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peeterparkr · 4 years ago

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perennial;tom holland|two.

chapter two: yellow alstroemeria

↳ flower meaning: friendship

chapter summary: to heal with a friend.

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: angsty a bit, but confort and friendship! mentions of alcohol and mention of sex

word count: 8.1k

SOCIAL MEDIA BEFORE THE CHAPTER:

masterlist & profiles one: in which y/n decides to go back to social media and sees a surpirse.

previous chapter next chapter perennial masterlist.

perfidy ( series masterlist)

wanna be tagged?

Hello! Here’s the next one, please, please, please tell me what you think! And please help me out, tags haven’t been working. Also, thanks to everyone who voted for the cast, you’re gonna love it, and I might announce it soon!

There are flowers that need sunlight, flowers that don’t. You needed the sun to be bright again to bloom. Good thing, sunshine was coming back to your life.

You felt like everything was going great. For the first time you were doing something that you loved and you felt like you were actually healing. It had been different from last time, you were not alone. You were loved, you were being taken care of. Tim and Emma were there for you and you were so incredibly happy you had them. It was like somehow, this time you’d be able to get things done.

Especially on that particular day, you had woken up happy. You had decided to treat yourself to some pancakes with strawberries and cherries on top. Your phone had decided to be kind to you that day, and you were, too. A happy song was the first one to play as soon as you hit the music shuffle. ‘The Tide is High’ by Blondie, the gentle notes were only adding to the perfect scenario. The flowers that your aunt had gifted you, gaillardias, were blooming, you had a smile on your face and everything seemed to be going great. You even danced a little as you were leaving the apartment and walked to the bus.

It had been a few weeks, almost a month since you’d arrived in Los Angeles, and you were thriving.

Your script finally had a name. “Dos-à-dos.” A dancing step, so simple. The 80’s dance movie no one had asked for, but somehow you knew everyone one needed. It felt different seeing your dream and vision starting to come to life.

You couldn’t help but smile, you had this feeling that something was going to happen. On the bus, you nodded your head along to the music as if it was a movie scene and the spotlight was on you. You felt like the main character just after the storm had finished. Happy notes, colourful day.

A bright glimpse in your sight, and you had even found yourself blushing. It had been so different from last time. You had friends, and god, they were such good friends. Especially because Emma and you had been healing together, some days were easier, some others weren’t, but you had each other. Dancing, laughing, crying together. Going out together, staying late at night laughing. And Tim, too. He really had his life going great. He had been offered to work in a modelling agency as a side job to his director’s assistant job. Emma was working in a costuming department, and she also did some waitressing as a side job.

You were working at the flower and coffee shop, too. It somehow made everything nice, after a long day walking to a place that smelled of coffee and flowers. Your aunt really helped you heal with the flowers, learning from them. She was so nice, and she always gave the right advice.

Hollywood, huh. Dreams seemed impossible, and yet you were reaching them. You were happy.

Because you weren’t alone. And you were working on another project with them, three film graduates healing from heartbreak can make quite a team. And it was fun, so different from London. In a city where everybody wanted to make a name for themselves. And there you were. Ending up in diners at 3 am, going out biking, being stuck in traffic with the car you’ve managed to lease for the three of you.

After a long day of work you still had a lot of happy thoughts. Emma and Tim had gotten an invitation to a party, and in Hollywood, you have to go to them, you never know who you’d end up meeting. Maybe it’s the person that will make you reach the stars, or maybe not. Like a different kind of job interview, meet the right people, make a name out for yourself.

But you didn’t want to go to a party that night, Emma had insisted on staying with you but you assured her you were doing just great.

You had decided to have fun by yourself, you had been tired and you really needed some me time.It had been a happy day, the pre-production was going phenomenal. There were still a lot of corrections going on but the casting was almost over apparently, and filming would start soon and that had you on the edge of your seat. They had said you’d like them. You trusted them. A new director had called to play in, and he’d produce, too. You’d meet him soon. Apparently, he had heard about the project and offered to be director.

Things were going great.

You poured a glass of wine from the bottle you had on the fridge, it literally only had enough for one damned glass, honestly, that’s all you needed.

You had an old vinyl player, thank god Emma and Tim had agreed on buying it with you, and you had brought some pieces of vinyl from home. You went through your vinyls, and stopped just as you saw your favourite one. The one Tom had given you on your last birthday. Your birthday.

That was going to be soon but you just liked to ignore that fact. It really didn’t matter, honestly.

But you weren’t ready to listen to anything related to Tom yet. You weren’t exactly ready to go back to Tom.

You wouldn’t tell Emma or Tim that every now and then he did cross your mind. That was a lie, he lived rent-free on your mind and heart 24/7. You wondered how he was doing. Had he healed? Was he still angry you left? Had he finally understood why you had left?

He hadn’t reached out for you. You wouldn’t tell Emma or Tim you had texted him once, though. One final: “I’m really sorry, I love you.”

He hadn’t answered. Of course that had been stupid.

You wouldn’t tell Emma or Tim, you knew how friends go: forget him. But could you? You missed him and you really had expected him to come here and maybe pull one of those stupid scenes you hated from rom coms, maybe he’d walk to your apartment, it would have to rain, but it barely ever rained in Los Angeles, but in your scenario, it would. And even if he didn’t know where you live he would show up at the door, and he would try to give a speech of how you are the only one he wants, or how both of you should forget everything and give it another chance because that’s love or whatever crap they say in romcoms, and you’d jump to his arms and kiss him and forget about everything. Kiss him again and again.

But this was real life.

So he wouldn’t.

Of course you wouldn’t tell Emma or Tim that late at night you’d miss him. Or in the morning or the middle of the day. You even missed fighting with him, having to come up with silly comebacks to his stupid comments. You wouldn’t tell Emma or Tim that you missed his ugly face or his stupid laugh.

No, you wouldn't tell them.

But of course, that night you decided you’d have a ‘me, myself, and I’ kind of party. And so you did. Playing music that would make you happy, that you could dance along to.

And it was the day you’d decided to go back on social media. After a long, long time of not being able to be on your phone for more than 2 minutes, you logged in. You saw pictures of your brother, Emma, Tim. Pictures you’d taken of them. Something you’d gone back to, photography. It was nice. At least that way you could keep Harry’s memory alive.

Harry.

You wished you hadn’t lost him. The question he’d asked had lingered in your mind, had things been different, would it really be different?

Maybe you did think about it. How it could’ve been him. But would it? You had time to think about it.

Maybe you were trying to repress his memory because you knew he was supposed to be with Emma. But you couldn’t ignore the fact that Harry had still… tried something. Of course it was complicated.

But you knew your heart was stupid and stubborn and it belonged only to one person. Would you call him, soon?

Would Tom even answer?

Because though the time spent with him had been way shorter than the time apart, it had been strong enough to be engraved on your soul. That’s the thing about true love, or stubborn love, you love for the sake of loving. And if you were given another chance, you’d take it, no questions asked. Another hoax if you may, if he wants to. You could ruin another’s city echo. You would risk staining another street with hopeless memories only to see him again. More blank pictures, more unwearable dresses and lipsticks waiting to be kissed. A new box. You didn’t hate him. You hoped he didn’t hate you, and you wish you could turn back around to his arms.

And then… there it was. Like someone had punched you in your throat. As if you’d run out of air, and your whole body ached. You thought you’d never have that feeling again. You had only been scrolling, dancing to music, singing out loud and now… this. You heard something shattering, at first you thought it was your heart but then your senses came back to see the red wine all over your floor as the remaining broken glass had jumped and clashed.

You stared at it. That was undeniably Tom and he had Cherry’s lips on his cheek.

Why did this hurt that much? Why—why had he done this? Had he moved on? Did—he and Cherry start dating?

Had he moved on? So quickly erase your memory? And with your—cousin? You quickly locked your phone.

You quickly got back from your shock and rushed to clean everything up, pretending you hadn’t just seen what you’d seen. Pretending it had just been your imagination. And pretending you didn’t believe it.

But then you opened it again, and there he was, arms around Cherry, smile wide open, as Cherry was cupping his head and smiling against his stupid face.

And you only sensed an atrophied heart falling down shattering completely. What did you expect from him? To wait around for you? He wouldn’t.

He’d move on and of course he’d like someone like Cherry. Cherry was a goddess. A goddamn perfect goddess.

You weren’t like Cherry, of course he’d turn around to see the sculptured doll life had presented him. She was beautiful. A model like fairy queen whatever.

And you were you.

But didn’t he—love you? But of course, right you’d hurt him so much and you were a fool to think that someone like him could wait for someone like you when he’d hurt you.

It was like the damn mirror was being your worst enemy again. You were not Cherry, with her perfect eyes and lips and body. You weren’t Cherry who probably cared too little about her appearance but ended up being perfect. So careless and free. Never planning.

Tom preferred her over you, right? Because you were not enough. You felt it. Every single doubt coming to your mind. Was it your hair? Your makeup? Your body. What is it that she was a perfect fashion guru or that she wasn’t a handful like you. Was it that she probably didn’t dive in.

Or maybe that you were too easy to get over, too forgettable, nothing extraordinary. But… You had to stop yourself from going back to that place. You were okay, right?

You were you. That was great. You didn’t need anything else, and this was on him, not on you. This was him trying to date someone else for whatever reason.

You had to stop comparing yourself, no, no. But you couldn’t help it. And you went back to the picture.

But that’s the thing, you guessed, about jealousy. So, so, so jealous of her. But jealousy is a horrible feeling that only ends up killing us from the inside. God, but you were still thinking about Tom. You should’ve told Cherry, but that wouldn’t be fair play. You didn’t blame Cherry, Tom was… Tom.

But maybe you should’ve warned her that his smile was the biggest weapon he’d use against her, and tell her that maybe he’s perfect but he’ll end up making her give him her biggest weakness and he’ll use them as a weapon. That he’ll be an angel, but it’s only a disguise. He was a devil.

And that once you taste his lips you’ll never be able to live without them again. But no, Tom was only pain. Yes.

But you had to forget him now. Because he’d forgotten you. Probably he was only a mistake, someone to add to the book, but gosh, no, it couldn’t be. He was an idiot.

You looked at the picture. Why?

No, no… How could this be? Why the hell were you crying and why the hell did it feel so bad? Like a dagger coming right through you, like you couldn't breathe, everything had turned dark again.

You did the only thing you could do then, lay down and cry. Because were you going to call him and tell him to go fuck himself? You didn’t have the right to. You were the one who had gone away. But if only you hadn’t. And you had the enraging and flaming jealousy burning through you, the sadness was bigger. You’d be jealous later. And what would happen if you showed up?

Why did he do it?

This was on you. You’d given up, but it hurt so much. You couldn’t even figure out your thoughts, like a million things popping up, but nothing made sense and you couldn’t stop feeling that head and stomach ache, the heartache. You finally took a deep breath that was confused with a sob. Drowning.

It wasn’t raining in LA, yet you saw your room flooding, water entering from everywhere, and you couldn’t move. You weren’t able to breathe, you were only sinking. Had it all been in vain?

Maybe…

Maybe.

Your sorrow was too loud yet you barely made any noise, all curled up in your bed, feeling cold, and drowning, suffocating. The music was still playing, life laughing at you. And you knew it then, it was over. You were broken in two and there was no way to fix this now. Not right now. He’d given up on loving you. You’d lost him, and you wondered, would you ever try to turn back time to stop yourself from loving him if only you had known you’d end up losing him anyway.

“Y/N—no, Timmy let me handle this, let me--She’s not okay, okay, I know Tim, but you will only make things worse,” a muffled voice was heard outside your room after a while, Emma walked in to see you pitying yourself, as you danced hugging a pillow as you hummed along to the music still playing. She closed the door. “Are you okay?” She asked, and you didn’t lookup. “What a fucking stupid question of course you’re not,” she answered herself as she walked over with some takeout, another bag and two six-packs of beers. “Here, bottoms up, thought beer would go better with this” she said, handing you a beer over. It worked well as a microphone.

You sang along to the music, not even knowing when the hell you’d started playing that ABBA vinyl. She joined you, knowing that was probably what you needed. Heartaches are a weird thing, you didn’t even know what the hell you were going through, denial, probably. The cold tears kept streaming down as you were probably now in a state of denial, as you danced along your room.

And then, it hit. The pain, again. You sank to the ground and then rested against your bed.

Emma sat on the edge of the bed watching you. Emma sighed as she sank to the ground with you. you breathed in a sob as she pulled you into a hug, somehow being comforted made you even sadder.

“It’ll be okay,” she assured you. “It’ll be okay.”

You tried to soothe your sobs as you sat up. “This is stupid, why am I even crying I don’t care-”

“No, men are stupid—” Emma stated, you only chuckled softly. “Show me the picture.”

You handed her your phone, and she stared at it. Emma grimaced and then stayed incredibly quiet.

“So?”

She took a deep breath. “Okay—first we need to unfollow them both,” she said.

“But—”

She held the phone far from you as she unfollowed them. “Y/N you're going to keep going back and we don’t want that.”

You sighed, she pulled out some tissues from the bag and cleaned your face with them. You chuckled. She handed you some pills, and then walked over to your mirror, she opened a drawer and took out your makeup wipes. She walked back and wiped off the remaining makeup that hadn’t been absorbed by the tears.

“Do you think they’re—” You couldn’t even finish the question.

Emma bit her lip, knowing exactly what you’d meant. “I don’t know, I don’t know Tom enough.”

You groaned. She thought they were dating.

Emma realized it’d been the wrong answer. “It’s cause,” she paused as she took a deep breath. “Look, I didn’t know about this, you and Tom. Honestly, when Timmy told me I—I didn’t expect it you know?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, like… If you asked me anything concerning Tim and, I’d know, but... You and Tom? But guess it—”

“Didn’t make any sense, yeah I know,” you sighed.

“No, it did,” Emma said. “In a weird way. Even--,” she cleared her throat. “Harry said it once, how he wondered why you guys never dated…I never told Timmy about it but it—It made sense,” Emma nodded. “Him being in love with you made a lot of sense. that’s probably why he was always so attentive and obsessed and—”

“Yeah—Emma you’re not answering my question,” you gulped.

Emma chuckled. “What was the question?”

“They’re dating right?” You asked, showing her the screenshot.

She bit her lip, staring at it. “I don’t know.”

“Fuck, maybe not dating but—”

“Look y/n, I don’t know but—”Emma sighed. “Does it matter? This is a sign that you have to move on.”

“I don’t know why I feel this way,” you admitted.

“It’s normal.”

Was it normal? You didn’t know. But you were angry, sad, disappointed. You couldn’t even map your emotions. What were you even feeling? What was it? Jealousy? Anger? Sadness?

“I mean I guess I did ask him to move on,” you pointed out.

Emma sighed. “Didn’t you ask him to heal?” She had handed you the Chinese takeout she’d brought you as both of you sat on the floor. You stared at the food, but you weren’t even hungry.

“Isn’t it the same?”

“Not really y/n,” she said as she stared at her noodles before taking a bite. “You asked him to give you time because you wanted to try it out again.”

“I’m such an idiot.”

“Maybe it’s just a rebound,” Emma said.

“But it’s my cousin!” You cried. “What the fuck is wrong with him?”

“I mean you kind of—with his brother,” She pointed out.

“It’s not the same and you know that,” you rolled your eyes as she laughed .”Because -I didn’t.”

“I’m messing with you, but I know, I know but..”

“I don’t know,” you sighed. Because you really didn’t know. What was going on? What the hell?

“And cherry didn’t know?” Emma asked, as she changed the box with you, now you had the noodles and she had the chicken. It had become a habit with Emma, sharing food.

“I didn’t tell her,” you admitted.

Emma scoffed. “Oh, but come on,” Emma frowned. “Like, it was obvious, like… Please he showed up with flowers to your house? And isn’t she like a fucking flower guru or some shit why the hell didn’t she read the room?”

You finally took a bite before drinking your beer. “I...well.”

“But still no, you know what? Tom is the one who’s shit here,” Emma said.

“Is he?” You asked.

“Fuck yes,” Emma chirped. “Like, come on, what the fuck? He was so angry at you because you left saying you’d thrown it away,” she dramatized. “But he is the one to throw it all out!”

“You think?” You frowned.

Emma rolled her eyes. “I know that!” She snapped. “he—let me see the pic, again.”

You showed her again.

“I just didn’t think he’d move on that quickly you know,” you pointed out.

“Yeah I—it doesn’t add up,” Emma agreed.

“I feel stupid for feeling this way,” you sighed.

“No you’re not stupid you’re human and he’s an asshole,” she said.

“He’s not--” You gulped. “That’s—that’s the thing, okay? And I don’t want to call him that because that’s the reason as to why it all went to shit, because I called him a monster.”

“Look y/n, I know you still feel guilty about it but that man has hurt you multiple times throughout his life, he’s done some awful shit to you, and yes you hurt him too but he’s shown that he doesn’t deserve your love.”

“But I want to love him,” you said. “Or wanted.”

“Yes, alright and that’s fair,” she admitted. “But he’s a man and all men suck.”

“Right.”

You stayed quiet for a while as you both ate, sang along to the music still faintly playing in the background, changing boxes, drinking beer. Leaning against your bed, both on the floor.

“And like—Cherry is so pretty of course he’d date her,” you commented after a while.

“She’s pretty and so what?” Emma shrugged. “You’re beautiful y/n.”

“And she is—so perfect and I’m,” you continued. The poisonous thoughts coming back to you.

“Y/N no don’t you dare compare yourself to her,” Emma warned.

“But how can I not?” You stated. “She’s bloody perfect, her hair her clothes, she’s just-”

“Yeah, and look at you, you are fucking beautiful, alright? Look at you, so bloody beautiful and perfect, and talented and you’re amazing and you’ve got great music taste, but y/n don’t compare yourself to her!”

“Why not? Because we both know she’s a model and-”

“She’s attractive, yes! But you are too! You’re amazing y/n!”

“Then why did he move on? Why—why didn’t he come back for me?” You asked, and the question lingered in the air.

Emma didn’t have an answer to that question.

“I just don’t know how to feel,” you admitted. “I… I am jealous, but sad, and angry and desperate and I know I shouldn’t be.”

“I hate seeing you sad y/n,” Emma said, scooting close to you. “But it’s okay, right now you need to cry it out.”

You didn’t want to keep crying. But you needed, and just as she had said those words, the tears had streamed down again. You leaned against your friend, knowing she really was there for you, but no shoulder to cry on would soothe your sorrow.

“Yes, I’m here for you, it’s okay,” she said.

“I just thought I—” words couldn’t even come out. “it’s stupid but all this time I—I thought he’d come back to me but I guess it was just stupid.”

“No,” Emma said. “It’s not stupid.”

“I just can’t believe he moved on that quickly,” you said, sitting back up, wiping off your tears. “While I’m here crying over him and thinking about him all the goddamn time and I—I can’t believe he’d hurt me again but he probably doesn’t even know I care,” you continued with a sob, barely even breathing now. “And I—I’ve been pretending I’m doing fine but I just can’t forget about him and god it’s stupid that I keep—doing this.”

“Cry it out, you’ve gotten out of it before,” Emma said. “We don’t even know if they’re dating or-”

“No but the thing is Emma that if I fucking dared to post a pic where Timmy is in the background he’d lose his fucking mind and call me and blame me for it,” you growled. “And he’d make a scene and—And I deserve to make a scene too because—-because it’s too soon and I would’ve-” You took a deep breath as your voice was cracking. “I would’ve thought he’d wait just a little but maybe he doesn’t—I don’t even know why I’m… so upset.”

“Let it out.”

“I don’t even understand why I feel like this, jealous and sad and—I just it should be me, the one with my lips on his cheek and I am angry because maybe I shouldn’t have left! I’m here wondering what could be different, you know? And I”

“Y/n you left because of your dream.”

“And when I go back... what if I never see him again? What if we can’t even say hello or be in the same room.”

“You were like that before,” Emma said.

“But I can’t pretend he’s not the love of my life and I can’t pretend that I won’t love him for the rest of my stupid pathetic life.”

Emma didn’t say anything.

“I just... I am hurt—and I’m not making any sense. I'm just sad because I was going to call him.”

“You what?” Emma asked.

“I thought about it today, how I missed him too much but hey, not anymore, because he’s fucking dating Cherry or he’s fucking Cherry or…”

“It’s probably a rebound y/n.”

“With my bloody cousin? Is he for real?” You were exasperated.

“Men are stupid.”

“Yes but—but I just... I don’t understand this,” you sank to the floor again as you were running out of breath now, until then you noticed you were bursting into tears.

“Come here, it’s okay the pain will end,” Emma opened her arms again.

“I just thought I’d be—alright.”

“And you will, you are still thriving y/n!” She said. “They’re making a movie out of your script! You actually are doing something you love! You’re living with your best friends!” She pointed out.

“I guess.”

“You guess?” Emma frowned as she reached out for your pillow. She playfully hit you with it. “You’re fucking thriving, y/n! And you’re learning a lot of flowers, even if I can’t stand you talking all day about them, y/n you’re doing great!” She said, hitting you with the pillow after every word.

A faint smile was on your face.

“And you know what? You’ll forget about him, soon enough and we will dance and laugh and you’ll be okay,” she assured you.

“Yes.”

“But right now you need to cry and it’s okay,” Emma continued. You nodded. “Okay, what else?”

“And she—she tweeted this,” you showed her.

She frowned. “Love me, love me, say that you love me?” She frowned. “But those are lyrics, ain’t they?” She asked. “And if…Oh sis, look, that girl—Look I know this isn’t what you want to hear but it’s probably what you need to hear but that’s just a very obsessive rebound.”

“What?”

“If she’s in love with him already that’s her problem,” she pointed out.

“Really?”

“Would you fall in love with a man who was so broken?”

“...No”

“Exactly she’s digging her own hole and,-”

But you didn’t let her finish. “I just don’t want her being in my place I should—it’s… and what if he ends up actually loving her?”

Emma sighed. “You’ll find someone too, someone better who won’t hurt you and who will actually fly to another country to search for you instead of blaming it on you for leaving.”

You sighed.

“We are very much alike aren’t we, we both thought they’d come here?” Emma said.

“That’s on us being stupid for expecting something from two men,” you said.

She laughed as she opened more bottles of beer.

“It’ll be alright y/n.”

“I know but right now—“

“I know, I know we need to cry.”

Emma was definitely a friend you needed. And you were a friend to Emma. You hadn’t really had a breakdown, or was mostly helping Emma. You had so far ignored your pain until that night. Maybe because you were trying to assure yourself that it didn’t hurt as much or because you kept the hope that you’d end up together.

But Tom had moved on and you probably had to move on, too.

You woke up the next day with barely any blankets as Emma had stolen all your bed and pillows. You were sore and your eyes hurt from crying.

But you knew this didn’t feel as bad. Somehow it didn’t feel like after the club, or after prom, or after the script, or after whatever.

No. Yes, it hurt. But it felt like a normal kind of pain, like when Louis had broken up with you. Or like when Timmy had tried to start dating another girl just after your breakup. Not the Tom pain.

But it still hurt.

You woke up and you saw Tim, a cup of coffee in his hand as he was leaning against the counter, he was scrolling on his phone.

You walked over and poured some coffee for yourself. You needed some energy after spending all night crying. The morning routine had an unspoken rule, whoever woke up first would make coffee for everyone.

Timmy looked up at you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you said.

“Did you get some sleep?” He asked. “Emma is a snorer, so—“

You chuckled. “Yeah, I know,” you sighed as you stared at your coffee.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

You pursed your lips and then shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Emma didn’t tell me what happened,” he admitted.

You frowned. “She didn’t?”

“No, she said I’m a man and I don’t deserve to know,” he said chuckling.

You laughed. “Yeah.”

He grinned. “I mean I kind of can assume what happened.”

“Do you follow Cherry on Instagram?”

“I do not,” he scowled. “But it’s—About Tom. Right?”

“Yeah. Tom’s an idiot.”

“But that’s no news,” Timmy pointed out with a smirk.

You chuckled slightly. “No, I know, same old story.”

Timmy watched you. “But what happened?”

You pulled out your phone and showed the screenshot. It probably would be a good idea to delete it and pretend it didn’t exist. But sometimes we are idiots and like to keep adding salt to the wound.

Timmy grimaced looking at it.

“Verdict?” You asked. “Are they a thing?”

“No,” Timmy assured you. “Knowing Tom,” he said. “He did this to hurt you.”

That—that hurt even more. Because Tim was right. Knowing Tom, this was his way of getting back to you. Knowing Tom he had expected you to see it and cry.

And maybe he had even expected you to call and yell at him.

And that’s when you did hear more shattering, this time it wasn’t a cup, this time it wasn’t the glass of wine. It was your heart and it was undeniable. You could hear it again. The rain pouring down, the ripped off stomach. There it was… the Tom pain.

You hadn’t seen it that way. But it made sense. It hurt more to think that this probably was on purpose. That Tom hadn’t moved on, that Tom was doing this purposely. That he probably expected you to be on the floor tearing yourself apart. Because Tom was probably taking his revenge. And Tom knew that you’d end up comparing yourself. Because that was Tom, he used your weaknesses as his biggest weapons. But you didn’t want to go to war again, no. You had changed, you’d bloom and blossom.

Yet you could only wonder, who dares to plant flowers on a battlefield?

“Y/N?” Timmy asked.

You only took a deep breath. “I’m—Yeah, you’re right.”

“Yeah, he probably thinks this is the way back to your heart, make you jealous or something,” Timmy said. “Nothing to worry about. I’m—Look, I’m pretty sure he still loves you but he’s an idiot.”

Big idiot wanting to tear you apart.

“You know I don’t understand why I’m —feeling this way,” you admitted. Now knowing you were angry and disappointed. Because he probably really wanted to hurt you, give you a spoon of your own medicine. “I—I don’t understand. How many more tears will I have to shed to get over him?”

“We all wonder about that,” Tim nodded.

“I just—I still, I don’t understand why he does that and why even after he does those things I keep loving him.”

“I think you were told so many times that he hurts you because he likes you that you ended up believing it and allowing it,” Timmy explained. “Maybe that’s why you are having trouble getting used to having people who care.”

You didn’t answer anything. He was right. He was so right.

“I guess but I didn’t...I thought this time.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I thought this time it would be different, you know? I thought we would heal and then… have another chance.”

It was so difficult talking about this with Tim. You didn’t know where he was standing with you. But somehow, it had always been easy talking about anything with Tim, he listened. That was his gift. He listened and he was observant so he gave you exactly what you knew was right. His advice even if it hurt him, would be right.

“Maybe you will,” Timmy shrugged. “But you can’t keep yourself tied to him, y/n. It’s—hurtful to keep trying to reach for something that won’t hold back your hand. Give it time. And look, I’m not telling you to move on, because fuck, moving on when you’re in so deep is hard, but be kind to your heart. Don’t let it ache. Not for someone who’s willing to hurt you. And maybe you’ll go back to him, or end up with someone else, but he needs to grow. And if life really wants you to be with him, then life will give you a chance, but I don’t understand why you want to be with someone who does this kind of thing.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, is there anything I can do to help?”

You sighed with a smile. “Turn back time, maybe, get me out of my trance.”

“It’s a big city, y/n, we can take the day off, have fun you know? Go to a quiet place, I know that helps you.”

“I don’t know Tim.”

“C’mon, let’s get you out, have some fun,” he insisted.

“Maybe later, I need to assimilate things. Today I’m going to be at a meeting with casting and—yeah.”

The day felt… plain. The usual feeling you were so used to, the Tom pain. But you ignored it, and you saw the cast, it got you excited and back on track. It made you forget about it, about everything, really.

They still hadn’t told you who’d be directing, but he’d arrive next week. They told you that he had personally reached out for the project, a new director. Exciting news, right? But you couldn’t care about them, because you couldn't ignore the ache. The thoughts, the poison. No matter how sunny the day was, you felt gray. And it was almost ironic. How the day before you felt like everything was great, like rain on your wedding day. Ironic. How it was one of the best things that ever happened to you and you weren’t able to enjoy it. How it weighed on your chest.

Your aunt noticed you were sad, but she didn’t ask about it. You guessed she probably had seen the picture, too. It was her daughter, after all. Serving coffee and making flower arrangements did help, somehow. You know, help as much as it could with the sadness that was not allowed to cry and was supposed to smile instead.

You thought about it, how you really wanted to hate him. The city was too bright and happy and you couldn’t escape, you still didn’t think you’d lost him. Maybe that was your pathetic way of pretending it wasn’t over.

Emma tried to convince you to go out that night. You didn’t. She gave you a week, watching movies with you, letting you listen to music, going out to quiet places for dinner, staying up late at night either laughing or crying, and you were really bonding, watching series, sometimes just laying down on the bed together, while you were both on your phones.. Even if she tried to convince you to go out clubbing, and go out and meet someone, she even tried to make you open tinder, you really didn’t have the energy for it. But Timmy had stopped her from trying.

“That’s her way of healing, she likes quiet,” you had heard Timmy warn her.

“But she needs to keep herself busy,” Emma had said.

“I know her, give her a few quiet days.”

“But she’s a fucking mess,” Emma had said. “I saw her add champagne to her green juice this morning.”

“Like a green juice mimosa?” Timmy asked.

“She’s a mess!” Emma said.

“I know, but she needs quiet, and hugs and just, don’t push her,” Timmy continued. “If not, we’ll use your way.”

In that sense, Timmy knew you. That’s probably why he’d suggest movie nights, the three of you. You’d found a place that played old films, you went there, once.

And a week had gone by, and you weren’t doing better. But you knew it was normal, it was the Tom pain, the Tom effect. The one that didn’t go away easily. The one that lasted, the one that would stay forever. The perennial type of pain, that may be dormant for a while but would come once again. The Tom pain.

But you felt… that horrible thought came back. How she was prettier or skinnier or smarter or perfect and that maybe he hadn’t done it because he wanted to hurt you. That he genuinely liked her. And why wouldn’t he? Why wouldn’t he like her over you? She seemed more of the type fit for him and not you. She was probably the kind of girl that he would like to be seen with. Not you.

Cherry. Cherry. Cherry. It was funny how she was named after Cherryblossoms. Meaning renewal. And that was Tom’s new model, wasn’t it?

Poisonous thoughts that were killing you slowly. And that constant headache.

“Okay, that’s it, we’re doing it my way,” Emma had stated. You’d be going out that night, which you only wondered if it was right. You couldn’t be hungover the next day since you’d be meeting the director. Finally.

But Emma had convinced you. You dressed up, and showered with perfume, and you were ready to simply forget about him. Of course Emma stopped you and then did your makeup and made you change your outfit, which obviously hadn’t been picked out well, but who really gets fashion when they’re broken hearted.

The three roommates, out and happy. Walking into a club, more like a bar sort of place with a dance floor, the three of you sat by the bar.

“Alright, y/n, here’s the thing we’re gonna do some shots,” Emma stated as she ordered shots for the three of you. “And look, I’ve heard you and right now, y/n, we need… We just need you to forget about him, alright?”

“Fine.”

And so it started, the party you so well needed. Maybe you’d changed enough that quiet was definitely not what you needed. And maybe Emma had been right all along. You needed fun. And so fun you had, and you kept drinking and singing along to the music and Emma even dragged you to the dance floor. Yelling lyrics, coming up with new ones and terrible dance steps. Timmy only stayed behind watching you both, he was very amused by the situation. He knew this wasn’t really your thing but, it was fun and exciting and thrilling.

Then the second part of Emma’s plan started, she walked back to the bar and made you sit there.

“Now we wait.”

“For what?” You asked.

“Please, give it two seconds and men will come like this,” she snapped. “They’re soooo desperate, and we’re pretty and we need free booze, so,” she grinned. You could tell she was tipsy by now.

“I don’t really want to… flirt with anyone,” you said.

“Flirt,” she scoffed. “C’mon y/n, you need a cleanse! Tom’s the last man you slept with right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Can we not talk about that?” Timmy laughed.

“Oh, please, Tim, did you think that she wouldn’t sleep with that guy who’s basically sex on legs,” Emma said.

Timmy blinked. “That’s a very weird way to talk about your ex financés brother.”

You laughed. “Sex on legs? Oh come on, I didn’t sleep with him for that.”

“I get it, you were in loooove all that shit,” Emma continued. “And it’s been… What? Two months?” She asked.

“Almost three, yeah,” you rolled your eyes.

“See? You need one good hook up and you’ll be fine,” Emma said.

Timmy chuckled. “Does that even work?”

“Good question, have you hooked up with anybody?” You asked. “Because if you have and you’re still-”

“No, I haven’t,” Emma admitted. “I’ve… made out with some guys but nothing really, but maybe that’s what we both need. Or the three of us, just one… random hookup. We need someone to fuck those guys out of our system.”

Timmy and you shared a questioning look.

“I don’t really—“

“Now, Timmy please leave otherwise you’ll ruin the place, go pick up some girl and dance with her,” Emma ordered.

Timmy didn’t even have time to say anything before Emma was pushing him away.

Soon enough, Emma was right, two guys had approached the two of you and offered to buy you both drinks. The conversation was boring. Honestly you didn’t even listen to their names, they were probably the stereotype of guys who feel they’re attractive enough to get their shot in Hollywood. They were talking and talking, the guy interested in Emma wasn’t half as bad, but you still didn’t stand him. Eventually the guy with Emma managed to get her to the dance floor and the guy with you realized you were not all interested and thank god, eventually walked away.

Two other guys tried to creep up on you but you threw them away, easily and quickly. You were very good at making them go away, maybe that was why Tom had… No, you had to keep that thought out of your head.

“Hello, ma’am May I buy you a drink?” you heard a voice behind you.

You laughed. “Timmy.”

He grinned as he sat beside you. “I’m sorry I just saw a beautiful girl all by herself and I want to buy her a drink.”

“Please don’t,” you grinned.

“I’m just trying to cheer you up,” he admitted, laughing as he took a sip of his own drink.

“Aren’t you interfering with Emma’s plan?” You asked.

He rolled his eyes. “I thought you were doing that yourself by rejecting everyone approaching you,” he claimed.

“Yes I just don’t think that a one night stand with meaningless sex will help me,” you said.

“I agree with that,” he conceded.

You looked around at the bar, you had had fun when you had danced with your friends but not now. Timmy lit up a cigarette and offered you one, you never were a smoker but a cigarette seemed like an open invitation. “I didn’t want to come,” you admitted.

“I didn’t either,” Timmy said.

“But you always go out with her, you like it.”

“No… Well, yeah, because I know this is helping her, not because I like it, you know this isn’t really my thing but she’s keeping herself distracted, that's her way of healing,” Timmy said.

“Huh, right,” you nodded.

“And I know yours involves watching movies in a quiet place, and curling up and all that things,” he continued.

“Yeah,” you smiled sadly.

“He’s an idiot you know,” he looked down at his cigarette.

“Yes he is,” you nodded in agreement as you sipped from your drink.

“Letting you go?” He scoffed, rolling eyes and shaking his head. “Although I do admit it was pretty smart.”

“What?” you frowned with a chuckle.

“I should’ve thought about it,” he continued with a smirk.

“What?” You playfully nudged him.

“Dating your cousin, that’s clever, closest thing to the actual thing,” he snickered.

“Oh thing then,” you laughed.

He chuckled and then looked away with a silly smile. “Yes, but she’s not half as pretty.”

“She is a goddamn model,” you chided.

Tim coughed. “As an actual model,” he reminded you with a smug smirk.

“Oh shut up,” you chuckled.

“As an actual model, I can tell you that she’s not half as pretty as you are,” he assured you.

You blushed. “You’re blind.”

He grinned. “Hmm I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

“I’d see a mess,” you stated.

“Yeah, who drinks green juice mimosas apparently,” he laughed. “But… Pretty mess.”

You laughed. “It’s not...It’s a thing. Green mimosas.”

“It’s not,” he turned serious.

You only grinned.

“So what’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a place like this?” He asked.

“I’m having fun,” you stated. “Ain’t that obvious?”

“You’re not from around here are you?” He chuckled.

“What gave it away?” You smirked.

“So what brought you to Hollywood?” He laughed.

“What brings everyone I guess, a hopeful promise,” you lied.

He grinned. “Hm, and how’s that going?”

“Huh,” you chuckled.

You didn’t even realize where the conversation had gone to. You ordered drinks, laughed and watched Emma yet again, like Tim had said, turn down another man. Drunkenly the three of you managed to get back home, but you and Tim kept talking and talking, and laughing.

After Emma, too drunk to even continue, was tucked in her bed, you and Tim headed to the couch where you both kept talking about silly things. His job, your job, about the project the three of you were planning, everything but Tom. The difference of being here in LA, how you missed London, but didn’t at the same time, the way that you both found funny people in the bus or the way you hadn’t crossed into any celebrity yet. About the script, and how it felt weird to see it come true, with your life, your love story. Was it love? How different it felt, and how you barely believed it. The way that you didn’t know what to write next.

And you didn’t know how it happened, really. You couldn’t even tell if it had been the alcohol, the conversation, the heartache, a combination of those three things, or maybe not. The absence of love, or how it felt like you had never really had one last proper kiss.

But his lips were on yours. And you really didn’t mind that his hands were pulling you close to him. You really, truly didn’t mind.

Except for the fact that you probably didn’t care and he did.

You pulled away as you felt his hand exploring a bit more than necessary.

“Timmy this isn’t —this isn’t okay,” you said but you weren’t stopping, and he didn’t either. “I don’t want to trick you into doing this,” you said.

“You’re not tricking me,” Tim said as he pulled away. “We both...Fuck this is wrong,” but his lips were back on yours, and your hands were on the hem of his shirt.

“But, no, no,” you finally pulled away. “Tim, no, no, I… can’t.”

“I know, I know, but…”

“I can’t do this to you.”

“I’m not complaining,” he pushed.

“But…”You didn’t even know what the hell you were doing. “I…”

He didn’t even let you finish as he was kissing you again. And again, and again, and again. Until clothes were on your bedroom floor, sweaty wandering hands and lips discovering new spots. Sweet new sensations, and savoury rough kisses. Colliding again, and again, and again. You really didn’t know what you were doing, he probably didn’t either. Because yes, flowers need sunlight, but somehow, something was blooming in the dark.

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sabraeal · 3 years ago

Text

And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon été, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

#mitsukiki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #ans #THESE ARE FINALLY FINISHED #and this little side jaunt is barely started 🤣#i wanted to do the whole date...then convinced myself half...#and now i just have the lead up #but lbr #it's better this way #since we get more chaos agent Obi #which only makes Obi's sensitive feelings about his OWN date funnier #buddy you bought and paid for the shit you're getting #and NOW you don't want it? no wonder Kiki gives you crap

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artificialqueens · 3 years ago

Text

Cause Somewhere in the Crowd (There's You) (Diamond Chaney) - Plegdoctor

A/N: Not much to say for this one really, just a short Diamond Chaney girlband au based off Super Trouper by ABBA. Enjoy!

The other girls were more excited than she was, unpacking the van and chatting animatedly while all Lawrence could do was stare around. The building in front of her was imposing in more ways than one – physically huge, towering over her and casting a shadow on the otherwise sunny day, but also mentally imposing. Lawrence can still remember walking into it when she was a small girl in primary school, brown hair in neat plaits and eyes as wide as saucers as she hung onto her best friend’s hand and gaped.

Now she’s standing in front of it, brown hair dyed a vibrant purple and thrown into a ponytail at the top of her head, her eyes wide as saucers, and her hand empty.

It had all gone a bit too far really, starting with Bimini slamming their fists on the table in year 12 and excitedly suggesting they start a girlband (“Well, three girls and me innit”) and Lawrence can’t trace her finger along what happened next to lead her to standing in Glasgow, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she realises what she’s doing there.

“You alright babe?” Lawrence turns to look down on Bimini, standing next to her with a concerned frown on their face. “Excited to be back in your hometown?”

Lawrence forces a laugh, a fake smile slipping onto her face in an action that more natural than she would care to admit. “Loving it Bim.”

Bimini grins. “Good. Just think, it’ll be like facing 20,000 of your friends.”

Lawrence’s snort is genuine at Bimini’s words, her eyes rolling fondly at the never-ending optimism of her tiny friend. “I don’t think there’s quite that many seats, babes.”

Self-proclaimed monarch of the PMA, Bimini simply shrugs and pivots to run towards Tayce who is three seconds away from dropping the crate full of water on her foot. Lawrence watches the scenes with a hint of amusement, the weighted feeling in her stomach settling. Her mind goes back to Bimini’s words, the thought of facing 20,000 of your friends. There’s only one friend that Lawrence wants to face when she’s on stage tonight – and that friend is currently on the other side of Scotland in her hairdressing salon.

The thought weighs on her mind until it’s pressing against her cranium and cracking her skull by the time she’s thrown herself across the hotel bed and sighed for approximately the 50 millionth time.

Lawrence loves what she does. She does. She loves her friends, Bimini, Tayce, and A’whora. She loves the process of writing new songs, long hours locked in the studio throwing harmonies and lyrics around until it just sounds like pure gibberish. She (secretly) loves learning the choreography that Tayce insists they must do, repeating the wee steps until her body finally moves in the right way and Tayce enthusiastically high fives her. She loves getting into costume and makeup, the process transforming her from Lawrence Chaney who got picked on in school into international popstar Lawrence Chaney who regularly performs on the biggest stages all around the world with her girlband.

They’ve worked hard for what they have too. Lawrence likes to tell people that becoming a household name is no overnight feat. From the day that Bimini first suggested it, to the joyful tears rolling down their faces as they came second on the X Factor, to their first single blowing up. They’ve worked hard every step of the way and been rewarded for it.

So why does Lawrence feel so ready to give it up? Part of the success that never ends is continuing to work, but for the past two months Lawrence has done nothing but eat, sleep, and sing. Her throat is raw and at moments she thinks she’s going crazy.

Her eyes catch her phone, dressed up in the delightfully tacky pink phone case that was a gift from Ellie for her last birthday. She picks it up and the screen flickers to life, displaying a picture of two girls with their heads close together and identical smiles.

Lawrence hasn’t spoken to her in far too long. Recently the whirlwind of life has swept her up to much for her to even think straight let alone have a conversation with a human being who is not also obsessively repeating lyrics under their breath.

“Hey.”

It’s a lonely word.

“Hey. It’s good to hear from you.”

Then Lawrence hears that voice, that accent that is so soft in her ear, and she could cry.

“I didn’t disturb you did I?”

“No hen, it’s fine, I only jumped so much at the ringing of my phone that I shaved some wee granny’s curls off but I’m sure she’ll forgive me.”

Ellie’s bored and matter of fact tone makes Lawrence burst out a laugh. “Poor Doreen, she’s really got to stop trusting you with those clippers.”

She can only imagine the way the corner’s of Ellie’s mouth might turn up at her teasing. “How is the salon anyway?”

“It’s in good hands. But babe, forget the salon, how’s your tour going?”

Even Ellie, the girl who knows her better than anyone else in the world, is excited for Lawrence and that only breaks her heart more. She grins ruefully, despite the knowledge that Ellie can’t see her.

“Honestly? I’ve been wishing that every show was the last show.”

Ellie’s little high-pitched noise of protest comes from her throat, her mouth undoubtedly in a little O shape with her eyebrows sliding upwards. “But you’ve only just got to Glasgow! You wouldn’t want to miss that!”

“Do you remember that trip to the theatre in primary school?”

A beat of silence at the other end of the line. “Of course I do. The one where I almost threw up on the bus because you fed me too many sweets?”

Lawrence chuckles. “Aye. Love how that’s the thing you remember about it.”

Miles away, Ellie shrugs cheekily. “I never forget friend abuse.”

“You’re such a wee cow, you know that right?”

“All part of my charm.”

“Anyway, being here is just making me realise how much I miss home. Tour is great Els, but I miss everything. I miss you.”

Ellie laughs. Lawrence shoots up in the hotel bed in outrage. “I just poured my heart out to you and you laugh at me?”

“First of all, not sure saying you miss me is pouring your heart out.”

She’s glad she chose to do this alone in the room and not anywhere near the other girls. She can’t begin to imagine the way that A’whora would pounce on her flushed face.

“Second of all, I wasn’t going to tell you this but I have a surprise for you. Listen.”

Ellie switches the phone to speakerphone and holds it away from her ear. In contrast, Lawrence presses her ear against the screen harder, knuckles white as she grips the pink case.

At first she can’t hear anything, just the faint murmuring of people talking in the background. She strains to listen for the sounds of hairdryers and flowing water. None of that comes and Lawrence lets out a huff of frustration.

“Ellie, explain to me exactly what the fuck I’m meant to be listening for?”

This train will depart at Glasgow.

Lawrence’s mouth dries completely.

“You’re coming to Glasgow?”

“No, just got on the train there for a bit of fun, I’m going straight back. Might not even get off the train it’s so comfy.”

“Get to fuck Els, I’m meant to be the funny one in this relationship.” Her mouth might be dry but her eyes aren’t, small jewels of tears welling up and threatening to spill over with every shaking word.

“I’m taking that title for now. I just need you to be the famous one in this relationship. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Ellie, for you I would do this entire tour all over again.”

Closer to her than she realises, Ellie smiles. “Good. See you on stage.”

“I’ll be thinking about you only.”

The call ends with a smile on Lawrence’s lips and a single tear sliding down her cheek. Suddenly she feels alright. And it’s gonna be so different when she’s on the stage tonight.

“Alright slags! Lawrence’s hometown so we’re gonna rock it just as hard as we always do. Hands in and United Kingdolls on three! One, two, three, United Kingdolls!” All four of them cheer, hoisting their hands in the air.

Their little preshow chanting may seem silly to other people but they’ve always done it. Even when it was only them singing covers with Ellie doing their hair and makeup, and A’whora ripping through charity shops to find decent costumes. It feels only fitting that they still do it now when they’re singing their own songs in professionally made costumes and makeup done by a professional artist.

Lawrence still keeps the style of her hair the same though. It’s changed colours a few times over the years, but it’s always in the same curls that Ellie brushed through minutes before the sixth form talent show.

Lawrence inhales as the music starts. The beat is steady and familiar, but tonight it feels so much more electric. She knows that the minute she’s on that stage she’s going to get blinded by that one beam of stage light that always finds it’s way to her eye, but she won’t feel blue like she always does.

When she gets on stage her eyes roam the massive crowd until she sees, in the very middle of a group of screaming girls, a head of baby pink hair. The sight of her proves to Lawrence that she’s still alive, and Lawrence uses that spark of energy to throw everything into her performance. She hits every note perfectly, her body moving in perfect harmony to the choreography that she usually fucks up at least once.

There’s a massive smile on her painted lips and she hopes that Ellie can read the smile, know that because of her, Lawrence is having fun on stage for the first time in months. There’s four of them in the band, but tonight Lawrence feels like a number one. The lights do not blind her but find her instead, shining like the sun.

They finish the first song with a flourish and Lawrence ignores the hundreds of screams to find Ellie’s. They still have the rest of the show, but Lawrence knows that they’re going to get through it and give Glasgow the best concert they’ve seen in years. Then she can stumble off stage and go from popstar Lawrence to Ellie’s Lawrence, falling into her arms and holding her tight. It’s gonna mean so much more tonight.

Because, somewhere in the crowd, there’s Ellie.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #ellie x lawrence #girlband au #song fic #lesbian au #fluff #plegdoctor

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bluesfortheredj · 4 years ago

Text

Different eyes.

Not. You.

The gist of the conversation you’d had with Gwilym moments before had basically been that the person he was fond of was undoubtedly not you, and now you were heading into the arms of someone comforting and familiar to try and heal your slightly wounded heart… and ego.

“There she is!” he grins as you walk towards his outstretched arm.

You wrap your arms around his torso tightly as you press your cheek against his shirt and close your eyes with a sigh, then he looks down at you with a slightly concerned frown and hugs you firmly as he leads you out into the garden away from the party.

“I’m gonna need a cigarette,” you huff once you’ve been pulled down onto a bench and tucked into his side.

“You haven’t smoked in years,” he says with a shake of his head, “I’m not going to let you ruin that.”

“Actually I had one a couple of months back so you wouldn’t be ruining anything,” you point out as you hold your open hand at the level of his chest and wait for what you wanted.

“You’d better not be lying to me,” he frowns.

You place your other hand over your heart, “I promise I’m not lying Rufus.”

“Fine,” he tuts, fishing the packet and a lighter out of his pocket and dropping them into your palm, “so what’s the special occasion then?”

“Uh… being surrounded by too many happy couples.”

“Well in that case I’ll be joining you.”

You and Rufus had become firm friends after he joined The Darkness what with you being their officially unofficial seamstress, and you barely left one another’s side when you got together like this. Your friendship had only grown when you were hired in the costume department of Bohemian Rhapsody, but you’d also got close to a certain tall brunette who had shot you down only moments ago, and of course Rufus was the first person you wanted to see after such a blow. He holds you tight, knowing you needed comfort for something but not quite sure what, and he keeps an eye on you as you inhale your cigarette; a sight he wasn’t used to seeing these days.

“So I heard about you and Gwilym...”

“Me and Gwilym?” you scoff, “trust me when I say there is no me and him.”

“That’s not what I’ve been told… apparently you two have been seen getting cosy together on multiple occasions and he’s quite vocal with his adoration for you,” Rufus explains as you sit up to face him after almost choking on your last drag of the cigarette.

“What?!” you laugh, “I literally just spoke to him about what his type is and I could not be further from the woman he’s looking for!”

“As if!” Rufus protests, “he must be fucking blind.”

You chuckle at his insistence that there must be something wrong with the guy then stub out your cigarette and slide your arms around his waist as you lean in and kiss his cheek.

“It’s the only logical explanation,” he continues as he flicks his own cigarette butt onto the floor before stepping on it firmly and returning your hug, “how about we move our deal forwards a little then?”

“By how many years?”

“Well, we said if we hadn’t found anyone by 40 we’d get married, so how about we change it to 30?” he offers.

“That’s next year!” you laugh.

“Fine,” he huffs playfully, “35.”

“Okay, deal,” you nod.

You shake your head with a smile as you think about what it would be like being married to your best friend, but unbeknownst to the two of you your tight embrace is being watched carefully by two people from the patio doors.

“So you were going to tell her how you feel and now she’s on a bench with Rufus looking very close…” Ben observes, “how did you fuck that up so badly?”

“Since when did she smoke?” Gwil asks absent-mindedly, completely ignoring Ben’s question.

“We shared a ciggy on a night out once but she doesn’t smoke regularly,” he explains, “...I need you to tell me exactly what you said because that should be you out there, not him.”

“It doesn’t even matter, I’ve fucked up and missed my chance. It’s too late. I’m gonna head home I think; I don’t want to see those two getting together because of me,” Gwilym huffs.

“Would you just answer my question?! What the hell did you say to her?!”

The tall man sighs and his shoulders drop before he turns to his friend and explains, “we were just chatting, it was going well I swear, and then it got a bit awkward. The conversation had finally got around to what we look for in prospective partners and I was basically describing her, or so I thought anyway,” he pauses as Ben nods to urge him on, “kind heart, witty sense of humour, blue eyes-”

“Blue?”

“Yeah…”

“They’re green you idiot!”

Gwil’s face drops at the sudden realisation that yes, yours were definitely green just like Ben’s, and he slaps his hand to his forehead, “I’ve totally fucked it haven’t I?”

“Not necessarily… but it’s gonna take some explaining to get out of this one.”

“Oh this is just bloody brilliant isn’t it? I’ve just thrown her into Rufus’ arms. Shit. Fuck. Maybe it’s for the best, I don’t know. Why would she want to be with me when she’s got him? He’s her age, and I’m guessing from all the staring at her he definitely knows what colour her eyes are.”

“Stop putting yourself down, they’re the same age as me and I’m not being funny but men mature a lot slower than women so trust me when I say she needs someone your age. Seven years is just the right amount I’d say; you’re more mature than him but still have that young sense of humour and can laugh at a poo joke.”

Ben looks over to his friend who smiles at his comment, but he sees it fade just as soon as it appeared.

“That’s it, we’re going in,” Ben states, dragging Gwil out of the house and across the green.

“Ben!” he whispers, “Ben! No!”

He lets go of Gwilym before carrying on over to the bench and striking up a conversation with Rufus who is soon peeled away from your side and guided back inside the house thanks to Ben’s natural gift of easy conversation, and you’re left sat out in the cold with no one to keep you warm until a familiar figure takes a seat with his coat clasped between his hands.

“Here,” he says, draping the warm jacket over your shoulders, “bit chilly isn’t it?”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, relishing in the feel of his lingering body warmth on the clothing.

There’s a slight pause as you wait for him to say something, and you pull the jacket around you a little more as you sit back to give him the impression you are more relaxed than you actually were feeling.

“So, uh, I realise I’ve been a massive twat,” he begins, pausing for a second just in case you wanted to confirm his finding, “and I just wondered if you could do me a massive favour?”

You frown a little in confusion, “okay...”

“Could you just ask me the question you did before? When we were sitting on the stairs inside?”

“Uhm… right… so, what do you look for in a prospective partner?” you ask, unable to face him just in case it still wasn’t you.

“Well, funny you should ask actually (Y/N), because what I look for is someone who has a kind heart, a witty sense of humour, green eyes, and someone who gives the most comforting hugs I’ve ever felt,” he looks at you and you slowly turn your head to meet his gaze, “and what do you look for? Please don’t say plays drums, has long blonde hair, and is related to Roger Taylor, because I will be devastated.”

You let out a chuckle at his last statement, “well that ruins my first answer… better go with plan B then… I guess my second choice would be tall, brunette, someone who can make me feel safe with just one look, someone loyal, trustworthy, and plays guitar would be a slight bonus.”

“Second choice?! That cut deep,” he groans, grabbing his shirt over his chest and grimacing.

“So did blue eyes...”

“I deserved that,” he nods, “that will go down in history as the absolute stupidest thing I’ve ever said out loud.”

“I take it you told Ben what you said?”

“Oh yes, and I will never hear the end of it from him either, trust me… so, uh, what happens now?” he asks almost nervously, his eyes moving from yours to his lap.

You couldn’t lie, you really wanted to kiss him; you’d watched those lips so carefully during every conversation you had, wondering what they’d feel like against yours, then against your skin as his slender fingers pressed into your body, trying to feel all of you at once. As if he could hear your thoughts his hand suddenly but gently lands on your thigh and you place one of yours on top of it until your fingers fall through the gaps between his and you’re interlinked.

“Maybe we could just stay where we are and…” you wave your free hand to suggest no plan in particular and Gwil smiles before rubbing your thigh and leaning over to kiss your temple.

His lips linger on your hair as you hold your breath then he moves down to your cheek where his lips press against your warm skin slowly, and finally he pulls back by only a matter of millimetres to wait for you to turn your face towards him so he can capture the lips he’d pined after for such a long time. You move slowly, savouring every second of the sensation of his breath against your skin, and when you connect in your first kiss it’s embarrassingly cliched as you feel, and even see, the sparks appearing between you both. The grip you have on one another’s hands tightens along with the kiss then when you reach maximum hold the kiss ends and you’re left breathless on the bench.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for that,” he whispers.

@winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @the-baby-bookworm @chlobo6 @drivenbybri

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fluff #gwilym lee x you #gwilym lee imagine

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prose-for-hire · 4 years ago

Text

How Btvs characters would spend Halloween with their s/o:

A/N: This is based on the assumption that the reader really enjoys Halloween 🖤🦇

Buffy summers:

Buffy really likes Halloween

Surprisingly

Often her one night off

But she loved it from being a kid

Having fond memories of trick or treating and then squabbling over candy with Dawn

Being allowed to stay up late to watch movies

When she told you her fond memories you were determined to create more fond memories for her on Halloween

Will absolutely love the idea of a couples costume

But won’t want you to tease her about it

Once you get the hints she’s dropping you would totally pick the cheesiest outfits to compliment each other

You spend all day making Halloween treats with Dawn and not allowing Buffy in the kitchen

And you share them with her before you go to a Scooby gathering/party

you dress up and Dawn hypes you both up (she loves you together)

the party is fun

you laugh along with your friends and even bob some apples

(Xander’s idea)

You rent a bunch of movies to watch for when you get in

you want to recreate something that feels like home for her

She cuddles up to you and kisses you softly thanking you silently

she really loves you and now she loves Halloween more

Xander Harris:

big Halloween fan

he really enjoys it

Won’t shut up about it as soon as October first hits

It’ll be infectious and he’ll love it if you’re as enthusiastic as him

Will have horror movies all lined up for the whole month

you’ll settle in, dim the lights and cuddle up

On the 31st he will have saved the best line up until last

Will want to spend as much time with you as possible

So movies will be his ideal

You’ll both for sure be dressing up even if you’re not going out in the evening

he’d do a couples costume but may actually prefer surprising each other with your respective costumes

Bonus points if you dress kinda sexy he won’t be able to keep his hands off you

Will have so many films lined up you’ll have to stay up basically all night to finish

He’ll have the classics and some more modern ones too to mix it up

He’ll know a whole bunch of facts about the filming too

You bring the snacks and just enjoy your night together

It’s perfect cos it’s the two of you

Willow Rosenberg:

Will be as enthusiastic as you

Will have planned out a costume way in advance

(one made not bought just in case and will insist to make yours too)

It’ll be all part of the

Lots of time for kissing and snuggles in between making the costumes

Plenty of time together through October

you make your costumes and finally they are perfected

the best part has been spending so much time with her though

Halloween night finally came and you spent the entire day eating candy and adding the finishing touches to the costume

you were both giddy with excitement

At the Halloween party you will be the coolest and most historically accurate

you enjoy yourselves, not caring what anyone else thinks of you or your costumes

you have each other, that’s the best part

you meet up with the Scoobies and have a great time

she’s so comfortable with you she can actually let loose

you leave really late, stumbling home together

Willow loves the way you bring her confidence out

you get home and curl up in bed together

you wished the day would never end, you had so much fun

Rupert Giles:

Enjoys the holiday

Didn’t celebrate so much in England

But has fully embraced Halloween since moving to Sunnydale

He’ll dress up, he used to wear the same costume every year but now switches it up a little

his favourite is the trusty wizard costume

He does prefer to stay at home but would go out if you asked

but you don’t, you’re content to just be with him

he has his nose in a book as you make Halloween treats

you entice him to join you

(promising it means he gets as many as he wants)

He came over and immediately helped with weighing everything

He’s actually a good cook so he could have taken over

but loves sharing the responsibility

you put some Halloween themed music on and dance around the kitchen

he adores seeing you so happy

makes him melt more than the caramel for the candy apples

you laugh together and just generally enjoy the time you share making sweet treats

he loves every moment

you decorate them and share them when they’re done

you ask him to tell you ghost stories

and he does. Although they’re all true and from his Ripper days

it makes it even more interesting (and he loves sharing his past with you)

Spike:

Loves it

everyone knows he (not so) secretly loves Halloween

will have stolen any and all candy left outside people’s homes

will split it with you if you ask nicely

may tease you and ask for his treat first

but will definitely share the candy cos he’s fond of you

may take some convincing to get him to leave the crypt after dark

but if you do, by some miracle, manage it

you will find him warming up to it

wont dress up himself but won’t mind that you do

might even teasingly offer to help get you into your costume

you go to some bar or the Bronze

had the impression that dressing up was some kind of insult

but figures eventually that you all must just think he (as a vampire) is very cool

makes him very full of himself

(more so than usual)

Won’t dress up at all but will mutter under his breath his thoughts and a primitive rating system on everyone else’s costume

this will make you laugh

a lot

he’ll enjoy making you laugh and continue until someone overhears and it gets him in trouble

You’ll end up being kicked out of the bar but neither of you will mind

Halloween is so much better when you were together

Angel:

Angel doesn’t like Halloween so much

But when he sees your love of the holiday he will change his tune

Instantly

he just likes to see you happy

it’s not selfless really, to see you happy gives him so much joy

so he sets off on his October-long mission

Will find every Halloween themed activity you can attend

Sunnydale unsurprisingly has a lot to offer

Haunted houses, pumpkin carving, the works

You name it he’s looked into it

by the time the week of Halloween arrives, you’ve done everything on offer

you tell him one evening that you want to go ghost hunting

he looks at you and frowns

it sounds dangerous

and he would rather you didn’t die (especially not on Halloween)

but you manage to convince him to go ghost hunting

on Halloween

You said it was your Halloween wish. only for you would he do this.

you go to a graveyard and look around with a torch

you were one step away from dressing as a ghost buster

but decided it would probably be disrespectful

You turned and there was a ghost! A real one

you slipped your hand into Angel’s as you communicated with the ghost

Angel planned this. He knew as soon as you saw one you would want to leave and do normal Halloween stuff again

would admit to it eventually, but the most important thing was your face when you met a real (and friendly) ghost

Anya Jenkins:

Anya loves it. She loves making money

She loves dressing up. And she loves you

A winning combination. She also loves learning about everything

Does try her best to get used to being human (and doesn’t get enough credit)

You and Anya will spend the entire day in the Halloween department of the store

Not kidding, you get there early and are there well into the afternoon

You can’t decide what to buy

there’s so much candy so little time

and the decorations! You squabble over what’s worth buying

eventually you manage to convince her you need everything you’ve chosen no matter the cost

she smiles at some of the items and shrugs

she’s new to Halloween, she finds it very cute though

not at all scary

when everything’s decorated and candy is left out, you can relax

(she will have definitely checked on the Magic box while you were in town to make sure it’s going okay)

she can stomach the worst, most gruesome horror movies without so much as batting an eyelid

She’s seen and done worse. will protect you if you struggle to watch

Tara Maclay:

Tara used to get a bit weird around the holiday

You found out later it was because she thought she was a demon

And just decided to sit Halloween out

You had always missed her and offered to stay in but she wanted you to go out and have a good time

Finally this year you knew everything about her past

And so did she

Surprise: she’s no demon

So you make sure she has the best Halloween ever

Cos she’s missed out on so much

you start with pumpkin carving

a staple

you plan out your designs and spend time perfecting them

they look super cute lit up later that night

she smiles a lot

its the first time in a while she’s just done fun things for Halloween

without something in the back of her head telling her she’s wrong

you decorate the dorm you share and play spooky music

You watch Halloween specials and family friendly movies through the entire afternoon

you dress up and hand out a whole bunch of candy

she really likes it, finding herself able to relax

the Scoobies come over and you have a little party

nothing too outrageous just you all hanging out

some of you are in costume, some not

but you have a really great time

and Tara has plenty of plans for celebrating next year

Oz:

Oz doesn’t hate halloween

He isn’t enthusiastic either

Kinda hard to pinpoint his feelings on the occasion

Either way? He’s a sucker for you

he’s usually booked at some gig for Halloween

But this year, he tells the guys he isn’t doing it

knows how much you love the spooky day

so he’s going to spend it solely with you

took him ages to figure out what to do

he will help you decorate

eventually says he needs to go out to the store

when he was out he found a lot of Halloween goodies for you

Decided to use the Halloween themed treats and decided to hide them around the (well decorated) home

its like a little treasure trail. You get clues and you get a treat and another clue until the end

he loves to buy gifts for a s/o and Halloween is no exception

you love Halloween and he loves you so he wanted to make it special

you will come to the end of the trail and gush about how much you love it

he’ll shrug but that smile’s there

he’s pleased

as the night draws in you cuddle up and every time the door goes you insist you both go

so you can see the cool outfits and hand out candy together

Drusilla:

wouldn’t celebrate Halloween unless you wanted to

Might not be aware of how big the holiday is

Would humour you if you wanted to celebrate though

Might find it cute the way you love it

Would want you happy so would make sure there were Halloween decorations everywhere in whichever lair you were in

Decorations would stay up all year round

It kinda blends with the rest of the place

If you’re really into Halloween would hold a ball/party in your honour on the 31st

She would be very proud of it

Would invite every demon she knew but most probably wouldn’t show

demons don’t party. Not on Halloween

Even if it was just both of you attending the party, she would dance with you slowly in the middle of the room

Even with no music

Will pepper your face in such loving kisses

May offer to sire you as she knows you love the date so much

But is happy to wait if you refuse

you are her favourite so Halloween is her favourite of it’s yours

you show her the cuter side of Halloween

Will hum to you softly

maybe a tune like the Addam’s family but will hum it very seriously

Faith:

Faith always thought Halloween was lame

until she met you

she likes to pretend she doesn’t care

and she’s too cool for all that stuff

but melts into a puddle when she sees your enthusiasm for the holiday

Will basically do anything you ask so long as she gets to see you happy

But what you really want is her and you tell her this

you make a plan to go for a ‘spooky walk’ before coming back to get cosy and watch Halloween tv

on your walk, you point out all of the spooky decorations and lights

she thinks its cute but won’t admit it

you end up dusting a few vamps that didn’t get the memo

but you convince her it was perfect, very Halloween-y so she doesn’t get so mad at them for interrupting your evening after that

She will stop and kiss you every few streets

loves stolen kisses, especially like this

you enjoy looking at the cool costumes but eventually walk back home

her favourite part of the night, however was when you turned the motel room you now shared into a cosy fort

blankets everywhere and candles

very romantic and to you it had the right amount of spooky too

You hide under the blankets and start to tell outrageous ghost stories into the night

she held you close and insisted it was now her favourite holiday

Cordelia chase:

Cordy loves Halloween

Especially the excuse to dress up however she wants

Would 100% want to dress you up

Wouldn’t ask, would tell you it’s happening

And you ofc would agree

(Or else)

She’s a sweetheart really and wants a lot of input on what you’re comfortable wearing

Will use her dads credit card to buy anything she thinks you’ll need

You will probably be wearing something worth more than your entire wardrobe for the night

She will dress you up, maybe do your spooky makeup if you’re into that

She would make sure to get you both invites to the coolest party going

I’m talking the coolest

anyone who’s anyone is going

Will walk you in as if you’re both on the red carpet

Will not let anyone compliment one of you without demanding they compliment the other

You will have the best time

Dancing and laughing the entire night

Riley:

Probably wouldn’t enjoy Halloween so much

He sees enough demons on a normal week day

Might want a night off but won’t be too into going out

But If he sees you all excited he’ll start to change his mind

Slowly

He’ll do some activities if you ask and smile as he watches your enthusiasm

When he sees you dressed up he may rethink

Wants you to have a good time so he asks what you wanna do

your choice all day

you wanna go and make dumb decorations? He’ll get the craft glue

you wanna eat your weight in candy? He’s down to share

will take you to a party if you ask

(and maybe even join in with any activities on offer if he’s in a good mood)

will enjoy himself, especially with you on his arm

but you will leave early

He will make an excuse to go home with you

weirdly his job hasn’t called him in tonight

maybe the demons have time off or something?

Weird

you go back to his place and are able to spend a whole uninterrupted night together

you have Halloween themed movies on in the background but mostly you’re spending it together in bed

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csykora · 4 years ago

Text

After ‘84, Igor felt the pieces were beginning to fall off the Red Machine.

He hated being called a robot as much as he hated being called a soldier. He didn’t know what the world wanted the Green Unit to do on the ice or off it, how they had to behave, before someone would believe they had feelings. On the worst days they were too tired and numb to feel anything else.

When he’d met Bobby Clarke, who he thought looked like a hockey angel with a blond halo and no teeth, Bobby commented about the Soviet presence in Afghanistan. Igor didn’t know how to say that he’d definitely never been allowed to go to Afghanistan, and under the uniform he didn’t deserve to be a soldier, for good or bad. The national team was a tool of the Soviet government: at the same time it was a comfort for ordinary people in cold little apartments in mining towns where the players grew up and also a prop in the illusions that kept everything how it was.

The illusion went skin deep: every time they left Russia, Igor was issued a snappy winter coat and brand-name Western clothes, so no one would think the Soviets looked poor.

[A black and white photo of the Green Unit posing, smiling except for Igor, in matching windbreakers with saddle shoulders and bold stripes. This was a hot look, about 10 years before the Soviet Union Costuming Department thought it was a hot look]

Underneath the coat or the beautiful red sweater, everything was a mess. At one point, at a tournament in Canada, a Canadian player would hit Igor from behind. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except the Soviet management hadn’t provided enough hockey pads. Igor was wearing a partial set he’d borrowed from a high school team that played in the host arena earlier that day. (Across Europe and Canada I bet there are grown men, still hockey fans now, who have no idea they once owned game-worn gear from the world’s top scorers. To Igor’s fans those pieces might be worth as much as he ever earned in his CSKA career.) He would play the rest of that tournament with broken ribs.

The only outsider he’d met who seemed to understand, however briefly, was their friend Vanya. Asked what it was like playing against those Russian robots, Wayne said,

“Robots don’t hurt when they lose.”

By June 1985, Slava was recovering from that knee injury that had sidelined him for half the last season. He and his little brother Tolya, now a CSKA rookie, drove back for the start of training. Their car was hit, and Tolya was killed. Slava thought about leaving that season, but their parents told him to keep going, and just try to live for two people.

In November, the players at Arkhangel heard a rumor: someone had written an article, in a Soviet paper, that criticized the hockey program. Anything that wasn’t awe was criticism. Someone got their hands on a copy, and Igor, Vova, Sergei, and Slava huddled around their usual table that evening, hiding each other as they read it in turns. Igor reread it twice. He’d read Canadian and American papers that dragged the Soviet system, but never something like this, that got it--almost--right. It didn’t have all the details to understand the illusion--how they trained, how Tikhonov acted behind Arkhangel’s walls--but it guessed some.

Glasnost was beginning, a long rustling cracking thaw opening new streams of information and communication like Igor had dreamed. The Canucks drafted him that year, and then Vova. The Devils had dibsed Slava and Lyosha a few years before, and the Flames wanted Sergei. There was a place for them, waiting, if they could ever get to the NHL. But there wouldn’t be any thaw in Arkhangel as long as Tikhonov ruled it.

The ’85 World Championships were held in Prague, and ’86 in Moscow. Igor played both, and nothing else. For two years, no one saw him outside the Soviet Union.

In December of ‘85, CSKA was supposed to tour North America. Igor was dressed and ready. Then he heard his passport, which he had used a hundred times before, had run into problems. Coach told him not to worry, but to stay behind in Russia and--how convenient--keep training for the championships in Moscow. Igor woke up at three in the morning to watch the games he was supposed to be playing. He learned that Canadian journalists were asking about him: apparently, he had tonsillitis. Igor wasn’t entirely sure where his tonsils were.

Two months later CSKA played in Sweden. Strange, how his tonsils still weren’t better, and his passport was still missing. Two nights before they were set to leave Tikhonov called him into the office, in front of the team, and told him so. But the next evening Tretiak, now a more senior officer, came out to visit the barracks. He hugged Igor and promised him he would do what he could to get the passport by the time they were supposed to leave the next morning. Igor went to bed hoping. At 4:30 AM the coaches woke him just to tell him the passport wasn’t there yet, so the team really would be leaving without him.

The third time it happened, he was told to go back to the passport office to file everything all over again--maybe he had fucked up his passport. He didn’t bother. Taking away travel had been one thing. But doing it in front of the team, in front of the Green Unit, so that he knew that they knew that he had let them down somehow, broke his heart.

He was still allowed to play inside the Soviet Union. As long as he was with CSKA, the other Greens treated him the same as always. If they had known how bad things were going to get, Igor thought they would have done more sooner, but he knew that they didn’t understand what was happening. In between games, he spent his days in office buildings, being grilled about suspicious activities like listening to rock music, calling his mom too often, or kissing Canadians.

“I was at fault all around. That I gladly gave interviews to journalists. That I liked the NHL...that I like rock music. That the living standard there impressed me. All this was raked up into a pile. I was the enemy. Because, you see, if I liked the American way of life, then in general I was an American by heart. All of this they said about me.

By nature, I am clearly a Russian. I do not like everything in America. It cannot be that somewhere is as in a fairytale, and somewhere else is total darkness.

Particularly, it seemed, my [friendliness] offended the preservers of government secrets….I also knew a little English. Therefore I had the possibility to rub elbows with whomever I might come in contact: hockey players, journalists and even immigrants. And, they assumed, to each of them I could give important information--everyone getting an equal share, no doubt, in order to be fair.”

He couldn’t talk to his friends from other countries, or his Russian friends either when they traveled without him. On the street outside between the rink and the party offices, none of his former fans would speak to him, except to ask or tell him their opinion if he really was a traitor.

He was wanted everywhere but home. Obviously, no other country believed that a 25 year-old athlete who had been the best in the world six months before had been brought down by tonsillitis multiple times in a row. There’s only so many tonsils a person can have. Obviously, every other country thought Igor must want to defect, the one thing he did not want and couldn’t convince anyone of. So each host on the international hockey circuit was bouncing on their toes, first Canada, then Sweden and so on, thinking maybe the Soviet Union would slip up and let him come to their tournament, he'd defect, and then they’d get to keep him. Obviously, the Soviets noticed that, and squeezed tighter.

Each time the team left on tour, he was told to spend his time alone training harder and hope. If he was good enough, maybe he’d make the next tournament. His body, always a battle-ground with Coach Tikhonov, became a hostage situation. The more Tikhonov told him to train, the less he ate. Eventually he was eating mostly fruit, and restricting his water intake.

He stopped pretending to defer to anyone. He used to be the sober one between his hot-head wingers, and now he egged every fight on. Sometimes he faked an American accent, calling Coach “Tikhonoff” the way American broadcasters had at the '81 Olympics.

One day at the rink he bumped into figure skater Lena Batanova, who “knew nothing about hockey and could not have cared less.” She had been through worse training than he had growing up, only to win two World Championships, and then be slighted from a third. They understood each other without having to say anything.

[Igor washing dishes in their Moscow apartment, turning to glance at Lena pressing up him.]

That summer he stayed up late talking with his friends, and realized he wanted to marry Lena. He asked her the next morning, and she said yes. Behind Igor’s back, Slava, Vova, Sergei, and Lyosha went to Coach Tikhonov’s office, and told him that they would play every other day of the year if they had to, but they would be going to Igor’s wedding. Coach wouldn’t allow the three days for a traditional Russian wedding, but he had to give Igor one.

Waking up the morning after the wedding, Igor checked the mail and found a summons to appear before the Central Committee of the Communist Party. His friends, who I imagine lying hungover on his and Lena’s new couch and floor, rushed for their unused books to help him study up on Communist doctrine, in case he got quizzed. This is presumably when Lena woke up, realized she’d married a whole line of hockey players for their one communal brain cell, and rolled back over. Igor reported the next morning, probably with flashcards Vova had made for him in his pocket.

The Party officials congratulated him on getting married and gave him the wedding gift they were sure no one else would have gotten: his passport. We have to guess the logic here, if there was one. It’s possible the Party thought he wouldn’t risk his wife, or that two years had just been enough to realize the team wasn’t working without him.

But he was allowed to go to Canada for the Calgary Cup before the end of ‘86, and everyone had questions about his two years of tonsillitis. Igor, for the first time in his life, didn’t talk. But that just left the hockey world to gossip. Two months later it was announced he’d be in Quebec City for another tournament, and right before they arrived a Quebec newspaper printed a version of the night out with Gretzky--with quotes, they claimed, from Wayne. This time the tournament organizers called someone from every team up for a pregame presser. I imagine Igor shrugging at his KGB handlers and sliding away to the stage: nothing could stop him talking now.

Except the Canadian journalists. They wanted to interview Team Canada first. Igor stewed, and then looked up to see an oncoming Wayne. Someone had asked him about the alleged quotes in the article, which Igor had snagged a copy of to read the second they let him loose in Canada. Apparently Wayne hadn’t.

“‘Believe me, Igor,’” Igor remembers Wayne blurting out. “‘I didn’t say what was printed in the paper. I’ll tell them it didn’t happen! But what is your position now?’”

“‘Do not worry,” Igor promised him. “‘Now, everything is okay.’”

“Oh, awesome,” (I’m assuming again) Wayne said. “So do you want to come over later and hang out in my mom’s basement?!”

“If the KGB pulls a gun, then call me.” --Wayne Gretzky

Weirdly, I’ve never seen this inspirational quote cross-stitched on someone’s wall.

The next Canada Cup was held in August ‘87 in Hamilton, Ontario, which is like, basically next door to Wayne’s parents’ house. So the afternoon before the first game, Wayne sent his dad Walter to the hotel where the Soviet team was staying. Walter asked in Ukrainian if he could chat with Igor, who had to come down to the hotel lobby to meet him, since visitors were absolutely not allowed to wander up to players’ rooms. Walter invited his son’s friend over for dinner. Igor cut eyes at the KGB agent in the corner, and said he had to go upstairs and ask Coach. Tikhonov said no before Igor started talking.

Igor came back downstairs and apologized to Walter, who thought hard for a minute. He told Igor to ask what if the whole Green Unit went to Wayne’s house for team bonding? Coach Tikhonov considered, and said no, and Igor went back to Walter.

Walter hitched up his suspenders, and announced to the KGB that he would talk go to Coach Tikhonov now.

He told Tikhonov he would be honored if Coach came to dinner at his house that evening, and if Coach felt like it, he might bring the boys over too. Tikhonov said he’d love to.

Tikhonov, Igor, Vova, Sergei, Slava, Lyosha, and a KGB operative spent a delightful half hour packed in a car together driving to the Gretzkys' house, where Walter and Phyllis were throwing a cookout. Walter and some of his local buddies had barbecue and corn on the cob on the grill, and Phyllis had quizzed her son about his Moscow trip before throwing up her hands in despair and making a big batch of her mother’s Polish dumplings and sausage.

Nothing makes me happier than the image of Wayne Gretzky, beaming from ear to ear, handing famously fussy little Igor Larionov a piece of barbecued corn on the cob. Igor had to explain that yes, they had corn in Russia, but they ate it on a plate and not like squirrels. Walter offered him a beer, and Igor looked to Coach Tikhonov before saying no. Tikhonov allowed the players to have a soda.

Wayne started asking him how everything had been since the last time they hung out, and didn’t get why his friend wouldn’t talk to him at first. Igor might answer one question, and then act like he didn’t understand. Sergei and Vova really didn’t speak English, and kept elbowing Igor to explain what was going on and why Wayne was smiling at them like that, but Igor was still pretending he only spoke Russian and hesitated to translate for them. Finally Wayne realized Igor was clamming up every time Tikhonov got within earshot.

Wayne went to Walter to change the game plan. Walter would use his Ukrainian to ask Coach Tikhonov about his many amazing accomplishments, while Wayne told the whole party he wanted to show the other boys his medals, which were all down in the basement. Unfortunately the Gretzky family’s basement was very small, and housed Wayne’s many, many medals, so only two people could possibly fit down there at a time: one Gretzky, and one Russian. Tikhonov thought about it, decided he didn’t care about someone else’s medals, and gave the okay.

Just in case, Wayne deputized his dad’s buddy Charlie, who did not speak Russian or anything like it but was somebody’s dad from suburban Ontario, to chat up the KGB agent.

So Wayne began to escort the Green Unit, one by one, down to his family’s basement. At the bottom of the stairs, he handed them a beer. The two of them chugged their beers together, trying not to take suspiciously long or laugh too loud, and then ran back up to change out for the next boy.

Nothing happened that night. It didn’t change anything, except that Tikhonov never found out. The Greens had been able to get one over on him, because they didn’t have to do it alone.

Main

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#green unit #igor larionov #wayne gretzky #slava fetisov #sergei makarov #vladimir krutov

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fuck-customers · 5 years ago

Text

How does he still have a job?

So I'll start by saying I like my job for the most part like yea there are times it pisses me off but I think that's every job even if you love it. But there is this one guy at my job that frankly I have NO CLUE how this guy, we'll call him "Jimmy", still has a job! What does he do might you ask? Better question is what doesn't he? 1) He is openly condescending and rude to other workers (and even some times customers.) at the drop of a hat. a good example of this happened about a week ago, a coworker of mine sold some people an extra ticket they didn't need (the people buying them didn't even notice.). NOT a big deal, they can easily come back to the front desk and we can give hem the money back at ANYTIME that day. Well "Jimmy" felt the need to make this known to not only the person who made this mall mistake but also known to EVERYONE at our work within ear shot of a radio by loudly and very condescendingly barks into the radio "UHM??? [Name of guy who sold the ticket's]?? You sold these people a ticket they didn't need! They need FIVE tickets, NOT six [NAME]. They are going to look around and when they are done I'm going to send them back down to you, you are GOING TO get them a manager, you are GOING to get them their money back for that extra ticket that you sold them, and you are GOING TO tell them sorry about this [NAME]. Be more careful next time!" I honestly wish I was kidding, the poor guy selling tickets was mortified at how much "Jimmy" blew up this tiny mistake. Keep in mind this isn't the first time he's done something like this either this is just the newest time he's done it. To be fair he was swiftly talked to about it and forced to say sorry, not that it makes up for it. 2) He touches people... a LOT. This is a BIG one, caz when I say he touches people I me even if you tell him to stop he will keep doing it. We have about 35 people in our department and only 3 of them are "comfortable" working with him, everyone else WILL and does ask to not work with him if they know he's their that day. It doesn't stop him from coming and bothering them and touching them but it lessens it. Only thing that stops it is getting openly very angry with him or involving management and both of those only keep him away like a week at most. What kind of touching? Touching peoples faces, rubbing their shoulders, rubbing their backs, grabbing their hands, arms, hair, putting his arms around their shoulders, waists, hips, forcing hugs on people and not letting them go, pulling on their clothes, etc, etc. The dude will NOT keep his hands to himself.

3) The VERY inappropriate jokes. Now I think everyone has let a bad joke slip but this guy has nothing but bad jokes. He's made every kind of bad joke at work you can think of! Black joke, pedo jokes, rape jokes, sexual jokes, slavery jokes, killing babies/kids, making jokes about someones family member/pet dying, joking about people dying of cancer, etc. Not only to other workers but COSTUMERS while on shift and in uniform. Some of these jokes are SO bad that managers wouldn't even repeat them or wanted to write them down (I'm good friends with a manager outside of work and asked if it was really THAT bad of a joke, she loves dark jokes and she wouldn't even repeat it.) These have been stopped for the most part I think? Hopefully? 4) Has been openly homophobic and shoves religion down everyone's throat, the homophobic stuff has been stopped by management as far as I know but he still tries to force religion on people as much as he can. 5) This kind of goes with #4 as he has given female coworkers shit for having short hair duo to it makes them look like a "lesbian", makes them look like a boy, or isn't how girls are "intended to look" whatever that means. Managers have gotten this to stop from what I know though he does still make comments about "Oh you got your hair cut, a little short, huh? Is that really how short you asked for or was that them messing up?" every now and then if he sees one of the girls at work has cut her hair short or gotten it trimmed when it was growing out to much. 6) Has openly mocked people with disabilities, enough said there. 7) We have a gift shop and have a few toy demos we're allowed to show off how thy work and and play with, one of these is an "airzooka" which if you're not sure what that is it's pretty much just a little canon that shoots puffs of air at people and is pretty much harmless... Unless you're "Jimmy" that is. Jimmy has gotten the airzooka taken away from the demo area I believe twice now. the first time was for shooting puffs of air at him older man who nicely asked him to stop the FIRST time he did it but after doing it over and over for 5 whole minutes and wouldn't leave the guy alone a manager had to be called and it was taken away. The next time was for running around the store chasing kids with it and shooting at puffs at them, which was fine up till he wouldn't leave the kids alone and the mother got creeped out when he kept following her kids, I'm not 100% sure what all the details are on that one but he's not allowed to run around with little kids anymore. 8) He doesn't wash his hands. And yea ew, that's REALLY gross but it's even worse when you know we have a small food area and he doesn't wash his hands even after going to the bathroom and has to be told to when he gets back to the food area. This from what I know isn't all the time but it's enough to have been noticed. Nasty af. 9) He eats food off the floor and out of trash cans... In front of costumers. He's been asked if he has food at home or needs help getting food and he told management "No, I have plenty of food? I just don't think wasting food should be allowed."

10) On top of all of this, you would THINK "Oh well, he must at LEAST be a good worker and that's why they keep him on, right??" Nope. This guy doesn't do shit and honestly if anything makes other people's jobs harder.

I could go on but I think everyone get's the picture here, how this guy still has a job is beyond me! From what we all know he has no mental disabilities (Which would excuse SOME stuff but not all and still wouldn't make any of it ok.) management has check in on it to see and be sure so he really doesn't have an excuse for why he acts like this or why the hell he still ha a job here when he's talked to ALL THE TIME and no one will work with him willingly since he makes everyone so uncomfortable. I mean we're WAY past the three strikes and you're out rule here, you now? I'm just hoping he doesn't end up hurting someone, triggering someones PTSD, or making them sick not washing his hands.

#tw #trigger warning #submissions #fuck co-workers #embarrassing #fuck coworkers #submission

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neocity-sarai · 5 years ago

Text

“Love in _____” series

❀ chapter 4: reader x jeno

❀ friends to lovers

❀ alerts: fluff, tinge of angst, language, suggestive, making out

❀ song rec: “somebody to you” by the vamps ft. demi lovato

Just splendid. The moment you had stepped onto the streets outside of the Los Angeles airport, you groaned at the piece of gum that clung to the bottom of your new high tops- a going away gift from your parents. They were overjoyed that you’d be interning at one of the biggest independent film studios as a makeup assistant- even more than you were. In your free time, you’d read magazines about the year’s top 20 cosmetic brands and brush techniques that were applied on Hollywood’s biggest celebrities. Some of your friends claimed that being a makeup artist wasn’t being an artist in itself. To you, it was the exact opposite. Makeup had the power to beautify and transform even when the canvas was already beautiful.

So far, you didn’t feel the excitement yet. The air smelt foggy, grey clouds hung above the city in a clump, and you taxi driver had no interest to indulge in your conversation at all. You sat in the back seat, gazing out the car window as you watched the city blur past you. You passed the Hollywood sign that perched on it’s mountain and the palm trees that lined rodeo drive- cars parked on every meter of the block. As your playlist shuffled on, you couldn’t believe you managed to make it to California by yourself.

After your taxi driver dropped you off at your air b and b, you settled yourself in the studio space: a cozy bedroom complete with a bathroom and living room area. Much bigger than your room back home, you didn’t complain at all. That evening, you decided to go grocery shopping as you cooked an adequate meal for yourself- excited jitters bouncing in your stomach. Tomorrow would be your first day at the studio. You promised yourself you’d give it all you’ve got.

“Where is Matthew?!”

You stare back at a woman who’s dressed in a tight pencil skirt and white button-up as she continues to yell at you, “Are you Matthew?!”

Confusedly, you look around the film warehouse, “No- I-”

She turns to the left of you, stepping around you, “Matthew! You over there! Get on the coffee orders for the screenwriting team!”

A few fairs fall out of the woman’s perfect bun, her chest heaving from yelling, “Are you the new makeup assistant?”

Nodding at her, you speak, “Yeah. I am-”

“I don’t care who you are. Go report to Constance, she’s in aisle 4.”

Just like that, the woman leaves you standing in shock. You had interned with other film studios before, yet they all had welcomed you with soft-spoken voices and smiles. You were in Hollywood now, the epicenter of film and pop culture. It was no brainer that people seemed more abrasive. Eventually, you made your way to aisle 4- the cosmetics department. A girl no older than you stood by a row of vanities that made her darker-toned skin glow in the violet light that radiated from the mirrors. She was organizing an array of brushes, palettes, and hair products as she tied her hair into a loose braid. Black frames cover her eyebrows as they sit on the bridge of her nose, she wears a black uniform.

You lightly tap her on the shoulder, “Uh, hi. Could you point me in the direction of Constance?”

She turns to you, a smile gracing her mauve lips, “Are you y/n? The new assistant?”

You nod, “Yes, that’s me!”

Sweeping her braid over her shoulder, she replies, “Constance is out getting lunch for us right now but I’d be happy to take you around the studio? My name’s Terra!”

Reaching out your hand, you shake Terra’s hand firmly, “I’d love that.”

You ask her, “So what do you do?”

Adjusting her glasses, Terra chuckles, “I’m Constance’s personal secretary. I help train the newcomers, organize her schedule, and book her clients. I’m sure we’ll be working together very often.”

“Thank you for showing me around, I was really nervous when I first got here. Someone thought I was Matthew?”

Terra eyes you knowingly, “Was she a woman about yea tall, office outfit and had a bellowing voice?”

Nodding, you laugh, “Sounds like a perfect description.” “Don’t mind Valencia. She's a handful. She intimidated me until I found out that she just worked for PR. She likes to be bossy.”

As you and Terra breeze through the aisles, Terra gives you a tour through each of the studio’s sections. First was screenwriting and producing, the director’s office, and costume/set design. You continued to keep up with her, people waving to Terra with a bright smile as she told you stories and funny moments that occurred within the departments.

“Don’t tick off anyone from PR, they’ll give you an earful. If you want snacks, go to screenwriting because they like to keep the clients happy and full. If you want to talk to someone about a problem with work, the board office is over there.”

Nodding along, she leads you to a set that rests in the corner of the warehouse. Your eyes trail over the numerous light stands and propped up green screens, wires scattering like a web on the ground. With a blurry flash, a boy comes into view. When you look up, you don’t expect to be met with such a handsome boy. He wears a pair of black dress pants and a flaming red jacket, his dark auburn hair gelled back. You take note of the sharpness of his jaw and the way his features harden in the spotlight, “Terra! What’s up?”

Terra socks a punch into the boy’s arm, “Jeno, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Terra turns to you, her eyes motioning towards Jeno before he smiles at you, his eyes curling into crescent moons, “Who might you be?”

You barely choke on your words, “H-hi, my name’s y/n..”

Jeno extends his hand to you, you feel the texture of his callous fingers on your skin- a blush creeps onto your cheeks unwillingly. He’s still smiling at you, “My name’s Jeno. Welcome to Sunfire studios.”

Terra bumps her elbow at your arm, “Y/n’s gonna have to go through the whole process just like the old days.”

Chuckling, Jeno runs his fingers through his dark hair, “We did it, everyone’s gotta I assume.”

Terra places a hand on Jeno’s shoulder, “Well, we’ll leave you to your project. See you, hotshot.”

“Later, Terra. Good meeting you, y/n. See you around?”

You nod a little too quickly, “Yeah-right- Jeno?”

Jeno grunts in agreement before disappearing behind a set of double doors by the green screen. Terra tugs you along, her eyebrows wiggling, “So, what did you think of everything?”

You chuckle at her, “Everything seems great. I'm really excited to be here.”

Terra eyes you, “Any burning questions you have for me?”

At first, you try to decide against it. With a random surge of confidence, your question comes out in a sputter of words, “N-not that it’s my business but are you with Jeno?”

Terra raises her brows suggestively, eyes widening, “Really?”

You squeak, “Uh, yes?”

Terra bursts out into violent laughter, “Jeno and I are just good partners- we’re friends. Plus, I’m more into girls anyway.”

You breath hitches in your throat, “Oh.”

“What, don’t seem like it?”

You wave your hands in the air at her, “No! No, it’s not that. I just thought seeing you two, you were-”

A sinister smile creeps onto Terra’s face, “I see what it is. You have a crush on Jeno, don't you?”

Shaking your head wildly, you almost manage to spit in her face, “No! I- that’s not it!”

Terra gives you a slap on the back as if you were old friends, “Not to worry- every newcomer experiences a crush on Jeno.”

You pause, “What’s that mean?”

Terra pushes up her glasses again, “Be careful if I were you. Being here for 3 years, I’ve seen Jeno break a lot of hearts without him meaning to. He’s not a play boy or an asshole. When girls confess their feelings to him, all he can talk about is his dream of becoming the best film-maker and how he won’t let anything get in the way of his dream- including romances.”

Gulping, you nod, “Right- I was just wondering.”

You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your heart and the momentary butterflies of a boy you literally just met. What were you hoping for? You too, weren’t at Sunfire for distractions either. Terra puts an arm around your shoulder, “Jeno spends his time trailing after the directors like a love-sick puppy, you’ll only have to work with him for a short time. I want to see if you can break the string of girls who fall for him.”

You nod at her, “Right, I won’t lose my focus.”

A smirk graces Terra’s lips, “Time will tell.”

When you make it back to the cosmetics department, you finally meet Constance. She’s an African American woman, her jet-black curls bounce over her clothed shoulder when she hands Terra a bag of takeout. Terra speaks first, “Constance, this is y/n- the assistant.”

Constance turns to you, her irises glinting with glee, “Ah yes! Welcome y/n! If you ever have trouble with anything, don’t hesitate to contact me alright?”

Nodding, you smile at her, “Thank you so much. I’m happy to be working under you.”

“Yes! Yes! Now, eat!”

After lunch hour was over, you found yourself sneaking glances at Jeno when he’d talk to Constance. You were given the task of sorting the new and expired makeup from the storage room, not the job that you’d hope to have. Still, you were grateful that Terra and Constance were kind to you. Rummaging through boxes of eyeshadow palettes, you hear a voice from behind you. You see Jeno lean his body against the closet’s door frame, “Working hard y/n?”

You fall back onto your butt from your crouching position, “Jeno- don’t sneak up on me like that..”

Jeno laughs, his thin lips stretching across his face, “Sorry, I’m on break right now.”

“You’re good. How’s the project going?”

Jeno’s contorts with surprise, “Terra told you about my project?”

“Well, not specifically? just that you are working on something for the directors?”

Visibly, you watch Jeno let out a relieved sigh, his hand placed on his heart, “Oh good. Yeah- the directors gave me a film assignment to do. I’m taking a while because my creative juices have been stunted.”

You reply back to him, “Why is that?”

Instead of answering you, Jeno grumbles as he bites his lower lip, “The assignment is difficult is all.”

“Maybe I can help?”

In front of you, Jeno waves his hands in front of you refusingly, “No, no. I must do this on my own. Otherwise, I can’t give my 100% effort.”

From behind him, you hear Constance yell at Jeno, “Jeno back to work! Break time’s over!”

Jeno flashes a toothy grin at you, “Have fun sorting through expired makeup y/n.”

Scoffing, you smile, “Have fun doing whatever secret assignment you have.”

“Later, y/n.”

Like that, Jeno walks back to his corner of the warehouse- leaving you in the dusty closet alone as you sigh at the numerous boxes you have yet to go through.

A week later

Constance and Terra make sure to debrief you of everything that’s happening at the studio today, a line of investors are working with Sunfire Studios to arrange some kind of agreement. You try to avoid the cold eyes of the burly men dressed in freshly-pressed suits as they pass the makeup department by. You swallow the lump in your throat from the intimidation. Terra whispers in your ear, “Those guys can’t ever control their temper, I always hear them screaming at Mr. Stevens.”

You flick your eyes back up to Terra, “They would scream at the director?”

Nodding at you, she frowns, “In the film business, everyone’s critical of everyone.”

Cautiously, you and Terra clean the makeup brushes in order to lessen Constance’s load- you hadn’t seen her all day as she was sitting through grueling meetings with the other departments. Suddenly, you spot the investors exit out the door as they grumble to themselves, rolling their eyes.

“Do you think the meeting went well?”

Terra tuts, “Based on their faces, I don’t think so. Be prepared for Mr. Stevens to be snappy for the next week.”

Conveniently, you hear Mr. Stevens bellow his voice at Jeno, waving his hand around, “You call this good work?! You’ve been off your ball game Jeno! At this rate, how can you make films if you can’t put together a measly project son?!”

Terra looks up from her brushes, “There he goes again.”

“Shouldn’t we step in? Is it okay for him to yell at Jeno like that?”

Shaking her head, Terra sighs, “No, it’s best to leave them be. It’s always like this, Mr. Stevens is trying to teach Jeno the ways of the industry. Jeno gets frustrated for a few days and then he works too hard until he faints.”

“That’s not healthy?”

“No, but it works for Jeno.”

Though you hadn’t known him for long, you couldn’t help but feel concerned. You watched Jeno storm out of Mr. Steven’s office and out the back door, slamming it out of anger. You want to help him, to comfort him. Terra’s hand on your shoulder, stopping you, “Don’t anger him further, let him cool off a bit.”

Closing your mouth, you go back to work. Like that, another day passes by and when you lay on your bed at night, you still think of Jeno.

In the morning

“Terra! Y/n!”

You step beside Terra, taking in every piece of Constance’s instructions. Constance guides a younger girl into your view. Constance continues, “Today, we will be participating in the creative pitch meeting today. Here is the film we will be working on and the makeup looks that production has asked us to do. If Mr. Stevens doesn’t approve, we will be sat out of this production. This is our only shot.”

You nod determinedly, “Let’s do it.”

Constance motions the girl to come forward, “This is Mr. Steven’s niece- she will be helping with small tasks and observing.”

Terra flashes a bright smile and a thumbs up, “Welcome to the team kiddo!”

You add, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Timidly, the girl tugs on her blonde ponytail, “Blair..”

You squeeze her hand, “Want to help me test out lipstick shades Blair?”

Reluctantly, she runs over to you, a laugh drifting out of her lips after you lift her on to one of the chairs that sits in front of a vanity. Constance smiles, scratching her chin, “Terra, do you mind coming with me? I need you to help me get some of the fabric samples in the costume department.”

“Sure, Constance. You’ll be okay y/n?”

You reply back with a wide smile, “Of course. Don’t worry.”

While they’re gone, you receive a text from Constance.

<12:54 PM (Constance- Sunfire Studios): hey y/n. Can you get started on the hair dye? The actresses will be here a bit early and the hair department is low on staff at the moment. You’ll need A34 in Chestnut Copper, B78 in Licorice Black, and D56 in Electric Blue. Thanks, it'll be a big help!”>

<12: 55 PM: Leave it to me!>

Placing your phone in your back pocket, you run to the storage cabinets and grab the exact colors listed in Constance’s text. You start opening the boxes, Blair staring at you as you work. You try your best to coax her, “So, what do you want to do when you grow up?”

Blair grins at you, gaps in her teeth, “I want to be like you!”

Laughing, you pat her on her head, “The film industry is an amazing place, makeup is a beautiful part of it.”

You also grab bowls in order to mix the dye in, realizing you forgot to grab brushes and spatulas to apply the dye on to the actresses. You smile at Blair, “Sweetheart, I have to go grab some things. You stay here alright?”

She nods, sucking on a lollipop that Constance gave her. By the time you make it back, you see Blair staring at her uncle from farther away, watching him as he directs the different departments. Constance and Terra make it back too, they help you to stir the dyes with the brushes you found. Eventually, you hand it off to the team of hairstylists. Within an hour or so, you hear a woman shriek as if she has seen a monster, followed by an angry Mr. Stevens. He shouts, “Makeup department! Get here now!”

Constance and Terra eye you confusedly, taking Blair’s hand in yours as you lead her towards the hair department. In view, you spot Mr. Stevens as red as a tomato, Jeno standing behind him with a frown on his face. The actress is practically in tears when her hair looks like a sloppy accident- her head covered in brown and blue spots. Mr. Steven’s voice makes you jolt, “Who is responsible for this?!”

Constance runs to his side, pleading forgiveness before Mr. Stevens holds a hand at her, “You and Terra were busy reporting to costumes. I’m asking who mixed the dye!”

Terra stares down at the ground, Constance says nothing. You already feel sweat dripping down your back, your hands feel clammy. Quietly, you whisper, “I did sir. It was me.”

Mr. Stevens breezes past Constance and Terra directly to you, “Who even are you?”

Constance is still pleading, “Forgive me Mr. Stevens, I was the one who asked y/n to do it. It’s not her fault.”

“But it is. If she can’t even mix hair dye correctly then how can she be your assistant? I should fire you right now.”

You cast your eyes down to the floor, tears welling up in your eyes as it blurs your vision. Suddenly, you hear the seriousness in Jeno’s voice. He tightens his jaw, “Sir, y/n didn’t do it.”

He glares back at Jeno, “If not her, then who?”

Jeno points at Blair, “When we were talking with production, I saw her mixing them together while y/n was grabbing supplies. It was out of her control.”

Visibly, it looks like Mr. Stevens will explode. He growls at Jeno, “Are you going to accuse my niece now? A little kid?”

Your voice cracks more than you expect, “No. I take full responsibility. It’s my fault and I accept it.”

Letting go of Blair’s hand, she gives you a sad frown, clutching onto your sweater, “Don’t go-”

“Y/n. You’re off the cosmetics team. You’re fired.”

Like that, you feel the pain of the silence. You feel the sinking of your heart. You hadn’t just gotten there and you failed. What would everyone back home think? The tears start to fall, your cheeks wet, “I will go collect my things.”

You hear Terra calling after you but you wave her off. Once you’re done collecting your things, you burst out the door and into the hot Los Angeles heat- the roads empty of any cars. The dryness you feel in your throat doesn't help when you’re still sobbing- you decide to take the bus home. The bus driver pays no mind to your tears, her eyes focused on the long road ahead. Plopping into the front seat in defeat, you receive notifications from Terra and Jeno but you don’t look at any of them. When you manage to make it home, all you can do is throw your box aside- some of the objects breaking from the impact. When you were told it was hard, you didn’t know that it would be this difficult. You felt like a failure, your dreams of working as a makeup artist withering. After a few hours of moping and crying into your pillow, you think it’s only common courtesy to respond back to Terra at the least.

<4:00 PM (Terra): Y/n? Are you okay? Can we talk?>

Dialing her number, Terra answers it almost immediately, “Y/n?”

Your voice sounds hoarse, “Yes?”

“How are you doing?”

Sighing, you roll onto your side, “Not the greatest but I’m alive.”

Her voice sounds deeply concerned, “Listen, I know I can’t do much to help but I care about you as a friend and co-worker. How about we go out today?”

Your reply becomes more snarky by the minute, “Listen, Terra- I appreciate the sincerity but I don’t feel like going out right now.”

“Come on, y/n. You have nothing to lose. If anything, at least you won’t have to be yelled at by our boss anymore. Just one night.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Text me at 7!”

With a click, Terra hangs up on her end- leaving you with the silence of your room. You sigh, throwing a hefty punch to your pillow out of frustration. Did you want to go? Fuck it. At this point, there wasn’t holding you back. It’s not like you had to go to work the next morning.

7PM.

“Yes! Y/n, we’re gonna have the best night of our lives! Let’s get drunk!”

Terra’s voice explodes through your phone speaker, you wince in pain when you feel your eardrum throb.

“We’ll see, Terra. Just two hours alright? The least I can do is have a good night’s sleep.”

“Deal!”

Within 15 minutes, you see Terra drive up to your driveway, boxy black shades sitting on the bridge of her nose. She’s sitting in a cherry red convertible, her smile brightening, “Get in loser! We’re going shopping!”

Perhaps, you could allow yourself to have a little fun. Though you had just been fired that day, you couldn’t fight the growing smile that graced your lips. You stuck your arms out above you, belting words as Terra yells along with you. The feeling is like being in a coming-of-age film where you’re zooming through rodeo drive to the highway that stretches over the ocean blue, salty air drifting under your nose. Terra cranks up her radio, some Beatles song that you don’t know, Terra belting out the lyrics while you shut your eyes in content- the sun dipping into the horizon. Flowery bushes line the side of the road, the people on the beach look like small ants in the distance. Suddenly, Terra turns down her stereo, “Hey- I hope you don’t mind but I asked Jeno to hang with us. He felt really bad about earlier and I just think he needs to get out more!”

You widen her eyes at her, “You asked Jeno?”

Terra gives you a suggestive smile, her lips smeared with red lipstick, “Technically, this was Jeno’s idea to take you out!”

Nodding, you whisper, “Jeno did?”

Before you know it, Terra pulls up to a modern-looking apartment after passing the Hollywood walk of fame, goldcast stars lining the road. In an instant, Jeno whisks through the lobby doors and you felt as if your breath had been knocked out of your lungs. He cards his fingers through his mahogany hair, his body fit with black, ripped jeans and a tangerine-colored bomber jacket. His fingers are clad with silver bands, his eyelashes accenting his coffee irises. He smiles at you first, “Glad you could make it y/n.”

You nod, “Right, thanks Jeno. Thanks Terra.”

Terra giggles, “Don’t thank me! Now, I am famished so let’s get some grub.”

You ask her, “Where are we eating?”

Terra jabs you in the shoulder, “Just you wait, I know just the place.”

By the time you reach the so-called place, you now understand why you wanted to be in California so much. Terra expertly maneuvers her convertible up a series of hilled roads, parking on a ledge that overlooks the ocean. Jeno laughs, “This place never gets old.”

You watch him gaze out into the depths below, his hands resting on the railing. The sun casts rays of golden honey onto his hard features, his hair lighter from the effect. Terra yells at you both, “Hurry up guys!”

You’re amazed at Terra’s choice of an establishment. It’s a retro diner that overlooks the ocean, a large neon sign reading: “Jubilee’s Diner.” When you walk into the space, the checkerboard tile extends to the bar area as customers sip on milkshakes piled with whipped cream. The booths are lined with leather that matches the shade of Terra’s car, waitresses zoom past you on rollerskates. One woman approaches you three as she breaks into a smile, picking up 3 menus, “Terra, my girl!”

Terra laughs, motioning us to follow the woman into a booth that sits by a large glass window. Terra scoots in, the skin of your thigh rubbing against the leather seat as Jeno sits across from you both. The woman hands Terra a menu, “I’m guessing you’re looking for Cheyenne?”

Suddenly, Terra’s whole presence lights up, her head bobbing up and down, “Is she in tonight?”

“She is.”

Terra looks at you, “Hey, are you and Jeno okay with hanging out for a bit? If not, I’ll stay. Seriously, I don’t mean to ditch you guys or anything.”

“No, go. We don’t mind.”

You scoot out of the booth for Terra to get out, she practically skips all the way to the backroom in excitement. When you sit back down, you see Jeno chuckle.

“Who’s Cheyenne?” you ask.

“Terra’s been flirting with Cheyenne since we started coming here. I think they’ll be a thing soon.”

You nod, “Ah, I see.”

After a few minutes, another waitress takes your order as you opt for a strawberry milkshake and Jeno ordering chocolate. For some reason, you had never felt anymore natural with anyone else than you had with Jeno. It felt like time was zipping by, Jeno getting brain freezes before laughing at your jokes. You’d throw a fry for Jeno to catch in his mouth, a moment you recorded on Jeno’s camcorder he brought with him. In turn, he’d film you as you tried to balance an onion ring on your face, your eyes crossing because of it. When you were done, you watched the sun set on the ocean- amarine yellows and watermelon pink clouds fading into a starry night sky. Of course, Jeno recorded that too- zooming on your face even though you protested. You’d swipe ketchup on his nose, Jeno pouted at you playfully. Looking back into the kitchen, you caught Terra and Cheyanne standing in the doorway as they laughed into each other, flirtatious whispers being exchanged. Jeno turns to you, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Nodding, you smile at him, “Best not to disturb them.”

You follow Jeno outside the diner, a cool breezing hitting your face. Jeno looks at you, “Do you mind if I show you something?”

“Of course.”

Like that, you start to climb up the hill that goes beyond where the diner is, cars full of teenagers zooming past you in Jeno. He tells you about his dreams and why he believes that Hollywood is his destiny. He tells you about his family too, how his father was a filmmaker and had bought him a hand-held camera for his birthday when he was a child. You dance along the road, socking your fist into Jeno’s playfully as you tell him about your rambunctious family back home and how you discovered the dream of being a makeup artist for cinema. When you reach the top, you realize that the Hollywood sign sits on the other side of the hill as the city lights glow in a golden ocean below you. Jeno grabs your hand to help you slide down, your shoes covered in dirt. Finding your balance, you and Jeno sit in front of the letter ‘L’ beside each other.

“Now this is a view.”

You take it all in, seeing how the lights don’t even end. You feel like you’re on top of the world.

Jeno smiles at the sight, “This is where I come when I can’t think.”

Jostling him in the shoulder, you laugh, “How many girls have you taken up here?”

You feel Jeno tense, his eyes narrowing, “None actually. You’re the first.”

“Huh.”

Both of you sit in silence, Jeno playing with the rings on his fingers. You can’t think of anything to say. Finally, you jolt at the sound of your phone pinging. Pulling up your messages, you see you’ve received a text from Mr. Stevens.

It reads: “Hello y/n. Firstly, I’d like to sincerely apologize. It was unprofessional and not good of me to lash out at you this morning as Blair made it clear she was the one who was playing with the dyes. I was the one who asked you to take care of her, it is not in your control. I should have taught her better. I hope you can forgive me if you’d like to come to Sun Studios tomorrow morning and start fresh? I am deeply sorry, no hard feelings. Have a great evening.”

You practically feel your heart drop at the sight, you almost lose grip of your phone.

“What is it??”

Immediately, your hand flies to your mouth, “Mr. Stevens just gave me my job back! He finally admitted I wasn’t in the wrong!”

Jeno’s eyes are wide before he breaks into a smile, his hands coming up to the side of your arms, “Holy- That’s amazing y/n! But, I knew that already.”

You eye him with confusion, “How’d you know?”

“Because I was the one who proved your innocence. I got Blair to confess.”

Tackling Jeno to the ground, you bury your face into Jeno’s chest, his back flat to the sandy dirt underneath you both.

“Thank you Jeno! Thank you!”

When you pull yourself off Jeno, he holds you down with his hands, your legs in between his own. You see his dark eyes flick to your lips. You want him to, you really do. Your skin tingles when Jeno molds his hand to your neck, you see a flash of hesitation. The feeling is gone when Jeno removes his hand from your skin, placing it on the ground, “We should go check on Terra. We have work tomorrow.”

You sit back, kneeling in front of him. You’re sure your jaw is wide open, confusion scribbled on your face, “What?”

Jeno places his face in his hands, “Oh, god.”

You can’t control the irritation that erupts from inside of you, “Is this some game to you? You flirt with me all night and then you make me look so eager? Am I fool to you?”

Jeno’s eyes contort with concern, his head shaking, “No, No- that’s not what I meant-”

Getting up from the ground, you begin to climb back over the hill, “No Jeno, save it.”

“Y/n, wait-”

Your anger consumes you. You raise your voice, “Do you know what Terra told me when I first got to Sun Studios?”

Jeno rubs his neck, his brows furrowing, “What did she say?”

You scoff, “She told me that you’re a heartbreaker. Girls flirt with you and then you tell them that you don’t want anything serious so you can achieve your dream.”

You continue, “If that’s so, why did you try to lead me on? I thought we had a chance- I thought I liked you. No, this is a whole joke.”

Jeno visibly sinks behind you, his shoulder slumping with defeat. The whole time you climb back up the hill, you two don’t say a word- Jeno is careful to trail behind you instead of beside you. The car ride back to your place is the same way, Terra droning on about how much she likes Cheyenne--unaware of the tension between you and Jeno. Collapsing on your bed, you replay the dark vision of Jeno watching you and Terra drive away, his eyes longing.

5 days later

Your way of coping is burying yourself under work and errands from the departments. Eventually, Terra had caught wind of the situation in which you explained to her, the reason why you hadn’t spoken to Jeno in 5 days. Terra’s mouth forms an ‘o’, patting you on the back in effort to comfort you.

“I’m sorry y/n. I don’t think Jeno means harm, that’s just the way he is. He’s a boy who doesn’t know what he wants. Still, he’s been asking me about you.”

“Well, he shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t use people until he knows what he wants.”

Going home that night, you felt tears stream down your face in frustration. Your pillow feels too hot, your clothes feel sticky on your body, and you feel exhausted from work. You lie on your bed in silence, lazily staring out your bedroom window. You’re thankful that you fall asleep quite quickly, you’d rather not think about Jeno anymore. That’s when you hear a knock on your window at around 2 am, your head still dizzy from sleep. What creep would be knocking on your window? You sit up, only to be met with Jeno’s face pressed up the glass, “Please let me in.”

You jolt, “What the hell Jeno? It’s like 2 am?”

“I’m sorry, I know. I’ll explain.”

Resting your hand on your hip, you motion Jeno to walk into your doorway, leading him to your bedroom.

“Can I sit?”

You scoff, “Well, now that you’re here.”

Sighing, Jeno rubs his eyes tirelessly before speaking, “I just want you to watch something first.”

You eye him skeptically, “What if I say no?”

Jeno pouts at you, his hair messy and his eyes sad, “Please. I didn’t get heavy eye-bags for this.”

You can’t help but smile. He hands you a USB drive from his pocket, his eyes flickering with reluctance. Grabbing your laptop from your desk, you shove the drive into the port, a video swishing into view. Plopping down next to Jeno, you watch it together. Jeno had edited a video sequence of you working at Sun Studios and the times where you joked around next to him, cuts of him and Terra laughing. The video was sentimental like it had a vintage-y feel, grain filters coating the images. It reminded you of why you came to Hollywood specifically.

“Jeno, it’s beautiful.”

You turn to look at the boy who sits next to you, his hair shades his eyes a bit, “You really think so?”

“Of course it was. It’s extremely well made. From all the sunset shots to the studio, and all of it seems.. magical?”

“I’m glad you approve because this is what I’ll be entering in Mr. Stevens’s film festival contest.”

“Wait- you what?”

Jeno smiles at you until his eyes form crescent moons, “You heard me. This is the piece I’m entering.”

“But why?”

You feel Jeno’s hand creep over yours, “Do you know what the assignment was?”

Shaking your head, you wait for him to answer you. “Mr. Stevens asked all the contestants to make a film about someone that would make them see a new perspective. Someone that they like.”

Your heart beats out of your chest at Jeno’s words. You’re sure your knees have turned into jello- did Jeno just admit that he likes you?

“Jeno, I don’t know if you-”

“Y/n. Here me out okay? When I first met you, I saw how passionate you were. I saw how you helped Terra and the makeup team tirelessly without rest and I got scared. I thought that liking someone meant I had to give up my focus on my dream. I was wrong.”

You don’t say anything. Jeno leans closer to you, his breath hitting your face, “I was wrong. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Leaning your forehead on his, you close your eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

You hear Jeno hum in affirmation, “I’ll support you and you me, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jeno smashes his lips onto yours, his tongue coming in too quick before you can register. Pulling away, you eye him before pushing up against him, his lips molded securely onto yours. He tastes like watermelon popsicles, his lips are stained with pink. Smiling into the kiss you ask, “Did you eat something watermelon flavored?”

“Do you like it?”

You close your eyes, molding your lips on to Jeno’s lips once again, his calloused hands holding both sides of your face. When you both catch your breath, you whisper at Jeno, “You better win this film festival, especially since I’m the star.”

He laughs at you, bubble erupting from his throat, “I’ll try my best for you. Still, you haven’t answered my question.”

Slapping him in the shoulder, you smirk at Jeno, “What do you think my answer is?”

“You like me too?”

“Let’s take our time, lover boy.”

Jeno shouts at you when you get up to grab a snack from your kitchen, his figure following you like a lost puppy, “Y/n, come on! Give me another kiss!”

You were pleased to tell your parents that you were enjoying Hollywood, not only because of your job, but because of a certain boy named Jeno Lee- the vision of his gaze on the ocean engraved in your mind forever.

26 notes · View notes

reddielibrary · 5 years ago

Text

Gotta Catch ‘Em All

Written by @pawprinterfanfic

Gift for @greenornaments

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

Word count: 9,500

Rating: Teen

AO3 Llink

Eddie Kaspbrak never knew loving someone could hurt so much.

He was eighteen when he found out. It was his first year of college, and his insufferable roommate managed to worm his way into his heart.

(Fuck that guy.)

Richie was everything he should’ve hated — he was messy, and loud, and annoying. He did hate him. He hated his crude jokes, and his trash mouth, and his smile that caused his heart to skip a beat, and his gorgeous eyes, and his ability to make him laugh at anything, and how his heart was seemingly always in the right place, and—

Yeah. Eddie was a goner.

At eighteen years old, he knew that he was in love with Richie Tozier. Now, at twenty-one, Eddie realized how awful it was.

He was in love with someone who didn’t love him back.

It was torture, and Eddie hated it more than he hated much else before. It felt like he was doomed to be friends with the idiot for a long time — which was fantastic because Richie was a great guy — but it also sucked ass, because he really, really, really wanted to kiss him more than any friend should.

Don’t get him wrong; he was happy being Richie’s friend, because being anything with Richie was worlds better than being nothing with him. He’d gladly silently pine over him for years if it meant he could have his friendship. He was his best friend, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Having a massive crush on his roommate may or may not have had anything to do with his current situation, which involved getting dressed up to go dance with a bunch of sweaty adults, drinking alcohol that tasted like shit, and staying out half the night.

“It’ll be fun,” Richie repeated, following Eddie as he moved around their tiny apartment.

After spending freshmen year living in the college dorms together, they pooled their resources and rented off-property, which was probably one of their better decisions. Usually, they shared one brain cell when they were within ten feet of each other.

“If you say that one more time, I will kill you.” Eddie dumped his armful of freshly washed clothing onto the couch before turning to make his way to the kitchen, not stopping to give Richie a spare glance. “It’s not going to be fun. Dancing in someone’s dark and moist little basement will never be fun. You can quote me on that.”

“Please, for the love of god, never say moist again.”

Eddie pulled the tag off the bag of bread and plopped two pieces into the toaster. Richie hauled himself onto the counter, his feet swinging back and forth like he was a kid on a swing set.

“Moist is a fine word, Richard. Just like phlegm, and panties, and ointment, and—”

“Ew.” Richie gave a violent shudder and sent a sour look at the other man. Eddie tried to keep the corners of his lips from twitching upwards. He found bothering Richie fun. Sue him. “You really know how to kill the mood, don’t you, Kaspbrak?”

“There never was a mood, dipshit. Besides, I was just listing a bunch of perfectly normal words in the English language. I didn’t know you were going to gag at them.”

Richie tried to scowl. Eddie almost would’ve believed it, save for the smile curling his lips. “I hate you,” he said.

Eddie pursed his lips. “Do you, now?”

The facade cracked easily. The scowl disappeared, leaving Richie grinning widely. “You’re right. I’m a liar. I love you. My lil’ Eddie Spaghetti.”

Richie made a move to press his lips to Eddie’s cheek, but he stepped out of the way. The butter knife, covered in soy butter, pointed in his direction. Richie must’ve anticipated his response, because he gave an exaggerated wink and ruffled Eddie’s hair.

“If you’re trying to convince me to come with you, you’re doing a shitty job,” he pointed out. His heart was still pounding from when Richie made a move to kiss his cheek, and he hoped his body wasn’t betraying him with a blush. “You’re annoying the shit out of me, Rich.”

“But you luv me,” he sang, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Sure, like I love wet socks, maybe.”

Eddie Kaspbrak was a liar.

Richie wasn’t deterred and continued to pester him. “It will be fun. I’ll be there. Bill will be there. Stan will be there. Mike will be there. Bev will be there. Ben will—”

“I get it. Everyone will be there.”

Eddie reached around Richie to grab a glass from the cupboard behind him. He moved out of the way of the swinging door, thus moving right into Eddie’s space. He bit his tongue and forced his eyes to remain on the task at hand.

Don’t get distracted. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at—

Fuck, he has really pretty eyes. And his stupid smile, god, I want to kiss that stupid smile right off his face. And—

Wait! No! Fuck!

Eddie jolted backwards, pulling his glass with him. Richie didn’t say anything and only raised an eyebrow as he slid back against the cupboard.

Eddie’s heart was pounding. Being so close to Richie was unhealthy — all he wanted to do was tell him how in love with him he was, and that was guaranteed to end in disaster and embarrassment.

“It’s our last year in college, Eds, and after this we’ll be adults.” Richie wrinkles his nose at the word, like it thoroughly disgusted him. “How many opportunities do you think we’ll have as fucking adults to go to a Halloween party? Do you think we’ll ever be able to get dressed up in shitty store-bought costumes and eat so much candy our stomach hurts ever again?” He didn’t wait for him to respond. “No! We’ll be old and boring by Halloween 1998. This is our last chance!”

“First of all, you’re a dramatic bitch, Rich. Secondly, I’m fairly confident adults have Halloween parties.”

“Are you an adult?”

“Well, I am twenty-one years old, so—”

“Are you an actual graduated adult living in the real world, and not this weird in-between pre-adulthood thing called college?” Richie cocked an eyebrow, already knowing the answer. “Exactly. So how confident are you that actual adults in the real world celebrate Halloween?”

Eddie was silent for a long moment because, well, he wasn’t entirely sure. His mother had been a pretty big downer when he was growing up, and she hated Halloween with a passion. She never let him go trick-or-treating, just in case someone put razor blades in his Kit Kat — he couldn’t ever imagine her going to a Halloween party.

“Exactly.” Richie adjusted his glasses on his nose after he jumped off the counter top. “I know you hate Halloween and shit, but it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t hate Halloween.” Eddie didn’t bother to tell him off for saying that it was going to be fun again. Knowing Richie, he would start saying that more just to annoy him. “I just don’t like it.”

“You once told me that you’d rather sleep on the public bathroom floor than celebrate Halloween, Eds.” Eddie cringed at the visual. Public bathrooms were disgusting, and don’t get him started on the floor!? Ew, ew, ew, ew— “I arrest my case.”

“Okay, maybe I do hate Halloween, but that’s because it’s so boring. What? I’m supposed to dress up as something? And walk around, asking strangers for candy? And then eat that candy? That sounds horrible!”

“Sorry to break it to you, Eds, but I think we’re a tad too old to be trick-or-treating. No talking to strangers for you this year, unfortunately.”

Eddie sat down in the kitchen chair ungracefully, the plate clattering to the table in front of him. He gave Richie a deadpan look. “Ha ha,” he said sarcastically.

Richie slid into the chair opposite to him and stole a slice of toast from his plate. Eddie didn’t comment. Richie jacking his food was more common than he’d admit.

“Halloween is great, you just don’t know it yet! We will go to this party together and, since I’m the master of all things spooky, I’ll show you just how great Halloween is.” He took a bite of toast, sending crumbs flying.

Eddie nibbled on the piece of bread in contemplation. Richie watched him, his eyes wide and leg bouncing.

Finally, Eddie gave in. “I don’t have a costume.”

Richie must’ve sensed that he was beginning to consider it, and he pounced. Seeing how excited he was about Eddie going with him to this stupid party almost made his heart skip a beat.

“I can get you a discount on costumes,” he said, crumbs going everywhere.

That was Richie’s newest gig — working at Oh My Spooky at the mall, a seasonal store that popped up every August, claiming the empty of buildings of deceased department stores, like Kmart.

“The party’s in like… two hours, Rich. Spooky is closed.”

“Right, right.” He waved his hand, dismissing the idea. “I’ll just let you borrow one of mine. We had to wear costumes on shift, right, so I have like a shit ton of costumes in my room.”

“I know, idiot. I live with you. Your room is a disaster.”

It was true. Richie’s room was a disaster year round, but it looked like the sight of a natural disaster during the month of October. If he got desperate, Eddie was sure Richie could make a good buck by selling all the costumes he accumulated.

Richie grasped the rims of his glasses and squinted his eyes dramatically, giving Eddie a once over. Eddie had been friends with Richie long enough to know he should just let him do his thing. He continued to nibble on the toast.

Finally, their eyes met again. “But, you’re like, really fucking tiny, Eds, so—”

“Fuck off,” he said, tossing a piece of crust at his head. Richie grinned and caught it in his mouth. “I’m not really fucking tiny.”

“Aw, you are, sweetheart, you just can’t face the facts.” Richie had the audacity to lean across the table and boop Eddie on the nose. “Cute, cute, cute!”

He swatted Richie’s hand away from him. His heart was racing. Butterflies were rolling in his stomach. He felt his cheeks burning, and he was sure Richie was going to tease him about it.

Before he could, Eddie tried to cover his tracks. He narrowed his eyes and pointed threateningly at Richie. “I will murder you.”

“See! You have the Halloween spirit!” Richie leaned back in his chair, grinning wider than Eddie could remember. His stupid smile made Eddie want to smile. Fuck him. “Are you in, then? You’re coming tonight?”

Maybe it was because Richie’s smile was doing something funny to his brain, or maybe it was because he wanted to go to a party with Richie before they graduated, or maybe it was because he was a little curious as to why everyone loved Halloween, but he nodded.

“Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll come tonight.” Richie let out a little whoop and jumped up from his chair. “But I won’t enjoy it!”

“You’re so cute when you’re stubborn,” Richie said, reaching forward to boop his nose again. Eddie’s mouth ran dry because—

Fuck, Richie calling him cute was one of his favourite sounds.

“Call me cute again, and I’ll— I’ll—” Fuck, he didn’t have a comeback. Richie seemed to love the fact Eddie was rendered speechless, and laughed a little harder.

“Cute, cute, cute!”

“Asshole,” he muttered, shoving the last piece of toast into his mouth. Richie grinned brightly at that, and it was the final straw for Eddie. He felt a smile of his own spread across his face. It was hard not to smile with Richie in the room.

“Wait there. I’ll get your costume.”

Richie was already running out of the kitchen before Eddie swallowed his toast to respond. “Nothing with less fabric than—”

“Your mom’s underwear!? Got it!”

Eddie’s head fell to his hands. “No, Richard, I wasn’t, in fact, going to use my mother’s underwear as a reference, but thank you! I was going to say—”

Richie peeled back into the kitchen before Eddie could finish his sentence, two costumes strung across his arms. “Doesn’t matter. Here.”

He tossed the first costume at Eddie’s head, and he managed to catch it before a metal belt buckle could whip him in the eye. It took him less than three seconds to examine the fabric and come to a verdict.

“Absolutely fucking not, Richard. What the fuck!? Why the fuck would I want to go as sexy Robin? That makes no fucking sense!” Richie is doubled over from laughing so hard, and Eddie was finding it exceedingly difficult not to join in.

“I just wanted to see your expression,” he managed to get out between laughs. “Fucking classic!”

Eddie felt a smile pulling at his lips, and he was desperate not to let Richie see it.

(Because, to be honest, if Richie saw the reaction he invoked in him, he never would shut up.)

(And, yes, that was it.)

(No, it had nothing to do with the fact he was helplessly in love with him and smiling at him like he hung the stars in the sky would give that away.)

(Really.)

(Eddie Kaspbrak was many things, but a liar was not one of them.)

“Why the fuck did you have this in your room!?” he questioned, hanging onto the threads of annoyance. His question made Richie laugh harder. Fuck. Knowing he was the one making Richie laugh did funny things to his heart.

“Your mom loves role-play, didn’t you know? She— Ouch! Fuck!” Eddie had thrown the costume at Richie with a glare.

“Shut up,” he said, but it was no use. The two of them were looking at each other, and Eddie couldn’t keep his smile down any longer. He shook his head fondly and leaned back in his chair. “Please tell me you have something better than sexy Robin?”

Richie lifted up a red and blue outfit, his eyebrow raised in question. Eddie pulled a face when he realized it was supposed to be Mario from Mario Brothers. When Eddie insulted the costume, Richie looked personally offended.

“You don’t want to go as this godly man!?” Eddie didn’t ask Richie why Mario was so godly, but he took it upon himself to explain. “He saved the world — multiple times, may I add. He fights bad guys, he dodges those green shell dudes, he eats a shit ton of mushrooms, he fights for his princess, he can drive. Holy shit, Eddie, he can drive!”

In the end, Richie gave up on trying to sell the Mario costume.

The next pair of costumes to come out were Popeye the Sailorman, which got an immediate no from Eddie, and Scooby-Doo, which also got an immediate no.

Richie stuck out his bottom lip and gave a poor impression of Scooby. “Ruh roh,” he said, his voice rough. “Reddie roesn’t rant to rear me!”

“I was unsure before, but now that’s a solid no.”

This went on for longer than Eddie would care to admit. Richie would bring out a few costumes at a time and, each time, Eddie would find something wrong with it. “I hated that cartoon.” “If I wanted to be a ghost, I’d just cut holes out of one of our sheets.” “Am I supposed to know what that character is?”

Richie was patient, and all Eddie could think of was how good he was, willing to spend forever going through costumes with him, joking all through it, never letting Eddie’s sour mood tarnish his.

Fuck, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. How his lips would curve into a smile that made him want to smile too, how his eyes sparkled like they were part of the ocean, how his freckles spanned his pale skin like stars in the sky. He couldn’t stop thinking about pressing his lips against his, or running his hands through his curls, or feeling his hot breath against his face, and—

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so far gone, it wasn’t even funny. When did he turn into a sap? Like, what the fuck?

Eddie was so thrown off guard that, when Richie came with the next costume, he said— “Yes.” Richie’s eyes widened the slightest bit, and that was when Eddie realized he had no idea what he was agreeing too. He cleared his throat and sat a bit straighter. “I mean. Maybe.”

“Oooooooookay then.” Richie adjusted his glasses on his face and continued to watch Eddie carefully. “Listen, man, if you don’t want to come tonight, that’s fine, I don’t want to make you, but—”

“No,” he said quickly.

He didn’t want Richie thinking that he was being forced to do something he didn’t want to because that wasn’t the case. He wanted to go. He wanted to see why Richie liked Halloween so much, and he wanted to get dressed up in a shitty costume and drink shitty alcohol and eat candy that may or may not make him sick. It was going to be fun.

Besides, it meant he got to spend the evening with Richie, and that was good enough for him.

“What’s the next costume?” Richie cocked an eyebrow, and Eddie realized he had no idea what he had been saying only a minute ago. “Sorry, what did you say? I was distracted by the fact that you own a concerning amount of Halloween costumes. I mean, seriously, Rich, this is kind of baffling.”

Richie slid into the kitchen chair opposite from him again. “I have some bad news for you, Eds.” He looked almost… serious. It threw Eddie, just a little bit.

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

He leaned forward, stretching his arms across the table and taking hold of Eddie’s hand. All the air left Eddie’s lungs at the contact because, shit, he was holding Richie’s hand. It was cold and clammy, but that seemed to fit him perfectly.

Finally, Richie spoke.

“That’s it. That’s all my costumes. Looks like you have two options from here; go stark naked, or wear what you usually do and say you’re dressed as a nerd.”

Eddie flicked the palm of his hand and crossed his arms. “First off, fuck you. Second off, fuck you.”

Richie smirked. “I take it you don’t want to go naked? C’mon, you’re depriving the world of—“

“No, I’m not going naked, you dumbass. How is going naked a viable solution to this problem anyways!?”

Richie winked. “You caught me. I just wanna see you naked, sweetheart.”

Eddie tried to keep his expression blank, but he could feel his face flushing. Fuck Richie, fuck his ability to flirt with anyone, fuck his stupid body for giving away how affected he would get from his flirting.

“I mean, I do have one last option.”

When Richie returned to the kitchen, he was carrying a yellow onesie. Upon further inspection, he noticed a tail in the shape of a lightning bolt, and pointed ears with black tips, and—

“Pikachu!!”

Eddie moved across the room quickly and dragged his fingertips over the fabric. He was right, the costume was for Pikachu, and it was perfect. He loved the little guy because how could you not? He was a badass, and an immeasurable amount of cute.

“Sold!” Eddie said, snatching the costume fully from Richie’s hands. “Shit, why didn’t you start with this one? You know how much I love Pikachu.”

Maybe Richie was right earlier when he called him a nerd. If liking Pokémon more than he liked his own mother made him a nerd, then so be it!

“Yeah, well, it comes with a catch.” For the first time, Eddie realized how unsure and hesitant Richie looked. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot and had his hands buried in his pockets.

Richie was actually nervous.

“Please tell me that the butt isn’t cut out or something.” Eddie flopped the costume over to check and — nope. All pieces to the costume were there.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with it,” he assured Eddie. “It just isn’t alone.”

“... What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Richie puffed out his cheeks. “It means that it’s part of a set. I, uh, have the costume that matches it. Hold on.” Seconds later, Richie reappeared with his costume in hand.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’re going as Ash?”

“Hell yeah, man. Gotta catch ‘em all, you know?”

“That makes no fucking sense, Richie, so no, I don’t know.” Eddie tried to ignore how his stomach was twisting. If Richie was going as Ash and he was going as Pikachu, and Richie claimed it was part of a set, that meant— “Wait. Is this a couples costume?”

The words slipped out of Eddie’s mouth and a cold dread settled over him.

Fuck. Just mentioning the word ‘couple’ to Richie felt like he was crossing a line — a line that he drew, one that he was desperate not to cross. Don’t cross this line, he told himself, or you’ll fuck up your friendship.

Richie’s expression was one he hadn’t seen before, and it made his heart race for a completely different reason than before. Was it weird that he suggested it was a couples costume? Or was he being paranoid? Because it felt like mentioning the word ‘couple’ to him was normal, but then again—

“Uh. Yeah. It came as a set, like… a couple costume.” He adjusted his glasses on his nose — a nervous habit. He was looking at him, like he was waiting for him to say something. Eddie’s mouth had run dry and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Oh.” He was racking his brain, trying to figure out the best response in this situation. Finally, he settled on an answer. “Well, that’s okay. I can always wear the ghost costume, or — even better — the sexy Robin.”

Richie didn’t smile at his attempt at a joke. In fact, he looked almost hurt. “What? You’re not going to wear Pikachu?”

Eddie was confused. Of course he wasn’t going to wear a couples costume with Richie — that felt like it was crossing a million lines. Maybe if he wasn’t completely in love with him, it would be a different story, but he was in love with him.

“No.”

“But you were excited about it?” Richie’s next smile was forced — Eddie could tell by the way it didn’t reach his eyes. “Why not?”

This felt like some weird alternate reality to Eddie. This wasn’t happening, was it? Richie wasn’t asking him to explain why he didn’t want to wear a couples costume with him, right? He couldn’t exactly say ‘because I’m in love with you, and this is crossing that invisible line I set so I don’t fuck things up.’

He was screwed.

So, he lied.

“People will think that we’re… together if we show up in a couples costume.” Now that he said it out loud, it didn’t sound like a lie, and it didn’t feel like one either.

Yeah. Shit. People will think we’re together, and the night will be filled with Richie indirectly shooting me down all night.

He could see it now; Richie would explain to everyone how they’re not together because how could they be? He couldn’t love that mess of a human!

Shit. This quickly replaced his fear of crossing the invisible line. He doubted he could handle a whole evening filled with Richie explaining to strangers how they were not — and would never be — a couple.

Richie’s answer felt like a punch in the gut.

“Is there a problem with that? With people thinking we’re together?”

This was a sick joke, Eddie decided. Richie knows I’m in love with him and he’s being an ass about it.

Except, Richie wasn’t an ass — not about things that mattered, anyways. Sure, he would joke about fucking his mom and try to annoy him to death, but he wasn’t an asshole about important things.

“Yeah, of course that’s a problem.” His words may have come out harsher than he intended. Eddie shuffled awkwardly and looked anywhere that wasn’t at Richie. “We aren’t together. We’re… We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends.” Eddie’s gaze flicked to meet Richie’s from how deflated he sounded. It must’ve been his mind playing tricks on him though, because Richie was beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “There you have it, Eds! We’re friends, so it doesn’t matter. This is just what friends do. I know you have, like, zero childhood friends and you don’t know this shit, but—”

“Fuck off,” Eddie said, but his voice didn’t have any venom in it. Richie was right — going in a couples costume together wasn’t a big deal for two friends. They were just friends. Bros. Pals. Buds. “Fine, you’re right, I’m being weird.” Because I’m totally fucking in love with you. “I’m going to change.”

Richie’s smile made warmth bubble up inside of him. “There ye have it, good ol’ chap! Time to get our spook on!”

Eddie was incredibly nervous, and he blamed the asshole beside him.

Richie looked good, which was extremely strange considering he was dressed in the Ash costume. But he also wore a grin so wide that it made Eddie’s cheeks hurt from just looking at it. His eyes were dancing with excitement. He looked so carefree in that moment, walking down the street with a skip in his step, and it made Eddie’s chest warm.

He was also nervous because he hadn’t gone to a party for a really long time, not since they were both freshmen and Richie was set on dragging Eddie everywhere he went. He would be the first to admit that he wasn’t in tune with current pop songs, and his heart lurched when he realized he might not know any song.

No, that was ridiculous. Richie blasted pop songs at two in the morning some days, so he would at least know those songs.

“Did you eat something before we left?” Eddie asked, breaking the silence of the night. Richie was a few paces ahead of him as they walked to the party, humming what sounded like Space Jam theme song. “Drinking on an empty stomach can be dangerous, you know, so...”

Richie turned around and continued to walk backwards. He was smiling softly and it made Eddie’s heart flip. It wasn’t often that Richie looked so open — so vulnerable. Usually he looked like the little asshole he was.

The change made Eddie feel completely out of his depth.

He loved it.

“You take such good care of me, my Eds Spagheds.” He blew a kiss. Eddie scowled.

“I just don’t want to be dragging you home drunk, fucker. Don’t mistake my words for concern. It’s purely selfish.”

“Right, of course.” Richie spun back around. “I did eat though. Wouldn’t want to have you carrying me home. We’d never make it up the block.”

“Shut up. Like you could carry me.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. “No, Richie, don’t even—“

It was too late.

Richie was laughing like a maniac when he scooped Eddie off the ground and into his arms. Eddie clutched at the collar of his blue and white striped shirt to balance himself and Richie’s arms wound under his knees and around his back. All the air in his lungs came out in a whoosh and he could feel his blood rushing to his cheeks.

His knuckles were white from how tightly he was holding his collar. His heart was pounding so loudly that he was sure Richie could hear it.

Richie took off in a sprint and Eddie clung to him out of fear, all the while shouting for him to put him down.

Yet, he wanted the exact opposite of that.

He really didn’t want Richie to put him down.

He could feel each one of Richie’s breaths ghost along his face, and he could feel his palms digging into his back. His body was warm and he smelled distinctly of syrup, which was fitting, considering he once witnessed him eat a full box of Eggos in ten minutes.

From the angle he was in, it looked like he was glowing. The streetlights blurred around him. The sharpness of his jaw and the slope of his nose stole the breath from his lungs. It felt like his whole body was buzzing from being pressed against him.

He was gone.

So far gone.

As they approached the house the party was being held at, Richie set Eddie back down on his feet, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

“Easy peasy,” he said, sounding slightly breathless.

Eddie tried to keep his expression blank, but fuck, Richie made him want to smile.

The closer they got, the more nervous he became.

He pulled at the hem of his yellow sleeve. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to come with Richie tonight; it seemed like he was getting nervous about everything. He was nervous about the stupid couples costume, and he was nervous about how he acted with Richie earlier, and he was nervous about the music, and dancing, and—

“It’ll be fine, my Eds Spagheds.” Richie slung his arm around his shoulders as they made their was up the driveway to the house the party was being hosted at. “We look smashing. We’ll be the bells of the ball.”

“We do not look smashing. We’re dressed as characters from a children’s cartoon. Which brings me to my next point; why the fuck is Ash and Pikachu a couples costume? Isn’t Ash, like, Pikachu’s owner or some shit? And isn’t Pikachu and Pokémon, which is basically an animal? This seems entirely inappropriate for a couples costume, considering they’re not romantic and one is an animal, so—”

His thoughts died off when Richie leaned forward and planted a wet kiss to Eddie’s cheek. He jolted away and gave him a wild look because—

“What the fuck was that!?” Eddie swiped at the slobber left behind on his cheek while his heart raced. He wanted to shove Richie against the front door and kiss him dizzy.

“You’re just so cute, cute, cute! Look at you — dressed as lil’ ol’ Pikachu, ranting about how unsexy you are. Whew. Taking my breath away.”

Eddie scowled. Richie was a flirt — he knew that from day one — but he was laying it on thick right now, and he really wasn’t in the best mood to deal with that. All while Richie was flirting with him, he had to live with the knowledge that it was all play, and it hurt.

With that, they entered the house.

Eddie will admit; Halloween was pretty sweet.

(Which was an awesome pun, by the way, because his stomach was currently hurting from eating so many sweet pieces of candy.)

Beverly burst out laughing when she originally saw his and Richie’s costumes, commenting how cute they were.

“I’m not cute,” Eddie insisted. Richie attempted to boop him on the nose again, and he flipped him off.

Stan rolled his eyes.

Eddie spent the first part of the night dancing with their group of friends, and drinking shitty alcohol, and eating way too much candy.

While they danced, Richie hovered by his side. Every once and awhile, he’d lower his lips to his ear and whisper to him, each time causing goosebumps to erupt along his arms. None of the whispers were of importance; it was just Richie fucking around, talking about different costumes they saw, or bringing up one of their jokes, or doing a poor impersonation of a cowboy singing the lyrics of the song blaring from the speakers.

Without fail, Richie was able to get Eddie laughing. It didn’t take too long for Eddie to feel more comfortable moving around the basement (“and yes, Richie, is moist, thank you very much”) and enjoying himself.

That was the thing about Richie. He was always able to bring Eddie out of his shell, encouraging him to be brave and be himself. His carefree attitude made Eddie want to be carefree too.

When the dance floor (basement) got too crowded, their little group moved to sit on a pair of couches on the (not moist) ground floor of the house. It was a tight squeeze, but all seven of them managed to fit on the furniture. Eddie wasn’t going to complain about the fact Richie was practically in his lap because, truth be told, being pressed against him wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Richie had his arm draped around his shoulders and legs on his, squishing him into the armrest. As the night stretched on, he became louder, his jokes grew worse, and his mouth trashier. Eddie loved how his cheeks flushed red, and how his hands were clammy on his arm, and how he seemed to laugh more than talk.

When Bev started talking about an upcoming movie she wanted to see, Richie turned his full attention to him.

“What do you think, Eds? Having fun?”

Not wanting to give Richie the satisfaction of being right, he wrinkled his nose. “It’s alright, I guess.”

Richie saw through it easily. “Fuck off. You’re having the time of your life.”

“Fine. I’m having fun.”

“Ha. Fucking told you it would be fun!”

Eddie was about to shoot back at him, but a guy from his sociology class leaned over the couch and poked him in the shoulder, drawing his attention away from him. “Hey, Eddie, right? Candy?” He lifted a giant bowl of individually wrapped candies and chocolates.

He glanced in the bowl and tried to suppress a frown. The one thing he did hate about Halloween was the ungodly amounts of nutty chocolate everywhere. Of course, the one food he was allergic to had to be in every goddamn chocolate bar sold on this dumb holiday.

And, worst of all, was trying to figure out a way to explain to strangers that no, he didn’t want their candy and, no, it wasn’t because he was on a diet, and, no, it didn’t matter that they only had a little bit of nuts in them. Then, he’d spend the next ten minutes trying to educate them about allergies because they were confused, and it usually ended up with him fending off passive-aggressive comments from them.

People that didn’t know him seemed to love getting personally offended by his allergy.

Before Eddie could respond to the offered chocolate, Richie leaned forward.

“We’re more sophisticated than that, Chad.” Richie pushed the orange bowl away from the two of them. “We brought our own.” As if to demonstrate the fact they had a secret stash of chocolate, Richie pulled out a Kit Kat from his left pocket and waved it.

When Chad was out of ear-shot, Eddie turned to Richie. “But we didn’t bring our own.”

Richie unwrapped the chocolate bar and split it in two as he spoke. “Maybe you didn’t. Plus, that dude doesn’t need to know the real reason you don’t want to eat his precious chocolate.” He lifted half of the chocolate bar in offering. “You want?” Richie stuffed the chocolate bar between Eddie’s parted lips. The action felt extremely intimate and made Eddie flush. He hoped the darkness hid it. “People are always assholes about that shit, so I came prepared.”

Eddie’s heart felt like it had flipped a few times in his chest. Richie knew how uncomfortable it made him to explain his medical condition to completely random strangers, and managed to come up with an explanation to save him from that.

Fuck, he loved him.

“Aaaaaaand,” Richie drawled, patting his left pocket, “there’s a lot more where that came from. I’ll fend off any nut carrying assholes for you.”

Eddie’s expression softened. He felt overwhelmed with affection by that simple action.

“I— Uh— Thank you, Rich.”

“Anything for you, my lil’ Pikachu.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it felt like hours. His sides hurt from laughing so much. His head was a little fuzzy from the alcohol. He ate way too many half-melted Kit Kats from Richie’s pocket.

Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off of Richie. He was a very animated storyteller and managed to make any story hilarious, even if said story was about him.

“And I swear — I swear, guys — I never saw the lil’ shit run faster than in that moment. Fuck, I wish I would’ve got that on video and sent it to Guinness World Records or some shit. He probably broke the sound barrier.”

The other five Losers were in stitches around them, unable to form coherent sentences. Even Eddie could barely speak, and Richie was ripping into him.

“Hey, asshole, it was terrifying,” he argued. “I swear to god, that dog had rabies.”

“It was a Pomeranian, first off, and it had just finished a bowl of whipped cream that you gave it!”

“I didn’t give it whipped cream.”

“No?”

“No! My bowl filled with whipped cream merely fell to the ground, and I was too slow at picking it up.”

Somehow, Eddie’s version of the story made Bev laugh harder. Richie was barely keeping his laughs contained, and a goofy smile was stretched across his face.

“I’m going to get another drink.” Eddie pushed Richie’s legs off of him and stood up from the couch. As soon as he did, he missed the warmth that came with cramming beside him.

Richie hooked his ankle around his before he could leave and threw a Poké Ball at him. It bounced against his stomach and rolled to the floor. Before he could ask what the fuck he was doing, Richie gave him a shit-eating grin.

“Caught you! I told ya’ — I gotta catch ‘em all!”

It was a stupid joke, but it made Eddie grin.

Fuck this. Fuck his dumb feelings. Fuck Richie Tozier and his cute face and his stupid jokes.

Eddie turned and made a break for it before he accidentally said something stupid in response. The further away he moved from Richie, the better. He needed time to refocus, and the drink table was his salvation.

Except, it wasn’t.

He was in the middle of pouring himself a glass of orange juice (which was definitely only at the party for mixing purposes) when a girl he didn’t know approached him.

“You two are cute, by the way!”

He barely heard her over the roaring music.

“What?”

When Eddie did make out what she was saying, he almost wished he couldn’t.

“You and your Ash! You two make a cute couple!”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck.

Abort mission. Abort mission.

Eddie’s face felt exactly how it did after spending a whole day in the sun without sunblock. He was burning and—

Fuck!!! He knew this would happen!!!!!!

“Oh, uh, well—” He stumbled over his words, suddenly too shocked to make a full sentence. “We’re actually not dating — Ash and I.” He pointed to his yellow chest. “I know. Confusing! Right!?” His laughter was forced because dammit, it felt like he could explode from embarrassment.

(Not because someone mistook him for dating Richie, because, damn, that was the dream, but because he wanted to be dating Richie and now had to explain how he wasn’t. It was all too close to the feeling category for it not to be embarrassing.)

Eddie continued to speak. “We’re just wearing a couples costume because this is all we had. We’re not really together. He’s, uh… Well, he’s the Ash to my Pikachu… because they’re not romantic partners… because one’s an animal… and they’re fictional.”

The girl raised her eyebrow and took a long sip of her drink. Finally, she said, “well, you could’ve fooled me.”

What the fuck did that mean?!

By the time he made it back to the couch, he was still thinking about it.

His stomach was twisting because that random girl’s words could only mean one thing; he, Eddie Kaspbrak, was terrible at pretending not to love Richie Tozier.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was too obvious with his feelings. He was flirting too much, smiling too hard, laughing too easily. If some random girl was convinced they were dating because of how big of a crush Eddie had on Richie, then he was fucked.

He sunk into the couch, his jaw slack and hands shaking. He needed to get a grip — on his response now, but also his massive crush on his roommate.

Within three seconds flat, Eddie came up with a set of rules to get him through this evening.

1) Don’t look at Richie. 2) Don’t think about how nice it is to have his arm around your shoulders. 3) Avoid physical contact at all costs. 4) Don’t laugh at any of his stupid jokes. 5) Insult him!!! Insult him to throw him off the scent!!!

It was a solid plan.

It lasted for approximately five minutes.

Richie was telling the story of the time he nearly got a concussion from trying to kill a spider in the shower, and it was getting harder and harder not to laugh, especially when he pulled out his silly voices.

Rule number 4! Rule number 4!

Richie laughed at his own joke and threw his head back from the force of it. Richie laughing was always endearing to Eddie; his whole body seemingly was thrown into it. His head would fly back, and his arms would wrap around his torso, and his knees would pull closer to his chest the slightest bit.

The corners of Eddie’s lips quirked up. His laugh was infectious — and that was the only infectious thing Eddie welcomed into his life.

Even after he finished laughing, Richie kept his head thrown back, a smile of sheer joy on his stupid face. The conversation continued on without them, moving to talk about Stan’s half-burned lab report from a Bunsen burner accident. Richie rolled his neck, shifting so his cheek was pressed against Eddie’s shoulder.

And there went rule number 3.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than it was moments before. The intensity in his gaze made Eddie’s mouth run dry. “You seem… off.”

“I’m fine.” He hoped his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. “Don’t worry about it.”

“We can go if you want?” Richie offered. “I think it’s passed your wittle bedtime.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight the smirk. Before he could respond, he remembered rule number 5.

Insult the shit out of him.

“The only thing ‘wittle’ between us is your dick.”

Yeah, what the fuck was that?

As soon as the words left his mouth, Eddie realized his grave mistake.

Richie’s eyes had widened and his head lifted off his shoulder, as if, he too, realized how massive of a mistake Eddie just made.

Eddie tried to backtrack.

“Not that your dick is between us.” Fuck, nope, that wasn’t the right thing to say. “Or little.” Nope, that wasn’t the right thing to say either. “But, I mean, it’s not like I’ve seen it because— Fuck. Never mind.” He admitted defeat and buried his face in his hands.

It took approximately three seconds for Richie to break the tension and burst out laughing.

“Jesus, Eds, how much have you had to drink?!”

Clearly, not enough.

After Eddie tried to drown himself in an ungodly amount of Kit Kats from Richie’s pocket, his resolve strengthened.

He would not fuck up anymore tonight! Richie was a bro-only zone. He was his best friend and roommate — nothing more! Richie + rules = success.

He wouldn’t laugh at his jokes. He wasn’t going to lean into his touches. He wasn’t going to smile at him like he hung the stars. He wasn’t going to—

It all went out the window when Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s middle and leaned into him.

“What the fuck, Richard?” His tone may have been harsher than he intended.

“I caught you,” he said, his voice muffled against his shoulder. “I threw a Poké Ball at you. You’re mine now. It’s the rules.”

“You already used the Poké Ball joke on me earlier, smart ass.”

Still, he made no move to push Richie off his shoulder. Maybe he could let rule number 3 slide. Just this once.

He couldn’t pull his gaze away from Richie’s face, either. He really loved him like this; soft, touchy, and carefree.

(Then again, he also loved the boy who earned the nickname Trashmouth, and picked fights he knew he couldn’t win, and swung bats at bullies.)

(He loved the fiery Richie, and the annoying Richie, and the stressed Richie, and the terrified Richie.)

(He loved his terrible sense of direction, and his late night dancing, and his ability to stub his toe on every piece of furniture they owned.)

(He loved him for his emotions, and for his heart, and yes even for his terrible jokes.)

(He loved Richie.)

(All of Richie.)

(Every Richie.)

Eddie’s jaw clenched and he shifted an inch away from Richie, his emotions suddenly hitting him so hard that it hurt.

The plan!!!! Remember the fucking plan!!!!!

“Like what you see?” Richie wiggled his eyebrows. “I know I’m pretty, but no need to stare, Eds.” Eddie jolted away from him and felt his heart lodge into his throat.

Richie caught him staring at him.

Fuck. Abort! Abort!

“Yeah, you’re pretty. Pretty fucking annoying.”

Richie grinned. “There he is! I was afraid my wittle dick scared you off.”

Eddie wanted to fade into the darkness.

“I thought we both agreed never to speak of that again.”

“I did no such thing.”

It happened again.

No, not the dick thing.

The ‘you’re a cute couple’ thing.

It was after the majority of the group went home, leaving Beverly, Ben, Richie, and Eddie to occupy a single couch. Why half the remaining group didn’t spread to the second couch was beyond him.

Someone he didn’t know slid into the couch opposite of them and launched into an in-depth conversation with Richie surrounding accuracy of historical events portrayed in some sort of video game.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to pay attention to what they were saying. All he could do was watch how Richie’s eyes lit up as he spoke, and how his lips would twist with each word, and how his nose wrinkled as he spoke, and how his gaze carried an intensity that made his heart pound, and—

“When did you two start dating?”

Eddie jolted away from Richie, putting as much space between them as possible (which, granted, wasn’t much considering they were trapped on this couch with Beverly and Ben).

“What?!” Eddie said quickly, his eyes wide and heart racing. “No. No, we’re not dating. We’re not together. Nope, no way.”

He never understood how his palms got so sweaty so quickly in these situations. He rubbed them on the yellow fabric along his legs vigorously.

“My sweet Eds,” Richie cooed as he leaned closer to him, his voice mockingly sweet.

Eddie wasn’t having it. He batted Richie’s face away from his own and scowled.

“No. We’re not dating.”

Richie pouted. “Is it because of my wittle dick—”

“I will punch you,” Eddie warned.

“But I wanna make you my luvah, Eds. My Eds Spagheds.” He turned to his friend. “Don’t listen to him, Johnathan. Eddie and I are very much together, confirmed by this awesome couples costume we are wearing.”

Eddie scowled and shoved Richie onto Beverly’s lap. “Fuck off, Richard.”

“I’m tellin’ it how it is! We’re two peas in a pod!”

The friend on the opposite couch gave them a wary smile. “Good, because, I mean, you two are practically dripping with sexual tension, and I was getting a little worried that I crossed a line and mentioned something I shouldn’t have, but I assumed it was fine because you’re wearing a couples costume for fuck sake, and—”

“No!” Eddie sat as straight as he could manage it. His heart was pounding in his chest. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. Because fuck you, Johnathan, you did mention something you shouldn’t have!!!! “Richie is fucking with you. We aren’t together, or lovers, or whatever other shit he said. We’re just friends. That’s all we are, all we have been, and all we ever will be.” To really drive home the point, he stuck his nose in the air. “Thank god! I mean, does anyone ever see me dating that!?”

Finally sticking to the plan! Eddie thought triumphantly. Now they really won’t think I’m into Richie. Ha! I wi— Wait, why the fuck is Richie running out of the room?

Richie had pushed off of the couch and took off towards the backdoor without another word. While Eddie couldn’t see his face, he knew exactly what he was feeling from a single glance at him. Tense body, shaking shoulders, uncharacteristically silent—

He was mad. Or upset. Or both.

“Wait, where’s Richie going?” He turned to Beverly, who was staring at him with parted lips. “What happened?”

“I love you, Eddie, but sometimes you’re such a dumbass.”

Eddie quickly ran through what he said moments before and immediately realized his mistake. In his rush to throw everyone off his scent, he insulted Richie.

“Oh, fuck.”

Eddie was quick to follow Richie outside. It was colder out now than before and the only light cast on the street came from a dimly lit street lamp. He caught sight of him across the street, already starting to make the journey back home.

Eddie wanted to hit his head against the nearest brick wall. He was an idiot.

“Richie!” he called, jogging after him. The other man didn’t turn when he called his name. Hell, he didn’t even flinch! Eddie pumped his legs faster. “Richie, wait up. Rich! Richie!” He finally caught up with him, but hovered a few paces away. “Where are you going? What happened?”

He very well knew what happened, but those were the first words out of his mouth.

“Not now, Eddie. I’m going home. I’ll talk to you later.” He didn’t turn to look at him.

Eddie was terrified — he doubted he had ever been more terrified than in that moment. Seeing Richie walking away from him, clearly hurt, scared him.

“Richie, I’m sorry.” He reached forward and caught hold of his elbow. Richie jolted it out of his grasp, making hurt flare up in Eddie’s chest. “I didn’t mean to insult you, I just—” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sure anyone would love to date you.”

Just saying those words out loud made Eddie’s stomach role. Not anyone. Him. He wanted to be dating him.

Finally, Richie stopped walking. He spun around to face Eddie, his face screwed up with emotions. Eddie could see anger in there — it was the way his shoulders were hunched together and his fists closed at his sides — but he could see hurt too. Definitely hurt.

“Do you really think I’m upset because I thought you were implying I was undateable?” His voice was rough and thick with emotion. Eddie’s chest felt like it was going to cave in.

Richie was holding back tears.

“I— What? I mean… Of course? Why else are you upset about?”

Richie opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words followed. Eddie shifted back and forth on his feet, waiting for the shoe to drop.

Finally, he spoke. He sounded so tired and so done. “You know what? Never mind, Eddie. That’s why I’m upset. Of course I’m upset because I’m undateable! Not because of any other reason. You’re so right.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “I’m not stupid, Richard, and can smell your sarcasm.” That didn’t make the most sense, but neither one of them were in the mood to point that out. “I want to make up for what I said, but I can’t if you won’t tell me! If it isn’t because I insulted you, then… what? What’s wrong?”

“‘We’re just friends. That’s all we are, all we have been, and all we ever will be,’” Richie said, throwing Eddie’s earlier words right back in his face. Eddie had to suppress a flinch hearing them come from Richie’s mouth.

They hurt.

He swallowed thickly. “Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? We’re… We’re just friends.”

Richie rubbed the bridge of his nose and tilted his head to glance at the night sky. After a long moment, he spoke. “I know. You love reminding me of that fact.” He sighed and locked eyes with Eddie. “It’s okay. I’m just being… me. Go back in and have fun.”

“You’re fucking kidding,” he said hotly. “I’m not leaving you when you’re clearly upset, and especially not for a Halloween party.” He stepped closer. “I care about you, Rich, and I want to help. I’m sorry that I upset you, and I really want to—”

“I love you.” The words froze Eddie to the ground. Richie’s eyes widened, like he, too, was surprised by them. “I— Fuck. Forget it.” He shook his head. “You know what? No! I said it. I mean it. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. I love you so much that it hurts, and I know that’s ridiculous, but it’s true. And… And I get it, okay? I know you’re not interested. I know we’re just friends — you don’t need to remind me every five minutes, by the way, — but I’m so in love with you, Eddie. And—”

“Wait, hold the fuck up.” Eddie held his hand up, palm towards Richie. His fingers were shaking. He was sure his heart was about to give out from how fast it was racing. His mouth was inexplicably dry. “You— You love me?”

Richie’s eyes were wide. “Uhm… I— I—”

Eddie couldn’t tell anyone where the confidence came from, but he stepped forward, closing the distance between the two of them. The air left his lungs. He struggled to find the words, but he decided he didn’t really need words for this moment. And, finally—

He surged forward, capturing Richie’s lips with his own. The kiss was short and shallow — it was more of a brush of the lips than a kiss, if he was being honest — but it made his head spin.

Eddie pulled away, his eyes wide and his breath coming out in small pants. His hands were clutching at the collar of Richie’s blue and white shirt. His legs felt weak under him.

His eyes scanned Richie’s face, taking in the slight part to his lips, and the flush of his cheeks, and the wideness of his eyes. He was looking at Eddie in pure shock, and that was when he found his voice again.

“Richie, I love you, too.”

A long beat of silence passed between them before Richie’s head dipped down. Their lips connected for another kiss — this one much longer and sweeter than before. Richie’s hands cupped the side of Eddie’s face, cradling it gently. His ached from the amount of love and affection he had for the man in front of him.

The kiss stole all the air from Eddie’s lungs and all the thoughts from Eddie’s mind. When Richie pulled away, his lips were curled into a wide smile — a true, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle and seemingly reached into Eddie’s chest and squeezed his heart.

He shook his head, his dark curls bobbing across his forehead. Richie gestured exuberantly towards the house they both ran from. “What the fuck was thaaaaaat!?”

Eddie stepped out of Richie’s grasp, his hands flying into his hair, panicking to hell. “Shit! I was trying to throw you off my trail! You know, like, try to be a dick to you so you don’t think I’m totally into you! Which I am, by the way — totally into you — like an embarrassing amount. And I just—”

“You, Eddie Kaspbrak, are a huge asshole and I love you for it.” Richie stepped forward wearing a silly grin. The hand that had been tenderly holding Eddie’s cheek booped Eddie on the nose.

“What the fuck, Rich?” He wrinkled his nose. Richie didn’t pay any mind to Eddie’s reaction — he pulled the shorter man into a crushing hug and rested his head on top of his.

“I caught you, Eds. You’re my lil’ Pikachu.”

Eddie scowled. “You’re a loser. I’m in love with a loser.”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#reddie #reddie library #halloween event 2019 #pawprinterfanfic

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hey-hamlet · 5 years ago

Text

BNHA AU Ideas: Spiderzuku

Also on AO3!

TL;DR:

With great power comes great responsibility. One for All is certainly a great power, and being the world's Symbol of Peace is a big responsibility. It's a heavy weight for such tiny shoulders to bear.

aka: izuku fights like spiderman and is a vigilante using black whip

basically: dadmight, dead inko

Inko and Izuku get caught up in ‘the’ villain fight w AFO, that cripples All Might. Izuku is just this random little kid that stands infront of All Might when he’s been knocked to the ground because hes a hero through and through. AFO thinks hes cute and simply pushes him aside. His mother is already dead in the rubble. Izuku is begging for his heroes life and that’s what drives All Might to rise again That child shouldn’t witness any more death today.

The blow Izuku prevented it the one that took out All Might’s stomach and lung but that’s not to say he’s going particularly well. AFO is down but hes bleeding out, Izuku is trying to find someone to help. He's only nine, but already so heroic. Convinced he’s going to die, All Might gifts his quirk to Izuku.

All Might pulls through and finds out the child that saved him has no one. That just won’t do. He takes in Izuku and they learn to be a family together, and Izuku learns how to use his quirk.

Too far away from his old school now, he goes to Somei when he can reinvent himself. Given the quirk at a younger age, he has better control, even if he can only use around 1%. A smart kid with a good heroic quirk, he’s pretty popular at Somei, but the bullying still affects him and he’s reluctant to make friends. He befriends Iida – a boy most people avoided for his strange mannerisms and brutal honesty. Iida remains his only true friend in his eyes at Somei.

Nighteye stayed, All Might plans to retire when his quirk has mostly waned, hoping if he times it right Izuku will have graduated by then. Nighteye might dote on Izuku a little but the kid is delightful.

Problem:

OFA isn’t happy about this. As the years pass the quirk begins to tear into him in his sleep, begging and clamouring for him to do something – anything – to use the quirk as it was meant to be used.

The past wielders watch in horror as their quirks tear Izuku parts from the inside out. Finally, they break, begging All Might to do something to save their boy. All Might had never heard the wielders before or since.

With little other option, lest he be killed by his quirk, they hatch a plan.

It's sickeningly easy. The only have to say “All Might’s son” and Izuku is instantly given a spot in the licencing exam at only 12 years old. He isn’t the only one of the heroic’s commissions dirty little secrets in attendance because that’s the year Hawks takes his exam aged 16. They bond.

He passes, just, one of the past wielders giving him a very, very rough crash course on how to use black whip. Aged 12 he gets his full hero licence, the commission skipping provisional on account of his ‘pedigree’

Anyway: this tiny underground hero running into Aizawa again and again, Aizawa doesn't believe he's a hero until he pulls out his license. His costume has a voice distorter to hide how young he sounds but he’s very very tiny.

Izuku having a backpack filled with snacks and zip ties and Aizawa is faintly concerned and keeps an eye on him, definitely not to protect him.

He holds Aizawa down with black whip to try and shove real food into the other hero’s mouth because he becomes fond of him very quickly. He’s like a cool older brother to Izuku.

Aizawa, hungry but refusing to give in to the gremlin "NO StOP"

He decides to live up to his “annoying little brother’ reputation and follow Aizawa around

like he talks to Nezu ab the whole deal and Nezu is like "ok, sounds fair" and lets izuku on campus to chat with teachers and stuff. but its 100% to fuck with Aizawa

so Aizawa is trying to fucking teach and he gets interrupted by a protein bar to the head. his class is shocked.

they all look out the window, no one is there but it's slightly open. Aizawa prays it’s not the new underground brat, opens his mouth to keep talking and gets hit with another protein bar

3A watches in shocked silence as Aizawa flings himself out the window to chase down the tiny hero that has just flung himself into the courtyard.

He’s really good buds w hawks, they do dumb shit together all the time

“oh yagi sensei look a flying spider!”

it’s just fucking hawks and Izuku barrelling through the sky at full speed. Shrieking

izuku and hawks go out for coffee in full costume so izuku just stubbornly holds his coffee the whole time bc he doesn't wanna lift up his mask. he’s just walking around with room temp coffee and a slightly squashed pastry

“izuku pwease ur getting crumbs everywhere”

“i p a i d f o r t h i s”

they have to fight a villain and Izuku refuses to drop his fucking cupcake

After a nasty incident after Izuku got his licence, All Might retires. His quirk isn’t what is used to be, and he’s in fact rapidly losing the ability to use it at all. He's no slouch in the fitness department but that lack of quirk isn’t helping. He ends up actually being the office secretary.

and the public is shook. in this year Nighteye stayed w All Might bc All Might passed on his quirk right after afo, and Nighteye is here to train izuku. so All Might’s agency has no All Might

izuku, Nighteye, Hawks, Miriko, w guess appearances from iidaten and hands up radio but only Nighteye knows how young izuku is

David and Melissa are part of the agency on as support staff

Nezu isnt actually aware of the fact izuku is only 12, and All Mights (adopted but still) son and boy is he going to be pissed when he finds out a child was doing hero work under his nose

Oh yeah his hero name is Legacy BTW

Aizawa makes jokes that the new hero Legacy is a kid bc he doesnt patrol during school hours and izuku is s w e a t i n g

he mostly patrols around dusk, like 4pm till 8pm, and noon till 10 on the weekends so the end of his patrols intersect with the start of Aizawa’s

izuku keeps stubbornly swinging after Aizawa demanding a high-five

Mic loves Legacy but hes lost bc hes a really new hero with ties to ua but he hasnt ever seen a student like that attending, so he’s honestly wondering where he popped up from.

but Mic is like " isnt shouta fuckin amazing what a guy " and Legacy says " yES" and Mic is like "son"

Legacy has a lil intro press conference and the whole world is instantly smitten with this sweet young hero that has All Might’s seal of approval. Legacy is everyone’s son and they would all die for him

it’s a running theory that Legacy is All Might’s kid bc,,,, his name is Legacy so like,,, they aint wrong but anyway All Might feels t e r r i b l e that his little 12-year-old is out fighting villains but OFA wouldn’t lets izuku sleep, or eat or dream unless he was doing s o m e t h i n g against AFO

izukus not alone though, when he fights he can often see ghost images of the predecessors leading him through fights. he fights so differently from time to time its a real theory that Legacy is multiple people

#bnha au #bnha #spiderzuku au #midoriya izuku #Midoriya #dadmight #all might #yagi toshinori #aizawa #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #present mic #iida tenya #nezu #principal nezu

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theskyeandsea · 5 years ago

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Snappy Birthday! || Group Chatzy

Timing: May 2nd, 2020

Location: Nicodemus and Skylar’s House

Description: Skylar and Nell threw an unfor-gator-able surprise party for Nic. No hunters, humans, or supernaturals were hurt in the making of this chatzy!

Tagging: @carbrakes-and-stakes. @walker-journal. @harlowhaunted. @nelllraiser. @theskyeandsea. @corpse–diem. @bountybossier. @3starsquinn. @chasseurdeloup. @hunter-haywood. @deepintheredwood. @fairyjeff.

Skylar looked around at the small gathering of people, more than a little anxious. Nell had really outdone herself with the decorations-- the alligator inflatables she'd found shoved in a back closet were pumped up and scattered in different rooms, the large alligator cake was sitting on the table, there was a massive gator themed centerpiece on the gift table, and Dundee was walking around in his costume. Skye had helped set up most of the decorations, but she left putting Dundee in the costume to Nell, she was still a little skittish around the dog, even if he'd only ever barked at her once or twice. There were buckets full of ice and beers by the pool and in the kitchen, along with more than a few bottles of whiskey. Walking into the kitchen, she smiled nervously at some of the people who had gathered there. "Thanks so much for coming, I'm really glad you all could make it!"

Nell was anxiously watching her phone, wanting everything to be as perfect as possible when it came to this party. In honesty, she wasn't entirely sure when she'd become the type of person to help plan three parties withing a few months span, but she certainly wasn't mad about it when it was for friends and the people she cared about. Waiting for Erin's text, she readied herself to tell everyone to hide and quiet down, knowing that if they missed the crucial and initial 'surprise!' it would derail the biggest part of any surprise party. Already she'd sent numerous texts to Erin, checking in a possibly obnoxious amount to make sure everything was going to plan. "For sure," she echoed Skye's sentiment, glad she'd had such a good partner for this event. "I haven't heard from Erin yet, but they should be coming any moment so- everyone just get ready. Think about where you might want to hide." She'd also been sure to try and request that Erin make sure no weapons were on Nic, not wanting the surprise element of said party to result in injury when it came to his party guests.

Kaden didn't know Nic that well but he liked the guy well enough to go to his birthday party on the invite alone. Plus, it couldn't be worse than his own. No mimes in sight, a good sign already. His brow shot up at Nell's announcement. That sounded like a bad idea. "Are we really jumping out and yelling surprise at a hun--" He caught himself. "Guy. At the guy. That sounds like a bad fucking idea." He sighed and found a spot around the corner where he didn't have to crouch down or do anything ridiculous and could keep his beer on hand. Let someone else get knocked in the head for hiding in a hunter's house and jumping out and yelling surprise.

Adam arrived in thunder of whoops and hollering as he and several brawny fellows pilled out of pick up truck and began rolling up kegs to the door covered in various phallic puns incorporating Nic’s new age. When the truck eventually drove off, Adam burst in wheeling a keg will dressed in short sleeves and wearing a hideous bandanna in the shape of a well-endowed alligator.

Nell wasted no time in staring down each and every one of the assumed frat boys that approached the party, asserting dominance as quickly as she could to let them know that she would not hesitate to kick each one of their asses if they so much as ruined an inflatable alligator, or her and Skye's vision for the party. Of course...the beer was a welcome addition. One could never have too many kegs. "We'll just jump out not near him," she quickly supplied to Kaden. "And maybe Skye can be a little decoy when he walks in." Then she went to Adam, reaching out to prod the bandana on his face. "There are going to be children gators here," she joked, not actually planning on the young man taking it off.

Trying to be inconspicuous about keeping Nic out of the house was harder than Erin anticipated. That’d been her only real job for the day, and compared to the massive amount of work Nell and Skylar had put into it, she’d gotten off pretty easy. CHILL. Pulling up. Five minutes. She quickly texted Nell, giving what felt like the twelve status update that hour. “Thanks for, uh--carting me around all afternoon,” she glanced over at him, though she wasn’t able to entirely meet his eyes. Their last conversation hadn’t been entirely pleasant, and largely consisted of Erin telling him she should stay away while the murderous squid had a hold on him. And then here she was, out of the blue asking him to help her run menial little errands all day to keep him out of the house. Avoided any real conversations by popping in and out of the truck, and taking her good old time at each spot. Her eyes narrowed as they started to pull into the driveway. “Oh!” She piped up as she hopped out of the car, moving to the driver’s side and held out her hand. “Weapons. All of them,” she nodded at him, making a ‘gimme’ motion with her fingers. “You still owe me that tour of the pool, right?” She gave him a smile, trying to keep this light. This was a totally normal request. “We don’t need weapons to check out a pool.”

Golly, Hunter was so excited to be invited to Nic's birthday party! He hadn't gone to one since his daughter's Haylee's fifteenth and that had been awkward since his (ex) wife had been flirting with his best friend the whole time. He couldn't blame her he supposed, Frank was a really nice fellow and he was handsome to boot. He followed behind Adam, the younger man dressed strangely, but Hunter was sure it was just the popular fashion. Grinning he looked around the party,"Wowie, y'all. It looks great. Who decorated? I love the theme!"

Eventually Adam handed out monopoly money to his friends and sinewy friends departed, still sweaty from the keg rolling he took out yet more Caligula gator bandanas and offered some to Hunter and Nell "Don't pole him," he cautioned Nell regarding her prodding the bandana "You'll just make him more excited, here I have some for folks."

Skylar nodded at Kaden's advice. That was admittedly something she hadn't really thought about. The idea of jumping out at Nic was probably a bad idea, even if it was just for a party. Before she could respond, she blinked in surprise when a man burst through the door with... kegs? Face turning bright red as she realized what was on his bandana, Skylar turned to face Nell instead. "Mhm! I can do that!" She said, hurrying to take a seat on the couch next to one of the lamps. This was casual right? Just... sitting on the couch? Surrounded by inflatable alligators and beer? "I'm all set when everyone else is."

Why was Red going to another hunter birthday party? After Kaden's mess, they had almost sworn off going to anyone's birthday party. Still here they were, surrounded by a weirdly theme birthday party, but at least, Red supposed, it wasn't mimes. "Kaden's right. I don't want to be punched," or worse,"in the face today and I doubt anyone else does."

Orion stood awkwardly in the house. Skylar hadn’t been lying, this place was huge. He recognized a few people but felt weird approaching any of them at the moment. He had waved to a few people when he got in. This was supposed to be a surprise, but Rio wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of trying to surprise a hunter. He remembered trying to scare Athena as a kid and ended up flipped onto a coffee table. He hadn’t tried that ever again. So he tried picking a spot as far from the door as possible for when Nic got back. Out of the danger zone.

Jeff wasn't really in the mood for another party, especially since he hadn't even made it in the door for Kaden's. But considering there was no mime tomfoolery here, it was safe. Even if he still couldn't speak. He sulked over by Kaden, beer in one hand and a clumsily wrapped present with crocodile wrapping paper in the other. When the small child that babysat his dog ordered them to hide, he shuffled behind Kaden. But if Nic wanted to punch someone at his own birthday party, then that was his God Given Right. He drank his beer, opening his mouth to say something..... and then nothing came out. He drank more beer instead.

Nicodemus had stayed fairly quiet for the majority of the drive, unsure of what to say. He didn't mind running around mindlessly with Erin. Even if mindless was a bit of a tender term considering...everything. He frowned. Damn it. The hunter glanced overr at Erin and nodded, a slight furrow even as a slight smile showed. "Ain't a thing." He mumbled to himself as they pulled into the driveway and got out of the truck. At her sudden exclamation, his eyes darted over to her and he breathed easier when it was nothing. "My weapons?" He questioned but started anyway. Twenty minutes later, he was done pulling out every small knife, bullet, and even a fountain pen that he had kept on him. The unsharpened pencil was last. His eyes narrowed slightly as he started toward the door. "Y'wanna do that now?" He nodded to the door and started toward it. "Yeah, alright, guess I can do that now."

The silly little tripwire spell Nell had set up was triggered the moment Nic and Erin neared it, and soon enough she was shushing the rest of the crowd, trying to make sure no one was in punching distance of the door. "Okay, okay, they're here! Get ready!" she said in a hushed whisper, looking to Skye to give the girl a reassuring smile.

Blanche wasn't surprised that Nell had outdone herself again. She was, however, at the amount of Frat boys with Beer and gators that showed up. Once Nell gave the signal to get ready, she made a beeline for Rio. "Hide!" she said, excitedly.

Adam immediately fell into a commando-like sprawl, Hunter surprises perhaps having been more militaristic operations back home.

Hunter crouched down next to Adam, though his knees creaked as he did. He supposed it was probably time to go back to the doctor like his (ex) wife had wanted him to years ago. "You look like you're on a stakeout there, kiddo. Trying to make sure Nic doesn't see ya?" He hoped Nic wouldn't be able to see him like this. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get up anytime soon, much less hide.

Orion could have hugged Blanche, he was so excited to see her. “Oh thank god you’re here.” He was still a bit nervous about hiding but decided to go along with Blanche, just making sure to move them away from the door when they did.

“Jesus, are you like the Mary Poppins bag of deadly weapons?” Erin mumbled, unable to hold onto everything he’d just painstakingly pulled from every pocket and hiding spot on his body. She heaved them with some effort into the back of his truck, then ran back to cut him off at the door. “Ladies first!” She nearly chirped, hoping to God Skylar left the door unlocked. When it opened, she took a quick glance inside, could hear people shuffling and paused just in the doorway. “Wow!” She bellowed, not letting him step in immediately. “This place is amazing!” It was, and she’d get into that later, but that was probably enough of a warning, right? Still, she took long, careful steps and reached for his hand to keep him from moving too quickly into the doorway or past her, sharing the same thought the rest of the partygoers had. For the love of God, don’t spook the fucking hunter.

When the door swung open, Skylar smiled and waved from the couch as the two of them stepped into the room. "Surprise, Nic! Happy Birthday!" She said brightly. She really, really hoped that Erin had confiscated all of Nic's weapons, getting something thrown at her might put a damper on the whole... birthday celebration.

Being late was not something Alain had ever been comfortable with and yet this was exactly his situation right now. From the other side of the road he had waited for twenty minutes for Nic to be done with his fucking collection of weaponry. Well, at least, he was now the least likely to get shot by birthday boy. Watching Erin lead the way to the place, Alain sighed heavily and got out of the car, present under his arm. "About fucking time." Following behind, he arrived just in time to hear a familiar voice exclaim "Surprise!"

In tandem, everyone seemed to rise up at once, some more cautious than others as the exclamation of, "Surprise!" went up around the room. Hopefully, Nic would be pacified by the inflatable gators before punching anyone.

Nicodemus had never heard Erin so animated before. He followed behind her, heavily scrutinizing her moments, he listened. With her voice as loud as it was, he couldn't hear much over it. But something seemed off. What was that smell? Was it...gator? No way in fucking hell was it gator. Then, Skylar was shouting and he reflexively reached to grab a weapon. An inflatable gator. It popped and squeaked under his grip, whistling its way to a sad death. Wait, what had she said? He blinked. Squinted. Looked around. It wasn't just Skylar there. It was...a lot of people. More than he expected. She had said Happy Birthday. He looked over all of them and stood there. Like a dumbass. There were gators. Baby ones? Was that discount Steve Irwin? "...Howdy." Was all he could manage.

"Howdy, birthday boy!" Hunter said loudly as he pushed himself up (making dad grunts the entire way up). Seeing a lady next to Nic, Hunter grinned,"Who is this, bud? She's pretty," He said with a little wiggle of his eyebrows.

Skylar was startled when he grabbed an inflatable alligator, she flinched when it popped loudly, the sound making her hearing aids ring a bit. But, that was a lot better than him doing that to one of the people here! Walking up, she held out a pointy party hat and held it out to Nic. "I thought it'd be nice to have a little party for you-- Nell did a lot of the work, honestly. Happy Birthday!" She said, beaming.

Nell could handle the the casualty of one inflatable gator, seeing that as a success even as air continued to whine out of it. "Happy Birthday!" she echoed brightly stepping towards the man that this party was all about. "You're definitely old now." She waited somewhat anxiously, hoping to see some sign that he didn't completely hate the party Skylar and her had put together. "There's lots of food! And alcohol! And baby gators. Other animals, too."

Kaden shook his head as Nic killed the very dangerous inflatable gator. Better it than anyone else here. He'd go wish him a happy birthday later, he had plenty of people to talk to. And Kaden didn't really need to have another great run in with Erin just yet. He turned to Jeff and nodded. "How's it going?" His brow furrowed when it was clear the other guy couldn't talk. "You should get a dry erase board, man." He gave Alain a small wave as he saw him come in behind the birthday boy. "Want to go see the animals?" he asked the couple of hunters around him. He didn't really give a shit what they said, he was going to see those fucking baby gators before he left so help him.

Red could tell that there was a fae here, just not where. They tried to shake it off for the sake of Nic and the party, they didn't want to ruin it by causing a scene. At least there were animals here. Maybe he'd have to ask the bossy girl where she got these for Violet's next birthday. They bet that her birthday party would be the best if there were animals like this there. "You know what, yeah I do. Just let me grab a beer." They went grabbed their own beer and then moved over to the baby gators with Kaden. "Violet would have liked these," They said nodding to the small animals.

Orion couldn’t help but laugh when he heard the popping noise. Of course Nic stabbed the inflatable gator. But at least that was better than stabbing one of the party attendees. At least if he had stabbed a fellow hunter it would have healed pretty quickly. “That’s why I didn’t want to hide” Orion giggled, looking back at Blanche, “I didn't want to end up on the wrong side of his surprise.” Looking around, he recognized quite a few. It put him a little on edge, but the ones that he did recognize were alright, as far as hunters went. And was that… Erin with Nic? So his new boss knew Nic? Hmm, small town.

Nicodemus looked between Skylar and Nell. A party. He didn't remember ever having one before. The back of his neck felt warm. "It's nice," he finally said with a firm nod. "Just, uh, real fuckin' surprised." When had he started to know so many people? And they were all in his and Skylar's house. Holy fuck, he had a house and he had friends. Jumping Jesus Christ. He had even heard Alain sneaking up the door behind him. Nic offered Hunter a small but friendly smile. Right up until he blanched at the question. "Erin, that's her," he said quickly as he glanced over to the booze in the distance. Then to the baby gators. "Gonna get a drink there, bud. Enjoy yourself, huh?" Stepping carefully over Dundee, who looked just as perplexed as he did if not more so due to the lack of noticeable blinking, he power-walked to the watering station and cracked open a cold one as he turned around to survey the area. Goddamn, they had committed and committed hard.

“Wow,” was the only word that kept flashing in Erin’s mind when she saw the full scale of the party for the first time. They hadn’t been kidding even a little bit when they said there’d be gators. “Surprise?” Erin finally said when she turned to Nic, who seemed without a doubt surprised. “Holy crap, you guys. This is seriously amazing,” she smiled over at Skylar and Nell, stepping aside so the small crowd could fawn over him. As they should be, even if it was making him visibly uncomfortable. “That’s--yeah, that’s me. Erin. Nice to meet you…?” she chuckled at the older man who’d come up to greet them. Most of the faces she could pinpoint, some more of a surprise than others, but this was a new one to her. Wasted no time in plucking up one of the party hats and sat it squarely on her head. “Shut the front door--are those real gators?” She asked the second her eyes laid on them.

Hunter grinned at Erin. “Nice to meet ya, Miss. I’m Hunter. I meet Nic at a bar a while ago. He’s a real sweetheart, aint he?” He grinned wider, “I bet he’d make a great boyfriend. You know, if that interested you.”

Alain walked over to the pile of gifts to put down the box in which he had stuffed one crocodile plush, and a Laguiole knife with a handle that ressembled the skin of an alligator. This is when he heard someone speaking with Erin about Nic. Turning on his heels with the most neutral expression on his face, he raised his eyebrows at his friend and crossed his arms. "Well Erin, I think Hunter here might make a pretty good point."

Skylar beamed at the two of them, before nodding. "I'm glad that you like it! Have fun looking at the gators, I'm going to make sure Dundee doesn't poke his way over there." She said before walking off to find the little dog. It was huddled in a corner, a little overwhelmed by all the people who were in the home. Which was honestly fair, she kind of related. Reaching out gingerly to fix the dog's hood, she glanced up and saw Rio and Blanche, the two of them sporting matching pink hair. "Hi! I'm really glad you both could make it. Thanks so much for coming."

Nell beamed under Nic's simple, but approving words, and couldn't help but also enjoy Erin's. "Good, good. You deserve it," was all she managed to say. She was glad she had Skye had managed to pull this off. Nic needed good things in his life, and now this could be one of them. Sticking with the funeral director for a moment, she nodded, paying no mind to Alain. She didn't like the man, but she wouldn't start anything when she wanted this party to go perfectly. Turning to Erin she said with renewed excitement, "Yeah! Real gators! Reptile Rick brought along his brood. They're cute, aren't they?"

Orion smiled brightly when Skylar made her way over to say hi to them. He eagerly waved back and perked up. “Hey! Of course, thanks for the invite.” It had a good turnout, with quite a few people showing up for it. “You weren’t joking about this house. It’s ginormous.” He glanced at the crowd around Nic, talking to him and Erin. He would make his way over there eventually to say happy birthday, once things had calmed down. “You and Nell did really good. This party is really cool.”

Adam took a tray of vials from among the kegs. Some of the folks at the Bullet had responded to his blood drive, allowing for enough Slayer Blood for vampire poison. Liquid silver in pressured regulated contains for werewolves. A poison that'd disrupt the air regulation within aquatic creatures like Selkie, causing them to burst from the inside. There was very fine cold iron grains to poison the ventilation systems of Fae communes, Adam carefully set these and other vials of deadly alchemy with the other gifts before returning to the kegs to get drinks really started.

The only sound that came out of Erin’s mouth was a nervous laugh, eyes wide. “He’s--uh, he’s--yeah. He’s great.” She cleared her throat, glaring daggers at Alain through the smile forced onto her lips when he needlessly chirped in. “Helpful as always, aren’t you? Why don’t you go say hi to Nic, yeah?” she said, patting Alain’s back extra hard, thankful Nell was there. “They’re adorable!” she answered eagerly. “I’m gonna go see them like--now. I can’t wait. You totally understand, right?” Even if they didn’t, she was already shuffling away. “Excuse me!” She bounced off towards the refreshment table first for some of what she hoped was alcoholic “Gator”-ade. A little surprised at the crowd that had gathered around the baby animals, but she supposed not even a big group of guys like this could resist. “Is this the designating hiding spot?” She teased and watched them scurry around, taking large sips of the mysterious green drink.

Skylar laughed a little at Rio's statement, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. "Mhm, it's a really big place. I have no idea places like this even existed in White Crest, but I'm really lucky to have a place to stay." She said. "Thanks, it was mostly Nell. She really outdid herself. I like the hair, by the way. It looks really cool." She said with a thumbs up. With his pink hair, Rio almost looked like he'd stepped out of an anime or something. It honestly suited him-- and Blanche as well.

Lord, there were even presents. Cold beer in hand, Nicodemus grunted a greeting to those he passed by as he wandered over to the baby gators. He took a moment to raise his beer at Adam with a slight grin. Gingerly, Reptile Rick placed one in the palm of his hand, its small head resting on the hunter's wrist. Large reptilian eyes stared at him and he stared back. A true, blue genuine smile brightened his face for a hot second before he glanced over at the others. "They're, uh, real fuckin' gentle and shit," he said. Reptile Rick looked on in approval, the string of his fishing hat bobbing slightly. "...Thanks for comin', I 'spose. Didn't really know all this shit was happenin'."

Adam sees Rio being all pink with Blanche and Skylar and gives him a knowing wink and encouraging thumps up and highly evocative penetrative pantomime with his hands. Fellow Hunter dude thus no doubt encouraged and full of manly vitality, Adam return to drinks and watching Nic be Crocodile Dundee.

Nell nodded enthusiastically as Erin made her exit, not blaming her in the least for wanting to check out the little gators. She'd already spent some time with them before the party had started, and was letting everyone else get their fill, now. "I completely understand she offered with a chuckle before watching the other women head over. Adam's motion catching her eye, she wasted no time in heading his way to make herself a drink as well, glad that the party seemed to be going well enough. "You're going to make them match their pink hair," she said to the man with a little smirk, always amused by his antics.”

Alain forced a smile at Nell. It was not that he disliked her, but... Ok, it was exactly that, but it appeared that she had at last decided to be an adult. It would have been a shame if he ruined all her efforts. "Wait, Erin, you can't just..." He protested, and rather than sticking with Hunter, who would probably whine about his ex wife again, he followed after Erin to have a look at the baby alligators. If the question of how those things got here crossed his mind, he figured that the answer probably would be too shady for his liking. And... there was too much people here for his liking. Obviously. Who could blame them. Alright, then maybe he wouldn't bother Erin some more. Taking a deep breath, the hunter contemplated leaving. He had dropped the present, said Happy birthday. His job here was done, right? This was about then that he noticed Skylar on the other side of the room, with Orion, with... pink hair? Waving politely at them, he walked away from the alligator loving crowd to join them.

"Hey you know whatever gets that three-way rocking," Adam affirmed to Nell before drowning a drink like as if were a raindrop in a desert. "Maybe they like cotton-candy everywhere?" He blinked his way after the next drink slammed his brain. "So how do you know Bad Santa?"

Kaden was definitely not telling the baby alligator what a good boy it was in French when he realized Erin and Nic had joined them in the reptile corner. "Must be. Sorry, I said surprise once, that's all you get," he told Erin. "Happy birthday," he said as he watched the baby gator scuttle in Nic's hand. "I'd say you got a better theme than my party." It was nice, seeing a weirdly functioning just nice party for a hunter of all people in this hell hole town. Weird as hell, but nice.

"Thanks for inviting us, really. This place is great! I love Nic and he deserves a really good party," Blanche said brightly, brushing a piece of hair out of her face. She still couldn't believe the two of them dyed it pink. Wild. "And thanks. I think we mastered the art of impulsive twenty year old." If only it didn't end with the both of them killing something. She had caught Adam doing something out of the corner of her eye and made a face. "Anyway, I totally want to pet a gator and the dog at some point. Also, Skylar, you don't have an aversion to Little Debbie's Muffin's, do you?"

Nell snorted into her drink, not exactly discouraging Adam from his conception of the three-way. After all, what kind of best friend would she be if she didn't let Blanche get teased about sex? And she also wouldn't mind poking a small bit of good-natured fun at Skylar and Rio. In true mature fashion, she tucked her drink under her arm for a moment to bring her hands together in the shaped of a heart, capturing the three of them in the center of it. "I can smell it brewing now. If they don't serve cotton candy at the wedding...I'm not going." It took her a moment to figure out who Bad Santa might be, but it had to be the birthday boy...right? "Do you mean Nic? Because I'm here for that nickname, even without explanation."

Skylar nodded at Blanche, "For sure! He really does. I wanted to do something fun for him, you know? I feel like everyone could use a little fun right now." She said, not noticing the way her expression changed. She also didn't notice Adam's gesture, which was probably for the best. "Dundee should be around here somewhere-- I'm trying to keep him away from the baby gators. Hm? I mean... I'm allergic to gluten, so I'm kinda averse to most baked goods." She said with a little shrug before noticing that Alain had walked over. "Oh! Hi! Thanks for coming! I'm glad you were able to make it." Skylar said with a grin. "We've got games, there's plenty of beer, whiskey, and lots of food in the kitchen."

Adam sighed with a feigned dramatic wistfulness, "Well, Nic's Hunter powers activated when he was just a mall santa, down on his luck and scaring kids. But then vampires attacked some of the other Santas, and after a long investigation of Snow globes the kids watched in horror as Santa tore apart one of the elves, thus the Hunter known as Nicodemus was born." Adam nodded solemnly as before quaffing a drink.

Orion saw Adam wink at him and his cheeks immediately burst into flames. His face must be all sorts of shades of red at the moment, but he tried to ignore it and focus on the conversation instead. “Thanks! Blanche gets all the credit for the idea, but I’m surprised by how much I like the pink hair.” It was weird and fun and crazier than anything he had ever done, which was a welcome change. He waved at Alain and glanced over at the snacks and drinks that Skylar had mentioned, “Turns out, the Gatorade is in fact not gatorade and is alcoholic. I found out the hard way.” By that, he meant that he had taken a drink of it and immediately spit it back into the cup from the surprise. “But it tastes good.” Ish.

By now, Nell felt fairly adept at judging when Adam was going to launch into his ever-famous renditions of obviously very true and perfectly accurate stories, and a grin split over her lips as this one met her ears. "Please tell me there are pictures of this. I could put it on next year's cake. Does he still have the costume?" Against possibly all expectation, the thing that made her almost choke on her drink was the revelation of Nic's full name. She'd simply assumed it was...Nicholas or...something normal. "Nicodemus?? As in a wannabe Roman emperor?" She couldn't wait to hold that one over Nic's head.

Adam affirmed that he was sure Nic still had the costume, just in case it fell to him to defend Christmas from Dracula. "Was more goin for Pharisee from the Bible, or the leader of the Rats of Nim, but yup"

Alain smiled at the three of them, his eyes lingered on Blanche and Orion's hair color. "...That's... cheerful." He shook his head with amusement. Oh well, if it made them happy. "Did you name one of the alligators after Nick Dundee?" His eyebrows raised. Oh well, he knew people who had named their dog Orion. Looking in the direction of the drinks and food he grimaced. "Oh no, I'm fine I don't really drink alcohol anymore," apparently embarrassed, the hunter rubbed at the back of his head and shrugged. "Gatorade and taste good in the same sentence, I don't know," memories of a terrible night with Blanche and Nic was brought back to him and he laughed a little as he glanced at Blanche.

Erin didn’t know what he was saying, but Kaden was saying it soft enough that it seemed close enough to a ‘coo’ as a grown man could get. She didn’t interrupt, him or Nic as he held one and grinned like a kid. Just admired the way the baby gators had managed to melt the hearts of everyone almost instantly. She’d be lying if she wasn’t right there with them. “It’s gonna be a hard theme to beat, that’s for sure,” she nodded at Kaden. “I’ll leave you guys alone with your new friends,” she said with a grin, like she was in on their secret. A blast of pink was the first thing she spotted when she grabbed another drink. “Whoa. You’re going to wake the dead with that hair,” Erin smirked over at Rio. Boss-brain would’ve been scorning him right about now but she looked past it. It was a party and she was drinking green mystery juice. She didn’t have a lot of room to judge. After listening in a moment, she pointed towards Blanche mid-drink. “Wait, is this the infamous Blanche?”

Adam murmured to Nell, "Looks like word's gotten around about B.H."

Red took a few pictures of the animals to send to Artie, hoping their wife would show Violet. If they had known, maybe they would have brought the kid with them, but then again she was the perfect excuse to leave if Red needed a quick excuse. “Gotta day this birthday is a lot easier to handle than the last.”

Shaking her head, Nell quickly said, "I don't know what the hell a rat of Nimh is but— the Bible thing makes sense. I just feel like with a name like that, he could have definitely stabbed Caesar. She watched as Erin seemed to recognize Blanche, not exactly surprised. "What can we say she's a popular gal who with the hair of a a troll doll. Who wouldn't have heard about her? A very pretty troll doll."

Adam shook his head. "They make dolls of trolls? But they're too fucking hideous for kids. ...and Blanche is waaay hotter then a troll."

Skylar chewed the inside of her cheek when she realized that Alain didn't drink-- oh no. "Um, we also have water and soda in the fridge. And the food turned out great, I was out grilling earlier and the steak turned out really nice, if you ask me." She said hoping that the offering of non-alcoholic beverages and food would gloss over her little misstep there. Tilting her head, at the Dundee comment, she blinked. "Oh, no. Dundee is the name of Nic's dog. There he is right now." She said, pointing to the little chihuahua who had plonked down onto the couch and had curled up into a little ball for a nap.

Blanche almost snorted when Alain complained about the gatorade, biting back a comment about how if he didn't want to drink gatorade maybe he shouldn't have gotten so drunk that she and Nic had to baby him. "I'll take some of the jungle juice. Or beer." She said brightly. She was just about to go get some when someone pointed her out. WHat - "Infamous - wait. Oh! Erin!" Blanche recognized her from Regan's facetime. "Hey! You act like I'm a walking tornado." Blanche thought for a second and them sheepishly shrugged. ".... You got me."

Nell wasn't entirely surprised that Adam hadn't heard of troll dolls. Most likely his toys growing up had all been outfitted with flamethrowers or something. The only flamethrowers she'd had growing up were her sisters. "No it's like- they're little pudgy baby dolls with funny colored hair. Blanche is definitely hotter than either though. Can confirm that." Nell took the opportunity to wave over at the other pink-haired person...Rio. "Hey! What'd you guys use to dye your hair anyway?"

Adam nodded, "Heya guys, digging the K-pop look."

Orion picked up on Blanche’s name and laughed when he heard what Adam and Nell said. “This just in, Blanche is hotter than a troll” Rio leaned close to Blanche and repeated, smiling as he said it. It was nice hearing with Blanche knowing about him being a hunter. He didn’t have to shy away from explaining his super hearing to her. But he immediately slunk away when he realized that Nell and Adam were joining the group. His boss and now Adam too? Oh boy. “I uh- we uh- I” Rio stammered, trying to form a coherent sentence, “Hey there.” He settled on, greeting his boss and Nell and Adam that had joined the group. “Uh thank you! I don’t know actually, Blanche bought the dye.”

Alain scratched at his cheek. The last thing he wanted was to make Skylar uncomfortable over something she couldn't have known. "Hey, it's fine. It's okay. I look forward to that," he reassured her, carefully patting her shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder to have a look at the dog, he froze when he realized what it was she was referring to. He wrinkled his nose and searched for Nic in the crowd. What the fuck kind of dog was that ? "Well now I have something to roast him about. Thanks Skylar, I will be right back." You bet that he was now making his way to birthday boy. "You didn't tell me you had a ..." Rat? "Dog."

Nicodemus parted from the gators, as hard as it was, and started to head toward the pool. How the hell they got the ambiance going the way it did, he didn't understand. He looked over at Alain and raised a brow. Looked at Dundee who didn't seem at all bothered. "Yeah, came with the fuckin' apartment. Believe that shit," he said, a lot less bothered by it than he had been a week ago. "Wouldn't leave, so fuck it, why not, right?" The last conversation he had with Alain hadn't been pleasant. What he asked hadn't been pleasant, but still, Alain showed. "Thanks for comin'. You knew about this?"

Blanche had definitely been blonde the last time Erin had seen her--brief as it was--but here she was. In the flesh. “No! You’re just--you’re here. I wasn’t sure this day was going to come,” Erin laughed, recalling their almost exclusive online interactions. It suddenly dawned on Erin she was surrounded by almost all of the youths of the crowd, especially when Nell and the other younger kid joined. This felt weird. Time to retreat. She nodded at Rio, “Hair looks good,” she said simply. Nodding at Blanche again as she backpedaled. “Glad to finally meet you, too,” she smiled, then turned to go back and adore the baby gators again with what seemed like the rest of the older party attendees.

Noticing Rio's stammering, Skylar blinked in confusion as the other three approached. Why was he so nervous about them? Was it because the awful bandana? In that case, she couldn't really blame him, it was pretty bad. But, the guy who walked up didn't seem all that strange. With a smile, she waved at him. "I'm Skylar, by the way. Nic's roommate. Nice to meet you." She said. There was quite a bit of conversation going on, so she didn't totally register Alain's words, but the small pat on her shoulder caught her attention. "Oh, bye!" She said with a nod in his direction, and offering a wave when Erin also turned away. People coming and going, all the talking... parties were exhausting.

Adam gave Skylar a once over, and then another look over, neither of which were granted any subtly by the drinks in his system. "I'm Adam, looking good, Skylar," he said walking up. "Heya Oreo, how’s it hanging?"

Skylar didn't like the way that Adam looked at her, nope, nope, no. With a slightly panicked smile, she tilted her head towards the pool of baby alligators. "Mhm... I need to go." She said, adding quickly, "Check on the alligators. Yup. They... need to be watched." They were just little alligators, they wouldn't eat her, right? Walking quickly away, she let out a sigh. All things considered, that had gone well. And Nic seemed like he liked it too, which was all that mattered in her book.

Nicodemus's ears weren't ringing from wolf howls or vampire screaming or some other kinda nonsense. No, it was just people talking. Enjoying themselves. It wasn't...terrible and that was a terrifying thought on its own. There'd be time for the rest of the shit later, unless it came sooner. Town like White Crest, it just might. Being the center of attention was the last thing he wanted but he swallowed it down to try and find a decent place to stand. Idling picking at the soggy label on his beer, he cleared his throat some. A banjo played quietly in the background and he shook his head with a snort. "Uh, thanks for comin'...and shit," he started as he looked around the room. All relatively new faces in his life, but now, familiar. Like Dundee, that didn’t seem to bother him as much anymore. His brow furrowed some. "...Appreciate it. It's, uh--Yeah. Stay as long as you want or at least 'till Dundee or Skye kicks your ass out." A dry laugh sneaked out of him. He glanced at the cutout of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood. They glanced back. The shooting gallery lay beyond. He raised his beer and headed over. “Meanwhile, my ass'll be out on the open range.”

#p: sb #p: nicodemus bossier #p: penelope vural #p: adam walker #p: blanche harlow #p: alain babineaux #p: orion quinn #p: kaden langley #p: erin nichols #p: red ward #p: jeff mulloy #p: hunter haywood #wickedswriting

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thegreatgrahamellingham · 5 years ago

Text

Post-Performance Pleasures

Another week, another performance.

For having spent so many years under pseudonym, earning his breakfast and dinner by penning words beneath other people’s names -- not to mention the years before that as but a tool for other’s personal pleasures or political leanings -- Graham took a deserved pride in himself.

While perhaps his pet project, ‘The Mask of Thornbridge’, in truth years in the making and longer than was performed, did not achieve such attention as he may have desired -- he was honored to perform as he did. And by the, unironic, ‘grace’ of the Lady Maymont he was pleased to have penned another play. In earnest, he had considered it rather saccharine from the first draft, but it appeared to have been taken well. Not only by they who had commissioned it and, to be plain, bought and paid for it -- but to those gracious and sagacious men and women of the Grand Alliance who were kind enough to serve as audience.

He felt pride in that.

Perhaps that was his justification for spending so much gold on himself at the festivities that followed.

Now in his defense, he spent most of the profitable purse of the Entourage on its more outwardly prominent members. Sarah Hadley, she who was the star, of course. Her work and earned patronage from the Lord Cartwell of Redridge had allowed the Entourage to have ever begun to begin with. More and more of late, as he had taken a greater role in the stage productions, he had grant gift and coin to Ignacio as well. Despite the impish, saboteur nature of the illusionist -- he was beginning to be an earnest friend. Although his penchant for the limelight and wanton search for pleasures both after and before performances was challenging.

And, of course, sweet Merrick. Their combined foreman and in some ways, troupe Mom. Although that would imply that Graham himself was to be the communal Father and that was not a role he felt particularly inclined toward -- for a variety of reasons.

He shuddered.

But it was quite plain to say that coin and gift, payment and pleasure were not withheld from those hard-working members of their fair, little company. And while he held no sense of personal distaste or resentment, Graham didn’t often spend upon himself. His own portion, fairly divided, of their profits often went to the maintenance of his estate -- wherein they all lived, without charge -- and toward marketing, travel and other necessities of his own profession as manager.

So he found it not unkind or unfair to spend a healthy purse of gold on his own pleasantries in the festival following their performance.

After joining the audience himself to observe, enjoy and to an extent take notes, on the following performers of the Tournament, he absconded alone to visit the various merchant stalls. One of which gathered his attention easily, as the proprietor was not only ‘in costume’, so to speak, but also possessed a rather voluminous lung capacity. Graham had heard the masked and cloth be-decked ‘man’ from all the way across from the rather loud Tourney grounds.

Even over the din of an unseated Duke and cries for gambling compensation, Graham had heard the Merchant.

A strange creature, that much was to be true. The Merchant -- and such was the only name he offered for himself, ‘merchant’ in the pronoun -- looked a bit like something out of a child’s fable. Some enigmatic, scarcely visible riddle-speaker or fortune teller. An interesting character, perhaps one to adapt for a novel later.

But beyond his unending eccentricity of thought, Graham found the Merchant quite charming. Polite in that manner than men and women of his own kin were so often remiss to give in earnest. Usually the demeanour of genuine cordiality came only from assessment of wealth, status, or might above their own. But the Merchant was simply fair, spoken with a conspiratorial humor, and positively flush with interesting items of enchantment.

Now, Graham was not often one to spend quite so much on himself. But, after spying so glorious and perfectly tailored a cloak as to bedazzle the eye, he had to inquire. And, as it turned out, the cloak was enchanted almost as if bespoke for his needs. Pliable, luscious to the touch, and fashionable -- able to alter to any pattern or color or combination of both that the user desired. It would flatten the whole swath of his wardrobe at home dedicated to cloaks and capes for formal events.

-- And not only such, it was capable of hardening to match even the stoutest plate-mail at will.

Now while it was the effort of the aging director to avoid conflict, he did still carry his estoc for a reason. Sometimes things simply escalated and force was the only measurement to be understood. Certainly so in Stormwind City as of late. So plated armor on demand, in a fashionable manner? Oh yes, it was worth the fifty golden coins.

After a young, ragamuffin of a man complimented the Troupe’s performance -- to which Graham, of course, offered his showman’s smile and earnest thanks -- he meandered away from the Merchant. In truth he had meant to simply observe the melee for a minor portion of the hour, then retreat to the Entourage’s private pavillion to indulge in a hot bath. It was cold outside, after all.

But the scent of plumeria took his senses and drew him into a rather unique booth.

Now it was not terribly common for a scent -- let alone one floral! -- to surprise his senses. Whatever could be told of Graham Ellingham, he was a man of sensual acumen. Most took that kind of assumption to mean something untoward, but in truth it was really just an appreciation for the fineries of the world. He enjoyed minutiae, especially those which were so riddled down with sub-community as to be nearly inoperable in regular conversation.

And so he followed his nose, quite literally, to the uncommon booth nearby the Merchant.

A tremendous and really quite unique woman helmed the affair. Her baubles and trinkets were of an inalienable quality, that much was obvious from the immediate venture. But it was her more exact stock of goods that acquired his attention -- that and her genial demeanour.

Indeed, it was not often he could find a mercantile entity of any kind who could appreciate his desire for a dwarf succulent aloe polyphylla, let alone actually have one in stock, in terrarium, ready to be purchased. Favor, fortune, Lady Luck, he thanked the blessing of them all. The terrarium would look gorgeous on the balcony overlooking his rhododendron bushes.

But such was not all that the woman held -- a lady named Maisha he later learned after some communal inquiry. Her friendly stature and her rather precise wares seemed tailor made for the good director. Well, good being relative but he considered himself such. -- Two large, thick-bottomed candles of a perfect gardenia. Blossoms were even embedded in the bottoms! He could have swooned.

Although the sting of some financial guilt did stall him before politely departing the lovely woman’s stall. He really ought to get at least something for the rest of the Entourage. Indeed, he had almost purchased a pair of goggles from the Merchant that seemed quite suited to Ignacio’s unique talent for illusory magic. A little ‘tell-all’ set of spectacles that could, perhaps, pierce even the Illustrious Ignacio Mordrey’s shadow play.

But they were twenty-five gold, and he had already spent fifty. Ignacio could buy them himself.

However, there were a few pairs of the most gorgeous golden cartilage cuffs at the lady Maisha’s booth. And while he had already spent quite the settling of coin, what was a little more? Besides, he could tell from the moment he spotted them that they would work in divine consort with Sarah’s wardrobe -- on or off the stage.

So, into the bundle they went as well.

With a few parting words, he left the lady’s stall and carried onward -- with some difficulty -- back to the Entourage’s private pavilion. Outside the greater noise of the Tournament grounds, it was a homely and soft-seated affair. Great, thick canvas makings on the exterior and a plethora of rugs and carpets run along the snow-cleared earth to provide comfort. Merrick had even set up a proper, claw-footed bathtub in a separate ‘room’, as well as a cast-iron stove with a flute affixed safely through the canvas roof.

He really did need to give their foreman a raise of some kind. Although recalling recent events, perhaps he already assisted in the improvisation of one, after a fashion.

“If you’re here, don’t look!”

He called out into the -- as he came to realize quickly -- empty pavilion.

A little ‘hum’ left his lips, still balancing terrarium and candles in one arm as he used his cane to walk further into the rug-laden ‘living room’. Merrick had got quite good at keeping a consistent floor plan to their excursions of entertainment enclosure. Yet where was everyone?

Sarah and Ignacio both had left quite quickly after the performance had concluded to go change. That was no surprise, as Sarah was wearing little more than a Westfallian woman’s blouse and skirt with a shawl, and Iggy was bare-chested but for a wet, stage-blooded bandage. Doubtless the cold would influence both of their mammaries to a warm comfort and change of ‘costume’ for the rest of the festival.

Yet he did not see them, nor had he heard any call of their voices throughout the Tournament grounds. Perhaps they were off on their own excursion, or perusing another half of the booths. There was little requirement for concern, especially if Merrick was missing from the pavilion as well. Doubtless he’d had both eyes on them.

… He really was the Troupe’s Mom.

Maternal care did deserve a raise, did it not? Graham huffed once as he set down his purchases in his own ‘room’, consigning the thought to memory. Next time he balanced the Entourage’s books and performed finance, he would adjust the scales for a special savings fund for Merrick. The man was a master of all things physical, constructive or otherwise -- but he was not great with money. Thankfully Graham was savvy to the use of coin.

At least while sober.

A-front of the standing mirror in his own curtained off ‘room’ of the pavilion, Graham took the leisure, alone as he was in the greater tent, to pose. He wrapped his new cloak around himself, willing it to different colors and patterns one after another. At first, having handled the item in front of the Merchant, he hadn’t believed it to work. So, thinking of a random pattern as he touched it, the entire cloak had metaphorically ‘exploded’ into hot pink polka dots in front of everyone nearby.

He ran taut his lips to stifle his laugh, recalling it. Embarrassment had run its course already.

From within his jacket pocket, he plucked the setting of golden cuffs. Perfect adornments for Sarah’s ears. Hopefully she would enjoy them -- a small gesture, he could quietly admit, in comparison to the extravagance of his enchanted cloak. But he had made his sense toward the woman known already, and he already had plans in mind for a more appropriate gift for her.

And besides …

He looked to himself in the mirror, standing with cane in hand, statured to showmanship as if he were holding court upon the stage, his cloak laid over one shoulder gracefully -- all colored in a subtle, charcoal pattern to match his suit.

… He was the Great Graham Ellingham.

Mentioned!

@tirasiantrouper

@card-slinger

Does ‘the Merchant’ have a tumblr?

#RP #Canon

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