that's true. But Majima-san, I can talk to you just fine.

M: Haha, and why's that? 'Cause I'm such a supportive and considerate guy?

Y: Haha! I don't think so. I'm probably okay with you because you don't seem like a man at all.

M: Hey, what the hell does THAT mean!?

Y: Eek! I-I'm sorry!

> You're lying!

M: Oh come on! You're lyin' through your teeth! You're a real terrible liar, Yuki-chan.

Y: I-It's not a lie! I-If you're sure it's a lie, let's see you prove it, huh!?

M: Damn girl... What've you got to hide, anyway? Listen, it's fine if you've got secrets, but if you wanna last here, ya gotta learn how to hide 'em better than that.

Y: Heheh... I'll work harder at that.

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M: Okay, I think that'll do it.

Y: Th-Thank you for the lesson.

M: Sure thing. Good job.

#cabaret club czar #yakuza 0 #goro majima #yuki #club sunshine

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andyet-here-we-are · 4 years ago

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I Would Get Into Millions of Accidents Just to See You, Chapter 2 (aka Nurse Geralt AU)

(ao3: x

Chapter 1 Tumblr Link: x )

Geralt is not someone who is an active social media user. He has never been.

Hell, he wouldn’t even use WhatsApp if he didn’t have to.

He thinks that apps like this make people so accessible, and leaves little privacy, and ironically, despite it’s called “social media” it makes people less social. He has lost count of how many times he has seen a group of friends sitting somewhere and scrolling through some apps on their phone or something instead of talking to each other.

Of course, it depends on one’s use, but from what he can tell, whenever you’re online, people tend to think that you have all the time in the world.

So no, thank you very much. He likes his privacy.

Whenever he says that “Social media is for people who don’t have nothing better and important to do,” Ciri just gives him The Look ™ and says: “Okay, boomer.”

He has no idea what the hell it’s supposed to mean, but he is sure it’s not something good.

Once Ciri had downloaded some dating app on his phone without his permission while he was sleeping his ass off after a very tiring night shift. That little match-maker of a girl.

And not only that, but also she had said: “I texted some of the users for you! The ones I thought you might like. One of them seemed nice, I like her energy. So, anyway, long story short, you have a date this weekend. You can thank me later.”

“Excuse me, you did what?!”

Needless to say, Ciri wasn’t allowed to use the internet for three days after that.

“I just want you to be happy,” on the third day, Ciri had said out of the blue while they were reading I, Robot together —they were both into sci-fi, and reading was a great escape from thinking about all the things going on in life.

“You deserve love. Everyone does. Your whole life is nothing but me and your job, and… You deserve happiness, dad. You deserve love.”

“Come here,” Geralt had said, opening his arms wide for her to embrace him, which Ciri had applied.

“I am happy, pumpkin.”

“You could be happier… If there was someone you loved and dated—”

“Ciri, look. Love is… A beautiful thing.” he started ‘Even though it can be hurtful,’ was left unsaid.

“But love doesn’t necessarily mean the affection between a couple. It doesn’t just mean romantic love. Love can be in many forms, shapes, and different ways. Love of self, of animals, of nature, friends, family… We experience love every day when you think about it. You can find it in everything. Even in a slice of homemade pie that Mrs. April brought us today.”

“I love pie! But dad, I doubt that if a slice of pie can tell you that you look lovely today. A cutie-pie on the other hand—”

“Ciri, have you been even listening to me?”

“…and a pie can’t run their fingers through your hair-”

Geralt sighs, “Why am I even trying?”

“Deep down you know I’m right. Dad… How about you just… give her a chance? For me? Just see how it goes?”

"Is it gonna make you happy if I do that?”

“So happy!”

“And you’re not gonna do something like that ever again.”

“Promise!”

“Not downloading stupid apps on my phone, and not trying to set me up.”

“You got it, Cap!”

Geralt had met with that woman, and they just didn’t click.

True to her word, Ciri never has done something like that again.

***

Geralt is not someone who likes social media.

But there he is, looking at the musician’s posts instead of sleeping—even though he has to get up early as always tomorrow—scrolling through the app, and feeling like a high school girl with a stupid crush.

He reads every little caption the musician had written.

Surprisingly- well, maybe not so surprisingly- his songs aren’t the only thing he posts about.

He posts about random things; sometimes it’s a pretty flower he came across this morning, sometimes it’s a kitten, a book he is currently reading, food recipes, his drawings, things like that.

His account seems like just his personality.

Filled with all the beautiful colors in the word. Filled with joy, and every little thing he shares feels so sincere. Personal.

[I tried that recipe @Brianricci has sent me and it still feels like there are fireworks in my stomach, so here’s a little drawing for you my life-saver pasta-mate.]

That one makes Geralt smile. Reminds him of that day.

***

“I have something for you, Mr. Should Have Been A Model But Became A Nurse For Some Reason. Not that I’m complaining, for the record. The only thing I have complaints about is your hospital’s awful food. So awful that it should be illegal. A sin, even. You’re sinning whenever you guys force people to eat that food. I can only imagine your staff’s weekly confessing: ‘Forgive me father for I’ve sinned.’

‘What’s wrong, immortal one? What did you do?’

‘Oh, father, even bathing myself in holy water can’t cleanse me from my sins! I made my patient eat that awful food, I had to, father! I had to! I had no choice! But I have faith that I can change that one day!’

‘Faith becomes you. Stay with it. Keep fighting the good fight with all thy might.’

God help him this man is so ridiculous.

“Why are you suddenly Anthony Hopkins from The Rite?”

“Eh, just felt like it,” Jaskier shrugs “Your jello is pretty good though, so, good deed point. And your nurses aren’t half bad either, so I heard.”

Jaskier winks at him.

The audacity of that man.

“Anyway! As I was saying, I have something for you—”

“I have something for you, too, Mr. Pankratz,” Geralt says. He has a good guess about what Jaskier has for him.

A drawing of a flower.

He had heard the staff talking about how the pretty patient in room 242 has been giving flower drawings to pretty much everyone while he was walking around.

“Why thank you, you shouldn’t have! You brought some wine for me or something? For the celebration for my third week here? You’re so kind, my good sir.”

“It’s your medicines.”

“…ever the heartbreaker. I take back everything I said. You’re the devil in disguise.”

After Geralt gives him his medicines, Jaskier pulls a scratch book under his pillow and carefully tears a page from it. He gives it to Geralt.

“I thought I was the devil in disguise?” The nurse says as he takes the drawing from him “Are you sure that you should give demons a flower draw—”

Geralt can’t finish his sentence.

Because what he is looking at certainly is not a flower drawing.

It’s a man who holds a syringe in his hand with a kind smile on his face, and the syringe is filled with cute little hearts.

It’s him.

There’s a giant cactus standing behind him for some reason Geralt finds it hard to understand why.

He has seen the other drawings, and they are nothing like this one. This one looks like Jaskier has tried his hardest to make it perfect. Put everything in it. It’s perfect and detailed as if he had drawn it while looking at Geralt. It also seems familiar for some reason.

“—in conclusion, devils are fallen angels, so…” Geralt hears Jaskier talking.

Yet he is too busy to say something as he keeps looking at the drawing in his hands.

“Ooops, did I go too far with the hearts?”

“Hm.”

“Geralt? Say something, please? Oh God, I broke my nurse. They’re sooo gonna sue me. And I don’t think I can afford a good lawyer, I’ll rot in jails, I’m too young to rot in jails, I can’t be someone’s bitch, I’m not even—”

“May I ask why is there a cactus standing behind me?”

“A comment! Phew! Finally! Well, that would be because you’re just like a cactus.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“Better than being a weed, Dandelion.”

Jaskier holds his hand to his chest and gasps, feigning offense.

“Words hurt, Geralt. Words hurt.

I meant it as, like, let’s face it, you’re kinda prickly on the outside sometimes, but soft on the inside? A cactus in the desert.”

Geralt sighs.

“And now you imply that my hospital is a desert. How nice. What’s next?”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s okay.”

It’s obviously more than okay, but teasing with the young man is fun, and everyone needs some fun in their lives once in a while.

“If you don’t appreciate my drawing just give it back,” Jaskier makes grabby hands as he pouts like a little kid that just dropped his ice cream, “I’m pretty sure it’ll look good on my fridge anyway. No trouble for me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I’m not giving this back. Too late, you should’ve thought that before you gave it to me. Can’t take it back now.”

“If you don’t say something nice about my spectacular drawing you can be sure that I’m gonna take it back from your hands even if that means putting up a fight.”

“How bold of you to think that you’re in a condition to put up a fight.”

“You’d be surprised. And if I can’t, your other nurse friends and your fellow patients can do it for me. I haven’t been handing out flower drawings for nothing all day.”

“And you say I am the devil in disguise.”

“I never said I was an angel, have I? Seriously though, you have ten seconds to pay a compliment to my drawing. Ten—”

“ ‘Okay’ was a compliment.”

“I beg to differ, since when ‘okay’ is a compliment? Say that to the Italian chef in Mamma Mia when he asks how is the pasta and see if he takes ‘okay’ as a compliment and doesn’t pour half-full pasta plate over your head, and ruin your favorite bee shirt. Also, nine.”

“That was oddly specific. Did that happen to you?”

“Eight, I have no idea what you’re talking about, I was just being hypothetical. Seven, six—”

“I bet he wouldn’t threaten me with taking my meal back if I did at least.”

“Sev— wait a second I was counting backwards, weren’t I? Where were we? Five!”

“Man, you’re really no good at math.”

“Wanna know what I’m good at? Many things, and fighting happens to be one of them. Four, ” Jaskier attempts to get up from the bed, somehow forgetting about his broken leg for a split second and swears: “Ah, cock!”

Geralt barely holds back a laugh at that one.

“Careful.”

“I can still verbally fight you.”

“You’ve been already doing that for the last five minutes.”

“…three.”

“You never give up, do you?” Geralt rolls his eyes with a smile, “It’s a good drawing. I really like it.”

Another lie.

He doesn’t just like it, he loves it.

But even saying that he likes it is enough to make Jaskier beam at him.

“You gave everyone a flower drawing,” he points out “but I get a cactus and a drawing of myself, why is that? It must have taken some time to draw this.”

“A special drawing for a special nurse.” Not making eye contact, Jaskier says so softly that Geralt nearly misses it. “Yeah, it sure took some time to draw it, and my schedule was so full because of all the crazy hospital parties you guys keep throwing that I could hardly find the time, but eh, I managed somehow.”

“Sucks that they never invite me to that parties,” the nurse jokes back. “Seriously though, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I’d like to draw something for Ciri, too. But I’m saving it for later when I can meet her. You didn’t tell her that I’m here, right?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Good! Keep it that way.”

***

Smiling at the memory, Geralt rises from his bed to take the drawing from his bedside drawer. No, of course he doesn’t look at it every day, what are you talking about?

If he hadn’t promised Jaskier that he wouldn’t let Ciri know until these two can meet in person, this drawing would be on his wall already.

Maybe next to Ciri’s painting of a white wolf.

He had considered doing so but then decided that it would be wise if he didn’t. No doubt Ciri would figure out it was Jaskier’s drawing as soon as she would see it. It was signed by him, after all. Not that Ciri couldn’t figure it out without the signature.

“What the hell, Geralt” The nurse snorts to himself and runs a hand over his face as he imagines his room filled with the drawings of his daughter, and Jaskier’s. “What are you gonna dream about next? Ciri being a flower girl at your wedding?”

Fuck.

He is totally dreaming about it now.

God, it’s crazy how much he misses him, even though he doesn’t really know him.

Ciri already is crazy about Jaskier, and Geralt looks forward to them to meet, to see how Ciri is going to react when she sees him. He feels like the two would talk non-stop, and he would just listen to them talking about God knows what.

He would have no problem with that; in fact.

“I’ll give him a call tomorrow,” he thinks.

He wants to see Jaskier again.

(Thanks for reading! Sorry for the lack of Jaskier in this chapter, but it was like:

-So, it’s time for you to meet Ciri!

-Hah, well, I love her, but I don’t think so. Not yet.

-But Ciri-

-You can have me as a Flashback Guest in this chapter, nothing more.

-But my plan wasn’t like this.

-Too bad, I’m my own character.

Let me know what you think please. Have a good day everyone ~ 💛)

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #nurse geralt au #my writing #I Would Get Into Millions Of Accidents Just To See You #geralt of rivia

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years ago

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I would love for you to do the sharing favours professionally from the rivalry/ friends to enemies to lovers for the prompt fill for indruck? (I'm on mobile so can't copy the whole prompt) 😁

“ we’ve been begrudgingly sharing favours back and forth to help each other out professionally but this time i need you to do something more personal and you know you wouldn’t have gotten that account without my help last month or that promotion so you owe me.”

Content note: There’s a brief description of Indrid’s ex being verbally shitty to him.

“No, nuh uh, aboslutely no fuckin way.” Duck maneuvers the last butterfly bush into its display row, stands up to find Indrid glaring at him.

“Why not?”

“Indrid, we see plenty of each other at work. I’m not gettin roped into some evenin shindig with you just because you asked.”

He heads inside, the skinny, pale-haired man on his heels.

“Duck, please, I help you out all the time.”

“Yeah, with work. And it’s only now and then.” He settles behind the counter, checking off the deliveries that have already happened. Indrid stays on the other side of it.

“Oh, really?” he arches a dark eyebrow (of course the guy dyes his hair), “what about the time I made sure city hall chose us for the five year landscaping contract even when you were the one who was supposed to be working on winning them over?”

“That how we’re playin?” Duck leans on his elbows, staring Indrid down, “because I seem to recall it was me who helped convince Mama that havin a little florists space so you could do your arrangements was a swell idea.”

Indrid opens his mouth to retort when the phone rings.

Duck grabs it, “Mama’s Nursery and Landscapin, Duck speakin. Oh, howdy Winthrop. Yep, expectin the last orders this week, then we’ll get started on that zen garden. Uh huh. I see. We’ll see what we can do. You have a nice day now.”

He clicks the phone off, “I hate the rich bastard, but he wants us to do the landscapin on their summer home, which’ll be a nice chunk of change.”

“See! There’s another one you owe me. You have such a hard time being in the room with him, the only reason we got the hospital garden job is because I turned on the charm.”

“Is that what you call it when you get that weird smile on your face?”

Indrid groans in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. When his hand drops away he looks...defeated.

He and Duck may bicker, may compete from time to time, but Indrid’s a good guy. Hell, Duck will even admit (begrudgingly) that he often enjoys how much the two of them work together.

Duck sighs, forces his brain to switch from arguing mode to problem solving mode, “Indrid, what’s all this about?”

“I told you, I have an art showing.”

“Right, but why do you need me to go. Why do you need anyone, ain’t your job at those to make small talk and hope people say nice things about your drawins?”

Indrid swallows, picks at the front of his work apron, “He’s going to be there.” He says meekly.

“He-oh fuck, you mean The Shithead?”

Indrid nods.

“He tryin to pull some stunt to make you take him back?”

Indrid laughs bitterly, “no, he’s been all over his social media bragging about how he’s going to turn up with a hot date to my show, “show me what I gave up” and all that. Dani saw it and warned me so he couldn’t take me by surprise. I have so few friends in town, and everyone but you has work or something else that night. I thought it would be nice to have someone I knew with me.”

Duck thinks about Indrid’s ex. The guy’d come into the shop plenty of times, often making a big show of putting a possessive arm around Indrid (who never seemed to enjoy the gesture). At least, that’s what he always did when Duck was around. Worse, whenever Indrid was describing a new landscaping design, or working on an arrangement, the ex would pick at it, say how it was bad or lacking, that it would never work and no one would like it. And Duck would watch the glimmer dim in Indrids’ eyes, watch him go quiet (find him more than once sniffling and wiping his eyes furiously in an outbuilding once the guy left).

He looks back at the other man, who is staring at his scuffed converse.

“Where am I meetin you and what time should I get there?”

--------------------------------------

Duck gives a tight smile to the group of hip twentysomethings crowding the door of the building as he squeezes through. It’s some art space/ coffee house/ bar that isn’t quite his scene, although he likes that it’s warm and lively as opposed to the fluorescent lights and weird silence he was expecting.

He doesn’t spot Indrid right away, and so takes a moment to look at the drawings on the wall. They’re Indrid’s alright, he can recognize the ways they overlap with the sketches he does for arrangements or the plans he draws up for gardens. And they’re incredible, black and white with pops of color, a few abstract or dreamlike but many seeming more like still lifes.

One in particular catches his eye and he stares at for a good two minutes, trying to figure out why it looks so familiar.

“Ahem.”

He turns, and has to forcibly stop his jaw from dropping.

Indrid is in dark slacks and some sort flowy black shall-jacket thing over a bright red shirt. His hair is tousled on purpose, rather than from getting it caught on plants.

Has he always looked this good?

“Thanks for coming.” He says awkwardly, extending one of the two glasses he’s holding to Duck.

“This all looks amazin.” Duck says, taking the drink with a smile. Indrid relaxes at that.

“Oh, I’m, uh, glad you like it.”

“What’s this one of?” Duck points to the drawing he’d been staring at.

“It’s of a really lovely, big cork oak up on one of the eastwoods trails. I like to go there on weekends and sketch.”

“Hold up, that the trail that ends at the little lake?”

“Yes.”

“No fuckin way! I hike that nearly every weekend. Amazed I’ve never seen you.”

“I’m usually off the trail a little ways.” He grins sheepishly when Duck looks aghast at this confession, “I know that’s not allowed but I’m able to get such different perspectives on the things I draw.”

“If, uh, if you wanted to, maybe we could go up together some time. Could leave you to do your drawin while I hiked and then, dunno, maybe get lunch of somethin?”

Indrid looks a little surprised at the suggestion, but recovers quickly, “That sounds quite nice, actually.”

Duck stays by Indrid as he makes the rounds, asking him about the different drawings and enjoying the way he animatedly describes the process and idea behind each.

The Shithead arrives about forty-five minutes in. Duck spots him first, complete with a date on his arm. The date is tall, slender, with pale hair, looking like Indrid if he were a model rather than just a regular guy. Or, Duck thinks as he watches the ex preen, as if someone took Indrid and erased all the things that made him so interesting to look at.

“Ex just got here.” He murmurs, and Indrid stiffens beside him. Duck, seized with a sudden need to protect him from that jerk, places an arm reassuringly on his lower back. Indrid glances at him, face unreadable, but relaxes into the touch. For the next fifteen minutes, whenever The Shithead makes a loud, derisive comment, Duck will squeeze Indrids hand or brush his fingers down his back and Indrid will shake off the words.

There are several people wanting to buy drawings and so Indrid excuses himself to go thank them.

“Knew you’d be the one to pick up the scraps.” Says a familiar, unpleasant voice.

Duck turns, levels The Shithead with his most disinterested gaze.

“Nice to see you too. And I ain’t got the slightest clue what you’re referrin to.”

“He was always talking about you. ‘Oh, Duck knows so much about native plants,’ ‘oh, Duck has such good ideas.’” He says it in a mocking, high pitched imitation of Indrids lilt and Duck wonders if he can get away with physically throwing him out of the building.

“Anyway, it doesn’t surprise me that when I traded up, he went crawling to you. Honestly, you can do much better.”

“Beg pardon?” Duck growls.

“Let me see, how to put this in terms you understand? Why waste your time on a weed when you could have a prizewinning rose?”

“Because,” Duck says through gritted teeth, “sometimes people call things weeds just cause they don’t behave exactly how they want ‘em too, or because they don’t see the value in ‘em.” He steps closer to the ex, not noticing that he’s stopped whispering, “You fucked up. You were shitty and Indrid had the good sense to dump you and now you’re doin some petty shit to try and hurt him. He’s amazin at what he does, he works hard, he’s funny, and he’s so handsome I wanna look at him every damn day. You didn’t see the value in him. That’s your loss. Now fuck. Off.”

The Shithead is about to say something when a hand grabs his shoulder. His date is behind him, looking pissed.

“Hold on, you asked me out to try and hurt your ex?”

“Uhhh, babe, no, I can explain.”

Duck smirks, turns to check on Indrid just in time to see him slip out a side door.

“Goddammit.” He mutters, quickly following him.

The door opens into an alley, and Indrid is standing with his back to him. When he turns, his hands are over his mouth and his eyes are wet. But he doesn’t look unhappy.

“You like me.” He whispers.

“Uh” Duck scrambles, “well, yeah, we’re, uh, friendly types, fuck.”

“You think I’m handsome.”

“Shit, you heard all of that?”

Indrid nods, Duck sighs.

“Fuck it. Yeah, I think you’re handsome. And all the other stuff. And lots of, uh, other stuff that I didn’t say but could’ve.

Indrid steps closer, “Is the part where you admit all our arguing has been the only safe outlet for your, um, passion for me?”

Duck snorts, “Hell no, sometimes you need a fella who’ll tell when an idea ain’t feasible. But…” He meets Indrids hopeful gaze and smiles, “I’d be lyin if I said I ain’t thought about what it’d be like to be a different kind of partner to you.”

Indrid reaches for him, and Duck goes willingly into his arms as the taller man blushes and says, “Yes, I’ve thought about that quite a lot as well.”

------------------------------------------

Dani’s glad Indrids’ show is open so late. It means she and Aubrey can go once Aubreys’ act is over. She even texted Jake and Hollis, asking if they wanted to check it out too (also, if Indrid’s ex was there, having someone who looked like, and basically was, the head of a motorcycle gang would come in really handy).

When the four of them reach the bar, she peeks in hoping to see Indrid, but can’t spot the taller man (or Duck) anywhere.

“Huh, maybe he left?”

“Or maybe he’s taking a little ‘break.’” Hollis makes airquotes before pointing up. They all look towards the balcony, which clearly isn’t in use for the party.

It is, however, in use for the two figures currently occupying it for a long and intense looking kiss. One is wearing red glasses, the other lets out a laugh that unmistakably belongs to Duck Newton.

“We should give them some privacy.” Aubrey says. The other three look at her, and then she grins.

“Just kidding! WOOOOOO GET IT DUCK!”

“ABOUT FUCKING TIME DUDES.”

“GET A ROOM!”

“I’M SORRY ABOUT THEM BUT GOOD FOR YOU!”

----------------------------------

The sound of his friends catcalling them breaks Ducks concentration for all of two seconds. Then he flips them the bird, and goes back to the very important business of making out with his boyfriend.

#Prompt Fills #indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #AUs #taz aus

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honeybeesintheimpala · 5 years ago

Text

Title: An Angel's Lullaby

Pairing: DeanCas, Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Words: 93,662

Status: Complete

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984306/chapters/18268822

Chapter One - The Man with the Ocean Eyes

"Excuse me," a gravelly voice suddenly fills the room and Dean's pen nearly goes flying, heart pumping. It's been at least two days since anyone's even walked through those doors and being alone with his thoughts isn't exactly a new thing but for that long, it gets to be a surprise when someone says something. He keeps it under control though, doesn't look up except a quick glance at a nice pair of khakis and a deep purple jumper.

He goes back to scribbling on the piece of paper where he's supposed to be filling out a request for another truck to come and take away a few boxes of older books, bring them to a charity or a foster house somewhere.

"What can I help you with," he says, surprised that his own voice is bored considering his heart is pounding out a Jamaican beat and he's pretty sure he almost pissed his pants.

"I was just wondering if there are any books that you might recommend? I'm in the mood for reading, but not really sure what to look for," the man speaks at a low volume, as if there's anyone here to be disturbed.

Dean's intrigue is piqued though, so he pauses his doodles, knits his eyebrows together and looks up.

His eyes trace up the outline of his jumper, which wraps nicely around a narrow waist and a great chest, then leads into a white collared shirt, tan neck, a scruffy jaw that can't decide between chiseled and soft, some full lips that look like they might be chapped bit also look incredibly kissable, a straight-edge nose, and finally, two unfathomable blue eyes, shining bright as the Caribbean ocean that Dean is entirely too sure they are made of. His hair is a messy looking, bed-head-esque mop of dark chocolate brown and he smiles down at Dean as if he isn't the most attractive person Dean's ever encountered.

He's actually blown away by the fact that this man is inside a nearly failing library right now instead of out modeling a white pinstripe suit and blue tie from Men's Warehouse somewhere.

This time, Dean thinks he may actually piss his pants, but he refrains from any sort of urination onto cloth, as a mind-blowingly handsome man with some captivating blue eyes that seem to have stolen the sea is standing in front of his desk, asking about books.

He also refrains from exhibiting all of these passing thoughts on his face, because it feels like it's been a few minutes since he asked the question and the guy's probably starting to think Dean's some weirdo who can't speak under pressure.

"Library's a dying business, sir," he sits back in his chair and sets the pen down slowly. "Yeah, all the kids got their...electronic readers and...there are bookstores that sell books. Never out of stock of a specific book. Sometimes we get that; not having a specific book because all the copies got checked out...or we used to have that..."

The man stares down at him with such focus and intent, nodding along and knitting his brows together. Who is this guy?

"Nah, I mean, it's amazing that...someone wants a book so badly and loves it so much that they gotta buy it and have it forever," Dean continues, then leans forward again, grabbing a book to his left and wiggling it in the air. "Not so awesome for the library."

"That's so...intriguing...that you respect those other industries so much..." He replies, squinting, head tilting in a puppy dog manner.

Dean chuckles, setting the book down. Stares at the black cover as his smile slowly fades.

"Not much else I can do," he shrugs, shuffling through several books to find the one with the light yellow-beige cover, red outline and text reading Oliver Twist glaring up at him, and a small, square, painted picture of a boy in a hat playing at the edge of a wood sitting just above the title. "Once these places shut down, I'll inevitably drift into a bookstore, sign up to be a clerk or a stocker. 'Cause I mean," he flips the book over and opens the back page. Pulls out the name card from the pocket glued to the inside of the cover and examines it. "Yeah, a book ain't been checked out from here in three months."

He laughs and throws the book to his right, watches it skid across the table and come to a stop beside the red canvas hardcover with shiny blue letters indenting the words Of Mice and Men.

"Wow...so...I mean, how do you guys stay in business?" The guy is leaning ever forward, hands gripping the edge of the desk and arms stick straight as he balances himself over the books.

Dean smirks up at him.

"Ah," he scrubs at the back of his neck, cheeks hot, and looks away into the corner of the main entrance. "Well, charities? Mostly...and, uh, you know, school fundraisers, donations from the coffee shop down the street." He squints up at the giant skylight making up about ninety percent of the roof, thinking. "Oh, uh...this one guy. Some sorta bookwrite. Author of...damn, what are those things called...gaaahh...oh! An Angel's Lullaby!" Recognition passes over the man's face in clear abundance. "Guy's name, I'm still drawin' a blank on--"

"Chuck Shurley," the guy cuts him off but Dean is impressed. It's such an obscure book but he obviously knows it well.

"Yeah!" He points at the guy. "Yeah, yeah. You know him? I mean, his work?"

"Yeah...too well...why?"

"Ah, no...I'm just...just surprised, you know? Not a real popular selection," Dean thinks for a moment and it falls silent once more. Then: "You met him? He did a book signing here once. Not many people came, but..."

"Oh, yeah I've met him..." He doesn't elaborate, but Dean suspects it's because he just explained it for the guy, and it seems like it's making him a little uncomfortable anyway.

"Uh," he looks for something that might change the subject. "Well, to answer your first question..." He opens his mouth to continue but ends up chuckling and shaking his head. "Look, man, there's just too many books and not enough time. I've been coming to this library my entire life, probably read every single book by now. I mean, I can point you to some of my favourites, I guess, but really the only one off the top of my head and without me getting up is An Angel's Lullaby."

"Are you religious?" He asks suddenly and Dean's bewildered by the inquiry until he realises how obsessed he must seem with the book.

"Oh..." He breathes out a laugh. "Nah, that's...I'm an atheist, actually. I'm just...really into angels. Religions and...gods and deities are my thing. To be honest, I could probably list thirty Christian angels off the top of my head."

"Really," he seems impressed and Dean blushes harder. "How about...the three main archangels and...the Angel of Thursday."

Specific...and strange. But okay, he'll play along. For the sake of flirting.

"Okay...well there's Michael, the eldest son of God who was set to the task of casting Lucifer, second oldest, into hell because he claimed he could not love humanity as he loved his father. Gabriel, protector of humanity, present at the birth of Jesus Christ and the deliverer of the Holy news. And then...actually, my favourite, if I'm honest-" he looks up and watches the man's lips part, a blush crawling up his neck too, and he briefly wonders why, "-Castiel. Angel of Thursday, keeper of prayers said on that day." He smirks for a second before adding, "Always heard he was a real looker."

The man seems flustered, tugging at his jumper, pulling the v-neck away from his chest and adjusting his collar.

"Me too," he chokes out and Dean thinks it's entirely unfair how cute this man looks with a scarlet flush painting his cheeks and his hands not able to find a resting placing.

"I..." Dean starts, gazing down at his hand fiddling with the edge of a hardcover, nail scraping against the canvas. "I think I remember a few more books. Not real sure what you would like, but, uh..." He tears a corner off of the paper he was drawing on and scribbles down the titles and respective authors, then continues as he hands the list to the man. "Most of 'em are...classics...Little Women, Gone With the Wind, A Wrinkle in Time, Wuthering Heights...the original and best...version of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."

The man smiles down at the list and then down at Dean, and Dean's heart leaps into his throat.

"Thank you," he says quietly and Dean's eyes flit down, small smile of modest pride lifting his lips.

"Don't mention it," he whispers back, gaze meeting the man's once more. Then he leans forward and takes up the pen again, waggling it between two fingers. He leans on his bent arm and says, "So, you plannin' on checkin' anything out today, sir?"

And, without blinking or missing a beat, the man replies with the most unexpected answer, letting the words drip from his lips like fuckin' honey when he replies, "Just you."

Dean is astonished at this guy's guts, but a brazen vocabulary and a cocky attitude is exactly the kind of thing that gets him going.

He opens his mouth in a shocked kind of smile, and shakes his head as if he's offended at the nerve of those words.

"I...don't even know your name," Dean says slowly, eyes twitching from the man's leg to his chest to his mouth to his eyes. When they meet, the man tilts his head with another squint, this one more challenging than curious. Amazing how he can squint in the same manner with just the slightest differences and change the entire composure of the movement.

But Dean doesn't let himself get too distracted by this ability, and soon encounters a moment of realisation.

The blushing, fidgeting, stumbling words when he talked about Castiel...

"Your name is Castiel," he whispers, astounded. "And you have three brothers." Then more realisation. "And you haven't met Chuck Shurley, you used to live with him."

Castiel pushes his lips out and looks down, scratches through the stubble on the edge of his jaw, nods.

"And I assume," Castiel says, squinting at the wooden triangle at the corner of Dean's desk and smiling, then continuing, "your name is Dean Winchester and you work as a librarian."

"Hey, I am not...a librarian," he protests playfully, grin growing on his teeth. "I am...a book obsessed...checker...outer."

Castiel laughs and Dean gives him a look for a moment before bursting out into his own fit of laughter at how utterly ridiculous that title sounds.

"I'm guessing that sounded better in your head?"

"It did," Dean nods and chucks the pen at one of the books, sitting back in his chair again and kicking his legs up onto his desk. He cranes his neck and reaches behind him, grips the back of another rolling chair, and rolls it over so it's facing him. Pats the seat and jerks his head. "Come on around." Castiel looks uncertain, sliding the torn paper into his pocket and pursing his lips, slight squint of his eyes. Dean chuckles. "Come on. I don't bite."

"Isn't that against the rules or something?" Castiel asks as he makes his way around the right side of the desk and through the opening in the side, in spite of his words.

"'Eah, mostly," Dean shrugs and pushes his lips out, then smiles. "But no one else is around, don't have any cameras, and-" he holds out a hand, "-I'm a rebel."

Castiel laughs wholeheartedly at this, grin huge and gummy - the most enchanting thing Dean's ever seen - and his head tilted back, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Dean notices a slight dimple in his left cheek and stores that information in the back of his mind for later, when he's having a rough day.

"What," he says, though he knows Castiel is laughing at his insanely stupid joking around.

"Nothing, you're just...really...interesting--"

"Interesting meaning...lame?" He squints and adds, "Dumbass, weirdo, bad amusement--"

"Hey, I genuinely laughed at that," Castiel points a finger at him, not hiding his grin.

Dean shakes his head, looks away, licks his lips. Things settle for a moment.

Dean plays with the hem of his black t-shirt, scratches his nails over the faded denim of his jeans, examines the familiar dark splotch of oil on the knee. He would dress nicer for work, but the last time anyone even walked through the doors was 48 hours ago, and he wasn't expecting any company today, either.

"Can't believe I'm flirting with the son of my favourite author," he mutters, reaching back over the back of his chair to snatch up another pen.

Castiel scoffs playfully, and Dean catches the smirk on his face when he turns back around.

"You call that flirting," Castiel quips, unbuttoning the wrists if his collared shirt and rolling the sleeves of both the shirt and jumper up.

Dean lets his brows drop and pushes his lips out in confusion. "Well...yeah..." Dean watches Castiel stifle a smile and glance down and away. "Why, what do you call it."

Castiel peeks up through mischievous, dark lashes and swimming eyes, lips parting in a secretive smirk.

"Honestly?" He starts, shifting in his seat and sitting back, settling his hands together in his lap. "A sad but sweet attempt to impress me."

"Oh, is that so?"

Castiel nods, grin growing across his cheeks.

"And what would you consider flirting, mr. big-shot-I-know-exactly-how-to-woo-the-ladies?"

"Well, first of all," Castiel leans forward, rests an elbow against his knee, uses the armrest to balance himself, and points at Dean with raised brows, as if he's about to teach a lesson. "Sir. There's a difference between being laid back and being downright cocky. And you-" the corner of his lips twitches up very briefly, and his cyan blue eyes turn dark "-are neither."

"So what, exactly," Dean whispers, fingers a bit too loosely woven around the pen, teeth digging into his lip. "Do you propose I do about it?"

Castiel's gummy smile is printed into his teeth again and he shrugs a shoulder, bringing his lips down in an impressed bow.

"Well, that's the first step. Ask what you are instead of asking what to change. When you know, even if it's not true, even if it's only what another person sees, you can accept it."

Dean squints, leaning further back into his chair, pressing his index finger into the ballpoint, black ink tip of the pen and the other to the textured top of the cap wrapped around the end, pushing his tongue into his cheek and pursing his lips.

"Alright, fine. What am I?" Dean imposes, then grips the tip of the pen between his thumb and finger and adds, "To you. Smartass."

This earns him a short chuckle and an approving nod.

"Well...I think...you're reserved. You act like you're king shit and like you know exactly who you are, like you don't give two flying fucks about where you're headed in life, or maybe like you've already accepted it. You act comfortable with yourself, but what nerd is ever actually satisfied with their existence?" He's leaning ever-forward and Dean's cocksure smile is ever-fading, eyes becoming wide with marvel as the man-who-knows-too-much continues. "I think you're unsure. You're scared and you...you hide things that you think no one cares about. You're upset and self-deprecating. Eyes of a guilty conscience."

Dean drops his gaze, first to the floor, then to the pen, still grasped tightly by his fingers which have fallen into his lap and which fiddle vapidly with the object, nail scraping at the black polycarbonate and over the white indents that spell out the company name.

"But," Castiel starts up again, voice soft and lilting. Dean swallows hard. "I think you have a lot to give. I think you have...maybe too much to give. Too much forgiveness, too much love, too much doubt, too much strength and care. I think you are the embodiment of generosity, but you don't take what you really need in return. And I think that can get dangerous, but I also think that nothing is ever really too much." Dean's eyes flit back up in time to catch Castiel's angling downward, past Dean's chair, through the desk, through the floor, staring wistfully at something intangible. "People are greedy. And you're too willing to give."

Dean searches the man's face for any sign that this is all some sort of joke, that he's being filmed or some shit, but all he finds is truth and wisdom and knowledge, and possibly a glimmer, just a glimpse in those blue eyes, of a bittersweet past, an origin for where these words came from.

"I was right!" He exclaims as he sits back in the chair, shoulders trembling with a silent laugh. "You like to cover up your pain with gay jokes and stupid references."

"Now, that, I can't deny," Dean nods and everything falls silent. He rocks his chair gently, side to side, left to right, fingers still fidgeting with the tips of the pen, his head tilted in thought. Castiel's mouth is pulled up into a ginger smile, his eyes faraway and swimming in themselves, in the past, in glistening memories and soft-edged, slow-motion, sunny-fielded dreams. "What about you?" He asks suddenly, voice crackling and ripping through the still air as a quiet question. Castiel eyes don't move but his smile grows slightly. "I mean...what do you think of yourself."

"Not much," he replies, head lolling to the side and back, eyes catching on the impotent, pathetic little piles of books scattered about Dean's desk. "I like books. Reading. Writing. Time-consuming, arbitrary activities which include my eyes scanning words on a piece of pressed wood?" He furrows his brows and Dean throws his head back in a genuine, full laughter that he hasn't experienced in a long time.

"I can tell you write. What do you write about? Like, schmoopy romance novels? Sci-fi thrillers? Action adventure futurism?"

"And I can tell you do a lot of librarian...ing..." Castiel squints and presses his lips together in the contrite afterthought but continues, nevertheless. "I write what my dad would call 'a bunch of gay shit'." Dean cocks a brow. "Get your head out of the gutter, it's not as sexy as it sounds. For the most part. Bottom line, I'm gay, I hang out with gay people, and I wanted to dedicate my life to writing about it, about that experience. But my dad has never approved much."

"You don't say."

"Yeah...he's...more into theology. I think the one book he's ever written that really ventures into the realm of fiction, or at least dips it's toes past the line, is An Angel's Lullaby."

"Which parts are real?" Dean scratches the pen across the bumpy plastic chair arm and watches the black ink run in splotches over the grey of the polyvinyl.

"Our names, obviously," Castiel shifts again, bringing his leg down from across his knee and kicking off from the floor so he spins in a circle. Dean watches with a strangely adoring smile. "It's funny that that's the part most people think is fiction. But, no. Mom was a Jesus nut and Dad is too passive to care, so we ended up with angelic names and weird looks from sane people. The only parts that aren't completely true are the things like our address, the colours they painted our rooms, some of the dialogue that he added or got rid of in order to make the conversations more interesting or sensible - you know, just these really inane things..."

He trails off and he's staring at Dean with expectant brows, and Dean realises he's staring too, realises Castiel probably stopped because it's weird how attentive he is.

"Sorry. You're fun to listen to."

Castiel's cheeks paint themselves a thick fuchsia and his eyes drop to his empty palms resting uselessly in his lap, the lines becoming suddenly very interesting. Then they catch on his watch and widen and his head whips up.

"Well, if I'm so interesting to listen to," he leans forward, snatches the pen from Dean's hand, then takes the other hand and begins a careful scrawl across the back of it as he continues, "why don't you call me. And we can figure out a time to meet at the-" he recaps the pen and gently replaces it in Dean's hand "-coffee place down the street. But, right now, I have to go. College...and shit. Studying for a major in English takes a lot of time away from socialising."

"Sorry to keep you, I didn't--"

"No no no! It was..." His blush deepens and he stands, head down. "It was incredible to meet you. I really hope I can see you again."

"O-Of course," Dean's voice comes out stammered and soft, crackling with hope and fear and adoration, and Castiel smiles broadly.

"Great," he whispers back, then he's rushing around the side of the desk and out the front door and Dean is left to wonder if the entire exchange was even real or if his lonely, empty mind is just playing games.

When he looks at the neat, black little numbers on his hand, he realises just how real right now is.

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apryllfool · 6 years ago

Text

So. I meant to make a post yesterday but h I.

I had homework due last night and tonight, and it’s hard on nights like tonight when I got home at about 10, and the assignment is due at 12, but I got it don e. Now I have stuff due tomorrow too so I’m debating staying up, though I’ll get home at about 7:30 tomorrow, I think-- so that’ll be better. But today I worked from 1:30pm to 9:30pm, and this work is actually seri o u s. Like, serious. I felt like I kept screwing up, and I have a credit card quota or smth and I have to get a certain amount of people to sign up per month? per week? Honestly it keeps changing.

I guess that’s my biggest problem! Like, with the training videos, they were a lot different in practice! And then today was my second day, and it went a lot different than my first! I just am not getting a chance to get used to anything? It feels like I keep needing to re-learn what I’ve already learned and idek if that makes any sens e. Like, it’s only day 2 but I’ve been been shown like 3 ways to make returns, which I’m not the best at, but I’m better at that than at exchanges, oh m y. Those darn exchanges. And you’d think cash would be the easiest thing to handle right! But I literally have been failing at counti n g. I’ve always been good at counting... :c

And don’t get me started on those dressing rooms. They were a mESS, couldn’t even clean it all by the end of my shift. I work from like 10:45am-7:15pm tomorrow, and I have homework that I can either do now or later, and I’m still deciding cuz I’m sO tired.

But ahem, I saw great stuff on the dash today! and I’m all caught up in the chat so bless, I usually open up tumblr on my breaks and try and catch up some time during the day cuz gotta~ But the art was so great, and I heard flame colored the hotak/dri one and she is so good I love he r. And aku is great at drawin g

I also wanna talk about how perfect that Ib au is for those babs. Like, Reina batting the dolls away with her broom?? She would 100% swat those things far awa y. And she’d pick up Ken, and protect them and even I wonder wh y. Maybe because they can’t take care of themselves? Mayb e. But hi, if anything screwed her over in Ib tho, it’d be when she had to rip open dolls to get out of that room? And that doll that was coming out of the painting like. Big r i p. She might just hit that one with something too. Anyways I love it and wanna talk more about it but h, I’ll rebloop it later bc tired, but I have so much to say and thank you aku,, I love reina too and need to do more with her but it makes me feel like I’ve succeeded a lil whenever you guys do/say something that’s just so accurate for he r. and it gives me ideas and I love yall

#tldR #I love you memes

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squatlord-draws · 7 years ago

Text

┗┃・ ■ ・┃┛

GOD ITS ABOUT FUCKIN TIME I CLEAR THE DOCKETT

hey everyone how yall been doin lol, been sittin on a lot of these nice messages for a while now

it’s okay take your time

anonymous asked:

I've never had any interest in Star Trek or (sci-fi in general tbh) and I figured I'd probably never watch it but like... Ur undertrek au... It's filling me with Temptation. Also I love love love how you portray Chara. Or well I love how you portray literally everyone tbh you're just amazing holy shit?? I hope you have a nice day

undertrek is such a self indulgent thing and i would absolutely LOSE it if someone started watching ST because of it. i mean let’s be clear here, the original show is such a vastly different beast than the following series’ (TNG, DS9, Voyager, Enterprise, STD) and im primarily a fan of ToS--though when i started drawing undertrek, i hadnt seen the original series? in retrospect i’d like to go back and change some of the toning, to leave behind the more grounded feel of the post TNG-verse, and do more of the romanticism of ToS

god what a choice fuckin ask, thank you for submittin this

anonymous asked:

Would chara ever actually admit that they actually real love sans and sees him as family?

they see him ...... as a real pain in the ass

anonymous asked:

God I love how smug charas and sans relationship is

they’re the actual best

anonymous asked:

I see charas and sans relationship like rons and aprils in parks and recreation

ron from aprks and rec: rat piss

grabnok-destra asked:

Are Chara and Asriel ever happy? :( I want them to be happy.

i’d say they’re happy a lot, actually

anonymous asked:

I would fight your chara in a darkened alleyway

god you’d fucking win

Anonymous said:

While chara is possessing frisks body where does frisk go?

spectral chuck. e. cheese ball pit

Anonymous said:

You are the squat lord, lord of those who squat

i am no lord. i am only a simple jock. i pump iron like everyone else, one arm at a time, at the same time

Anonymous said:

I'm so split against either having sans and chara get along because they are super similar or them hating each other because the "fuck that stupid ass skeleton" and "haha fuck u too :)))" trope is my favorite

you dont gotta be split . it can be both. you can have it all. we can all have it all

Anonymous said:

I've probably said this a thousand times in my tags but I just??? Love your style so much it brings a smile to my face every time I see it, the way each character looks is just absolutely fantastic and floors me every time, not to mention your oc's are so much fun to look at and I love them? And your humor is always so on point.... thank you so much for sharing ur art with us

OH I LOVE THIS THANK YOU !!! <33333

Anonymous said:

You are one of my favorite undertale blogs ily

thanks i have a comic where sans calls me a horny baby

@georgetheblob said:

You're one of my biggest expression inspirations. Your work is all so fun and entertaining and I hope to someday achieve what you do with your work with my own work.

this is so wonderfully kind of you to say ! it always makes me happy to know others enjoy my stuff < 33

Anonymous said:

love your awesome art by the way, alphys, sans is spying on you and gathering science information. trust me.

he’s stealing all your really good kissy cutie headcanons & posting them as if they were his own, the unforgivable bastard

Anonymous said:

God I love your chara they are so true to character it's scary

i was gonna make some kind of stupid joke to deflect how genuinely happy i get when people call my chara writing in character, but i’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time researching different veins of meta & also reading a ton of childhood psychology books, and there’s no amount of deflection that can erase that bizarre aspect of myself

Anonymous said:

I want your chara to brawl with a random pedestrian

good news there’s a guy in an alley that just fucking killed them

Anonymous said:

I always thought your username was squad-lord

what’s a squad to a lord?

Anonymous said:

I really adore your character designs dude. You use strong basic shapes in a way I don't see artists do a whole lot and their personalities (and the way you characterize them in your comics) just comes across so well, I'm a big fan of all of it.

im really glad ! it’s all a learning process and im really tryin to do what i can to have fun, and make (hopefully) good stuff

Anonymous said:

I will always see chara as a lovable shit head till the day I'm lowered in my grave

sans: why have you killed everyone

chara: im just quirky like that

Anonymous said:

Asriel!!! Is!!! A!!!! Good!!! Boy!!!!!

HEY HE’S A GOOD BOY ! I LOVE THAT GOOD GOAT BOY

marv0 said:

you...you talented...

you.... you thank you............

Anonymous said:

I would fight 10 grown men for chara

well there’s a guy in the alley & another guy who’s watching so you could always go fight them

Anonymous said:

Can I just say ur amazing

oh thank you !

Anonymous said:

your art is amazing and i really like it!!! i hope you have a good day/night!!!

Oh !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! two really nice ones in a row im diggin it lmao

grabnok-destra said:

Wait...did you ever make a Frisk for your Star Trek stuff?

hell yeah my dude, i love em. love to draw em someday

Anonymous said:

Mmmm those are some good toes squat, nice big ol Toes

i fucking know it’s you sans

@talifu said:

Your Chara is the best Chara I've ever seen (Also your expressions give me life)

THANKS I LOVE EM

Anonymous said:

Lord your depiction of Alphys is the absolute greatest no one else captures her quite as well

she’s really fun ! i feel like she’s the one ive improved the most on as far as her visual appeal, my stylization on her face wasnt ... like ... super great for a while there. im really happy with the general look ive got for her, though. she’s also super fun to draw as a ferengi too lmao

grabnok-destra said:

I actually would like to see Adult Frisk again. Maybe harassing Chara and Asriel by making them join family bonding time/doing healthy exercises or some shit. I dunno, you've always drawn Adult Frisk like they're a huge ball of positive energy and I'd like to see more of it.

it’s been awhile since i’ve drawn adult frisk, i just didnt realize that people care all that much ? tbh i dont really care all too much for them ... i like the design and all, but i just think kid frisk is a lot funnier, and i have more fun drawin their amorphous kind of shape anyways.

im generally pretty insecure about what people think about how undefined all my art decisions are anyways, and adult frisk i always kind of assumed people thought was ... shitty ? maybe a bit too self indulgent ? i dont know. i should draw em again. they got great hair

Anonymous said:

You're a legend, you know that right?

did this ask get sent before or after i tweeted about sans suckin toes

Anonymous said:

I LOVE your Asriel, he is a good boy but also a bit snarky and has some flowey traits still, I love him

asriel as i like to write him is an asriel who wants to believe it was the flower thing that made him such a shit head, but he was always kind of a shit head, the flowey thing just sort of aggregated it

Anonymous said:

sans + blue belly

hey

Anonymous said:

I love how you draw sans as a shoe with a face

please do not ever email me pictures of your shoes because they sound horrifying

Anonymous said:

Can we see more flowey? I missed the edgy piss child

honest to god you are so right . why dont i ever draw him ? he’s literally perfect? he literally did nothing wrong, ever?

Anonymous said:

JESUS SQAUT.,,...every time you post a bunch of happy stuff I know it's a build up to some sads and I'm still never prepared when you post it

it’s like a mob psycho counter w/ posts about horny sans until i post a picture of chara’s horrible corpse bleeding out on the ground

@luptaccos said:

Toriel wearing a Snail! Heaven! Now! shirt is the most genius and in-character thing I've ever seen, congratulations I love you

i think probably toriel listens to a LOT of podcasts, and references them constantly.

Anonymous said:

I love the way you portray undertale characters tbh- you're really good at giving them a lot of personality in a simple looking style! Not to mention your take on them in general being A+ :D You've been one of my favorite fanartists since the fandom was young, and even though I'm not particularly active in it anymore myself, I still really enjoy the things you draw!

it’s gonna be like 5 years from now and im still going be drawin flowey sayin “piss” & i really am not going to have a good explanation for anyone for why its like this

thank u tho im glad you like it <3

@hadjiiembercolgatenerdmctillhawk said:

i accidentally misspelled your name as squadlord, is that okay

god there are so many missed connections goin on in my ask box its wild

also hell yah . i think im just essentially squadlord by proxy at this point anyways

Anonymous said:

In loving that spooky eye on the left

i took too long to respond to this so now i dont know what this was in reference to, so now im just, stuck with this eye mystery . eye just dont know what theyre talkin about

@maple-maypole said:

Aahh, your art is awesome. Please don't let that just slide, I mean it. You have one of the most unique and easily recognizable artstyles I've seen in the few years I've spent in The Webz(tm), so alive and stylized but also so grounded and sharp. Your lines are amongst the best I've ever had the joy to look at, they are without a doubt my favorite thing about your art, only coming close those simple and yet so great characters designs and shapes. I could go on and on. Thanks, really. Ur cool.

oh thank you so much !! one of the greatest pleasures ive had in my art up until this point is improving on my linework, and it always means a lot when people say they like it ! it’s so hard being an artist because i always want to draw in the style of other artists, so its always good to know that others like this weirdass style ive got lmao

Anonymous said:

Pom Farr Chara

ch... chara horny ....

actually i cant be all that sarcastic about it b/c star trek really DID just have it be a thing where vulcans gotta fuck or they die, like that’s a goddamn universal fact. chara is technically vulcan so i guess they also gotta fuck or theyll die

god undertrek is such a fucking good au

Anonymous said:

What's the kids favorite music??

chara: bad youtube edits of the hotel mario theme

asriel: paramore, paramore adjacent

frisk: also the hotel mario theme

Anonymous said:

Your glutes must be hella toned o lord of squats

i had pretty major knee surgery over the summer so a lot of my leg muscles atrophied pretty badly, actually :(

i’ve been pretty bummed about that. i’m able to walk now, but the strength still isn’t quite there. i’m at the point where i can get back into weightlifting, though, so i just need to actually sit down & write down my fitness plan for the week.

i’ll be honest the name squatlord is partially ironic but i’m not kidding about how good, important, and helpful squatting is as an exercise. it really targets those major leg muscles that are vital for just about any physical activity we engage in as humans -- and since my goals are primarily strength training & some amount of bulking, it’s pretty important to have squatting as a major aspect of that training. it’s just been months at this point, though, and getting back into a regular exercise routine is always difficult. it took years for me to even have a schedule at all. totally worth it tho, i fuckin adore bein a full time jock lol

also “squat” is a god damn hilarious word and my domain IS this fuckin leg flexin, i was lyin before, i am absolutely the lord of this horrible sweaty realm, i fucking own these legs & i fucking own these squats

Anonymous said:

I love you're Azzy so much no matter how you draw him

i love him too i always feel so guilty im drawin him in a way people dont like lol ... i just want everyone to love my beautiful goat son, and his beautiful longface

Anonymous said:

i seen your twitter account. I know how deep the horny sans well goes.

#not an art post #askdump #grabnok-destra #marv0 #people in the tags tumblr wont let me at for some reason ?????#i keep forgetting @'ing is even a feature so maybe its for the best #GOD i need to get better at tagging people lmao

48 notes · View notes

omg-imatotalmess · 7 years ago

Text

Friends Forever

Hey guys! Newt Scamander is my baby and he deserves all the love in the world and I fully intend to give him some. What a wonderful cinnamon roll. By the way, this one is going to be long so it will keep going under the cut. I kid you not, it is so long. I got carried away. You have been warned.

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Slytherin! Reader

Requested: Nope

Warnings: A little angsty, swearing, looooooong

Five Years Old

You cocked your head, watching a boy who sat alone in the park. The other kids didn’t seem to want to play with him. You didn’t know why. He didn’t seem mean like a few of them you knew. Standing up, you began to walk towards him.

“Where’re ya goin’, (Y/N)?” (F/N) asked.

“‘M gonna see if he wants to play,” You said, smiling. All of your friends wrinkled their noses.

“He’s weird,” (2nd/F/N) said, still wrinkling her nose up. You looked back at the boy, who was drawing in a little book. He didn’t look weird. Just lonely.

“If you talk to him, we’re not gonna be your friends no more,” (F/N) said. That didn’t sit well with you. Sticking your little nose in the air, you marched your little self over to the boy. They weren’t worth it if they were going to be mean.

“Hi!” You chirped. The boy jumped, looking at you like you might bite him.

“H-Hello,” He greeted, quietly. You plopped down next to him in the grass, glancing at his book.

“Wha’cha drawin’?” You asked. Shyly, he moved it so you could see a sketch of a creature. You didn’t know what it was, but it was cool anyway.

“It’s a bowtruckle,” He said, “They’re in my book about magical creatures.”

“Cool!” He smiled at you and your eyes lit up. You hoped that he’d let you be his friend, especially since you’d just lost yours.

“Yeah! I’m (Y/N) (L/N), call me (Nick name),” You giggled, holding out your chubby hand for him to pull himself off the ground.

“Newton Scamander,” He said. You wrinkled your nose.

“How ‘bout ‘Newt’? Sounds better,” You said. Newt smiled at you, nodding.

“Let’s be friends forever.” You held you pinky out to make the most sacred of promises and he linked his with your own.

Eleven Years Old

Your letter from Hogwarts had just arrived, coming as no surprise to you or your family. You’d been showing signs of magic forever. Either way, you ran over to Newt’s immediately with the good news. You knocked on the door and Mrs. Scamander answered the door.

“Hi, Mrs. Scamander! Is Newt home?” You asked, bouncing on your toes. She laughed, lightly.

“Yes, dear. He’s just cleaning up from tending to the Hippogriffs. Please come in,” She said, leading you into the house. It was the same routine both of you went through every day.

“I got my letter today,” You told her and she smiled.

“Congratulations, dear,” She said, leading you into the living room. Newt walked in just as you did and you grinned.

“Guess what!” You giggled. He pretended to think about it for a moment.

“You’ve joined the circus?” He teased, giving you a hug. You gave him a playful shove as he let go, laughing.

“I wish but, sadly, no, I got my letter this morning!” You all but sang. He gave you one of his best grins, pulling out his own letter. You jumped on him, squeezing the life out of him. Neither of you could wait to go buy your wands and robes. As you made your way to his room, you began to think about sorting.

“What?” He asked, noticing your slight shift in mood. He knew you as well as he knew his mother’s hippogriffs.

“This is dumb but, what if we get sorted into different houses?” You said, rubbing your arm. Newt shrugged, looking a little worried himself.

“I doubt we’ll be in different houses,” He reassured you.

“You’re right but, just incase we are,” You held your pink out to him with a smile, “Friends forever.” He linked his with yours making it an unbreakable promise.

Fourteen Years Old

You hadn’t been sorted into the same house, but your promise of being friends forever hadn’t changed. You made lots of friends in Slytherin as well as plenty in Hufflepuff. One of those friends, and you use the term loosely, being Leta Lestrange and you quickly became a trio. All of the adventures you used to go on with just Newt became a group thing and you didn’t mind it, but you also saw something happening.

Leta was getting really close to Newt and starting to push you away. The adventure duo that had been you and Newt had quickly become a trio; now becoming a duo again without you. To be honest, you didn’t trust that girl as far as you could throw her. Newt seemed happy though, so you kept your mouth shut. Eventually, it got to the point where you wouldn’t see Newt for days at a time. That was about the time you knew you had to say something.

On an off day, you found Newt alone in the library and figured that then was as good a time as any to tell him how you felt. You’d leave out the parts about not trusting Leta, but tell him that you wanted to see him more.

“Hey, Newt,” You said, smiling as you slipped into the chair beside him.

“Hello, (N/N),” He replied, grinning at you.

“Can I talk to you about something that’s kinda been bothering me?” That got his full attention. He put down his quill and turned to look at you, setting those blue-green eyes on you with a worried look.

“What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” He asked. You shook your head, pushing some (H/C) hair behind your ear.

“No, no one hurt me. I just wanted to talk to you about something,” You said, appreciating the fact that he worried about you that much.

“Always.” You shifted nervously in your seat. You didn’t want him to think that you were jealous of Leta or anything. You just wanted to spend a little more time with him. Okay, maybe you were a little jealous.

“Well, it’s just, I feel like I never see you anymore,” You said, tracing the line of the table as you spoke.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“You spend a lot of time with Leta, that’s all. I miss my best friend. I just feel like we don’t hang out as much as we used to,” You said, watching yourself trace lines instead of looking at him.

“If that’s all it is, I can make some more time for you. I don’t want you feeling left out,” He said sweetly, smiling at you like you were his favorite person in the world.

“Thanks, Newt,” You said. “Friends forever.” You held out your pinky and he locked his with your own.

Fifteen Years Old

As much as Newt told you that he’d make time for you, he didn’t. When he actually did, all the conversation was Leta this, Leta that, ‘isn’t Leta so wonderful’. It was getting annoying, especially since Leta was acting nasty towards you. Instead of going to Newt this time, you went to her. You two were alone in the common room after dinner when you decided to speak with her.

“Leta, we really should talk,” You said. She glanced up from her book, narrowing her eyes.

“About what?” She asked.

“About Newt,” You replied. She smiled, darkly. You didn’t like that look. That look on Slytherin’s meant they were up to something.

“He’s darling, isn’t he?” She purred. You shifted uncomfortably.

“I suppose. The two of you are awfully close now, I see,” You said. Her smile widened and she snapped her book shut.

“You could say that,” She said. You really didn’t like that look. That look was malicious, almost. It meant that Newt was probably going to end up with a broken heart.

“What do you mean by that?” She snorted a laugh, leaning her chin into the palm of her hand.

“He got interested when he found out that I’ve been working with a few creatures that could really get me into some trouble; thinks their wonderful things,” She said. This was getting worse by the second though you didn’t let your face convey that. What kind of creatures were they working with? Was he safe?

“Ah,” You breathed, noncommittally.

“At least if anything goes wrong, I know he’d be more than willing to take the fall,” She chuckled. This was a damn game to her. It was a joke. It was funny. Your blood began to boil.

“Leave my friend alone,” You said, lowly. She raised an eyebrow, smiling lazily.

“Why?” She asked.

“He doesn’t need people like you in his life. You’ll only give him a hard time,” You snapped.

“You can’t make me.” That much was probably true. You probably couldn’t make her do anything. She was a Lestrange, not exactly the type of person that knew when to quit.

“I’ll tell him. I’ll tell Newt precisely what you told me,” You growled, standing. She remained in her chair, smiling.

“He won’t believe you, you know. He likes me too much.” You were Newt’s best friend. He would have to know that you’d never say something like that just to hurt him.

“Bullshit,” You said, turning to leave. You heard her laugh from behind you.

“Are you jealous because you aren’t his favorite girl anymore? Get over it, (Y/N),” She laughed. With that, you left. So what if you were? That didn’t mean you weren’t worried.

Finding him hadn’t been hard. He was by the Black Lake as usual, looking for the giant squid. You smiled despite your mood and the news you brought. Newt always looked so happy when he was dealing with creatures. You jogged over to him.

“Newt! Newt, I have to talk to you!” You called as you approached him. He turned to you, grinning.

“(N/N)! Good, I have to talk to you too,” He said.

“Alright. I think I should tell you mine first though,” You said, trying to sound as apologetic as possible.

“Mine’s very important!” He chirped.

“Yes, but--”

“I think I’m in love with Leta,” He said. He had hearts in his eyes and that swoony look to him.

“Newt, I really think you want to hear--”

“Do you think she might like me?” He spun back to the lake, smiling goofily. You didn’t want to rain on his parade, but you didn’t want anything to happen to him.

“Look, I’m trying to tell you someth--”

“Oh, I hope she does. She’s so wonderful, (N/N).” He was practically dancing.

“About that, Newt she’s no--”

“(Y/N), Leta loves creatures nearly as much as you and I do. Oh, she’s such a wonderful woman.” You were getting annoyed and more antsy the more he didn’t listen.

“That’s lovely, but I need you to listen to--”

“I want to spend the rest of my li--” You gripped his shoulders harshly, dragging him down to look at you.

“She’s using you, Newt!” You yelled, glad that there was no one else around. His joy dropped away and he stared at you with a blank look.

“What?” His voice betrayed no emotion.

“Leta’s using you. She told me in the common room. I’m so sorry,” You said, taking the warm hand that you found so familiar.

“So am I,” He said. Before you could look up at him, he ripped his hand from your grasp and glared down at you. Shock fell over you. You’d never even seen Newt angry with anyone, let alone you.

“Pardon?” You asked, dumbly. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, beginning to pace.

“I’m sorry that you’re so jealous of her that you’d have to make up such awful stories. You know, she told me that she thought you’d try to get rid of her and I laughed. How was I to know that she was right?” He snapped. You blinked at him. You couldn’t believe that he didn’t see that she was using him.

“Do you really think I’d lie to you?” You asked.

“I don’t want to believe it, but you’ve done it,” Newt said, for the first time since you’d met him, he sounded cold.

“Newt, we’re friends forever, I would never do something with the intention of hurting you,” You said, sounding slightly hysterical.

“I’d really like to believe that, (Y/N),” He said. For the first time ever, he’d called you by your actual name. You reeled back as though you’d been stung. He never used your real name.

“Newt...” You trailed off as soon as you saw the look in his blue-green eyes. He wouldn’t believe a word you said.

“What?” He asked, almost impatiently. You blinked, fighting to pull the hole in your chest closed.

“Fine, you know what, don’t come crying to me when she’s got no use for you.” With that you turned and began to walk away. You didn’t mean that.

“What happened to friends forever?” He called. You wondered that yourself.

Sixteen Years Old

She��s finally done it. Leta screwed him over. You knew that it was her that had endangered the life of that girl, not Newt, even if he was the one taking the fall. You raced to Kings Cross as quickly as you could, hoping that you could catch him before he left. You didn’t want to leave things the way you had left them the year before.

Thankfully, you made it in time. There was the tall, gangly boy with constellations made from freckles, standing on the edge of the platform with tears on his cheeks. Your heart broke. You hated to see Newt cry.

“Newt! Newt Scamander!” You yelled over the noise of the platform. He looked at you, eyes red and puffy from crying.

“(Y/N),” He greeted, coldly. You stopped in your tracks. There was your name again.

“I heard what happened,” You whispered, coming to rest in front of him. He looked away from you.

“I believe you told me, ‘don’t come crying to me when she’s got no use for you’,” He muttered. His voice was watery and edging on tears again. You hugged him, tightly, knowing that he needed one even if he didn’t want it from you.

“We’re friends forever, Newt.” He pulled away from you and picked up his case. It was a case you’d gotten him years ago to put his creature related notes in.

“I’m beginning to feel as though that holds very little meaning.” And he left you standing on the platform, holding back tears because you knew you never should have said anything about Leta.

Twenty-three Years Old

You’d moved to New York after Hogwarts for the simple fact that you couldn’t handle being so close to Newt knowing that he wanted nothing to do with you. Life had been quiet. You lived next to two other witches, Queenie and Tina Goldstein, sisters whom you’d become good friends with. Unlike them, you didn’t work for MACUSA, you specialized in potions and remedies for things.

After hearing two male voices and hushed arguing one night, you figured something was wrong and went to go make sure they were okay. When you knocked, Tina uncharacteristically asked who it was instead of answering the door.

“It’s (Y/N),” You said, “Is everything okay?” Tina poked her head out of the door and dragged you in.

“Actually, we could use some help. We have a no-maj with a murtlap bite,” She said. You squinted in confusion. Murtlap were indigenous to Britain. You’d never encountered a murtlap bite outside there.

“How strange. What’s a murtlap doing in New York?” You wondered aloud as Tina pulled you into the living room. “Are you sure it’s a murtlap bite?”

“Yes,” She said, urgently. You looked at the man on the couch, a larger man with a nice moustache and a kind face. He appeared to have the correct symptoms. Sighing, you wondered if you even had the things to make it better.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N), lovely to meet you, sir. May I please see the bite?” You asked, smiling.

“Jacob Kowalski, nice to meet you,” He said, showing you the bite. Definitely a murtlap.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Kowalski, where did you come across a murtlap?” You asked, probing the area lightly. He winced and you gave him an apologetic look.

“Ah, yes, well, that may have been my fault.” You froze. You knew that voice anywhere. There was no way in hell that Newton fucking Scamander was standing behind you right now. Not a chance in hell. Turning slowly, you came face to face with the Hufflepuff that had once been your best friend. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize you.

“I see,” You said. A look of surprise fell over his face. The again maybe he would.

“(N/N)?” He said, disbelief spilling into his voice.

“Hello, Newt. It’s been a while,” You said, unsure if he was happy to see you or not.

“It would seem so,” He said, quietly. Tina coughed loudly and you looked at her.

“Can we do this later? We have a no-maj sitting here breaking damn near a thousand laws just by being here,” She snapped. You didn’t take it to heart. She was stressed. Queenie smacked her arm.

“They have some things to work out, Tinie,” She sing-songed. You shook your head.

“No, Tina’s right, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything. I don’t have the ingredients.” Tina looked like she could cry as you said that.

Eventually, you found yourself in Newt’s case, helping him tend to his creatures and remembering how fond of them you were, yourself. Smiling to yourself, you brought an empty bucket back to the little shack he had. As you put it way, a picture caught your attention. Upon closer inspection, you realized that Leta Lestrange was looking back at you.

“I suppose you don’t exactly have the same fond memories of her that I do,” Newt said, causing you to jump. You cleared your throat and wiped your hands on your pants.

“No, I don’t suppose I do.” You began to push past him so you didn’t have to have this conversation. Thankfully, Queenie began asking questions before Newt could say anything else. By the time you came back to the conversation, Newt looked uncomfortable and Queenie looked sad.

“She’s a taker. You need a giver,” She said, softly. Newt said nothing, but you listened. “You had a giver.”

“I beg your pardon?” He asked. You wondered the same thing. Queenie gave him a smile.

“(Y/N), she would have given her right arm to take the fall for you. She would have given up her magic if it meant that you’d be happy,” Queenie said. True.

“Perhaps a long time ago,” Newt mumbled. Queenie shook her head.

“Still would.” The tall wizard looked up, brows furrowed in confusion. Again, Queenie was right.

“Even after...”

“Yes. She loved you Newt. She still does. Even when she moved here thinking she’d never see you again,” Queenie said, laughing quietly. You came out of your hiding place.

“She’s right, ya know,” You laughed. You didn’t at all find the situation funny.

“Really?” He asked. You smiled, running your hands through your hair.

“Of course. We’re friends forever,” You said, holding out your pinky. For the first time in far too long, he linked his pinky with yours.

#newt #newt scamander #newt scamander x reader #newt x reader #newton artemis fido scamander #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander one shot #tina goldstein #porpentina goldstein #Queenie Goldstein #jacob kowalski #fantastic beasts movie #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fluff #fluffy #angst #angsty

287 notes · View notes

phantompeeved · 7 years ago

Text

After months of being lazy...

I finally got around to doing more creative writing, and of course it was over Persona. I love Haru to bits, so I couldn't resist - especially after being inspired by the Haru drawin' dude, @scruffyturtles! Enjoy and give feedback! It's a one-off for now (after initially romancing Haru), but I might do more depending on feedback!

~Akira x Haru: The Empress - Take Your Heart~

“This is most definitely somewhere more private! There are no cameras, and I would come here often if I didn’t go to my room…”

The door to the room clicked shut as Haru guided Akira into a quaint loungeroom. The two slowly proceeded inward toward the chairs as Haru finally posited something that was bounding around in her mind.

“So… you had said that you ‘liked me too’... how did you know…? I was honestly in shock when you said that. P-please don’t tell me you know my inner thoughts!”

Haru’s stoic - well, as stoic as someone like her could be - facade quickly crumbled once she brought her thoughts to light and the two were in private. Her face reddened as it slowly slipped into an expression of flustered worry. Akira simply smiled - a smile as warm as he could manage in his current situation - and cleared his throat.

“Don’t worry, Haru - I’m not a psychic. It might not come as a surprise that someone’s asked me that before, though…”

Memories of Shinjuku passed through Akira’s quickly shuffling thoughts and memories as he relaxed himself.

“Besides, if I actually could do that, I wouldn’t do it to you - I’d feel horrible.”

Haru’s body relaxed a bit as her expression quickly lit up to the warm, calm joy Akira was familiar with seeing.

“Thank you for your somewhat perverse validation… I was quite nervous. I might’ve been thinking about things-”

Haru gasped as she had let her heart override her mind in dictating her speech like so. Once again, the tomato red blush spread along her cheeks - Akira couldn’t help but think of the vegetables the two had been growing together, even if tomatoes didn’t actually count.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

Haru hid her face a bit, partially due to shame, and partially due to fear of how her friend - now possibly more than that - might react. Akira could feel his cheeks flush a small bit, something incredibly alien to his commonly vacant and dauntless expression.

“That is… honestly a surprise. That… makes me wish I did know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Haru squeaked in surprise as she lightly slapped Akira on the shoulder.

“P-please refrain f-f-from doing that! You are going to m-make me a mess!”

Akira couldn’t help but smirk, Haru quickly recognizing that expression - it was the most common expression she would see him make as Joker. She couldn’t help but feel an overpowering and facetiously sinister vibe coming from him, but nonetheless she began to swallow her embarrassment and straighten herself up.

“A-anyways… I can’t help but feel nervous around you. After what had happened with Takakura-san, and what you had said, I couldn’t help but feel as this was a dream… this has never happened to me before, and I don’t know how to react… but… you like me… too…?”

Akira straightened his expression, leaning forward in his chair. Ever since the two had met, he had fallen for her over their ensuing escapades as the Phantom Thieves. He was worried for her after what had happened with her father - loss was slowly something he could hold in empathy with others. As he got to know her, he couldn’t resist meeting her as often as he could. His impulse to help others in need - his friends especially - oft overtook his actions and logical thoughts, Haru being no different. As he came to help in her time of need, Akira could sense Haru’s ironclad resolve and desire to pursue her dreams, and this left him in a silent joy as he witnessed her growth over the few months he’s had to know her. Of course, Akira was impeccable at keeping his motives and thoughts unknown, and Haru had no idea that the boy she slowly got to know and fall for reciprocated those very same - yet undeniably powerful - feelings.

“Of course I do, Haru… I’ve felt that way since we first became friends, honestly.”

“Me too... but... but, why me…? You’ve only known me for a couple months, and… the others are so much better than I am. They’re all so special - Ann, Mako-chan, Futaba… they’re all wonderful - so, I hope you don’t mind of my asking… why me?”

“Haru…”

“I’m being serious, Kurusu-kun.”

He had been last named - formalized - something he didn’t experience often, especially from his teammates. Akira knew Haru was being serious, and he had to figure out how to put his feelings into words, something he didn’t have a wealth of experience with until his transfer to Shujin.

“Haru… just because you don’t think you’re special, doesn’t mean you aren’t. When you and the others applaud me for my special powers and prowess, I’ve always just considered myself lucky. All coincidental-”

“But-”

“But, when I hear your voices, your praise - it makes me feel special. My powers don’t do that, the Metaverse only slightly doing that - it’s all due to you and the others. You guys make me feel special. Haru, you make me feel special. I haven’t truly belonged until I met you all…”

“The same could be said for me. Ever since Father… changed, this world was the only one I had - being dragged to meetings, forced to associate with Sugimura-san… the list goes on. I’ve only really left this building for school until I met all of you. You all changed me - for the better, I am certain. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Haru?”

“...Yes?”

“You’re special to me.”

Without another word, Haru got up out of her seat. Thinking it was something wrong, Akira stood up in response. Before he could speak, she dashed over and brought him into her arms for an embrace. For the first time in his life, Akira was truly emotionally compromised. She had buried her face in his chest - he didn’t know what to say, man of few words as he is - he could hear short bursts of quiet inhaling noises. He could feel something pattering where her face was, and with the noises getting louder he could tell that Haru was sobbing, crying - emotionally vulnerable and on display for him alone. Thoughts and emotions rattled about his mind as it raced faster and faster. He could feel her breathing and a vague heartbeat hid in the depths of her puffy sweater - he was confident she could feel his in response. He held tight, looking down at her, staring at the top of her head until she brought her face from his chest and averted her gaze from his body up to his face. Their eyes met. He could see her tears - in fact, he could feel his own eyes begin to moisten, hidden by the glossy nature of his glasses. His heart skipped a beat at seeing her tears - this unconventional horror washing away when he saw the familiar smile that he cherished slowly form across her lips.

They were tears of joy.

“Akira Kurusu, I love you.”

#persona 5 #persona #akira kurusu #haru okumura #shuharu #akira x haru

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pepperminthotchocolate · 8 years ago

Text

Gtjsefanclub Anniversary Day Three: Eyes

Signe gathered her feet up onto the seat of the kitchen chair.

The quiet hum of the morning was always her favorite, especially on stormy days such as these. Nothing much to do, nowhere to rush off to in a hurry this early in the day. Not to mention she could enjoy her cinnamon tea in peace before she went hopping off to tackle the day. The polka-dot speckled mug looked peculiar in her little hands; now she likened it to one of those novelty soup cups that took on the appearance of a regular mug but were much too large for one to use in one sitting.

Well, she could use it, but not before the tea would get cold.

Though, she supposed, it was dangerous to leave herself alone with her thoughts. Inevitably, her mind would drift back to what was always her main focus; how tall was she now? How much had she dwindled throughout the night? What looks different about her new perspective being just a few inches shorter? Was the shrinking speeding up? Slowing down?

…What would she do when she couldn’t get around on her own? She’d had to drag over a kitchen chair and stand on her tiptoes to crawl up on the counter today. What would happen when that was an impossible task?

She felt Sean’s presence behind her as he slid lazily into the kitchen. A yawn and a quick peck on the top of her head and he was ambling off to make his own coffee. Every day he seemed to grow more immense. Even the sound of his socks shuffling against the wooden floor was magnified.

They chatted idly about what they had planned for the day. It wouldn’t be too terribly busy – just a lazy Sunday. Grocery shopping was on the list, which after last time would be an adventure all in itself. “An’ I promise I won’t run off this time at tha sight of bacon and cheddar-flavored Taytos. No need to call for me on tha intercom.” At least his hair made him easy enough to find.

Signe was up to his waist now, barely toddler height. What would he do when she got to be the size of a mouse?

She’d just have to find a way to get around on her own. Of course Sean would be more than willing to help her, as he’d made clear throughout the entire process. Throughout the course of the past two weeks he would constantly check up on her and ask if she needed help with anything. He made all of the meals and picked up all of the cleaning she couldn’t do on her own. He brought her tea even when she didn’t ask. She appreciated the help, although she would much rather have her independence.

Her head was pounding. She pushed the impending thoughts out of her mind. The tea was set aside and she focused on coloring in her sketch.

That’s why Signe felt the need to draw so much. It was beyond being a hobby; it was one of the only things left that she could stand to do on her own. Not to mention it finally gave her an excuse to try traditional media as opposed to sticking with her usual tablet and computer mouse.The figure’s portrait was drawn with his head thrown back, laughing with a wide, toothy grin.

One last swooping shade to give his hair more dimension, then she would get to move on to her favorite part. Besides his caricaturistic eyebrows and shock of neon green hair (although the brightness was starting to fade a bit), it was his eyes that made his portrait unique.

Eyes were always a main focus in her work – her style was mostly cartoonish with exaggerated expressions, which meant the eyes were far and away one of the most important parts. Eyes could tell a lot about a person, animated or not. Luckily, her boyfriend happened to have a good pair to work with.

Sean’s eyes were electric blue, which made sense because everything about him was electric. He was always bursting with boundless energy, whether it lingered at the surface or was coming at you full force. Yet, Signe knew that to every shade of blue in his eyes there were ten more shades underneath it. There was a strange softness to them, almost as an afterthought. He had the kind of striking eyes that sent tingles up your spine, sent goosebumps running over your skin. His eyes were just one of her favorite things about him.

She quirked an eyebrow at the weight that settled on top of her head. It wasn’t overwhelming, just odd. She reached up and felt the scraggly hair of his beard falling right above her hairline. His arms came to fall on either side of the table beside her. “Watcha drawin’?”

She smiled, lowering her head closer to the page. “Just some guy.”

He gave a goofy smile; it was strange to admit it, but he thought she looked so cute bundled up in her oversized, fluffy bathrobe with strands of hair falling into her face. She was adorable anyway, but in her new state he could really marvel over it.

“Is that me?” He intoned cheerfully. “D’aww, it looks so nice! I like the eyes.”

“Thanks.” She said quietly. Unwittingly, he had highlighted her previous thoughts by being so close to her. How much larger those arms seemed to be than they were just a few weeks ago…

His smile fell the smallest bit. She didn’t sound all that sincere. “Are you okay? You seem a li’l distracted.” He asked, standing up and coming around the side of the table.

“It’s just the usual. I mean, what else is on my mind these days?”

With a grunt and a sigh, he settled down at the kitchen table with his mug of coffee. Signe was hunched over her work, a stern tenseness in her brow. She was hardly ever serious, but she always wore her emotions on her sleeve. “Ah yes, that. Not like it’s a big deal or anything.”

“Mmm.” She hummed absentmindedly.

“Though some would argue that there’s little to be done in this situation.”

“Sean, this is serious.”

“…You’re just being a li’l short-tempered, is all.”

She set her pencil down on the table with a resounding clack. “Sean.”

“No, I know. I can only imagine what you’re feelin’. But on tha bright side, you’re just little. At least you’re not little and…I dunno, growin’ an extra head or somethin’.” He took a long sip from his mug and let out a contented sigh. “And that’s fine, it’s gonna be weird for a while.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course! It’s that whole “new experience” thing you’re always talkin’ ‘bout. Once you get used to it…you know, it might not be normal again, but after a while it won’t seem so bad.”

“An’ even though I know fuck all ‘bout emotions sometimes, I know that once you’ve got somethin’ in your head you won’t let go of it until you get it all out. Even though that in itself may be a trip with you. You’ve got more bottled up in there than you’re lettin’ on.” He reached over, gently gathering her hand in his It all but disappeared within his loose grip, and it took everything she had not to pull away. Even he seemed to pause at the sight. He looked up at her. “You need to talk to me. Tell me when you’re feelin’ bad, good, tired, need to pee. Everythin’ in between.”

There were those eyes again. Even tainted with sadness and uncertainty, they flashed with live electricity. He leaned in more toward her. “Okay?” He said, giving her a sweet, encouraging smile.

“Alright.”

There was a longer bout of silence. Signe wasn’t sure what to feel at this point. Of course she had every right to feel how she did. But at the same time he had a point. It wouldn’t do her any good bottling up her feelings. If anything, it would make her feel smaller than she already did. She took a quick sip of her tea before picking up her pencil again.

“Why did you draw m’ears so pointy?”

She grinned. “Because you have pointy ears.”

“No I don’t!”

---------------- ---------------- ---------------- ---------------- ----------------

What can I say? The man loves his puns.

It was a bit of a stretch to fit the whole “eyes” theme for the prompt, but I think I made it come full circle. This part was definitely an exercise in creating realistic dialogue, by which I am no means a professional. I’m hoping that I captured their Jack and Wiish’s personalities well enough. Hope you all enjoy!

#gtjsefanclubanniversary #gt jacksepticeye fanclub #jacksepticeye #wiishu #Giant/tiny

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jacxkelly · 8 years ago

Note

crutchie is a model for jacks life-drawing class and he has no idea how to ask him out without being a creep

This one was fun. I get a little too carried away with writing accents but only because they’re entertaining.

There’s an unspoken rule of life drawing classes, and Jack Kelly has never been one for rules.

One would think that once they saw the object of theiraffection naked then all fears would vanish and you could easily ask themanything and everything.

Whoever thought that was deadwrong.

Jack was the last to pack up his things, as per usual. Hisnight class of life drawing always ran well past the time they were supposed toget out. He didn’t mind, it was his favorite class this quarter by far. Therewere even a few pieces both he and his instructor had agreed could bepossibilities for his portfolio. Even the nasty saddle chairs he could get over.It would just mean a sore back for one day or so but it was manageable.

The only singular problem with this class was the model.Sometimes, in past classes, they had flip flopped. One model this week, a differentone the next. Some of them were older people who Jack could tell were justdoing this for fun to get out of the house. There was one particular laid backwoman who always made the class laugh. She was sweet. Jack had even talked toher outside of class a few times.

No, this quarter had to be different. They had the samemodel every single class. The same guy.

And he was…something else entirely.

Jack had prided himself in being a serious artist. Scoffing(sometimes inwardly, depending on who was critiquing) at those who called hisart style a little ‘romantic’. He wasn’t one for romance, no matter what hisNetflix watch history may say. Every life drawing class he had gotten throughcalmly and professionally.

Except classes with this guy. What was this guy’s problem.

Sometimes Jack caught himself more often than not payingjust a little too much attention to the shading on his hair. It was a perfectshade of blonde, how was one supposed to capture that in monochrome? Highlyunfair, really a few times he had considered dragging an entire collection ofcolored pencils to class just so he could attempt to do it justice. A stupid,adorable button nose. Who the hell had a nose like that? The way he posedhimself, to the way his expressions changed—he was even stupidly fit. Jackfound himself gripping the charcoal so hard it nearly snapped and immediatelyeased his grip, tucking it back into his case a little more carefully thanusual.

This guy with his stupid sense of humor who had waltzed infirst day with a big smile and insisted that everyone call him Crutchie, wavingthe crutch tucked under his left arm for dramatic effect. Who had spent thewhole time trying to make people smile or laugh. Jack had even caught him talkingto one of the students in the hallway, trying to cheer him up after he had abad day.

Who gave him the right?

So here Jack Kelly found himself, breaking the first unspokenrule of this school; do not ask out the model. It wasn’t an actual rule, so itwas totally fine. So he attempted to convince himself for the millionth time.

Or he would be breaking that rule if he could work up thenerve.

This had to be worded carefully or else he would immediatelybe seen as a creep. He had only one shot, and he would not throw it away.

Jack watched the last student trickle out of the classroom,his heart suddenly leaping into his throat. It was now or never- Crutchie hadalready slipped out from behind the changing screen and was heading for thedoor. Even in a t-shirt and sweats he just looked so damn huggable. Jackwondered briefly if he had a problem.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his large padof paper, jogging over immediately. “Hey—“

Crutchie turned around quickly, shifting his weight suddenlyas to not fall over. Jack could see a few expressions play out across his face,from pleasantly surprised to something he painfully wished was hopefulness. “Heyyerself.”

Jack smiled slowly, even though his heart still felt like itwas actively trying to escape his chest by ramming against it as hard as itcould. “You’se, uh…yer Crutchie, yeah?”

“Well I’se don’ see anyone else ‘round here who would go bythat.” He shot back, as soon as Jack had stammered through his words, smilingbrighter by the second.

Part of Jack wanted to slam his head against the wall.Normally he was good at things like this. Flirting was his gig, he could makeany girl swoon and turn a few guy’s heads as well. For some reason now it feltdifferent. It made his palms sweaty and the repeating mantra of ‘don’t be acreep, don’t screw it up’ played over and over like a broken record in hisbrain. He felt like he was screaming, he felt like those beautiful doe eyeswere looking right through him.

“Ain’t anyone ever tell ya you’se got pretty eyes?” Jackblurted suddenly, his brain deciding to go on vacation and shovel his thoughtsdirectly out through his mouth in its absence. He wanted to melt into thefloor, but instead he shoved those feelings aside. If things didn’t goaccording to plan, fake it till you make it and be as suave as possible. A slysmile etched its way familiarly onto Jack’s lips, adjusting the strap of hisbag.

This seemed to catch the model off guard, as if he didn’texpect everything to head down that track this quickly. Hopefully he would beokay with it, if not Jack could just walk right out of here and drop out ofschool that was a fine option too. The strange in between happened, the neutralreaction where Crutchie blushed and ducked his head. Now just what was Jacksupposed to make out of that?

“Thanks, I guess…you’se too- with yer starin’ from da frontrow all day—“ Now it seemed like Crutchie cut himself off this time, the red onthe other’s cheeks immediately darkening a few shades. Jack suddenly laughed.

“Well it’s life drawin’, course ‘m starin’.” So thecompliment was well received and paid back, time to amp it up just a little. “Notthat I’se need a reason ta…”

A few more shades his cheeks darkened, and Jack wasn’t sureif the other boy could get any redder. Suddenly the blonde took a deep breaththrough his nose and straightened his stance. He looked as if he were about tocharge into a battle head on armed with nothing but a slightly pointypaperclip. He was preparing himself to weather a storm.

Jack wanted to get something out before whatever was goingto come next, be it good or bad. At least he could say he tried.

At the same exact time, Crutchie opened his mouth as well.

“Get coffee wid me—“

Both boys froze, staring at each other in silent shock. Theyhad spoken in unison, but each wasn’t entirely sure if he had heard the otherright.

“’M sorry, what—“

Again, both their voices meshed together at the same time.It was Jack’s turn to laugh while Crutchie looked flustered even still but wassmiling anyways.

The artist waved his hand, catching his breath. “No, no- you’sefirst. I heard you righ’ din’ I?”

“I only said if you’se wanna get coffee wid me if you’sesaid if you’se wanna get coffee with me.” The words tumbled out of the blonde’smouth, his accent thickening just slightly.

“Well I’se only said for ya to get coffee with me if yeranswer was gonna be a yes.” Jack bit one side of his lower lip, the otherdragging upwards into a lopsided smile. This boy was too cute, it was drivinghim up a wall.

“Den…if you’se were sayin’ that it was you’se askin’ if you’sewanna get coffee wid me while I was askin’ if you’se wanna get coffee wid me….denyeah I do.” He smiled shyly once he finished his long explained sentence.

Jack laughed again, more than thrilled with how this wasgoing. His heart stopped trying to escape his chest and run a rampage, it wasmerely fluttering around like a hummingbird instead. “Well, dere’s a twenty-fourhour place nearby. I ain’t gotta class in the mornin’….if you’se not doin’anythin’?”

“I would love ta.” His voice softened, into a tone that Jackcouldn’t help but nearly swoon at. Thisguy.

“A’righ’ then. It’s a date.” He offered his arm in a suddenburst of courage, his stomach doing whole gymnastic routines when Crutchie tookit. “C’mon, supermodel. Your carriage awaits.”

Jack led him outside of the building to his car, and to thestart of a wonderful evening.

#newsies #newsies musical #musical!verse #jack kelly #crutchie #jack/crutchie #prompt #ficlet #art student au

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jacxkelly · 8 years ago

Text

Unspoken Rule #1

Prompt: crutchie is a model for jacks life-drawing class and he has no idea how to ask him out without being a creep

There’s an unspoken rule of life drawing classes, and Jack Kelly has never been one for rules.

One would think that once they saw the object of their affection naked then all fears would vanish and you could easily ask them anything and everything.

Whoever thought that was dead wrong.

Jack was the last to pack up his things, as per usual. His night class of life drawing always ran well past the time they were supposed to get out. He didn’t mind, it was his favorite class this quarter by far. There were even a few pieces both he and his instructor had agreed could be possibilities for his portfolio. Even the nasty saddle chairs he could get over. It would just mean a sore back for one day or so but it was manageable.

The only singular problem with this class was the model. Sometimes, in past classes, they had flip flopped. One model this week, a different one the next. Some of them were older people who Jack could tell were just doing this for fun to get out of the house. There was one particular laid back woman who always made the class laugh. She was sweet. Jack had even talked to her outside of class a few times.

No, this quarter had to be different. They had the same model every single class. The same guy.

And he was…something else entirely.

Jack had prided himself in being a serious artist. Scoffing (sometimes inwardly, depending on who was critiquing) at those who called his art style a little ‘romantic’. He wasn’t one for romance, no matter what his Netflix watch history may say. Every life drawing class he had gotten through calmly and professionally.

Except classes with this guy. What was this guy’s problem.

Sometimes Jack caught himself more often than not paying just a little too much attention to the shading on his hair. It was a perfect shade of blonde, how was one supposed to capture that in monochrome? Highly unfair, really a few times he had considered dragging an entire collection of colored pencils to class just so he could attempt to do it justice. A stupid, adorable button nose. Who the hell had a nose like that? The way he posed himself, to the way his expressions changed—he was even stupidly fit. Jack found himself gripping the charcoal so hard it nearly snapped and immediately eased his grip, tucking it back into his case a little more carefully than usual.

This guy with his stupid sense of humor who had waltzed in first day with a big smile and insisted that everyone call him Crutchie, waving the crutch tucked under his left arm for dramatic effect. Who had spent the whole time trying to make people smile or laugh. Jack had even caught him talking to one of the students in the hallway, trying to cheer him up after he had a bad day.

Who gave him the right?

So here Jack Kelly found himself, breaking the first unspoken rule of this school; do not ask out the model. It wasn’t an actual rule, so it was totally fine. So he attempted to convince himself for the millionth time.

Or he would be breaking that rule if he could work up the nerve.

This had to be worded carefully or else he would immediately be seen as a creep. He had only one shot, and he would not throw it away.

Jack watched the last student trickle out of the classroom, his heart suddenly leaping into his throat. It was now or never- Crutchie had already slipped out from behind the changing screen and was heading for the door. Even in a t-shirt and sweats he just looked so damn huggable. Jack wondered briefly if he had a problem.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his large pad of paper, jogging over immediately. “Hey—“

Crutchie turned around quickly, shifting his weight suddenly as to not fall over. Jack could see a few expressions play out across his face, from pleasantly surprised to something he painfully wished was hopefulness. “Hey yerself.”

Jack smiled slowly, even though his heart still felt like it was actively trying to escape his chest by ramming against it as hard as it could. “You’se, uh…yer Crutchie, yeah?”

“Well I’se don’ see anyone else ‘round here who would go by that.” He shot back, as soon as Jack had stammered through his words, smiling brighter by the second.

Part of Jack wanted to slam his head against the wall. Normally he was good at things like this. Flirting was his gig, he could make any girl swoon and turn a few guy’s heads as well. For some reason now it felt different. It made his palms sweaty and the repeating mantra of ‘don’t be a creep, don’t screw it up’ played over and over like a broken record in his brain. He felt like he was screaming, he felt like those beautiful doe eyes were looking right through him.

“Ain’t anyone ever tell ya you’se got pretty eyes?” Jack blurted suddenly, his brain deciding to go on vacation and shovel his thoughts directly out through his mouth in its absence. He wanted to melt into the floor, but instead he shoved those feelings aside. If things didn’t go according to plan, fake it till you make it and be as suave as possible. A sly smile etched its way familiarly onto Jack’s lips, adjusting the strap of his bag.

This seemed to catch the model off guard, as if he didn’t expect everything to head down that track this quickly. Hopefully he would be okay with it, if not Jack could just walk right out of here and drop out of school that was a fine option too. The strange in between happened, the neutral reaction where Crutchie blushed and ducked his head. Now just what was Jack supposed to make out of that?

“Thanks, I guess…you’se too- with yer starin’ from da front row all day—“ Now it seemed like Crutchie cut himself off this time, the red on the other’s cheeks immediately darkening a few shades. Jack suddenly laughed.

“Well it’s life drawin’, course ‘m starin’.” So the compliment was well received and paid back, time to amp it up just a little. “Not that I’se need a reason ta…”

A few more shades his cheeks darkened, and Jack wasn’t sure if the other boy could get any redder. Suddenly the blonde took a deep breath through his nose and straightened his stance. He looked as if he were about to charge into a battle head on armed with nothing but a slightly pointy paperclip. He was preparing himself to weather a storm.

Jack wanted to get something out before whatever was going to come next, be it good or bad. At least he could say he tried.

At the same exact time, Crutchie opened his mouth as well.

“Get coffee wid me—“

Both boys froze, staring at each other in silent shock. They had spoken in unison, but each wasn’t entirely sure if he had heard the other right.

“’M sorry, what—“

Again, both their voices meshed together at the same time. It was Jack’s turn to laugh while Crutchie looked flustered even still but was smiling anyways.

The artist waved his hand, catching his breath. “No, no- you’se first. I heard you righ’ din’ I?”

“I only said if you’se wanna get coffee wid me if you’se said if you’se wanna get coffee with me.” The words tumbled out of the blonde’s mouth, his accent thickening just slightly.

“Well I’se only said for ya to get coffee with me if yer answer was gonna be a yes.” Jack bit one side of his lower lip, the other dragging upwards into a lopsided smile. This boy was too cute, it was driving him up a wall.

“Den…if you’se were sayin’ that it was you’se askin’ if you’se wanna get coffee wid me while I was askin’ if you’se wanna get coffee wid me….den yeah I do.” He smiled shyly once he finished his long explained sentence.

Jack laughed again, more than thrilled with how this was going. His heart stopped trying to escape his chest and run a rampage, it was merely fluttering around like a hummingbird instead. “Well, dere’s a twenty-four hour place nearby. I ain’t gotta class in the mornin’….if you’se not doin’ anythin’?”

“I would love ta.” His voice softened, into a tone that Jack couldn’t help but nearly swoon at. This guy.

“A’righ’ then. It’s a date.” He offered his arm in a sudden burst of courage, his stomach doing whole gymnastic routines when Crutchie took it. “C’mon, supermodel. Your carriage awaits.”

Jack led him outside of the building to his car, and to the start of a wonderful evening.

#newsies #newsies musical #crutchie #jack kelly #crutchie morris #jack/crutchie #prompt #fic #fic prompt #repost

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