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colliholly · 2 years

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EVEN MORE SPAMTON X READER HEADCANONS

I’ve been thinking a whole lot about spamton’s character in-depth and wanting to get a better grasp on him and this in turn has manifested itself into an immense amount of self-indulgent spamton x reader headcanons. ._.

Obviously these are all just my own headcanons! It’s not the one and only way to interpret him. Buuuut I like to think I’ve got a decently good grasp on him at this point and wanted to share since I’m sure some of you will enjoy it :^)

Putting it under the cut cause it’s kinda long! God help me.

• First off - assuming you’re a lightner or human in this situation, you’re kinda a divinity to him, straight up. It’s implied the Light World is “Heaven” and thus lightners and especially humans are essentially divinities to him. And you chose him? He’s the worst, smelliest darkner in existence and you want to be around him for some reason. He’d be pretty overwhelmed at first! I don’t think he’ll ever truly understand why you chose him out of all darkners but he sure does feel blessed, his prayers must have been answered.

• Calling him handsome makes him super super flustered. He definitely doesn’t think of himself as very handsome at all, at least not deep down. In fact I think he is very self-conscious over his puppet body, it’s a constant reminder of his failures. He hasn’t been called handsome in 20+ years. But you think he’s handsome regardless??? He’d make a train whistle noise and blow out steam.

• He LOVES being called stuff like big shot and big guy. Anything to make him feel like the man he once was. When you call him those he will start beaming and puff out his chest and grin real big.

• He’s very prideful of you, he’ll parade you around town and show you off to everyone. He must still be a pretty big shot if a Lightner fell for him.

• On a similar note this in turn means he gets jealous very easily. You’re his everything and frankly all he really has at this point. :( He also has major abandonment issues considering how many people have left him in his past. On ANOTHER similar note this means he’ll be very protective of you and you better believe he’ll fight tooth and nail for you if you ever get into a battle with him.

• Assuming he’s gotten used to physical touches from someone he’s close with, and considering he’s got a desire for “HotSingle”, I think he eats up physical affection. (I’m going to die on this hill, sorry everyone.) I’m sure he got plenty of it in his prime and he hasn’t had any physical contact, other than violence, for 20+ years. He loves the adoration and attention that comes with it too. If you put a hand on his cheek, after he realizes you’re not gonna hurt him, he'll melt into it. If you picked him up and kissed his nose he would overheat and explode.

• Another reason I think he’s like physical affection is because it helps keep him grounded. Spamton is a very detached little man and has a habit of slipping into his mind. We also know he’s been made aware that he’s a computer program inside a video game and is pretty detached from reality as a result. Touching him physically would help pull him out of it and help remind him that there is more to his life than his video game reality.

• Also you’re soft and squishy and warm and that’s like his favorite thing ever. Dumpsters are cold and hard and smell bad. He is cold and made of hard plastic or porcelain and smells bad. You’re the opposite of that and he loves it. He will probably knead you like a cat.

• He is always SO SO excited when he sees you. Talking to you is the highlight of his day. He will eagerly want to ramble to you about everything he did that day and all the GREAT DEALS he made, he loves having someone to talk AT and listen to him. But he will also ask how your day was!! He likes listening to you too and will probably give all kinds of commentary (whether you want him to or not.) He just really wants to talk.

• I would actually like to expand more on this in a future post but PET NAMES. He loves pet names. He will call you so many and they’re all kind of silly and either nonsensical or tie in with his ad-speak but they’re very sweet. [Jumbo Glazed Honey Bun], [[Cute Sponge]], [[Premium Honeybaked Ham]], etc.

• This is mad self-indulgent and sappy but listen. listen. He absolutely wouldn’t mind any of your scars/stretch marks/blemishes/etc. IN FACT I think he would find comfort in them, considering his body is basically one enormous scar (puppet body and all). If even the divine have imperfections, then it gives him some hope he’ll be okay the way he is.

• It’s very very difficult for him to accept gifts or help, especially letting him live with you for free. This is even after you’ve gotten close to him. He can’t just take your help, he’s too prideful, and all he’s ever known is buying and selling and making deals and how to be useful in a world where you get thrown away if you aren’t. The thought of using up your resources while not being able to provide anything in return would make him feel like a burden and weigh very heavy on him. That being said… he’ll work his puppet ass off to try to make it up to you somehow. This might be doing chores or making breakfast or finding you genuine non-garbage gifts or (most often) going out and working. Any money he gets will go to you to help pay for bills, groceries, etc.

• The only time he’ll let you take care of him fully is when he’s sick with a computer virus (because he doesn’t have a choice, lol). While he likes attention, I’m in the boat of him disliking being coddled - he’s a grown man!! It makes him embarrassed. Being coddled wouldn’t be very Big Shot of him, after all he’s determined to be the one to provide for you and make you proud.

If you actually read all my ramblings... Thanks! :^) These are all for regular spam by the way, while Sneo is similar I think there’d be a few differences (mainly a god complex lmao. Also he’s really tall now). If people are interested it would be fun to do one of these x reader headcanon character breakdowns for Sneo. OR even big shot spam or addispam or even the addisons. 👀

#headcanon stuff #spamton x reader #deltarune #spamton #uuuhhh i am kind of nervous to post all this but if i didnt get it out i would explode #hopefully some of you will enjoy my insane ramblings #do not perceive me

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otaku-shipper · 3 years

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Taichihaya Relationship Headcanons

Chihaya confesses in the club room 30 minutes before their graduation ceremony.

Their first real kiss also happened there right after Chihaya’s confession.

Kana-chan caught them kissing. She, with the rest of the Mizusawa Club members, were stopping by the clubroom as they wait for the ceremony. When she was about to open the door, she saw them and her instinctual flight response was to pull everyone away from the clubroom hallway. Sumire immediately caught on her senpai’s embarrassed face and was about to stomped her way to the clubroom to confirm her gut feeling but Kana-chan was able to restrain her. Somehow.

There is a weird period of time when Taichi and Chihaya constantly run into Suo out of nowhere during their dates and they always end up eating in a sweets shop WITH Suo. Suo and Chihaya always force Taichi to eat their sweets. Taichi puts up with this for a while until he suspects Suo is probably stalking them so he can get free sweets. Suo is offended for how dare his favorite and only disciple accuse him, a “lonely, blind man who only wished to experience the dating world” for stalking? Taichi treats him to a sweets shop in order to placate his dramatics. AND was forced to eat them.

Taichi thinks helping Suo how to “date” girls seriously will get him out of his dates with his girlfriend. He believes this to be true for 3 months of not running into Suo during their dates. Not until he and Chihaya find out that Chitose is dating someone “obscure” and that someone turned out to be--Suo! They go on a double date once. Only Chihaya and Suo are happy about it.

“Of all the girls available in Tokyo, you had to choose my girlfriend’s sister? Really?”

Reiko Mashima asked Chihaya if she had read “Pride and Prejudice”. Chihaya said no. “I see,” was all Reiko said but Chihaya thought she heard her say “You’re dumb”.

Reiko and Chihaya has a tense relationship throughout the time Chihaya and Taichi are dating. It has something to do with Chihaya’s constant overthinking when it comes to Mrs. Pressure. Taichi learned that there is a dormant sadist residing in his mother and Chihaya had an effortlessly charming way of coaxing it out. They start a casual relationship during the engagement period. With a sprinkle of mother-in-law terrorizing here and there.

Chihaya and Taichi made the Mashima family (Oligoto, Reiko, and Rika) play karuta. Only Oligito finds it fun. He plays in Shiranami and loves Harada-sensei as the opponent. And Harada-sensei loves him for his Sun Tzu quotes in his game commentaries.

Taichi think it’s nice that Chihaya and Rika are getting along closely. It’s really nice until Chihaya becomes Rika’s accomplice in her pranks and the scenarios either end up with a) he helps them get out of it; b) he is mistaken as the culprit; c) he’s the victim.

Taichi gets random invites from Chieko Ayase for meals. Or Chihaya becomes the errand-girl to send Taichi her mom’s homecooked food.

“I sometimes think she loves you more than her own children. We only have *any fancy dish* on Christmas but she made this for you without a special occasion. Maybe…she has a crush on you too.” “Your Dad is going to kill me if he finds out.” "No, I think he has a crush on you too."

Chitose immediately made it clear to Taichi that she should to be married first and she doesn’t care if they have to wait 15 years until she can settle with a marriageable boyfriend. “Not all men are as committedly smitten as you, Mashima-kun.” It was non-negotiable.

Chihaya is never jealous of any girl because a) she’s an airhead who hasn’t caught up with how flirting works and b) Taichi ignores any girl who isn’t her or any of their friends. The first time jealousy came to her was when Taichi started as a junior clerk. One time when visiting the hospital, she caught him with a lot of female nurses and his “fellow junior clerks” as what he told her, in the pedia ward during a supposed “break time”. It was proven then and there that Chihaya has a female brain because she quickly came up with a hundred interpretations other than a friendly chit chat between her boyfriend and the members of the fair sex. It might also have something to do with the lesser time she got to spend with Taichi so how dare they have more time with him than her.

She had a crazy idea that in order to reinforce her place in his life above her fellow female species, she just had to cook him dinner. A surprise dinner. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Sumire once told her. She might have forgotten that math is not her strongest suit and miscalculated her cooking exp. So she decided to cook Taichi’s favorite Turkey dish when her exp range is <<cooking instant food to frying eggs and fish>>. Of course it was a failure and Taichi came home panicking about the strong smell of burnt meat only to find Chihaya splayed on the floor, crying in front of the opened oven and picking at a big mount of charcoaled mater. And cried even more when she saw him. A cleaning lady cleaned up the mess and they ordered take out. It was still one of the best nights for both of them for they ended up sleeping together on the sofa until the next day. And Taichi held her close the entire time.

It was also the first time she realized the bigger reality of being in a relationship with a (soon to be) doctor.

When they have movie nights together in either of their apartment, Taichi and Chihaya wears a Daddy Bear and Mommy Bear onesie respectively. Tacihi made her swear to secrecy not to tell anyone. Chihaya only agreed because she discovered there’s so much power in being the sole person who has knowledge about it. Her teasing and “blackmailing” (both of them knew there were empty words but it always make Taichi tense just the same) percentage of effectiveness sky-rocketed with this weapon on hand. Besides, she finds it cute and hilarious when he blushes and panics over a Daddy Bear onesie. In Taichi’s defense, the onesie is very comfortable and Chihaya loves it when he wears it. Can you blame him?

Taichi’s internship is somewhere in the province and it is their first time dealing with being apart for months. What’s more, karuta is a forgotten game there after people graduated elementary.

Chihaya makes a surprise visit to the province and on her way to the hospital, she catches sight of a group of high school kids with a single adult man playing soccer in a field near the hospital. She recognizes Taichi who has clearly just gotten out of duty based on the rolled up sleeves of his polo, without a necktie. She silently watches them and is happy to see that Taichi doesn’t look sad or lonely at all. He looked bright, and was laughing and smiling too much...so well-adjusted. Suddenly Chihaya panicks over this because what if...Taichi has abandoned karuta for soccer and decides to stay here forever?

“Have you ever thought that I stole you away from soccer?” she asks him one day.

“I can’t believe you came to this place and started an affair.” “What makes you think I’m cheating on you?” “Not me--KARUTA! God, it’s like you don’t know me.”

#chihayafuru #taichihaya day #taichihayaday #taichihaya #late entry because im always late lol #my unrealistic dream is to make a fanfic out of every headcanon. the clownery.#taichihaya day 2021

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finleycannotdraw · 4 years

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Guess what? I’m re-binge-reading Good Omens. And here are some Obervations that I forgot about and some things I might put in fics. Also things I found funny. Basically my dumb commentary on the book.

Crowley actually flees Sister Mary. He doesn’t saunter vaguely away. He flees.

Ligur is rather more thoughtful than he’s portrayed in the show

Anathema likes to read about herself, and her teachers are confused because she spells words like Agnes Nutter

Crowley apologizes

By page 41, it is mentioned at least twice that Aziraphale and Crowley Do Not choose each other’s company for any reason other than that they are constants, that they have an Arrangement, and that they are Friends because being Enemies got boring.

Aziraphale blushes!!!!!!

The Drunk Scene is fuckin hilarious and it’s actually a lot longer than it is in the show, and really you ought to read it. (Book pages 47-50)

My mom (who has a PhD in human development) would probably like to talk to Crowley about upbringing because they seem to agree on how important it is

War has always looked 25, and had a vulture that died of fatty degeneration

Pollution is very cleverly compared to actual pollution

Warlock has Kermit the frog overalls, and Nanny Ashtoreth is described as someone who “advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines”. The tutors are present for about four paragraphs. Warlock is good at math and likes banana flavored bubblegum.

Crowley has a slice of angel cake. Aziraphale eats it. Aziraphale also eats deviled eggs. Hm.

Crowley calls Aziraphale angel casually enough to suggest he’s been doing it for a long time

Some girl at Warlock’s party calls Aziraphale a f*ggot

Crowley glares suspiciously at a gerbil. It is suggested that Hell has, in the past, sent hell-gerbils in place of hellhounds.

“Oh dear,” muttered Aziraphale, not swearing with the practiced ease of one who has spent six thousand years not swearing, and who wasn’t going to start now.

Adam and his friends play in a place called The Pit, where shopping carts go to die, apparently

Crowley is the first one to mention sides in the book!??!? Also Crowley goes on about how humans are more evil than Hell (but he calls himself evil—is he calling himself human already?)

Aziraphale yells “get off the road, you clown!”

“What’s a velvet underground?” *love confession???* “you wouldn’t like it”

Aziraphale is a bit rude to Crowley in the “flashes of love” scene and Crowley is less panicked about it

Crowley glares at the Bentley and it fixes itself

Anathema’s bike is called Phaeton

COULD THEY ACT ANY MORE MARRIED OH MY GOD

Aziraphale speaks like. Like ugh. “FlOUndeR on tHe rOcKS of inEquiTY”

“Thirty seconds later someone shot both of them. With incredible accuracy.” *cuts to a random pleasant story about Mary Hodges* *cuts back to where Aziraphale has fallen into a rhododendron and Crowley licks the paint before he knows it’s paint* dumbasses

Crowley does not slam Aziraphale into the wall

Crowley is actually pretty impatient and doesn’t argue with Aziraphale when he’s worried

“Nothing but dust and fundamentalists” “that was nasty” “sorry, couldn’t help it”

When the radio sings “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” Crowley sings “for me” and then screams

Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’ll keep in touch, and Aziraphale doesn’t say tickety-boo, and then Crowley says “right” and feels very alone

the international express man is small and has glasses, and wears green woolen socks

The sword, which turns out to be Aziraphale’s, is described as having an aura of hatred and menace, which makes me think of how it could’ve gotten that aura from Heaven or from humanity or from War...

In the book Pepper has red hair and freckles, which makes it a cool comparison to War’s appearance and the defeat of War

Adam is excellent at slouching, apparently

Occasionally, as Aziraphale reads the book, he would very nearly swear

“He wouldn’t have said ‘that’s weird’ if a flock of sheep had cycled past playing violins.”

“If you had told him there were children starving in Africa he would’ve been flattered that you’d noticed.”

“...that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” (151)

Wensleydale watches David Attenborough programs

Shadwell’s voice is described as “the color of an old raincoat” and seems to fake smoking cigarettes

Aziraphales cocoa is moldy and solidified by the time he calls Arthur Young, and has a thin layer of dust on himself too

Newt says that the walls look like nicotine and the floor looks like cigarette ash, and he suspects both are, actually, coated with these substances

Newt looks a bit like Clark Kent, and people seem to like Shadwell for some reason, much to his annoyance.

Aziraphale calls Shadwell “dear boy” on the phone

Agnes Nutter called God a daft old fool #goals

Adam is wayyyy too good at video games

Smelling Anathema’s perfume makes Newt uncomfortable

Adam suggests that Pepper ought to have Russia cause of her red hair (huh)

Anathema and Newt actually have decent conversations?? Like?? Show??? C’mon, man. The show kinda butchered their relationship.

Trees, apparently, make a ‘vvrooooommm’ sound when they grow very fast

“He suspected that Crowley was from the Mafia, or the underworld, although he would have been surprised how right he nearly was.” Shadwell also thought Aziraphale was a Russian spy. Wow, Shadwell.

Aziraphale calls Crowley and actually says “shut up” to him, and then when the answering machine beeps, he tells Crowley to “stop making noises” and then he swears for the first time ever.

The fuckin’ footnote on page 227

“A sleek computer was the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have.” I like the word choice here. He’s not pretending to be a human, he’s trying to be one. That’s a really important distinction.

It never actually says what Crowley does to his plants.

Crowley’s flat is very white. Wow, Crowley. It just looks dark because of the lighting. Heaven imagery and symbolism out my ears, goddammit.

Why does Hell say Crowley’s name so much when talking to him?? Honestly, I think that’s an intentional dig at his chosen name, using it in their speech to scare him. Wow, Hell. (And wow, Finn, excellent sentence)

Whenever the book says something is shaped like something, it definitely isn’t that thing. “man-shaped” “dog-shaped” “car-shaped”... makes it pretty obvious they aren’t men, dogs, or cars, huh.

The code to Crowley’s safe is 4004. The year he “slithered onto this stupid, marvelous planet”... and the year he met Aziraphale, of course. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, Crowley, my dude.

Crowley consideres sticking Hastur into his car until he turns into Freddie Mercury but then decides even he isn’t that cruel

Actual text that I feel like nobody really agrees with: “Madame Tracy was by many yardsticks quite stupid”

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” “...imagine me out of uniform, sir, and what kind of man would you see before you? Honestly?” “A prat.”

I’m crying. The fucking bookshop fire scene made me fucking cry. I’m literally crying.

“...on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.” “The police and firemen looked at him, saw the expression on his face, and stayed exactly where they were.” “...a crack of thunder so loud it hurt....” *the sound of Finley sobbing into their cat*

The shortest biker in the cafe thing is 6′2, what the fuck

War, Famine, Pollution, and Pop Trivia 1962-1979

“Pollution removed his helmet and shook out his long white hair. He had taken over when Pestilence, muttering about penicillin, had retired in 1936. If only the old boy had known what opportunities the future had held.” HMMMMMMMMMMM

“There were no bitches in Hell either.” I know it’s talking about female dogs, but I rather thought Hell was full of bitches.

“Why are you talking like a poofter?” “Ah. Australia.”

“gOsh, aM i on teLEviSiON?” (Basically Aziraphale gets passionate about stuff and likes to talk).

Crowley is actually an optimist and doesn’t dwell too much on how sucky the world is. He doesn’t go get smashed in a bar. He just finds Aziraphale’s notes in the book and heads to Tadfield. And also, his new pair of sunglasses just... materializes out of his eyes. And he likes to whistle.

“Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking to Tadfield. And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping But Secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People traveled with them.”

“on top of the pile a rather large octopus waved a languid tentacle at them. The sergeant resisted the temptation to wave back.” Honestly dude, if an octopus waved at me I’d wave back.

Wait Agnes was apparently talking to Shadwell and not God when she said yowe daft old foole. I dunno

Madame Tracy: You old silly. Shadwell:

Aziraphale does not know how to get rid of demons. Canonically. “Had never done other to get rid of demons than to hint to them very strongly that he, Aziraphale, had some work to be getting on with, and wasn’t it getting late? And Crowley always got the hint.”

The road to Hell is paved with frozen door to door salesmen, apparently. The question is where it is, because the demons always seem to just stem out of the ground.

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway. I love this sentence during that scene.

I bet Hastur gets really mad whenever he hears Aziraphale’s voice from now on

Crowley isn’t breathing the entire burning Bentley scene

ADAM. SAID. “But I reckon you can make your own side” AND WE FUCKIN IGNORED IT?

The temperature above the M25 was simultaneously 700ºC and -140ºC which makes me think of something I read about magenta not being real. The M25 is magenta.

I feel like “Agnes” is just going to become an inside joke between Anathema and Newt at this point, and it will drive Crowley insane because he knows who she is but somehow still doesn’t get the joke.

I’m six inches taller than R.P. Tyler, and apparently according to the back sleeve of the book jacket, I’m very similar in height to Neil Gaiman

R.P. Tyler thought Shadwell was a ventriloquist’s dummy, and then sees cows doing somersaults

“That’s terrific. Much obliged,” said Crowley. — “Funny weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” “Probably because your car is on fire.” .... Also the fact that Crowley looks like a young man which I find interesting.

“The Four Button-Pressers of the Apocalypse”

“Where is Armageddon, anyway?” “I’ve always meant to look that up.” “There’s an Armageddon, Pennsylvania”

Famine is the one that says “that’s one big avocado”, and also, I find it interesting that War, more than once, talks about love. (All is fair in love and war much?)

Anathema threatens the guard with a stick, pretending it’s a gun

Aziraphale, of course, asks Crowley to sort it out because he, Aziraphale, is “the nice one” and then proceeds to sort it out himself. Because of course he does. Because what else could he possibly do.

I just ADORE THIS BOOK OKAY

I’M PROBABLY GOING TO READ IT AGAIN IN A MONTH

Aziraphale and Crowley are so fuckin married I can’t

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bikerjongho · 3 years

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the convenience of the ocean | ateez ot8

genre: fluff, humor

characters: college student!ateez ot8

description: ATEEZ is free from school stress and can now enjoy themselves at the beach as a vacation. Naturally, their mischievousness and playfulness shines through while they’re there as tourists.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: N/A

author’s note: the second addition to the ateez music video series! masterlist (which lists the rest of them) here. also, hakuna matata ya @itsapapisongo >:)

The small convenience store nestled between the beach and a wave of hotels normally had about only ten people in it at one time. It was a small and cute little thing, and the eight boys on their razor scooters took note of it. Once they arrived at the store, they threw their scooters down onto the ground with a clatter before entering the store and doubling the people with their presence.

The band of friends had finally booked a fun vacation together at a local beach, ready to relax and unwind from college, work, and other activities. They traded their lived-in hoodies that smelled of stress and ramen for brightly colored Hawaiian shirts, sunglasses, and flip flops. Their hair was now unkept and messy from the wind and not from the lack of sleep. The sun was finally able to grace them after being stuck inside for school, and they all were beginning to sprout a lovely tan.

Wooyoung, an immediately friendly presence in the store, was the only one that waved at the cashier as greeting before hooking an arm around San's elbow and venturing off to the frozen section to look at ice cream and other sweet treats. Yeosang and Yunho murmured to each other about snacks in the snack section, while Mingi sat and stared at a sunglasses rack that was parked near the front of the store. Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Jongho headed off to look at the soda, the only item in the store they intended to leave the store with.

And there was no intention of buying the soda. "That's a really small shop," San had commented as they rode down the boardwalk on their wheeled chariots. "We could probably steal soda from there." He had said it as a joke, but the more the group talked about it as they rode, the more they all were infected with the rush of stealing something.

The stealing wasn't for malicious purposes - they all had money, and they all didn't regularly steal from businesses. But the thought of being sneaky, dastardly, and just a little bit annoying after putting up with strict rules, homework, and constant vigilance that came with school taunted them like a devil with sin. And soda was not something that would be missed from a store, and they all agreed that it was delicious. "Let's never do this again," Hongjoong said seriously as they rode on their scooters, but he was smiling.

So it was set that the boys would steal a few cans of soda from a small beach convenience store. Everyone was put perfectly into place so the plan could be executed without a hitch. San and Wooyoung were meant to be a loud distraction, and it worked like a charm. Wooyoung made loud commentary about how mint chocolate ice cream was delicious, and San, who liked mint chocolate, argued that it was disgusting. Everyone's attention was focused on their chitter as Hongjoong, Jongho, and Seonghwa reached the soda aisle.

Jongho reached the soda first and, without preamble, began taking cans and unloading them into his bottomless swim trunks. Seonghwa strutted up to the aisle and shoved a few into a backpack he was wearing. Hongjoong threw the remaining soda into a floppy and summery bag that rested in the crook of his elbow. Wooyoung and San's bickering carried through the store, hiding attention from the three soda stealers.

Yunho and Yeosang continued to chat about snacks as the shelf of assorted snacks stared back at them. While they were all for the soda stealing, Yunho had pointed out that there needed to be a few normal people in the group since they were a large crowd. "Yeosang, you didn't just tell me you don't like animal crackers," Yunho sighed, the true expert of snacks and did not discriminate when eating them. "That's sacrilegious." He said this casually, easily, coolly, as Yunho usually was, which only stirred up Yeosang.

"What can I say, I just prefer things with a bit of tart," he replied, his soothing voice audible underneath San's emotional and loud damnation of mint chocolate ice cream.

Meanwhile, Mingi's job of staring at sunglasses and keeping the attention of the cashier was working a little too well. The cashier, a girl with short black hair and an ocean blue shirt, was staring at Mingi like she had never seen a man before. He pretended to not notice but still felt his knees turn into mush. She was pretty, after all. He turned his attention back to the sunglasses and found a few pairs that he really liked, though he knew they wouldn't be buying them anyway, considering that they were stealing soda.

Yunho and Yeosang appeared behind Mingi. "We're done," Yeosang said, which was code that their soda stealing had been a success. He tugged on Mingi's shirt.

"I genuinely like these, though," Mingi argued, picking up a dark and round pair of sunglasses. "And we're at the beach. It would make sense to have a pair."

"You know we can't get it," Yunho said sternly, which sounded like they didn't have enough money for the sunglasses. That wasn't the case, but they all agreed before that it would be weird to steal soda but buy anything else from the store. "Maybe later in the vacation."

The three main soda stealers were flocked together, now at the front of the store. The only one out of the three of them that seemed remotely suspicious was Jongho, with conspicuous lumps in the pockets of his red swim trunks, but they were only noticeable if a passerby really stared at his legs. And still, the cashier could not stop looking at Mingi. Wooyoung and San were trailing behind them, their mint chocolate debate prolonged and not just an act anymore. Hongjoong nudged them so they could be quiet. All they had to do was leave the store.

"Nothing caught your eye? That's too unfortunate," the cashier said as they all headed to the door to leave. Jongho looked like a deer caught in headlights, and he put his hands at his sides to cover up his pockets. Hongjoong nudged him.

"No, just looking," Hongjoong laughed. He slung his bag full of soda from the store closer to his body and gave a genuine smile to the cashier, who returned it. A few of them were staring adamantly at the floor like they had never seen floor before.

"Your sunglasses are really nice," Mingi commented, pointing over to the rack where he was at, giving a small grin to the cashier.

"But we don't need any," Seonghwa said, looking a little too firm. He nudged his head to the door.

"We don't want to spend too much money while we're here," Yunho added, nodding so genuinely to the cashier that the rest were convinced that he was telling the truth.

The cashier looked back and forth between Mingi and the sunglasses rack, caught in between two thoughts. Then, putting a finger over her mouth for them to be quiet, she pulled out a twenty dollar bill of her pants pocket and slid it into the cash register. "It's twenty dollars, right?" She asked, while Mingi's mouth hung open as the gears inside his head clicked. "Go ahead and take one, it's fine. I paid for it."

"Thank you!" A few of them cried immediately. Hongjoong's bag on his shoulder was now significantly heavier. Mingi carefully took the pair of sunglasses that he liked off of the rack and immediately put them on.

"Thanks so much!" He said, nodding gratefully to the cashier. The rest of them looked like they wanted to strangle him for leaving them in the store any longer. If only the cashier knew what they were doing with the soda.

"Well, have a nice day!" San sang to the cashier. They hauled themselves out of the store, Mingi, decked out in his new pair of shades, and the rest of them embarrassed by the cashier's blind kindness.

"Mint chocolate is the superior ice cream flavor," Wooyoung said to San, the first words spoken now that they were outside.

"It's really not," Hongjoong sighed. "My God, let's never do this again."

"We should do this again," Jongho said gleefully and pulled out a can of Coke from his swim trunks. Mingi and Yeosang also went directly for Jongho's swim trunks and pulled out their own cans from his pockets.

"You all act like you've never had soda before," Seonghwa judged, pulling out a can of his own from his backpack.

"Am I the only one that feels bad about this?" Hongjoong said. They all nodded at him, and Hongjoong sighed in defeat.

"Have a soda, Joong," San said cheerfully and pulled out a soda from Jongho's bottomless soda pockets and held it out for him. "Isn't their slogan 'you aren't you when you're thirsty?'"

"Snickers," Yunho and Wooyoung said in sync, looking at each other and sighing. Hongjoong looked at the Coke in San's hands before shaking his head and taking it.

"I guess what's done is done," he sighed before cracking it open and taking a sip. A few of them grinned as they watched him drink it.

"Well, that raised my adrenaline, I say we go to the beach," Yunho said cheerfully. "I'd like to get pummeled by a wave."

"Me too," Jongho sang, bouncing on the heels of his feet, already moving onto the next part of their day.

The boys began traversing towards their hotel to change, a bright yellow building that faced towards the ocean. "So," Mingi said as they walked into the hotel's main floor, "we can all agree that the cashier was into me?"

"Yes," they all chorused to him.

"If you didn't see it, you're as blind as a bat," Seonghwa grinned. Mingi adjusted his sunglasses, now carrying a new meaning, and smiled.

Through some miracle, they all fit in the elevator on the way up, but separate trips had to be made on the way down for beach supplies. They traded their Hawaiian shirts and loose t-shirts for tank tops, and their cargo pants for swim trunks.

Jongho took the pleasure of carrying all of the boogie boards down the elevator and out to the beach. Coupled with his overflowing red swim trunks and flip flops that slapped the ground every time he took a step, he looked like an excited little kid ready to be knocked out by a wave. Hongjoong brought a cooler filled with water bottles and a book for himself to read, and Seonghwa was sure to remember the sunscreen.

"Remember when I got that sick tan last summer?" Wooyoung grinned, watching Seonghwa fill his bag with a can of sunscreen.

"I remember, you looked like a Cheeto," Seonghwa said sweetly. He held out the sunscreen for him. "You should put this on."

Yeosang and Mingi were eager to carry all of the buckets and shovels for sandcastle making. How Yunho had acquired this absurd amount of buckets and shovels, they didn't know, but none of them were complaining. San had proposed a sandcastle making contest, so they were all eager to put his tools to good use.

For one last activity, Wooyoung made sure to grab a kite and a volleyball before exiting the hotel room. Soon enough, they were all on the beach.

San, eager to be soaking wet as soon as possible, ripped off his t-shirt and dove into the water, Wooyoung following in tow. Since there was a volleyball net nearby, Hongjoong, Yeosang, Jongho, and Yunho set themselves up for a match: Hongjoong and Yeosang versus Jongho and Yunho.

"Two-ho for the win," Yunho danced while Jongho nodded cheekily and picked up the volleyball. Hongjoong looked at Yeosang and shook his head. Yeosang reciprocated.

Decked out in a sleeveless tank top, there were more than a few girls that glanced at Jongho as he raised his muscled arms and served the ball over to the other side of the net. On the same leaf, San was looking too much like a model as he pushed his hair back every time came up from the water, chest fully exposed. However, the imagery of a swimsuit model was frequently ruined by Wooyoung, who was eager to tackle and splash him down into the waves.

Mingi had taken it upon himself to use the sandcastle equipment first, and was now digging a hole in the sand. "Can you cover me in sand when I'm finished?" He yelled to San and Wooyoung, who were more than happy to oblige. But from the way Mingi was digging, it was less of a trench and more of a completely vertical hole. Seonghwa had taken Hongjoong's book and was relaxing in a beach chair, his dark hair blowing in the salt-filled wind, making him look relaxed and regal.

And they did this for a while. Each time the volleyball teams scored, a stressful thought from the previous semester was swept away in the waves. Seonghwa became engrossed in Hongjoong's book and forgot all about grades he wasn't too proud of. San and Wooyoung washed away their worries in the waves. Mingi was shrieking too much while sand filled up his lower half in the hole to think about being stressed.

There was always something about the ocean, despite it being a sticky and hot summer day, despite the sand that was filling up in their pants, despite the screaming infants on blankets around them, that made it able to cradle and wash away any negative emotions from seasons past. The boys soaked in the sun and let the cold waves take them away.

In a few hours, the sun had lowered and painted a stunning pink and orange display across the sky. After a quick dinner break, the boys were back on the beach for their long-awaited sandcastle contest.

Wooyoung had rounded up a small boy to be the judge of their sandcastles. "I didn't round him up," Wooyoung groaned to Hongjoong while Hongjoong eyed him suspiciously. "He started playing with me and San in the water, now we're friends. And he said he'd judge our sandcastles! It'll be fine."

Sebastian, the boy, sat in the sand building his own sandcastle, making him the perfect judge. He couldn't have been more than six years old and had wild and curly black hair.

A few of the boys squatted down and waved to him, while Wooyoung ruffled his hair and gave him a squeeze. "Make sure to give me first place, okay?" He said and winked to Sebastian.

"If your sandcastle is good," Sebastian said wisely.

Ultimately, everyone decided that four teams of two would be best. The groups of two sat evenly spaced from each other: Yunho and Wooyoung, Hongjoong and Jongho, Mingi and Seonghwa, San and Yeosang.

"You have until Mommy says I need to go," Sebastian said, and they all looked to see his mother reading a book intensely a few feet away in a chair. They'd have unlimited time.

So the sandcastle match began: Yunho and Wooyoung opted for an old-time stone castle, complete with a drawbridge and moat for water. Wooyoung put little balls of sand at the bottom of the trench that he was digging for the moat. "They're alligators," he said, and Yunho rolled his eyes.

Hongjoong and Jongho chose a towering and thin castle that was remniscent of the one from Sleeping Beauty. Jongho suggested a dragon snaking around one of the towers, and Hongjoong tried his best to make one, but it ended up looking like a dog rather than a fierce winged creature. "Just tell Sebastian it's a flying dog, he'll think it's neat," Jongho murmured as he side-eyed Hongjoong's work.

Mingi and Seonghwa decided to make a mansion rather than a castle. With Seonghwa's attention to detail, the windows and ceilings of the mansion were pristine and perfect, while Mingi created the most structurally sound foundation for the house.

"Doesn't Bowser have a castle?" San asked Yeosang. The two of them ended up creating a rendition of Bowser's Castle, complete with fire jutting out of the sides and a moat filled with molten lava. San didn't have molten lava on hand to make it realistic, so they took Jongho's red beach towel and stuffed it into the moat.

They had all been watching Sebastian's mom carefully, and when the amount of pages she had left grew shorter and shorter, they rushed to finish up their castles.

"We totally won," Wooyoung grinned to everyone. He gestured to his and Yunho's classic stone sandcastle. It was impressive, but it was up to Sebastian to decide who would win.

Hongjoong's winged-dog looked menacing on his and Jongho's sandcastle, and the sole mansion made by Mingi and Seonghwa was a dream home.

"But does your castle have Bowser?" Yeosang asked, and gestured to his, San's, and Bowser's castle, where a mini Bowser stood at the front, claws out and mouth open in a roar.

"What do you think?" Yeosang continued, directing his question at Sebastian, who looked thoughtfully at them all. Sebastian had eight sets of eyes on him.

"Don't you want to live in a mansion?" Mingi whispered.

"Dog with wings, Sebastian," Jongho implored.

"Lava moat," San said.

"There's alligators in our moat," Wooyoung countered.

Sebastian looked back and forth at the four sandcastles. He stood up and walked around them, inspecting every inch of each. The boys held their breath when Sebastian walked by them like they were inexperienced chefs being judged by the master chef.

Finally, Sebastian stopped. He pointed to Jongho and Hongjoong's dragon-dog castle. "That one."

Jongho and Hongjoong erupted into victorious roars. Jongho picked up Hongjoong and spun him around while shouting while the rest of them shook their heads in defeat.

"But I liked all of them," Sebastian clarified, dragging his foot in the sand shyly. "I just liked the dog with wings."

"My terrible dragon won," Hongjoong sobbed.

Wooyoung dramatically slumped his shoulders. "Sebastian, I believed in you," he sighed, but went over and gave a pat on the head to the boy. "Thank you for being an excellent judge." The others murmured in agreement, and Sebastian gave a toothless and happy smile.

After Sebastian left with his mom, the eight boys agreed that it would be best to sit and watch the sun set while they admired each other's sandcastles. Hongjoong passed around their stolen sodas as they watched the last of the sun's rays wink over the horizon.

"If today went like this, tomorrow will be crazy, I'm sure," Yeosang said, content.

"We could upgrade and steal a table from a restaurant," Mingi suggested. "Or just Jongho could, since he's strong."

All of them laughed at that. "But today really was a great day," Seonghwa smiled. "Something about the ocean."

"Something about the ocean," a few of them agreed. The last of the sun vanished from view, turning the ocean water to a dark and deep blue. As they all settled together and turned their attention to the dark water, the eight of them casted a willowy silhouette against the sand as the moon peaked out and signaled the end of their day.

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wlntrsldler · 4 years

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unrequited (draco malfoy/ cedric diggory series)

PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?

WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???

PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader

WC: 2.3K+

UNREQUITED MASTERLIST

PART 5

You were sitting in Potions by yourself, none of your friends having it during this time of the day. Students were trickling in the classroom, most not opting to spend their few minutes of passing period in their next class. There were only about three other students who sat in their seats, waiting for class to begin. Professor Snape sat at his desk in the front, glancing up at you once in a while when he felt your eyes burning in his direction.

You took out the tattered journal Mr. Diggory gave you, smiling down at the obvious wear and tear. You hadn’t had the heart to open it since you first received it. A part of you almost felt wrong reading Cedric’s thoughts. You never asked him if you could read his journal when he was alive, no matter how often you saw him scribble in the thing. You knew he would’ve let you read it if you wanted, but you figured you never had to. He told you everything without being asked.

You did the same back, minus the part that you never told him how you felt. Besides that, you told Cedric everything. If you had a journal, you’d happily show him. You’d just make sure to not write about him at all. You decided to read it but promised yourself that you would stop if you stumbled upon something you knew Cedric wouldn’t share. Although, there was only a small amount of things that he wouldn’t share with you.

You flipped the front cover to reveal the first page. Low and behold, in Cedric’s messy handwriting, the one that littered your books with notes and tips, read: “If lost, return to Cedric Diggory. If you can’t find me, return to Y/N Y/L/N. I’m almost, always with her.”

A picture of the both of you was taped securely under the words. Parts of the parchment were ripped off, showing that he replaced the photo a few times. In the picture, you two smiled for the camera, grins reaching from ear to ear. As the flash subsided, you two burst in laughter, blinking rapidly as the flash burned both your eyes. Behind you was his house, his dad’s silhouette appeared on the window of the kitchen. The picture was taken the summer before the Triwizard tournament. Your last summer together.

You watched the picture replay a few times before turning the page. On the corner of each page, with no fail, was the date of his entry. The first entry was his first day at Hogwarts. His handwriting never changed over the years and you laughed at that. You skimmed through the page:

“I got sorted as a Hufflepuff. I’m so excited.”

“The Weasley twins are quite funny.”

“I lied, they’re really funny.”

You chuckled a bit, reading his little commentary on the margins of his journal entry. His entries were greatly detailed and so lively. It made you feel like he was sitting beside you, telling you all the stories himself. You read it in his voice, the voice you missed so deeply.

“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday yesterday.” You heard a voice say from beside you. You looked to the side, expecting to see your usual Ravenclaw partner, but instead was greeted by Draco’s neutral expression. You closed the journal and tucked it back in your bag.

“I didn’t think I had to let you know.” You responded, shrugging your shoulders. You started to take your things for the class out of your bag, trying to ignore the overwhelming scent of his expensive cologne. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” He said, almost too quickly. He cleared his throat, opening his Potions textbook. “Was just expecting you to say something about it.”

“Well you made it clear that you didn’t want to participate in a conversation with me.”

“Glad you got the memo.”

“Plus we’ve been classmates for years now, Malfoy. You would think that that would be enough time to learn my birthday.”

Draco scoffed, “I don’t pay attention to you enough. I don’t have time to think about pathetic, little Hufflepuffs.”

“But you have time now?” You inquired, pushing his buttons.

“Forget I brought it up.”

You rolled your eyes, already irritated at the boy’s mood swings. It was really odd how he would start conversations just to shut it down right after. You shut your book, rather harshly, and glared at him, “I see my partner making her way over here. Please get out of her seat.”

“No.”

“Move.” You stared him down, not wavering. You were not in the mood to deal with Draco today. You had no time for his constant annoyance and incapability to make his mind up about how he’s going to treat you for the day. You didn’t want to give the class a show similar to how you cornered him, and damn near hexed him, in Dumbledore’s office.

He mimicked your expression, inching closer to you. His hair was brushing his forehead, the color reminding you of the same one you saw last night. His eyes were piercing, the color alone more than enough to intimidate anyone. Draco breathed out, his breath hitting your face. “No.”

“Move or I swear I’ll he-”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape’s voice boomed throughout the half-empty classroom. All of the other students in the room stiffened at the sound of his voice. Always so demanding. “Ms. Y/L/N. Your bickering is getting on my nerves. Resolve your issue or I’ll take points away from both of your houses.”

You cowered in your seat, mumbling an apology, and opted to focus on today’s assignment. You heard shuffling from beside you and saw Draco get up from his seat, shooting daggers at the Ravenclaw girl as she made her way beside you. She said a quick greeting to you, not wanting to hold conversation with Draco staring at the back of her skull so intensely. You returned the gesture and placed your Potions book in between the both of you, a habit you’ve grown accustomed to.

It took a while for the students to pile in the classroom. The entire time you tried to focus on your work, trying to plan out your day to dedicate some time for homework and assignments. However, Draco’s constant muttering about Merlin knows what made it particularly difficult for you. You looked over your shoulder, seeing Draco carefully open an envelope he pulled out from the inside of his book.

The wax seal indicated it was from his family, his father, you assumed when you watched his face drop in terror. His face turned paler than ever before as his eyes scanned the parchment. He held it up, as if he couldn’t believe what he was reading. You could almost make it out with the way the sun was shining through the parchment, almost making it see-through. You could pick out a few words: “This summer… familial responsibilities… honor.. chosen.. your time…” You almost read an entire sentence before Draco loudly slammed it onto his desk.

“Something the matter, Y/N?” He asked through gritted teeth, obviously catching you as you tried to read his letter.

“No,” You responded, eyes unable to look away from the parchment he placed down. “Nothing.”

“You should pay attention.” He saw your eyes drift down. He quickly folded it, stuffing it back into the envelope, and gave you a condescending smile. “Wouldn't want you to fall even further behind than you already are.”

“Today, we’ll be creating Amortentia.” Snape started, walking around the room to scold any students who didn’t have their books open. “Does anyone know what Amortentia smells like?”

“It’s different for each person.” A Gryffindor from the back of the room answered.

Snape nodded and started to create it. You and the Ravenclaw- Merlin, you really should remember her name by now- started to take notes. Snape explained things quickly, almost making it difficult to keep up with. You took a look around the room, seeing how some people were invested in the potion while others couldn’t care less. Your eyes drifted towards Draco, wondering if he would be one or other.

His eyes looked past you, focused on Snape. Huh, you thought, wouldn't have pegged him to be a romantic. You stared at him for a few more seconds, watching his hands scribble down on his parchment, his eyes not having to look down to make sure he was writing correctly.You glanced down at his notes, not surprised by his neat penmanship. It was even neater than yours.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Snape called from the front of the room. You blushed furiously when Draco broke his gaze on Snape and saw you staring at him. You turned back around in your seat, growing more flustered as everyone stared at you. Snape walked over to you, Amortentia in hand. “Since you refuse to pay attention, what do you smell?”

You barely had to take a sniff before your senses were filled with a scent you’ve grown fond of. Chamomile and honey and Cedric. You smiled, biting the corner of your lip. The scent was overwhelming. It was like he was beside you.

You picked up his cologne a week after he died, wanting to feel like he was still with you. Although the scent of Chamomile and honey reminded you of him, it still didn’t feel quite right. Cedric always brought his own scent, a lovely scent, in addition to the cologne. It was different when he wore it.

Your face twisted when another faint smell started tickling your senses. It was soft, barely there, but you could smell it. It wasn’t anything that you would pick up for yourself, nor would Cedric. You tried to sniff it one more time, hoping that the scent would reveal itself. But once you did that, the scent was gone, almost as fast as it came.

“Y/N, what do you smell?” Your partner asked, breaking you from your trance.

You realized you still haven’t answered and everyone in the room was waiting for your answer. You cleared your throat, “I smell Chamomile and honey.”

Snape nodded and walked around the room to let others take a go at it. Your partner gushed about how it smelled like ocean and fresh flowers. You absentmindedly nodded your head, trying your hardest to pay attention to her ramblings. Snape continued his trip around the classroom, holding the Amortentia tightly in his hands.

As he made his way back to the front of the room, you heard Draco call for him softly. Your curiosity got the best of you, tuning out your partner next to you to focus on the conversation behind you.

“Professor.” Draco called, motioning Snape to approach him.

Snape came closer, placing the Amortentia on the table before leaning in, “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Can I speak to you after class?”

“Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco was silent for a second before speaking again. “Just had a few questions about the potion.”

Snape nodded, picking it back up and walked to the front. “Stay after class, Mr. Malfoy.”

The rest of the time flew by. You were still trying to remember the faint scent you smelled earlier. Not knowing really bothered you. The name of the scent was on the tip of your tongue, if only you could’ve smelled it one more time and you would've known with certainty.

When Snape announced that class was over, you said goodbye to your partner and packed up your things. A part of you wanted to stick around and hear what Draco was going to ask Snape. Surely, he understood the potion. He was one of the smartest students in your class and his notes were always so well done. Draco never has problems with his academics. This incident really puzzled you.

You decided not to risk getting caught sneaking around by Snape, or worse, Draco. You walked towards the Great Hall, the pestering thought of not knowing what the scent was or what Draco could possibly have questions about occupying your brain the entire time.

As the students walked out of Snape’s classroom, Draco nervously waited for the professor to address him. Snape looked up from his desk, cocking an eyebrow at the boy’s demeanor. He was acting a bit out of character. He motioned for Draco to approach him.

Draco adjusted the strap on his book bag and walked over to Snape, eyes glancing at the Amortentia every other second. “I think the Amortentia doesn’t work on me.”

Snape put his quill down, folding his hands. “I don’t think anyone is immuned to Amortentia.”

“Well, I must be.” Draco insisted.

“Elaborate, Mr. Malfoy.”

“When asked Y/N what the Amortentia smelled like to her,” He trailed off, pointing at the potion. “She said she smelled chamomile and honey. And I’m sure she was referring to Diggory-” He said, voice harsh when saying Cedric’s name. “But I smelled the same thing. Chamomile and honey. And truthfully, sir, I don’t believe I have feelings for Diggory. So that means that I must be immune to it somehow.”

“Mr. Malfoy, you are one of the brightest students in Hogwarts.” Snape complimented, leaning over the desk to say the second part of his message. “But you sure are daft.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Malfoy, have you noticed that in the wake of Ms. Y/L/N’s grief over the loss of Cedric Diggory, she has done some things to help her cope?”

“Yes, sir.” Draco nodded, confused by where Snape was going with the conversation.

“Alright. Are you aware that one of those things is wearing his cologne, causing her to sport his scent?”

Draco’s face paled, then turned a bright shade of red. His eyes widened, realizing that he just confessed something to his professor, without knowing that there was something to confess. He stuttered, “I-uh…”

“No trouble, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape dismissed him with his hand, shooing him towards the exit. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

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artyblogs · 3 years

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Mean It When You Swing It

Read on AO3

Summary: For @caruliaweek. Prompt: Confession. After two years, Carmen arrives at Julia’s doorstep with a bouquet of red roses. She finds a nightmare instead. Tensions ensue.

---

The first bouquet was a prank on Carmen. Carmen wanted to do something nice for Julia, to thank her for her infinite patience, for blindly doing what Carmen asked without protest, and for doing so without prying. Carmen wanted to do something nice for Julia, and people give flowers to each other, right? They are given to performers after their shows, and to graduates after their ceremonies, and to the sick so that they might feel better. They are given to parents and children and friends and partners. They are given in grief, and they are given in thanks, and they are given in affection.

There was a florist down the street from Julia’s flat, so there Carmen went.

“Whatever they are, they have to be red,” Carmen murmured as she regarded the dizzying collection. There were so many different shapes and sizes, in so many hues, and it was making for a more complicated task than she first thought. In her ear, the sounds of Player’s constant keystrokes blend into the background when he speaks (he once explained something about microphone settings and sound engineering, but most of it went over Carmen’s head).

“How about red roses? Nine of them?” And even through the mic, she could tell that he was smiling.

“Only nine? Okay,” Carmen said and she asked the florist for a bundle.

“Wait, really?” Player almost shrieked, but his sound settings came through yet again to normalize the volume.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing.”

And that was that. It was only after the artifacts were set in front of Julia’s door, and after the doorbell was rung, and while they were on the plane out of Poitiers, that Ivy gently took Carmen’s elbow, steered her out of Zack’s earshot, and asked if Carmen meant to leave red roses for Julia.

“Flowers are flowers are flowers, right? Should I have left different ones?” Carmen asked.

Ivy’s mouth formed and ‘o’ and her green eyes grew wide with dismay. “Oh my god, you really don’t know.”

“Know what?”

Ivy clenched her jaw and scowled. She reached into her pocket, took out a small padded case, and unzipped it to reveal her Team Red earpiece. She plugged this into her ear, stood hands akimbo, and glared at Carmen’s left earring.

“Player,” she growled out. Carmen had never seen her so mad before; not even at Zack. And Player made a high-pitched squealing sound that she’d never heard him make before either.

“I didn’t think she’d actually do it!”

“God-fucking-dammit, Player! You know that Carmen doesn’t know about this kind of shit.”

“I’m sorry. But can you honestly tell me that red roses were the wrong move to make?”

“Do not try to worm out of this.”

“What do they mean?” Carmen asked. Ivy froze. Player too, fell silent. There was nothing but the drone of the plane engines around them.

“What do red roses mean?” Carmen asked again.

Ivy told her. And then she returned to Zack to give Carmen some time, and Player went radio silent for the same reason, and Carmen remained in the back of the plane, thinking.

Did she mean to give red roses to Julia?

---

Today, Carmen picks up a similar bouquet and signs the card with her name—her real name—and her hands take on an unnatural tremor. She flattens them against the counter, slapping the pen down in the process, and tries to distract herself by watching the florist tie a ribbon around the bouquet. They pull the free ends of the ribbon against the back of the shears to make them curl, then present the flowers to Carmen with a wink.

“Thanks,” Carmen says, weighing the flowers in her arms. Is this only nine roses? It seems heavier than she remembers.

“Good luck.” The florist takes the card and carefully tucks it into the tiny plastic trident bundled with the roses, then waves Carmen away with a smile. Carmen turns and continues down the street.

Carmen used to think she knew what love was. That at least Coach Brunt loved her the way a mother would love a daughter. She knows now that she didn’t. It was the kind of love that one has for a stuffed toy, or a limb, or a tool. She was beloved only because she belonged to VILE and did as she was told.

While she suspected that it wasn’t really love, she didn’t have confirmation of it until she met Carlotta Valdez. She believed that the woman who had captured her father’s heart had to be remarkable and she was right.

Her father gave her mother red roses. Usually a single rose, and sometimes a dozen of them at a time, but Carlotta preferred the single roses. She would tell Carmen how Dexter would break into some poor neighbors’ garden with a pair of shears in his back pocket, and how he would methodically choose the right one.

The neighbors entered their roses into competitions, so they soon learned to get dogs and guns. But Dexter never failed to get a rose. Not only because he was that good, but because he liked to see the look on Carlotta’s face when he presented them to her, and because he knew that no matter how beautiful the rose was, that Carlotta would always be lovelier.

Could Carmen love someone like that? The idea is…well. To be honest, she’s still not sure what love is and what love looks like, but she feels signs of it when she thinks of Player, and Ivy and Zack, and Shadowsan. She feels signs of it when she thinks of Carlotta. She likes to think she could. That she’s capable of it.

Could Carmen love Julia like that?

She would like to try.

Carmen carefully shifts the bouquet in her arms and crosses the street. Julia moved back to Oxford about six months after the raid on VILE headquarters. According to Player, most of VILE were round up by then, and the remaining work that ACME could scrounge up didn’t have anything to do with historical artifacts, so Julia had run out of reasons to stay.

Does Julia still drink tea? Does she still wax poetic about Older Futhark and Coptic?

Is she happy?

The apartment complex is really a collection of handsome brownstones that surround a small courtyard. There’s a barbecue pit set in concrete, and a swingset almost hidden amongst some trees. Two children make a circuit on their bikes, and a woman watches them while she idly pushes a toddler on a swing. Carmen avoids them as best she can and reaches Julia’s door. Music comes from inside; the radio, judging from the overlay of a DJ’s commentary. Carmen reaches up to press the doorbell and hesitates.

Two years and no word. No call, no text. Not even a letter. Two years.

Carmen takes a deep, steadying breath. It is unfortunate, but she had always intended to talk to Julia. Sooner than now, yes, but she did want to talk. She just…lost track of time getting to know her mother. To tell the truth, two years is not enough, but they have the rest of their lives. If Carmen didn’t come to see Julia now, then when would she stop by? In three years? Five?

Yes, it’s been two years, but Carmen is here now. She reaches up and presses the doorbell. There’s a muted chime from within, and a vague shout and footsteps, before the door is pulled open to reveal Julia.

“Hello?” Julia says, her eyes and face bright as if recovering from a bit of laughter, but her smile fades when she sees who it is. Her other hand comes up to cover her mouth.

“Carmen?”

“Hey, Jules,” Carmen says. The both of them stay like that for a moment, letting the music wash around them. The smell of roasted meat wafts around them too, as if Julia were interrupted in the middle of cooking dinner.

Julia’s dark hair is shaggy and ruffled. Carmen doesn’t remember if it’s always been that length, and she just carefully brushed it down for work, or if she’s growing it out. It looks good on her regardless, but then again, Julia could make anything look good.

“Who is it? Is it a package?” An alto voice sounds from within the flat. From the kitchen, wiping their hands on a rag, comes someone wearing an apron over their lean frame. Their dark, medium-length hair is tied back to keep it out of the way. At the sight of Carmen, they go very still, their brown hands still tangled in the kitchen rag.

It’s as if an ice cube has been dropped into Carmen’s stomach.

Julia looks nervously between the two of them. “Mars, this is Carmen, an old friend of mine. Carmen, this is my significant other, Mars Dakila.”

“I know,” Carmen says.

The first time Carmen saw Mars, she was sixteen on VILE Island. Back then, Mars Dakila was Cricket Bat. They arrived at the island and were shut away with the faculty for about an hour before they left with the Cleaners. The students of that year said that Cricket Bat wasn’t a thief at all, and Carmen had wondered why they were affiliated with VILE in the first place if they weren’t a thief.

She got her answer later, after Ivy and Zack had joined her crew. Sharkhead Eddie’s gang had taken over Darryl’s Donut Hole after all, and Carmen meant to break into the vault housed within and burn all of the counterfeit money. When she broke in, however, she found bodies instead. About five men were slaughtered, the dark blood pooling on the white vinyl, and she followed that trail of death to the vault, where Sharkhead Eddie gurgled wetly as he bled out on the floor. Cricket Bat stood over him in their spattered suit, with stained bolo knives in their hands, and dispassionately watched him die.

There was a newspaper article afterwards. The cops said that it was a mob battle, and Carmen supposed that in a way, it was, because the conflicts between VILE and the rest of the East Coast criminal gangs stopped after that.

Now, Cricket Bat, sorry, Mars is a scant seven feet away from Carmen—from Julia—and wiping their hands as if they’ll ever be clean. Julia steps between them, and Carmen blinks. She looks up at Carmen with a half-hard, half-pleading expression and the cold in Carmen’s stomach spreads through the rest of her body.

“We’ve met before,” Carmen says.

“In a different life. Do you want to stay for dinner?” Mars asks. Julia’s eyes widen as she tries to stammer something out.

“I’ll set another plate,” Mars says, and they disappear into the kitchen. Carmen watches them go, and when she’s certain that they’re out of earshot, she leans in towards Julia.

“Jules,” she whispers.

“Yes, I know. But they’ve changed,” Julia whispers back.

Carmen doubts that very much, but Julia continues.

“I swear they’ve changed. If you stay for dinner, you’ll see. Carmen, please.”

“Fine.” Not to see proof of this miraculous turnaround, but to get to the bottom of whatever the hell this is. Something is going on, and Carmen is going to save Julia from it if it’s the last thing she does. She straightens up and takes another deep breath. Julia slumps with relief.

“These are for you.” Carmen holds out the bouquet, and Julia’s eyes flicker with…sadness? Pain? She takes the flowers and cradles them against her chest, then gives Carmen a soft smile.

“Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

Julia moves to let Carmen inside, and goes into the kitchen. Carmen slips her converses off and sets them next to a shoe rack just inside the door. Julia’s heels and flats are there, neatly lined up, but there are also sneakers and brogues that do not belong to Julia. The hooks on the wall above carry two coats and two sets of keys. Carmen ventures in further, her horror growing by the second. Between the front door and the kitchen is enough room for a small dining table, and opposite the table is the living room. In the living room, on the wall above the sofa, is a collection of framed photographs. Carmen recognizes a couple pictures from Julia’s office in Oxford. There are also other people that have Julia’s eyes, or her nose. There is also a picture of Julia and Mars.

It’s a candid shot, judging from the blurriness and the tilt of the camera. Julia’s glasses are askew and she’s laughing. Mars, their face mostly hidden behind Julia’s, presses a kiss to her cheek. Carmen’s stomach lurches dangerously.

CLICK. The music stops as the radio is turned off.

“I’ll just get another bottle from the corner store, Babe,” Mars says as they head towards the door. They pull off the apron and toss it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Julia follows them, carrying a vase with the roses.

“I’m not sure that wine will ease this situation at all,” Julia says.

“We won’t know unless we try.” Mars slips on a pair of trainers, takes one of the sets of keys and turns to give Julia a quick kiss. “Be back soon.”

And with that, Mars leaves, shutting the door behind them. There’s an awful silence. Julia nods her head, like she’s psyching herself up, and turns to face Carmen. Her cheeks are pink.

This cannot be real. This…no. This is a sick joke. A prank. Ha ha. Carmen numbly watches as Julia sets the vase on a deep windowsill next to an old Skyflakes tin with a bunch of succulents planted in it. She beckons to Carmen, then returns to the kitchen. Somehow, Carmen finds the strength to follow her.

The kitchen is an organized mess, as most kitchens are while they’re being used. There is a bowl of mashed potatoes, a tray of roasted broccoli, and rack with two steaks. The sink is piled high with utensils. Julia takes a covered baking pan from the fridge. She uses a pair of tongs to take a steak from it and the places it in a skillet on the stove, where it starts sizzling. Julia puts the pan back in the fridge, sets the tongs off to the side, and looks at Carmen expectantly.

“Is ‘Mars Dakila’ even their real name?” Carmen asks.

“It’s their real name now,” Julia says. She turns the overhead fan on and returns to the skillet. There’s sauce in it too, and she tilts the skillet a little so that it all gathers to one side. Julia takes a spoon and begins scooping the sauce over the steak bit by bit, making sure to baste the entire thing.

“Does Player know?” Carmen asks.

“No,” Julia says.

“Do Ivy and Zack know?”

“No. And they don’t need to know.”

“Listen, Jules. I don’t know what they told you, but I know for a fact that they’re VILE. Faculty sent the Cleaners to clean, but they sent Cricket Bat to make messes. I….” Carmen pulls her hands down her face. “They’re dangerous, Jules!”

“Perhaps that was true two years ago, but they teach escrima at a local gym now. They’re reformed.” Julia picks the tongs back up and flips the steak, then continues scooping sauce. Carmen cannot believe what she is hearing.

“How long have they been conning you?” Carmen asks. Julia gives her a sidelong glance.

“They’re not conning me.”

“How long, Jules?”

Julia sighs through her nose. “We celebrated our one year about two months ago. Does that sound like a con to you?”

“Some cons go on for like seven years.” Carmen fights through a rising tide of guilt and desperation. Oh she is a fool. How could she possibly think she could go to Argentina for two whole years and expect everything to be fine? What an idiot she is! What a moron! And now Julia is completely blind to the danger she is mired in.

“It isn’t a con, Carmen,” Julia insists. She picks the tongs up one last time and uses it to prop the steak up on its side against the pan. She holds it upright and moves it a little every now and then to finish the sear.

Carmen could just…leave with Julia. She could just throw her over her shoulder and take her somewhere safe.

Julia sets the steak on the rack along with the others, then turns off the stove and the fan. She leans against the counter, her head hanging in defeat. “Carmen, why did you come back?” She asks in a hushed voice.

“What?”

“I mean, why now? Just as I was starting to…. I was finally….” Julia raises her head and Carmen doesn’t think she’s ever been the target of such longing. Unbidden, Carmen steps closer, and Julia’s eyebrows scrunch together as she continues to gaze up at her. Julia’s hand comes up as if to touch her arm, but she falters and it drops away.

“Jules,” Carmen breathes.

“You disappeared. I wasn’t surprised because that’s what you do, but then you stayed disappeared and I….” Julia drops her gaze. “You deserved to rest. You deserved to meet your mother in peace.”

She says the last part in near monotone, as if by rote.

“And I wouldn’t have been able to do that if it weren’t for you. I should’ve thanked you when I got that file. I should’ve thanked you sooner,” Carmen says. Julia’s cheeks turn pink.

“That wasn’t me.”

“I know it was you, Jules. Thank you for finding her.”

Julia waves it away, her blush spreading to her ears, but she asks, “is she nice, at least?”

“She’s wonderful.”

A bittersweet smile spreads over Julia’s face. “Good.”

Come with me, Carmen wants to ask. Julia could meet her mother and see for herself. But the front door opens, and Mars returns with a paper bag in hand. They slip their shoes off and put the keys back on the hook. Julia steps away so fast, it’s as if she’s scalded herself. She skirts around Carmen and goes to Mars. Carmen resists the urge to take her arm.

“I know you don’t like super dry wines, so I got a merlot,” Mars says. Their brown eyes light up when Julia comes near, and they hold the paper bag out to her.

Julia takes the bag and rucks it down to read the label on the bottle. “Not bad.”

“See? I know what I’m doing.” Mars kisses her cheek and—to Carmen’s dismay—Julia returns it. She does it absently, out of habit, before she catches herself and freezes. But Mars is already stepping around her and towards the kitchen.

“Was there enough sauce left for a third steak?” They ask.

“I managed it all right,” Julia says.

“Cool.” Mars comes to a stop just out of arm’s reach and tilt their head as they regard Carmen. “Sandiego.”

Carmen’s last name hasn’t been Sandiego in a long time, but she’s not telling them that. “Dakila.”

Behind Mars, Julia shies away as if witnessing an impending car crash.

“Would it be better if I ate with a butter knife instead of a regular steak knife?” Mars asks.

“You could make a plastic knife dangerous, Dakila.”

Julia gasps. “Carmen!”

Mars grins at Julia over their shoulder. “It’s okay, Julia. I’ll eat kamayan style if I have to.”

The name rolls so easily through Mars’ mouth with such familiarity and with such affection that Carmen must resist the urge to tackle them to the floor. Somehow, she unsticks her feet and moves out of the way.

---

The dining table is a small, rustic thing covered in scuffs and dents. To save on space, one end of the rectangle has been pushed against the wall. Julia sits at the remaining short side, and Carmen and Mars sit opposite each other.

While Carmen has never eaten dinner while within three feet of a serial killer, she has had worse evenings before. At least the food is good.

“But because I’m taking more classes than usual, my advisor expects me to graduate in three years, not four,” Julia is in the middle of saying. “I honestly didn’t think that I was taking that heavy a course load.”

“‘Doctor Argent,’” Carmen says, testing out the title. Julia ducks, her face going pink again. “It sounds nice.”

“My students already call me that, even though I tell them not to.”

“You still teach?”

“All phd candidates do. Just the introduction courses though, so it’s just the basics.”

“But you still love it.”

“I do.” Julia beams. “You know, I wouldn’t be able to do all of this in the first place if Mars wasn’t around. They take care of everything.”

“Do they?”

Mars has been mostly quiet all through dinner. They have a knife and fork after all, but they take care to keep their hands above the table, and to move deliberately and slowly. Once in a while, they’ll smile at something Julia says, as if sharing a private joke, or they’ll answer in short sentences, but that’s about it.

“Well, they do most of the cooking and the cleaning because they happen to like cooking and they happen to be rather fastidious,” Julia says.

“It’s the strangest sugaring arrangement I’ve ever been in. I’ve never paid anyone with chores before,” Mars says. Julia gasps and swats their arm, making them squawk.

“You absolute scoundrel! Don’t say that when we both know how whipped you are.”

Mars laughs. They laugh and their eyes light up again. “True! You’re probably the only person on the surface of this planet who could make me do anything.”

Carmen’s insides twist horribly.

After dinner, Carmen helps Julia clear the table and put the leftovers away. Julia ties the garbage bag shut with a double knot and tugs it free of the bin. Mars steps up to the sink and Julia tsks.

“Oh Mars, I’ll take care of those; you did most of the cooking.”

But Mars lathers the sponge and starts washing the dishes anyway. “It’s okay, Babe, I’ve got it.”

“I’ll help them,” Carmen says. Mars glances at her from the corner of their eyes.

“Really? Okay.”

Carmen takes a kitchen towel and stands at the dish rack next to Mars. Julia stares at them.

“You can’t be serious,” Julia half-whispers to herself, then louder, “Behave! Both of you.”

“Of course, Babe,” Mars says.

“I mean it,” Julia says, glaring at them both. “I will not come back to a dead body, understand?”

Mars smiles at her. “Yes, Julia.”

“Sure thing, Jules,” Carmen says.

This seems to mollify her, and she leaves to toss the garbage in the complex dumpster. Mars and Carmen wash and dry the dishes in silence. They pass the pans and the dishes first, and also the cutting board.

“You’re using Jules to escape ACME,” Carmen says. Mars’ eyes flicker, but they continue to wash.

“It certainly started that way, but then they stopped being a threat and I kinda…stuck around. Julia’s a remarkable woman.”

“Does she know how many people you’ve killed?”

“I don’t do that anymore; I promised her I wouldn’t,” Mars says as they place the trays and glasses into the rack.

“Oh, like that’s enough to stop you from killing again.”

“Be as skeptical as you want; I don’t care what you think. What matters is that Julia believes me.”

“What kind of sob story did you tell her to get her to trust you?” Carmen asks.

Mars shakes their head and starts cleaning the utensils. “I can’t believe this,” they mutter under their breath.

“Jules deserves better than to be swindled….”

“No, you know what, Sandiego? You just left her. You left. You wanted a fresh start and you got a fresh start and when you got it, you decided that there was no room in it for Julia. You decided that.”

By miracle, Carmen manages to not drop anything despite the shaking of her hands. Who the hell does Cricket Bat think they are to talk to her like this? As if she doesn’t care about Julia. Like she isn’t terrified that one day, she’s going to find out that Julia’s dead because Mars got tired of her, or didn’t need her anymore.

Because no matter what Mars says, they must be pulling a con. They have to be. They would never admit it, and if they passionately exclaim how much they ‘love’ Julia and it happens to sound genuine, then either they’re a very good actor, or they’re starting to buy their own con.

“How long did you expect Julia to wait around for you? Five years? Ten? Assuming you came back at all,” Mars continues.

“If Jules wants to be with someone else, fine. She deserves to be happy. But not with you. You’re a murderer,” Carmen says.

Mars glances at the vase of roses in the windowsill. “Maybe Julia shouldn’t take advice on her love life from you. Gotta say, green is an awful color on you, Sandiego.”

Carmen’s hands freeze above the utensils drawer. Everything else has been put away except one final steak knife. She holds the handle loosely between three fingers, and with one movement, she could just let go. She could drop the knife into the drawer.

Drop the knife, Carmen. Julia has been gone for several minutes now, so she’ll be back at any moment.

Drop the knife.

Beside her, Mars stands before a bare sink, hands empty except for a dishrag that they wind around their forearm in preparation.

“Mean it when you swing it, Sandiego.”

#caruliaweek #julia argent #carmen sandiego #carulia #julethief #carjules #carmen x julia #carulia week #my writing #also on ao3

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justacomedy-archived · 3 years

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A masked clown: Arthur being in the hospital might have been the only time(s) in his life where someone was taking care of him (regardless how shabby) rather than him taking care of someone and now I’m sad 🥲🥴 headcanons about our sweet sad man?

oh, no doubt; Arthur’s life revolves around taking care of his mother for as long as he remembers. The only person who seems to ever take care of him is himself; he’s made the effort to try to work on his mental health. He’s trying to pursue his dream in becoming a stand up comedian and he takes good care of himself in terms of hygiene. But even he falls through; often times forgetting to eat or down right refusing to. He smokes way more than he should and doing basic tasks for himself begin to feel like too much like a burden as time goes on and his mental health declines. I’ll be talking about his stay at Arkham General Hospital long before he becomes the Joker as being locked in Arkham isn’t a pleasant experience what so ever.

The only place he has ever felt taken care of was the hospital. He doesn’t like going; being confined into a colorless building where his time is scheduled to do activities he simply doesn’t want to do. Being forced to talk about himself in group sessions; activities that doesn’t catch his interest and being left alone in the overwhelming silence of his hospital room. But as strange as it is, he feels almost at home there; the hospital had always been somewhere safe. The familiar smells that make his stomach distort also bring him an odd sense of peace. It’s a place where his body doesn’t ache from long hours of work and they give him medication that helps him sleep at night. He eats three times a day, albeit not a lot but certainly more than he eats at home and because of this, he feels more energized. He sees other patients there; each with their own problems and not a single one of them judges or ostracizes him like the society on the outside. He’s not swimming in back handed commentary from his mother there; she doesn’t visit him nor does she write to him, but the break away from her and his responsibilities to her is a temporary relief despite the way he worries if she’s okay in his absence. In the hospital; he doesn’t find the clarity that he desires but he almost feels better. Being away from the outside world where he’s not being ridiculed on a constant basis is a blessing of it’s own and he doesn’t have to fear getting jumped by strangers if he winds up in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. And though the negative thoughts still follow him, the scheduled activities distract him from them enough to give him a break. He doesn’t like group therapy because he doesn’t enjoy opening up to people, but he still manages to find a support system there, even if he realizes that he will never see or hear from these people ever again after they are discharged back into their old lives on the outside. The nurses at Gotham General Hospital are considerate to him; they fufill his needs as best as they can and try to make him as comfortable as possible. He doesn’t have to cook or clean- there isn’t the constant burden of money lingering over his shoulders. He feels like he’s taken care of there; that he can simply exist without anyone relying on him for their needs and he enjoys the freedom from his usual responsibilities. He has time to actually rest, to allow his body to heal and his mind to (somewhat) rest as other people are caring for him. He wouldn’t admit it outload (yet), but he feels like the nurses take better care of him there than his own mother at home growing up ever had; he was left to fend for himself for years and care/provide for her at the same time. And though he doesn’t hold it against her, he can’t help but to wish that once he was discharged, he’d be greeted by a mother who could provide him things such as warm meals. Breakfast before work, a packed lunch and hot dinner when he gets home. A mother who could do basic care for herself. But that is far from reality. He will soon return home where he’d go right back to his former routine. He’d be working full time, preparing Penny’s meals, giving her baths and putting her to bed despite how capable she was in taking care of herself in his absence. She’s capable of more than she lets on, but the unhealthy dynamic between her and Arthur is something she’s always fed off of and he doesn’t realize how used he really is. She wants to be taken care of as much as Arthur, and while she does require a bit of help with some things, she eases into the comfort of knowing that her son would go the extra thousand miles for her even when she doesn’t need it and she will gladly take the opportunity, no matter how much it wears down her son.

#✦✧Isn't it beautiful?✧✦ ➝ ( headcanon )#time to seethe about penny for the rest of the day

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sodapill · 4 years

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days like television

words: 3.9k

relationships: denji & hayakawa aki & power, implied akiangel

ao3 link

a/n: here’s something i wrote exploring the dynamic of the hayakawa household from denji’s pov!

cw: mild emetophobia, smoking, ptsd

These days, Denji finds himself greeting every morning with a face full of cat fur.

Nyako has taken a liking to sleeping in his room, and she’s got a strict routine that he’s expected to follow. Breakfast doesn’t begin at the reasonable time after Aki doles out their portions, but rather whenever Nyako demands it, usually before the sun has peaked past the horizon and always when Denji is dead asleep.

Her favorite method of waking him used to be persistent yowling, but recently she’s adopted a new strategy—settling the length of her pudgy stomach over his head and cutting off his air supply.

It’s devious but effective, and as Denji’s body kicks into fight or flight from lack of oxygen, he can’t help but think they’ve raised a spoiled brat.

Power claims that’s how all pets are, but Pochita never refused the pathetic scraps of food Denji managed to scrounge up for their sporadic meal times. Nyako is the odd one for being a normal cat with normal needs.

It’s a good thing Denji is “nothing if not adaptable,” a phrase Aki used once that he’s since latched onto. Whether Aki meant it as an insult or not is irrelevant.

Occasionally growing a chainsaw for a head has made him realize he can adapt to pretty much anything. The hardest part of it all was learning to live with other people, and Denji sort of manages that. What difference does a daily smothering make in the grand scheme of things?

He’s gotten used to pulling a purring Nyako from his face so he can trudge to the kitchen and open a can of cat food. It’s considered one of his chores anyway—and yeah, they have a chore chart now.

That was all Aki, of course. Fed up with the stacks of unwashed dishes and dirty clothes strewn across the living room floor, he’d cooked and then withheld a delicious hotpot dinner until Denji and Power both agreed to work out a schedule. They’d decided to cycle cleaning throughout the week and set Saturday as laundry day. That way there was no excuse for Power to walk around in her underwear under the guise of not having anything to wear. It was her idea that the penalty for missing a chore be losing a finger, and Aki added it to the chart like that wasn’t something he’d ever have to worry about.

Denji didn’t want to give either of his housemates the satisfaction, so he’d gotten used to doing chores.

Begrudgingly.

Make no mistake—he can get used to anything, but he doesn’t have to like it. He’s learned to tolerate doing dishes like he tolerates the acrid smell of second-hand smoke filling his lungs whenever Aki feels like having a cig indoors. Bad smells never bothered him when he’d lived in poverty, but the weight of smoke in particular is stomach-turning.

As he’s forced to crack open a window and watch Nyako slink a similar retreat onto the sill, Denji considers how all this luxury has possibly made him a bit spoiled too.

After all, not everything he grows accustomed to is outright shitty.

For all her annoying living habits, Power proves to be a low-maintenance roommate. Her moods fluctuate so wildly, if she finds anything to complain about in the first place, she’s over it by the next turn of the clock. She also takes bizarre pride in completing her chores, dragging him or Aki around the apartment to boast of what a good job she’s done.

She pouts if they don’t praise her enough—but whatever. Denji is used to it.

Her constant chatter becomes less annoying the more time they spend together, until he realizes the apartment is too quiet on the rare occasion she’s not there. The sound of her exchanging meows with Nyako reminds him he’s home, and even her cackling laugh soon registers as comforting background noise.

Similarly, Denji now recognizes the shifts in Aki’s tone well enough to know if he’s actually in trouble, versus if Aki is scolding him for the sake of propriety. Denji watches for other tells when pulling pranks with Power—an indulgent shake of the head and a tug at the corner of Aki’s lips means they’re in the clear.

It's easy to pinpoint exactly what shade of melancholy he’s drifted into just by counting the number of consecutive cigarettes he pulls from the pack. Two is contemplative—four, somber. Anything past that means they’ll have to arrange for takeout that night.

Aki is consistent, and when he starts drifting in and out of rooms like he’s lost something, his fingers trailing the walls as if navigating in the dark, Denji knows he’s actually looking for a distraction. In those moments, Denji makes an effort to act extra obnoxious, riling Power up in turn until Aki has no choice but to pay attention to them and forget whatever bad memory he’d gotten hung up on.

Gathering facts about the people he lives with isn’t a conscious choice. It’s instinctual, like how his body expects food on the regular. He’d put up with a constant state of starvation for his entire adolescence, doing odd jobs on an empty stomach like it was nothing. Now it ruins his entire day if he doesn’t get at least three meals. What’s crazier, his body punishes him when he takes advantage of the unrestricted access to food.

Aki’s cooking is good. So good in fact, that for a large span of time, Denji is constantly shifting into “eat as much as possible” mode, left over from when food was scarce. This results in several post-meal puke sessions, made all the more miserable because Denji’s body is pretty much invincible, right? He’d thought whatever devils were made out of meant they were above this shit. Ending up with his face inside a toilet bowl has forced him to rethink his previous assumptions.

It sucks waiting for his body to adjust alongside his brain, but Power and Aki do their best to make it more bearable. The first time Power kneels beside him on the cold tile, he’s sure she’s there to laugh at his misery—it wouldn't be the first time. He’s bewildered when instead, she places both palms on his back and rubs them vigorously up and down in what must be her version of a soothing caress. She doesn’t laugh or even complain, and only when his stomach is empty and he’s slumped against the wall in exhaustion does she get up and fetch Aki, who steps into the bathroom with a soldier's solemnity to deposit a mug of hot tea into Denji’s hands.

It happens enough times where Denji doesn’t bother to ask questions, filing it away as one of those things that fits into an unnamed category of half shitty, half not so shitty—like movie nights.

The three of them have vastly different tastes, Aki with his mind-numbing art house flicks and Power’s penchant for talking animal movies made for literal children. Denji doesn’t know what genre he likes most, but it’s definitely not either of those.

It’s an unspoken rule that they have to watch each one all the way through. Aki is the type to sit in complete silence because talking “ruins the integrity of the film,” whatever that means, and Denji’s running commentary annoys him to no end.

Denji and Power make bets each time on how long it’ll take him to snap or huff out a laugh.

On the rare occasion it’s Denji’s turn to choose, he splits the difference and puts on something from the best seller section at the video store. With this method, they all have to suffer through garbage, but occasionally he’ll stumble across a good movie—one he doesn’t mind staying quiet for. He watches Aki and Power rather than the television screen, their rapt attention filling him with an odd sense of pride.

Denji categorizes those nights as not so shitty.

After a while, he gets so used to the good and bad mundanities of domestic living, he can’t even imagine what a change in routine would look like.

Then they go to Hell, and instead of cat fur, Denji is more often violently jerked awake to the sound of Power’s screams.

She’s more dependent than ever before, clinging to Denji at all times like an extra limb. When the sun begins to set outside their windows, she startles at every sound, working herself into a panic while her nails dig half-moon circles into his arms that he’s sure would leave permanent scars were he fully human.

Looking after her turns out to be even more work than getting up at the crack of dawn to feed Nyako—but for some reason, Denji can’t bring himself to resent her for it.

He takes on the responsibility of comforting her with a resilience he never knew he had, going as far as holding her hand each night while she struggles to calm down enough to fall asleep.

Power isn’t the only one Denji has to keep an eye on.

At first, he doesn’t notice the way Aki will sometimes stop cold in the middle of cutting vegetables, gripping the knife handle hard enough to whiten his knuckles as a shudder of something awful passes through his body. He’s good at hiding it, and when Denji catches the tail end of one of these attacks, Aki brushes it off like it’s nothing.

It’s only after Aki suddenly sinks to the floor in the middle of a conversation, his hand clutching at the place where his missing arm wouldn’t reattach, that Denji realizes he’s overlooked something important.

Phantom limb syndrome, Aki explains, is an ongoing side effect of losing a limb wherein the brain gets mixed signals from the area of severance and translates them in the only way it knows how—as pain. He rambles off some more medical science that goes completely over Denji’s head, but from what he can gather, this affliction is severe, unavoidable, and sometimes life long. There’s no cure, but as with other chronic conditions, the goal is learning to manage it the best you can.

The thought of Aki suffering in silence makes Denji want to deck him as much as it makes him want to find a solution for his pain. He juggles these warring impulses until Aki clenches his jaw and looks away—and Denji understands that Aki won’t spend any extra energy looking after himself by choice.

So Denji and Power force him to.

They keep a hot pack in the cabinet above the microwave, and when Aki shows even the slightest sign of falling under the grip of pain, they warm it up and force him to sit with it pressed to the aching muscle. They know it’s particularly bad when Aki doesn’t bother hiding how much it hurts, and in those moments they take turns massaging his shoulder.

Aki refuses to speak with them during, so Denji and Power talk to each other, treating the situation like it’s something they’ve always done.

Denji doesn’t comment on Aki’s silence. He’s come to understand that there are some things they don't need to say aloud. When you’ve lived with a person long enough, you can share a thought with just a gesture, or pick up on ideas that you can't put into words

Power doesn't need to tell him she appreciates his company on her bad nights. Likewise, he doesn’t need to voice why he doesn’t mind taking care of her. He couldn’t even if he tried.

And when Denji questions Aki on why he’s wearing a glove indoors, Aki only has to shoot a single warning look to shut him up.

Later that night, Aki welcomes the Angel Devil into their apartment.

One arm between the two of them—Denji thinks that's pretty funny, but he doesn’t say so. Instead, he hangs back as Power slinks around their guest like she’s investigating a new play thing.

Angel endures her attention for a short time, then flicks Denji a cool look and tucks his wings in, settling on the couch without a word.

Aki hovers in the foyer, glancing between the three of them like he’s waiting for a fight to break out. It’s such a dumb look on him that Denji takes it upon himself to make the first move.

He plops down on the arm rest and asks Angel outright if he’s ever tried using the thing floating above his head as a frisbee.

Angel rolls his eyes and informs Denji that his halo is sharp enough to slice through metal.

“Sounds like a challenge,” Denji shoots back, and he’s sure Aki’s surprise mirrors his own when the corner of Angel’s mouth lifts into a smirk.

“By all means, be my guest,” he says, inclining his head in invitation.

Denji moves to take Angel up on his offer, but Aki comes back to himself and catches Denji’s hand in a tight hold. He then spends several minutes lecturing them both on how hard it is to get blood stains out of upholstery.

The rest of the night is...well, it’s still weird. But Aki so obviously wants it not to be that they all pretend for his sake. While he cooks dinner, Denji and Power keep their surprise guest company.

Angel is surprisingly talkative when prompted, though he always seems to veer their conversations into the morose. At one point, he stares glumly at Nyako snoozing on the counter and warns them to watch her closely.

“Cats don’t actually have nine lives,” he remarks, “I learned that the hard way.”

Denji doesn’t say anything when Aki lays out enough food to feed a small army, all special dishes that he’d never cook for Power or Denji even if they begged. He digs in without a word, and it’s a good thing his mouth is stuffed, otherwise he’d be gaping at the way Aki carefully feeds Angel, every so often lifting a glass of water to his lips.

They follow up dinner with ice cream—which must be Angel’s favorite as Aki spoons him two extra helpings—and then Power is tugging at Denji’s arm, urging him to come take a bath with her.

He relents under the assumption that Angel will be gone by the time they’re done washing up. But about half an hour later, Denji exits the bathroom toweling off his hair to find Angel is still there, sitting close to Aki. They’re angled towards each other, Aki’s arm thrown over the back of the couch and the fabric of his long sleeve shirt brushing the tops of Angel’s wings.

They both look up at Denji when he enters the room. Angel’s expression appears bored as usual, but Aki’s is strange, his face relaxed in an unfamiliar way.

Denji opens his mouth, then decides better.

Aki stands, helping Angel up with a steady gloved hand to his back, and it takes everything Denji has in him to stay quiet as Aki mumbles an awkward goodnight, shepherding Angel down the hall and into his room.

Denji immediately makes up an excuse to run to the convenience store so he can check the balcony outside Aki’s room from street level. Sure enough, Aki and Angel are leaning up against the railing, heads inclined as if they’re speaking in low tones.

Denji watches Aki light himself a cigarette. He offers the box to Angel, who says something that actually makes Aki laugh, the sound ringing clear even from a distance. Placing a second cigarette in Angel’s mouth, Aki holds his own steady between two fingers, bending forward to meet the smoldering end to Angel’s unlit one. A pinpoint glow of orange flares in the dark space between their faces like a morning star.

Denji turns away, stuffs his hands in his empty pockets, and decides he’ll swing by the convenience store after all.

By the time he gets back, Angel is gone.

Aki is once again sitting on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen with a stupid smile on his face, and Denji has to say something.

It turns out Aki can punch just as hard with one arm as with two.

After that, Denji pays closer attention. Without intending, he starts to notice the way Aki sometimes looks at him and Power—though he can’t focus long enough to figure out what those looks mean. They’re gentle and wistful in a way that makes Denji want to pull at Aki’s cheeks and mold a better expression.

He tries it once, but that puts Aki in a foul mood for hours so he doesn’t do it again.

Things get even more confusing on a night where they’re all sprawled out on the carpet. The movie Aki puts on is so boring it knocks Power out in minutes, her head pillowed in the crook of Denji’s arm. He starts drifting off soon after.

It happens as he’s on the verge of sleep. His mind is muddled to the world around him, but for a second, he imagines he feels Aki place an ear to his chest.

Denji is sure he dreamt it until he walks in on Aki in the same position over a napping Power, his cheek pressed to her collarbone and his brows furrowed in concentration.

Denji backs out of the room and thinks there’s something he’s missing here.

The next time Aki is in the kitchen, Denji tests a theory, loudly announcing that he’s going to take a nap before stretching out on the couch. He feigns sleep long enough to rethink his entire strategy—when he finally hears Aki pause his task and tread softly across the room.

Denji struggles to keep a straight face as Aki kneels beside the couch and lowers an ear to his chest, keeping it there much too long for someone trying not to get caught. Eventually, he heaves a great sigh and pulls away, returning to the kitchen like he’d never left.

So, yeah. There’s the whole listening to their heartbeats thing.

Another quirk to add onto the list of Aki behavior that Denji doesn’t understand but has to accept.

Aki is still Aki. He still shouts at them when they break things, still cooks their meals and tolerates their company—though, maybe tolerates isn’t the right word anymore.

Denji is flipping through the pages of a porno mag when one of the ads catches his eye. A smiling woman in a bikini holds up a machine with a handle on top and an open space in the middle. He thinks it might be some crazy sex thing, but he has Power read the description, and she tells him it’s for making a dessert called “shaved ice.”

Neither of them know what that is, but the ad makes it sound like the best thing ever—

“—and it can be ours for the low price of two-thousand yen!” Power shouts, smacking the magazine against his arm.

Denji tears out the ad and goes to pester Aki into buying it for them.

Aki bitches and moans about wasting money on useless shit, but after getting it out of his system, he puts down the laundry he was folding and snatches the page from Denji’s hand, dialing the number with a sour expression. He’s curt over the phone, reading off his credit card details like someone has a gun to his head. Denji wishes he could see the face of the unlucky salesperson on the other line.

“Denji.” Aki says, and Denji tilts his head before realizing he’s not being spoken to. Aki pauses, and then directs a puzzled frown his way. “Last name?”

Denji shrugs.

Aki blinks at him, the furrow between his brow smoothing as if in stunned realization. After a bizarre stretch of silence, he readjusts his hold on the handset and glances away, mumbling out, “Hayakawa. Hayakawa Denji.”

When he eventually hangs up, his gaze stays trained on the far wall like he’s lost in thought. Denji decides not to test his luck by sticking around, but Aki catches his wrist as he goes to leave.

“What?” Denji grumbles. “I said thank you, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t, actually,” Aki replies dryly, but there’s no real reproval in his tone. “That’s not—just hold on a minute.”

His faltering words give Denji pause. He shakes off Aki’s hand but stays put.

“Listen,” Aki begins, messing with the pile of clothes he’d left aside. He unfolds a shirt, holds it out, and then folds it again, all the while not meeting Denji’s eye. “If you or Power ever needed— If for some reason I wasn’t here...and you needed something for documents…”

“Why wouldn’t you be here?” Denji asks, and thinks of their work. “If you’re traveling we can call you.”

Aki turns to him then, something unreadable in his thousand-yard stare.

It’s like facing a door labeled, “do not open.”

Aki sighs and looks away. “Forget it.”

And Denji does forget—until a fews days later when a package arrives at their doorstep postmarked to one Hayakawa Denji.

Placing the box on the living room table, he studies the characters of his given name, covering and uncovering them with his palm. He’d never noticed how incomplete they looked without a surname to go before. The sight turns rusty gears in his head, almost like he’s on the verge of understanding an important truth.

Power bowls him over in her excitement before he comes to a conclusion.

They leave the setup to Aki, who confiscates the shaved ice maker and reads the instructions with the two of them hovering over his shoulder. It turns out to be very simple, just a matter of filling the upper compartment with ice and turning the lever. The machine wobbles below Aki’s hand, so Denji holds it steady, watching with fascination as snow-like flakes collect in the bowl underneath. The novelty wears off a little when he dips a finger in to taste and finds it flavorless like regular ice, but Aki bats his hand away and pulls out a bottle of blue liquid.

“Flavor syrup,” he says, scanning the label. “Hawaiian Blast—what’s that supposed to be?”

Whatever it is, it tastes delicious drizzled over the ice flakes, sweet and refreshing like no dessert Denji has ever had.

Power gobbles up the first serving faster than Aki can make more, and he’s unsympathetic to the excruciating brain freeze that earns her.

She flicks the lever and turns to Denji with a conspiratorial grin. “Think it would work with blood?”

“Great idea,” Aki says, chin in hand. “Why not make this perfectly innocent activity fucked up and evil?”

Power sticks her vibrant blue tongue out at him.

Denji hates getting cut open on principle, so he appeases her by mashing up strawberries with condensed milk into a gory looking topping they can all enjoy. Even Nyako gets to lick a drop off his finger.

Aki takes his first bite and gazes into his bowl like it’s a window into a far off time and place. “I haven’t had this since I was a kid.”

“Old man,” Denji snickers.

Power echoes him at double the volume, falling back and kicking her legs in the air. The motion disturbs Nyako, who clambers off her lap and settles at Aki’s feet

“Oh, shut it,” Aki says, but the hint of a smile softens his tone into fondness. He scratches at Nyako’s ear. “At least you’re on my side.”

Shaken by her cat’s betrayal, Power stammers out, “‘Tis only pity! Nyako feels nothing but pity for humans, just like her master!”

“Is that so?” Aki raises a brow and—to Power’s great dismay—makes a show of lifting Nyako into his lap. “Lucky us then.”

“Yeah,” Denji says, a brilliant grin working its way onto his face. “Lucky us.”

#chainsaw man #csm #denji chainsaw man #power chainsaw man #aki hayakawa #akiangel #peimou writings

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ladyc0312 · 4 years

Text

A Jikook Guide to RunBTS: 30-39

One general trend to point out that’s true pretty much all series long, but was particularly noticeable to me starting around these episodes - JK and JM end up next to each other an unusually high percentage of the time when the guys choose where they're standing / sitting. Like, I initially thought I was only noticing it because I was primed to notice KM stuff, so I started tracking some other random pairs for comparison, and there’s no contest.

Also, this is when the show started really hitting its groove. I’d seen nearly all the Run episodes before going back and rewatching for this guide. There were some I rewatched at 1.5x speed and others I happily rewatched normally. There are many more of the later starting around here.

As usual, let me know if I’ve missed anything or should take another look at something!

Ep 30 "The Variety Show of Memories Part 1"

(Ep: 4 / KM: 1)

The ones with dancing, games, sleepy Kookie, and the tomato song that will embed itself in your brain

20:00 - JK picks Jimin for the quiz challenge without using honorifics. Jimin calls him out for it and JK jokes back, then actually apologizes.

BEHIND 5:47 - JK is the only one to clap when Jimin does a funny dance

Ep 31 "The Variety Show of Memories Part 2" (Ep: 5 / KM: 0)

None. But seriously, guys, this episode is a must-watch regardless.

Ep 32 "Take Care of Santa" (Ep: 3 / KM: 1)

The one where everyone runs around like crazy in Santa hats with pig balloons as J-Hope not-so-secretly tries to steal them

9:08 - Jimin spots JK hiding in a tunnel and crawls in to talk to him despite suspecting that he's the thief

27:50 - Jimin asks JK for the balloon he opened up to make his voice high with helium gas. JK gives it to him and they both say goodbyes in high-pitched voices at 28:14

Ep 33 "BTS and Manito Part 1" (Ep: 5 / KM: 3)

The ones where the guys jump for pictures, cheat at puzzles, and give each other gifts

1:59 - Jimin laughs a little when he sees that he's chosen JK as his Manito 3:56 - Jimin asks "Jungkook, why are you so cute?" and for some reason the on-screen text emphasizes this by popping up under Jimin's face saying "Jimin finding Jungkook very cute" 10:01 - Jimin comments on how high JK jumped and the on-screen text continues to call him out by tagging him as "amazed by Jungkook's jumping skills" 11:06 - Jimin singles out JK for praise for another good photo (on-screen text: "so hilarious") 12:00 - Jimin tells JK that he wants to give him a point for his acting, but his shoulders didn't make it into the shot 14:10 - Jimin AGAIN compliments JK (maybe he felt bad because he judged him as not properly in the picture the prev round) and the on-screen text wants to make sure we know Jimin is "amazed" I really can't tell if whoever writes this stuff is onto Jimin or is just also in love with JK, but I find the constant commentary hilarious either way 16:06 - Jimin gets JK to try to coordinate photo-bombing RM's pic BEHIND 5:05 - When JK is taking pictures of the posed photos he finds funny, takes two of Jimin (and you can see he's zoomed in on Jimin's face in both) while laughing adorably

Ep 34 "BTS and Manito Part 2" (Ep: 5, KM: 3)

8:46 - JM & JK decide to work together as a team to solve the puzzle

11:54 and 14:46 - JK and JM playfully grab and shove each other a bit to get to the mic first

15:41 - After Jimin and JK get bingo at the same time, they high five and Jimin comments "there's something about us"

15:55 - Jimin has moved his chair so he's sitting super close to JK and has seems to have his hand on his back for an extended period of time

23:27 - When they say Jimin failed his manito mission to make finger hearts with JK, they do it together and pose cutely here. Then, JK reminds JM that he actually did it successfully when the main cameras weren't on them by talking with JK about how different people make finger hearts. Jimin shakes JK's hand in thanks for the validation.

24:17 - It's quick, but you can see Jimin tapping JK to make a comment to him while the focus is on Jin.

25:53 - Jimin makes a comment about being a calico cat after JK has opened Jimin's manito gift and seen that it's a cat lamp. I mention it because I've seen some people connect that to "Serendipity" being a jikook thing, which I buy generally but, in this particular instance, Jimin had no way of knowing which member his present would end up going to. BEHIND 2:38 - JK does a joking imitation of acting out a food and Jimin playfully slaps him on the arm 3:41 - The same thing happens again when JK makes another funny face

Ep 35 "Kimchi Battle" (Ep: 3, KM: 3)

The one where, as you’d expect from the title, BTS makes kimchi

1:12 - JK taps Jimin on the chest when they say he can call his mom for help 1:23 - JM has his arm around JK's shoulders for a while and then moves his hand down to his lower back at 1:38 11:24 - JM has JK smell something gross and is impressed when JK has no reaction 16:38 - JK goes over to taste and compliment JM's kimchi and gets scolded by Suga for having his back to the camera 18:03 - JM watches closely as JK mixes the kimchi and the others compliment his arms 18:21 - Jimin continues staring at said arms 19:21 - Still staring 20:19 - More staring as the others all compliment JK's arms again 21:16 - Guess who's still watching JK? This time JM looks particularly impressed when JK lifts a heavy container 21:38 - Even the on-screen text has noticed the staring at this point and captions this "looking sweetly at Jungkook" 23:23 - Jimin tells JK the kimchi won't taste good yet because it's too fresh and looks at him affectionately, then compliments how good it looks. 24:38 - JM compliment's JK's kimchi again. He really seems much more invested in JK's work than his own this ep BEHIND 0:44 - JK claps for the slate and JM hits himself over his heart right after, making JK (and no one else) laugh 5:52 - Jimin wipes the sweat off JK's neck as he works on mixing the kimchi. When Jin does the same for JK's forehead right after, Jimin says that they look like two brothers and it looks like Jin's hating what he's doing.

Ep 36 "Kimchi Wars" (Ep: 3, KM: 1)

The one where the above kimchi is used in a cooking competition

None. JM and JK cooking together on the same team is cute, but everyone is cooking together, so there’s nothing uniquely jikook in the episode itself. BEHIND 5:10 - JK starts clapping a beat and JM joins in with his tongs and dances 6:35 - As JK films some of the food, someone (not quite sure who) comments that they've never seen any of JK's work except for when he went on vacation with Jimin

Ep 37 "BTS Marble Returns" (Ep: 1?, KM: 1)

The one in this set that I have absolutely no memory of

5:41 - When JK loses and rolls around in annoyance, Jimin comments twice how cute he is

Ep 38 "Spin BTS" (Ep: 3 / KM: 3)

The one where they play a bunch of strange games while Suga is dressed as Chimmy

2:33 - JK smiles at and compliments JM's penalty suggestion

4:47 - Before starting this game, JM said that he wasn’t good at games requiring strength. Here, JK points out twice that Jimin isn't being moved by the ropes

5:42 - JK compliments Jimin at the game again, saying he's like a bull

7:05 - Despite being on Jin's team, JM goes over to watch JK complete his puzzle

10:02 - After JHope identifies a sound as Jimin sneezing, JK says he was going to say that too and grabs Jimin's arm to ask him if he knew

11:33 - One second clip of an interaction that starts with JM putting his hand near JK's face, but it's cut off

21:30 - When other members are practicing imitating people, JK tells them to do Jimin next

BEHIND 5:50 - When asked to guess why Jimin made an upset noise, both Jimin and Jin guess (wrongly) that it had something to do with JK

Ep 39 "BTS Golden Bell Part 1" (Ep: 3, KM: 3)

The one in which JK learns that he far prefers being a competitor than an MC

1:14 - After JK announces that he's offering up his computer as the prize, Jimin turns around and gives him a quick side hug

1:29 - After they decide JK will be the MC and it's clear JK is nervous about it, Jimin starts fixing something on JK’s uniform and pats him on the shoulder while advising him how to deliver some of the words. He also seems to remind him to ring the bell at 2:24

2:52 - JK and JM stand super close when he asks him questions, to the point where the on-screen text asks "Must you stand so close?" at 3:05

3:50 - This may be reading too much into things, but Jimin's body language and the way he's not smiling like the rest of them made me wonder if he was annoyed about them taking the MC role away from JK...

7:55 - While celebrating his team's win, JK dances over to Jimin, who smiles and gives him a high-five even though the other members of Jimin's team are unhappy about losing

16:36 - When JK accidentally calls out his own name instead of someone to challenge, Jimin walks over and hugs him while laughing

BEHIND 0:56 - JK and JM joke around together 5:40 - Slightly different angle of the 16:36 moment above

#jikook #kookmin #run bts #jikook guide to run bts

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misssophiachase · 4 years

Note

...fake dating christmas au?

This took on a life of its own and is a kind of fusion with Holidate but with my own twist - hope you like it, Nik : ) Thanks for the awesome prompt.

No Refunds or Exchanges

Workaholic Caroline Forbes gets more than she bargained for when she receives a surprise gift on Christmas Eve from her friends.

“I’m sorry, you did what now?” Caroline hissed, pulling her friends away, strategically ensconced behind the impressive, Christmas Tree. She was attempting some level of discretion but that pretty much ended when her Christmas ‘gift’ was unveiled.

“You’re always so picky and difficult to shop for, Care,” Katherine argued, Bonnie by her side nodding enthusiastically. “Plus, we wanted to surprise you and given that shocked expression I think we succeeded.”

“The reason I’m shocked is because you gifted me a person. Like a real life, living, human being.”

“She called him a human being, Kat, I think that’s what they call progress,” Bonnie smiled triumphantly.

“It was a slip. Excuse me if I’m a little distracted by your totally inappropriate gift.” she growled, sneaking a glance at him from between the green, pine needles.

Why did he have to look so good in that woollen sweater with those lips and those curls and those damn dimples?

“Anyway, Klaus Mikaelson is most definitely an extra terrestrial.”

He was also closely related to her friends’ boyfriends which was not a good thing in Caroline’s book. She’d begrudgingly accepted that he’d be around every now and again but not disguised as a present at her own house on Christmas Eve.

“You always loved ET.”

“Leave him out of this,” she shot back, eyeing Bonnie. “You don’t just go around giving people other people as gifts.”

“Drama queen much? Caroline, he’s not the gift,” Kat clarified.

“Great because I was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable with this entire scenario.”

“It’s the services he provides.”

“Wow! Who knew Klaus Mikaelson moonlighted as a Christmas gigolo?” Caroline scoffed, wondering if they were playing a prank or she’d drunk too much of her nana’s spiked eggnog. “If they haven’t made a Hallmark movie about this yet then I’m buying the rights.”

“We are gifting him to you as your holidate,” Kat insisted, rolling her eyes for added effect.

“I’m sorry?”

“A holidate is someone you take as your date to all holiday celebrations throughout the year,” Bonnie grinned, clearly pleased with their gift.

“We both know you have that New Year’s work function,” Kat added. “We love you, even with those workaholic tendencies, so what better way to make those witches from legal accounts jealous than to show up with some English eye candy?”

“Our gift is valid for an entire year of holiday fun,” Bonnie added.

“Oh, and no refunds or exchanges,” Kat winked.

“I suppose that would be difficult given I don’t have a receipt of purchase,” Caroline groaned sarcastically. “I need more eggnog to process this whole ridiculous episode.”

“I know you don’t love me, Forbes, but there’s no need to turn to alcohol addiction.”

Speaking of English eye candy. She turned around not quite sure what she was going to say or do.

Her friends then decided to make themselves scarce. Traitors.

“Pretty sure you should be used to driving girls to drink, Mikaelson,” she snapped. “And if this is your idea of a joke then...”

“Says the girl wearing the festive, elf hat?” He reached out and tugged playfully on the bell at the end. She was trying to focus because he smelled so good and his close proximity was making it difficult to concentrate.

She hated him.

Well, that’s what she’d been telling herself since he’d crashed into her life nine months ago, mainly thanks to her friend’s bad taste in men.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I lost a bet to my cousin Matt,” she replied through gritted teeth. “We do it every year so as to try and avoid unnecessary, family dress-ups. I don’t get around in Christmas garb for fun.”

“Well, you wear it well, love, especially with that cell phone stuck to your ear permanently.”

“It’s called a job and why exactly did you agree to this? Or did they spike your eggnog too?”

“Number one, I have a job too, sweetheart, go figure. But being single at the holidays is torturous at best and if I can avoid my mother’s forlorn and pitying expressions I’ll do it. Surely you have some relatives and friends you want to shut down?”

“Maybe but, even so, I don’t like you in that way,” she blurted out. “Like, not if we were the last two people on earth and we had to procreate to save the human race.” Caroline was rambling uncontrollably, and she knew it.

“Well, someone certainly has tickets on herself,” Klaus chuckled earning a dirty look from his newly acquired holidate. “Good to see that we are on the same page at least.”

“Exactly! No kisses at midnight, no roses on Valentine’s Day and I get full costume approval on Halloween.”

“Someone needs to read the holidate contract,” he murmured, placing the paper in her hands.

“There’s a contract?”

“This is a fifty-fifty partnership, love. Trust me, I insisted on that when your friends decided to draft me for this task. We can discuss all holiday particulars beforehand.”

She was frozen, not quite sure how to react. How was he more organised than her?

“And I hate red roses so no worries about Valentine’s Day.”

“I still don’t like you,” she grumbled before making her way toward the kitchen. “Where is the damn eggnog?”

12 months later...

“Nice elf hat” she joked, tweaking on the bell like he had all those months prior. Klaus wore it way too well, but she wasn’t all that surprised. “Matt is a swindler when it comes to bets. He’s considering a professional poker career in Vegas, so don’t feel bad”

“Given your skills, maybe you should join him then, love?”

The Klaus she knew should have been upset by his current predicament but the lazy grin on his face was telling her something else entirely. Those creases in the corners of his eyes definitely meant something big.

Love.

“I’d much prefer to hang out with you and mistletoe,” she smiled, capturing his lips with hers. Caroline would never get sick of that feeling. Ever. “And anyone who can celebrate the holidays like you deserves a kiss or ten.”

She wanted to hate her friends for their ‘i told you so’ looks and constant commentary but it didn’t seem to matter when it came to him. Even though she still detested the term she’d begrudgingly fallen in love with her holidate.

“I’m so glad I never had a sales receipt for you.”

“There was a receipt?” He asked incredulously pulling back and breaking the spell between them. “Why do I suddenly feel like a piece of meat?”

“You should be so lucky,” Caroline teased. “But apparently I was told no returns or exchanges and for that I’ll be forever grateful.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys.”

“Only to my one and only holidate.”

#klaroline drabbles #holidate #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline #fusion #misssophiachase #princess-of-the-worlds #hope you like it

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lifeofkaze · 4 years

Text

An Art of Balance #5

A/N: That one was tough. I have never written something with so much physical action before, and I had to rewrite a huge chunk of it until I finally felt happy with it. Describing sports is really tough, as it turns out. Also, KC belongs to the wonderful @kc-needs-coffee who lets me to a little cameo once in a while 😊 Enjoy!

Word Count: ~ 3.100 (oops)

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 5: Back Home

A persistent rumour among the students was that Professor Binns had altered the clock in his classroom, back when he had been still alive. It was said, he did so to allow him to delve more minutely into every little detail of his subject he wished his students to remember.

If he hadn’t known any better, Orion could have sworn it was true.

He absentmindedly ran his quill through his fingers, trying his best to take in Professor Binns’s droning voice in what was their last class of the day. Orion glanced around the classroom. He estimated about half of the students were daydreaming about the upcoming weekend. The other half was fast asleep.

His gaze wandered out of the window. He could just make out the Quidditch pitch up ahead in the distance. The banners on top of the stands were swaying in a gentle breeze. He could feel it lightly brush his face from where he sat near the open window. It brought with it the pleasant warmth of a late summer afternoon.

Orion shuffled in his seat. He could feel his entire body brim with energy. The restlessness he felt had been bubbling under his skin for the last few days. He was itching to get back on his broomstick and to feel the wind on his face as he sped through the air.

This was what he had missed most during the summer break. When not at Hogwarts, he had no access to a broomstick, let alone people to fly with. Although Orion prided himself on always being grateful for what the universe had chosen to bestow on him, he sometimes he couldn’t help feeling envious of people like Skye. They could practise what they loved to their heart’s content, whenever or wherever they wished to.

He could feel McNully nudging him into his side. “There are only 23 minutes and 35 seconds left to his torment. 30 seconds as we speak,” he whispered.

Orion tore his gaze from the silhouette of the Quidditch pitch and turned to better face him. “Excuse me?”

McNully pointed at his now worse for wear looking quill. “You have been running your hand over this quill fourteen times in the last twenty minutes. In the last 45 minutes you have been staring out of the window seven times, with an average duration of five minutes. You have not been able to play Quidditch for 76 days in a row. And to add a personal note, tapping your foot excessively like that gives off an impatient expression and is rather annoying as well.”

Orion only now noticed his foot was indeed lightly tapping against the leg of table. He stopped.

“Sometimes I find your habit of observing your surroundings as meticulously as you do worrying, my friend.”

McNully shrugged, a carefree grin showing on his face. “What do you expect? I’m a commentator. I observe things and I comment on them. That is what I do.”

Orion had to grin at that. “It is indeed.”

He propped his head onto his hand, staring at the clock mounted above Professor Binns’s head. “I wouldn’t call it impatient, though. More like eager. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

McNully had started doodling onto his parchment, drawing tiny snitches between his notes. “Call it what you want, it doesn’t change what it is.”

Orion contemplated his words. “I agree. The appearance of the shell cannot change the core of things.”

He could see the confusion forming on McNully’s face. “I’m about 34 % sure that is what I said.”

Only a few hours later, Orion felt himself unable to wipe the grin off his face. He stood in the middle of his beloved Quidditch pitch, the sun warming the back of his yellow robes. The unmistakable smell of grass, wood warmed by the sunlight and broom wax made him feel almost intoxicated.

Most of his team had already taken to the sky. They were getting back into the swing of things, darting around the pitch, doing turns and dives. Even down here, the joy they radiated was contagious. Everyone was wild with excitement to finally be back.

“And here is Parkin with a triple backwards flip. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a move to be watched! But what is this? Parkin is challenged to a race around the pitch by Jameson! Which Chaser can push their Comet’s limits further? There is a 92,4 % chance we are going to find out!”

He stifled a laugh. Of course McNully was here to commentate on their first friendly of the season. Orion hadn’t been the only one antsy to get back to business.

His attention shifted to the group of tense looking students stood in front of him.

Orion had carefully selected a few Hufflepuffs that were known to be skilled flyers. Every one of them had the potential to fill the vacant spot on their House’s team. He had already been thoroughly testing them, before admitting them to a practise with the other players. They had all passed his balancing test. Now it was time for them to prove themselves in action.

When he saw the reserve players arriving on the field, he mounted his broomstick.

“Now, my friends, is the time. The quest to become one of the pillars the building that is the Hufflepuff team is built upon is almost complete for one of you. For our new Beater to be revealed, we will have to see how you fare in a real match situation.”

He raised his arm, calling his teammates down to his side. “We will divide into two teams and play for a bit before switching things up. Good luck to all of you.” He inclined his head towards the contestants, some of them looking positively sick with nerves. “May this division serve to bring us unison.”

He unlocked the trunk resting at his feet and watched first the Snitch and then the Bludgers shoot up into the air. Picking up the Quaffle, he pushed himself off the ground.

“Let’s play.”

If returning to Hogwarts had him feel like being home, tearing up and down the pitch made Orion feel like he truly belonged here. In contrast to the hectic movements unfolding around him, playing Quidditch granted him unparalleled focus, similar to nothing else. All that mattered was the moment at present, nothing before, nothing after.

He had taken himself back from the game playing out in front of him to better watch the students competing for the open position. Jason Everett, a rather loud and braggy guy, was one of the competitors he had chosen. He was sharing the dorm with Orion and McNully and Orion had never been able to form a real connection with him. To his surprise, however, he was showing great promise.

He decided to take the challenge up a bit. Putting himself on the same team as Lizzie and Skye, he wanted Everett to compete against a full set of Chasers for the second half of the match.

It wasn’t until flying with Skye and Lizzie by his side that he fully realised how much he had missed this. He felt like sheer life was running through his veins.

Although they hadn’t seen each other since the end of last year, it took them only a few manoeuvres to regain the unmatched unison the Hufflepuff team had grown reputed for. They had managed to create a bond between the three of them that didn’t require any words.

He felt this connection especially with Lizzie, allowing them to move almost as one when attacking the opposite goalposts. Throwing the Quaffle back and forth between them, it was no easy feat to stop them from scoring.

With Skye, it was different.

They had played together even longer than he and Lizzie. If there was harmony with her, it was all friction with Skye. The two of them were entertaining completely different beliefs on what Quidditch stood for and how it should be approached. As a result, they regularly clashed, on the pitch and off.

Contrary to what most people would think, the tension between them had never worn him down. Like a static charge, the constant challenge Skye Parkin posed to him acted as an energiser. Discussing strategic matters with her had never failed to give Orion new perspectives outside of his own thinking patterns.

“Here is what we all have been waiting for, my honoured spectators. Now, we are getting serious!” McNully was giving it his all in the commentary box, clearly relishing the first friendly of his not-so-secret favourite team.

“Amari and Parkin are on the hunt for the Quaffle, Jameson’s broken out of formation. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we are about to see the Parkin’s family pinching signature move! Watch this! The Chaser is flanked by Amari and Parkin. This is not looking good, ladies and gentlemen, if I were in possession of that Quaffle I would seriously be worried right now. Oh, and there we have it! Jameson makes expert use of her Comet’s impressive speed and pulls up from underneath her opponent, forcing her to either let go of the Quaffle or her broomstick. Parkin relieves her of the Quaffle, using her broom’s patented Horton-Keitch Braking Charm to drift around, racing to the other side of the pitch, Jameson overtaking her and Amari close by her side.”

Lizzie was diverging from the path he and Skye flew on, preparing to round and get behind the other team’s attacking Chasers, allowing Skye to pass the Quaffle to her at the last moment. They had used this strategy numerous times and it had seldomly failed them.

“Parkin sets herself up to score. Or is she letting Jameson have the advantage? We might never find out as Everett, hot contestant for the vacant Beater position, aims his Bludger directly at Parkin. This might get ugly!”

McNully was right. Everett had hit his Bludger straight towards them. It rushed towards Skye at a fast pace. Orion shouted a warning, but she had already seen it coming. She waited for a moment, dodging the Bludger at the last second before passing the Quaffle on to Lizzie, who made short work of the Keeper.

“And Jameson scores! That’s ten points for her team and an impressive show of flying skills from Parkin if I may add.”

Orion nodded contentedly before turning around and chasing after the Quaffle again. Lizzie and Skye both didn’t seem to have lost their fire. They were in good form.

Despite himself, he liked the potential Everett was showing. He wasn’t nearly the Beater they had lost, but he had foundations they could build upon. When Lizzie had needed to fill in for Bean a seasons ago, he and McNully had made a more than capable Beater out of her in a shorter amount of time.

His mind was taken off his thoughts when he saw a yellow flash dart past him. It was their Seeker Lucy, who had spotted the Snitch hovering just underneath the railing of the Slytherin stand. The other Seeker had seen it as well and both were racing towards it.

“Both Seekers appear to have spotted the Golden Snitch. Catching it would reward their team with additional 150 points. We’re talking the winning catch of this game here! O’Connell utilises the advanced speed of her broom, but Miller has less ground to cover! Both are nearing the Snitch at high speed, if no one slows down, we had better alert Madam Pomfrey. But no, no! O’Connell takes the absolute last out of her broomstick. She secures the Snitch and her team’s victory!”

Orion saw Lucy raise her arm in triumph, the wings of the tiny golden ball beating frantically against her palm.

Everybody was steering their brooms towards the ground, clapping Lucy on the back. Orion landed beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“That was magnificent catch, Lucy, well done.” He turned towards the other players that had gathered around them and raised his voice. “Although Lucy secured the win for her team, all of us have won today. As we were competing against each other, we were competing against ourselves. Overcoming what’s inside us makes us stronger, and lets us grow closer as one team.”

“One team!” everybody shouted what had gradually become their motto, raising their broomsticks up in the air.

Orion turned towards the contestants. “Watching you play, I have been able to gain insight to the path that lies ahead of us. I will contemplate which one of you will get the chance to balance our team. I will let you know my conclusion when it is time.”

“And that would be when?” Everett asked impatiently.

Orion tilted his head and smiled placidly. “The time has come when the time has come. And the time is not now.”

A mix of confusion and frustration on his face, Everett left them standing and headed for the changing rooms. Orion had seen this look countless times before. New players always needed time to grow accustomed to his ways.

He was already going over the contestants’ performances in his mind when McNully rolled onto the pitch and joined his side.

“Brilliant match! The way I see it, you and Gryffindor are pretty evenly matched this season. I announced them the day before yesterday. If you keep up the form and choose a capable second Beater, that is. I calculated the odds and I would say Jason Everett has the best chance of fitting in, he is fast and has suitable strength. His aim is not the best though, 31,6 % of his Bludgers missed their mark.”

McNully’s eyes lit up. “I know just which one of my playbooks he needs. He will never miss his target again.”

Orion quickly filtered the information his friend had been spewing at him. He was right. Everett was far from ideal, but which player was when they started out fresh? They were like rough diamonds, waiting to be cut and polished until ready to shine.

“Can a Bludger really miss its target, though? Or is it the Beater that misjudges the path the Bludger is meant to be taken?” he mused.

“Whatever it is, I am glad this particular Bludger’s path was not destined to end in Skye’s face.” Lizzie and Skye were approaching them, their brooms resting on their shoulders.

Skye scoffed at her words. “As if it could have hit me. I had things under control. It takes more than that to bring a Parkin down.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “He is no Erika Rath, for sure, but it was good enough for a beginner, I would wager.”

Skye’s face darkened. “Don’t remind me of her. It has been such a beautiful day so far.”

“You will have to deal with her rather sooner than later. Ravenclaw is set as your first match in two months’ time. And from what I have seen so far, their Beaters are still the best Hogwarts has to offer.” McNully’s voice had a dreamy touch to it, making Lizzie chuckle.

“We all know you particularly enjoy watching the Ravenclaw Beaters,” she teased with a sweet voice. “Give KC my love, next time you see her, will you?”

“I have no idea, what you are talking about.” His face was blushing a deep scarlet. “I am merely doing my job and keeping my statistics up to date. I’d better get going now.” McNully turned his wheelchair hastily and rolled off quickly.

Orion was giving the snickering girls by his side a scolding look. “You shouldn’t taunt him like that. Our hearts’ desires are out of our power to control.”

“Calm down, Orion, it’s just a bit of fun. He can take that.”

The sun had slowly started setting, the stands casting their elongated shadows across the field. Skye rubbed her neck. “Come on, Liz, let’s get changed and head back to the castle. I’m starving.”

Lizzie hesitated, glancing at Orion for a second. “Go ahead, I’ll be with you in a second.”

Staring at her friend in wonder, Skye shrugged. “Whatever. Make it quick, I won’t wait too long.”

After Skye had left, Orion and Lizzie were alone on the pitch. He watched her staring back at the castle for a moment, the sunlight catching in her golden-brown hair. She seemingly tried to collect herself. He couldn’t deny being curious about what was on her mind.

He smiled openly. “What can I help you with, Lizzie?”

For an instant, Lizzie seemed to look for a way to word her question. She didn’t look him in the eye.

“Uhm, you are quite good at Herbology, aren’t you?” she mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows. “Being in balance with oneself brings you closer to nature. If you listen closely, the plants can tell you what they need.”

She sighed. “I take that as a ‘yes’.” She ran her fingers over the smooth handle of her broomstick, still not looking at him, her shoulders unusually tense. “Would you mind helping me studying?”

He tried to hide his surprise. “You need a tutor? Professor Sprout regularly fills me in on the academic progress of our team’s members. She never mentioned you struggling.”

“I haven’t so far,” Lizzie replied quickly. “But I had a look at the curriculum for this year. It’s really tough, and I don’t want to mess up my O.W.L.s because of a plant biting my finger off.”

It still struck him as odd, but Lizzie was his friend. He wouldn’t let her down if she sought his help. “I’ll be glad to guide you through your curriculum, as long as you desire my help.”

Finally Lizzie met his eyes, obviously relieved. “Thank you, I appreciate this a lot.” She suddenly seemed to remember something. “Can my friend Rowan come, too?”

His surprise turned into confusion. “Rowan Khanna is struggling with a subject?”

“Well, she is a perfectionist.” Lizzie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. A strand of hair had come out of her ponytail and she impatiently tucked it behind her ear. She was radiating a nervous energy Orion had never seen on her before.

“Of course, bring her. I’ll talk to Professor Sprout about using the greenhouse and let you know the details, is that alright?”

All of a sudden, Lizzie seemed much calmer. She sighed with relief, a smile forming on her face. “Brilliant. See you in the Common Room.”

With that, she spun around and quickly left. Now alone on the pitch, Orion stared after her and wondered what in Godric’s name that had been about.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #orion x mc #orion amari x mc #lizzie jameson #art of balance #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #quidditch squad #the quidditch squad #quidditch

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startwithbrooklyn · 3 years

Text

THE GREAT ND REWATCH OF 2021 / SEPTEMBER 12, 2019 // the kidnapping

okay yall heres this! see you in two weeks! 🥳

-ik george called everyone to help but i get such a thrill from people asking nancy for help bc they know she can do it. (its a real contest sometimes between nancy over-inserting herself into peoples business bc she thinks she knows better vs her actually being the one to call)

-maybe an interesting facet to nancys tendency to lack emotion comes from mystery solving- being able to stay calm and objective when people like george are frantic and anxious. think rationally. search for clues. follow logical footsteps. this is where her predicting human behavior scientifically and not socially prevails. you might think youre behaving rationally but it takes a cold clocked brain to really do it (the 'wall' that carson mentioned)**

-owen is so cute lmfaoooo

-once again bess's particular attention to detail wins the day

-they totally stole this sharpie + back of menu thing from victoria

-wonder what gomber asked for from simon

-chief has absolutely zero hesitation to sharing things with nancy now lmfaoooo

-"just dont slow me down" all im picturing is nancys face when carson says how bout a father juxtaposed with s2 ryan and carson stalking her and pretending to hide in their car when they got caught

-"commentary rescinded" lmfaoooo we all judge him for the weekend sweater vests but he is undoubtedly the most capable character on this show for taking care of a kid

-"your memory is relentlessly specific" would honestly hate to be raising that kid lmfaoooo no winning arguments here. thats probably why carson is the way he is though, soft, small, open and unguarded - no reason to start arguments. perfect calm happy family

-okay lbh. was karen a dick for snooping in nancys room y/n?

-nancys face when carson offers advice on the phone call lmaoooo

-**so now wonder if that "calm" carson mentions as a survival mechanism is manufactured. that would be an intereting parallel to s2 premiere when nancy confesses to the wraith that shes afraid. then with nancys constant conflict of wheter to engage with mysteries or not when they are such a part of her is brought to scintillating focus if we consider this cold clocked calm during panic is actually based in something painful and tragic, and the real truth is that nancy is too afraid to even solve mysteries anymore (afraid of what tho? herself? hurting others? her own mystery-solving ability?)

-carson still has his supernatural nope hat on

-her frustration with her "memory in pieces" become so much more interesting considering it as a control mechanism- nancy is obsessively in control of what shes thinking and feeling and executes that control firmly in pretext of solving mysteries - she controls and solves them, they dont control her. like cancer was "the mystery she couldnt solve" and she just spiraled from there. like in the first ep she says "it was more than just a hobby, it was part of who i was" past tense. shes trying to reclaim parts of her identity that she thought were unshakeable, like mysteries and who her parents are, yet these parts of her identity that she still picks up and engages with turn out to be destructive both to herself and those around her. does her ability to draw the line differ? like the mysteries are a comfort/lacking stillness to avoid dealing with emptiness: did mysteries always hurt her parents/friends/others when she was younger, and she just never noticed because their lives werent permanently damaged like nancys picking apart these secrets did?

-"superstitions and rituals are all part of human behavior, its not proof of something inhuman" -discuss 🧐

-this ep and that hug made me ship george/nick

-love this bess/owen bonding time 💙

-love the contrast between nancy rejecting nicks help to george with "my trucks outside" (THE TRUCK omg foreshdowinggggg)

-damn casting did a good job finding a creepy bitch to play moira (shes sooooo weak tho lmfaooo)

-wonder if mcginnis can sense anything when gombers arm starts to bleed

-"TED!" "...yeah?" 😰😴🤦🏼‍♀️😂

-wonder what a relief nicks help is to george when even her own mother cant help her

-love this branch swinging bit for nancy. one hit for every memory taken! reminds me of our good ole tazer ep. and loving these physical outbursts from nancy.

-carson saying "i'm here" just like he did on the bluffs 😭

-UNPOPULAR OPINION: "just out of curiosity..." and gomber indulges her! what an interesting weirdcreep nancy/gomber (+simon as an extension) for a what if scenario. "i can still smell him on you" 👀...something about the children who were chosen first as little girls that come back as grown women (like an addiction/cant stay away/been marked/curiosity)

-owen holding bess's coat for her 🥺

-"we can enter our homes justified tonight" nancy would love that.

-irony: asking where kate will be in heaven bc lucy never made it to heaven/stuck as a ghost in purgatory (and why nancy always feels so lost bc she cant find kate bc kate's not hers)

-nancys old notebook is the same blue just like her blue car 💙😚

-mcginnis reaches out to nancy physically during/after carsons handcuffing by karen but just barely makes contact- so physical after meeting with mcginnis/him saying "work together" and seance/ceremony - now that opposing forces of mcginnis' law and nancys ability to get results have mixed and "been resolved" - emotional conflict nullified which allows for more genuine emotion/"paternal" instinct of older man-younger woman dynamic to come through (ironic since her actual parent is getting carted away)

and lastly

-"tell them you didnt kill her!" karens look at carson when he doesnt/cant say anything speaks volumes.

#brooklyn's ND primer #nancy drew cw #the Great Rewatch of 2021 #you best start believing in ghost stories miss drew - you're in one

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victoria-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Six: Introductions

AN: When I first began writing this chapter I had an idea in mind, but seeing how long this chapter ended up being I decided to save it for the next chapter. Also, I was going to hold off on uploading this chapter, but I just finished watching the Lovecraft Country finale and now I’m depressed, so posting this is my boost of serotonin.

Word Count: 3.2k

Trigger Warnings: racism, racial slurs, dated/offensive terms, sexual assault

Chapter Seven: Target Practice

Two Months Later

The sound of a single gunshot cracked through the air, making the birds that rested in the nearby trees hurriedly fly away.

"You missed," Booker announced dryly, his breath a visible puff in the chilly, early December air that showed no signs of warming up.

Sabine eyes narrowed, "Thank you, for your wonderful commentary Booker," she said sarcastically, shooting him a glare.

"Just in case you didn't know," he retorted, lifted his hands.

"I have shot a gun before," Sabine reminded.

"So you've told me," he replied, moving behind her. "You aimed for the man's heart and somehow shot him in the ribs," he recalled, with a soft hum. "Great shooting there Sabine," he chuckled, and she could only envision the smug smirk on Booker's lips.

Sabine cursed under her breath, lowering the musket from her face as she stared at her target. Briefly, she wondered if the breeze had affected her aim, she had done everything right. The sudden contact of Booker placing his hand on her mid-back instantly made her body became rigid, her mind immediately flashing back to her time on the Martin Plantation.

"Don't get familiar," Sabine gritted out, looking over at him.

"I wasn't trying to!" Booker replied defensively, snatching his hand from her body. "Your posture was lacking and I was trying to correct it," he explained, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Well then find a way that doesn't involve touching me like that!" Sabine snapped, sticking her hand out to the side. "Matter of fact, just tell me next time," she suggested, with a slight shake of the head. Sabine exhaled and turned her attention back to the musket in her hands so she could reload. "What happened to Nicky and Josef teaching me how to shoot?" she questioned, glancing over at Booker before she brought the hammer to half-cock.

In the past two months that Sabine has known him, she's taken to calling Joe, 'Josef'. She liked the way it rolled off her tongue.

"It doesn't take two people to teach someone how to shoot a gun," Booker answered simply. "They were needed elsewhere," he added.

"And let me guess, Andy is busy as well?" Sabine asked rhetorically, and from the corner of her eye she saw him nod. "So, I'm stuck with you?" she asked, sliding the rifle down onto the butt.

"Sorry to disappoint," he quipped, a smile tugging at his lips. Booker unclasped his hands and began rubbing them together as he paced back and forth, trying to generate some warmth in his body. "You know, when I went looking for you in the wounded tent I had the strangest encounter," Booker stated, turning his head in her direction.

Sabine arched a brow, "And what's that?" she asked curiously, slipping her hand into the ammunition pouch.

"I came across this Irish fellow who warned me about and I quote, 'a she-devil, colored nurse'," he recalled, and Sabine's lips twitched up into a smirk.

Screams, yells, and moans of the injured echoed in Sabine's ears as she stood inside the field hospital tent. All around her, doctors and nurses were patching up anyone they could get their hands on. The air was thick with the smell of blood, bile, and other bodily fluids. The day was hard and encountering difficult and stubborn soldiers like the one in front of her, made Sabine's day more difficult than necessary.

Sabine went to reach for the injured Union soldier's leg again, but he jerked his body away from her.

"Get your nigg-" the soldier began to shout.

But Sabine was having none of it.

Before the man could finish his sentence, Sabine remorselessly jabbed her index and middle fingers into the gaping hole of the man's gunshot wound. The man let out a roar of pain and began thrashing in bed, unfortunately for him, nobody in the tent was paying attention to them because there were several men just like him screaming in pain. Only difference was, Sabine was inflicting it on purpose.

"Get my what hands off you?" Sabine questioned, staring down at the soldier as continued to scream in pain. "I'm sorry, I don't think I quite understood you. You said put my hands on you?" she asked again, pressing her fingers harder against the wound. The volume of the soldier's scream increased further more.

"Make it stop!" the man cried, writhing in pain.

"Say, 'I'm sorry, Miss,'" Sabine suggested, still maintaining pressure.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry Miss!"

"You wouldn't happen to know who that might be would you?" Booker wondered, staring at her with a knowing look.

"I bet that Irish bastard won't think to say it again when addressing me," Sabine remarked, grabbing a paper cartridge from the pouch a lot harder than necessary. "These ungrateful, Union bastards believe themselves to be all high and mighty compared to the seceshs," she continued, her grip growing tighter around the cartridge as her anger rose. "When they themselves, treat me like I'm some child who needs constant supervision or I'll hurt myself, disrespect me by calling me out of my name when I pass by them, or even as I try to help them. When they're the ones, bleeding out on the goddamn, blood soaked wooden floors of the hospital!" she seethed. "But hey, it's alright. Since the Union soldiers treat colored folks like me with a little more humanity than the Confederates would, I guess I should be grateful," she finished, sarcasm laced in her voice.

"Sabine,"

She looked over to Booker to see his hand hovering over hers. "Your hand," he said, and Sabine's eyes move down to where the packed paper cartridge once rested in her hand, but now there was nothing but black powder smudged all over her hand. "Here," he offered, digging inside his coat pocket and pulling out a handkerchief.

Slowly, she pulled the cloth loose from his fingers, "Thank you," she said quietly, lowering her eyes back to her hand. "I'm sorry," she apologized, shaking her head once more. "I don't know where that outburst came from," she stated, rubbing the cloth onto her palm.

"No, don't apologize," Booker replied, grabbing the rifle that rested on Sabine's body. "Your anger is righteous Sabine," he affirmed. "Let's take a break, eh?" he suggested, motioning to the grass where they could have a seat and Sabine just nodded in agreement.

She lowered herself to the ground, tucking the skirt of her dress underneath her as she went.

"Earlier...I snapped at you and I shouldn't have," Sabine commented, bringing her eyes away from her hand that she still cleaning the powder off from her skin.

"Don't let it trouble your mind, I deserved it," he defended, laying the rifle beside him. "You were right, I should've asked before touching you like that," he agreed, as Sabine slid her gloves back on.

She placed a hand on her forehead, "It's been a long day and it seems like nothing has gone right since the moment I woke up this morning," Sabine said, rubbing her fingers back and forth.

"Nicky and Joe told me about the nightmare you had this morning," Booker stated, looking over at her. "Was it about-" he started.

"No, it wasn't about the Orient woman drowning again," Sabine cut in, dropping her hand into her lap. "It was something much worse, if you can believe that," she added, a sardonic chuckle escaping her.

"Your time on the Martin Plantation?" Booker guessed.

"Yes," she answered, her voice suddenly becoming hoarse

"Do you want to talk about it?" Booker questioned, and Sabine remained quiet as she stared out in front of her. "Don't feel pressured-"

"It was three months ago," Sabine interrupted, craning her head to look back at Booker. "Only a month right before my death," she noted, feeling her arms raise in goosebumps.

Booker turned his body more to face her better, "What happened?" he asked.

"Have you ever heard of a mandingo fight?"

Sabine sighed as she sat in front of a vanity mirror, a look of pure disgust painted all over her face as she felt herself being pampered and doted on by Louisa and Joan, two female house slaves who were working on her "unruly" hair, as they liked to put it so. Tonight Master Martin was visiting the French Quarter for some "entertainment", but Sabine knew better, whatever Master Martin considered fun or entertaining was undoubtedly the exact opposite.

"Sabine, are ya payin' attention girl?" Louisa asked impatiently.

Her words snapped Sabine out of her thoughts and she shook her head, looking at the older woman who was no more than about thirty something years old, but already was sprouting gray hairs.

"What is it?" Sabine asked, irritation etched onto her features.

"I's was sayin' that ya hair and face is done,"

Sabine's gaze snapped towards the mirror on the vanity and she felt herself deflate. Her curls had been combed and brushed to the point that her hair was now in soft waves, styled into a middle part chignon. Instead of seeing her nude colored lips, she was greeted with the sight of them being painted a deep, sinful red. Her eyelids were blackened with eye paint, bringing attention to Sabine's dark brown orbs and making her appear more alluring, and her cheeks were tinged in pink rouge.

Who was the woman looking back at her in the mirror?

"T-this-" Sabine stammered out, looking at herself in horror.

She was never done up this nice for the Martin family parties, ever.

"Very pretty?" Louisa asked, with a bright smile.

"Lovely?" Joan offered, sharing the same expression as Louisa.

"No...not me," Sabine corrected, waving her hands in disagreement. "I am not this woman, and she is not me," she went on, pointing at her reflection.

"Yes, you are," a male voice objected. "You look more like a dignified negro gal now," he informed.

Sabine felt herself bristle as she saw the reflection of Master Martin leaning against the doorway. He was dressed in what Sabine could only imagine was a very expensive black suit, a waistcoat the color of sherry, and black patent shoes that seemed to have a small and mostly unnoticeable scuff on them.

"Ladies, will you give Cecile and I a moment?" he asked, giving a false smile towards both the house slaves who suddenly looked terrified at his presence. They both nodded and scurried out of the room, knowing it was good to leave Master Martin and his favorite slave alone.

Once the door closed Master Martin advanced onto Sabine who only kept her gaze on the mirror, her full lips drawn into a tight, straight line. He came behind her, placing a hand on her supple naked brown shoulder, a sickly smile on his face as he leaned down towards her, inhaling her sweetening scent. He chuckled lowly as he felt her shudder in repulsion, her eyes still hard as stone as she kept her gaze forward.

"Do you know how beautiful you are...?" he asked in a mocking tone, his hot breath on her ear.

"You have told me many times Master Martin," she replied curtly.

Master Martin would always call her beautiful, but she always knew those were words of spite and menace. He never saw her truly as beautiful. She was a mere toy.

His toy.

Master Martin then laughed lightly, grabbing a loose strand of her hair, tucking it hair behind her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. Sabine suddenly let out a loud gasp when she felt his large calloused hand roughly hold her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. Fear sparked into Sabine's eyes as she stared into the penetrating eyes of her Master. He gave her a tight lipped smile, his hand squeezing her cheeks, making her wince in pain.

"How many times have I told you to call me Aaron when we are alone?" he questioned, low and menacingly. Sabine knew not to answer, she could only stare into the face of evil. "How many?!" Master Martin shouted in her face, shaking her a little, making Sabine let out a slight yelp of fear.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she felt him remove his large hand from her face and she squeezed her eyes shut, a few tears falling down her face as she waited for the pain to arrive. Master Martin never did like to hit her, however, on rare occasions he would. But the pain that Sabine was so anxiously awaiting, never came. Sabine cracked open an eye, seeing Master Martin, smiling at her ruefully.

"What...?" he asked mockingly. "Did you think I would hurt you?" he asked again, using the same tone.

Sabine nodded her head slowly, her body trembling lightly. Master Martin then tsked her, shaking his head lightly, walking over to her and then wiping her tears away from her face. The act seemed almost intimate, but she knew that it was far from it.

"Sabine, do you think I'm some kind of monster?" he asked, removing his hand from her face.

"Yes," she thought.

The thought of answering out loud had crossed her mind, but she was in no mood to be hit tonight. She just wanted to accompany him to this stupid outing and then go back to doing her duties as a house slave.

"You don't have to answer that," he said humorously. "Just come downstairs in the next five minutes. Our carriage will be ready soon," he informed, patting her cheek rather roughly. "Also, I want you to provide some music for this little get together we're going to. And none of that mongrel music I hear you sing. Sing something more dignified and more...white,"

Master Martin then cupped her cheek and gave her a soft and lingering kiss. Sabine resisted the urge to bite down so hard onto his lip that he would bleed or spit into his mouth. But she just simply kissed him back, though every inch of her internally was screaming at her to fight back. But she didn't. She couldn't.

She was scared.

Once Master Martin broke the kiss his gray eyes gazed into her dark brown ones in a very sickening love way and he smiled, running his thumb over her plump bottom lip. "Je t'aime…" he said softly, before leaning up and walking away from her.

And once Sabine heard the door close shut, she felt herself break down, tears running down her face as she choked back sobs that would surely bring Master Martin back to the room.

"In all the years I was on that plantation," Sabine began, tears flowing freely down her face. "He was never that physical with me until this year," she explained, with a sniffle. "And I-I don't know what triggered it. Maybe it was because Marc and Alain were gone, or m-maybe I-I did some-"

"Sabine there is nothing you did to deserve being assaulted," Booker cut in. "You hear me? Nothing,"

And Sabine just silently nodded in agreement, another sniffle coming from her.

"Now, go ahead and use my handkerchief to dry your eyes," Booker suggested, motioning to the cloth that rested in her lap. "Be careful though, I'd hate to see gunpowder all over your face," he joked, a warm smile on his face.

A watery laugh escaped Sabine, "You liar," she responded, bringing the clean part of the cloth to her eyes. "You'd probably think its funny and let me walk around with my face all dirty," she pointed out, dabbing the fabric underneath her eyes.

"It did cross my mind," Booker remarked, with a chuckle. "Come on, we should get back to camp. We'll continue this tomorrow if all goes well," he said, before placing his hands on the ground to help him stand.

"No," Sabine answered, shaking her head vigorously. "We're not going back until I hit that target," she stated, pointing in the direction where the target was.

Booker let out a sigh of faux exasperation, "We'll be here till sundown if that's the case," he quipped, reverting back to his usual self.

Sabine's face broke into a grin and she balled up his handkerchief and threw it at him, smacking him right in the chest. Booker mirrored her smile, grabbing the cloth and stuffing it back inside his coat before pushing himself off the ground and dusting his coat off.

He stuck his hand out, "I'm only joking," he said, sticking his gloved hand out which Sabine took. "Well, only a little bit," he added, and Sabine just rolled her eyes.

She picked the rifle up from the ground and placed it on the butt as she did earlier. Taking out another paper cartridge from the ammunition pouch, she ripped open the top with her teeth and poured the pre-measured black powder into the barrel. Afterward, she pushed in the bullet, paper and all, into the barrel and began ramming the contents with the ramrod.

"Sabine," Booker called, and she glanced up from what she was doing. "That night you told me about, he didn't...he didn't..." he trailed off, struggling to finish the question.

"No Booker," Sabine answered, as she finished ramming down the bullet with the rod. "He didn't rape me, he was too drunk to do it," she informed, tossing the rod down. "The worst I got was some wet, sloppy kisses," she recalled, bringing the rifle to her face.

He cleared his throat and nodded to himself, a look of relief clearly on his face.

After a moment, Booker took a few steps back, "Alright," he started, clearing his throat once more. "Remember to stand up straight and stand your ground," he reminded. "That rifle is pretty powerful, so keep the butt of it pressed against your shoulder," he instructed. "And keep it steady," he added, eyes keenly set forward.

Sabine cocked the hammer back with two clicks, her finger curling firmly around the trigger of the rifle. A glossy bead of sweat formed on her forehead as she aimed her gun at her target. She used her other hand to steady the barrel, closing one eye in the process. Looking down the barrel, she aligned the sights toward the target, which was still slightly obscured by the midday haze. Tiny whispers of doubt began floating in Sabine's mind on whether or not she could hit what was in front of her, but those thoughts were pushed out of her mind as she squeezed the trigger.

First, there was a powerful bang, and immediately after a shuddering recoil pushed her back. Sabine kept her balance, albeit barely, but Booker rushed to her side and kept her grounded.

She blinked, "Oh. So that's what it feels like," she looked to the Frenchman and burst into a fit of laughter, seeing his lips twitch up as well. "Come on, let go see the damage," she giggled, after regaining her composure a little.

Lightly, she grabbed Booker by his sleeve and they made a brief journey to the makeshift target, a stump between a pair of bare trees. A few torn scraps of metal were all that were left of the tin can Sabine had been aiming for.

"Wow," she breathed, an awed look on her face, as she picked up a piece of the destroyed can. "I guess that was a lucky shot though," she added with a giggle, lifting her eyes to Booker's.

He sauntered up to her, hands in his pockets. "Don't sell yourself short," he commented, his mouth curving upwards. "There may be a markswoman in you yet,"

Chapter Eight: Tis’ the Season

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peachywise · 4 years

Text

nullify

an umbrella academy fanfiction // klaus hargreeves x reader

- part 6: the beginning of understandings || part i ⋆ part ii ⋆ part iii ⋆ part iv ⋆ part v ⋆ more to be released

- synopsis: It was finally time to meet the bringer of the apocalypse– a petite girl wrapped up in a blanket drinking tea. Totally chill. Nothing unusual about the situation at all. At least Klaus was consistent with his irritating commentary.

- note: my bad sorry i haven’t updated in so long!! but i’m back! and since season 2 is now out, please just note that this story is my own continuation of the story after season 1. also, i am no longer doing a tag list. honestly i just can’t be bothered, and i’m sure most of the blogs have changed since the last one for this series. i post on ao3, so you can subscribe to the story there!!

link on ao3

_______________________________________

Okay. So you were going to face the person who allegedly caused the apocalypse. No big deal. This was just a normal day, and she was just a girl. Albeit one who had undergone pretty severe trauma in her life, but hey. Nothing you couldn’t handle with a pleasant smile and a cup of tea, right?

Maybe the tea was a bad idea. But you felt like you needed a peace offering. Something to break the ice before asking someone who was relatively a complete stranger, “I think I can contain your powers, so why don’t we try? Also, why don’t you move into my apartment for the time being? I promise the occasional cockroach that comes out the drain won’t do any harm. It would be nice if he paid rent, but I can’t complain.”

Yeah. Just a normal day.

An abrupt tap on your shoulder and Klaus’s breath tickling the side of your neck forced your eyes away from your previous stare down with the white bedroom door, and any and all courage you’d built up to walk in quickly dissipated.

“Hey, you think if this whole—” his voice caught on a sharp intake of breath as he tried to find his words, his hands rolling, “trying to convince my sister to not start the second apocalypse by moving in with you thing doesn’t work out, I can still crash there? You can’t begin to imagine just how stifling it is here. I don’t even think Five has changed out of his little uniform in a week, let alone had a shower. You smell so much better. Like vanilla with a bit of stale coffee and deep-seated cynicism.”

Turning your face fully towards his, your noses almost touching by how close he had leaned in, you kept your expression passive. And then you tipped your hand to let half of the scalding tea fall over the lip of the cup and on his bare feet.

As Klaus jumped back, hopping between his feet and hollering a string of “ow, ow, ow,” you took a small step back and replied with a drab and mocking, “that has to hurt.”

Klaus gave a curt laugh that was almost lost, given his teeth were clenched in pain. “You know, I don’t know if I like your violent style of foreplay.”

“You’re making it very clear why Vanya destroyed the world in the first place, Klaus,” you responded, voice raised. “You haven’t even experienced just how sadistic I can be. I can turn around right now and just let her cause the second apocalypse again.”

“How original of you, threatening to leave. What is it, the tenth time already? Maybe if we’re all lucky, you can get a couple more in before dinner!”

“You know what’s original? Your desperate need for attention because you never got any from daddy as a kid. I’ve never seen that before-“

The door opened in front of you, and someone’s soft cough had you and Klaus both turning in their direction.

Allison Hargreeves.

“Are you guys done?” She questioned, a tight impatient look crossed on her features. At a loss for words, partly embarrassed now that you’d raised your voice, you tried to find anywhere to look but her eyes. Your gaze ultimately got caught on her neck, and the healed, puffy scar raised on her skin. Right. They’d mentioned Vanya had injured Allison. Pretty horribly at that. You remembered what you were nervous about in the first place.

“Allison, this is Y/N, though they will reply to trouble or travel-sized Satan just as well,” Klaus offered, slipping past his sister, who stood fully in the frame of the doorway.

Reaching behind to scratch your neck, you forced a timid smile on your face and gave a small wave with your free hand. “Hey. Nice, uh… place you got here.” Totally casual. “Very clean.” Not awkward at all.

Allison snorted. “Uh-huh. Nice to meet you. Let’s see if this was all worth it, shall we?”

Straight to the point. You could respect that. Nodding, you kept the nervous smile on your face as you walked past her after she sidestepped away from the door. You didn’t really know what you were expecting. Part of you thought the room was going to be some weird pit of despair. Dark and broody, like it was supposed to set the scene for some comic book character about to delve into their villain origin story.

But nope. It was just a standard bedroom, very well lit, white linen, clean carpet. The only thing that really stood out was the sunny yellow blanket wrapped tightly around a petite frame huddled on the single bed, a sky blue polka dot teacup clutched in both of her hands.

Well, now you didn’t feel so bad that you’d poured out basically all the tea you were going to give Vanya on Klaus.

“I’m guessing you’re Vanya?”

No shit, she was Vanya. You literally knew what she looked like.

You shuffled your feet awkwardly as the girl’s eyes flickered up to you. You still had the teacup in your hand.

“I brought you this, but I… spilled a little,” you commented off-handily, moving over to set it on a small side table.

Klaus made a notably shocked look. “Is that what you call a little?”

Vanya nodded her head once, her tone quietly gruff as she added, “we could hear you through the door.”

Allison offered a very helpful, “I’m sure the whole apartment floor heard them.”

Klaus, unable to contain himself from continuing this rally of comments, added, “well, it’s not the only time my screams have woken up someone next door. Certainly won’t be the last, God hoping the world doesn’t explode again.”

All three of you groaned. Good to know you weren’t the only one exhausted.

“It’s nice to meet you, Vanya. Did they explain to you why I’m here?” You asked, moving closer to the girl in question.

Vanya’s eyes glanced quickly over to Allison, who nodded her head in encouragement. She then turned to look at you once more and gave a slight jerk of her head in affirmation. Despite what had happened between Vanya and Allison, you could see the trust between the sisters. You might have gotten the story of what happened three months prior, but obviously they had worked out some stuff. At least a little bit. “Yeah. Yeah, Five uhm, gave me the gist of it,” Vanya replied, her voice still quiet with an edge of hesitance.

“It really works,” Klaus stated, looking at you with a joyful look. “Not seeing Ben’s ugly mug for once…” he pressed his hands to his heart and contentedly sighed, “it was the biggest blessing one could have given me.” His serene mood quickly dissipated as he looked to an empty corner and bit out a tight, “zip it, ghoul boy.”

“I don’t know,” Vanya carried on, as Klaus and presumably Ben continued to have an argument in the back. “Our powers are different. I don’t know if I want to take the risk of using it again in case it doesn’t work.”

You sighed, and Allison brought her hand up to nervously to chew on a nail. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, you tried your best to settle the situation. Yeah, the money you would get for this would be nice, but you could tell this all went beyond that. It was important. You knew they wouldn’t have just let you into their inner circle if it wasn’t.

“I get it. What happened was awful, but you aren’t in that place anymore, right? Panic makes you do stupid shit. You aren’t you when you’re in such a crisis. That doesn’t mean you don’t take accountability for those actions, but the you sitting here isn’t actively trying to blow up the moon and cause the end of the world.” Peering over to Klaus, who stood grumpily off to the side, you asked, “it was the moon, right?”

His attention quickly fixed on you as he replied back, “oh yeah,” making a sudden explosion movement with his hands and horrible sound effects to go with it.

Allison’s blunt, “Klaus,” was enough to quickly shut him up.

“But I could panic again,” Vanya pleaded, her hazel eyes cutting in their pain. As stable and as comfortable as she appeared now, you could recognize that constant fear that must have lived in her. You knew too much about regret. You could see that in her eyes.

“And that’s where I come in. I can stop that. But we have to try first to see if it can work.” Reaching out a hesitant hand, you placed it on her knee still covered with the blanket and offered, “this power is inside you whether you like it or not. I don’t have perfect control over mine. I wish there were things I had done differently.” People you could have saved. People who you accidentally hurt. “You tried suppressing it, but that only made it explosive once it was actually let out. We can try to make it so you can live with it. Even if you don’t use it, at least you can control it.”

Vanya bit her lip and drooped her head, her hair falling in curtains around her face. You were curious about what her thoughts were. The furrow between her brows tensed and untensed in a way you knew her answer to the proposition was continually changing.

“Vanya, I’ve gone the self-destructive route to try and drown the voices out,” Klaus chirped up in the silence, his compassionate tone odd to your ears. From the corner, he strolled past you and rested a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “But I’ve never experienced quiet so fully until they put their field around me.” Soft eyes met yours as he added, “I never thought it was possible. It’s all I ever wanted.”

Holding his look for a moment, you weren’t quite sure what to say. You’d never really been… praised for your gift. Whenever you tried to use it to help someone else, you’d get called a freak or something worse. Any other time, it accidentally (well, purposefully sometimes) harmed someone. You could tell Klaus was sincere. Listening to the voices of the dead so much must be harrowing. You never really gave much thought about spirits and their presence, but for all you know, there could be multiple in the room with him at any moment. Always in pain. Always sharing that with him.

All you could manage to offer in response was a gentle smile before you tipped your head back to look at Vanya. “You don’t know me. I can’t ask you to trust me to do this. But why don’t you stay with me for a bit anyway? Klaus will be there, and you can come and go as you want, the others too. I’ll show you a couple of things I can do with the force field, and when you’re ready to test it out, we will. This is in your hands, Vanya. You’re in control.”

That’s all people like us could ever want. Control. Certainty—

Understanding.

“I already called sharing the bed with Trouble, just so you know,” Klaus said.

Although, it seemed your understanding clearly had its limits.

“If you did that, I would have to burn my bed so I didn’t get fleas. How about I get you a nice doggy bed instead?”

That got a grin out of Vanya, and when Allison added, “I think a flea repellent collar would be a wise investment as well,” her smile grew a little more comfortable.

“very funny, really, ” Klaus muttered.

“Okay. I’ll come with you,” Vanya finally conceded, reaching over to set her cup on the nightstand. “I’m— I don’t think I’m ready to try it out yet, but I guess if I do lose control again, having you there will be a good safety net?”

“We’ll all be your safety net this time.” Allison’s tone was earnest, remorse and care wrapped up on one. “I promise.” She sat on the bed and Vanya gently rested her head on her shoulder.

Whatever had gone on with this family, whatever tragedy had occurred in the past or with the current ordeal, seemed to be mending. You were kind of in awe staring at the scene. You had never known this kind of support since your father, and even then, you were so young that your memories of those feelings of comfort had faded. You lived alone. Didn’t really have any lasting friendships. You had the old couple across the hall who you played cards with at least once a week— though you were pretty sure they cheated every single time— but that wasn’t even close to what the Hargreeves had.

Family.

Standing back up, you heaved in a heavy breath. “I’ll leave you to pack,” you offered with your best shot at a cheery smile despite the sudden growing muck (jealousy, sadness, regret) festering through your veins. “Would you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Allison started to talk, offering you directions before Klaus interjected, “I’ll show you where it is.”

You were going to argue that you were perfectly capable of managing directions in the single apartment, but he placed his hand on your back and was quickly ushering you out of the door and down the rest of the hall.

“You really okay with doing this?” His questioned jarred you, eyes widening as you stepped away from his touch.

“Klaus, are you kidding?” You shot back, your exhaustion entrapping your exasperation in one low, breathy air. “I didn’t see you caring about that when I had originally said no multiple times.”

“You didn’t have that,” he stalled, struggling to come up with words as he haphazardly waved his hands in front of your face, “that look before. You looked sad when Vanya said she would come.”

Ah. You thought you’d shielded your face away from what you had felt. Strange that he would pick up on it. “It’s fine, Klaus. I want to help.”

Klaus didn’t look so sure, but he was also resigned enough to accept that answer. It was the truth anyway. It was a brief second of allowing yourself to feel bad. We all had those. A desire for something else someone has, for love, for care. But maybe this situation would help. Helping someone else, someone relatively similar to you, given the fucked up freak birth that messed up all their lives, would give you a sense of purpose.

“Can I ask you something, though?” You said, biting the inside of your cheek in a sort of nervous gesture.

“Yeah, sure,” Klaus prompted, curiosity lowing his eyebrows as he slightly tilted his head.

“Did you mean what you said in there? Did my blocking your power really help you that much?” You just needed to know. He looked so earnest, almost… desperate to experience it again. You felt seized by a sudden warmth. You just wanted to experience that again, whatever that was. To feel like you had done right.

“Trouble, you have no idea how much that helped. I meant what I said,” his tone turned almost affectionate, his eyes almost pleading with you to believe, “It really is all I ever wanted.”

And suddenly, the warmth that you hoped would have a growing familiarity in your body came back. However, there was something else there, nagging at the back of your consciousness, that you couldn’t quite grasp. It almost felt like concern or empathy, but there was something more. Despite Klaus’s kind words, there was an undercurrent of sadness to them. The man in front of you, who sometimes seemed so much younger and fragile than what he was, had been through hurt. You could recognize it. You had the moment you had met him and all the Hargreeves. But you were finally beginning to fully comprehend what his particular sadness was.

“It’s horrible to have been forced with a burden that could probably do so much good, but we just haven’t been able to see it.” You murmured, speaking your thoughts out loud without really meaning to. “All of you guys were forced to do good with your powers. Be the good guys, get the bad ones. That in itself was another burden just on top of it. You were kids. You never got to experience normal lives and have your powers adjusted to fit normalcy. I guess I’m lucky in that regard.”

You didn’t really know what you were saying. Just looking at Klaus’s face and the emotions you couldn’t read had you spewing words so freely that surely he must have thought you to be the erratic one now and not him.

“Sorry,” you laughed lightly, trying to break the tension. “I guess I’m just trying to say, if my power can do good by helping you guys out, then I’m happy. Whenever things get too noisy, just let me know and I’ll try and drown it out for you. Maybe just… living for a while, not stressing about your next plans, will help too.” You could try to provide some sort of normalcy in your shitty little apartment, with shitty cable, and an even shittier view.

“I’ll do that,” Klaus’s voice was so quiet you barely caught what he had said. “Thank you.”

Averting your gaze to the floor, you rubbed the tip of your nose with the back of your hand and stood in silence for a few moments.

“So uhm. Where’s that bathroom?”

“Oh, shit! Ah, yeah, just down the hall and to the right off the kitchen,” Klaus laughed, tension easing.

“What, not going to lead to it?” You teased.

“No, I think you can manage pretty well,” he smirked, before walking off into one of the adjacent rooms, probably to go pack.

What a shame. You’d probably have to burn all his clothes before they touched your carpets, now that you thought about it. You know, because of the fleas and all that.

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