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missymurphy1985 · 3 years ago

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The Groupie (part one)

Authors Note - this story is set in 2006 when Cillian starred onstage in the show Love Song.

Cillian has just turned 30, and has no children. Reader is a fan, has been since day one and is a plus size girl. I myself am a UK size 16, so I hope I don't offend anyone with my story (I'm writing about my own insecurities a little here so be kind please).

Also I apologise to any Neve Campbell fans - I'm sure she's bloody lovely but I needed a bitchy co star... Sorry!

Warning - smut (eventually)

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06

Waiting patiently in line, the man in front of you happily signed autographs and chatted with the girl in front of you. Posing for a photograph, he thanked her and turned to you.

"Had a feeling you'd be here y/n!" Cillian grinned, welcoming you into a warm embrace. You'd been a fan of his ever since that first stage show back in 1996. You and your mum had gone to watch Disco Pigs for your 15th birthday present, and you'd immediately been bowled over by the young man playing Pig. Since that first show, you'd been following his career and always made sure you were in the front row any time he returned to his theatrical roots. No different now - he'd just come off stage after the final show and was meeting his fans outside like he always did.

"I never miss a show Cillian, you know that! You were amazing as always." You held out your photo for him and he signed it, laughing.

"How many of my autographs do you have now, gotta be 100 or more?"

"Ah Cill, one more is never enough." He suddenly leaned in for another hug, which surprised you, and whispered in your ear.

"Meet me at the hotel bar in an hour?"

You didn't respond, you were in too much shock at what he'd said, when he winked at you and headed over to the waiting car, waving and smiling at his fans as he left.

You didn't need to ask which hotel - he always stayed in the same one in Dublin... But why would he want to meet you there?

************************************************************

You walked into the hotel lobby feeling extremely nervous. The security guard stopped you instantly, asking to see your hotel room key. You stumbled, before an arm draped across your shoulder.

"She's with me Mark, it's all good, yeah?" Cillian guided you through the door to the bar, asking what you wanted to drink.

"Erm... I'll have a small white wine.. please.." you looked around and saw the other cast members milling around and chatting to each other, paying no mind to either of you. Cillian pointed to a table in the corner while he headed to the bar.

Coming back, he placed a large glass in front of you and sat with his Guinness across the table. You raised an eyebrow at the large wine glass.

"What? We're Irish, we don't do 'small' y/n..." He smirked, taking a sip of his pint.

"Well, thank you. This is very kind Cillian, but I don't understand why I'm here..."

"You've followed me for 10 years. Always supported me. I wanted to do something to thank you for it all." You blushed, looking down at your hands, curled into each other.

"Cill, amazing show as always!! Blew me away," his co star, Neve Campbell squeezed his shoulder, kissed his cheek and gave you a quick once over, sneering.

"Thanks Neve. This is y/n - she's been a good friend since day one." Did he just call you a friend?

"Hi." She didn't smile, just looked you up and down and smirked a little. You instantly felt self conscious. You'd always been a larger girl - you'd recently lost some weight, but you were by no means a skinny girl. Neve would've fit twice into your size 16 jeans.

Cillian noticed your discomfort, and reached under the table for your hand, glaring at Neve.

"I think you're wanted over there." He pointed out the director of the show, and Neve turned to leave. Not before casting a backwards glance and chuckle at you.

Tears filled your eyes - you'd always thought she was nice but she'd just destroyed that image.

"Hey, hey no tears. She's a first class bitch and she doesn't deserve them," he squeezed your hand and took another sip of his Guinness, pushing your wine over to you.

"Sorry... Fuck sake I bet you think I'm a right eejit.. I better go..." You took a large gulp of wine and pulled your bag over your shoulder, standing up.

"Let me walk you home?"

"What?"

"Let me walk you home at least, it's nearly 11pm. I can't have you walking through Dublin alone at this time of night y/n.."

"It won't be a long walk Cill, I'm staying upstairs! Room 249!"

"You're staying in the same hotel as me?"

"Don't get weird, it was the only hotel with rooms spare - it is Bank Holiday weekend..."

"Then I'll walk you to your room at least?" You nodded, and he offered you his hand. Smiling nervously, you took it and he led you over to the lift.

You heard Neve and her friend snicker behind you and Cillian turned around, telling you to stay where you were as he walked over to her. You saw him pull her to one side and although you couldn't hear him, his words clearly had an effect on her as her face dropped and she looked to the floor embarrassed. He glared at her, before coming back over to you and leading you out the doors.

"Cillian I don't want to cause problems..."

"Show's over Y/N, I never have to work with the stuck up bitch again. Don't worry about it." You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying as you walked into the lift with him. He pushed the button for floor 2 and looked at you, his smile fading.

"Hey come here, don't get upset?" He wrapped an arm around you and you couldn't stop the tears. Sobbing softly into his leather jacket as he stroked your back.

"I'm so sorry... It's just... god look at me Cillian..."

"I do look at you. And you know what I see? I see a smart, funny, kind, caring, beautiful woman. Someone who any man would be fucking proud to have on their arm." He cupped your face in his hands and dried your cheeks with his thumbs. You looked up into his eyes and you were sure the world stopped for a minute. He smiled, your faces edging closer together slowly, before the lift pinged and the door opened. You pulled away quickly, pulling your key out of your bag.

"Thanks for walking me back... Sorry for embarrassing you..." You headed out of the lift and didn't look back. Opening your room door, you quickly went inside and closed it.

"Fuck sake y/n what are you thinking???" You scolded yourself, forehead leaning against the door as you caught your breath and steadied yourself.

You opened the mini fridge and quickly sank the small bottle of vodka in it, the warm liquid calming you instantly. You were about to get ready for bed when you heard the door knock suddenly. You opened it to find Mark - the security guard from earlier, holding an envelope. Handing it to you, expressionlessly, he walked away. You closed the door and opened the envelope.

Y/n,

If you're looking to finish what we nearly started in the lift, I'm in room 532.

Your breath caught in your throat - was this even happening? You steadied yourself again, taking a deep breath.

"What the hell do I do??"

#cillian murphy #cillian smut #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fanfic #cillian x smut #cillian murphy x smut

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qianinterprises · 4 years ago

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Hold Me Together, Break Me Apart

Pairing | Haechan x gn!Reader

Genre | fluff, angst, roommate au, college au

Warning(s) | bad language, cursing, slamming doors, broken door knobs, broken hearts, reader is mean to Jeno (for a kinda reason)

Synopsis | Your roommate is never far from your mind, especially when you need him to hold you together as you break from the stress of college life. But what happens when you break him by accident.

Author’s Notes | Thank you sweet anon for your request! I had so much fun writing this! I really hope you like it! I may also be posting a part 2, I haven't decided yet. What do you guys think?

Work Count | 2.9K

Tagging | @treasurehobi

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Exhaustion swept across your shoulders as you shoved your key in the tattered lock of your apartment door, wincing when the gears crunched as you turned the key. When the lock clicked, you moved the key back to its resting place before pulling back on it, attempting to free it from the snug hug of the gears. However, it seemed far too content buried deep in the edges of the lock.

With a groan, you turned the jiggly handle and pushed the door open, immediately being bombarded by the sounds of four yelling boys sitting on your couch with remote controls in hand. You had forgotten your roommate was inviting his friends over.

“Donghyuck,” you called, closing the door and walking deeper into the apartment.

You kicked your shoes off at the door and slung your bag into a chair.

Your roommate didn’t answer for a long moment, but when he did, he was distracted, not even sparing you a glance.

“Yeah?”

“My key got stuck again.”

Three times your key had managed to get stuck in the lock. All three times, Donghyuck had been the one to free it.

The male in question sighed as his fingers sped over the keys of the metallic control in his hand.

“I’ll get it out in a minute,” he said.

With a nod, you made your way to your room, seeking escape from the loud yelling of the boys in the next room.

As soon as the door was shut, you let yourself succumb to the emotions attempting to swallow you up. Your knees hit the floor, face buried in your hands as tears wet your fingers. Your shoulders shook slightly as silent sobs wracked through your body.

University was hard enough without the added stress of working, gnawing at your body and soul, pulling you apart piece by piece until your tender bits were exposed for the world to abuse.

College was meant to be fun. A time for parties and drinking. A time of self discovery while also learning more about whatever subject interested you the most. These days, your life was limited to taking four classes throughout the morning, taking an hour for lunch, before reporting to the restaurant across the street where you worked as a wait staff, taking orders and receiving too few tips to add onto your already poor paycheck.

The restaurant had been the only job hiring at the time, and you desperately needed the money. Your family had been supporting you, but when your younger brother dropped out of high school, they began spending too much money taking care of the son they’d ruined by spoiling. Your father could no longer afford paying your half of the apartment rent and, while Donghyuck hadn’t outright said anything of his displeasure, covering both halves of rent for two months, you knew the boy also didn’t make enough to pay the full cost and still be able to go out with his friends. You couldn’t do that to him. So you’d taken the first job that landed in your lap, and here you were, crying on your bedroom floor at 11pm, pondering the idea of dropping out of college all together and moving back home.

A knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts.

“(Y/N), can I come in?”

You quickly ran your fingers under your eyes, wiping away the dampness the tears had left, hoping your eyes were puffy enough to be noticeable. You pulled yourself up off the floor and grabbed your door handle, twisting it and opening the door.

“Yes?”

“I have your key- hey what’s wrong?”

He presented your key between his thumb and index finger, but as soon as his eyes caught sight of your face, he paused.

You felt tears prick to your eyes, but you fought to hold them back. You hated when people asked you questions like that when you were upset. It made holding back the dam of tears that much more difficult.

“Nothing.”

That should have been the end of it, but your voice cracked, and Donghyuck was stepping into your room, wrapping his arms around your middle, and pulling you against his chest. As your face connected with the soft material covering his shoulders, you felt the dam finally give way, a loud sob leaving your mouth as your own ars wound around him, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you bellowed against him.

His arms tightened around you, almost as though he were a bungee strap wrapped tightly around a crumbling box, there to hold it together.

“I’m so tired!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking hard. “I have three papers due by tomorrow night that I haven’t even started because I’ve had to work and when I get home I’m exhausted and I keep pushing it off and now I’m going to fail three classes and-”

You were cut off by his soothing voice, shushing you softly as his hand stroked your back the way he knew you liked.

“It’s going to be ok baby,” he whispered softly.

Your roommate somehow had a weird effect on you. Just by speaking in a certain tone, he could rile you up, make you sleepy, or completely put all your fears and nerves to rest. As you melted against him, allowing him to take the majority of your weight, you didn’t stop to ponder the nickname.

“What classes are your papers due in?” he asked.

His arms around your waist loosened, but neither of you let go.

“Literature with Dr. Wong, Grammar with Dr. Jeon, and History with Dr. Lee.”

“Come with me.”

With that, he pulled away from your hug, leaving you about to whine when he grabbed your hand and pulled you from the room.

“Does anyone have Dr. Lee, Dr. Jeon, or Dr. Wong?” he asked.

“I’ve got Wong,” the tallest of Donghyuck’s friends, you believed his name was Jeno, said.

“Have you finished your paper for his class?”

Jeno nodded.

“Will you come over tomorrow and help (Y/N) write hers?” Donghyuck asked.

“Sure!” Jeno said, giving you a reassuring smile.

“I have Dr. Jeon, but I’m not finished with my paper yet. I asked for an extension though and she gave me until Monday. Maybe ask for one too and then we can work on them together,” Donghyuck’s friend with dyed blue hair offered.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, nodding.

“Thank you Jaemin,” Donghyuck beamed.

“I have Dr. Lee, but you know he doesn’t read our papers right? As long as you have the buzz words he’s looking for, he’ll give you a good grade. I can email you my paper and you can just rewrite a few sentences so it isn’t total plagiarism,” the other, tiny friend answered.

Renjun actually happened to be in your class with Dr. Lee. You didn’t know why you hadn’t realized before.

“Now see! All you have to do is ask for help when you need it,” Donghyuck said, squeezing your hand softly before letting it go.

“Now, I have to get back to beating these losers’ asses, but there’s pizza in the fridge if you're hungry!”

Donghyuck leapt onto the couch, settling himself between Jeno and Renjun, retrieving his controller. Then they all were gone once again, back in their own world of screaming obscenities at one another as they fought whatever the zombie alien things on the screen were.

With a smile, you felt your body relaxed, muscles now not as tense as you as you made your way into the kitchen to retrieve the pizza he had mentioned.

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When the next morning rolled around, you were hauling yourself out of bed to attend your morning classes, but today, you didn’t feel horrible, like you wanted to crawl back under the blankets and sleep your life away. Perhaps it was the fact that you had the day off. Or maybe it was because your roommate had somehow taken all your worries and frustrations and made them easier to handle.

Like he always did.

Donghyuck was nothing if not reliable. He was always there when you needed him, whether it was getting your key out of an old lock or gluing you back together as you fell apart in his arms. He was always there to ground you. Maybe he could be annoying sometimes, especially when it was three in the morning and he was crawling in bed with you after having a nightmare, or when he’d beg you to make him hot chocolate every day in the winter because he always scorched the milk when he tried. Lee Donghyuck was the perfect person to share your home with. You just wished you could share the rest of your life with him too.

As your last class ended, you pulled your phone from your bookbag to find a notification to join a group chat from Donghyuck. Raising your eyebrow, you accepted, seconds later directed to a chatroom full of memes and video game references.

FullSun00: Finally she’s joined!

JenoJams: Cut her some slack, she’s been in class!

Jaemberry: She should just text in class like we do!

You: Texting in class prohibits learning!

ArtJun: I like this girl!

FullSun00: (Y/N)!! Meet us in the cafeteria!! We’re sitting in one of the back booths!!

You: Uh… Ok? I’ll be there in five.

Donghyuck was always adamant about keeping you away from his friends group chats despite the amount of times Jeno and Jaemin had tried to convince him to add you. Being invited now was a little odd, but odd didn’t fight the smile on your face as you shoved your notebooks into your bookbag and took off for the cafeteria.

When you got there, the cafeteria was full, as it usually was, but you managed to wind yourself around the heaps of students waiting in lines or moving toward their tables. You walked toward the back of the cafeteria where the most popular seats were, cushioned booths that were alway crowded.You scanned the area looking for Donghyuck, but in the end, it was Jaemin’s blueberry hair that led you to them.

“How did you guys manage to get a booth?” you asked, taking off your backpack.

The booths had long seats large enough to fit three or four people on either side, tables stretching long enough to encompass everyone's plates with plenty of room to spare. It’s part of what made them so popular.

Jeno took your backpack from you, passing it across the table to Jaemin who slid it under the booth where it joined the pile pressed against the wall.

“We got here an hour ago. We tend to spend a few hours here. Easier to eat our fill that way,” Jaemin said.

Renjun snorted.

“Jeno and Jaemin are like human vacuum cleaners. It takes many servings before they’re satisfied,” he laughed.

You shook your head, eyes scanning over the table before realizing that someone was missing.

“Where’s Donghyuck?”

“Miss me already?” your roommate's annoying voice spoke from behind you.

You whirled around to find the man in question standing there juggling two cups of soda and two plates filled with food from the pasta bar, which happened to be the most popular bar and incidentally, your favorite.

“I figured you’d be hungry and I know you love your pasta,” he said.

He moved around you, placing both plates and drinks on opposite sides of the tables before sliding in next to Jeno. It was only then that you realized the second plate was for you.

“Donghyuck… you didn’t have to-”

“Hush and sit,” the male said, looking down at his plate.

If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought the man was blushing. But this was Donghyuck you were talking about, and Donghyuck didn’t get embarrassed or blush.

You sat yourself down by Renjun and lifted your soda to your lips. As soon as it hit your taste buds, you sighed happily. Donghyuck knew you so well. He knew exactly what you’d want to eat and drink. He was perfect. He’d make the perfect boyfriend…

“Hey (Y/N), after lunch, you want to head back to your place to work on that paper? I’m done for the day,” Jeno asked.

You swallowed the noodles you’d just shoveled into your mouth.

“Sure! I’m done too! And the apartment will be quiet because Hyuck has class!” you shot a teasing smirk in Donghyuck’s direction, earning yourself a glare.

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Lunch seemed to fly by and before you knew it, Jaemin was handing you your bookbag as you all grabbed up your plates, ready to relinquish your booth to someone else.

You bid goodbye to Jaemin, Renjun, and Donghyuck, all who were heading to various classes while you and Jeno made your way across the street to your apartment complex.

Stepping inside, your key thankfully didn’t get stuck this time. You tossed your bookbag onto the couch before flopping beside it. You grabbed your laptop off the side table. Jeno took a seat beside you, opening his own laptop.

As soon as the screen to your laptop turned on, you let out a loud yelp as one of your many images of you and Donghyuck together met your eyes, Donghyuck’s sun-kissed face grinning at you through the screen. You typed your password in hastily, but it was too late. Jeno’s face blossomed into a teasing, shit-eating grin that you wanted to slap away.

“So… Donghyuck huh?”

“I don’t know what you're talking about!”

Embarrassment made your stomach churn.

“How long?”

There was no hiding it. Jeno had seen your computer screen. While most university girls had images of baby animals or their favorite band as their lock screens, you had your favorite person to stare back at you.

“Since I moved in…” you mumbled.

His eyes widened.

“And you haven’t told him yet?!” he gaped.

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“You told me!!”

“No, you found out, there’s a big difference,” you corrected.

“Well are you going to tell him?” Jeno asked.

“Of course not! Why would I tell my roommate that I’ve got a big fat crush on him?!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe because he could like you too?”

“Psh, yeah right. Come on, let’s get to work.”

“(Y/N)-”

“No Jeno. I may practically be in love with the man, but why would he ever like me?! He is everything and I’m nothing. He’s the full package with so much to offer some lucky person who steals his heart. I have nothing to offer him but stress and insecurities. So can we please just get to work on this paper and forget about him?!”

You didn’t realize you had tears rolling down your cheeks until Jeno brought his hand up to cup your face, gently running his thumb under your eyes to wipe away the tears softly.

“You’re not nothing. You’re everything,” he whispered.

There was something in his voice. Something that had you drawing closer to him. His eyes flicked down to your lips and back up to your eyes. Your head buzzed with want, blissfully unaware to the emotions of your heart as Jeno’s lips met yours.

His lips were rough, chapped. They pricked yours almost uncomfortably, but they were warm and moist. It had been so long since you’d had such a moment with anyone. So long since you’d last been kissed that perhaps your judgment was impaired as your lips moved against his.

But all too soon, reality was coming to slap you in the ass. This time, in the form of the apartment door opening and Donghyuck stepping through, a gasp leaving his lips as he caught his best friend and the girl he’d fallen in love with locking lips on his couch.

Your lips quickly separated from Jeno’s at the sound of someone intruding. Your eyes became as wide as saucers when you noticed Donghyuck standing in the threshold of your home.

You shot up from the couch, nearly knocking your computer to the floor.

“Hyuck! I can explain! We-”

“Don’t bother.” His tone was so icy it tore right through your heart.

He slammed the door and stormed off to his room. You jumped as his bedroom door slammed shut with a hard wham that made the walls rattle.

“I-... I…”

More tears pooled in your eyes as your hands began to shake.

“No…” you whispered.

Jeno stood up from the couch and made a move to wrap his arms around you, to comfort you, but you lurched away from him.

“No!” you screamed! “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Your breathing was heavy. Anger ripped through your veins. You knew it wasn’t entirely Jeno’s fault, and it wasn’t fair of you to scream at him like it were, but you couldn’t help it. Standing in the wake of a big mistake, you had no other option but to be angry, because how would your roommate ever like you now if he thought you were dating his best friend.

“(Y/N) please-” Jeno began, but you cut him off.

“Was this your plan?! Get me to fall apart so you could put me back together when he walked in?! Do you realize how fucking messed up that is?! I confided in you! I told you how I felt! And you kiss me?! Then he walks in and you try to hug me?! I don’t like you Jeno! Not like I love him! You are not, nor will you ever be, Lee Donghyuck! So just get out!”

You weren’t typically a rude or mean person, but as Jeno looked down before packing up his laptop and scurrying from the room like a puppy with his tail between his legs, you couldn’t help feeling like you’d just lost two great friends.

Maybe today wasn’t a good day after all.

#nct one shot #haechan x reader #ficscafe #lsn.works #nct haechan #haechan x you #haechan x y/n #gender neutral reader #stress #roommate au #college au #broken hearts #nct dream #slight jeno x reader #swearing #hurtful words

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oureuphoria · 5 years ago

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Worst of You - JJK 05

You meet him under horrible circumstances but that doesn’t stop you from developing a very abnormal and completely unsolicited crush on your local hot police officer™. Too bad you have a bitch of a best friend, anxiety and an inability to learn from your mistakes which cripples your chances to be with the man of your literal dreams. Oh, and he has a lifetime’s worth of emotional baggage at 23.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” “Cool, I’ll let everyone know that you’re moving in then.”

Genre: fluff, angst, comedy

Pairing: officer!jungkook X collegestudent!reader

Word count: 2,521

Note: If you don’t imagine that vine of the kid taking a sip of his mother alcohol when Y/N takes a sip of the wine then I will be very disappointed.

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 |

It was 3:15 and Jungkook was nowhere to be seen. You decided to play a game to distract yourself but you (ironically) lost track of time prompting you to completely miss Jungkook’s arrival which prompted him to watch you curse at geometry dash for a good 7 minutes. He cleared his throat to get your attention which startled you, enough so to have you fumble your phone to the ground with a loud bang that had a couple of people looking your way.

“So, where’s my congratulations cake?” You asked while simultaneously checking your phone for blemishes. Fortunately, the screen wasn’t cracked, unlike your cool moments ago. “The best I can do is a muffin, take it or leave it.” You giggled in response but the sound mellowed down into a soft silence. It wasn’t awkward at first but you quickly got fidgety under his stare.

“So I needed at least 90% to maintain my 4.0 GPA but I got 89.9% and my professor refuses to round it. Can you arrest him for that?” The question may have sounded playful but you were in no way kidding. One more slip up and you could kiss your scholarship goodbye. “No. Y/N, 89% is great, don’t stress.” You nodded with a forced smile that Jungkook hadn’t noticed (or if he did, he didn’t comment on it) and for that you were grateful.

“Look, I know this is kind of sudden but I need a favour?” You hummed in reply, gesturing for him to continue. “Do you think you could baby sit my kids.” You dropped your phone again in shock and Jungkook facepalmed in shame. “My brother’s kids! Not mine, I don’t have kids.” He reached for your phone while you did and your hands touched for what could be described as a split second. You - being the melodramatic pre-teen that you are - had to suppress the urge to squeal at the very minor touch.

“How old are they?” You loved kids (aged 3-9) but babies scared you and you wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. “My niece is 7 and my nephew is 4.” “I can babysit them but are you sure your brother won’t mind?” Jungkook winced at the mention of his brother. He was quiet for a moment before he started shaking his head disapprovingly. “We just won’t tell him.” His fear was almost comical and you would’ve laughed if you weren’t afraid the sound would break him.

“They’ll be in good hands. Trust me.” And he did, he just hoped his older brother would too. “So, when am I babysitting them?” “This Friday, if that’s okay? They’re staying with me for the weekend but I have a work dinner scheduled that night so if you could occupy them from around 6-10 that’d be great.” You gave him a thumbs up in approval, mouth full of strawberry cheesecake. “Thank’s Y/N. I owe you.”

You didn’t mean to leave your roommate in the dark about the two children that would be occupying your dorm for a few hours but the entire ordeal slipped your mind. In fact, when Jungkook showed up on Friday, you had been completely unprepared. “Oh, hello…” You waved at the kids who moved to hide behind their uncles legs - an act you remember doing before you were too big to hide behind people. Once your eyes had trailed down though, your focus shifted to Jungkook’s gorgeous thighs and your thoughts took a sharp 180. He was clad in black trousers and a slightly unbuttoned dress shirt and to say you weren’t practically drooling over him would be a lie.

“Okay, Luna take care of your brother. Alan, don’t break anything.” He lectured them cutely and you wondered how he ever managed to yell at hardened criminals with that soft face but you’d seen him mad and he definitely wasn’t a force to be reckoned with. The children nodded dutifully and you couldn’t help but smile. They were so small and cute and you were quickly finding yourself becoming quite excited to hang out with them.

“They both haven’t had dinner yet but you can feed them anything, Luna is really well behaved but she can be a bit sassy. Alan has an issue with grabbing random things but if he gets too out of hand just give him his iPad in his bag, he’ll know what to do. Okay, thank you so much. I have to go, bye!” Jungkook spoke so fast that you almost questioned if he spoke at all. You turned to the kids with a sheepish smile and a simple question to break the tension. “So, who want’s to play Just Dance?”

After a night of G-rated video games, McDonald’s and a very self-indulgent amount of baby Yoda, both kids were finally asleep on your couch and Alex had just gotten home. “Hey, who are the kids?” She quietly set her keys down before walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water, her eyes trained on the mini people draped over your couch. “They’re kids I’m babysitting; for a friend.” She nodded absentmindedly and you assumed from her quiet demeanour that something was off. You decided to ignore it. “So, um, we have a dorm inspection in a month. You should probably clean your room.” She waved you off with a nod and a flick of the wrist while she made her way to her room. You sighed and looked at the sleeping kids. “She’s not going to clean her room is she?” You whispered to particularly no one.

It was around 11pm when Jungkook eventually showed up. He scooped both of the sleeping kids into his arms and bid you farewell without a second to spare. The apartment suddenly felt empty and a nagging headache began to become apparent.

You let yourself fall back onto the couch with a huff, this was the life you were destined for. You were everyone’s second choice. The back-up plan, the plan B. You were a constant in a world that was continuously changing and yet you weren’t even a good one. You couldn’t dwell over your uselessness for long though. You had a paper to write and feelings for Jungkook that you needed to get over.

Unfortunately for you, Alex was upset and when Alex is upset she does some pretty reckless things. Like, calling her ex-boyfriend, for example who is now not so quietly comforting her in the only way he knew how. The Jimin way that always - without fail - keeps you awake for far longer than you anticipated.

You walked into your morning class the following day with a giant cup of coffee and a pair of sunglasses to hide the pain that glowed in your baggy eyes. You couldn’t keep the glasses on during the class though and just as you took them off, Jimin rushed to make a snarky comment.

“You look like death today.” “I blame your high pitched moaning, daddy.” Jimin might’ve been aroused by your use of his (not-so) secret kink but you looked like you wanted him dead and the venom dripping from your voice proved it. “At least I’m getting laid.” You rolled your eyes and decided to not press further. The two of you could argue till the end of time and in that moment you just needed to focus until the end of the class.

After 96 dreadful minutes of your human anatomy teacher’s droning, you managed to make it out of the class alive but not without catching the attention of William who was now chasing you down no matter how hard you avoided his gaze. “Hey, Y/N.” You smiled forcefully and hoped that your exhausted exterior didn’t come off as bitchy - but that was a stretch. “The officer told me that the attacker had no motive for doing what they did, so don’t worry, they’re not out for you or anything.” William smiled, laughing a little at the joke you seriously didn’t mean to crack. Did you even make a joke? You needed sleep, and fast.

The rest of the day went pretty much the same. You continued plaguing your college campus like a cast member of the walking dead with barely any purpose and motivation. Because the world hated you, you didn’t get home until 6pm and your exhaustion pretty much decided you’d be skipping lunch and dinner for whatever semblance of sleep you could get.

You were in the midst of brushing your teeth through the dull ache of your tiredness (because dental hygiene is important, you’re not scared of the dentist), when there was a knock on your door. You assumed it was Alex who had a history for forgetting her keys but when you opened the door, clad in iron man themed pyjamas, you were met with Jungkook who was visibly, not Alex.

You might’ve asked something like why he was here or how he got through the building door but your toothbrush was still in your mouth and the situation was getting awkward. “Get dressed, I’m taking you to dinner.” You gave him a weird look as you held your hand out to ask him to wait. You rushed to the bathroom to finish brushing your teeth before returning to the door which Jungkook was leaning on to tell him, “but I brushed my teeth.”

Jungkook scoffed at your excuse with both astonishment and annoyance. “It’s 6pm.” He retorted while his eyes skimmed your very small dorm to sit on your even smaller chair. “I wasn’t planning on eating!” He waved you off before taking out his phone. “Go get dressed so I can repay you for the babysitting.” You gave him a small glare, although you were hungry, you were more tired and all you wanted to do was sleep. “Couldn’t you have just given me $20 like any other person?” Jungkook doesn’t move his stare off his phone while he replies. “Where’s the fun in that? Now go get changed.”

You stuck your tongue out at him (even though you knew he couldn’t see it) before stomping off to your room to change into something more appropriate. Judging by Jungkook’s choice of fancy attire, this was probably going to be some fancy restaurant where you couldn’t pronounce anything and everything cost more than your rent so you decided to wear a light pink dress. You didn’t spend that long getting ready, in fact 90% of the time you were trying to fit all of your necessities into a tiny (impractical) purse because it was the fanciest thing you owned.

“You seriously wore a dress with sneakers?” Sure, expecting a compliment or a simple wow, Y/N may have been a little delusional but you certainly were not expecting him to insult your precious pink Fila disruptors. You didn’t reply as you trudged behind him with a scowl on your face.

“Where are we going, anyway?” You asked with a voice laced with annoyance as you stepped into his terrifyingly fancy car. You didn’t even want to know how much that thing costs to insure. He didn’t answer your question which you found pretty rude but the glare on his face stifled any complaint you were going to make. You watched Jungkook drive which would’ve been a lot more innocent if he wasn’t smirking every 3 minutes and annoying you even more.

The entire drive was composed of awkward silence and unanswered questions before he eventually he pulled into bright driveway before getting out handing his keys to the man who ran the valet service.

Wait, valet service?

“This looks expensive, honestly I would’ve been fine with the $20.” You whispered to Jungkook before you walked inside but all he did was chuckle. “Y/N, it’s fine, it’s just a restaurant.” That, was a blatant lie. It was one of the most renowned Italian restaurants in New York and it was incredibly hard to get into but of course you didn’t know that so you were up for a pleasant surprise once you opened the menu.

“Oh shit, this is no-price-on-the-menu fancy.” You whispered to no one in particular but Jungkook picked up on the incoherent sound. “What?” “Nothing!” You quickly squeaked out. You were not going to let a simple menu intimidate you. Unfortunately, the entire thing was in Italian and you failed all the language classes that you took in high school.

“Order whatever you want, yeah?” Jungkook was hoping you weren’t intimidated by the prices but unbeknownst to him, that was the last of your concerns. You nodded slowly; too focused on trying to comprehend what the menu said. “You know what, I’ll just get whatever you get.” Jungkook looked at you with masked concern that you wouldn’t have been able to notice if not for his revealing eyes. “Why? Do you not like Italian?” “No, it’s not that. I just don’t know what’s good here so, I trust you.” You lied straight through your teeth with a cunning smile that even had you fooled. Jungkook nodded and didn’t say much more. “Well, I usually get the steak.” You could feel the panic settling in. You hated steak - with a passion.

“I lied, I don’t know how to read this menu at all.” You blurted out before he could call the waiter and braced yourself for his degrading laugh. He did laugh but you were thankful for his guidance after. He explained pretty much the entire menu to you before you decided on getting some kind of pasta.

After Jungkook had ordered, (you’d rather stay out ordering food unless it’s completely necessary) another waiter followed quickly after and asked if you wanted any wine. Jungkook nodded but the waiter assumed it was for the both of you so he poured you a glass as well. You watched Jungkook’s eyes widen in fear when he noticed but before he could say anything the waiter was on his way. You looked at the glass with obvious fascination that Jungkook was positive on shutting down.

“Y/N if you drink that I will literally arrest you right here." “Yikes, okay, I’m sorry.” Your apology was sarcastic but he relaxed nonetheless; a mistake, on his part, because you were immediately picking up the glass to take a sip anyway. “Y/N!” You didn’t hear Jungkook berating you over the deafening scream of your tongue as the disgusting liquid went down your throat. “That was horrible, how can you drink that?” You spoke through your coughing fit while Jungkook carefully removed the glass from your grasp, calling a waiter over to take it away and bring back a coke instead. “You’re an idiot and now a convicted felon.”

You gave him a sheepish smile in return. “I was curious…” He shook his head in disapproval but didn’t press further; he found it hard to stay angry at you. You spent the rest of the night trying to make him laugh with your really (subjectively) funny dad jokes. He didn’t laugh but you blamed it on his dead sense of humour which Jungkook thought was a reasonable excuse.

“Y/N.” You cocked your head up to look at him with a frustrated expression. Who knew pasta was so hard to eat? “What?” You tried to say though it came out muffled as you tried to eat. “It’s sad watching you eat.” “It’s not my fault the pasta is so slippery!” He grabbed the fork out of your hand and effortlessly spun the pasta around your fork. You scoffed in astonishment but Jungkook decided to ignore your frustration. “Open.” You felt like a toddler, Jungkook (a grown man) was feeding you (an allegedly grown woman) pasta because you couldn’t figure out how the mechanism worked.

After you finished eating, the room was engulfed with an awkward silence. The distant voices and the clatter of cutlery filled the void although it wasn’t nearly enough. “So, you up for dessert?” You shook your head quickly, you were so exhausted you could’ve sleep right on the uncomfortable chair. “I’m too full.” Jungkook nodded and asked a waiter for the bill. You curiously tried to take a peek at the total but Jungkook snatched the bill towards him before you had the chance. “Think of it as payment for taking care of my niece and nephew.” It seemed like a little too much for just babysitting but you knew there was no point in arguing with him.

The entire car ride was quiet. You were too busy trying to conjure up the courage to ask Jungkook out (properly) and Jungkook was too busy trying not to crash the car. The moment his car was in front of your building, you blurted out the question before you could stop yourself. “Jungkook, can I ask you a question?” He was a taken aback by the abrupt question but he nodded nonetheless.

“I um… I like you, a lot and I just don’t want to get my hopes up and expect anything from you because that’s unfair and of course I don’t expect anything now I just…” You trailed off once you realised you had been rambling but Jungkook didn’t seem to notice. His expression seemed entirely indifferent and you wondered if you had even confessed at all.

The silence was getting incredibly uncomfortable so you tried to diffuse the situation you had unwillingly created. “It’s fine if you don’t! It’s just a crush. I’ll get over it eventually so really-” Halfway through your rambling, Jungkook crashed his lips onto yours and you froze. Now, you’ve been kissed before, but never like this and the lack of warning shocked you enough to have you accidentally bite the poor man’s lip. “Ow. What the fuck Y/N?” You began apologising profusely while he held his lip and though the mood was definitely ruined, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry! Are you okay?" “I’m fine. Goodnight Y/N.” You were about to leave the car before you quickly turned around and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then you hurriedly screamed ‘thank you’ and sprinted into your dorm building. Jungkook drove away with his heart heavy and his mind racing. He may have just ruined his entire plan.You on the other hand just realised you never got an answer.

#jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts fic #bts

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camillemontespan · 5 years ago

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suitor no. 6 [interview with camille montespan]

@moonlightgem7 @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @burnsoslow @pug-bitch @jovialyouthmusic @ibldw-main @emichelle @sirbeepsalot @saivilo @notoriouscs @katedrakeohd @mskaneko @gardeningourmet @dcbbw @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat

Knot Magazine has launched its series to shadow each of the suitors competing for the Prince's hand in marriage. Last week, we followed Lady Hana who showed us how to master embroidery and play the piano. The week before, we were taught basic French, Italian and Spanish by Lady Kiara.

Which brings me to ask what our last suitor can teach us. For this issue, we introduce Camille Montespan.

Miss Camille Montespan. Not a Lady. Not a Countess. Just Miss.

In case you have been living under a rock this past month, Camille Montespan was found in New York and brought back to Cordonia to compete against the best of Cordonia's noble ladies for Prince Liam's hand in marriage. She is being sponsored by House Beaumont, which in itself is a huge deal and shows that of Bertrand Beaumont has faith in Camille, then surely she is the true winner.

Camille bursts out laughing at this assumption. 'Oh honey,' she says, wiping tears away. 'Bertrand Beaumont has no faith in me at all.'

... If this was a documentary, the sound of crickets would be played right now.

********

Camille is 27 years old and a native New Yorker. She was raised by her grandmother and was a waitress before she came to Cordonia. 'I didn't go to college,' she tells me as we sit down for coffee. 'We couldn't afford it. My grandma always felt really guilty about that but honestly, I didn't mind in the slightest. I preferred working.'

Working as a waitress.

She blinks at me. 'Yeah, it's actually not as easy as it looks. You got to keep customers happy, keep service flowing, prioritise your workload, stand on your feet for 12 hours and all with a smile on your face.'

Potential Queen right here, clearly.

Look, I like the girl so far. She's polite and friendly, quite warm actually. I want to get to know her. But surely she finds it crazy that she is in this competition?

'Oh, 100%,' she tells me. 'I know it's insane. It laughs in the face of Cordonian traditions. But you know what? Sometimes, change is a good thing. It means you're evolving.'

I'll admit she's quite wise.

**********

For our first night together, we are attending a ball at the palace. Having lived in the palace for a month now, I wonder if Camille has become adjusted to her new environment.

She rifles through dresses in the boutique as she considers my question.

'Kind of but in a weird way,' she replies. 'I still find it strange having a maid come to clean my room and everything. I tried to help her tidy once and she told me off, apparently I should let her do her job..'

I ask if she is quite self sufficient. Camille nods enthusiastically. 'Definitely. Always have been. I do things myself and just get on with it.'

This is a far cry to the other suitors who have staff on call. Countess Madeleine has someone who's only job is to sort out her wardrobe. As in, keep it tidy. Picking clothes up off the floor. Glamorous, right?

'I always think the best way to judge a person is how they treat service staff,' Camille divulges. 'Basically, if you're rude to a waiter, maid, cleaner, whatever, you're a dick.'

She is also the only suitor to use.. colourful language.

She draws out a gold silk dress. 'Ooh I like this.. What do you think?'

I look at the dress and can't deny it's beautiful. I tell her it would suit her colouring. She has the most luminous, caramel skin. Camille blushes and hugs the dress to her body. 'This is the chosen one!'

She is like a little girl playing dress up. Camille may have gotten used to the palace but clearly, having a boutique is still a novelty.

'When all I wear are jeans and oversized sweaters, sometimes it's fun to act out a fashion montage in here,' she whispers conspiratorially. She throws a feather boa around my neck and cries, 'Fashion montage!'

She stops when she notes my confusion. 'Oh god,' she says, a look of horror etched on her face. 'I've been hanging out with Maxwell Beaumont too much..'

*********

Despite being a commoner, Camille manages to look regal once she is ready for the ball. Her dark hair is pulled up into a chignon, her eye makeup is smokey and she wears a delicate gold arm cuff.

I tell her she looks really pretty and a bright smile spreads on her face. 'Thank you so much!'

We meet with Bertrand Beaumont, the Duke of Ramsford, and his brother Maxwell, before we traipse down to the ballroom. As we walk down the corridors, I hear Bertrand whispering rules to Camille. 'Dance with Prince Liam, smile always, don't drink too much, always be on your guard.'

I ask Maxwell what he thinks of Camille. He flashes me a smile. 'She's awesome,' he says. 'Really nice and she isn't like the other ladies in the competition. Like, I can actually talk to her without feeling judged. She's become my friend.'

She is actually the most relatable suitor in the competition which gives her an edge over the other ladies. But relatable isn't the only thing a queen should be.

When we enter the ballroom and greet the Prince, Camille dips into a curtsey and addresses him properly. She acts like she is in control. When he takes her by the hand and guides her to the middle of the room to begin the Cordonian Waltz, everyone watches.

She moves fluidly. It's clear she's been practicing. I look around the room and see the other suitors watching her with distaste, except for Lady Hana who is smiling.

I spot a dark haired man wearing a denim shirt in the corner. He is nursing a glass of whiskey, the only person in the room who has rejected champagne. He is also the only one not dressed in formal wear which is unusual. His eyes are fixed on Camille.

I find myself unable to stop watching him watching her. His eyes never leave.

It is only when the dance finishes and Camille and Prince Liam break apart that the man averts his eyes. The journalist in me knows there is a story here.

I join Camille who invites me to sit beside her. We are joined by Lady Hana and Maxwell, who is carrying a bottle of champagne.

'Drake, come join us!' Maxwell calls out.

The man in the denim shirt comes over and sits on the other side of Camille.

I decide to ask what he thinks of my interview subject. Does he think she is up to the job of becoming queen?

He looks surprised to be asked. 'Uh yeah, I guess so..' he answers.

Camille rolls her eyes. 'Such glowing feedback!' she teases.

Drake smirks and tosses back his whiskey. 'That's the best you're gonna get out of me, Montespan.'

Camille nudges his shoulder with her own and he smiles softly.

There is DEFINITELY a story here.

************

The next day, we are going to a barn raising. I don't know why but it seems to be an event to show that the suitors can get down and dirty.

Countess Madeleine feigns a headache. Duchess Olivia is keen to use an axe to chop wood -she told me in her own interview that she happiest when weilding a weapon.

Camille opts to wear denim shorts and a black vest with converse. 'I've never built a barn before but hey, first time for everything,' she tells me, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

I ask her what she thinks of her fellow suitors. She chews her lip thoughtfully. 'Hana is really kind,' she tells me. 'We got on instantly which is really nice. I was worried I wouldn't make any friends here but she and Maxwell have proved me wrong.'

I ask if Drake is a friend. She shrugs. 'I think so? It's hard to tell with him..'

I push on, saying they looked friendly at the ball last night. Camille quickly picks up her rucksack. 'Enough talking, let's build barns.'

*********

The sun is boiling and everyone is sweating. Camille takes out a bottle of water and hands me it, which is actually quite sweet. 'I've got one for myself,' she says.

We join the group. Prince Liam greets her enthusiastically. 'Are you ready to build a barn?' he asks.

'Let's give it a shot,' Camille answers. 'I've not been to the gym in forever though so maybe don't count on me for heavy lifting..'

'Don't worry, I got your back, Montespan.'

Ah, it's Drake. Or, Denim Boy who is Hopelessly In Love with Camille as I like to call him. I called it first folks.

Denim Boy is not wearing his denim shirt. In fact, dear reader, Denim Boy is shirtless.

Camille looks at him. Her face turns red and she looks away to speak to Maxwell but her eyes keep looking at Drake and his lack of a shirt.

Nobody else notices except me and him. I know he has noticed because he is starting to look distinctly proud of himself. He occasionally looks over at her with a smirk on his face.

Is this going to be an issue, I wonder? Camille is in the competition to marry Prince Liam and right now, she looks like she has forgotten Liam even exists. And he's trying to engage her in conversation right now!

Oh this is awkward. So awkward. I've never written a love triangle before.

Okay maybe I'm overthinking. Maybe this is not a love triangle. Maybe this is just me trying to find a twist for this article. Maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there.

'So, who wants to join Drake to help him pull beams?' Liam asks.

Remember how Camille mentioned she hadn't been to the gym in a while so she can't be counted on for heavy lifting?

Remember?

She volunteered to help Drake.

*********

I am umming and ahhing over whether to include this next part. If I don't include this, I am failing at my job. So, I will write this next part and you will keep an open mind about our last suitor.

Camille breaks rules.

Suitors are to be chaperoned at all times by their sponsor. It keeps them on the straight and narrow and their reputation intact.

But this suitor is different.

I heard her door shut at 11pm. We are staying next door to each other while I shadow her and I hear everything.

Naturally, I open my door quietly to see what is happening and sure enough, Camille has snuck out. I would like to say that she maybe left her room for a midnight snack but she is wearing a coat and is walking quietly.

At the end of the corridor, Drake appears.

It is my job as a journalist to report on what I see. And what I see is Camille sneaking out of her bedroom to go gallivanting with Denim Boy!

I suppose I was half right though. She is going for a midnight snack.

**********

I ask her the following morning if she slept well. She nods and pours me a cup of coffee. 'I did, did you?'

Oh I bet she did.

Reader, I am caught up in this drama! Oh its delicious!

'Did I hear you leave your room last night?' I ask casually.

She keeps a straight face. 'I didn't leave my room last night.'

I like to think we are becoming friendly but clearly, Camille is sticking to at least one of her chaperone's rules. She is on her guard.

We are due to attend afternoon tea with the suitors and Prince Liam. Camille admits to me that she has never been to an afternoon tea in her life. She looks embarrassed by this admission. My heart tugs for her.

If there is one thing that's obvious about this suitor competition, it's that it's each woman for herself. Backstabbing and bitching comes as a side dish to our macaroons and cakes, but Camille stays out of it, instead choosing to socialise with the more friendly suitors such as Hana and Penelope.

I see Lady Kiara is talking to Denim Boy who looks like he would rather be somewhere else. I notice that Camille keeps her eyes away from Drake and instead engages in conversation with Penelope about poodles.

It is interesting to be here. I am an outsider looking in. Prince Liam always speaks to Madeleine and Olivia, however whenever he gets a free moment, he manages to speak to Camille.

I watch as he takes his chance and slides his chair over to Camille and Penelope, greeting them both with smiles.

Penelope soon leaves the two of them, which only prompts Liam to lean in closer to Camille. He is looking at her like she is only girl in the world. He pours her another cup of tea and hands her the cup; their fingers brush. Camille quickly draws away and sips her tea.

She is his favourite. I can see that now; everyone can. I look around and see Madeleine primed to leave her conversation with her mother so she can pounce on the prince. I see Olivia settled back in her chair, a glass of champagne held to her lips - Olivia told me she can’t stand tea- and her eyes are fixed on Camille and Liam.

Liam calls over Drake who joins the two of them, his jaw set. He stands behind Camille’s chair so he is facing Liam head on. Only I see his fingers brush the top of Camille’s shoulders, touching her bare skin.

Camille soon stands up and I see her make her way to the restroom. Liam looks after her. I seize my chance to steal a moment with the prince and Denim Boy.

I take Camille’s seat, introduce myself and Liam says hello to me with a warm smile on his face. He is a kind man, as everyone knows. He has laughter lines and his lips are always upturned in the corners so it looks like he is always smiling.

‘What do you think of Camille Montespan as your potential wife?’ I ask. I see Drake look away and he clears his throat, making an excuse that he needs to speak to Maxwell about something.

‘I think she’s got a very good chance,’ Liam says coyly. ‘From what I’ve seen, she’s conducted herself with grace and she is kind to everyone she meets. If I’m honest, I am actually in awe of her.’

I ask him to explain. He grins. ‘Well, she’s not a noble. She’s been thrown in the deep end, having to learn about Cordonia, our traditions, etiquette, royalty.. I imagine it hasn’t been easy for her and I think it’s a true testament to her character that she has managed to excel at everything she has been presented with. Clearly, she is a dedicated and intelligent woman.’

I wonder how often he gets to spend time with her. If she’s a favourite, surely Liam sees her all the time?

He laughs. ‘Hardly. To be honest, whenever I ask her to meet me in the evenings, she is always busy or tired.’

My mind flicks back to when she snuck out of her bedroom but I don’t say anything. Do I feel a sense of loyalty to this woman?

I am about to ask for more of his thoughts but I’m interrupted by Madeleine who has approached him. I take my leave and go up to my room to take notes.

************************

That evening, I am sat with Camille at the window of her room. She is dressed in silk pyjamas and has her legs tucked up underneath her. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun and her face is free of makeup. She looks youthful but also quite tired. Clearly, this past month has been exhausting for her but she takes it all in her stride.

I ask what kind of princess she would like to be. Camille exhales. ‘That’s a loaded question..’ she says quietly. ‘God, I feel like I’m a child again, you know how some kids want to be princesses when they grow up? Um, I guess I want to be fair. Fair and kind. I also want to make a difference.’

Her voice sounds off.

Is she counting down to the ball when Liam makes his decision?

‘My whole life will change if he picks me,’ she tells me. ‘I’m actually really nervous. Is that silly? I just keep thinking, here is this man who could pick you, who has told you that he can offer you the world, but then you catch yourself wondering if you really want it.’

She breaks off, knowing she has said too much. I ask if she is having doubts because she isn’t a noble and this is a completely different world. A fairytale.

Camille nods, looking away from me to look out the window. ‘Yeah. That’s it,’ she whispers. ‘It’s because I’m not noble.’

She doesn’t sound convinced.

*****************************************

Camille turns out to be really good at sailing boats. She also rides horses well and can dance like she’s been waltzing since a young age. In this short space of time, Camille has learned how to excel at every task she’s presented with and Bertrand Beaumont is starting to be more complimentary about her whenever I see him.

‘At first, she was like unformed clay,’ he tells me seriously as we watch her ride one of the palace horses. ‘But I have moulded her to be good at everything. She is challenging ideas that commoners can’t do what we do. She is a wild card. A dark horse.’

He sounds like he likes her now. Bertrand chuckles. ‘I do, actually. She is good friends with my brother now and I always admire people who are keen to learn. At first, she was a little flippant but I think she decided to just buckle down and get on with it.’

I ask if he thinks she will win the competition. He shrugs and flashes me a wide smile. ‘I have no idea,’ he answers. ‘But that is a stark contrast to when I first met her and I thought, ‘oh dear god no.’

*******************************

Camille dances beautifully tonight. She is wearing a green silk dress and her hair is tousled around her shoulders. I watched her get ready and she spritzed her hair with coconut spray that smelled delicious. For fun, she spritzed my hair too, and joked, ‘Don’t give away my hair secret!’

She danced with Maxwell, who twirled her around and they laughed constantly. I am aware of her secret shadow who is sitting in a corner, his eyes on her the whole time. I decide to join him.

Drake is wearing a suit. For once, he is dressed up which makes a nice change. He looks good. Really good. He is still drinking whiskey though, but hey, baby steps.

I ask why he doesn’t ask Camille to dance. He reddens and tosses back his whiskey. ‘I can’t dance,’ he tells me bluntly. ‘Plus she would only say no.’

Camille wouldn’t say no. Not because she likes him but because she isn’t rude. Of course she would say yes.

I tell him so and he smirks. ‘Trust me, it’s better this way.’

Liam soon interrupts Camille and Maxwell. Camille is handed to Liam and the two of them waltz around the room. I see Drake clench his glass. This whole tortured romantic persona is starting to grate. I want to tell him to just ask her to dance. But to do so would ruin this article. I am here to profile Camille and her efforts to win Liam’s affections, which she is doing. I am not here to encourage a love triangle, no matter how much I see this being the situation.

Camille bursts out laughing at something that Liam says. It’s a real throaty laugh and it makes some courtiers turn to look at her. Even when she isn’t meaning to, Camille commands attention.

That is what a princess and future queen needs to do.

Drake stands up and leaves the table without saying goodbye. He leaves the ballroom. His whiskey glass is still half full; I pick it up and sniff. It’s incredibly strong.

*************

The following night, we are staying over at Applewood. The day was pleasant and Camille helped plant an apple tree at the orchard, flashing a warm smile to the cameras. The public are there and applaud. Out of all the suitors, she is the only one to crouch down and give the children cuddles.

I can see her winning this competition.

I was later back to my room as I was enjoying a drink at the hotel bar with Bertrand. He is actually quite fun once you get to know him. I now have an invitation to the next Beaumont Bash in my pocket and I will be sure to report on everything I see.

As I walk back to my room, I see a man I haven’t seen before running towards me, a look of sheer terror on his face. He has a black eye. I try to stop him but he ignores me.

I get to my room and hear crying from next door.

Concerned, I am about to knock on Camille’s door, but I’m stopped by the sound of a male voice inside, murmuring. I don’t knock. I can’t ruin her privacy.

This is when this article gets complicated. I want to report on everything I come across but to do so is an extreme violation of Camille. The woman agreed to meet me so I can profile her, not to air her dirty laundry.

Which is why I didn’t listen to the conversation next door. But I will phone my editor tomorrow and speak to her, telling her about my dilemma.

******************************

My editor wants me to report on everything. She wants my honest opinion If I don’t, I am lying to Cordonia who should know the type of woman Camille is.

This is what I think about Camille.

She is kind. She is warm and has no hidden agenda; what you see is what you get with her. She will happily chat to you and is interested in what you have to say. She cares about Cordonia already and wants to make a difference. She is intelligent and hasn’t been swept up in this grand lifestyle. Her feet remain firmly on the ground.

The next morning, we leave Applewood. Camille’s eyes are red rimmed and she looks exhausted, choosing to look out of the window of the car as we drive back to the palace. When we arrive back, she turns to me and apologises.

‘I’m sorry for being quiet,’ she says. ‘I just had a hard night last night. Someone got into my room and tried… well, it wasn’t nice. But it’s been dealt with.’

I’m alarmed to hear that someone got into her room but she waves away my concern. ‘It’s fine. I got help. But anyway, I’m sorry for being so boring today. I’m going to have a rest and we can meet in an hour? Palace bar? We can have wine, my treat.’

Am I about to have girly chats with Camille? Is it weird that I’m excited?

**************

She looks refreshed when we meet at the palace bar. She has ordered a bottle of wine and pours me a large glass. ‘How long have you been a journalist?’ she asks.

I’m surprised that she is the one asking the questions. I tell her and she asks more about me, which is quite nice actually. We talk like girlfriends sharing wine after a day at work, not like a journalist and her interview subject.

‘Thank you for profiling me,’ she says, smiling. ‘It’s been great to get to know you.’

I am about to say the same but we’re interrupted by Denim Boy, who has entered the bar. He gives me a nod and he nudges Camille on the arm. ‘Can we talk?’ he asks.

She nods and throws me an apologetic smile.

I watch them both leave and I see Drake place his hand on her lower back as he guides her away.

They look like a couple. They look more like a couple than Camille and Liam ever have and that is one thing I need to be really honest about.

*******************

As this article went to press, Camille was told to leave Cordonia.

Pictures came out of her and the man I saw running down the corridor at Applewood in her room. Camille was clad in her underwear while he had her in an embrace. The pictures were broadcasted around Cordonia and Camille left the palace in humiliation.

I’m confused about this. It doesn’t make sense to me. I had never seen Camille ever speak to the man before and she never mentioned him.

The photo was taken from outside so clearly, someone was installed outside the palace and spied on her. That reeks of suspicion. Who would want to spy on Camille?

I wonder what this means for her and Drake.

Not Liam, no. Because I genuinely feel, now that the competition is over and Camille is no longer at the palace, I feel that she never had feelings for him. I think she liked him, of course she did, but there was no spark. It doesn’t matter now anyway; he is now engaged to Madeline.

But there was spark with her and Drake, who I lovingly named Denim Boy.

What will become of the two of them? Camille will no doubt go back to New York and Drake will remain in the shadows of the ballroom. Shame. I found myself rooting for them.

And that is my honest opinion.

#trr fanfic #drake walker

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inflammatoryfandomblog · 5 years ago

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i’m not sure why aaravos doesn’t click with me, it’s probably because he looks like he’s grounded because he tried buying cocaine past bedtime. like, his parents were okay with him buying coke but like once he started going out at 11pm to get it, it had to stop. you just know he had those kinds of parents.

long post, but somewhat-weird sleep-deprived ranting about aaravos under the cut. if he’s somehow your favorite character, don’t say i didn’t warn you.

but on a more serious note, i think it’s because there’s something a bit off about his role in the story. like, in his Big Moment where he finally appears to somebody outside of viren (in the sunfire elf capital) and possesses a body to kill khessa. and, well, i have some feelings about that...

okay, the fact that khessa was killed doesn’t bother me, because she was a racist asshole and deserved to get thanos’d, but like, they really didn’t need to insert a violated-sexual-harrassey element to how she died. that element wouldn’t have been inserted had she been a king but also... it was really artificial. because... she was fine? she was fine! like she was a bit shocked, but she essentially just... let a spirit piloting a weak-ass dead body push her around. she wasn’t weakened, she was at full strength to... push him? kick his shins? like the other elves died because they were in the blast radius, but she wasn’t in there! how did some of the fucking army die??? what happened??? i demand answers!

so in-story it was a really bad moment, because like... it didn’t make a lot of sense, the magic aaravos used to thanos her was really out of place, it didn’t make me go, wow, that’s against the rules, you can’t do that! it was immensely clear to me while watching the scene that aaravos being the big bad intimidating guy happened because he had to be the big bad intimidating guy, so i instead thought, wow, he can do that now, great, more vague magic bullshit!

like, the same thing happened with the scene where he demonstrates the mastery of all the primals. it would have been impressive... if it made sense for viren to trust aaravos after that? like sure, he showed him... great power... that couldn’t even dispatch a bunch of guards when viren has been shown to effortlessly dispatch two moonshadow elf dragon guards by himself... and the average human guard isn’t quite that trained... but aaravos got him into more trouble and removed more of viren’s clout than he needed to.

and like, i don’t know about you, if trusting some dumb elf got me into more trouble than i would have been in otherwise, i would, at the very least, use him only if i absolutely needed to? i’d be like “yo, a grand festival is today, please make me a magical c-4 so i can break out of jail” or be very skeptical about it or something. maybe i’d be grumpy until it turned out i could be king now and think “huh, this guy has a point”... even though... viren would have become king... even without that display of power?

if he’d only been guilty of falsifying letters instead of brazen murder, and just stealthily did 9-11 with the assassins with his help instead? in fact, it would have been better if he didn’t murder the guards and surrendered without a fight--that way, he’d have had less opposition! see, he can’t hate the kingdom, he didn’t kill... what’s presumably... the crown guard... since they guard the castle... the same crown guard his fucking son commands. ... this is so bad you guys.

like the speed at which viren completely 100% trusts aaravos is madness! like, he turns to him only when he’s desperate and that makes sense, but it’s a really smoothbrain move to completely believe he’s your servant after he puts you in deeper shit than you’re already in? maybe dark magic just... rots your brain or something? which is believable, because every single one of aaravos’s plans relies on people having no sense of self-preservation?

that’s my entire problem with him. the one character who has the most interactions with him doesn’t react the least bit believably with him, and he’s just so obviously all smoke-and-mirrors because of the writing. there’s also nothing to really latch onto--like, the reason he’s so feared is completely up in the air at this point despite it being three seasons. and we never... see him... be really persuasive. viren’s a dark mage, maybe convince him he has the same goals as him by saying, “hey, i introduced dark magic to the humans--before then, as it was, you were lesser beings,” or something to butter viren up, instead of being a little shit gremlin who screams “cONquEr XAdIA bRO!!!!!! :-)))))”

because like... alluding to him in vague flashbacks and making fans make headcanons and write your story for you... is not actually the same as writing a character? saying a character is mysterious and intriguing and persuasive doesn’t actually make him so? and that’s all aaravos has. i’m not interested in this character, he hasn’t sold me on anything, and i’m certain any writing surrounding him will be utterly moronic.

#ok i lied about being offline #i'll go offline NOW #log out of this hellsite #me.txt #whoa man... whoa #tdp #i should not be tumblring on 3 hours of sleep

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tysonrunningfox · 6 years ago

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Ripped: Part 12

So I was going to write more sacrificecup before this but I woke up yesterday morning like like...18 jokes in my head and had to get them all out before I lost them, so here is this.

Ao3

Hiccup tried valiantly to talk Mr. Grisly into a Grimborn book containing actual information but all attempts were brushed off repeatedly with the insistence that he’d been given a budget to hire experts for that.

Hiccup didn’t miss the dig that he is not considered an expert at the level of A. M. Mildew, but he wanted Grisly out of the library more than he wanted to argue. He knows Astrid doesn’t need his protection, but the way Grisly looked at her was uniquely sinister and the lopsided kind of glee in his voice when he talked to her is stuck in the back of Hiccup’s mind like a popcorn kernel in his teeth.

By the time he finally gives up and watches Grisly leave the library with a single beloved but largely sensationalized book, the archives are closed, and Hiccup finds himself suddenly completely underwhelmed. Given that he has not shifted his schedule back while his tours are…temporarily postponed, he texted Astrid pretty soon after waking up.

All in all that was a pretty landmark start to the day.

He starts the long walk home, glancing wistfully into alleys as he crosses them. He can’t help but feel disconnected and exposed on the main streets, surrounded by false modernity made out of plywood with a million percent markup. He knows Snotlout is right. He does look suspicious and he’s hiding enough by not telling Eretson where Dave’s prosthetic came from, but he’s sick of it taking so long to get everywhere.

Plus, assuming a Grimborn copycat working backwards, doesn’t he just have to stay away from the second murder site?

Unless the order of the two murders was a fluke and he should be staying away from the first site, a stomach clenching thought that’s categorically impossible. He couldn’t stay away from Astrid now if she lived in a volcano or had a loft in Atlantis, not after she told him that she likes him. Him. She likes him. Astrid. The beautiful, violent toothbrush assault artist who makes sure he sees what she does likes him.

His phone buzzes with a slow to download text message, lagging from the library’s thick brick walls.

Astrid (5:21pm): how’d that go?

He stops short and a man in a suit slams into his back, glaring at him for interrupting the flow of pedestrian traffic. Hiccup would thank the guy for restarting his heart, except talking is a little hard with it pounding in his throat.

How’d that go? Does she want…a review of some kind? Should he inform her of her 10.0 perfect score kissing skills but deduct a half a gold star for startling the hell out of him? Not that he minded being startled, really, but Astrid seems like a tough love type.

“On your left,” a bike whizzes by and he stumbles, still staring at his phone and barely snapping out of the haze with the insult that follows, “fucking tourist!”

“No bikes on the sidewalk, asshole!”

If he critiques her, does that mean she’s going to critique him? She doesn’t let him get away with anything else, after all. If he weren’t so giddy about her kissing him, he’d be more confused that she still wanted to after all that murder site sex idiocy that fell out of his mouth at Gruff’s.

Hiccup (6:04pm): I thought it was nice

He settles for neutral or something like it.

Astrid (6:05pm): I meant the creepy guy making you find a book for him

His heart drops. Of course she meant the whole Grisly thing, not—why would she be asking him how kissing was? She was there.

It’s a twisted kindness that he knows he’s said and done dumber things to and around her, so this probably won’t be the instance that scares her off.

Hiccup (6:06pm): right that makes more sense than you asking me to critique your kissing Hiccup (6:06pm): which was top notch by the way no comments, don’t change a thing Hiccup (6:07pm): so I do it anyway, fuck, anyway grisly is creepy as hell and I really hate that he’s investigating murders, it’s not fair because his breath’s death count is probably higher than any small time grimborn copycat

None of that made it better.

Astrid (6:07pm): I thought it was nice too Astrid (6:08pm): so you really think it’s a copycat then?

The morning’s roller coaster of emotions repeats in miniature and Hiccup pauses to unlock his front door and set his stuff down inside. Maybe his dad’s old chair has enough common-sense energy left to keep him from making more of an ass of himself and he flops into it.

Hiccup (6:11pm): no, we aren’t talking about grimborn, I forgot sorry

Astrid (6:12pm): it’s fine

Hiccup (6:12pm): no, we said we weren’t, let’s…talk about the next time we can not talk about grimborn

Astrid (6:14pm): is that a euphemism?

He blinks at that text for a second, trying and failing to shove his comprehension of it back into a neat little cube that will let him think or breathe or do anything but burn remembering how she felt against him.

Hiccup (6:15pm): Tomorrow?

And he has no money. Very minimal money at least. Not the kind of money that adults have for dates when there are euphemisms involved. Not that he’d pay for them like Viggo Grimborn luring some unsuspecting woman into an alley—this is why he’s single.

Astrid (6:16pm): Sure, what do you want to do?

Everything. Nothing. Ask questions and actually let her talk, for once, but that would require a personality transplant apparently and he doesn’t have time for one of those. Plus those probably cost money. Maybe he could pay for it with that frozen yogurt gift card, hell using a frozen yogurt gift card would practically be a personality transplant in and of itself—

Hiccup (6:16pm): frozen yogurt!!!

Astrid (6:17pm): so you’re…adamant about frozen yogurt, alright

Hiccup (6:17pm): oh no, I hate frozen yogurt, but I have no money and a gift card

Astrid (6:18pm): you know I can pay, right? This isn’t the middle ages, you don’t need to demonstrate your chivalry to me.

Hiccup (6:19pm): oh, I know, plus I’d cry if you expected me to put my hat down on a puddle so you could cross it Hiccup (6:20pm): I guess…this sounds weird but bear with me

Astrid (6:20pm): I think you just defined every interaction we’ve ever had

Hiccup (6:21pm): In a roundabout way, getting frozen yogurt sounds like a good idea because taking you places that I love has had really weird and complicated results, so maybe the answer is to take you somewhere that I hate

Astrid (6:22pm): it’s a date

00000

“Anything for me?” Hiccup yawns on his way out of his bedroom the next afternoon when they wake up, watching Snotlout juggle a shoebox sized cardboard box and a handful of envelopes through the door.

“Looks like a credit card offer and a student loan notice,” Snotlout holds out the box for Hiccup to take his mail.

“Two of the four horsemen of the adult apocalypse,” he tosses the credit card offer and opens the loan statement with a grimace.

“You know you can get those online right?” Snotlout sits down on the couch with the box in his lap, using the butter knife from his morning toast to open it.

“Hey, I sold my soul to the devil for an Art History degree, I want the hard copy receipt.” The number on the notice looks worse than normal though and it takes Hiccup a second to put together why.

It’s not about being able to pay for Astrid, she’s obviously not someone who cares about stuff like that. It’s about not…dragging her down. It’s different when Snotlout is the only one who sees him survive on ramen in the summer when tour interest goes down, Snotlout has seen worse. It’s different when he has a pocket of cash too.

He started doing tours for his own entertainment, he helped Heather start her company when it was all about the mystery for both of them. It was the notoriety that bugged him and that only amped up when the crime scenes got a fresh coat of caution tape.

But right now, staring at that number that really does keep growing when he doesn’t pay it, he’s reminded full force that he also does tours for the money.

“I’ve been thinking, I should start tours up again,” Hiccup sticks the mail to the fridge and nods to himself, “yeah, that’s a good idea, Berserker tours must be booking months out by now, I could get full share of the spontaneous customers. Any idea if there’s any issue at the crime scenes?”

Snotlout doesn’t mock him, which should be his first clue that something isn’t right, and when he turns around, Snotlout is staring into the open box on his lap with a pale face and wide eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t my self-tanner.”

“You ordered self-tanner?” Hiccup raises an eyebrow and crosses the room to see what is so offensive to receive in self-tanner’s stead.

It’s not skin bleaching cream, which would have been apt.

It’s a foot.

A foot standing disembodied in the shabby cardboard box, almost waxy in appearance, harmless except for the dread emanating off of it. Hiccup’s never seen an unattached right foot before, and he can’t say it was on his bucket list. There’s a note taped to the lid of the box and smeared with streaks Hiccup doesn’t want to think about, so he tries to focus on the letters. They’re blurry either from damp paper or his struggle to keep his eyes still on them, but he can see they line up in neat rows.

It reminds him of a letter he saw in glass in a collector’s museum. A letter that had been delivered wrapped around a victim’s finger and sent to Deputy Detective Ryker over a hundred years ago. A letter that had led to his eventual stint in custody.

“Is that a poem?”

“It’s a foot!” Snotlout jumps up, holding the box at arm’s length and shuffling towards the kitchen, “I know you only have one but you should still recognize it!”

Hiccup leans over the box when Snotlout sets it down, squinting at the writing and willing his heart to slow down enough to let him read, “is that in comic sans?”

“It’s a fucking foot,” he starts pacing, pulling his phone out and presumably dialing the station. “Yeah, I’ve got human remains in a fucking box—no, they were shipped here, are you crazy, Johnson? Yeah, maybe send a car, that’s a fucking brilliant idea, great job!”

Thoughts of Grimborn letters, fingers, Snotlout’s badge, and disconcertingly, of Astrid wondering what he’d do if the murders continued rush through Hiccup’s head as he fumbles with his phone, snapping four or five quick pictures of the box, as close as he can to the message.

“What are you doing?” Snotlout snaps as he hangs up and Hiccup holds his phone up.

“Oh, you mean—”

“Yes, I mean, are you taking pictures of evidence for your creepy collection? Because it’s bad enough that I touched the box,” he shudders, “oh shit, I set it on my lap, did I get dead foot juice on my junk?”

“No—”

“Are you sure?” Snotlout is more preoccupied with his lap than Hiccup’s phone now, but it’s still better to pad the lie.

“No, I’m not taking pictures of for my creepy collection.” He’s taking pictures for another reason, so it’s not technically a lie, “I’m texting Astrid that I doubt I’ll be able to make our date today.”

Hiccup (4:00pm): I don’t think I’m going to be able to do anything today, do you want actual reason or wild excuse?

“Yeah, they’re sending a car over,” Snotlout huffs, “goddammit, I thought I had one day without Eretson’s smug face—but no, some creep had to send us a hacked off foot, great.”

Astrid (4:02pm): actual reason

Hiccup (4:02pm): snotlout received a package that he thought was the self-tanner he ordered, but actually was a disembodied foot, and there’s a blurry message with it in a font I believe to be comic sans

Astrid (4:03pm): I had to read that three times to make sure I didn’t accidentally say wild excuse

Hiccup (4:03pm): raincheck?

Astrid (4:04pm): Don’t go spending that gift card without me

“Dude, put your shoes on,” Snotlout throws Hiccup’s shoes at him, one of them hitting him in the side.

“Hey!”

“They’re outside,” he points at Hiccup’s plastic left foot, “that’s a secret, remember?”

“Shit,” the rush to yank his shoes on is a perfect capsule of the anxiety that multiplies over the next hour or so as a forensic team takes the box and swabs what feels like every inch of the apartment. Snotlout isn’t happy to be in the back of a police car, even if he knows the officers in front, and he’s less happy to be plopped in Eretson’s office on the wrong side of the desk.

It doesn’t help anything that they’re both still in pajamas.

“About the self-tanner, dude,” Snotlout clears his throat, looking out the office window and presumably checking if Eretson is on his way, “it’s going to be really natural and gradual, you weren’t even going to notice.”

“That’s what you want to talk about right now?” Hiccup’s phone burns a hole in his pocket, and he hates how much he hates Heather. He needs to show it to someone. Then again, Heather wasn’t trustworthy when he trusted her.

“I watched a video on how to apply it—”

“Yeah, did it include directions to the jersey shore?”

“You mix it with your moisturizer for the first week and the color grabs slower, plus I have black chest hair, it was going to blend!”

Eretson opens the door somewhere between jersey shore and moisturizer, as stony faced as Hiccup has ever seen him.

“Mr. Haddock, Jorgenson,” he sits down and starts typing efficiently, not so much avoiding eye contact as metering his attention where he sees fit.

“It’s Officer Jorgenson to you, thanks,” Snotlout crosses his arms, flexing too obviously, and Hiccup elbows him. Officer doesn’t make anything seem better right now. The whole reason Deputy Detective Ryker spent two months in custody as Grimborn was because they could blame the bungled case on him.

“You’re not on duty, Mr. Jorgenson, in fact I believe I overheard you planning a beach vacation, don’t let my investigation interrupt it.” When he does look up, it’s at Hiccup in particular, “at five o’clock this time?”

“I know how you love your job?” Hiccup shrugs and Eretson sighs.

“So, Mr. Jorgenson, you received a package of unknown origin—“

“I thought it was from Amazon,” Snotlout tries to kick his feet up on the desk but they don’t quite reach and Hiccup rubs his eyes to avoid seeing Eretson’s reaction.

Hiding his eyes doesn’t help, every ounce of repressed irritation comes through in the detective’s pinched voice.

“Was the package addressed to you?”

“I was expecting a package so I opened the package,” Snotlout scoffs.

“You didn’t check if your name was on it?” Hiccup hisses at him and he flings his arms up, still trying to look bigger.

“I ask the questions,” Eretson doesn’t quite pound his hand on the table but the intent is there, and Hiccup tries to mentally will Snotlout to behave but his skull has always been too thick for that. “The package was addressed to an SG Jorgenson, is that you?”

“Those are my initials.”

“And they stand for?” The detective readies himself to write it down.

“My names,” he deflates, “Snotlout Gary Jorgenson, but—wait, someone sent me a cut off foot? That’s super fucked up.”

“Yes, you’re getting it, murder is fucked up” Eretson sets down a picture of Dave, or his body, coroner sheet thankfully pulled up directly under his chin. “The foot was an exact match to Dave Ralston.”

“Well I don’t know that guy,” Snotlout lies semi-convincingly, “I definitely don’t know why anyone would send me his foot.”

Eretson turns to Hiccup, “I understand you knew Dave Ralston from the homeless shelter.”

“Are you saying I mailed Snotlout a foot of a homeless man I knew in passing?” Hiccup’s fear manifests as it always does, a reason to be indignant and loud. He thinks of that leg and how he can remember having it fitted, learning to hobble on it and imagining toes. “Because no, that didn’t happen.”

“Your alibi for—“

“I was at the archives, you can talk to Astrid, you can talk to Fishlegs—“

“The package was mailed from the archives yesterday in the last package pickup at 4:30,” Eretson glances out his office window and Hiccup does the same, trying not to wince when he sees Mr. Grisly, talking to someone he can’t quite see.

He can’t lie.

“I was—“

“With Astrid,” the detective fills in, “of course.”

“I have texts,” he fumbles with his phone, but of course his camera is still open, the bloody note tiled in the corner as the last picture he took and he shoves it back into his pajama pocket. If he starts tapping his foot, it might creak, he didn’t fully tighten it down before they had to leave. “I can send them to you or something. To keep the um…encrypted dates for official—“

“Well Grisly was there too, right?” Snotlout trusts the office’s soundproofing far more than Hiccup would. “Who says he didn’t do it? It seems like the kind of creepy shit he’d do—“

“That’s enough,” Eretson booms, the sound reverberating like a ghost off of the walls. Snotlout opens his mouth to continue and Hiccup smacks him in the arm, shaking his head.

“Guess that beach vacation is cancelled, huh?” He nods at Eretson in understanding, “good thing you can get the same golden glow from a handy bottle that won’t take us out of town.”

“I’ll be following up.” Eretson gestures at the door and Hiccup leans carefully on Snotlout’s shoulder to stand, making sure his leg doesn’t creak or buckle or give itself away when it takes his anxious weight.

“Sure thing,” Hiccup drags Snotlout from the room before he can decide to go back onto tiptoes or something equally stupid. Of course, that means it’s Hiccup’s turn to be stupid and he balks outside the door, eyes widening when he sees who Grisly is talking to, “Heather?”

“Hiccup,” Heather cocks her hip, holding a thick, official looking file that isn’t labeled with her usual red sharpie. Someone else’s file. A police file. “Nice…jumpsuit.” She looks down at his plaid pajamas and he knows her too well to ignore her concern. It’s deeply buried but there and he glares at Grisly. Not even Heather deserves to deal with Rasputin’s mangy ghost.

“Miss Berserker is the Grimborn expert we hired, she’s already been explaining the concept of Trader Johann to me,” Grisly grins and maybe he’s exactly what Heather deserves, “very concise and articulate.”

“Yeah, easier to feed conjecture in small bites—“ Hiccup starts, but Snotlout grabs his arm. “I don’t know though, ‘Zombie Trader Johann’ is a little hard for anyone to swallow.”

“When solving a mystery of this magnitude,” Grisly chuckles, “we must consider all angles. Right down to resurrection.”

“Hiccup, let’s go,” Snotlout tugs and speaks a little too loud, clearly for Heather’s benefit, “don’t you have that date to get to?”

“Are you still doing tours?” Hiccup ignores him.

“Dagur’s taking over some of them,” she tries to sound professional and he remembers her wide grin when he showed her the ‘All Safe’ wall for the first time. Astrid’s picture is a piece of proof she doesn’t have, and it doubles his compulsion to get it out there. “Are you still—“

“I will be,” he nods, “I’ve got some new evidence.”

“I’m sure you do,” Grisly cuts off the conversation and points at the door, “official police business, I’m sure you understand.”

“He does,” Snotlout grumbles, glaring up at Grisly as he shoves Hiccup along, either barely remembering to mind his leg or getting lucky that he’s not causing a limp. “When we get home, I’m going to take a shower, because I swear I got dead foot juice on my lap, and then I’m going to look up ‘how not to be weird and morbid’ in your freaking office, and shove whatever book I find that definition in up your—“

“Gobber?” Hiccup once again stops short as Snotlout tries to forcibly drag him from the police station yet again. Eretson must have snuck around while they were talking to Heather, because he’s at the front desk with Gobber, discussing some notes.

“Can’t say I’m glad to see you here,” Gobber chuckles, “but I’m always glad to see you. And oh, you have Snotlout with you.”

“Yeah, I know, you must be thrilled to see me too,” Snotlout grins, apparently finding a new thing to hold over Eretson.

“Eh.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m glad to be here, not really my choice,” Hiccup glances at the detective.

“Oh, I’m sure you look guilty for something,” Gobber leans sideways and whispers loudly to Eretson, “it’s his specialty.”

“No, assuming I’m guilty is everyone else’s specialty,” Hiccup crosses his arms, leg feeling shaky like it never does.

“Aye, cops especially, so it’d be fastest if you let the handsome detective do his job—“

“Handsome?” Eretson isn’t used to being caught off guard and it doesn’t last long. “Of course, you were making a pass at me, and here I thought you were the only one in this damn town trying to help.” He collects his files, mumbling under his breath as he stalks back towards his office, clearly further from leaving the office than ever.

“Can’t it be both?” Gobber shrugs and Hiccup shakes his head.

“Twenty five years of friendship and you sell me out for a hot piece of ass?”

“I don’t think it counted as friendship when you were a baby.”

Snotlout scowls back towards the offices, “who cares about friendship? I’ve been working out just as much as he does, why does he still get everything?”

“For the best probably,” Gobber shakes his head, “you couldn’t handle me.”

Hiccup blinks at his father’s best and oldest friend, “you know, Gobber, thanks for that. Now I won’t have nightmares about mutilated body part mail.”

“Anytime.” He nods and this time it’s Hiccup dragging Snotlout outside.

Snotlout wasn’t kidding about the immediate shower, and he must have been serious about the ‘dead foot juice’, as he put it, because he throws his pajamas in the kitchen trash on the way back to his room to get dressed. Hiccup doesn’t like thinking about them in there and Snotlout agrees as he ties up the mostly empty trash as soon as he’s dressed, looking around at the ghost of forensic swab marks on almost every surface.

“Yeah, no, I don’t want to hang out in the foot-mail apartment right now,” he shudders, “Gruff’s?”

“Uh, sure,” Hiccup glances at his dad’s office door, wanting to print out one of the pictures he took and start deciphering it, but knowing if he wants to research right now it’ll be suspicious.

“I’m sure a girl as hot as Astrid already has another date lined up, you can talk to her tomorrow.” Snotlout sighs, “just put on some actual pants and come hang out until I stop thinking about…saw marks and—”

“Yeah, ok,” Hiccup doesn’t make him say it, swallowing hard against his own repressed memory as he changes. For the first time ever, he avoids looking down at his right foot and trips a little getting into his jeans because of it, but he shakes it off to engage full scale Snotlout distraction mode. “So, did you notice Eretson had a mustard stain on his shirt?”

“What? Where was it? Was it on his tie?” Snotlout snorts, “I bet he eats sandwiches like an idiot.”

Hiccup makes up enough details about the imagined stain to preoccupy Snotlout the entire walk to the bar, even throwing in a few fake laughs at a very bad impression of a British accent. He’s not quite cheerful by the time they’re sitting at the bar, but he’s cheered enough to start his version of the standard cop lecture.

“As little as possible actually means as little as possible in this situation,” he gives Hiccup a disappointed look, “like if you want to make Heather jealous, just tell her you have a date like a normal person, don’t say you’re going to start your creepy tours back up, especially at a time when that Grisly dick thinks Venison Greenland has something to do with the murders.”

“Ok, I’ll work backwards on that,” he numbers on his fingers, “Venison Greenland isn’t even clever, I am going to start tours back up, and I don’t care about making Heather jealous. And my date was cancelled by a surprisingly efficient postal shipment, which makes me wonder—”

“You can’t start tours back up right now, dude.”

“As I was saying, it makes me wonder if the person behind all of this has some sort of government sway,” Hiccup nods importantly.

“I can’t tell if you’re bullshitting me to avoid talking about Heather or not.”

“I don’t know why you always want to talk about Heather.” Hiccup stares at the row of dusty bottles above the bar and tries not to think about their comfortable nights at the Ripped Tavern, before things got contentious. Heather’s pet theory was Ryker before it was Johann and it makes his stomach churn.

“Because she was my friend too and I always thought shit would get weird in the group because you two paired off to have a murder themed wedding or something,” he shrugs, “not because you disagreed about research.”

“Snotlout, my issues with Heather are with her, if you want to be her friend that’s between you guys.”

“Are you kidding?” He snorts, “even before she teamed up with Mr. Grisly she screwed you over. Not a chance.” It would be sweet if Snotlout didn’t punctuate it by punching him in the shoulder so hard he almost falls off of the stool.

And if that package didn’t neatly line Snotlout up with Ryker.

“I’d have way better luck getting back at her by restarting tours than by making her jealous with some cancelled date.”

“You know what sucks? I used to be able to explain to you that girls care more about you moving on with another girl than they do about hundred-year-old murders, but now you’ve got Astrid whispering Grimborn in your ear—”

“Oh god, don’t go there,” Hiccup winces, “not today, haven’t I been through enough? Didn’t you hurt me enough by hitting on Gobber—”

“I wasn’t hitting on him, I just don’t know why he was hitting on Eretson when I was right there.”

“Probably because he’s known you literally your entire life.”

“Yeah, and so has your mom—”

“I’m restarting tours,” Hiccup cuts that off, “I need the money, for one—”

“Amen to that, Hiccup,” Gruffnut leans on the other side of the bar and glares at Snotlout, “it’s tough not being employed by the government to be a narc, isn’t it?”

“Just because I’m the only one with a job that makes money doesn’t make me a narc.”

“Oh, I do plenty for money,” Gruffnut numbers off, “I dress up as my dumb boy cousin and scam people, I wipe the counters, I pour beers for people, I sell alcohol for way more than I pay for it—”

“Except for the first thing, those are all just part of being a bartender,” Hiccup points out and Gruffnut shakes his head like it’s heavy with exhaustion.

“I know, right? I go above and beyond and I still barely make rent,” he whispers conspiratorially, “all the toilet paper in the bathroom is stolen from McDonalds.”

“I can hear you,” Snotlout shoos him, “so if you don’t want me to tell McDonalds—”

“See? Narc.” Gruffnut shuffles off to the other end of the bar.

“You could get a job, you know, with a boss and a paycheck and insurance that you don’t have to pretend to be my domestic partner to get.” Snotlout doesn’t need to know how much he sounds like Hiccup’s dad sometimes, it would go to his head.

“Yeah, I’m sure the five-year gap in my nonexistent resume would be great for that.” He sighs, “I guess I’m worried about…if I’m not giving tours, Heather’s basically controlling the whole Grimborn narrative in Berk and now she’s apparently working with Grisly, who—I didn’t tell you this because I didn’t think it mattered but he came by the archives yesterday—”

“I know,” Snotlout rolls his eyes, “Astrid told me.”

“Anyway, Grisly wanted a copy of that Admiral Haddock book, which means that the so called ‘experts’ at the station aren’t exactly people I trust with the truth.”

“Just a couple of weeks ago you were saying how shitty Heather was to be giving tours to active crime scenes.” Snotlout orders another beer, foot tapping against the rung of his stool, and Hiccup still never knows how to act when his cousin is worried about him.

It’s even harder when the feeling is mutual.

“I guess I was really hoping that this wasn’t connected to Grimborn,” Hiccup shrugs, “but now with the modern equivalent of the Ryker finger showing up at your—our door. Our door. I guess that me not doing a tour didn’t prevent the body part mailing, but maybe I could calm down the hysteria a bit while Heather is too busy to dump gasoline on the flames.”

And he can see what kind of information is spreading. Call him paranoid but this is all starting to circle a little too close to home.

“That’s stupid.”

“Well, I’m stupid,” Hiccup is at least keeping his promise to Astrid with that one.

“Yeah you are, given you’re actively deciding to harass Astrid’s apartment nightly when she’s your alibi for a bunch of sketchy shit.”

Hiccup opens his mouth to tell him that Astrid doesn’t mind, but then he remembers something she said when he thought she wouldn’t read a book, let alone go on a private tour with him.

“Can I borrow fifty bucks?” He stands up, “and I mean borrow, I will pay you back when this all works out.”

#ripped #httyd fic #modern au #hiccstrid fic #serial killer tour guide au #tw mild gore #tw comic sans #coplout #coplout is my life

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smoochcal · 6 years ago

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numb without you (part six)

a/n: we got 20 notes on part 5!!! a little reminder that I would really like to get at least 20 notes on the previous part before I post the next one, so please tell your friends about this series :) I just wanted to take some time to thank each and every one of you for supporting my writing. if you have any suggestions on how you want this series to go, please let me know!! this series has quickly become my baby and I am very proud of it. also, a big giant thank you to el for helping me with the little details of this series and for inspiring me to be soft on a daily basis about both luke and calum. I have so much love for you it’s kind of ridiculous. (read part five here)

pairing: readerxluke

word count: 1.8 k

playlist: numb without you by the maine, risky business by the cab

summary: you get morning sickness for the first time and don’t want to bother Luke with it

warnings: swearing, mentions of puking, slight jealousy

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Y/N’s POV:

Can it even be called morning sickness if you are dry heaving over your toilet at 11pm?

I mean it is a possibility that this is just the aftermath of you eating too much ice cream, but you really doubt it. Especially because your doctor was surprised that you had not experienced any morning sickness yet. Of course, this had to happen right after you were left alone though. You always hated being sick and if right now is any indication of how the rest of this pregnancy is going to go, you better be prepared for a lot of sickness. The waves of nausea are still hitting you pretty hard, but you go into the kitchen to see if you have any ginger ale or sprite or saltine crackers to calm your stomach. That’s what always helped when you were little at least.

After five minutes of frantically looking for food in between the waves of nausea that made you hover over your sink more often than not you decide that you do not have anything that could help you in your current situation. You sigh at the thought that is making its way to the front of your mind as you pick up your phone. You don’t want to call Luke since he was just here, and you really don’t have many other options of people that can help you. But you definitely need someone to get you some ginger ale as soon as possible if you want to make it to work in the morning. You scroll through your contacts and your thumb hovers over the person who you inevitably have to turn to.

Calum.

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Calum’s POV:

11:55 PM

That’s the time my clock reads when you were rudely woken up by someone calling. The minute you finally open my eyes and see who is calling, you answer right away feeling bad for even thinking negatively about the situation.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?” you mutter quickly, worried that something bad has happened since you left her earlier today.

“Calum, calm down. I’m okay, the baby is okay…just…fuck can you go to the store and bring me some ginger ale? I’ve been puking for the past hour or I would get it myself…and I would ask Luke, but he recently left and-” Y/N starts but you cut her off.

“I’ll be there in twenty…hang in there,” you say before quickly hanging up and putting on your shoes.

You guess this is only the beginning to your late-night rendezvouses with Y/N, which forms a pit in your stomach worried about the future.

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Y/N’s POV:

Literally in twenty minutes flat Calum was at your door step with two bags from the nearby grocery store. You could not be more thankful for him at a time like this. You stop violently retching your guts up about five minutes ago which you were rather pleased about considering you did not want Calum to see you like that…not like he won’t see you at your worst throughout this pregnancy, but today was not that day.

He brought you a two liter of ginger ale, your favorite kind to be exact, and some crackers and other various snacks for when you were feeling a little bit more yourself. You were so thankful that he was able to bring you what you needed, but you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you asked him instead of Luke. In any other circumstance you would’ve asked Luke over Calum but you felt weird asking Luke to come back so soon after he had just left. He’s still your best friend but you don’t want to put all the “father of the baby” type responsibilities on him when Calum is the father and Luke isn’t.

You’re sure this isn’t going to be the only time that you feel this way. It just sucks because you were so close to Luke before this and you don’t want a baby to ruin your relationship with your best friend. God, why couldn’t you have just made your move in Luke instead of Calum. What were you thinking?

Before you could dive deeper into this self pity rabbit hole you were digging yourself, Calum grabs your attention.

“Is there anything else that I can get you before I go home? It’s getting kinda late and I know we both have work in the morning…” he says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“No no I’m good…thank you again for everything. Sorry that I woke you up…” you respond, feeling bad that you had been so inconsiderate of his time.

You walked him to the front door, thanking him about seven more times for helping you out. He asks you to keep him updated on anything else that happens. Especially the nausea which makes you laugh. And just like that you are alone again. You pour yourself a glass of ginger ale and decide it would probably be best if you got ready for bed considering it was already 12:00 and you had to be up for work at 7:00. You take a sip of your drink, already feeling better and lay down hoping that sleep comes easily tonight. Before you know it, you were out like a light.

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~The Next Day~

Luke’s POV:

You can’t believe it. You can’t believe she chose Calum over you. Okay, maybe that is just you being a little dramatic. But she really called Calum last night instead of me? What happened to my best friend who would call me if she needed a bug killed in her apartment? Shouldn’t this be the same thing?

You’re sure she has a reasonable explanation for why she chose him, so you really shouldn’t worry about it. It was just a one-time thing, or that’s what you keep telling yourself. You know you shouldn’t let your emotions get the best of you; jealousy doesn’t look good on you anyway. But the longer you think about it, the more these negative emotions fester inside of you.

You decide to text her.

To: Y/N

From: Luke

Guess Calum is better at midnight runs than me?

You know you shouldn’t have sent that message as soon as you see the “read” sign underneath it.

Shit.

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Y/N’s POV:

Oh, you have GOT to be shitting me. He really is pulling this shit right now. When my evening “morning” sickness is in full swing? You really are angry with Luke. Like really really freaking angry. Is he being serious right now? You know your anger can get the best of you and that is definitely what is happening right now. You pick up your phone and dial his number.

“We are not playing whatever this jealousy followed by guilt thing is. If you want to talk come over to mine. And don’t you dare mention anything about the smell of vomit,” you state blatantly, hanging up the phone before he has the opportunity to respond.

Within ten minutes Luke is at your door letting himself in with the key you gave him in case of emergencies, which he determined this was. He found you sitting on the floor of your bathroom, your hair matted down on your forehead and a cup of water sitting next to you. He sits down next to you, rubbing your back and handing you the ginger ale he picked up for you on the way over.

“I’m sorry for being jealous…I’m just not used to someone else taking care of my best friend when she needs it the most,” Luke starts, looking down to avoid eye contact.

He helps you up off the floor and hands you your tooth brush to allow you to brush your teeth and attempt to get the nasty taste out of your mouth. He then goes into your room and grabs some new clothes for you to change into, assuming your other clothes are sweaty from the time spent puking. He found a shirt that used to belong to him and a pair of sweatpants for you to change into and left your room to give you some privacy. You didn’t even realize that he handed you the shirt that until recently belonged to him when you changed shirts. When you were finished getting changed you went into the living room where you found Luke sitting on your couch, his favorite blanket of yours already draped across his lap. You sit next to him and he shares the blanket with you, giving you a sheepish smile.

“I’m going to tell you something and you have to promise me that you won’t be mad about it, at least not at first,” you say, hoping that he will comply and not say anything to test your patience anymore.

“Okay, I’m listening,” he replied, allowing you to say everything you need to.

“Here goes nothing…recently I have had a lot of time to think and reflect on what I want to happen in the next couple months before the baby comes. I have given it a lot of thought and I don’t think there will be any romantic involvement between me and Calum. That being said, I still want him to be a part of the baby’s life and he will be around me and the baby from here on out. But you are still my best friend. I want you to be here as often as you want, but you have to understand that I don’t always want to bother you with little things like getting me ginger ale at odd hours of the night. You have to know that Calum is going to want to be as much a part of this pregnancy as you may want to be. He is always going to be the baby’s father and he will always be around now. He is your friend too so this should not be that big of a deal. You’re my best friend, Luke and you always will be. I just wanted you to know my headspace with all of this so I would have some peace of mind. So if you could please put your jealousy aside and just embrace the fact that your goddaughter or godson will be here in less than six months that would be very helpful,” you ramble, completely disregarding the fact that you just spilled the beans on asking Luke to be your baby’s godfather.

To be continued…

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missingteethblog · 5 years ago

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04/23/2020 - 20:50

The past few days have been really overwhelming, and also I forgot/didn’t have the motivation to write anything so here we are.

4/20 was great, the high wasn’t as terrifying as the last time, and during my high I apparently made the conclusion that I was in fact bi instead of gay and I wrote a whole note on my notes app about liking women as well as who I’m normally attracted to. When I read it (sober) in the morning I just thought “huh, well I’m not bi. what “ yeah it was a journey. Otherwise very chill night, very glad I wasn’t working the next day. I honestly don’t remember anything else from that day, or Monday and Tuesday for that matter. Wednesday was a shit show though.

Wednesday started off pretty okay, went to work and got scoffed at by a manager form another dept for literally no reason so that was great, make me anxious for the rest of the entire day. It was also my dad’ birthday, and I decorated the cake (sister saw I was decorating it, asked if she could just go and I said yes because I was almost done) and later that day my mom came upstairs and told us to do something more with the cake and I thought “well, I already did my part, my sister can do the rest” and by mom decided that me and my sister were arguing (she wanted me to help even though I literally did the majority of the cake) and so she started yelling at us for it which sent me into an anxiety attack (which my mom calls “shutting down”). When she told me that I needed to “snap out of it” and that I would “ruin dad’s birthday if I acted like this for the rest of the night” I just kind of snapped and told her that every single time I have “shut down” that I had been having an anxiety attack. Which made her stop calling it that (as she had been calling it that since I started having these episodes as a child. Anyways that was shit. That was ass. Cried about it for a little bit before vaping and feeling better.

At NIGHT though, that’s when the “fun” began. I had to go to bed at 11pm (went to bed at 11:45 instead lmao) and instead of falling asleep, my brain decided to fixate on every single extremely graphic detail about everything I did while self harming, especially two particular incidents (tw graphic next part) where 1) I cut out a chunk of my flesh from the crook of my elbow which makes it impossible to get blood drawn from that arm anymore so it’s pretty bad and 2) when I cut really deep in my left forearm down past the veins (through, actually) down into the fat, and remembered (very graphically) sitting on my floor around all my stuff just squeezing around the cut so I could see the fat coming out of the cut. (tw over) Both of these disgusted my to the point where I could not fall asleep because of how awful and revolted I felt, because when you’re in that mindset (while using the coping mechanism) you don’t understand how fucked up and awful and disturbing the behaviour is until you look back on it once you’re out of that mindset (not using the coping mechanism anymore). That went on for about 2 hours before I checked my phone for the time and saw that Crywank was doing a livestream, so because I’m a faggot I watched it and they (James) responded to 4 of my comments and they were so sweet and the livestream was so good and calm (I watched it until it ended around 2:30am), and because they had interacted with 4 of my comments, and I (+ the people watching the stream) learned some things about When You Eat Yourself First Start with Your Head up Your Arse (that I won’t write about) and about them in general and it was so good I felt so much better afterward. Still didn’t fall asleep until 3:30am but I fell asleep on a much better note than very very graphic trauma. :)

Today was also shit. Got told my the meat dept manager that I wasn’t doing my job right (I was doing exactly as he told me to do) to which he corrected me by telling me to do exactly what I had been doing BEFORE he corrected me (about a month ago when I first started working as acting supervisor) which was incredibly frustrating. He seems to be pissed at me for zero reason. He also told me that I either had to come in earlier or stay at work later so that I can get the frozen and fresh loads and put them out. Earlier: the store opens at 7am, I get there at 8am and open and do everything and people are buying things from my dept, I cannot feasibly come in later than 8am. Later: believe it or not, I’m trying to graduate school during fucking quarantine right now and can’t put all my energy into work (which I am doing anyways!). So his response? To get passive aggressive with me and told one of his employees that she had to do my job since I can’t stay later than I’m scheduled. If you want me to behave like an actual supervisor, then I need to be paid the supervisor’s wage instead of my minimum wage. Bruh. I have also been working there for 3 months and am the only competent person working my dept right now. Anyways, that shit got me riled up and upset.

Later that afternoon I had a really long and deep conversation with my best friend (mostly me talking, which is abnormal). We talked about gender, the trans community, Crywank (me), what had happened on Wednesday night (me), weird nazi foot fetish porn that she found on pornhub, me simping for James (Crywank) like a faggot (which included me admitting that, since we have things in common that are kind of rare to find in other people, if we were closer in age )(they’re 12 years older than me) that we would definitely be at least mutuals I guess), my sex-repulsion and lack of sex drive, and our shared fetish. It was really nice, I definitely needed it because I felt a lot better afterwards. I don’t normally talk about myself and my problems because it makes me feel extremely self-centered and selfish (both of which are actual triggers of mine), but today I had a LOT of things I needed to talk about, so I talked about them and it was really relieving.

Also figured out a quarantine project: I’m going to put all the Crywank albums on cassettes (I messaged them on twitter and they said that it was alright) and I’m really excited to do that!! Really looking forward to it. They’re also doing a livestream concert on Saturday and I’m really really really looking forward to it! :))

Currently listening to Cough Blood On The Moon Soon by Foot Ox.

#frog posts #updates

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mikeyd1986 · 6 years ago

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MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 154, May 2019

On Monday afternoon, I started my Creative Writing short course held at Balla Balla Community Centre in Cranbourne East. With very little time to process my last minute enrollment into this course, I wasn’t entirely certain whether I would be mentally prepared to be doing this right now. However, the timing actually worked in my favour as I could comfortably drive to Balla Balla right after the appointment with my support worker. The downside was there was little downtime in between so I decided to bring along my own snacks from home and bought myself a coffee from the vending machine.

This first class was essentially an extension to the Introduction to Creative Writing session I did a few weeks back. Roderic Grigson guided us through many powerpoint slides in order to get us thinking about why we write and what does it mean to become a writer? These responses are both individual and personal for each person. For me it’s about self expression, having something to say and to be heard, understood and accepted.

He also talked about the writing process, the importance of the structural editor, finding the time to write, sources of writing, find your muse and inspiration for writing. Initially I was really daunted by this part but I think Roderic’s approach will make this course much more manageable and less overwhelming. Ultimately, it is a journey about learning and growing as a writer. It takes time to develop just like anything in life. https://www.ballaballa.com.au/programs-activities/special-interest/

On Tuesday morning, I drove down to Ashwood and Holmesglen to do some nature walking as the weather was a mild and sunny 22 degrees. I started at Ashwood College Wetlands located off High Street Road. I used to go here quite frequently back when I was still at high school. It was once a beautiful spot to visit with wooden footbridges, boardwalks and seating connecting you with the local wildlife and greenlife.

Unfortunately, these wetlands have been poorly maintained in recent years and basically abandoned as evident by the fallen branches, dense grass and overgrown shrubs. The exit gate at the end of the nature trail has also been deadbolted shut, probably to deter the general public from entering. However, it can still be accessed from the front entrance gate which connects up with Ashwood High School (formerly Ashwood College).

My next stop was Electra Reserve. I remember spending my childhood walking through the park, playing on the playground and engaging in ball games. It’s certainly changed a lot since then with a community centre and croquet green added plus landscaped areas filled with large succulents and cacti. The front of the reserve facing High Street Road still remains largely the same with towering oak trees losing their leaves across the footpath which leads to the kids playground. I love seeing the changing colours of autumn and watching the leaves blow around in the wind.

On Thursday afternoon, I had an appointment with my new occupational therapist named Meghan plus her assistant Sam. It was slightly daunting at first opening up about my anxiety and self confidence issues. There was a lot of hesitation and cracking in my voice but I was determined to make the most of this session. We covered a lot of ground from where Ambika left off in regards to my goals of cleaning, cooking, budgeting, building up confidence and making friendships with less familiar people.

I noted that motivation and lack of energy are both significant barriers when it comes to performing household cleaning tasks especially in the last few weeks. In term of money management, it’s often a struggle for me to detach myself from guilt when spending money on non essential things plus saving is also an uphill battle for me at times. Friendships is also a challenging area that takes a long time for me to work on but the Creative Writing course and Aspergers Victoria events could offer some opportunities there for me.

On Thursday night, I had my overnight sleep study held at Frankston Intergrated Health Centre. When it comes to managing my symptoms of insomnia, I’ve pretty much tried all the natural remedies that I can think of: candles, lavender oil, warm bath or shower, herbal teas, chamomile, relaxation music, guided meditation, a weighted blanket, memory foam pillow. I’ve also tried taking a sedative medication called Quetiapine a few times a week.

Whilst these have all helped a little, none of them have been completely successful in getting me to fall asleep faster or make me feel refreshed waking up. So doing a sleep study in a lab is pretty much the last resort for me. Waiting outside the clinic, there was a middle aged man also here for a sleep study. A morbidly obese lady was descending the staircase leading up to the sleep lab on Level 1. Her name was Michelle and she was the scientist in charge tonight.

She escorted us into separate bedrooms where the study would be taking place. I had to fill out a questionnaire asking for things like what medications I’m taking, what food I’ve eaten, my level of sleepiness, main sleep issues that I’ve been experiencing, referring doctor and emergency contact details. After getting changed into my pajamas, it was time for me to be “wired up”. This was the part that I was the most nervous about.

It was far from comfortable having elastic bands fastened around my waist and chest, a finger sensor attached to my finger then having electrodes and wires stuck to my face, head, shoulders and feet. I also had some weird plastic plugs inserted beneath my nostrils. Michelle’s towering stature was slightly intimidating as she was applying all these things to my body and yet I somehow remained calm through the whole process. She attempted to make small talk but I was far too distracted to give really exciting answers.

According to the notes, these devices on my body will be measuring my brain waves, breathing, heart beat, oxygen level, muscle tension, leg movements and sound levels in the room (snoring). It took a long while for me to finally drift off to sleep considering how awkward it was having all these wires attached to my body. I literally couldn’t move very far as the wires were all connected to a monitor above the bed. Being in a different bed can also take some time for me to adjust to, especially in a sleep laboratory.

Of course my worrying thoughts quickly crept in (What if I don’t end up sleeping and I fail the sleep study? Why can’t I fall asleep?) which is always frustrating and annoying. Plus a lot of tossing and turning, readjusting my pillows, dealing with a toothache and sore jaws, hearing noises from outside my window and down the sleep lab hallway. Eventually I did fall asleep sometime after 11pm and had broken sleep as normal. I probably got around 5 or 6 hours sleep so that should hopefully be enough to get some decent results from. http://psrphysicians.com/index.php/sleep-2/sleep-tests/

“Got a lot on the line. Put a lot on the moonlight. The invite of a lava light. Mi corazon, pheromone. I won't let you go. Oh no, stay aglow with me. It's summertime, night's falling. Into my home, think I might fall in love. And I won't deny, feeling on a high.” Morcheeba - It’s Summertime (2018)

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