#its not really the musical design but shh its for reach

[twuizzy]

PLANKTON HUMAN DESIGN BUT IN A MORE TOONY ARTSTYLE!!!

[owomonsterwrites]

Emile a239/reader

 @niknak117 asked:

Hey I have a request! What about the reader confessing feelings to Emile from Halo: Reach? Thank you!!! 

This man would be so confused. Hes thorny, but down to earth, how in the FUCK did you fall in love with him?  

General headcanons

People are definitely afraid of him so if word got out you two were dating or seemed like you were, people would think YOU ARE I N S A N E. to the regular military person who knows of NOBLE teams' existence, Youd know Emile is the aggressor. Lead in CQC and he prefers a shotgun and a huge kukri as his choice weapons, Hes scary. And the skull on his helmet that he carved certainly doesn't help that image. 

You're quite close to him, obviously lol. 

You likely are assigned to the team, or work around the base as a regular military personnel. 

Now Spartans help around their designated bases as well, so Emile was likely helping around your area, for the sake of the drabble later on, let's say engineering k?  (You've definitely given his armor illegal upgrades to win him over. Let's be real here.) 

As the days go by, he drifts closer to you, and soon enough you two become friends.  

When you confess, he would be very confused, maybe even kind of ticked off, unsure if you're pulling a cruel prank. Please reassure him you're not joking please. 

When you do tell him you're serious, he's stunned and that irritation fades away. How could someone as nice and perfect as you like him? Hes brash, rude, he carries a massive fucking knife around. 

And for the first time, you see him smile. Really smile. A melty head over heels smile. Careful he might start to cry a little bit . 

He wraps you into a giant hug, spinning you around laughing. He's so overjoyed.

He doesn't want to let you go in fear that this is all a dream.

Assurance! Is! Needed! You need to keep saying that you do love him, and that it's not a dream. 

When he calms down he finally pulls back and says he loves you too, but you're sure it was already quite clear based on his reaction. 

Kiss the man. Do it. Now. he deserves a good smooching. 

DRABBLE TIME LETS FUCKING GET IT. 

Taking a deep breath you step out onto the roof from the stairway. Earlier that day in the engineering section, you had asked Emile to come here because you needed to tell him something. As you two have known one another for almost a few years now, you've developed feelings for him. It gets harder and harder to conceal them. You just love him so much. You stand by the railing and take a deep breath you didn't know you were holding… 

Getting lost in your thoughts you don't hear him creep up behind you, Emile pokes your sides and you squeal "Emile! Don't do that" You huff and turn around, he towers over you his laugh is like music to your ears. "What were you thinking about there hm? Looks like you were lost in your head" His grin is noticeable even in the moon lit night. “Oh shut up! Its nothing” He shrugs and yawns, hes usually asleep by now. “So what did you want to talk to me about? By your tone earlier it seemed pretty urgent.” Emile stuffs his hands in his pockets. 

Emile is wearing the standard issue training uniform. Simple olive green shirt and camo pants, same as you. They were surprisingly comfortable!  It hugs his biceps a little too well. “Ah- oh right! How do I say this-” You mumble a soft blush creeping up on your cheeks, Emile moves to sit on the railing next to you and leans against you. “Okay before I.. say what I want to, I need you to know its okay if you dont reciprocate.” Emile squints his eyes at you, tilting his head he asks “reciprocate? Reciprocate what?” He pulls back from leaning on you to look you in the eyes, oh god this will be hard. 

“Y-yes. Uh, okay now shh let me say my thing!” Your face getting redder by the minute. 

Taking a deep breath, just say it, cmon (y/n)! “We have known each other for a very long time, and ive.. Developed feelings- agh im trying to not just blurt it out but its very difficult-” youre pacing now, his eyes are as wide as the moon.  the small anxious feeling you had earlier was just growing larger by the minute now. Emile leaped off the railing, and walked in front of you, grabbing you by the shoulders gently. “Calm down, just say it” you bit the inside of your cheek. Deep breaths. 

“I love you. So much Emile.”  his hands dropped from your shoulders, you look down and bite your cheek harder. It felt like decades of silence, “please tell me you aint joking. Please.” you look up, mouth agape. “Of course not! Why would I ever pull something so cruel?” your hands cup his face, you didn't expect him to lean into it and smile, a real smile. Hes so beside himself with joy. Tears begin to well up in his eyes. Emile pulls you into his arms “do you really love me?” he whispers into your hair. “Yes, I do, I really do. I love you so much-” your face is quite literally in his chest, so it comes out as a mumble. Emiles hand shift to your waist, picking you up and spinning you around.  Yours and Emiles laughs breaks the silence like a sharp knife. When he sets you down finally, he's holding you close, and you wrap your arms around his neck, “I love you too, (y/n)” you close the distance between you two, finally kissing him like you've been dreaming of for so long.  

.

.

.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I come in, wearing a paper bag with a piano design and two holes meant for my eyes. In my hand is just a phone, locked right now.

“Oh, ahh h-hi Azul, happy birthday;;; I don’t really have a proper birthday gift ready for you, but um...” I open the phone, and it displays a video on its screen. “I haven’t played piano in so long, but I decided to play something. Ehhh I mean, I can play it live but no piano around, so uh, I did a recording of it mostly because I needed to, but that’s not important, aha sorry, I’m digressing. But anyway, happy birthday, you’re a really admirable guy. Please take care and I hope you receive a lot of blessings on your birthday!”

Huehuehuehuehue >:3c Here’s nice bulli piece for Piano-chan~

Azul’s eyebrows pinched together. From a distance, he couldn’t tell quite who--or what--you were, but as you shuffled toward him, the veil of confusion over his face slowly lifted. The piano design upon the paper bag, the golden orbs that peeked through the eye holes... There was no doubt about the identity of this guest.

“Pfft. Piano-san, I appreciate you coming to my birthday celebration, but why are you wearing that over your face?” Azul inquired, tilting his head to get a better look at you.

You flushed--thankful for the protection that the paper bag offered--and thrust your phone out in a desperate attempt to distract him, to deflect from your shyness. With the press of a play button, a song flowed forth.

The notes were long and slow at first, like a trickle of water, newly thawed from the winter ice. They hopped, skipped, jumped, into a lively beat--settled back into something steadier...

Up and down the music went. Back and forth, push and pull. The moon, eclipsed by clouds, and the ocean, reaching for its silvery light amid the darkness.

The piece concluded at last.

You hurriedly tucked the phone away and bowed your head to Azul. Mumbled something about the lack of a piano to play for him in person, how much you admired him, and how you wished him a happy birthday.

You spun around to depart.

“Wait.”

You looked back to find Azul’s hand catching on your wrist, gently tugging you toward him. Your mouth flew open to utter a protest (or two, or three), but he silenced you with a curt “Shh!”, a finger to his pillowy lips.

“Kon-san!” Azul called, causing a kelp-haired Octavinelle student to jump.

“Y-Yes, dorm leader?”

“I believe the Octavinelle house band brought a plethora of instruments with them for its performance with the Light Music Club. Would you, by chance, also happen to have a grand piano on standby?”

“Erm, m-maybe. I can check for you, i-if you’d like...”

“Please do.”

Octa A nodded and scurried off. He reappeared a few moments later, pushing along a massive instrument on a set of golden wheels. The mob student vanished a second time and came back with a matching bench. Octa A aligned the piano and the bench, bowed, and fled from the scene of the crime.

Azul gestured. “Sit.”

You obeyed, passing him a befuddled look all the while. Just what were his intentions here?

To your surprise, Azul slid onto the bench beside you. You leapt in your seat, startled--your gaze meeting his for just a split second. The octopus smirked, running a finger along the keys--a road carved out of ivory and ebony bricks.

“I noticed a few mistakes during your video performance,” Azul explained, his finger coming to a rest on a single key. “Play Nuvole Bianche for me once more, Piano-san--this time, flawlessly. After all, I deserve nothing less than the best for my birthday.”

Your heart went pitter-patter in your chest as you aligned your fingers with the starting keys. It was a song you had practiced many times over--but now, of all times, your nerves were acting up. All because of Ashengrotto.

“Ah, and one more thing.” Azul motioned with a hand to someone behind you.

The bag over your head was whisked off--so fast you barely registered it, until your hair cascaded out from its confines and landed softly on your shoulders. You squeaked, rushing to conceal your face with your hands. Alas, it was too late: Azul had seen it all.

“Fufu. Thank you for your assistance, Jade.”

“My pleasure,” the eel responded, your paper bag in his gloved hand. “Please do enjoy your time together.”

Azul smiled pleasantly to you--a challenge, in your eyes. “Well? Don’t keep the birthday boy waiting. Play for me, my angel of music... Angela-san.”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. As flustered as you were, your pride was on the line, and you clung to it even tighter. This single, shining star was yours, and yours alone. It would shatter only on your terms.

You’d show him; you’d nail this piece, rub that smug look off of his stupidly handsome face, and make him eat his words. You swallowed your vow, the promise to yourself, and steeled your guts.

Your hands repositioned themselves. This digit here, and that digit there. On the count of three, you allowed your fingers to fall upon the piano keys.

The song started anew. Louder, more bold than before.

A piano playing for an octopus, an image straight out of a storybook.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The One That Stays

Keanu Reeves x reader

Chapter1  Chapter2  Chapter3  Chapter4  Chapter5  Chapter6  Chapter7  Chapter8  Chapter9  Chapter10

Chapter 11- Caught

“Used to think that lovin’ meant a painful chase but you’re right here now and I think you’ll stay.” -Halsey Finally//Beautiful Stranger

"What do you think of this one?" Julie's question had Y/n raising her head, shifting her attention from the page of the magazine she was holding, to Julie's laptop screen; the tab opened to the preview of a hotel in Vegas. Taking the laptop, Y/n went through the pictures; the place had a simple, elegant design, all high ceilings with white pillow posts and pastel murals punctuated by marble floors and walls. The pool area replicated the decor of an old fashioned villa with palm trees and an artificial waterfall.

With raised eyebrows, Y/n nodded slightly, "Its nice," she hummed, "Are you gonna call them?"

Reclaiming the computer, Julie gave the place one final, decisive glance, “I think so. Obviously, I’m going to ask Eric what he thinks first though.”

“Okay,” Y/n nodded, going though a binder of wedding cakes, sticking colorful tags on the ones she knew Julie would like. Ever since Julie had told her a couple days prior that her ‘planned elopement’ would be in two weeks, she and Y/n had started planning that very evening. Thus far, they had chosen the music, the color scheme, some of the decorations and flowers and they had even compiled a small guest list. But there were still lots of bigger decisions to be made; dresses, a menu, venue, an officiant and a wedding cake, and that was just the tip of it. Three days in, Y/n was already stressed, and it wasn’t even her wedding.

They lapsed into another bout of silence, both occupied with their own tasks, until Julie spoke up, her tone cautious and a little unsteady, “Hey,” Y/n looked up, eyes questioning, “Can I ask you something?”

Scoffing a laugh, Y/n rolled her eyes, “Of course, you can ask me anything. What’s up?”

Sucking in a calming breath, Julie closed down the top of her laptop, proceeding to wring her hands together, “I was wondering.......would you give me away?”

Y/n breath caught in her throat, surprise etching her features, “Jules, are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she nodded with resolve, “You know my mom’s been gone for a while, I haven’t spoken to Victor,” her dad, “In years. Eric’s dad offered, but I want you to do it. You’re my family, and you’re the person I want at my side as I walk down that aisle. If you want to be there, of course.” 

“Jules,” Y/n reached across the short coffee table, taking her hands, squeezing affectionately, “I’d be honored to give you away.”

“Really?” Julie’s large doe eyes sparkled in question; she knew it had been a lot to ask, seeing as Y/n was already going out of her way to help make sure that the wedding was perfect and didn’t want her to feel pressured into doing it just because of how close they were, “Cause you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Scooting around the oak coffee table, Y/n moved to sit next to Julie, and shoulder to shoulder, they pressed the sides of their heads together, arms around each other’s back. Julie had been like a sister to Y/n since they were kids, they had been through everything together; from the bad to the really good; Julie was family and it made so much sense that they’d do that together. “I’m sure,” Y/n hugged her tightly.

“Thank you,” Julie returned quietly, hugging her back.

Y/n had left Julie’s apartment late that evening, when Keanu swung by to pick her up with the same bike he had on their first date. They were supposed to go see a movie and then grab dinner together, but one quick stop back to his place so they could drop off her overnight bad, had gotten them distracted and they ended up forgetting about their plans. 

Y/n had been staying over a lot lately and some of her things had quickly found a way amongst his; a spare toothbrush in the glass next to his, a sweater in his laundry, and her shampoo and conditioner next to his minty body wash in the shower. It was nice seeing her stuff intermingling with his, like it fit perfectly together, just like Y/n fit perfectly with him. 

Instead of going to dinner, Y/n and Keanu had ordered in, and after the food had arrived, they stood in the kitchen, shuffling around getting plates, utensils and pouring wine into sleek, stemless wine glasses. They moved around in comfortable silence for a while, though, eventually, Y/n started telling Keanu about wedding planning and he listened intently, smiling at how her face lit up. “Oh!” Y/n stopped suddenly, putting down a disposable box of fried rice, “Julie asked I’d give her away.”

Turning to lean on the kitchen island, Keanu stopped trying to open a bottle of red, “What’d you say?”

Y/n shrugged, grinning lightly, “I said yes. She’s my best friend, I can’t even imagine saying no,” sauntering over to Keanu, dressed only in the plain black shirt he had been wearing earlier, Y/n ran her hands up his arms, gently squeezing his biceps, “You’re coming with me right, to the wedding? I know it’s less than two weeks away and you probably have other things planned and-”

“Do you want me there?” Keanu’s arms went around Y/n’s waist, his palms settling on her lower back. Y/n was right, in the coming weeks, he did have things scheduled; a couple events and shoots for Arch, meetings with his agent and even a lunch with a director. He had really planned to tell Y/n about each one as it came up, but if she wanted him in Vegas, then that’s where he’d be, tomorrow or two weeks from them. 

Dragging her lower lip between her teeth, Y/n brushed a couple strands from her face, nodding vigorously, “Of course I want you there. And umm...” Y/n quietly cleared her throat, a little uneasy with telling him the rest. She wasn’t even sure if he was ready, and it had been so long since she’d done something like that, “My parents are gonna be there, I know it’s not the best way to meet them but.....”

“I’ll be there,” Keanu leaned down, pulling Y/n closer as their lips connected, “And I’d love to meet your parents,” he sucked in a nervous breath. The thought of meeting them was sort of nerve racking; it was obvious that they were moving quickly and he was no doubt more than twenty years her senior. But he loved her. That’s what should matter right? Besides, if he wanted any kind of future with Y/n, he’d have to meet them one day anyway. 

Breathing a sigh of relief when Keanu agreed, Y/n leaned in more, most of her weight now supported by him and her arms loosely circling his neck. “Thank you,” she mumbled, reaching on her toes to thank him again, that time with a soft kiss. 

“My pleasure,” Keanu obliged between the movements of their locked lips. His hands skimmed Y/n’s figure, the material of his shirt smooth and cool beneath his touch. Gently grabbing Y/n’s arms, Keanu unwound them from around his neck, lacing the fingers of his right hand with those of her tiny left one, “Come on,” he urged, pushing off from the counter as he secured his other hand on her waist.

Giggling and confused, Y/n let Keanu lead her to the center of the kitchen were the tiles were cold under her toes, “What are you doing?” Her voice shook with soft laughter, her un-held hand going to Keanu’s shoulder on instinct. 

“We’re dancing,” Keanu quipped, staring to lead them a leisured version of a slow foxtrot. Keanu’s hand slid from Y/n’s waist, pressing her to him when it went back to the lowest part of her back, “We need to practice for the wedding.”

Rearing her head back to get a good look at him, Y/n playfully rolled her eyes, “There’s no music playing,” she teased.

Chuckling, Keanu pressed into her back a bit, encouraging Y/n to relax into him, “Shh,” he urged and when she finally submitted, her body sunken into his, her ear to his steady, soothing, Keanu began humming under his breath. The sound was quiet and deep, the sound rumbling in his chest.

Y/n couldn’t recognize the song, but she didn’t really care. She didn’t even care that it was way out of time with their dance. Nothing mattered outside of that moment. It was perfection incarnate; dancing with the man she loved, barefoot and in a shirt that smelled like him. Her mind slowed and her eyes slipped closed, trusting Keanu completely with any direction. Y/n had never been much of a dancer, but with Keanu’s lead, she found it easy to glide around their little bubble of cozy warmth without even stepping on his toes. 

In that moment, in the minutes she had lost track of counting, in the soft breaths and his out of tune humming, Y/n felt herself willingly sink further and further into swell of fuzzy warmth that accompanied being enveloped in the safety of Keanu’s strong arms. As the feeling consumed her, the worry and stress of everything else melted away; the anxiety of a wedding that wasn’t even hers and the stress of knowing that there was the possibility that her parents wouldn’t like Keanu, slipping away

Keanu’s humming grew softer and softer as he looked down at Y/n cozied against him. He never imagined he’d get that again; the security of love. At fifty-five, Keanu often thought that his chance was gone, that he should just through in the towel or even settle for then next woman that would look his way for longer than a fling. But Y/n wasn’t a fling, and building a life with her didn’t feel like settling either. She was like a breath of fresh air after spending too long inside. Ever since he’d met her, Keanu though that he could see his future reshaping; maybe he’d give marriage a go, in past it was frightening, being with one person until the day you died, but after Y/n, he couldn’t imagine wanting or loving another. He wanted marriage with her, kids, and everything in between, if she’d have him for it. 

Keanu had it in good measure that Y/n would too. They’d survived their first big fight, and hopefully, learned from it too. She’d learnt that there was nothing to be scared of when it came to her feelings for him and that the best things in life didn’t have to make perfect sense to be right and Keanu had learnt that no matter what, he’d wait for Y/n and that his love for her would always out-weigh anything that threated to separate them; he’d do anything to make sure she never had to leave like that again.

“I love you,” Y/n whispered after a while, her eyes still closed, her words breathy and almost getting lost.

Bending to press a chaste kiss to the top of her hair, Keanu’s lips lingered there as he returned, “I love you too.”

The next morning, Y/n was putting the final touches on her make-up when Keanu was sauntering out of his walk-in closet, pulling a t-shirt on, his hair still wet. “Aren’t you gonna dry your hair?” Y/n frowned, eyeing him though the mirror at his dresser.

Keanu shrugged, running his fingers through his dripping, dark mane, “It’ll dry on it’s own,” he said, plopping onto the bed to put on his shoes. He was in the midst of getting ready himself, intent of dropping Y/n off at work and then heading to Arch where he’d start working on shifting things around to making himself available for the week of Julie’s wedding. 

Passing the brush through her hair one more time, Y/n discarded it on the varnished surface, grabbing her towel as she padded over Keanu. Standing with one of his thighs parting her legs, Y/n dropped the drying towel on his head. “What’re you doing?” He chortled, face hidden by the fluffy white material. 

“Drying your hair so you don’t get sick,” she explained with a huff. Y/n rubbed the towel gently all over his head, in between feeling the softness of his hair between his fingers, biting back a smile. She hadn’t realized how much she could enjoy doing something so menial for someone else. Y/n thought she could get used to taking care of Keanu like that, doing little things that he could definitely do for himself, for him, just so they could be close for a few minutes more.

Keanu smiled under Y/n’s ministrations, his cheeks warming; he had probably been a kid since he last had someone do something like that for him. When Y/n was finished, his hair was barely held any dampness, still a bit cold, but it was nothing that wouldn't be gone by the time they were ready to leave. “Done,” Y/n declared, tossing the towel to the bed.

His hands found her hips, pulling Y/n into his lap, “Thank you,” he pecked her red stained lips.

Cupping his face, Y/n deepened their kiss before saying, “It’s no big deal.” Grinning, Y/n tucked some of Keanu’s hair behind his ear, her thumb tracing a nearly invisible wrinkle under his eye as she did so, “We should get going.”

“We should,” Keanu agreed despondently, “Don’t want you to be late.”

“Yupp,” Y/n reluctantly stood from Keanu’s lap, going over to the full length mirror near the bedroom door, smoothing her outfit, a pair of black paper bag pants with a white, low-necked, sleeveless blouse tucked into them, with her hands.

“Ready?” Keanu stood from the bed, putting on his watch and shoving his wallet into his back pocket.

Hurriedly, Y/n plopped into an armchair near her waiting shoes; a pair of simple black heels, “Yeah,” she breathed, “Let me just put these on.” Glancing at the beside clock, Y/n groaned inwardly, hating that she now knew that she only had half hour to get to work before she was late. It was a hustle, and one or twice her fingers fumbled, but eventually, Y/n was ready, and four inches taller.

“Thank you,” she hummed musically when Keanu helped her into her black tailored blazer.

“No problem baby,” he quipped in return, kissing her cheek before leading Y/n down the stairs. Grabbing his keys from the bowl at the front table, Keanu was about to walk them through the side door that opened to the garage when he stopped, huffing before, turning on his heel, “I gotta go get the mail. I don’t want it to get soaked if it rains again.” It had been doing that a lot lately.

With his hand still around Y/n’s waist, they left through the front door instead. Slowly, they walked to the mailbox at the top of Keanu’s tiled front yard. When he unlocked the front, Keanu got the contents out, and with her back turned to the streets, she waited as he sifted through it. “Just bills,” he grumbled, and Y/n giggled when he playfully swatted the tip of her nose with the edge of the gathered envelops, “You’ve got the cutest little nose ever.”

“Why thank you,” Y/n retreated to his embrace once again, and Keanu used a button on his keys to open the garage doors. 

They were so lost in each other that neither Keanu or Y/n heard the approaching bus, slowing as it drove past his house. Startled into turning around when a voice over a microphone announced that it was in fact the “residence of Keanu Reeves.”

Sucking in a breath audibly, Y/n’s eyes widened when everyone on the tour started snapping pictures, the flashes from their camera dazzling her eyes more than the sunlight had when they first stepped outside. From the street, fans screamed his name while other turned to the person beside them, chatting quietly, probably wondering who she was.

Keanu’s arm stayed around Y/n’s waist, stiffening, more out of annoyance at their predicament than anything else when she turned to hide her face in side. He had become used to the occasional tour bus driving up his street once in a while, but Keanu knew that Y/n wasn’t and that he couldn’t even begin to imagine how she must be feeling. They hadn’t even discussed going public or the possibility of the nearly constant occurrence of a camera being shoved in their faces since the Saturday of their fight. And even that wasn’t a discussion.

Feeling her heavy, uneven breathing against him, Keanu did his best to guard her identity with a protective hand over Y/n’s face as he tried to steer them into the garage. Fans on the bus still called his name, some even bold enough to try to get Y/n’s attention, “Come on,” he urged, closing the doors when they were safely inside.

Y/n stayed in his arms, her hands circling his middle, her face pressed into his t-shirt. Kissing the top of her head, he shushed her, trying desperately to comfort her, “I had no idea that they were going to drive by today,” he said, his hug tightening, as if he were still trying to protect her from the harsh reality of his life, “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, knowing that now, more than ever, they’d have a lot to talk about. 

********

Tagging- @baphometwolf666   @harrisongslimited​  @a-really-bi-girl​  @soarocks​  @kindainlovewithkeanu​

[straykats]

Hi, I wanna request a fluffy one with jeongin, him and the reader are having a movie date at home with cuddling and all of the cute stuff... thank you 😊

“Are you here yet?”

“I just got out of the taxi-”

“Y/n hurry up please-”

Your lips quirk up. You’re doing your best to get to his apartment, but you could only go so fast with your bag and phone in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. Besides, he lived on the fifth floor and who knew how long the elevator ride would take.

“Hey babe, I’m getting in the elevator now so-”

“So wait for you by the elevator doors? Okay!”

The call is ended before you can tell him that that wasn’t what you were going. You shake your head - typical Jeongin, making his own inferences when he was excited - and press the up arrow. It doesn’t take long for you to get in, but the time it took for the elevator to start moving...

It was neither wrong or right to say the apartment complex was old. It had been built over a decade ago, but reconstructed just before Jeongin moved in. That is, it’d been reconstructed just under three years ago. They had left the elevators, however, and you constantly questioned when they would replace the elevators to something more modern and fitting of the complex’s overall design.

The doors of the elevator finally open, and you see Jeongin look up from where he sat on a chair. His eyes disappeared with his growing smile, and he jumped towards you-

“Jeongin wait I’m carrying snacks you’re gonna-” You cut off when he crashes into you and kisses your cheek, initiating a bang. “...crush the snacks. I think you popped a bag of chips.”

He pulls back with a sheepish smile. “... Sorry? But it’s only one bag-”

“We hope it’s only one bag.”

Jeongin takes the bag of snacks from you, and you can’t help but notice it seems like he’s physically buzzing with excitement. “Come on come on come on! I’ve been waiting all day-”

He drags you by the hand to his apartment, where he quickly keys in the pin. He pretty much throws you on the couch, and you can only fall down laughing. He takes charge of your bags, putting them on the table and then moving to the couch.

“So, Disney, huh?”

You eye the familiar opening screen on the TV, your mind running back to your childhood. 

“I’ve been rewatching, but they’re not as fun when you don’t have someone to sing duets with you,” Jeongin explained. You could hear him taking out bowls and opening the fridge. “Coke, water, orange juice or…?

“Anything’s fine! Do you need help with anything?”

You turn to see him pouring chips into a bowl while shaking his head. “It’s all okay! Start the movie, yeah?”

You do as asked, but by the time you find the remote, Jeongin was standing in front of you, a bowl of popcorn in one arm and chips in the other. His hands held a cup of orange juice and a can of coke. “Um- Help, please-”

You take the drinks from him and put them down. He quickly runs to his room just as the opening sequence finishes, and returns with a throw blanket, which he drapes over the both of you. You’re sitting next to each other, shoulders bumping everytime someone moved. 

“This is such an underrated song, honestly,” you state through a mouthful of popcorn. “‘Frozen Heart’ deserved more.”

“Then shh and listen to it-”

You break into giggles when he throws a piece of popcorn at you. 

You continue to watch the movie, your hand grabbing for both the coke and orange juice. Jeongin makes a noise of complaint when you steal his drink, but you just stick your tongue out. 

“Okay, can i just… Say something crazy?”

You look at Jeongin with a knowing grin, and he grins back.

“I love crazy.”

The two of you burst into song. You’re up and off the couch in no time, badly dancing around the living room. You laugh when Jeongin fumbles the words, and he laughs when you accidentally kick the couch. 

“But with youuu-”

“But with youuuu-”

You’re on opposite sides of the room, pointing at eachother, and then running up to each other and belting out notes. When the song nears its end, Jeongin attempts to twirl you, but you both trip and you find yourself leaning against the armrest, Jeongin looming over you.

“Can I say something crazy?”

You both break into another fit of giggles when Hans proposes. Your laughter dies down, and you’re looking up at Jeongin.

His eyes are soft, and he suddenly seemed open and vulnerable. It was a somewhat rare sight to see, Jeongin not smiling his wide ear-to-ear smile. You sounds of the movie fade, and its just you and Jeongin. Him, staring down at you and wondering that gosh, he’s so lucky to have you. You, staring up at him and thinking hey, he really does have the most beautiful eyes when he’s in awe of something. 

He leans down, pressing a light kiss on your forehead. “Movie?”

You hum in response, and he gets off of you. The two of you make your way back on the couch, and there’s a strange but comfortable domesticity in the air as you pull the throw blanket around you and Jeongin. It’s tempting to kiss him, to kiss his lips, his nose, his temple, his eyelid. Instead, you hug his arm and rest your head on his shoulder. He nuzzles his head into your hair. The two of you are like this for the rest of the movie. Your fingers occasionally intertwine, and he sometimes kisses a knuckle. He puts an arm around your shoulder, his hands playing with your hair. It’s so comfortable that you might have fallen asleep, had it not been for the musical numbers.

When the movie finally reaches its end, you become aware of the steady breathing next to you. Stealing a glance up, you see that Jeongin’s eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted. He was asleep, a hand rested against your head with fingers in your hair.

You reach for the TV remote, turning it off.

“You were so excited to have me watch a movie with you…” you say under your breath. “...and yet here you are.”  

You lean up and kiss his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder. The last thing you feel is his arm around your shoulder dropping and hugging you into his chest, where you fall asleep filled with a feeling of warmth and content.

[k-gorman8]

So I had to write an essay about a hero in my English class. I had reached the point where I didn’t care anymore so I started it off as a joke. Very quickly I realized I actually truly enjoyed the assignment. Enjoy :)

Hero Essay

“In a world. . .

With no bravery. . . 

There is only one who can save us. . .”

*queue dramatic music*

“BRAVEMAN! The man who is brave!”

The TV screen illuminated the dark room. My sister, sitting on the couch with a book in hand, scoffs at me.

“You’re watching Braveman again? You know that’s not real. No one could ever be like that. ‘Bravery’ or whatever isn’t real.”

“It’s a good movie,” I say. “Dad likes it.”

“Yeah well I think it’s stupid,” she rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you read something? Something real? Like the encyclopedias. You haven’t even gotten to the letter K yet.”

I shake my head and turn back to the screen. I watch as Braveman speaks in front of a group of people and talks to strangers he doesn’t know. The thought of speaking to someone outside of my family is. . . horrifying. How does someone do that? Shaking someone’s hand? Being where everyone can see you? I wished and longed to have his powers. I glanced back at my sister. She was right. Bravery isn’t real. There’s no way I could be brave. 

I woke up curled up on the floor. The credits to Braveman were scrolling on the TV. I must have fallen asleep. I looked back at the couch. It was empty. 

“Must’ve gone to bed,” I mumbled to myself. “I should do the same.” I started to turn off the TV when I accidentally hit the channel button, redirecting me to the new channel. I started to slide my hand to the correct button when something caught my attention.

“We have decided it would be best for us as a community if we returned to traditions from before the epidemic of 2020.” My eyes widened. Was this really what I was hearing? I turned it up to be sure. The computer-reporter began again, “Beginning the first of August, our community will go back to having in-person schooling and work programs, and social interaction will be restored.”

I felt my jaw drop. 2020? That was the year my grandma was born! I thought. We’re going back to a lifestyle from over 70 years ago? I ran to my parents room. 

“Mom! Dad! Check out the news!” I yelled as I burst into their room and woke them up. “Turn on the TV! Turn it on!”

“Gosh, Olivia!” My mom said.  “You almost scared the life out of me!” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What’s so important?” I suddenly realized how rude I had been.

 “I’m sorry,” I started to back out of the room. “Maybe it’s not that important.” My dad grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV. The news was still going.

“There have been many studies over the past 10-15 years about the pros and cons of social interaction. Although keeping to yourself was once very needed to prevent the spread of a deadly virus, our recent studies have shown that being around people is crucial for healthy development of the brain.” 

“What is this?” my mom interrupted. “Are we supposed to believe -”

“Shh.” my dad quieted her. He had a very serious look on his face.

“What do you mean shh? I have-”

“Shhh!” he insisted. My mom stared at him in disbelief. I watched as his face changed from serious and confused to shocked and surprised. 

“Ever since 2020, our medication has provided our brains the stimulation we need, but recent studies have shown that actual social interaction is far more effective and will save millions of dollars every year.” 

I think of the pill that our entire family takes everyday. It’s always been so routine, I’ve never questioned it. 

“It’s good for your brain.” I recall my dad telling me once. “Take it every morning and you’ll be good to go.” That was always enough of an explanation for me. I never knew it was to replace something we were lacking. 

As my mom began to realize what was going on, she began to look terrified. My dad also looked scared. But for some reason, I wasn’t scared. I felt. . . excited? I didn’t know what I was feeling. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t bad at all. It was something I had never felt before. . .

It has been 3 months since I saw the news about returning to an old lifestyle. 4 days until the first of August. Pretty much everything on TV has been about this lifestyle. Real people have been on TV recently instead of the typical computer-voice. They stutter and their hands shake. I can’t imagine how scary being in front of a camera would be, nonetheless one where the entire country - maybe the entire world - sees you. 

We have been given study materials on the old lifestyle. It’s mostly made up of pictures from old, traditional classrooms where there were over 20 students in one room at once. That blew my mind. The most people I’ve ever been in a room with at once is 5. And that’s a lot for someone my age. There were pictures of the once-busy streets of New York, the area flooded with cars and people. I knew life was different 70 years ago, but I had never known about any of this. The only history we had been taught was that there was a disease that led to a safer community where everyone stayed at home. That’s all that I’ve ever known. That’s how I grew up. That’s how my parents grew up. And that’s how their parents grew up. My deceased grandpa, who was 8 in 2020, was the last one in my family that could’ve remembered anything from the old lifestyle, but he’s gone.

As soon as it was decided to stay indoors, anything about being out of our houses was taken out of the education system in order to make sure everyone lived indoors. Food and medication was delivered to houses. Everyone worked from home. Now, the people who once wrote at-home curriculum would become teachers. Those who helped develop medications and prepared diets designed specifically for every person would become doctors. Anyone who was still in school would remain a student, but attend school with everyone else.

I was going into my junior year and my sister was going into her senior year. She was terrified. She broke down in tears and my parents had to order a special medication to calm her down. I, however, was not scared. I didn’t know what I was. As I thought this over, the movie Braveman flashed through my head. Brave? I thought. Am I. . . brave? I thought of the feeling inside of me. I wanted to go to school. I was excited to see the streets filled with people. But I remembered what my sister told me. No. I told myself. I can’t be brave. Brave isn’t real.

I woke up to the sun shining through my window. The blinds used to always be closed, but I’ve been keeping them open to get used to the sunlight. It was bright and warm, it felt unnatural. . . even though it was the only natural light there was. I put on the new clothing that had been delivered to my house yesterday morning. Jeans, tall black socks, a blue polo shirt, and a new pair of shoes. My sister had a similar outfit, but a yellow shirt. There was also a care-package sent for all of us. On the outside of the box, there was a list that read:

Contents:

1 girl’s junior school outfit - Olivia

1 girl’s senior school outfit - Chelsea

2 backpacks (includes laptop, notebook, and 2 pencils each)

1 women's work attire - Victoria

1 men’s work attire - Ben

4 nametags - Ben, Victoria, Chelsea, Olivia

4 personal cell phone

4 instruction guides

4 personal sunscreen bottles - prolonged sun exposure may cause irritation. Please apply every 2 hours to avoid sunburn

1 anxiety pill - Chelsea

4 medication pills - THIS IS YOUR LAST DOSAGE

I got dressed and applied the sunscreen. Whatever a sunburn was did not sound pleasing. The sunscreen was oily and greasy but it smelled nice. I dropped the pill into my palm and took a deep breath. For some reason knowing this was the last one was. . . relieving, almost. I had a good feeling about today. I popped my head back and swallowed it, feeling it as it made its way down my throat. 

“The bus is here!” my mom shouted from across the house. I slid the sunscreen into my pocket, grabbed my instruction book and tossed it in my bag, threw the bag over my shoulders, and ran to the door. My sister came out of her room with a worried expression on her face. I stopped and turned around towards her. 

“Hey, it’ll be okay.” I reassured her. She tried to smile at me, but I could tell she was still upset. I skipped through the door and smiled big at my dad. 

“Excited?” he asked.

“Yeah!” I said quickly, maybe a little too quickly based on the shocked expression on his face.

“Well that’s good!” he said and he straightened his tie. “Let’s hope today goes well. . .” I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. 

I got to the door of the bus and it slid open. I took a deep breath and stepped on, my dad trailing shortly behind me. There were 2 other families on the bus. I swallowed deep and I walked through the aisle, glancing at the other people on the bus. There was another girl with a blue shirt on and I smiled at her. She looked at the ground. I thought back to the instruction book. Seat B3. I remembered. I found it, sat down quickly, and eagerly tapped my foot, waiting for the bus to move. When the rest of my family was seated, we began to roll forward. My sister had the window seat, but she slumped her head down and looked at her feet. I looked past her to see the amazing outside world, the sun shining through the tinted glass.

“Passengers,” the auto-driver’s robotic voice said, “welcome to your first day of our social lifestyle. If at any point you need help, please address your handbook or simply select the blue application on your new cell phones.”

I remembered my cell phone in my pocket. My family’s contact information accessible in the yellow application, my personal information in the red application, and help from a government official in the blue application. I glanced over at my mom who was worryingly flipping through her instruction book. My dad was looking out the window like I was, with a pleasant expression on his face. My sister was still slumped in her seat, looking at her shoes. She looked up at me and I smiled at her. I watched her close her eyes, take a deep breath, and smile at me too, this time more genuine. 

The bus came to a slow stop.

“Students attending freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior year, this is your destination.”

I stood up excitedly and looked at my parents. My mom cracked a wry smile at me and my dad waved me goodbye. I smiled big and walked to the front of the bus, my sister slowly trailing behind me, along with the rest of the nervous children about to go to school. 

I stepped off the steps of the bus and looked up at the large building in front of me. GRANDBURY HIGH SCHOOL was carved into the front of the large, stone entrance. The students gathering in a group behind me were also gazing at the building we had never seen before. I glanced at the girl with the blue shirt and read her name tag. “REBECCA JONES”, it read. Rebecca. I thought. I’m gonna try to be friends with Rebecca. I decided. She realized I was looking at her so I tried smiling at her again. Slowly, a small smile formed on her face. She began to walk forward, so I followed. 

There were kiosks set up for us to check in. I walked up to one and scanned my nametag. It buffered for a second then displayed a message. WELCOME, OLIVIA BARREN. PLEASE REPORT TO ROOM 127 - ENGLISH. A map showed the school hallways, with a green line leading me down the hallway to the right. The phone in my pocket began to vibrate, so I pulled it out of my pocket. The screen lit up with the map displaying on the kiosk. I followed the green line displayed on my phone until I reached room 127. 

I walked into the room. There were already a few students sitting in their seats. We were all wearing a blue shirt, except for one lady at the front of the room who was wearing a maroon shirt. Must be the teacher. I thought to myself. I walked through the aisles of desks until I found my name. OLIVIA B it read on the tiny screen on the corner of the desk. I hung my backpack on the hook on the back of the chair, and sat down, then remembered what I had read in the instruction book. I scanned my name tag. The screen glowed green, indicating I had been marked as present.

The room began to fill up, but it remained silent. Everyone kept their eyes low, even the teacher. I watched Rebecca walk in, but she didn’t see me.  When everyone’s desks had green glowing where their names were, the teacher stood at the center of the front of the room and cleared her throat. 

“Hello, class.” she was sweating and her hands were shaky, but she took a deep breath and continued. “Uhh...I am Ms.Greene.” I felt like chuckling at her silly color name, but I refrained. “I will be teaching english. This will be the first class you will report to every morning.” She paused and collected her thoughts. She cleared her throat again. “Is, uh, is there anyone who would like to introduce themselves?”

Somehow the silence became even quieter. Everyone was stiff in their seats, staring at their desks. The only thing you could hear was the tapping of my foot, which was rapidly speeding up. Everyone sat there for what seemed like forever. Ms.Greene stared at her feet and waited for anything to happen.

The feeling inside of me that I had been feeling all day grew even larger. Scenes from Braveman flashed in my head. Talking in front of people. Shaking hands. Being brave. This. I thought, but it felt more like I was screaming in my head. This is it. This is your chance. Your chance to be brave. I took a deep breath and I clutched the edge of my desk. What are you waiting for? I continued to hold still. What are you waiting for?!

Suddenly, I stood up. The entire class stared at me. My teacher looked startled and terrified. Rebecca looked at me with her mouth agape. The kid next to me looked as if he had seen a ghost.

“My name is Olivia,” I say. “Olivia Barren.” I look around the room and a strange, proud happiness fills me. “It’s nice to meet all of you.” I smile big and sit back down.

That was it. I thought. That was bravery.

[fundeadasylum]

Phanniemay 2018 Day 11: Stars

He sinks into a pool of calm, clear, cool water and floats away.

He’s free here.

Free of pain, free of fear, free of responsibilities.

Here there are no school bullies to trip him or shove him into lockers. Here there is no nagging sister or embarrassing parents. Here there is no homework, no ecto-tainted food, and no ghosts.

It’s just peace and quiet and freedom.

He could stay here forever.

Something brushes against his leg and his eyes snap open.

He is not underwater. He is in space.

Or something very much like it.

Inky purple darkness ripples around him, shimmering with pinpricks of light like stars. It seems vast and infinite but also very small and contained. It plays tricks on his eyes and makes his head spin so he put his face in his hands and tries to remember how to breathe.

“Shh, child it is all right…” A soothing voice, delicate, soft, the most comforting musical tones he has ever heard. A gentle hand brushes through his dark hair and it reminds him of his mother. He peers through his fingers and see a pair of softly glowing eyes, the outline of a vaguely humanoid shape, the curl of violet horns.

“A-are you a ghost?” He sounds so small and frightened, a frightened kid hiding from the dark.

“Not quite. A little more powerful than those flimsy, ectoplasmic beings.”

“What are you? Where am I? What did you do to me?”

“I am Nocturne, King of Dreams, and right now you are safe, away from those horrid nightmares that were eating you alive from the inside. I have brought you into my sphere, a sort of…pocket dimension. You are safe here. Nothing can harm you.”

“What do you want with me…” He draws away, curling in on himself. It wouldn’t be the first time someone or something had tried to use him to get to his friend.

“Want? I want nothing from you. I am only here to offer.” A hand extends, pointed fingers uncurling to reveal a star, shimmering molten silver in the palm of the hand, “You are afraid of many things, child, haunted by so many nightmares. I can help, if you like, I can give you the power to fight back, the strength to stand on your own. No one and nothing will ever harm you again.”

It sounds oh so tempting. Deliciously tempting. To never be afraid again, to be able to help his friends instead of being terrified and useless.

But still he does not reach for the star.

There is a sensation of a gentle smile, “You are a dreamer, child, and your dreams call to me. I can help you achieve your deepest desires. I can help you reach the stars.”

He does pull away then. It sounds too good to be true. And if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years fighting ghosts beside his friends, it’s that if something sounds too good to be true, there are usually some very deadly strings attached.

“Ah, I see. You think me like that pitiful wretch Desiree.” Nocturne sounds amused but does not take the star away (and the boy won’t admit that he’s glad because he desperately doesn’t want to lose that silver light kissing his skin), “I assure you, I am not like her in the least. She twists the wishes of those around her. I only provide you with the strength that is necessary to achieve your goals on your own. Your dreams are powerful, child, and you have the strength inside you to achieve them. All I offer is the key to unlock that strength.”

Honey sweet words, encouraging in a way he hasn’t heard from many adults, gentle and kind. This King of Dreams only has his best interests at heart, a creature made of stars and visions and the taste of ice and that warm scent of the earth after the first rain of the summer.

He can reach the stars, the moon, and even beyond them. He could achieve his dreams.

He reaches out and cups the offered star in his trembling hands.

Darkness swirls up his legs and the shadows seep into his eyes but he’s smiling.

Everything is all right.

*****

Sam bursts into the gymnasium, ectoplasm already charging in her clenched fists. Tucker isn’t far behind. She can hear his boots skid on the polished floor. The dark creature looming towards the vaulted ceiling turns to her slowly, its horns massive, its eyes fierce.

“You found me faster than I anticipated,” It says in a lilting, almost hypnotic voice, “Although, I was not exactly going out of my way to hide from you.”

“Undo what you’ve done! Wake everyone up!” Sam orders, aiming a sparking palm at the creature, “Or I start blasting!”

It grins in way that she can feel down her spine, nails on a chalkboard that makes her hair stand on end, “Oh, come now, as if I’m going to let it be that easy.” It sweeps aside, warping its shape as it slithers out of the gym and out of sight, and Sam nearly falls out of the sky.

Floating in the air, dark hair laced with a silvery sheen, is Danny.

He looks at them stoically from across the gym, head canted slightly to one side. Blackness and stars dance up his arms, his legs, cling to his neck, and drip from his eyes. And his eyes…where once was blue is now an impenetrable and infinite darkness. The freckles on his face are shimmering against his pale skin, flickering like points in the constellations of the night, and ropes of inky darkness curl away from him, fluttering like ragged banners in a non-existent breeze.

“Danny…no…” Tucker, choked, his words a breathy whisper. Sam doesn’t need to look to see the tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Danny?” Says the thing that used to be their friend and his voice is hollow and delicate, frozen porcelain in a crisp pile of snow, “I think you are mistaken,” His smile is as cold as his voice and it shows rows of thin, needle-sharp teeth,

“I am Void.”

-------

I have always loved the Reverse Trio AU and I am SO SORRY but I’m not sure who started that whole thing. If you know who did, please feel free to @ them in this post or tell me so I can give proper credit. Anyway, uh, I really like Void!Danny. His design is friggin gorgeous and ethereal, he looks like a god, it’s awesome. Honestly when I saw the stars prompt, it was the first thing I thought of.

I’m going to be out of town until Sunday night so I will be late with Saturday’s post but I should get it up no later than Sunday night/Monday morning, depending on when I get back from my trip. Have a nice weekend, everyone!

[boshawsharky]

Made It This Far

This fic contains references to self-harm, mental illness, delusions, and torture. It details a night of Pratt’s life after the end of the game. What happens in this fic is a work of my imagination and by continuing to read, you are consenting to read what could be potentially triggering.

Staci Pratt, T/W, 1,964 words.

This is my first Far Cry fanfic, so if it is inaccurate I apologise.

It’s official: Staci Pratt is an alcoholic.

Growing up with an alcoholic father, he swore he would never be in this position. He remembers his dad yelling at him for waking him up, or his mum trying to push him out of the house to protect them both. He remembers shamefully going to school and seeing his dad passed out on a park bench.

He swore this would never happen. He swore he would never turn out like his dad, yet here he is. Covered in beer cans and bottles, protecting him as if they were blankets. Almost as comforting, too.

His hand reaches to the nearest can and he lifts it to his lips, tilting his head back and keeping his mouth open to collect the few droplets that pour from inside, even if he can barely taste them. Anything helps, especially if it helps him forget Jacob, even if just for a few hours.

He always comes back in the morning, though. He always sits there at the end of his bed, or by the door, or by the sink- wherever it was that he passed out- smirking, looking down his nose, chuckling at him. Sometimes he is so close, Pratt can smell the coffee on his breath.

Fuck, the man is dead. You are going crazy.

He doesn’t understand how all this happened, he could have never expected to be this way. Then again, it was only two days before he was broken that he was joking about taking fuckin’ Nancy instead of Rookie. He didn’t see that happening, or Rookie saving his ass from Jacob.

Loud music pumps from down the road in Fall’s End, presumably from the bar that he sometimes meets Hudson in. They’re celebrating the New Year- that’s coming in a few minutes. Sharky Boshaw had invited everybody to a party in his trailer park- literally everybody, Rookie, Whitehorse, Hudson, everybody. Even Pratt. But Pratt couldn’t bear to go and see their sympathetic faces and the way they inched around him as if he was a bomb waiting to explode.

Well, frankly, he could. It can only take one little thing to trigger him, sometimes even the sight of his own face can do it. The scar across his nose, or if he has a nosebleed it feels like the world is ending.

The man moves and knocks all the cans off of himself, brushing them from his legs with a great clatter. The glass bottles smash on the floor, but the cans just bounce and roll. He pulls himself up and collapses on the sofa, tears threatening his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He thought he was getting better. He thought he wasn’t as weak any more.

You’ll always be weak, Peaches. Always.

He really thought the alcohol would take Jacob away from him. He thought it would help him, make him at least the slightest bit better. Why is it not helping this time?

He can see him stood in the doorway to the living room, judging eyes watching his every move, and that same bloody smirk on his features. Staci catches his eye, and immediately feels all the anger, all the upset, everything he has ever felt, fill him again.

The last full can on the side becomes his tool as he grabs it from its place on the table, throwing it out of the open window with a mighty roar and listening to it explode outside, covering the porch with beer. He feels like a prisoner in his own mind, and he wants out.

He continues to scream as he paces around the room, grabbing at his hair and pulling it before eyeing the phone sitting on the unit by the wall. He stumbles over to it, feeling like a dummy numb with emotions. He feels empty, he feels lost, he feels like he isn’t human.

The crowd down the street erupt into cheers and celebration, which tells him it is now midnight, it is now 2019. He has the phone in hand, but he stares at it. Who is going to answer him now? Fuck, who is he going to ring?

He slams it down with force, letting out another scream. He’s twenty-six, and he can’t even take care of himself. He can’t find the key to free himself from his own mind.

When he was seventeen, he was trying to impress his friends at a skate park. Something went wrong, he snapped his board, it flew up and hit him in the forehead, creating a gash. There was so much blood and he passed out. He thought when he came to two minutes later, he thought that was the worst feeling.

It was stupid, really. Just nine years later, he would be being tortured, he would be ruined, he would be broken.

At least he had his friends there, then. And a family to go home to- well, his mum. When Jacob had him strapped down to that chair, he was alone. He had never felt so isolated yet so exposed in his life.

He thought he would die there. He thought that his corpse would rot there until he was nothing.

That, that was the worst feeling.

And you’ve still not escaped.

He can feel Jacob’s rough hands grabbing one of his wrists, and he pulls it away from him.

“D-don’t touch me… You’re, you’re not real,” Staci whispers, closing his eyes and rubbing his wrist. He can’t calm his racing heart or his choking breaths. He can’t even stop the tears from flowing any more. “You- you can’t con, control me like this...”

But you’re wrong.

“Ple-please,”

Tears are streaming down his face and he uses his hand to numbly wipe them away. He’s choking on his own breathing and everything feels too much, too overwhelming.

Peaches, you’re-

“Shut up!” Pratt roars, picking up the phone from the receiver and dialling Sharky’s number- everyone is at Sharky’s place. Hopefully, someone can help.

“Happy new year!”

It’s Nick Rye’s voice that comes through the phone, drunk and happy.

Happy.

When was the last time Staci was happy?

Don’t do it, Peaches. You think you’re strong, handle this on your own. You can do that, can’t you?

“N-Nick,” Pratt whispers down the phone, praying Nick will hear him.

“Hello?” Nick says, and Pratt can imagine him looking at the phone with confusion on his face. Staci repeats himself. “Staci! How are you?”

“I, I need Ro-Rook,” he can barely make sense of his words as they come out of his mouth, nevermind nick trying to listen over the phone. “Please, Nick,”

“Sure, bud.” Nick’s tone goes soft, the same way that he hates people doing, “ROOKIE!”

Their voice is soft and comforting, like a soft, bright hand reaching through the darkness.

“Staci!” They are cheerful, happy, tipsy. Honestly, Staci would have loved to be there, but he would’ve had a panic attack, or he would have got slaughtered and passed out somewhere he cannot get home from. “Happy new year, dude! You okay?”

“I-I-I need you,” Staci puts his head in his hands as he sinks to the floor, somewhat restricted by the cord. It’s just turned 2019- why do people still insist on corded phones? “I need you, Dep. He’s back...”

“Jacob?” They ask carefully, listening to Pratt’s cry and taking it as an answer. “Fuck- I’ll be there soon. I need to find a designated driver, though- give me twenty minutes and I’m with you,”

You’re weak, Pratt. You’re nothing. When the collapse comes, what then? Who are you fighting for? What is the point in your existence if you can’t protect and serve? I mean- that is your job.

It’s been five minutes since the phone call and Staci is sat on the toilet seat in the bathroom, holding a smashed bottle in hand. He’s not coping well with this. He’s not coping at all.

“S-stop. I know you’re not real,” he can’t tell if it’s the alcohol in his system or the trauma that is making him speak funny, but he hates it. It makes him look even stupider than he feels. “I know you’re made up by m’ mind...”

But you hated me, Peaches. Why would your mind think of me if you hate me?

“Ruined my life...”

Your life is pointless anyway.

Pratt takes a deep breath and pulls his legs to his chest, putting his head back and bringing the sharp glass to his wrists.

The Deputy pulls up outside Pratt’s house, asking Kim Rye- the designated driver- to wait there for them, then makes their way inside.

There is an exploded can outside, and all the porch is wet from what they presume to be beer.

“Staci?” They call when they get inside the house, looking around. The empty living room is covered in beer bottles and cans, and the very phone that Pratt had used to call Deputy is hanging by its cord. They furrow their brows in confusion and head up the stairs, to the muffled sobbing. “Staci-”

“I fucked up, Rook,” he says, washing his arm under the tap of the sink, pinkish water running down the drain.”I-I couldn’t help it, ‘n Jacob was tellin’ me I’m worthless, ‘n-”

Rookie takes Pratt’s arm from under the water and presses a towel to it- for the most part, it has stopped bleeding, but they look sore. “We can fix this,” they say quietly, kneeling down in front of him and looking him in the eyes.

They reach for a med kid under the sink and use the bandages to wrap around his forearm, covering the mess he made.

After a short period of silence, Pratt looks to Dep. “How was Sharky’s party?” He asks, trying to fill the stuffy silence.

Deputy laughs, raising their eyebrows. “It was… Er… Explosive...” He says, shaking his head. “I mean, fun, but… A lot of fire. Lotta fireworks.”

Staci smiles, though it is lacking all emotion.

“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have called you. I should man up and deal with it- I’m weak and-”

“Shh. I don’t mind.” Dep says, shaking his head. “Honestly. You call me whatever time you need,”

“I’m a fuck up.”

“We’re all fucked up, Pratt. That’s what they do, they play mind games with you.”

Pratt feels all the alcohol from earlier in his stomach, and suddenly, he is throwing up into the sink. When Rook first rescued him, they got back to the Wolf’s Den and ate some actual food. This caused him to be sick because when he was with Jacob, his diet was purely raw meat and rainwater. The good food made him sicker than a dog.

“I owe you my life,” Pratt then says, as Rookie helps him stand and guides him into the bedroom. “You don’t even understand, Dep. We would be nothing without you, and I’m so stupid because you helped me survive literal Hell, and now I’m out of there and I can’t even think right-”

“You need to sleep,” they say, not undressing him but helping him into the bed. “Come on, you’ve had a rough night. You don’t know what you’re saying,”

Staci closes his eyes, feeling worn, feeling defeated, feeling nothing but everything.

“I’ll come over in the morning, okay?” They say, holding his hand for a minute. “Rest. Call me when you wake up.”

“Is he okay?” Kim asks when the Rookie gets back into the car, putting on their seatbelt. Quietly, they nod. “Good. Wanna go back to the party or home?”

“Home, I guess.” They answer quietly.

“You know, you really have saved everyone’s ass. We would be nowhere without you. Pratt, Hudson, Whitehorse- everyone. We all owe you everything and we could never pay you back.”

[ask-joeydrewstudios]

Henry's Unfortunate Ink-antation, Part 4

[submitted by: @the-elusive-blue-skittle]

Now, truth be told, the toons were a little confused at first when Henry came to find them. AND he’s looking to cause trouble? That’s so unlike him! But at the moment, EVERYTHING about him is unlike him, so that’s something that should be expected. So, when the man-turned-toon came up to Bendy, of all toons, asking to help him cause a little mischief, you can bet that even the little devil himself was astonished.

Henry bounces in place excitedly, trying not to explode with raw energy.

“C’mon, just one gag! I’m dying over here!”

“Henry, pal. Buddy. Chum. Friend buddy chum pal pally. Think about this, would’ja? We’re talkin’ REAL TOON STUFF. An’ here I thought you wanted no part in that.”

“Well, I didn’t say THAT-”

“Stuff like this can be dangerous for a rookie like you. Are ya sure you’re up for the test?”

“Ohhhhh, ABSOLUTELY.”

Bendy pulls Boris down to eye level, whispering to him.

“Boris, I think Henry’s gone nuts already.”

Boris merely shrugs. Bendy turns back to his ‘apprentice’ and smirks.

“Well, Henry, I’ve got somethin’ that’ll knock ya socks off!”

Hearing this remark, Henry grins excitedly in anticipation for whatever gag Bendy may be pulling off. The little devil motions for Henry to follow him to the music department. The new toon nods and follows him silently, with a smile still plastered on his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two reach Sammy’s ‘sanctuary’ undetected. Bendy shushes his ‘apprentice’ and pulls him behind a dark corner, pressing tightly against the wall.

“You’re gonna wanna see this,” the demon whispers. Henry gets on the floor and peeks around the wall at Sammy’s door, which has been rigged with a trap connected to the pipes just beyond his door. Bendy takes a deep breath…

“SAMMY!!!”

The man inside his office startles, causing him to drop his almost-finished cigarette into his mug of coffee.

Sammy slams his door open, about to yell at the little punk of a toon before he is met with a face full of ink from the pipes, the flow so pressurized that it knocks him onto his back on the floor. He lets out a loud curse, wiping the fluid out of his eyes.

Bendy grabs Henry, who’s giggling like a Japanese schoolgirl, by the forearm, bolting up the stairs.

“YOU LITTLE FUCKING PUNKS! GET BACK HERE!”

The devil swiftly sets up two cardboard cutouts that look identical to the mischievous duo, both with blank stares and grins.

“This oughta do the trick… Shh! He’s coming! Quick, hide!”

The demon glances around frantically before pulling Henry behind a recycling bin. The devil shushes Henry, who is still wheezing like a madman.

Angrily storming up to ‘Bendy and Henry’ with a menacing glare, he yells, “YOU TWO! Who do you think you are, going around and fucking up peoples’ lives like-”

The ‘duo’ are revealed to be mere decoys as they clatter on the ground on their backs. Sammy’s eyes go wide as he brushes ink-soaked hair out of the way of his vision. “… That…”

A few employees, including Susie and Norman, walk past, snickering amongst themselves. Sammy gets all red and storms off in a fuss.

Henry and Bendy come out of hiding, share a glance, and start cracking up. Henry holds out a hand for Bendy to hi-five. Or… Hi-four. Smirking, the little devil slaps his pal’s hand with a wink.

“Good job out there, rookie! That was fun, wasn’t it?” Henry snorts with a smile. “Sure was, Bendy! What do you say we pull a couple more?” “Well, I think that’s a swell idea,” Bendy replies with a glint in his eye.

Henry’s the PERFECT gag buddy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The toons went on to cause a lot more trouble afterwards, from pitfall traps to ACME dynamite blowing up in peoples’ faces. Henry’s used more traditional ways of gags, drawing every prop or trap by hand. Bendy’s commented on how talented he is after losing that (gross, in the little devil’s eyes) fifth finger.

Wally is REALLY not appreciating all this work. This time, he had to go clean up ALL the ink that was spilled by Sammy’s door, AND fix the pipes in front of it. Thank God the ink running through the pipes in the music department isn’t demonic in any way. Normal ink is all the janitor can ask for at this point.

Sticking his overworked mop back in its designated bucket, Wally mutters, “If I’m touched with that solidified, noxious-smelling junk, I’m OUTTA here…”

One of the young man’s co workers overhears his agitated mumbling and comes over to see what’s wrong.

“Everything okay, Franks?” “OH, everything’s PEACHY after cleanin’ up after HENRY all day! It ain’t usually this bad, but guess what? ‘Ohhhh, let’s stick this on Wally! He’ll clean it up! It’s not like I’m the one who fell for the stupid prank in the first place!’ FEH!”

Wally continues to complain. Loudly. By the time he’s finished, he’s gathered a small crowd.

“I heard rumors about Henry from the staff lounge. What’s goin’ on?” “Huh? Oh, the guy’s a toon, but anyway, as I was sayin’-”

“Wait, what?” “Listen when I’m talkin’!” Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Wally continues, “The guy’s been a toon all day. But anyways, him and Bendy opened up the pipes in front’a Sammy’s office, and…”

Wally looks back down from the ceiling to see everyone scampering off in different directions of the studio, all wanting to see their toon-ified co worker for themselves. Wally stomps in an upset manner, though the shockwaves from the impact manage to knock his mop’s bucket over, spilling diluted ink EVERYWHERE. He lets out one big curse…

“SHIT!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joey’s employees… Aren’t doing any work. They’re all talking amongst themselves, asking if anyone’s seen Henry yet. This has never happened in the studio before! Well, except for that time with Sammy, except this time, someone’s been turned into a real, live toon! What kind of person wouldn’t want to see for themselves?

Some of the employees are positioned all around Henry’s department with notebooks to document if they see him running around anywhere. Where did Joey hire such nosey people?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, Henry’s in the music department, where there’s hardly anyone around due to the day drawing to a close. His little buddy is standing on his shoulders, reaching up to the highest shelf to retrieve an inconspicuous bucket, which would reveal to be filled with various, colorful wrapped candies. Hopping down from Henry’s shoulders, Bendy grins. “Jackpot.”

The bucket is set on the floor. Bendy picks out a peppermint disc, unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth. He stares at Henry, who is idly tapping his foot and nervously glancing around.

“Whassa matter, Henry? Aren’t’cha gonna have some?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.. I just feel like we’re being watched, is all.”

Henry picks out his own piece of candy, having difficulty unwrapping the sweet due to the loss of an appendage. He hasn’t had candy in quite a while. Leaning back on the wall and crossing his arms, Henry yawns, swishing the treat around in his mouth.

… One of the staff members has been watching them this whole time. She quickly scribbles down a picture of what Henry looks like, adding a description. She carefully tiptoes away from the duo, and once out of earshot, sprints to the staff lounge.

part one | part two | part three | part five | part six | part seven

[gigiree]

From Rouge to Noir

A/n: errr anyone up for a neighbors/soul mates/pen pals au?

Ch 1: Greetings

It's been a long time since she's felt any sort of expectation. Her circumstances have always been vaguely defined things. Nothing set in stone or with clear direction.

In her career. In her love life. In her friendships. There are very few things that can cling onto Marinette when she drifts as aimlessly as the fallen orange leaves do in the puddles that form in the street below. Even the little bit of wonder the world has blessed her with...a Soulmate’s first words...are vague. The letters curl in a messy scrawl across her slim wrist. Annoyingly lacking in detail. (At least they’re easy to hide underneath the red ribbon she always wears.)

The word “Hi” has nearly given her a heart attack on more than one occasion. So she's learned to stop hoping and has accepted that her Blessing, as the old ladies in her knitting club like to call it, is nothing to be excited about.

She also learned to approach life with that same level of expectation. She's learned to find contentment in routine. In the everyday humdrum.

So a change in said routine causes more discomfort than she would like to admit. Said change is brought about today with the arrival of a noisy white moving truck.

“Oh god. There goes my peaceful existence.” She says, rubbing absently at her mark. She stares out of her window, a little peeved as she watches the movers slowly empty the back of the truck.

She's keenly observed that so far, there's been a nice set of leather couches. A very Spartan bed frame in black wood. A really, really nice flat screen TV. And then assorted cleanly structured tables and lamps being carried up.

The day has devolved into a light drizzle, and she knows with certainty that all those nice things will be kept safe and dry in the apartment to the left of hers.

She can already hear the loud trudging up the stairs. (The elevator has a tendency to shudder horrifically when loaded up with furniture.) She laments that her blessed quiet existence is going to be interrupted, because her gut feeling is that this new neighbor is going to be a lot of ruckus.

So with her curiosity quenched for now, she heaves a sigh and plops herself back onto her little bed that is littered with fabric samples and torn out sketches of designs that don't quite please her artistic senses.

By the time the sun has begun to set, and she can see the pearly gray clouds tinged pink and orange against Paris, the moving-in noises have stopped. But it’s not their absence that gets her attention. It's the scrabbling noise at her window, the window set behind the old rusty fire escape.

The rain is still going and there's a woeful meow as a black cat begs to be let in.

And despite her better judgement, she lets him in.

The poor thing is wet and stares at her with wide, pretty green eyes.

It's now stretched out in front of her mini heater, purring loudly as she keeps working on her ideas.

“Shh. You're not allowed here...so please be quiet.” She says absently, but the cat keeps purring.

“You're going out in the morning. You're not even supposed to be in the building.” She says matter of factly, and the cat merely leaps up onto her bed, settling itself on all the fabric samples and rubbing it's head against her gray sweats.

“I'm not changing my mind.” She says quietly, wondering if this cat belongs to the new neighbor.

And her slight ire at the inconvenience is made worse by the suddenly loud bass that shakes her shared wall and the muffled strains of club music cross over into her little apartment.

“Great. Probably some rich entitled university students with a penchant for parties.” She mutters.

She rises with a growl, her lazy Sunday now ruined by her new neighbor and a cat.

Here's the thing about Marinette. She's a little passive aggressive. Entirely a sweet person to those who are considerate. She hates confrontation, and has been burned in the past by her share of horrible neighbors. In fact, she’d had to move to this complex after her noise complaints about her neighbor had gone unaddressed and it was discovered that the man had been hoarding pigeons in the apartment.

The resulting argument had lead to a few peckings by his feathery friends and a premature termination of her lease.

So she reserves her arguments for the written word.

Her letter is riddled with holes from where her pen had accidently punched through with the vigor and speed of her writing.

To whom it may concern

She shakes her head and scratches that out. Too professional.

Hey assh-

Too mean, even if his etiquette is lacking, doesn't mean hers should be. So she scratches that out and writes again on the same paper.

“Hello new neighbor,

Welcome to the building. In an effort to start off on the right note, I've decided to warn you about several things.

Mdme. Renaud takes complaints seriously. So I would advise lowering the volume on your music.

Pets aren't allowed in the building. I'm not going to say anything, but you'd be advised to take care.

The walls are thin, and I'm pretty sure your bedroom shares a wall with mine. I don't want to make assumptions, but please keep your volume, regardless of activities, low

Just a few tips, but I hope we can be good neighbors and that you find living here to be as peaceful as I do.

Sincerely,

Your new neighbor.”

She quietly shuffles out in her rabbit slippers into the empty hallway. By the time she's gathered the necessary amounts of annoyance and piled it into something vaguely shaped like motivation, the apartment is eerily silent.

She stifles a sigh of frustration, before taping her note onto the door.

Her eyes narrow a bit at the number in golden numbers that hangs just above the peephole

“413. So unlucky.” She shakes her head, and shuffles tiredly back into her apartment.

She decides to call it a night. Its not as if her work has any tangible deadline. Just the one that she sets in her own mind, the one that she keeps moving out of reach because she's not ready yet. Never ready.

The cat seems to understand her frustration, and while it butts it's head against her hand, it doesn't curl up next to her on the bed as she sleeps.

It simply stretches out near the quietly humming heater, that and the falling rain against her window are the only sounds she can hear now.

She doesn't know if she's grateful for that or just lonely.

---

The morning is a blur of activity. She'd gotten up a little late, on the third alarm to be exact.

She spends few minutes trying to shoo out the cat through the window and onto the fire escape. The day is sunny, save for a few clouds and that alleviates some of the guilt she feels when it finally steps out sedately, giving her an accusatory look.

“It's not my fault. It's in the contract.” Marinette explains, only to be met with a cynical green gaze as the cat finally traipses off onto the fire escape and makes its way down the stairs with indifference.

She rolls her eyes and finally sticks her head back inside, idly brushing off the lingering black cat hairs that had stuck to her sweats.

She gives one last melancholy look at the fabric samples and sketches now piled on her night stand, before dressing for the day.

She skips a wholesome breakfast, instead letting half a croissant dangle from her mouth as she ties off the black ribbon on the collar of her red blouse.

Red is her good luck color, and while she's still waiting on the courage to make her dreams a reality, she thinks a little luck can't hurt.

Still, her luck doesn't seem to be panning out much when she opens her door, and the annoying flapping of a paper catches her attention.

There's a note taped to her door, written in black permanent marker that bleeds so terribly through the page.

“Hi. Thanks new neighbor.”

There's a small, indistinguishable doodle on the bottom that she guesses is supposed to be a happy caricature of the author of said note. Unfortunately, the ink has spread and the messy splotches all over the page make this all an eyesore.

She flips over the paper just to make sure there's nothing else to read and gives a cry of dismay when she sees that the ink has gone through and stained the door. She can see the stupid little winking figure printed boldly onto the pale wood.

There's no way she's getting her deposit back in full.

[squishy-min-suga]

Best costume

Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: swearing, alcohol

Genre: Fluff

Word count: ~2k

A/N: My second fic, I accidentally published this wayyy late

✘——✘

Halloween.

The spookiest time of the year.

Full of ghosts, skeletons, ghouls, screaming kids, last minute costumes, and you can’t possibly forget every single possible thing becoming a ‘slutty costume’.

Slutty nurse? Got it.

Slutty cat? For sure.

Slutty Elmo? You bet.

But this year, picking out a costume had been the last thing to do. You had been too caught up with your friends and planning a good Halloween party to really care about your apparel.

Around 5, you had finally got the last bit of the food set out in your home that you managed to turn into a decent 'haunted house’ with just rolls of orange and black streamers, blackout curtains, some different colored lights here and there. Your friends and a few other friends of theirs are expected to be arriving in just a few hours. Giving you enough time to quickly gather a costume together just before they arrive.

“Brainstorm time. Let’s goooo-” Trying to pump yourself up to think of a costume, you ran to your room, nearly tripping over a pumpkin decoration on your way there. “Ideas, ideas, ideas. Hmm.” You opened your closet, shuffling through what you could think of quickly.

“Hm, maybe Where’s Waldo?” You mumbled, grabbing an old red and white stripped shirt, shaking your head and tossing it to the side.

You got your hands on an old graphic tee with a fake shell bra as the design, “Hipster..modern mermaid?” Scoffing you tossed the shirt to the side, “Yeah no.”

Idea, after idea, a pile of clothing had managed to swallow at least a fourth of your room. “Why didn’t I try to figure this out earlier.” You groaned before leaning back and flopping into the quilted sheets of your queen sized bed.

 After shoving a few shirts off your bed in a frustrated manner, you curled up into a ball and started reconsidering life without a costume. Slowly, your eyes closed, you had managed to tire yourself out from stressing so much about a Halloween costume that your mind drifted off into a light sleep.

–

Suddenly your ears filled with the sound of your phone going off, causing you to jolt awake. “Shit I fell asleep!” You started cussing yourself out as you desperately scrambled around to find your phone. Quickly finding the pesky device under a few pairs of clothes, answering whomever was calling you.

“Hello?”

“Y/N answer the door, we’ve been knocking for 10 minutes. Are you even inside?” The recognizable voice of Namjoon spoke softly, chuckling but easily could be losing his shit.

“Yeah! I’m so sorry, I passed out.” Hanging up, you walked over to the door, doing a mental walk of shame for not having a costume as you knew everyone would have some sort of fun outfit on.

Upon opening the door, you were greeted by the many faces of good friends dressed as spooky creatures, you smiled enjoying their creativity but feeling embarrassed for not having a costume as well. “Welcome everyone, come in.” You stepped away as everyone rushed in, looking around and complimenting the decorations.

“Y/N, you’re not in costume?” Hoseok knocked you out of your thoughts, looking him up in down in his silly flower costume.

“Yeah, I kinda forgot to get one and I fell asleep while picking out something.” You sheepishly replied, laughing softly. “Let’s just say I’m an adult who can’t really adult.”

Hoseok laughed and nodded, “So, yourself?” He teased, making you giggle.

“Well youre not wrong. Thanks Hoseok.” Just as you finished your sentence, he shuffled off to go talk with Tae, who you recognized as he was dressed as Snow White. You laughed at the thought of Taehyung as Snow White with Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jin, Jimin, and Jungkook as the dwarves. Thinking about it, Yoongi actually did look like a dwarf.

“Hey, Y/N.” Speak of the devil and he shall appear, literally. Yoongi had his teal hair slightly messy with a pair of dark red devil horns sticking out. He smiled softly as he had grabbed your attention.

“Hey Yoongs or shall I say Satan.” You rubbed the back of your neck, looking at the details of his face a bit more. You noted the dark eye makeup that he clearly didn’t do himself, his soft smile flashed the fangs he had.

“Yeah, I thought the devil would suit me. It also may have been the first thing I saw when I went to the costume store.” Yoongi sheepishly replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “But hey it works and at least I have a costume unlike someone.” He gave a quick up and down look at your casual outfit.

You reached out and poked his side, “At least if I did have a costume I would have put a little more thought into it.” You smiled, repeating the same poking motion in rapid succession before he swatted your hand away.

“Hey, I did put thought into this, do you not see my makeup, my fangs, or my outfit?” Yoongi made a gesture to the black ripped jeans with his white T-shirt tucked in paired with a worn out black leather jacket and black converses, laughing under his breath.

With a roll of your eyes you replied curtly, “That’s literally your everyday outfit, I already assumed those are the only pieces of clothing you owned.”

Yoongi shrugged, “I mean you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t put thought into it.”

“Mhm, sure. Well I don’t need a costume to drink, so, let’s get this party started.” You left the handsome devil behind as you rushed to the kitchen, passing by the radio and turning up the music that already had been playing.

Namjoon had already been getting into the alcohol as you made it to the kitchen. “Tsk, Joon, drinking without me?” He chuckled and passed you one of the few solo cups of liquor he had poured. Another hand reached and grabbed one of the other glasses, glancing up, you were a little surprised to see that Yoongi had followed you into the kitchen. He smirked slightly as he brought his cup to his mouth, quickly downing it.

Your competitive nature instantly saw this as a challenge of sorts, making you instantly chug down your first cup. You grabbed a second as Yoongi reached for his, making him raise his eyebrows before he started smirking again, his fangs a bit more visible. Soon you were in a mental competition with Yoongi, downing as many cups as you could. He really didn’t seem to care, just nonchalantly drinking the alcohol and making conversation with Namjoon.

——

You walked, well really shuffled, your way around the living room, making conversation with the other party goers as they listened, talked, or danced. Upon spotting Yoongi lazily laying on one of the couches, you shuffled your way over, sad that he wasn’t interacting with anyone. “Yoongi-” A whine spilt out of your mouth as you stood by the couch.

Yoongi’s eyes slightly opened, he raised his eyebrows whilst looking up at you while he was laying. “Yeah Y/N?”

With no warning what so ever, you sat down on Yoongi’s chest, causing him to cough.

“Yoongs you need to interact with people, its a party, not a sleepover.” You continued to sit on him even though he tried to push you off, his hands on your thighs.

“Y/N- Move- I don’t wanna interact with anyone.” He spoke grumpily, but you could sense the small laughter in his words. “Get off.”

You proceeded to move but instead of sitting you started full on laying on top of Yoongi. “Nah, I’m good, I’m gonna make you interact with me.”

He looked at you calmly, just blinking for a second before answering. “Well fine, but seriously you reek of alcohol.” He joked, cracking a smile.

“Oh hush, I won the competition of who could drink the most. So, in your face.” You stated and poked his nose, causing him to scrunch his nose up in return before sighing. “There was no competition, Y/N,  but whatever makes you feel better about your unhealthy habits.”

“Shh, no more words, I have an idea for my costume since it was a big deal earlier. I finally know what I wanna be.” You quickly strung words together in your drunken state, tapping your finger on his mouth. “How about, I dress up as your girlfriend?”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows once again at your proposition, feeling a smile coming on.

♡"Only if you stay in character all year"♡

[5hfanfiction]

you look happier, you do

Summary: After leaving the group for more than a year, Camila spends the day with the girls and she realizes, moving on isn’t as easy as it seems.

“Promise that I will not take it personal, baby, If you’re moving on with someone new,”

-        Happier, Ed Sheeran

xxx

Camila grips the steering wheel tightly, her palms sweating despite turning up the air conditioning to full blast. The beat of her heart pounds harder in her chest as she drives the car through a narrow driveway lined with palm trees on both sides. She steps on the breaks when she nears a tall wrought-iron gate, giving a minimal view of the not-so-modest two-storey classical villa. The sight of the humongous house already overwhelms her and she hopes it wouldn’t be the case once she meets the girls.

You can do this. You can do this, she chants the mantra mentally, hoping the little technique would ease the anxiety that’s threatening to take over. Her mind, unfortunately, isn’t cooperating so well as it begins to flood negative thoughts that she has been desperately trying evade.

God, what if they still hate me? I mean, sure, they said they didn’t actually hate me but they weren’t exactly ecstatic either with the turn of events. Though we all talked it out right? We’re all good right? Yeah, we are, like why else would they invite me over?

Camila nods at herself, finally finishing her internal debate with a huge huff. She relaxes the muscles of her shoulders, only now realizing how stiff she must have looked while driving. Her entire body has been tense throughout the drive, and that’s a solid forty-five minutes of staying perfectly still with a very uptight expression on her face. Not to mention the numbing sensation on her bottom.

Unsure on how she should make her presence known, she juggles her options fast before security could mistake her for some creepy stalker that’s managed to track Fifth Harmony in this quiet uphill neighborhood in California. She originally decides to climb out of the car, wrangle the gates and yell at some guard on duty or Ally to let her in (because she forgot to charge her phone before leaving the hotel, what else is new?).

But thank God she has saved herself from causing a scene after spotting an intercom, right next to her side of the car, that she could have sworn is a garbage disposal judging from its design. She lowers her window and leans in to press a red button.

“Hey, it’s me.”

There’s a loud gasp at the other end, “Hannah Baker?!”

Camila furrows her brows, utterly confused, “Um, no?”

An even louder and excited gasp comes through the static, “Mr. Pizza Delivery Man?”

“No…It’s Mila,” she answers carefully. Is she at the wrong house? She starts to wonder, choosing to reveal herself as Mila instead of Camila in case she has accidentally followed a different address on her GPS. With her clumsiness and her knack for embarrassing situations, it isn’t an unlikely occurrence.

To her relief, she gets a somewhat toned down response, “Oh. Who’s the baddest bitch in this town?”

 “The…what?” Camila tries to clarify, second guessing herself if she really did hear that question correctly.

“Can’t get in unless you aaansweeer,” the person sing-songs the last bit of her sentence with the intoxication in her voice clear as day.

Camila is slowly grasping the condition the person—a girl who she is more than acquainted with—is in, her lips quirking into a grin. Despite it being only two in the afternoon, the girls must have either raided the liquor cabinet or bought their own stash of alcohol and downed a couple of bottles since they have arrived. She takes her bottom lip with her teeth, deciding to play along their drunken game.

“Hmm, Dinah I’m sure.”

“Ha!”

“Wow, and I trusted you, Camila. This is like the betrayal of the century. Friendship ov—“

Another voice interrupts the two, “Mila! It’s Ally!” There seems to be some struggle as the older girl speaks. Camila can make out an argument between Normani and Dinah in the background, with the former fighting against Camila’s lack of judgement while Dinah mimics Normani’s every word in a childish manner. Ally continues, “Sorry about those two. They sorta went ahead with the party. I’ll tell the security to let you in!”

As soon as the gates open, Camila maneuvers her car onto a parking spot, a rush of excitement replacing the dread she has been feeling moments ago. Simply hearing their voices has given her this sense of reassurance that she is still in fact welcome to their little family, regardless of past events. Locking her car, she walks towards entrance porch to be greeted by Ally, all smiles and sunshine.

“Hey girly! I missed you!” Ally brings Camila into a tight bear hug which Camila happily returns.

“I missed you guys too,” Camila says, breaking their embrace. Ally directs her to the interior of the home that boasts beautiful furniture and a floor-to-ceiling height that’s as tall as three basketball players stacked together vertically (an analogy Camila has come up by herself of course). Her mouth hangs open in awe and Ally takes notice at her reaction.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I think beautiful is an understatement.”

“Dinah would be glad to hear that.”

“This is Dinah’s?!” Camila’s eyes nearly bulge out from their sockets with her voice echoing, probably reaching to every house in California. She wanders around the space, only then she is able to catch a couple of picture frames with the members of Dinah’s family. The size of the place would be more than enough to house everyone and Camila couldn’t be any prouder of her friend. They really have made it quite this far.

“Did someone summon the queen?” Dinah emerges into the living room, her make-up slightly smudged and a makeshift paper towel crown on her head. She trudges slowly to them, teetering sideways like a toddler taking its first steps. It takes Dinah a while for her to register her newly arrived guest, and when she does, she throws herself at Camila who manages to balance both of their weights.

“Chanchoo!”

“Hey, Cheechee,” Camila gives a sideways glance at Ally, signalling for help. Although she more than appreciates Dinah’s lovely warm welcome, she’s close to losing her strength and hell, sometimes she could even barely carry herself. So when Ally sees Camila’s knees buckle, she rushes to her aid and assists in carrying Dinah’s upper half of the body.

“I’m too small for this, Dinah!”

Dinah feigns offense at Ally’s complaint, “How dare you talk to your queen like that Allyso—oof!” the two girls drop her onto the nearest couch. Dinah splays her body all over the couch, arms raised above her head like in mock surrender.

The commotion must have attracted Normani since she staggers into the living room, mirroring Dinah’s arrival just minus the launching-herself-at-Camila. And unlike Dinah, she immediately notices Camila’s form and the way her face lights up guarantees Camila that she’s glad to see her as well. Normani rushes to her in her typical drunken fashion and sweeps Camila into another hug, adding a sticky kiss to her cheek.

Before Camila could say anything, Normani presses a finger to Camila’s mouth, “Shh, nap time.” Then she wedges herself in between the couch and a now sleeping Dinah who is snoring rather loudly. Camila’s not sure how but Normani manages to find some space and settles herself comfortably, succumbing to sleep.

Camila and Ally both look at each other before bursting in laughter.

“God, some things never change,” Camila says, placing her hands on her hips while watching Normani and Dinah sleep peacefully amidst the cramped space. Though there are other couches Normani could crash into but she figures she is much more comfortable there.

Ally shakes her head fondly and then observes how Camila’s eyes would dart to the hallway as if expecting someone or another familiar pair of arms to wrap her in an embrace. Camila may have been out of the group for more than a year now but in the given time that Ally has gotten to know her, she could discern very well the hopeful expression on Camila’s face.

Not wanting to ruin the mood, Ally takes her by the arm, “Dinah’s family won’t be here for two days. Why don’t I show you around?”

xxx

“And who says to leave my lonesome on my couch, alone, sleeping by myself?” Dinah bursts through the double doors of the music room, all heads snapping at her direction and cutting off their conversation. Her blonde locks are in disarray and she swats a few stray strands away from her forehead. Her slightly rumpled shirt has some water stains and the lack of make-up suggest that she must have washed her face before coming up.

“That was redundant,” Normani, who is now completely sober after a wonderful nap, comments.

“Needed to get my point across,” Dinah waves her pointing finger at them, to which Normani ignores and proceeds to bring her attention to Ally, who is seated beside her, scrolling through her phone and also ignoring Dinah’s outburst.

“The nerve,” Dinah dramatically puts a hand to her chest, scowling at her friends.

Camila is the only person to apologize, smiling sheepishly at the taller girl, “Sorry, you were out like a light.” She’s situated a feet away from Normani and Ally, resting on an armchair, just by the glass sliding door that leads to a balcony.

“Sorry not accepted, but maybe I’ll reconsider if given a performance?” Dinah squeezes herself on the chaise lounge, again ignoring other unoccupied chairs present, earning an annoyed glare at Normani whose butt is close to falling from her seat.

“Whatever you want, Cheechee,” Camila beams, ultimately accepting Dinah’s request. It hasn’t occurred to her that she would be able to relive this kind of moment again, without her feeling pressured or getting this sense of dread.

“Ooh! Let’s do a livestream!” Ally speaks up for the first time since Dinah has entered the room. She navigates her phone onto her Facebook page while the other girls agree in excitement, with the exception of Camila who worries that management wouldn’t be pleased with this at all.

“Can we really?”

“Puh-lease.It’s been more than a year and we’ve been seen in public lot of times. Nothing they can do now.” Dinah shrugs.

“Yeah, I agree with Dinah,” Normani nods.

Grabbing the phone from Ally, Dinah instantly begins the livestream without warning or introduction or whatsoever. She simply hits record and aims Ally’s iPhone at Camila who looks like a deer in headlights.

“Here we have Walz with Wonderwall.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Normani joins Dinah onscreen, surprised at the increasing number of viewers with comments ranging from a speculation of a reunion to people wondering why the hell Ally isn’t with them, when in fact, they are streaming through Ally’s Facebook page.

“Y’all don’t have to worry ‘bout Ally, she’s too short to reach the camera,” Normani jokes.

“I’m right here!”

“But they don’t know that ‘cause they can’t see you,” Dinah teases the shorter girl and doesn’t even bother to give her some screen time. Instead, refocuses back to Camila who arched forward, listening intently to the base of the guitar as she plucks at a string while skilfully tuning it.

More comments that make up of a bunch of song requests flash before Dinah.

Omgggg pls play a song

SING FOR US MILAAA

MY BABIEZZZ #OT5ButWhereIsLauren

SHOW US ALLY GODDAMNIT

SHOW US ALLY GODDAMNIT. please

can u play an ed sheeran song?

“Someone’s asking if you could play an Ed Sheeran song,” Dinah reads the latest comment, “Watchu think?”

Camila thinks for a moment, internally recalling the list of Ed Sheeran songs she knew how to play by heart. She stares at the ceiling, deep in thought, while the three girls patiently wait for her to come up with a decision. Seconds tick by and Camila’s head snaps back to its position, facing Ally’s iPhone, “I guess I could do Happier.”

“Ooh! I would like that!” Ally claps excitedly like a child high on candy as Normani gives her a double thumbs up.

“Well, here goes nothing,” And just how she does it before performing on stage, Camila takes a long deep breath then releases it noisily as if she were getting rid of all the nervousness. She puts her fingers into position, the other hand strumming against the strings to the first chord of the song.

“Walking down 29th and park I saw you in another’s arms Only a month we’ve been apart You look happier Saw you walk inside a bar He said something to make you laugh I saw that both your smiles were twice as wide as ours Yeah you look happier, you do Ain’t nobody hurt you like I hurt you But ain’t nobody love you like I do Promise that I will not take it personal baby If you’re moving on with someone new Cause baby you look happier, you do My friends told me one day I’ll feel it too And until then I’ll smile to hide the truth But I know I was happier with you Sat in the corner of the room Everything’s reminding me of you Nursing an empty bottle and telling myself you’re happier Aren’t you? Ain’t nobody hurt you like I hurt you But ain’t nobody need you like I do I know that there’s others that deserve you But my darling I am still in love with you.”

Camila stops abruptly and looks up because she’s getting this feeling of being watched by someone else, which she comes to find out is actually true. The astonishment on her face couldn’t be any obvious as she locks gaze with a certain raven-haired girl who is leaning against the doorframe, watching her performance absorbedly with those dazzling green eyes. It’s like she has forgotten how to breathe and speak, her voice hitching in her throat.

“Lauren! Get in here girl! We’re having—oh shoot, Ally your phone’s dead,” Dinah pouts and hands it back to Ally who regrets not charging beforehand. While the other girls whine about how the end of the livestream must have been disappointing to their fans, Camila unconsciously tunes them out with her vision solely focusing on her ex-bandmate and her mind swirls back to the past with memories of their conversations.

She remembers the time when they were having one of their too-many-to-count sleepovers, both of them on their bellies, watching a rom-com in Lauren’s bedroom. Camila is sixteen, with Lauren turning seventeen in a few months.

“Hey, I wanna tell you something.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“It’s…um…” Lauren fidgets with her fingers, brows knit together, “you know, it can wait.”

“You sure?” Camila angles her head so she could see Lauren’s face clearly.

“Yeah.”

“If you say so, Lo.”

Lauren doesn’t bring up the topic until a couple of months later, being in a similar situation as the first with both of them being alone, this time in Camila’s bunk.

“Camz.”

“Hmm?”

“You awake?”

“Mhmm.”

“I know it’s like four in the morning—“

“Mhmm.”

“—and I should be asleep but I can’t so I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, as in a lot, and uh, I shouldn’t be hiding this any longer ‘cause I really want you to hear this coming from me and—oh, Jesus never mind, I’ve babbled you into a coma, just forge—“

“Lauren I’m still awake.”

“Oh. I just assumed you—“

“Just tell me, Lauren.”

“I think…I think I…” Lauren sucks in a breath audibly, “I think I’m inlovewithyou.”

The words fell out of her mouth just as fast as she’s shut them. Camila is in disbelief, completely and utterly in disbelief that she isn’t sure on what to do so she tries to laugh at the situation because Lauren couldn’t possibly be serious?

“I’m serious.”

“We should sleep, Lo. Gotta be early tomorrow.”

Although they have never agreed upon the nature of their relationship, they let things escalate when they allow the undeniable tension between them go loose. This, of course, is hidden from the eyes of the public. Camila attempts to clarify things one time.

“What are we?”

“Friends, Camz. I don’t know if friends do some kissing here and there but we are friends.”

“Lauren…”

“Fuck. You know what? We should stop this. Yeah. I’m tired. I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

“Wait. It’s not—“

“Not what? Not like you’re ready? I get the same explanation for nearly three years, Camila, and I do my part and try to be patient but you do absolutely nothing.”

“…so this it?”

Lauren doesn’t answer, but her exit is more than enough to explain that things between them aren’t going to be the same.

It’s not fair! She wants to scream because her feelings are still a mess, Lauren is a mess, she is a mess and everything is a mess. She overlooks the fact that she hasn’t been fair with Lauren too.

Their relationship goes downhill, down the drain, out the window. Nada. Being in a room with both of them present is like waiting for a time bomb to explode. The situation takes a toll on the girls so they create an intervention, eventually the two of them make-up, but then again, things aren’t the same.

“Lauren, you’re late.”

“Sorry, had to pick up Luce on the way here.”

“She dropped you off..?”

“She’s coming with us actually. That’s cool with you, right? I already talked to the girls and—“

“Lauren, it’s fine. It’s cool.”

“Oh. Then, cool.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

But it was not cool.

“Wooh!” Dinah’s loud voice snaps Camila back to the present, jolting in her seat. The Polynesian has risen from her seat to stretch, “Jesus, I think you just got me sobered up with that performance.”

Camila rolls her eyes fondly, setting the guitar down to its stand, “Was that your version of a compliment?”

“Hey guys, I have your pizza!”

Their attention shifts to the person behind Lauren who has two boxes of pizza in her hands. She plants a soft peck on Lauren’s cheek, receiving an ear-splitting grin from Lauren. Camila feels this stinging sensation burning in her chest, just like how every time she witnesses that, but she doesn’t let it bother her, at least not on the outside. She masks her expression with a friendly face and a friendly greeting, “Hey Lucy.”

“Hi Camila,” Lucy sends her a smile, “Heard you sing from downstairs. Too bad I missed it, but I bet all that singing’s got you hungry,” she gestures the boxes of pizza at her.

Normani and Ally swiftly take one box each out of Lucy’s hold and they both disappear into the hallway, presumably running down to the poolside where Dinah suggests they eat. Dinah yells at them to be careful and not to drop them on one of the carpeted floors because that shit’s a bitch to clean and follows the two girls to keep an eye on them, with Lucy offering to help with the beverages.

Which leaves Lauren and Camila.

“Nice shirt,” Camila refers to Lauren’s The 1975 shirt under her black leather jacket. It’s her weak shot at preventing some awkward silences between them but it’s better than nothing. Though things are going good for them, Camila finds it somewhat a challenge to maintain her composure when she’s got some unresolved feelings for the other girl.

“You still trying to work that line?” Lauren raises an eyebrow playfully, folding her arms over her chest.

A blush creeps to Camila’s cheeks, reminding her of their first encounter, “God, it wasn’t even like that!”

Her defense only earns her a laugh bubbling out from Lauren, “Can you believe that was six years ago?”

“Shit, that long?”

I’m head over heels for that long?

Camila mentally shakes her head from that thought.

When Lauren’s laughter fizzles, there’s the silence that Camila’s dreaded but it isn’t awkward as she’s expected it would be, rather it’s a comfortable one. She wishes she has more to say, how she used to be when they were younger, when she wouldn’t run out of topics with her. Her curiosity slips out instead, “So, you guys gonna tell the whole world yet?”

Lauren doesn’t seem bothered by her question, “We thought we’d just let the fans figure it out.”

“I see,” Camila nods then points her finger vaguely at her, “You look good by the way,” it’s shy and very Camila-like.

“Pretty sure you’ve already mentioned you liked my shirt,” Lauren is smug and teasing, further easing Camila into their conversation.

“What I meant was, I’ve never seen you this happy and I just…it makes me happy too.”

Lauren’s smug dissipates into something else and there’s that glint in her eyes that reminds Camila of a pair of emeralds winking at her. The same eyes that she swears she will never get tired of admiring. The same eyes that held so much admiration for her. Reminder: held.

“Thank you…” Lauren unfolds her arms from her chest, “That means a lot…Camz.”

And there it is.

“I think I’m gonna go and grab a slice, you coming?”

Camila is still motionless, her own nickname ringing in her ears again and again but she manages a lame, “You go ahead, I gotta call my mom,” which Lauren buys and leaves.

When she is no longer in sight, Camila sinks back down to the armchair and buries her face in her hands. Her stomach is making her uneasy and her chest heaves with pain. But she doesn’t cry. No, she’s done too much of that already in the past year.

You’re doing great, Camila. You’re doing great, she gives herself a pat on the back because, yes, this is part of moving on. It hurts to see Lauren with Lucy. It hurts to see her kiss Lucy. It hurts to have Lauren call her Camz. It hurts to feel hopeless when Lauren causes her heart beat like crazy.

It plain hurts.

But she’s hurt Lauren more.

Lauren, who had been so patient, so understanding and so willing to wait.

As much as she wants to chase her, tell her how she has regretted everything, how she has realized too late, Camila doesn’t.

Despite this torture she’s going through, she knows she has made a lot of progress. She’s proud of how she doesn’t cry herself to sleep anymore. She’s proud of how she can sustain a decent conversation with Lauren. She’s proud of how she can bare to look at them hold hands and kiss while she’s in the room. She’s proud of how she barely thinks about it could still be her.

With the livestream over, she doesn’t believe she gives it justice if she doesn’t finish the song herself.

She retrieves the guitar from its spot and faces the glass sliding door, pushing it to the side to be greeted by a gust of wind. Camila takes in the air, and the shrieks and laughter from the girls below.

Placing the guitar on her lap, her fingers brush against the nylon strings. She opens her mouth to sing the last two lines of the song, but closes it immediately after realizing that the lyrics don’t seem to fit her current situation. Her heart sinks when she sees Lauren and Lucy, hand in hand, both giggling at something Lucy said. At the same time, she’s relieved that of all people Lauren had to be with, she had chosen someone worthy like Lucy.

Unbeknownst to Camila, Dinah quietly watches her out of her peripheral, the younger girl’s heart breaking when she catches the glistening tears that slide down Camila’s cheeks. With the lyrics altered to her content, Camila ends the song. Her lips curve into a sad but since smile, her warm brown eyes never leaving the two figures.

“I know she won’t break your heart like lovers do,

So I will let you go ‘cause I love you.”

xxx

a little ed sheeran songfic for you guys, had this in mind even way before i wrote i have questions for u and i only got around it today

hope you enjoyed it

take care everyone, especially to all those floridians out there

-keeks

[duckbehindthewheel]

Bad Science

The shower sputtered to a stop. Water, running icy from the strain the lengthy bathed had placed upon it, eased out of its flow and sighed as those old pipes do. Ezio stepped out of the stall and glanced out the bedroom window. It always felt like a gruesome symmetry when the skies were showering at the same time as you were. It was a revelation for Ezio, each and every point of the day, that his new home was anything but alien to him. He jittered a little getting his clothes on, and set off to the office to solve the matter with his partner. The office, really the kitchen, had no lights on, just the patchwork of silvery overcast light from the heavens. It graced just the slightest bit of the tile and, like a singer at a lounge, bathed the rigid back of a wary old Englishman, buttered muffin in his mouth and laptop open, two fingers pecking, just twice, then stopping. Ezio debates whether an entry clad only in his towel might have been more effective. "Ah..." And then he was stalling for words. Ezio did not have words. Not in the way the man before him did. No, the busy doctor would have a grand time of it, cutting his foolish thoughts down, making him feel as inadequate as he knew he really was. He should have played to his strengths, but alas. "Do you ever get any sunlight here?" When he finally asked this, Ezio's throat felt sore and scratchy. He wheezed a bit, and excused himself with a weak mutter. Doctor Coleman seemed to rotate his entire body to face Ezio. His face, hidden behind silver, spidery horn rims, seemed like a solemn mask of marble, not a human being who lived and breathed air. Why would Ezio waste his time asking the weather of statues? The doctor spoke, and his voice belied nothing of emotional note. "You are not used to England." His words were audible and clear, though he spoke silently, and though his lips were pressed to his steepled finger tips. Ezio nodded. "I'm sorry, I just, I know it's lovely here, I've loved every visit. I just don't know if I can stay in a place like this, you know, my work--" "--IN your work..." The "in" had cut into Ezio's rave like a schoolteacher's reprimand, and Ezio was once again met with his inferior thoughts of his own mental processes. "You have expressed greater results in your art through your limitations. You have severely lacked in limits as of late." Ezio was floored. "Can...I assume that's a compliment?" The doctor groaned with inconvenience and rose to his lanky, near seven feet. He looked down at his comparatively small Italian partner and suddenly broke the marble mask. His features crinkled into a bittersweet smile, like when he blissfully sucked on a lemon halfway through the day. On the days he participated in this ritual, Ezio always grimaced and reached for the sugar. "You cannot assume." The doctor replied. His hand sharply met Ezio's shoulder, a rigid facsimile of comfort. "You cannot assume, I will prove my statement as fact. Come." Doctor Coleman ushered his lover to the hallway that led to their bed. Ezio felt his face heat and his heart race. But when the doctor stopped to feature to a framed photograph, Ezio understood the evidence. The doctor gently grazed the frame with his fingers, which cradled a photo of Ezio himself. The young man was surrounded by a mound of tall grass, and the apron he wore twirled in the breeze. "I remember that," he grimaced. "I had to keep fixing my tripod because the wind knocked it down." The doctor nodded, but didn't seem to agree. "This is an excellent likeness, if you were attempting to resemble Miss Maria of The Sound of Music. A problem I would not endeavor to solve." This deadpan was the only staple of a Doctor Coleman joke. Ezio snickered. The doctor continued undeterred. "You are not met by any buildings in this shot. No roads. No pedestrians trying to enjoy this field. Only you." He held up a finger, and as if he were a magician, it seemed to urge Ezio to follow all the more than just the doctor's orders alone. Heaven forbid if he ever received a magic wand. "This." It was higher up on the wall, just a hair under the ceiling, but Ezio knew which photo the doctor preferred. Last December, Ezio had the bright idea to prop his camera up on a sailboat and take pictures as he modeled a nautical style outfit of his own design. He assumed the waterfront would make the scene more realistic. After three lazy hours of still waters and gleaming sunshine, the boat capsized, and heart everything was lost. Ezio, in tears, tried to capture at least a shred of what he had spent all that time accomplishing. And here was Doctor Ferris Coleman, his boyfriend, sorry, fiance, picking apart his modeling and photography in one fell swoop. He had to be making fun of him. Ezio started to tear up. "I get it, you think my job is silly. I don't care. I never thought physics were so awful. I'd never--" Coleman gritted his jaw and Ezio was too busy crying to notice until the doctor was kissing him. His glasses clunked off his nose when he pulled away, and he softly excused himself to adjust. "Please...let me finish." The doctor implored of his lover. His voice wavered, with desperation. Ezio said nothing, but nodded. He had never heard the physicist like this before. "This is an accidental triumph, for many reasons." The doctor began. He ran his finger along the photo to indicate various features. "The boat has caught some water after the capsize, here, and the light has caught the camera at just the angle you held your mobile device." The doctor refused to call the smart devices 'phones'. "Furthermore, the pattern of the boat's bearings is broken up by the texture of your wet shirt." Here, Doctor Coleman cleared his throat and blushed. He was not made of stone, for heaven's sake. "Lastly, your face. Here, the hair is marred across your eye, but the other..." He smiled that was little smile again, with a touch of reverence this time, "You are so sad. So terribly disapointed and bitter and furious from your wasted resources and travel and time, and yet..." He gestured to Ezio in front of him, in that magical little way. If he didn't work in physics, Ezio thought he'd make a great stage magician. He was certainly spellbound now. "You picked up another camera. You took a picture of what most would call a failure. And there...is where you captured the essence of the siren. That lost feeling, when you have nothing but the sea to take, and you too, resolve to take. A simple equal and opposite reaction, in this beautiful, experiemental environment, a capsized boat. Only you could take this, Ezio." The poor Italian was in tears now. "Ferris..." "Shh. You're too hard on yourself, love." None of the rigidity from the star of the morning remained. The doctor--Ferris--was all kindness in this moment, and he somehow seemed comforted himself. His smile was brighter, less bitter. Having said all those kind things about the man he loved, this incredible, innovative model, he felt lighter. And as the morning crept into afternoon tea, he lightened still. Some days, Ferris Coleman felt like a beetle in a terrarium. Pointlessly enclosed, but not a creator of consequence. He often felt a tiny kernel of resentment for his artistic fiance. When Ezio suffered from love self esteem, the physicist dusted off the bitterness of years and struggled to comfort the man he loved. And knowing he had done so kept him going as well. Ezio had given him a reason to live. Whenever he glanced at his engagement ring, Ferris imagined a point at the moment in time what he existed in that very instant, and another at his wedding with Ezio. He didn't need to be a renowned physicist to know the line was shortening every moment. And it was a comfort to him. In a world of change and chaos, Ferris sometimes believed that life was, in a way, a very bad, mischievous science, exacting its cruel manners and ill tidings in the unassuming and naive. He always thought back to his two points, and Ezio erasing the line each day, and that was all he needed.

[squick-writes]

The White Day Massacre

AO3 Link Rating: Mature Warnings: Gun violence, blood Relationships: Trip/Virus (DRAMAtical Murder) Additional Tags: White Day shenanigans + Yakuza bullshit (you’re welcome) Summary: Virus and Trip are laden up with gifts and ready to pursue somebody - but who will be their lucky recipient?

It was still March 14th for me when I posted this, shh. Read below or on AO3!

                                                                                                                  ♡  ♡  ♡

"If you eat all of those by yourself, you'll get sick again, won't you?"

"Don't care."

Trip was sitting slouched against the champagne-ivory cushioning of their sleek white rental limousine, his jacket open, his tie loose, untucked, coming out of its clip and dangling unattractively over his crotch. He stared straight ahead into nothing, lost in thought as he stuffed his face with one marshmallow after another. The decorative chiffon drawstring pouch was perched open upon his knee, already half empty.

Virus sat across from him at an angle, not quite as prim as he would normally be in the company of others but still somewhat more tightly held in demeanor when compared to Trip, who he had been watching for several minutes until he noted the speed with which the marshmallows were disappearing. Virus was very close to sighing in exasperation. Instead, he merely allowed his eyelids to flutter shut for the briefest instant.

"Don't you think that might not be such a good idea, on a special day like today of all days?"

Trip only paused for a second before offering the bag to Virus. "So help me."

"No thanks. I don't like marshmallows very much."

Trip put the pouch of marshmallows back on his lap and made a long, drawn-out, inarticulate noise of complaint. "We didn't even want these, did we? They just pushed it on us with everything else."

"Mm," Virus agreed. "Nothing sends a message like a generic, uncustomized White Day package. Although I suppose it's so extravagant that nobody should care. It's only a consideration, after all."

Having apparently been sated, Trip ceased snacking on the marshmallows and instead casually flipped the tag over on the enormous bouquet of flowers on the seat beside him to read the fancy hand-penned script off the back.

"They got the right names on, at least."

Virus hesitated a quiet moment, then reached forward to scoop his fingers into the abandoned bag of marshmallows still balanced on Trip's thigh.

"Maybe I will have one."

One turned out to be a couple, before they finally arrived at their destination: an office building towards the back of the Aqua Forest District of Platinum Jail. Stepping out of the limo, they carefully gathered their rather heavy sheaf bouquets of long-stemmed white flower arrangements from the backseat and Virus approached the security guard standing outside the glass front doors with a friendly smile.

"Good evening," Virus greeted him, bowing his head politely. "We're here to answer Suzuki-san's Valentine chocolate. It's to be a very special surprise for White Day, so could you please let us go up the back way? She works on the 10th floor."

The security guard, who by now had probably seen more than his fair share of White Day deliveries and seemed quite tired of it already, merely waved his hand for them to follow and directed them to the service elevator around the back of the building.

"Those are some big flowers," he commented as he unlocked the elevator for them. "Be careful swinging those things around, yeah? Might knock someone out." He shot them a cringe-worthy smile at his own joke before he left.

Trip chuckled lowly to himself the minute the doors closed, slinging his massive bouquet over one shoulder. "You think he got any Valentine's chocolate?"

Glancing sideways at Virus, something suddenly caught his attention.

"Oh. Shit," Trip muttered a curse, reaching out to rub his thumb over a gelatinous red substance that had stained the waist of Virus's white jacket in the mysterious shape of a fingerprint. "This blood?"

Virus twisted his body and pulled at the fabric to look, then clicked his tongue loudly in annoyance at his suit being ruined already.

"That's from you. Must've gotten some on your fingers from the jelly donuts you had this morning."

"Ahh.. Sorry," Trip grinned. "Those were good though."

"Mn," Virus responded noncommittally. He listened to the grinding of the elevator for a moment - no innocuous music playing for the service entrance - then looked down at his wide bouquet of flowers and buried his nose in one. "I used to be allergic to these flowers."

Trip was apparently thinking of something else entirely. "What do you like about doing this sorta thing?"

"Eh?" Virus looked up curiously.

"Like, what's your favorite part? I guess."

"Oh. I don't know." Virus folded his arms around the flowers. "I suppose it's fun to get dressed up and pretend. What about you, what do you think?"

Trip adjusted his stance slightly in anticipation, holding the bouquet over his shoulder with one hand and idly stroking the wrapping paper with the other. He both heard and felt it crinkle satisfyingly beneath his fingers.

"I like the way it slides right in.. and when it gets stuck."

"Fufu," Virus chuckled. "Really? Me too, I guess. But.. well, I don't like shooting inside."

The elevator dinged as it came to a halt and the doors opened.

"Here we are," said Virus. "Ready, Trip?"

"Yeah, yeah."

The inside of office buildings in Platinum Jail were brightly designed to promote better productivity; their digital holographic "windows" currently displayed a pleasant cloudless day, around 11 o' clock in the morning, which contrasted sharply with the permanent nighttime that encompassed the city outside. Virus and Trip moved past several glassy, new-age cubicles without attracting attention to themselves, silent but for the rustling of their suits and the flowers they held ready. They located the receptionist's desk in a matter of minutes.

"Hello," Virus greeted her brightly. "Suzuki-san? You are personal assistant to Ishikawa-sama, right? Is the head of the company in her office? We have a special White Day delivery surprise for her."

"And these are for you too," said Trip, reluctantly withdrawing a box of white chocolates from where it had been pinned inside the bouquet. "Here." He tossed it to the receptionist, who barely caught it. She was blushing harder than anyone he had ever seen.

"Oh my goodness, thank you.. May I ask who these are from? I've never heard of a White Day service like this before.."

"The names of our employers are on the cards," Virus explained, closing his eyes with a smile and tapping his bouquet. "But like we said, it's a surprise, so you'll have to wait and see."

"Of course! Come right this way."

The receptionist led them around the corner, where she knocked a few times on the tinted glass door to Ishikawa's office before entering and bowing to her superior, a stern-looking woman - visually in her mid-to-late thirties but probably older - with slight frown lines and her hair styled on top of her head in a neat black bun.

"Sorry for the interruption, but these men have White Day presents for you."

Surveying them with shrewd, glossy dark eyes, Ishikawa replied impatiently, "Did I not say to keep any gifts at your desk so I could come and get them later? I'm about to make a very important phone call to the mainland."

"Our instructions were to deliver this message in person. It won't take but a minute, we promise," Virus assured her smoothly. "Could you come stand over here so we can get your picture, please? Hold this too, if you don't mind."

Ishikawa seemed to be developing a smile in spite of herself. "Well, this is rather impressive.. I suppose I can humour you for just a moment," she said as she rose from her desk.

Virus pressed a white lily into the hands of both women and guided them closer together in front of the artificial window display. Once he had Suzuki and Ishikawa standing next to each other, flattering them with many briefly teasing, lingering brushes of his hands against their arms and waists, Virus stood aside to allow Trip to snap a picture on his temporary phone - the two women smiling against the faux digital backdrop of a sunny day - which he did while looking bored and balancing the cumbersome bouquet against his leg with one hand.

"Now, for the main event."

Virus and Trip knelt down before the two businesswomen, bowing their heads and holding out the bouquets lengthwise to present them by the base first, as if for the women to take hold of them, the heads of the white floral arrangements resting on their shoulders. Neither Suzuki nor Ishikawa noticed their other hands slipping into the flowers.

"Happy White Day." Virus and Trip glanced to the side to meet each other's eyes, then looked up at their victims. "From the Yakuza."

They waited just long enough to see the dawning horror in the women's eyes as they began to understand their situation, then squeezed their own respective triggers, having pushed the flowers apart and reached into the middle of the bouquets which disguised their weapons. Muffled by twin silencers, gunshots fired through the wrapping paper, which began to smoke.

Blood splattered backwards onto the white petals as the bodies crumpled to the floor.

The holographic window display behind them had also fractured violently, bathing the entire office in the calming artificial darkness from the coolly lit streets outside. Pieces of glass littered the carpet, some glimmering in the women's clothes and hair as the parts of digital screen that remained intact went haywire before shutting off.

Virus and Trip stood up, tugging their white camouflage rifles roughly out of the thick flower arrangements where they were hidden and sending sprays of loosened blossoms showering down around them. They carelessly dropped the rest of the bouquets to the floor.

"That should do it," said Trip, bending down to pick up the box of courtesy chocolates he had given the receptionist. "Shit, window wasn't s'posed to break though. Think anybody heard?"

"Most likely," Virus replied, suddenly sounding tired. "Although these buildings are designed to be pretty soundproof. Who knows?" He nodded to the woman Trip shot. "So, is there an exit wound or did it get stuck inside?" Virus asked, referencing what Trip had said he liked earlier.

"Dunno." Trip leaned back down to roll the body over. He took a minute to check for bullet holes. "Nope, looks like it went clean through. Must've been what broke the window."

"Oh well, that's a shame. Better luck next time."

"We've never shot anyone point blank with these before," said Trip. Wriggling out of his white jacket, the back of which was now covered in cherry-red droplets of varying size, he draped it over the deceased head of company and tucked it in around her shoulders. Apart from the stains, it made her look like someone who might have just passed out drunk after a night on the town. He snapped another picture on his phone. "More or less blood than you were expecting?"

"More," Virus grimaced in response. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

They got away by climbing through the broken window onto the fire escape, leaving the bodies behind amidst the mess of flowers, and hid their guns inside a dumpster behind the building, to be picked up later by one of their lower ranked yakuza associates.

"So, how should we celebrate?" Virus asked cheerily, back to his usual self now that he had divested himself of his own stained attire.

Celebrate what, Trip almost asked as he disposed of his tie and rolled up his sleeves, but then thought better of it and said instead, "Think that new cake shop will be crowded? We could grab one to go and think up a better story to tell the guys at the bar later."

"How can you even still think of eating," Virus began, his eyes narrowing accusatorily, "after consuming half an entire bag of marshmallows by yourself in one sitting?"

Trip shrugged, popping some of the white chocolate into his mouth.

"You've got blood in your hair, by the way," Virus pointed out.

Trip tried to do something about it, but only managed to rub it further into his scalp.

Virus chuckled. "Now you look like a red-head again."

"What? Nuh-uh."

"You do, your roots are showing."

Trip moved to catch his reflection in one of the nearby windows as they passed by, then rejoined Virus on his other side.

"Bullshit, shut up."

Virus laughed again, leaning closer for a brief moment. "You know for someone who eats a lot of sweets, you really have got a filthy mouth."

"I'll leave the sugar-coated words to you," said Trip as they rounded the corner. "So what are you going to tell the guys?"

"Well, we could pretend that it was harder for us to get in... Maybe you had to bribe someone with a kiss or two, hm?"

"What, and I kept them distracted while you did all the cool dirty work? Not a chance in hell."

"Okay, so maybe it was me who did the kissing."

"Better. Keep going." They had reached the busier street in front of the office building. "So what else did you do?"

Virus hesitated, looking for their car, then smirked when Trip poked him in the side. "I'll tell you the rest inside the limousine. You killed like six people though. It was a massacre."

"Sounds good. I wonder if the limo driver can supply us with popcorn."

"We'll probably have to kill him too."

THE END.

[suraj-singh1]

Contact Form Design: 5 Steps to More Leads & Contacts

It’s time to talk about conversions. Your business needs them, you want them, but how do you make sure that the form on your website isn’t costing you money? Let’s talk about five steps that you can take to ensure that you’re making money and your form converts, coming up next.

If you’ve watched this blog for any length of time, you know that helping small businesses grow is the core of our message and a lot of that revolves around marketing, i.e., how do you get people to your website or how do you get people to your store? But what happens when they get there? Let’s talk about your form. What do we need to do to make sure that the form on your website, the way that people contact you is highly convertible, easy, simple, doesn’t cost you money, and increases your conversions? Let’s start with step one.

1: Intent.

Now, this is pretty basic, right? So we’re going to go a little bit beyond the typical contact us form, right? The contact us form, it’s the name, phone, email, a little message description there that they can have and then just the submit button. Yeah, sure. Maybe you understand the customer is trying to reach you, but what’s their true intent? What are they actually trying to accomplish in their efforts to reach you? Now we’re just using the contact us form as an example. This could be any form, this could be pricing, this could be help or troubleshooting. This could be contacting sales, this could be free estimates, whatever. So let’s think about what the intent of the customer truly is and craft our form to help them answer those questions. If they’re really trying to contact you for support, then that needs to be something that the form itself is built to support, right?

And ensuring that the form is getting to the right place, getting to the right people so that your customer is getting the feedback and the response that they need as fast as possible. In fact, the faster you respond to forms will have a dramatic impact on the amounts of conversions that you get, and how many of these deals actually turn into customers. So the very first thing to think about, at its most basic level, is what is your customer’s intent and what is the intent of your form? Once you’ve got those figured out, we can move on to step two.

2: Give and take.

Now getting people to come to your website is its own array of complexities, but getting them to fill out a form can be even more difficult. So you kind of want to think about this as a teeter-totter. How do you balance what the customer’s asking for versus what you are asking for in order to provide the information that they need? Think about it like this. If you’re a roofer offering a free estimate, so is everybody else. There’s nothing there that you are offering that somebody else isn’t offering already. So there’s no real incentive or value for your customer to actually fill out the form. But if you’re a roofer who’s offering free estimates and also free shingle tiles or free shingle examples so you can color match to your roof and decide what you like. Well, now it’s a little bit different. Now you’re offering something new, you’re providing more value to me.

3: Don’t be greedy.

Now, initial and basic forms that come with most websites or even a lot of website developers will create. This, is just name, phone, email, and maybe a little spot for comments, and that’s really not enough. But some business owners really have a tendency to start to ask for a lot of information. You want the name, the phone, the email, then you start asking for an address, you ask for a mobile phone and home phone, you ask for a first name and last name in maybe separate fields. You start asking for what state they’re from. How did you hear about us? You’re asking all this kind of stuff. What you really need to consider is how much of that is mission-critical. How much of the information that you’re asking for is actually business-critical. Meaning if you don’t have this information, you cannot provide a good experience to your customer after they filled out the form.

Now, there may be a good business reason for why you need to ask for some of this information. Maybe you need to know what service they’re interested in so that you can route it to the specialist who knows about that service. Maybe you need their zip code so that you can send that lead over to the territory manager in their area who needs to call them. In that situation, this is business-critical. It’s mission-critical to be able to get that info to provide a great experience. What you want to do is distill down your form as much as you can so that you’re only asking for information that you cannot get later on the phone.

If you want their address, ask them. Don’t ask them on the form, ask them on the phone, because you don’t need the address, most of the time, in order to provide the service or answer the question. This goes back to step one where we’re wondering what the customer’s intent is. If there’s information on your form that you do not need in order to achieve the customer’s intent and solve their problem and provide great customer service, get it out of there, and you’ll see your conversions go up.

4: Design for the times.

A lot of people don’t consider this, especially if you’re building your own website, but the design of the form really truly matters. We live in a mobile-first, app-driven world, and we’re looking for convenience. So if your form is not suitable or not mobile-friendly, you can just go ahead and kiss those conversions goodbye. If it’s not easy to fill out and it can’t be done on a cell phone, well I’m heading out of here, I’ll go somewhere else. Other things to consider are, how does it function on the mobile phone? If somebody is filling out their zip code, do they have to go up and switch their keyboard and go to the numbers at the top or is the form coded in a way that it just switches over to the phone number or to the number pad, so on your phone, you just hit the big buttons, the phone number there and enter in your zip code, phone number, whatever that is.

Any little aspect of convenience there really increases your opportunity for conversion. Again, when we’re thinking about mobile-first, by reducing the amount of time that somebody is spending trying to fill out your form, the complexities of filling out your form, we’re talking seconds, and seconds matter. The faster it reacts, the better it’s designed, the easier it is to use across all devices, increases your conversions and the likelihood that when you call them back, the customer will actually pick up.

5: To be upfront.

So picture this, right? You’re driving somewhere, an hour out of your way, whatever, you’ve headed that direction. As soon as you start getting closer and closer to your destination, what’s the first thing that you do? You turn off the music or you turn down the radio or you tell the person next to you, “Shh, quiet. I’ve got to figure out where I’m going,” right? Just as people, the closer we get to this level of complexity or the further that we get to accomplish our goal, the more we try to eliminate distractions.

So if your form is creating distractions, that’s where you start to find that people won’t complete the form, they won’t finish filling it out. People also see this with abandoned carts, right? If you’re an e-commerce store, you probably are familiar with this, and you’ve probably lost a considerable amount of money to people that get there, they put the product in, and then they realize that there is a shipping charge, maybe they weren’t aware of that. Or they’re not aware of this additional fee or they’re not aware of who knows what they’re aware of. You’re asking for too much information, or it’s too complex, or it’s not easy to put in their credit card information, so they abandon it. People do the same thing with forms. If they don’t know where they’re going, they don’t know what to expect, and when they encounter something unexpected, they bail.

There are some easy ways to resolve this. A lot of it has to do with design, but the other aspects of it have to do with just being upfront. This is not a submit button. You get rid of that text, get rid of that phrasing. This is a free instant estimate. Now I know if I provide the information you’re asking for and I click this button, I’m going to get a free instant estimate. If I fill out this form and I provide the information that you’re looking for, I’m going to get immediate access to download my trial or to download my e-book or something like that.

All you’re doing is creating a roadmap so that the customer understands what they’re going to experience at what time during the form. If they know what to expect, they’re not going to look for opportunities to try to get rid of distractions. They’re not going to look for reasons to bail, and they’re going to fill out the form of providing the information that you need. These are important critical steps to be thinking about. As long as you can provide a roadmap, you start to reduce some of the anxiety and reducing the anxiety and the friction in your form is critical to increasing your conversions and blowing up your sales.

So there we go. There’s plenty of other levers or dials or things that we can tinker with on forms to increase conversions, increase customer adoption rates, and just increase the interaction.