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trentaafcsblog · 3 years ago

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Midnight Memories

Mason Mount

This isn’t like him at all. Trapped in a crowd of drunk and disorderly people who are staggering around to the beat of the music, sloshing their drinks all over one another when the pink and purple strobe lights descend upon their bodies and start flashing in a series of random patterns, enhancing their alcohol-induced illusions and perceptions of the world as they flail their limbs around and claim they’re flying or walking on clouds - a stage that Mason isn’t willing to reach tonight, or any night, for that matter.

A sea of girls in overly tight dresses and heels that barely support them crowding around him and slurring things in his ear. Running their fingers up his bare arms and begging for another drink as he awkwardly shakes his head and tries to break away from them, only for another person to grip onto him from the other side and smear their cheap sticky lipgloss all over his neck in an attempt to add ‘I kissed a footballer’ to their CV. “Just kiss meee” they whine, pouting in his face and trying to pull him closer before giving up and making a move on the next available man, one who’s willing to explore their mouths and buy them endless rounds of multicoloured shots for the rest of the night without gently shoving them away or not-so-subtly avoiding their alcohol-coated lips.

This isn’t your type of place either, although you’re five cocktails deep into the stack of pornstars that your friends insisted on ordering. A stain down the front of your white bodycon dress thanks to an escapee half a passion fruit that decided to leave your triangular glass in order to explore the vomit-tainted floor. Your lips all patchy now that your lipgloss has migrated to decorate the rim of your empty glasses with sparkly nude smudges, although you’re slightly relieved because it means that your hair won’t get coated in it anymore, and it minimises the evidence if you end up kissing someone too, not that you came here to do that, or risk putting yourself in the same category as the girls that are now trying to climb into the VIP section with a bunch of semi-famous people, all because they want a drunk kissing video to plaster across their social media, hoping that it takes them to the front of the papers in the morning for being such-and-such’s ‘mystery girl’.

You’re looking up at the VIP area cordoned off by security guards in black puffer jackets and walkie talkies in their hands, feeling an overwhelming sense of empathy for all of the people that have to tolerate that kind of behaviour. Your eyes start scanning across the section of the club that is far too expensive for just a few hours’ stay, wondering if you can recognise any famous faces, but it’s just the ‘I lasted one day in the Villa and still managed to secure a Pretty Little Thing brand deal’ Love Islanders and the friend of the friend of the friend of a semi-professional footballer that made one twelve minute appearance for Arsenal back in 2010 and thinks he’s God’s gift. All of them either eating each other’s faces or taking boomerangs of them cheers-ing their margaritas before having to retake the same video five times because they’ve lost several lime slices in the process and it’s ruining the aesthetic. Your focus sharpening on someone with their back to you and at least ten girls around them, taking it in turns to have a drunken selfie or begging him to buy them a bottle of champagne with one of those fancy sparkler things on the top that gets brought out by women wearing elaborate carnival-inspired feather headbands and very revealing dresses. And you can’t help but feel sorry for him because you can tell just from the back of his head that he’s incredibly uncomfortable, even more so when he gets offered a blowjob from a girl who’s now threatening to get her boobs out in exchange for a whole bottle of Don Julio, in a bucket of ice, just how she likes it.

He’s turning around to face the rest of the club just as you go to look away at the menu that’s being wafted under your nose by one of your friends, and you can’t help but do a double take at his familiarity. Squinting your eyes so that you can get a better look at his features. ‘Nice drink’ you think when your eyes catch the glass of Diet Coke in his hand, quite obviously not accompanied by a swig of vodka going by his incredibly tense frame and stiff dance moves. Well, it’s not really dancing, it’s more of a ‘I’ll just copy what my friends are doing so I don’t look awkward’ move, aka a two-step shuffle from one side to the other. You can’t help but giggle as you watch him from across the room, your friends completely giving up on trying to entice you with a selection of expensive cocktails as they leave you to stare at some random man on the other side of the club, their need for a second stack of bright coloured drinks clearly overriding the want to look out for their friend.

You’re watching him for a bit longer. Becoming completely fixated on this familiar stranger who you can’t help but sit and giggle at. Part of you wanting to cringe with him at how hellish this night has become, but at the same time, it’s kind of funny watching someone who should be so used to having a large following blush and laugh awkwardly if anyone happens to recognise him. Okay, maybe it’s slightly uncomfortable to sit and watch a swarm of girls attack him with their overdrawn lips whilst he does everything in his will to not shove them into next week, especially when his friends start laughing and taking little videos of the awkward encounters, clearly ready to embarrass him at a later date. But regardless, it’s nice to know that fame hasn’t gone completely to his head, unlike an ex-reality TV star who’s screaming ‘do you know who I am?’ at one of the bouncers who won’t let her hang out with her ‘friends’ in the VIP section.

But you’re quickly forced out of your trance when you feel somebody shoving something into your hand. Looking down at your palm and clocking the ten pound note before your eyes are lifting to the hand that it’s been given from. “Go and get us those cocktails” your friend slurs before slumping back in her seat and falling to one side slightly, her pink lipstick slathered all over her chin from where she’d tried to apply it without a mirror when a man wearing an extremely tight fitting top happened to settle down in the booth next to you, obviously hoping that he’d look her way. “Hurry up, I’m thirstyyy” your other friend whines, making you sigh and mutter something under your breath in reference to them being lazy and ruining your evening, as you slide out of the row of pink arched seats and stand up. Having to grip onto the back of the chairs when your legs go all warm and fuzzy from the one too many cocktails you’d already consumed, pulling your dress down to a more appropriate length before heading off in the direction of the bar. Trying to catch a glimpse of Mason as you swerve in and out of the sea of dancing bodies, but you just end up feeling as though you’re going to fall to the floor when the strobe lights start spinning on the ceiling before dispersing their blue and green beams around the room at the most ridiculous speed. Everybody around you swaying from side to side and elbowing you in the ribs as you try your best to dodge them, kicking yourself for wearing the most stupid pair of heels as your toes crush into each other more and more with each step, cursing when you skid in a puddle of what looks like - or at least you hope is - vodka, and you have to grab onto a stranger’s arm to steady yourself, much to their dismay until they catch a glimpse of your apologetic face and suddenly want to make out with you.

You’re breathing a sigh of relief when you finally make it to the bar, setting your bag down on the counter and ordering what you think your friends want, although you probably should have double-checked with them first considering you were too busy having a nosy at someone across the club to pay any sort of interest to their alcohol preferences. “What?” you’re shouting at the barman when he tells you the total of the drinks, hoping that you’ve misheard him but ten pounds clearly isn’t going to cover the cost of sixteen cosmopolitans with added shots of vodka. Panicking when he repeats the price and turns his back to get started on making them, your hands now frantically searching your bag in the hope that you manage to find the extra money before he starts yelling at you for ordering things without being able to pay. “Fuck” you’re hissing as you turn the contents of your bag out onto the countertop, checking the inside of your phone case and a pressed powder incase they happen to house the remaining money. Your heartbeat pounding louder in your ears the closer it gets to having to admit that you’ve actually only got a quarter of what you need.

“I’ll get it” someone’s saying, clearly sensing the tension between you and the barman as you shrug your shoulders in response to him sticking his hand out for the money. “I’m not a charity” you snap back, your slightly tipsy state giving you a rush of confidence as you continue to search your bag in the hope that the money has magically appeared just so that you can laugh it off and shut everyone up. “I know, but it’s on me” they’re saying again, leaning forward and tapping their card on the machine before you can even consider fighting back a second time. “Thank-” you’re starting before realising who it is that’s just saved you from an incredibly awkward situation. Surely not. Surely Mason Mount hasn’t just bought you, of all people, a load of cocktails for your mates.

“It’s okay” he laughs nervously, making your heart melt because clearly he’s just as awkward around you as he is everybody else in this club. “Prices have gone up, haven’t they?” he smiles as he takes a step closer to you, propping himself up on the countertop with his elbows before asking the barman for a lemonade, with ice, just so it isn’t too fizzy. “Yeah, I don’t normally come out so I underestimated it a bit” you laugh shyly before looking off in the other direction, simultaneously cursing and thanking your friends for leading you to believe that you could get sixteen cocktails for a tenner, because without their stupidity, you wouldn’t be talking to the boy that you’ve been watching all night. “Prefer to stay at home then?” he asks as you turn back and nod your head. “Me too” he’s saying, “I’m normally in bed by now” he giggles as his gaze rises to the clock above the bar, the time reading 00.04am. The slight dark glow under his eyes letting you know that he’s normally tucked up by 9pm in his pyjamas. “What are you doing here then?” you ask. Stupid question really. He’s here for the same reason that you, and probably half of the people here, are - he’s been dragged along and forced to pretend that he’s a right party animal whilst he sips his non-alcoholic drinks and fights off every woman in sight. “My mates made me tag along, I’m kind of glad they did now though” he’s telling you, the second part of his sentence almost becoming inaudible as his voice quietens just as the volume of the music rises with the chorus of ‘My Yé Is Different’, ironic since you’ve just spotted the twenty grand watch decorating his wrist whilst you’re stood there in a passion fruit stained dress. But you’re still managing to hear it, and you can’t work out whether that’s in reference to you, or the fact that he’s been able to drink fizzy drinks when he’d normally only have water. Except you’re not stupid.

“Bet you say that to everyone” you tease, gaining his attention again as he laughs nervously and shakes his head. “Only the special ones” he replies, which is true, but now you can’t help but wonder if his drinks have been accompanied by a few shots of something or another because those words and the sincerity of his tone aren’t a reflection of the awkward man you spotted ten minutes ago, let alone the fact that he clearly considers you to be one of these ‘special ones.’ “Yeah, yeah” you’re saying back, flicking your hair over your shoulder before taking a sip of one of the cocktails that are sat before you, still waiting to be taken back to your friends. “Got quite a few drinks for somebody that doesn’t go out much, no wonder you needed me to pay” he winks as you roll your eyes and blush at the thought of somebody having to give you a helping hand with the price. “This is my last one, I’m off in a minute cose I can’t keep up with everyone else” you’re shouting over the music, watching him throw his head back and laugh because he thought he was the only one in that position. “I’ll join you” he’s replying, thanking the barman for his drink before taking a sip through the straw. “Not the sort of thing you say to a girl after only knowing her two minutes, Mason” you’re teasing, studying his face as his eyes blow wide slightly and he shakes his head, quickly swallowing his lemonade before stuttering on his words. Unsure whether he’s panicking about you jokingly misinterpreting his comment, or if he’s uncomfortable over the fact that yet another girl knows his name, but either way, he’s laughing awkwardly when you tell him that you’re only messing.

“I wouldn’t mind though” you say smugly, causing another nervous giggle to escape his lips. Your alcohol-induced confidence only adding to the butterflies that are already batting their wings against his rib cage, something about your slight feistiness and sarcastic sense of humour attracting him to you, even more so when he takes in how beautiful you still look despite being on the verge of your alcohol limit.

“Where are you going afterwards?” he’s asking once the lights have swivelled around in the opposite direction and the blush on his cheeks isn’t so evident. “I’ll just go to the chippy down the road and then get a taxi home” you’re telling him, looking down into the fluorescent pink concoction in your glass and feeling your stomach churn at how rough it’s going to make you feel in the morning. “Mind if I join you?” he’s asking as you look across at him in disbelief, watching as he downs the last few sips of his drink and stands the glass back on the countertop. Is this a dream or something? “Sorry, that was a bit forward...again” he panics, feeling a surge of anxiety run through his body incase he’s greeted with newspaper headlines in the morning about him unintentionally trying to latch onto girls that aren’t interested in him, even if half of the club know his name.

“No, it’s fine, of course you can” you laugh, your cocktail glass almost slipping out of your grip thanks to the layer of sweat that is now developing across your palm. “I’ll just take these over to the girls and then I’ll be ready” you smile, looping the strap of your bag over your shoulder and grabbing as many glasses as you can, which really isn’t a wise move since you’ve partially lost all sense of coordination thanks to Mason’s ability to wipe any drop of confidence out of your body and replace it with nervous butterflies.

“I’m off” you’re announcing once you’ve made your third trip back to the booth your friends are sitting in, their drunken reactions to your words making you giggle as you reach over them to grab your jacket. “Where are you goinggg?” one of them whines, gripping onto your leg and pouting before another one is drawn to the verge of tears at your confession. “I’m just tired” you nod, blowing them all a kiss and ensuring that they text you when you’re home as you turn around and head off towards the exit, not wanting to keep Mase waiting any longer. Praying that he’s stood just around the corner outside as he’d promised as you stagger across the dance floor and dodge a sea of flailing limbs and slurred shouts of ‘can I get your number?’. A sigh of relief forcing itself out of your nostrils when the ‘exit’ sign hanging above one of the fire doors becomes within touching distance and the bouncer in charge anticipates your departure, pushing down the grey bar across the middle of the door and letting it swing open, enabling you to step out into the night.

“There you are” you smile as you approach the back of his figure, his head kept down and a cap adding a nice accessory to his outfit, although it’s definitely worn as some form of disguise. “Hi” he’s smiling nervously when he realises that it’s you, a swarm of butterflies invading his tummy again when you link your arm through his and gently rest your head on the top of his shoulder - a move that you’re aware might push you into the same category as the other girls that have been after him all night, but your crippled feet and wobbly legs are grateful for the extra stability, even if your motivation to make that move takes you both by surprise.

“Let me get this” you’re saying once you’ve made your way into the kebab shop, your arm dropping away from his as you gesture towards the table up against the front window. “You sure?” he’s asking, dipping his hand into his back pocket ready to pull his wallet out just incase, but you’re nodding and confirming that you’re more than capable of paying four-pound-fifty for a kebab and a couple of drinks - just as well really after the events earlier this evening. Giving him a small smile as he turns and heads off towards the table in the corner, his celebrity instincts kicking when he takes the seat right in front of the glass, conveniently covered by a sticker of the menu, and some extra protection offered from the back of his body.

You’re setting the gold foam kebab box down on your table for two, along with two plastic forks, a bottle of water and a Fruit Shoot because you noticed him eyeing them up in the fridge when you came in. And it turned out to be one of the hardest decisions of your life trying to work out what flavour he wanted. Maybe it was the alcohol that was messing with your brain, making you think that he was more of an citrus guy than a berry one. Or maybe it was the fact that you were buying a child’s drink for a fully grown adult, a famous one too, who probably hasn’t had one for ten years, which only added to the pressure. Or maybe it was because you liked him and you didn’t want to ruin your chances by getting him the wrong flavour. But after flicking your gaze between the stack of bright coloured bottles and his body cowering away in the corner, you settled for the blackcurrant one, just because he looks like the type of person to play it safe - well, he is the type of person to play it safe, going by his Diet Coke and lemonade choices tonight.

“This for me?” he’s asking as he picks the purple bottle up, smiling when you nod to confirm his answer. “How did you know this was my favourite flavour?” he’s questioning, a smug look appearing on your face as you shrug your shoulders and reply with ‘only the ‘special ones’ know that kind of information’. A giggle escaping his mouth at your words before he’s pulling the plastic lid off the drink and taking a sip, humming at the familiarity despite not having one since his seventh birthday party. “Still as good as they used to be” he’s saying, something about the additional happiness that’s now surging through his body after a drop of blackcurrant juice making your tummy fill with butterflies because he really is just the cutest, biggest child.

You’re both sitting in a comfortable silence as you pick at your shared kebab, trying to eat from separate ends so that you don’t cross any boundaries or run the risk trying to stab your forks into the same piece of chicken. But the fuzzy filter that the alcohol has brought to your eyes and the slight delay that it’s caused between your thoughts and your actions means that you find yourself diving into the last piece of pitta bread just at the same time that Mason does. And from his side it’s a poor judgement call. The sugar from his Fruit Shoot clearly giving him an extra boost of energy and causing his arm to extend outwards towards the polystyrene box, clouding his mum’s reminder that ‘you need be a gentleman and let girls eat whatever’s left, even if you want it’. And truth be told, he doesn’t really want it, which is why the pang of anxiety as soon as his plastic fork clashes with yours is stronger than ever. His cheeks turning a violent shade of crimson as he quickly pulls his fork back, leaving just four little holes from where the prongs had been as you panic and do the same.

“Sorry, no you have it” he says quietly, nudging the box towards you in the hope that you get the hint. “No, you eat it” you smile, pushing it back towards him. The two of you just repeating the same movement as the box moves two centimetres one way, and then two centimetres back the other. “Mason, just eat it!” you whine as he sits opposite you and shakes his head. “I said you could have it” he smiles nervously, subtly wiping the sweat off his palms and onto the material of his jeans when he realises that you’re staring straight into his eyes. “Why are you getting all nervous for? Just eat ittt” you groan, a giggle escaping his lips because there’s no way you’re backing down on this one. “Fine” he huffs, stabbing his fork back into the little holes that it made earlier before slowly moving it towards his mouth. Your eyebrows raising more and more as you watch it edge closer to his lips. And then he’s doing the unthinkable and quickly changing the direction of his fork so that it starts heading towards your mouth instead. Involuntarily parting your lips whilst you wait for what’s just happened to register, and the next thing you know, you’re swallowing the piece of pitta bread.

“What a fuss about nothing” he hums as you roll your eyes at him. “You’re quite romantic, aren’t you?” you tease as his eyebrows furrow in the middle, waiting for you to clarify your comment. “Is that all of the alcohol that’s made you so desperate to share the last piece of food with me?” you question, another layer of blush painting itself across the tops of his cheeks. “Oh, sorry, you didn’t have anything to drink, did you? Lightweight” you smirk, making him roll his eyes this time. “I’m just being a gent, plus you’ve been drinking so you need something to sober you up, maybe it’ll stop you being so rude next time I offer to buy you a drink” he says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. A wave of composure washing over him now that he’s left you slightly speechless and he’s matched your sense of humour. “Next time? You’ll be lucky” you sass as he scoffs at you. “You’re the one that needs to buy me a drink to apologise for snapping at me, so there will be a next time to call it quits, thank you” he smiles, his sudden burst of confidence talking to you allowing his real personality to shine through, and you can’t help but start to get lost in it. “Was I really that rude?” you ask, secretly dying as you think back to your ‘I’m not a charity’ comment at the bar. “No, I’m just messing” he laughs, eliciting the same response from you as you erase that memory out of your brain. “You’re just confident, I like it” he’s saying, the last part of his comment getting lost when a group of people come staggering through the door, drowning out his words for the second time tonight, but you’re ninety-nine percent certain you managed to catch it. And now you’re the nervous one.

You’re quickly moving the conversation on to something else when you feel your chest starting to heat up with anxious prickles. Mason going all funny inside because it’s clear that he has the same effect on you as you do him, but he’s trying to push that to the back of his mind as he listens to you rambling on about your favourite breed of dogs, and how you had a fish finger sandwich for tea before you came out tonight, and how you actually know quite a lot about football but you’re reluctant to bring it up because you don’t want to embarrass him, although your drunken state causes you to let a few football facts slip out, all of them relating to Mase but you’re too caught up in your fuzzy alcoholic state to even recognise. But he does, obviously. Finding it sweet how you know exactly how many appearances he’s made for Chelsea, and what minute he came on in his debut against Manchester United, and what colour boots he wore against last season’s match against Newcastle. Just sitting back and letting you talk in between the occasional swig of water, hardly being able to get a word in edgeways because the alcohol is well and truly running through your veins now, making you come out with all kinds of mismatched comments and slurs. But he doesn’t mind, which takes him by surprise a bit, especially as he’s secretly scared of drunk people and he can count the amount of times he’s felt a bit tipsy on one hand, but there’s something different about you. Maybe it’s your sense of humour and how you’ve got him in stitches, or how your drunken state leads you to be more concerned about the welfare of a stray cat outside than it does anything else on the planet, or maybe it’s how deep beneath that strong outer shell you’re protecting yourself with that he knows you’ve got a heart of gold, an inside of ‘pure mush’ as his mum would say.

“What time is it?” you slur after knocking back your last swig of water. “Nearly one o’clock” Mason’s replying, glancing at his overly-expensive watch as you sit there and wonder how he actually knows what hour of the day it is when all of the numbers have been replaced by diamonds. “Better head off” you mumble, staring blankly into the empty kebab box and trying to process what move you need to make next in order to get yourself back home in one piece. “I’ll order you a cab if you want, or I’ll walk you back, I don’t know how far away you live” he’s saying, forcing you out of your trace as you look up at his tired, bloodshot eyes. Knowing full well that as soon as you’re gone he’ll be running home to bed with a glass of water to tone down the bubbles in his tummy from his fizzy drinks, paranoid incase they give him a fizzy version of a hangover. “I live about half an hour away and I can tell you’re ready for bed so I’ll go with the cab” you smile, making him giggle nervously at the fact that his tiredness has been uncovered, although it’s not difficult to pick up on the fact that the only other time he stays up this late is on New Years Eve, and even then he normally sets an alarm for 11.57pm so that he can wake up from his nap in time.

You’re letting him help you put all of your belongings back into your handbag after you insisted on showing him your favourite lipgloss midway through your earlier conversation. Linking your arm through his and stepping out into the coldness of the night, a breeze nipping across your legs and causing you to let out a little squeal as you start pulling your dress down to try and hide your goosebumps. “Here” Mason’s saying, taking his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders. “Mase” you’re replying. Mase - he likes that, and he likes how naturally it’s left your mouth too. Trying to give it back to him but he’s adamant that you keep it. “Gives me another reason to see you in order to get it back” he winks, making you roll your eyes as you stand snuggled into his side on the edge of the pavement.

“Did you want my number?” he’s asking, already taking his phone out of his pocket and holding it out in your direction before you even have chance to respond. “You’ve not really given me an option have you?” you laugh, making him giggle as he shuffles awkwardly from side to side, waiting for your digits to appear on the screen. “Only because I need to give your jacket back, there’s no other reason for this” you tell him, smiling as he nods his head but you both know that’s a little white lie. “There you go” you’re saying, passing his phone back to him as his eyes study the new contact in his hand. A new number written beneath Y/N.

‘Shit’ he’s thinking. He didn’t even ask for your name before this. Awkward.

“Pretty name” he smiles, trying to play it off cool, but you’re not drunk enough to not notice his mistake. “So pretty that you didn’t even know that’s what I was called until now” you reply, making him giggle and let out an awkward ‘oops’. “I’ll let you off this once” you’re saying as you look up at him stood beneath the lamppost that’s towering above the two of you. A golden glow adding a filter to his face and making him look even more gorgeous than he did when he was sipping his lemonade in the club and shoving lettuce and chicken into his mouth. And you’re desperate to just kiss him, especially since he’s got a bit of dried Fruit Shoot in the corner of his mouth and you know his lips will taste all sweet like they do in the movies. But considering he’s only just learnt your name you don’t think it’s the right time, and there’s also a bunch of Tottenham fans making their way up the street, not wanting to have to make him endure any teasing, especially when he’s already stayed up late in a part of town he wouldn’t usually be seen dead in to spend time with you.

“Thanks for tonight” you whisper as you briefly rest your head on his shoulder, pulling it away when the taxi he’s ordered for you appears at the side of the curb. “My pleasure, thank you” he’s saying back, removing his protective hand from the small of your back and stepping forward to open the back door of the car for you. “Told you that you were a gent” you tease as he mumbles ‘shut up’ and pretends to shove you into the back seat with a giggle. “See you soon for that jacket, yeah?” he winks as you reply with ‘yeah yeah, whatever’, making him let out a little chuckle as he closes the door on you. Giving you an awkward little wave as you head off down the street, standing and waiting for your car to turn the corner before heading home himself. Leaving just a message of ‘thank you again, can’t wait to get my jacket back cose it’s freezing without it ;) x’ that’s just appeared on your screen connecting the two of you. And even if you have been slightly tipsy tonight and now can’t remember half of the things you spoke about, there genuinely doesn’t seem like a better person to sit in a kebab shop with in the early hours of the morning after stumbling across him by pure chance a club that neither of you particularly wanted to spend the night at. Thanking your lucky stars for allowing your paths to cross because you already know this is the start of something special. Very special.

#mason mount #mason mount blurb #mason mount imagine #football blurb #football imagine #dominic calvert lewin #jadon sancho #ruben loftus cheek #marcus rashford #ben chilwell #dele #jesse lingard #tyrone mings #james maddison #trent alexander arnold

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archived-kin · 4 years ago

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petty ghost haunts their murderer but doesn’t actually do anything vengeful, more at eleven

note from kin: i don’t even know what this is myself to be honest but the simple way of putting it is that you were accidentally killed by one of satan’s fits of rage and now your ghost follows him around and messes with him at any given opportunity out of pettiness

basically i came up with the prompt ‘vengeful spirit is more of a slightly miffed and extremely petty spirit who doesn’t actually do much but inconvenience their hauntee, shenanigans ensue’ and ran with it

(as a heads up, reader is not mc in this situation, and this takes place before any of the exchange program stuff, so belphie’s not in the attic and solomon and the angels aren’t in the devildom)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): gn!reader, satan, beelzebub

pairing(s): satan/reader (though it isn’t particularly romantic since you’re, y’know, dead, so it’s more of a satan & reader)

warning(s): references to death, beel eats an entire rotisserie chicken

genre: crack (with a bit of fluff i guess???)

“For the last time, [Name], put the knife down.”

“Bite me, bitch-boy.”

Satan lets out a long-suffering sigh and sets down his mug of coffee, then reaches out and carefully pushes the floating butter knife pointed directly at his jugular back down onto the table. “I don’t know why you keep trying that. You do know it wouldn’t actually get through my skin even if you did manage to hit me, right?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” comes your disembodied voice from somewhere near the ceiling. You’ve probably decided to float up there to sulk like you always do after a failed attack.

“I’d prefer you didn’t think about it at all.”

A still-wet towel pulls itself from the rack on the wall and hits him square in the face. Satan gives an exasperated groan as it slides down his face and lands on the table with a soft splat.

“That’s what you get,” You sniff indignantly, finally materialising in front of him with a scowl. You’re floating upside down in a way that makes it look like you’re standing on the ceiling. “Buttface.”

“Come on, you can come up with better material than that,” Satan shakes his head, pushing back his chair and picking up the wet towel you’ve just flung at him to hang it back up again. “Where did all your creativity from yesterday go?”

“Six feet under with the remains of my body, probably,” you reply with a scowl. Then, as an afterthought, you add, “Confounded cheese wheel.”

“Oh, that’s a new one,” He comments, mildly surprised. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“Made it up myself. Ha!” You bob past him and through the wall, most likely to go terrorise Mammon by making his lights flicker on and off again. “Guess my creativity isn’t as dead as I am after all.”

“You still haven’t gotten over that, I see.” He sighs.

Your head immediately pops back out of the wall and glares across the room at him. “Excuse me?”

“It’s been weeks now - months, even,” Satan explains carefully as he sits back down at the table, not wanting to aggravate you further. The last time he'd brought something like this up, he’d ended up making you so angry that you’d managed to become physically corporeal enough to fling him across the room. “I would have thought you’d have passed on by now, that’s all. Surely it doesn’t take this long for the gates to the Celestial Realm to open?”

You consider his words, apparently appeased by their logic. “...I guess. Maybe I’m not passing on because I can’t rest in peace yet, like the ghosts do in horror films.”

“They’re films, you can’t expect to apply what happens in them to reality,” Satan replies flatly. “Besides, even if that was the situation, you've met all the criteria to 'rest in peace’, haven't you?”

“Are you trying to tell me, the dead one here, what merits as ‘resting in peace’?” You counter, floating back through the wall so that your entire body is in the room again. “My murderer’s still walking about like he doesn’t dress in the entire green colour spectrum and think it’s a good idea. How am I supposed to rest in peace knowing that?”

Satan looks down at his outfit, a little offended. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“What’s right with your clothes?” You shoot back, drifting over to him and passing a ghostly hand through his shoulder, apparently too lazy to muster up the energy to make your hand physical enough to touch him. “Look at it! Your blazer doesn’t even have lapels!”

“It isn’t a blazer.”

“Jacket, then.” You make a move as if to pinch at the fabric, but your fingers just pass right through it like a hot knife through butter. “It doesn’t even fit you. The sleeves are too short.”

Satan resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to wear it if it didn’t fit me. Besides, why does it matter to you?”

“The demon I might be doomed to be attached to for the rest of my afterlife has the worst fashion sense in all three realms is the matter,” You sigh dramatically and float up to the ceiling again. “Why do you even wear rip-off jeans if you’re going to put a belt over it?”

“First of all, they aren’t rip-off jeans,” Satan tells you as you start idly making the kitchen light flicker. He should probably tell you to stop doing that whenever you get bored, but he’s gotten so used to it at this point that he can’t really be bothered to. “And, second of all, why does it matter if I’m wearing a belt on it?”

“Rip-off jeans are meant to be ripped off,” You explain with all the patience of a mother explaining something to a curious child, completely disregarding Satan’s first point. “Putting a belt on top of it kind makes that redundant.”

Satan thinks about it for a moment and begrudgingly comes to the conclusion that your statement is correct - not that it makes a difference to him. “...they’re still not rip-off jeans.”

“Think whatever you want to think, burro verde.”

“What?”

“It means green donkey in Spanish.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I took Spanish for, like, three years when I was in high school,” You shrug, and the light brightens and dims slightly with the movement of your shoulders, as if it’s shrugging with you. “Failed all the exams, but at least I got something worthwhile out of it.”

“Three years of linguistic lessons and all you learn is how to string together bizarre insults,” Satan shakes his head. “You really are incorrigible.”

“That’s a big word. You sure you know what it means?”

“Of course I do,” He gives you a slightly disgruntled look. “I wouldn’t use it if I didn’t. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who doesn’t know what incorrigible means, obviously.” You pretend to aim a kick at the spider perched quietly in the corner of the ceiling, but Timothy ignores your efforts to boot him from his web. After a moment, growing tired of bothering the little guy, you ask, “...what does it mean?”

Satan snickers, then answers, sounding as if he’s reading the definition directly out of a dictionary, “In reference to a person or their behaviour, unable to be changed or reformed.”

You contemplate his words for a few seconds. “Is that a good thing?”

“Not usually when that particular word is used for it, no.”

“Oh. Bitch.”

He pauses at that, moving his mug of now marginally cooler coffee away from his mouth again, having been in the middle of taking another sip when you decided to insult him again. “Where did that come from?”

“You called me incorrigible, which you just said is not a good thing to be,” You explain as if it’s obvious, frowning down at him. “So I’m taking it as an insult and insulting you back. Bitch.”

“You didn’t have to say it again.”

“I didn’t, but it’s fun to call you names.” You snort and glide down from the ceiling to float above the table, crossing your legs and pretending to sit down on it. “It’s not as fun as it used to be, though. You never get all puffed up about it anymore.”

“That’s your own fault for doing it so much that I got used to it,” Satan reproaches. “Besides, it was pointless getting angry. It’s not like I can do anything to you in return.”

“You could ignore me and pretend I don’t exist or something.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“No!” You hurriedly throw up your hands in a gesture of surrender and shake your head so hard that Satan swears he actually feels a breeze - an even more impressive achievement considering that your body isn’t even tangible. “Please don’t. You’re the only being in the entire universe that I can actually interact with.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that is a good thing,” Satan mutters.

“It’s a good thing for me, and that’s all that matters,” You reply, unfazed.

No one other than Satan appears to have the ability to see you, which is an odd thing in and of itself. Ghosts aren’t a foreign thing to the Devildom - they’re so common that you could probably just walk into a convenience store and find one shelving cans of soup - but you don’t seem to follow any of the rules that they do. Sometimes Satan wonders if you’re able to actively choose to not allow his brothers to see you as you drift around the house, but then again, he’s pretty sure that, if you had the option to make Lucifer watch you pretend to fist fight that weird skeleton hanging in his room, you definitely would.

Satan doesn’t pretend to understand the laws of your otherworldly existence - he’s read so many variations on the rules behind lingering spirits like you that he can scarcely tell the difference between pure fiction and actual logical hypothesis. It’s easy enough to wrangle you into behaving for a day so that he can observe you properly by promising to leave his radio on for you while he’s out, but the observations themselves never seem to lead to anything. He knows that you’re able to pass through any physical object (as far as he knows), can make lights (of both the electronic and candle variety) flicker at will, can muster up enough physicality to move and touch things if you try, and can phase in and out of perceivable view, but he doesn’t know why you can do any of those things.

“Quit trying to come up with explanations for everything,” You’d told him wisely a month or so ago, when you’d floated in on him muttering to himself about the possibility of something called ‘ether energy’. “You’re just gonna give yourself a headache.”

Then you’d started making his candles flicker like disco lights until he stopped.

“...but I don’t think he spotted me, since he probably would’ve commented on the floating meat cleaver if he did, and— hey, big guy!”

That last exclamation is aimed at Beel, who has just walked into the kitchen and is now rummaging unceremoniously through the fridge, most likely in search of something to eat. At this point Satan’s pretty sure that you still don’t know any of his brothers’ names - at the very least, even if you do, you’ve never called them by them.

Beel continues to sort through the various already empty boxes and containers in the fridge as you start zooming back and forth through him, marvelling over the sheer broadness of his chest and shoulders. It isn’t the first time you’ve done this to him - or indeed any of the brothers - but Satan can tell that it’s more innocent awe than any kind of objectification or intent to harm, so he doesn’t mind. As mischievous as you are, he’s pretty sure you don’t have a genuinely malicious or wanton bone in your body... well, you don’t have any bones anymore - or a body, for that matter - but the point still stands.

“Hungry?” He guesses, but it’s honestly more of a statement. It is Beel, after all.

The Avatar of Gluttony withdraws from his search briefly to offer a nod. “I didn’t get to finish all of my lunch.”

“Well, there’s a surprise,” You comment as Beel sticks his head back into the fridge, finally tiring of buffeting yourself back and forth like a pendulum and choosing to start hovering just over the second youngest’s shoulders to watch his hunt. “Wonder what he was up to that got him to stop eating.”

Satan opens his mouth to reply, then stops and closes it again. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Beel with the not-really-a-secret of your existence, but he’s sure that at some point or another, Beel will end up letting it slip to Lucifer, who would most likely want to know why your death ended up attaching your spirit to his brother, and Satan’s already gone to great lengths to make sure that the oldest won’t find out about the rampage he went on that cost you your life in the first place. It'd just be a waste of that effort for Lucifer to find out anyway. Besides, it isn’t like the information will make much difference to Beel - he can’t see or hear you, and you’re pretty harmless, so there wouldn’t be any need for him to get involved in the situation anyway.

You, meanwhile, are well aware that Satan isn’t going to be saying anything to you while one of his brothers is in the room - you don’t really understand his reasoning for it, since you like to think that you’re a pleasure of a ghost to know, but you suppose you can’t really force him to make any decisions. Besides, you’re pretty content with the way things are right now; you don’t want to complicate the situation by bringing in another demon who, as far as you know, might just smite you on the spot if they find out about your existence.

Instead, you busy yourself with watching in fascination as Beel somehow pulls what looks like a rotisserie chicken from the very back of the fridge and shove the whole thing in this mouth. You exchange slightly disturbed looks with Satan as he begins to chew - you’re pretty sure you’ve just seen him dislocate his jaw like a snake to fit it in there.

“You might want to calm down, Beel,” Satan advises after a brief moment’s stunned silence, though even he knows that it’s a fruitless warning. “You’ll end up choking.”

Beel nods, but makes absolutely no move to slow in his aggressive chewing.

“This must be what the peak of evolution looks like,” You say in bemused awe as Beel finishes eating. The entire chicken has disappeared down his throat - bones and all. “How the hell does he manage that?”

Satan doesn’t answer, but his subtle shrug says that your guess is as good as his.

Much to your surprise and Satan’s resignation, Beel immediately goes back to the fridge, apparently unsatisfied by the copious amount of fowl he’s just eaten. To be honest, you feel sorry for the guy - while the you from when you’d still been able to eat would have done some unspeakable things to be able to consume as much as he does and still remain that fit, you’re sure that the black hole he calls a stomach must be an awful thing to have to deal with. At least he gets to enjoy a lot of food because of it, though you suppose it’s a double-edged sword if he’s also constantly being scolded for it. Personally, you don’t understand the reasoning behind telling someone off for eating as much food as they need, but they are demons. You probably shouldn’t expect them to have that level of compassion.

By the time you break out of your train of thought, Beel has found something else to eat amidst the many empty boxes in the fridge. It’s much smaller than the rotisserie chicken - some kind of pastry with a dollop of snowy white cream on top, decorated with a few lines of melted chocolate to look like a cat’s face. In fact, it looks almost identical to…

“Hey, wait!” You swipe a useless hand through Beel’s arm as he raises the pastry to his mouth. “Don’t eat that—!”

Too late. The pastry disappears into Beel’s mouth, and you drift backwards again, letting out a defeated groan. Satan shoots you a curious look - you can’t eat, after all, so why are you so upset about Beel eating that pastry? Is there something special about it?

His question is answered when he actually turns to look at his younger brother. The Avatar of Gluttony has gone rigid on the spot and is blinking rapidly, his eyes the size of moons.

“Beel…?” Satan questions hesitantly. “Are you feeling alright?”

Beel takes a long moment to respond, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Satan takes a closer look and realises that Beel’s pupils seem to have dilated to an almost impossible degree, resembling a cat’s eyes when it’s about to go absolutely feral. Whatever it is was in that pastry, it’s definitely hit him hard.

Now, Satan isn’t one to interrupt good fun when it’s about to happen, so instead of stepping in and performing some sort of spell that might help on his possibly-high brother like a good guy, he sits back and watches as Beel’s head swings around the room as if he's never seen anything in it before like the mischief-loving little shit he is. Beel himself doesn’t appear to be negatively affected, so it can’t be that bad, right?

You float cautiously around the giant as his hands ball into fists. His entire body is trembling slightly with pent-up energy. Then, a split second later, as if he’s been zapped by some catalystic bolt of lightning, he abruptly snaps back on his heel and positively zooms out of the room. You can practically see the cartoony cloud of dust that he’s kicking up as he disappears down the corridor.

“He’s absolutely zooted right now,” You comment, flipping upside with a resigned sigh and crossing your arms a little grumpily. “I told him not to eat it.”

“He couldn’t hear you, you know,” Satan says, moving over to the fridge and slamming it shut, since Beel has neglected to. “What was even in that thing?”

You shrug. “Don’t know. I’ve just been calling it demon-nip.”

“I suppose that it does to demons what catnip does to cats, then?” Satan doesn’t even wait for you to answer before continuing - rude. “How did you even get a hold of it? Never mind that, how did you manage to get it in a pastry and put it in the fridge?”

“I got some help from one of the poltergeists downtown to make it,” You wave your hands about dismissively. “You should pay more attention when you go out. I disappeared for, like, five hours, and you didn’t even notice.”

“When even was this?”

“Tuesday, I think. Remember when you bought that giant bag of cat paw-shaped biscuits and then accidentally dropped the bag in the hall and got them everywhere?”

You don’t miss the way that the tips of his ears go slightly pink as he coughs subtly and averts his gaze. “...why would the poltergeists help you? They hate humans.”

“I don’t know, actually…” You ponder for a moment, then decide, “...probably because I’m cute.”

“Are you?” Satan deadpans. “Cute is what you’d call a cat. You’re just… tolerable.”

“Oh, fuck you, I think I’m adorable.” You huff, flying over and poking him hard in the side of the head. Satan hisses in pain and reaches up to rub the sore spot, but he supposes he should have seen that blow coming - you’re never too humble to make yourself physical enough to hit him after an insult.

“Where did that idea even come from?” He asks quickly, not wanting to take another attack. You may be a mere imprint of a dead human, but your fingers are sharp, and he’d prefer not to provoke you further if he can avoid it.

His change of subject is so abrupt and obvious that it’s almost laughable, but you choose not to call him out on it. As much as you’d like to set him on fire or something, he hasn’t given you a really good reason to commit arson yet, and you’d just end up feeling bad for doing it. Well, to be fair, he did kill you… but still, you don’t want to keep holding that over his head.

“I read it in a book.” You answer. Satan’s eyes light up slightly.

“Do you remember the title?” He asks almost eagerly, and you disguise a snicker. His intentions are practically painted in bright red paint across his face - he’s hoping that there’ll be more schemes like the one you’ve performed that he can use against that sadist of an older brother of his.

Unfortunately for him, the book doesn’t exist. “Yeah. It’s called One Hundred Ways To Get Back At The Ass That Killed You, Free Of Murder and Actual Crimes That Might Get You Persecuted And Sent To Super Hell.”

Satan clearly isn’t thinking very hard today, because for a moment he actually looks as if he believes you - you suppose it’s because he’s grown desensitised to the oddness of such long titles after hearing so many weirdly specific anime titles from the otaku brother that you still have yet to see come out of his room. (You’ve floated in a few times to have a look around and appreciate the decor, but other than that, you’ve barely even seen his face. You’re not even sure what his name is, to be honest…)

He realises what you’re getting at after a moment, though, and immediately frowns at you in disapproval. You just grin, pleased with your small victory.

“You're insufferable,” He says, shaking his head with an long sigh.

“No, I'm cute,” You counter, frowning. “Weren't you listening to me earlier?”

He throws his hands up hastily as you drift forward with a hand brandished and a nasty glint in your eye, unwilling to get jabbed at again. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

You, however, don't relent. Eyes narrowing, you float even closer - so close that, if you'd been physical, he’d have been able to feel your breath on his face. “Say it.”

Satan may be one of the seven most powerful demons in the Devildom (below Diavolo, of course, and possibly Barbatos), but the aggression of a pissed-off ghost, especially if that ghost is you, isn't anything he wants to be on the receiving end of right now. “Fine, fine! You're adorable, you're cute, whatever. Now will you leave me alone?”

You finally pull back, beaming in a gratified fashion. “That's all I wanted to hear!”

Satan gives you an irritated look as you drift back across the kitchen, a satisfied grin on your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’ve said that already,” You sing back, laughing in victory when you see his eyebrow twitch slightly in annoyance. “And you had the nerve to lecture me about creativity earlier! Why don’t you come up with better material, Mr Shoes-Up-My-Ass?”

He doesn’t reply for a good moment, attempting to think of a insult to counter your admittedly slightly juvenile one. Try as he might, though, all of his good jibes seem to have evaporated. “...shut up.”

His pathetic response, of course, immediately compels you to take the piss out of him. Clutching your chest dramatically, as if Satan’s just stabbed you with the knife you’d been waving about earlier, you wail, “Oh, thy words do wound me! 'Tis like thou hath rip’d my heart out with thy own hands!”

Satan glares you for a long moment, but he doesn’t have the heart to keep it up when you’re grinning so brightly. Honestly, you’re a nuisance and a brat sometimes, sure, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider you his closest friend at this point. “...do you even know how to use those words?”

You drop the act faster than Asmo throws it down on a Saturday night, shrugging and floating back over to hover just above the chair across from Satan’s. “Nope. It sounded right, though, right?”

“I haven’t read enough works in Old English to know,” Satan admits with a shake of his head. “But it did, I suppose…”

It’s kind of weird that he’s agreeing so easily, you think. Has he just had enough of your bullshit and is complying with to keep you quiet? Or has he just finally seen the light of your brilliance?

...well, you suppose it doesn’t matter. You grin and move to ruffle his hair, but forget to make your hand physical and instead end up flying right through his head. Satan shudders slightly - though he doesn’t feel it, it’s still weird to have an entire hand and arm go through his cranium.

“Could you not?” He complains as you right yourself and pull your hand back again. “This feels weird.”

“Baby.”

“Pet names aren’t going to do anything,” He sighs, pulling his chair to the side so that he’s no longer half-inside your torso. “Hands to yourself.”

“No, it was an insult,” You correct him. “I was calling you a baby. Though bitch-boy works too.”

Satan lets out a long sigh. Now you’re just back where you started.

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #satan x reader #except it's more of a satan & reader #crack #ghosts #swd satan #swd beelzebub #I've taken a look through my obey me drafts and noticed a pattern #if i'm writing about one of the brothers beel always seems to show up as a cameo #now that i think about it this prompt has some real angst potential...#unfortunately i seem to incapable of writing anything but fluf and funny in these trying times #anyway i hope you enjoyed this!!#the ending is super abrupt but i've already spent too long on this thing so just TAKE IT

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the-girl-who-cried-wolf · 3 years ago

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Only You - C.H.

5SOS Calum Hood fanfic

I don't even know where this idea come from, but it started when I was listening to SGFG, so there's a few lyrical references to Waste The Night and Vapour in this... apart from that and swerving for Cal, that's about all I have to say. Enjoy reading!

Background: a few drinks will always draw out confessions

Warnings: none (maybe slight angst? kinda fluff tho)

Word Count: 1.2k

The warmth of the alcohol you had drunk over the course of the night was thrumming through your veins, making you a little tipsy as you stood on the street outside the bar, waiting for a cab. You knew your friends would still be partying inside in the loud, neon lit warmth of the bar, but you were pretty much alone out here in the relative quiet of the city. The cold night air pushed around you, toying with your loose hair and leaving cool kisses over your skin.

“I should probably go.” Before I do anything stupid, you wanted to add.

You watched with blurry vision as Calum said nothing, a smile loosely hanging on his lips as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and stepped closer. The leather jacket was snug over his shoulders, cheeks flushed and hair a curly mess from a night of dancing and laughter.

“Or you could stay a while longer.”

He took another lazy step towards you and reached out a hand to brush a stray piece of hair out of your face, gently tucking it behind your ear. You watched in silence, unable to take your eyes off his lips. He was so close as you breathed in the scent that was so recognisably him; the foresty cologne, musky leather, the smoke and alcohol on his breath now. It was all so familiar, but you wanted more.

Being just friends with him was more than difficult. It was a physical strain to stop yourself from screaming when you saw him flirting with other girls, when he was smiling and laughing with girls that weren’t you. Worst of all, he knew it. You both knew exactly what you were doing to each other when you let your hands drift over someone else’s body, when you were too drunk to stop yourself from dancing with strangers. And the way he had been dancing with that girl in the club earlier… you hated how the smirk he gave you made you see nothing but blinding red, hated how much you longed to be the only one who got to dance with him, touch him, be near him.

You knew it wasn’t right, and you knew he wasn’t yours but god you wished he was. So you needed to leave, now, before you snapped completely and in your drunk, rather poor decision making state, did something you might regret later on. But now all that raging jealousy was slowly burning out, because he was standing here, and he was looking at you. Only you.

“I don’t wanna say goodbye,” he said softly.

You were breathless as you replied. “Me either.”

The city lights reflected in his eyes were gorgeous, you noted, thoughts drifting to wonder what it would be like to trace that perfect jawline, run your hands through his curly hair… maybe angels do exist. Your mind was foggy but electrified with these racing thoughts as his hand trailed down your bare arm, creating goose-bumps in its wake until his warm hand was holding yours. You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore. All that was left was the heartbeat throbbing in your ears.

“Stay.”

The space between the two of you was dangerously small, a bare sliver of the crisp night air, but it still wasn’t small enough. How easy to would be to lean in and close the gap between you, to touch his lips and feel the warmth of his skin against yours. You shook your head, trying to rid your mind these thoughts but the smell of him was surrounding you and pulling you in, intoxicating you faster than any drink could. You wanted more.

“Calum,” you were sure exactly what you were going to say next.

“Yeah?” The slight rasp in his voice sent shivers down your spine as you lightly placed a hand on his chest, finger tips tracing patterns over the collar of his shirt where his tattoo peaked through, soaking in his radiant warmth.

“I think… I love you,” the whisper fell from your lips and disappeared like fog into the cold air, almost lost in the buzz of the city around you. Your eyes were still watching the hand resting on his chest as you swayed a little and his hands shot out to grip your waist, making sure you weren’t going to fall.

Every touch was setting you alight, all sparks and warmth running thorough you. Finally, you dragged your eyes up to his face, your mind apparently completely fine now with confessing this well-kept secret straight to his pretty face. Too many drinks, you thought.

But he was smiling, and looking at you like nothing else mattered. The air you breathed in chilled your lungs, the city’s lights were still twinkling in his wide eyes and he was smiling at you. Time seemed to blur as you suddenly felt his lips on yours, kissing you and tugging your body towards him, your drunken dream soon turning into a reality as your hands ran through his dark hair, pulling him closer and closer till you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

It was heaven in his arms as you burned together in the city lights, nothing on your mind but Calum, Calum, Calum: the way his arms held you, the feeling of his taunt muscles under your roaming hands, the heart beat pounding from his chest. You could taste the burning alcohol on his tongue as he kissed you deeply, like he could drink the cosmos straight from your lips. And maybe, your hazy mind whispered, just maybe he could.

Then you pulled apart, a smile creeping onto his gorgeous lips as he looked at you, shadows dancing over his face. “Do have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he said, his voice low.

You shook your head and smiled, biting your lip a little. Everything was blurred out of focus, apart from Calum. He was in bright and burning colour, sharp focus contrasting the haze that surrounded him. Definitely too many drinks.

“Forever, maybe?” you replied. He just nodded, grinning now as you made a noise something like a giggle.

“How did you know?” he murmured teasingly as he leant down to nuzzle your neck, pressing lazy kisses up and along your jaw. You weren’t sure if he noticed the catch in your breathing or not, but your head was still spinning. At least his arms held you steady and close to his warmth.

“How did I know?” A pause. “Because I’ve wanted to kiss you forever,” you said simply. He pulled back to look at your flushed face, a slight smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth. Maybe the lights in his eyes are actually stars, you began to ponder.

“I’ve been falling in love with you for far too long now,” he said as he leant in again and captured your lips in another kiss that you never wanted to end. Even when the cab finally pulled up, Calum’s hand stayed in yours. You were never letting him go. He held you tight until your tired eyes closed, fingers intertwined with his and head resting on his shoulder as you began to fall asleep in the back of the gently swaying cab. You felt him place one last kiss on top of your head before you were lost to the world completely.

This is how it should be…

Thanks for reading!! Drop a comment if you want <33

[masterlist]

#calum hood #fanfic #5sos #my writing #calum hood x reader

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kyloswarstars · 4 years ago

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Chasing Rainbows

Peaky Blinders • Oneshot

Spending summer days in the woods with Bonnie means chasing rainbows and skinny dipping in the lake.

Pairing • Bonnie Gold x Shelby!Reader

Words • 1.3k

A/N • this is just some short fluffy shit about hot summer days bc i can’t with that heat lol

/////

It was an incredibly hot day. Actually, a hot month. August had only started but you couldn’t recall if you ever had such a warm summer here in England. The heat might would’ve knocked you out completely if you were in Birmingham, bothered by the factory smog and the high temperature.

Luckily, you escaped to the countryside with Bonnie. The first time in long. You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Accomplishing Blinder business down in London had kept you from returning. You stayed with your sister, had fun with your nephew but always craved Bonnie’s arms in the nights.

Only dressed in a loose dress, Esme had given you a few years ago, you laid in the shadow of a tree, screened from the burning sun. Bonnie was napping next to you, the Peaky cap covering his eyes. He only wore some pants as well, didn’t even pull on a shirt this morning. It was a lazy but heartwarming day. The way Bonnie fell asleep with his hand in yours was just too cute. Even this little gesture made up for all the weeks you weren’t able to see him.

You were watching all the leaves above your head delicately staying in place. No wind was rustling through them or sending a slightly cooling breeze. Every now and then you switched from watching the leaves to observing a sleeping Bonnie. You turned your head to him, to take in every detail of his profile once again, but this time you were distracted. On the clearing, where the trees parted and the land was falling lower to a small valley, a rainbow was spreading all over the sky. Vibrantly showcasing all its beautiful colors, it held you in awe. Rainbows always had a vibe to them that you wanted to go and touch them, soak up all the colors and be just as colourful as them.

Rainbows. Rain. „Bonnie!“

Instantly waking from his sleep and sitting up by your voice calling his name, he first checked your body if something was wrong.

„Bon“, you giggled and stopped his hands from moving over your skin. „Look!“ Diverting his head with a hand on his chin to the rainbow, you already stood.

„When there’s a rainbow…“, you started.

„We go searching for the rain?“ Bonnie started to smile, grabbed your hands you had reached out to him and got up on his feet with your help.

For a moment both of you stared at the rainbow, Bonnie’s hand naturally found yours again.

„Let’s run and touch it“, you whispered.

You sensed him bending down and his lips hovering next to your ear. „I’d do anything with you.“ He kissed your cheek and dragged you with him. Starting to run, the heat first felt like you had to stop again, take a slower pace, but once you reached the end of the clearing and ran downhill, reaching the rainbow was the only thing that mattered. You didn’t care for the heat anymore as long as the wind was blowing in your hair and Bonnie was laughing next to you.

Unfortunately, chasing a rainbow wasn’t that easy. When you thought you came closer, it started to fade. When it turned up the brightness of its colors again, it seemed almost twice as far away as before.

Stopping and catching your breaths you still desired to be a part of the rainbow. „I don’t think we’ll come close enough to the rainbow or the rain.“

„You wanted that rain a lot, hm?“ Bonnie wasn’t out of breath as much as you were. Placing a hand on your hip, he dragged your body into his, playing with the fabric of your dress. „Or is it perhaps just water in general you’re craving on your skin?“

„Don’t get me wrong, Bon… but water seems a lot more appealing than our sweat.“ The sweat had been taking the biggest toll on you, right after the heat. Still, sticky touches were better than weeks without his fingers intertwined with yours or his arms around your body.

Bonnie slowly started to walk backwards. The rainbow wasn’t on his mind anymore since it started to fade into the clouds anyway. He pulled you with him, telling you to just follow.

Leading you through more grass, that tickled your legs, you were soon standing on the shore of a small lake, hidden between trees. He turned around to face you again. „Will this serve your craving?“

„You knew there was a lake down here and decided to lay in the shadow up on the hill?“

„What should I say?“ He wore this mischievous grin. „Instead of you I like your body sweaty.“ You fully got what he implied and just laughed it off, unbuttoning your dress under his intense stare. Before Bonnie, this scene with someone else would’ve made you feel uncomfortable. Receiving a reference like that would’ve made your eyes divert to your feet and hope the moment would pass as fast as possible. Not with Bonnie. With him everything was just so natural. Your hand in his, walking around without clothes and being covered in sweat when you laid under him. Because all Bonnie ever did was love you.

„Are you going in like that or?“ You shed off your dress, standing in front of him naked and ready to escape from the heat into this beautiful looking lake. Bonnie quickly stripped off his pants and briefs. This time it was you who grabbed his hand and dragged him along.

Running into the lake together, the water felt so relieving you were mad for a second he didn’t mention it before. If he had you probably wouldn’t have spent a wake minute outside of it.

Fully in, you swam towards the middle. It was a really tiny lake so instead of the middle you were quickly on the other side of it, feeling your feet touch the bottom again. You let yourself float on your back and closed your eyes. Within the water the sun on your skin didn’t burn anymore. It was heavenly satisfying, a perfect summer day now.

His hands soon broke your balance with the water, causing you to use your feet and arms again. Bonnie fished for your hand, dragged you through the water to wrap your arms around his neck. He wanted to kiss you but it didn’t work out at all, drowning together and returning to the surface in laughter. Swimming with you wrapped around his body closer to the shore, where he was able to stand, he tried it again and succeeded.

Chasing a rainbow, skinny dipping in the lake, kissing Bonnie in the water – it all promised for a good, very good summer. For a lot of adventures ahead and hot days that wanted to be sweated through. For his demanding lips and cheerful laughter. You couldn’t wait to have all summer with him.

„Bonnie?“ You broke the kiss to draw back and look at him. One of your hands found its way to his wet hair and brushed it out of his face – it had gotten longer while being gone.

„What is it, Y/N?“

„I hope we’ll stay like this forever.“

„How?“, he smiled, holding onto you even tighter.

„So in love.“

Feeling him tense up under your touch, his smile faded. Those moments were Bonnie became extremely serious were rare and the intensity of them were always breathtaking. His raw voice whispered: „We will“, vowing a promise you hadn’t asked him to offer. Sometimes he just decided to do something that completely took you by surprise and it made you fall even harder for him. You didn’t know if those moments would continue to happen or if some day they would just stop and you remained ‚only‘ being in love with him, without the sensation of falling for him another time. But you knew, no matter what would happen, either of those options were fantastic. After all, loving Bonnie was the best feeling – actually, so many best feelings altogether – you could ever experience.

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nearlymanaged · 4 years ago

Text

21. The Long Wait and James’ Exasperation

“Remus!” Suzy, a bespectacled Gryffindor sixth year with enchanted flowers braided into her hair, caught up with him.

“Hey,” Remus stopped, holding the portrait hole open for her.

“Thanks…” She breathed out as she climbed in with an armful of assorted spellbooks, quills, parchment, and ink bottles. “My bag broke today,” she explained.

“I’m sorry,” he offered a genuine smile. “My bag’s broken once, too. Granted, it was being held by James and Sirius. Who were flying on two separate brooms at the time. So maybe not quite the same...”

Suzy let out a tickled laugh and almost dropped half of her things just then. Remus, however, reacted in time and, with a flick of his wand, lifted all of the weight out of the girl’s arms. “Thanks again,” she beamed.

“No worries. Well, have fun with…” he gently pushed one of the books, floating mid-air, out of the way, “History of Magic,” he said after a glance at the cover. “Ah yes, the class that, six years in, has taught me how to take notes while napping…”

Suzy laughed again, taking over the steering of her possessions with her own wand now. “That’s actually hilariously accurate… Maybe we could work on our homework together sometime, for moral support?”

“I do lead a study group every Thursday… Although lately, it’s been more like every once in a blue moon, whenever we can squeeze it into everyone’s schedules...”

“Maybe you and I can have a private study group then?”

“Er…” Remus stammered while his brain worked to figure out whether Suzy was asking him out or genuinely trying to get some help with homework. For some reason, he thought, the older he got, the harder it was to read anyone. “I’m absolute shite at History of Magic..?” He attempted with a shrug.

“Then maybe I can tutor you some?”

Ah… It certainly sounded like the girl’s interests spanned beyond homework. A mild panic was setting in as Remus tried to come up with an appropriate response, but nothing came to mind. So he decided to just go for it, as clumsy and awkwardly as he knew it would come out.

Thing was, Remus never really came out to people. Yes, obviously he had been open about his sexuality with Vincent, and at this point, most (if not all) of his friends had caught on, and, matter of fact, he didn’t care if the whole school knew. He felt like a bit of a freak anyway, what’s another thing to add to the list? He just never went around talking about it. In all fairness, it was probably because he’d gotten used to keeping it to himself at home, with his dad around. He could hardly imagine having that conversation with his family (“Hey dad, guess what? I’m gay!”) so he had sort of pushed that idea aside and moved on altogether. But now, he inhaled deeply in anticipation...

“Suzy... I’m…”

“Alright, I’ll just say it… I just need a couple of bottles of butterbeer and I…”

“...ga-- What?” Remus froze all of a sudden, only his eyelids fluttering in a rapid succession of baffled blinks.

“Did you...just say you’re gay?” Suzy peered at him, looking no less confused than he felt.

“I…er...”

“I knew it,” someone uttered in a group of fifth years flocking around the nearest sofa.

“Nevermind that,” Remus mumbled while wishing to literally die right then and there. “You said you need butterbeer?”

“Ehm, yes. I know that you and your friends know where to get some…” Suzy, very graciously, employed a facial expression determined to ignore Remus’ little outburst.

He hastily assured her that he’d talk to his friends and get some butterbeer for her during their next expedition to a mysterious source that Suzy had no business knowing anything about anyway. Still feeling the burning embarrassment pulsing all the way from the pit of his stomach to the top of his head, Remus turned to run upstairs to put his stuff away and maybe suffocate himself with a pillow while he was at it. Before he could leave the scene of his mortification, however, he was beckoned over by the very giggly duo of Lily and Dorcas.

“Rem, did you just yell ‘I’m gay’ at--”

“Five points from Gryffindor.”

Lily let out a loud gasp that somehow ended with an indignant squeal. “James told me you do that…” She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips, but didn’t say another word about the topic.

“Welcome to the club, Remus,” Dorcas grinned at him. “I always knew there was a reason I liked you. Straight people can be so...intense sometimes -- no offense, Lily,” she finished with a smirk.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t judge all straight people based on Potter…”

Both Dorcas and Remus cackled at this. “What about you, miss I Hate This Arrogant Toerag But I’ll Still Spend Every Waking Moment Hanging Out Around Him?” Remus tilted his head rather eloquently with a little quirk of his eyebrows.

“Oh! Please! Pshh!” Lily started shuffling around in her seat with an outraged glare.

“That’s what I’ve noticed, too!” Dorcas beamed at Remus. “She can’t get enough of him lately, can she?”

“You think it has anything to do with him being Quidditch captain?”

“Well, straight people do seem to have a thing about sports…”

“Shut up, you idiots!”

“So - and forgive me for being so blunt - Sirius?” Dorcas beamed at Remus, evidently deciding that Lily’s had enough mortification for the time being.

“What about him?”

“Rumour has it, you’ve got the hots for the Black boy?”

“The rumour’s name wouldn’t happen to be Lily, would it?” Remus shot a pointed glance at the girl in question, but Dorcas merely chuckled at it rather dismissively.

“There’s also the fact that everyone in this school has eyes and ears, Remus. And some of us know how to use them, too. Question is, who’s going to make the first move?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Remus felt a kind of warmth flood over him - against his own logical thought, he couldn’t help but feel pleased to know that other people could see it. “Hard to say,” he mumbled through a grin that refused to be toned down.

“I think it should be you,” Lily stated matter-of-factly.

“How so?”

“Because, obviously, you’re the somewhat more sensible one.”

“I don’t think romance has much to do with sensibility, Lils,” Dorcas leaned back in her seat. “I think it’ll be Sirius. Precisely because he lacks it.”

“What are we, making bets on my life now?” Remus folded his arms over his chest; he only barely resisted the temptation to reference their very secret plan that he wasn’t supposed to know anything about.

“That’s a great idea!” Dorcas cackled at his feigned indignation.

“All jokes aside,” Lily beamed, “I have a feeling you two will get together soon. It’s Spring, after all. A time for new beginnings.”

“I thought you dropped Divination?” Remus pulled a funny face at her, pretending to be puzzled by her words.

“Yes. But, as Dorcas already pointed out, some of us have functioning eyes and ears.”

“And some of us might even know more than we let on…” Dorcas uttered, a faint smirk curving her lips.

Lily smacked her arm lightly. “Dee!”

“What?”

“What?” Remus echoed, his eyes darting between the two girls.

“Nothing. Dorcas has a strange sense of humour, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh… So anyway, speaking of new beginnings--”

“Oh will you drop it?” Lily cut across him rather sternly. “Even if I did agree to go out with him, so what?” She added quieter.

“Oh? I was going to say, isn’t it strange that the last summer of our Hogwarts years is almost here. But your thing is more entertaining,” Remus shot her a smug grin.

“Remus!”

“What?” He laughed out.

“And she might agree to go out with him sooner than we’d suspect, too.”

“Dorcas!!”

The three of them went on about sensible minds and love and sensible minds in love; mostly courtesy of Lily and Dorcas while Remus was quietly replaying every moment he’d spent with Sirius in the past few days, only occasionally offering a joke or a commentary. This was happiness, he thought. To have friends that cared (enough to devise some sort of a secret plan) and a boyfriend who was one of the best friends he’d ever had and one of the best people he’d ever known. This was happiness - being seventeen and in love and surrounded by good people, and it didn’t even matter that he had just embarrassed himself in front of Suzy and half the Gryffindors.

* * *

Remus looked like there was some kind of a magical glow about him as he sat there - bathed in sunlight streaming in through the high, narrow windows of History of Magic classroom, his chin in his hand, his quill unceasingly taking notes. There certainly was a distinct warm and bright afternoon laziness in the air, which rendered Sirius completely unable to pay the slightest bit of attention to Mr Binns’ monotonous recital of Gargoyle Strike of 1911 facts.

Instead, his gaze was resting on the side of Remus’ face, quasi-secretly taking in the way the sun glistened in his sand and honey coloured hair, the way that that one scar ran across the bridge of his nose like a vein of ore, the way that his eyelids lowered over his brilliantly green irises, the way his soft, yet always a little chapped lips feebly formed silent words here and there as he wrote them down...

“Sirius, you’re staring.”

“You’re just now noticing?” Sirius purred back at Remus’ whispered observation.

“I was busy taking notes, which you’ll be thankful for later.”

“I’ve been staring at you longer than that.”

“Stop it…” Remus mumbled, quieter now, a slight blush tinting his cheeks and ears, which Sirius noticed to his great delight.

“Surely, you don’t actually mean it, do you?”

“Stop it, Sirius…” He repeated with even less conviction in his voice.

“What do you think they’re planning? To get us together?” Sirius perked up slightly, genuinely eager to dive into speculation about the topic. In all honesty, anything that had to do with Remus had been his favourite topic lately -- or not so lately.

“I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it too,” the boy’s eyebrows slowly knit together over his thoughtful eyes. “I can’t imagine anything that would require James and Lily to go on a fake date.”

“You can’t use your own logic for this. We need to think like them,” Sirius grinned.

“Ah yes… We must think like someone who’s gotten hit in the head by a bludger more times than I have fingers.”

“Hey!” Sirius protested and then shrugged apologetically, remembering he was in the middle of a classroom. “I’ve gotten hit by a bludger too. Read the room, Moony.”

“So you have. That’s why I talk so slowly whenever you’re around,” Remus whispered and gave Sirius a smile that might have been intended as an expression of mischief but in reality looked more flirtatious than anything else.

“And yet,” Sirius leaned in a little closer, speaking a little quieter, feeling a little giddier, “I happen to be where you choose to lay your affections.”

“I never claimed to be perfect…”

“You’re such a tease, Moony.”

“You bring it out of me,” Remus mumbled as he bit down on his lip, evidently determined to bridle his grin. “When do you think they’ll carry out their secret plan?”

“Hm… I don’t know, there’s not really anything special happening anytime soon. The Quidditch game, maybe?”

“But surely, James can’t be on a fake date with Lily if he’s playing Quidditch?”

“Good point. D’you think they’ll fake an injury? That’s probably very likely, statistically speaking.”

“Statistically speaking?” Remus shot him a curious glance.

“Fake injuries tend to be the driving force of a lot of our successful pranks, don’t they?” Sirius grinned.

Just then, the bell rang throughout the castle and all the students started getting up from their desks and funneling out into the hallways. Sirius and Remus both shoved their belongings into their bags and started heading for the door of the classroom along with their fellow sixth years.

“Why is Suzy McGregor giving you weird looks?” Sirius gently nudged Remus’ ribcage. “What?” He asked when Remus took a deep breath and sighed.

“I yelled at her..?

“You yelled at her?..”

“That I’m gay…”

“You...pardon?”

“I thought she was trying to ask me out…” Remus kept trailing off as he spoke, determined to slowly but surely power through this embarrassing tale, holding his wide glossy gaze straight ahead as they walked out into the corridor.

“But she wasn’t?” Sirius offered curiously.

“She just wanted some butterbeer…”

“But not on a date with you?”

“No. I’m not invited to drink butterbeer with her.”

“Why’d you--”

“She chose very confusing wording to lead with, alright? And besides,” Remus finally met Sirius’ eyes, “it’s not like I don’t ever get asked out by people.”

“I wasn’t trying to imply,” Sirius smiled brightly. “I mean, I asked you out myself, didn’t I? What?” His expression clouded over with a confused kind of smile when Remus laughed.

“I wouldn’t exactly call that asking someone out.”

“Well you should look up the definition of asking someone out because that was exactly it!”

“You asked me to help you with homework. Exactly like you’ve done dozens of times before.”

“If not hundreds. But that’s not the point,” Sirius whispered hastily as they were overtaken by a group of Ravenclaw sixth years. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to whatever Vincent would have done,” he blurted out without thinking.

“Vincent?” Remus repeated that name as if he’d never heard it before, to Sirius’ vague delight. “What’s he got to do with anything?” He was smiling now.

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty fond of him…” Sirius trailed off this time, unsure where he was going. For some reason, all of a sudden, he simply wanted to know that he was more important and special to Remus than the French git -- which was a ridiculous thought, seeing as they’d been inseparable friends for years.

“I think that’s a bit of an overstatement.”

“It is?”

“Are you jealous?” A big smile blossomed over Remus’ mouth as he uttered the question.

“Should I be?” Sirius shrugged nonchalantly as he thought to himself that he was, he absolutely was.

“Sirius.”

“Remus?”

Without another word (albeit with a roll of his eyes), Moony grabbed Sirius’ hand and swiftly dragged him into the nearest classroom - which conveniently happened to be one that they often counted on to be empty, for it hadn’t been used for lessons in at least two years.

Before he could figure out what was happening, Sirius found himself pinned against a cold stone wall. Remus’ left hand traveled up to touch his face, ever so gently, to rest along his jawline, as he kissed him slowly and deliberately. Sirius was dimly aware of Moony’s other hand holding his, their fingers laced through each other loosely, yet without intention to let go. He couldn’t comprehend how he had spent so many years without being kissed by this beautiful boy like that.

When Remus pulled away slightly, just enough for their foreheads and noses to still touch, Sirius managed to stammer out, “Moony?”

“Mhm?”

“Where...where did you learn to do this?”

Remus recoiled now, a sheepish smile painted across his beautiful, flushed face. “Sod off, Padfoot.” He turned around on his heel.

“No, I’m serious!” The black haired boy followed him out into the corridor, a giddy grin crowning his own features. “Is this how you kiss other people too?”

“I don’t kiss other people, Sirius…” Remus narrowed his eyes ever so slightly when the other boy caught up with him.

“But in the past!”

“Are you...are you retroactively jealous?”

“Only if you have kissed other people like that,” Sirius mumbled, only half jokingly.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to conduct a survey to see what they have to say.”

“Such a tease,” Sirius smirked at his boyfriend.

He felt so in love and so happy as they walked towards one of the moving staircases. It almost seemed to him as though there had to be a catch to it, as though complete bliss like this wasn’t meant to be free. But whatever the price could be, all he cared about were those green eyes, full of joy and love.

“Oi, Sirius!” James’ voice bellowed over the excited clamour of the hallways. “I’ve been-- Are you two alright?” His demeanor changed instantly when he approached the two boys.

“Yeah, why?” Remus shrugged while Sirius continued to float in the pleasant haze of his own mind.

“Pads is clinging to your arm… Are you hurt?”

“Oh, that,” Remus chuckled and gently peeled Sirius’ fingers off from around his forearm. To Sirius’ own surprise, however, he couldn’t remember how or when his fingers ended up wrapped around it in the first place. “I think I might have broken him…”

“What did you do?”

“I, er…”

“I’ll tell you later, Prongs,” Sirius finally rejoined the reality and their conversation. “So what about you and Evans?” He asked, foolishly - and very much aware of it - hoping that he could nudge James and his mysterious plan into motion a little faster.

“What do you mean?”

“When are you going to get together?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but haven’t you been telling me to forget about her and get over it at least once a week for the past year?”

“Nonsense! Have you been asking her out lately?”

“No…” James narrowed his eyes.

“You were looking for him?” Remus reminded with a nod towards Sirius.

“Ah, yes… Bad news - Quidditch is postponed until next week.”

“Why?” Sirius attempted to sound somewhat interested in the topic, while in all honesty, he was starting to become impatient about an entirely different thing.

“There was a break in at one of Hogsmeade shops. The school,” James uttered these words rather contemptuously, “feels it would be unwise to have the overwhelming majority of pupils out in the open grounds so close to a suspected Death Eater attack.”

“How dare the school,” Remus nodded with a solemn expression; a heartwarming attempt at solidarity.

Sirius, in the meantime, was getting lost in his head again. He was thinking about how much he wanted to tell James that Remus kissed him in Hogsmeade. He wanted all his friends to know. And he wanted to hold Remus’ hand all the time and kiss him whenever he wanted. Sneaking around might have sounded exciting in theory, but he didn’t think that now. And not only that - he wanted everyone to know that they were together, he wanted the whole school to see him with Moony and to realise just how much luckier Sirius was than all of them. He wanted all the students to talk about how much they loved each other and what a lovely couple the two made. He wanted the whole staff to be on the lookout for the snogging in the hallways. He wanted to be able to share his intoxicating happiness with everyone and anyone.

* * *

James pushed a couple of second years out of his way as he darted through the portrait hole, into the common room. He threw a half-hearted apology at them, without so much as a glance, as he made a beeline for the far corner of the room, where a collection of old, red velvet clad furniture crowded around the fireplace.

“Why is everyone talking about how Remus Lupin came out as gay in the common room?!” He stopped in front of the boy in question, his hands on his hips, a subconscious mirror of his mother.

“Wh-- Who’s talking about it?” Remus scrunched his nose, his body frozen halfway through a flinch, the book that he had been reading now lying face up in his lap.

“Who’s...he’s asking me who’s…” James muttered bitterly. “My sources, alright?”

“Your sour--”

“Why am I, once again, forced to learn about things like that from other people?!”

“I didn’t--”

“How do you think that makes me look!?”

“I--”

“Makes me look like a bad friend, Remus! Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

“No…”

“Then why wouldn’t you tell me before you start going around telling the whole school?”

“I didn’t--”

“Nevermind that, I have to go send an owl to my parents to stop asking you about girlfriends.”

“Oh, it’s really alright, they’ve only asked a handful of times--” Remus mumbled feebly, obviously very confused by James’ outburst.

“A handful too many!”

“Prongs, it’s hones--”

“They might start pestering you about boyfriends though…”

“That’s...that’s fine with me, James,” Remus smiled brightly out of the blue.

“Hm, I’ll think about it… Either way, I need to ask for more of mum’s flapjack…”

“You do that, James.”

“I hope you didn’t not tell me that you’re gay because you thought I’d do something ridiculous, like disapprove or give a broom riding fuck at all, honestly. Unless you started fancying me...you know my heart belongs to Evans.”

“I know, James,” Remus was positively radiant now.

“Good. Right. I’ll go send that owl then. Jaffa Cakes?” James lingered on the spot.

“That’d be lovely. Send your parents my love.”

“Will do. Sorry for raising my voice,” he added after a moment’s consideration.

“That’s quite alright.”

“Let me know if anyone gives you grief about it.”

“Thanks, James,” Remus beamed at him, at which he nodded and turned around on his heel.

Now that he’d gone through with the confrontation, his mind was catching up with what had happened - he had overheard a handful of Gryffindors talking about Remus and how he had told Suzy McGregor that he’s gay. Of course, James was aware of Remus’ sexuality, he just never talked to him about it - he wanted to give his friend all the time and space he needed rather than force him to come out if he wasn’t ready. And when he heard those kids talking about it, he couldn’t help but feel hurt; hurt that Remus didn’t feel like he could talk to James, perhaps?

And - just like most things James would get riled up about - now it turned out to not be a big deal at all. Once he paused to think about it, James realised that more than anything, he was worried that Remus would feel like he needed to hide his sexuality just like he’d been hiding his lycanthropy. And if that ever turned out to be the case, he silently swore to himself to do anything he could to make Remus feel like he didn’t have to be ashamed about any part of his wonderful existence.

As James was crossing the common room, deep in thought, he almost walked right past Sirius, who had just descended from the dormitories.

“Were you aware that Remus is, in fact, very much not straight?” James grabbed his arm and pulled him closer.

“Er…” Sirius briefly stared off across the room before returning his gaze to James’ face. “Vaguely.”

“As in, he’s very much gay.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Did he already tell you!?” James gasped.

“Not exclusively, no.”

“Well? Aren’t you happy about it?!”

“Oh! Yes, very!” Sirius nodded a tad too vigorously.

“Do you not fancy him anymore?” James screwed up his face in confusion. He’d been finding himself growing more and more exasperated lately; he couldn’t figure out why his two friends were being such idiots and was beginning to put more and more stock into Lily and Peter’s plan.

“Oh no, I do. I very much do.”

“Why won’t you just tell him?!” James whispered hotly, gesturing his arms around.

“Oh, you know,” Sirius shrugged, “because we’re friends and all that jazz, I guess.”

“Are you sure you still fancy him?”

“Yes. Aren’t you?”

“You haven’t been whining about him lately.”

“I don’t whine, excuse you,” Sirius puffed out his chest dramatically.

At this, James let out an amused laugh. “Sure. You want to walk to the owlery with me?”

“Uh…” Sirius stared off again. “I needed to talk to Remus, actually. About the study group thing...”

“You know, if the boy doesn’t figure out that the only reason you attend his study groups is so that you could stare at him, then maybe I’ve overestimated his intelligence…”

“How dare you,” Sirius popped his eyes in another facetious gesture. “I care about my education, that’s all.”

“Mhm.” James arched his eyebrows and watched Sirius walking away for a few moments before continuing on his way.

Some thirty minutes later, James was back at the portrait hole, giving the Fat Lady the password, when Lily caught up with him.

“Potter,” she nodded with comical gravitas.

“Evans,” he mirrored her. “Coming back from a Dorks Anonymous meeting?” He cast a glance at the stack of books in her arms.

“Is that your new seduction tactic?” She squeezed past him, through the portrait hole into the common room.

“Is it working?”

Lily opened her mouth, as if about to say something, but then just laughed, melting James’ heart just a tad more.

“Say, have you noticed anything strange about Remus and Sirius?”

“Yes, actually,” she stepped aside, out of the way of people climbing in and out the common room entrance, and turned to James. “I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but they seem to have started acting a lot less...annoying?”

“Yes!” James grabbed Lily’s shoulders excitedly and gave her a light shake. “Sirius hasn’t been whining...at all, really. ”

“And Remus isn’t staring at Sirius with that pining look at mealtimes. In fact, I saw him hand feed Sirius at lunch the other day.”

“I’ve seen Remus braid Sirius’ hair at least three times this week.”

“I’m so confused… Why won’t they just get it over with and get together?”

“You know, I’m starting to think your plan will prove to be a necessity…”

“Oh, interesting.” Lily shuffled her weight on one foot and raised an eyebrow as she shot him a sly smirk. “I seem to remember you calling it a waste of our time.”

“Can’t hurt to try, can it?” James shrugged defensively, trying not to stare at her lips too obviously as he did.

“Well, we’ve just got a couple more weeks before the next Hogsmeade trip. We’ll have to start thinking about how to fake this date,” Lily grimaced.

“I do have feelings, you know. You could at least pretend to not be repulsed by the idea,” James pouted.

“I’m not! That’s not what I mean…”

“I’m just yanking your wand, Evans,” he chuckled and fell into step beside her when she started for their usual corner of the common room.

Before they even reached their friends, they exchanged very eloquent looks at the sight of Sirius perched up on the armrest of Remus’ chair - they seemed to have formed a new habit of sharing a seat whenever they could get away with it (anytime they weren’t in class).

“Sirius,” Lily squinted at him, “are you wearing Remus’ sweater vest?..”

James’ eyes darted to Sirius, his face screwing up in a horrible realisation that he had somehow missed that detail up until then.

“This?” Sirius tugged at the hem of it. “Yep.”

“But…” James peered at him. “You always make fun of it. You hate it, don’t you!?”

“Hate it!? Dear Merlin, of course I don’t hate it.”

“I’ve literally heard you describe this exact piece of clothing as a ‘poor shoe shiner child’s uniform’, multiple times.”

“Dragondung, I would never say that.”

“No, actually,” Remus interjected with a very indulgent smirk, lowering his book in his lap, his index finger marking the page, “I too remember you saying those exact words.”

#i've been so busy with work #also both my physical and mental health crumbling to pieces #this certainly ain't my best work #but here it is #fanfic #Wolfstar fanfiction #hogwarts #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #james potter

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jjkpls · 4 years ago

Text

crayons ‘set’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.8k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

The principle of balance.

It’s a curious concept. Like most of the things that turn people into different versions of themselves, just from an unconscious force brought to light by the sheer inner sense of competition that inhabits every single person. It’s quieter in some people. Feel non-existent sometimes. But it’s here, dormant, just waiting on the right trigger to awaken.

You didn't think you would see it in Jimmy. The little boy lacks completely self-confidence and affirmation. But a voice and a stance, easily remarkable, end up fitting him.

It turns out that you witness it quite quickly after the Progress has started. And it manifests in the most adorable and comical of ways.

It’s been a few weeks since you've met his dad. There wasn’t much to talk about with him yet. Every day, longer lingerings of the gaze, less tucking away in the far back of the rest of the group, more definite wordless participations during class -nodding and clapping along. The progress you've been wholly satisfied with but nothing so drastically different that you thought necessary to call his father in for.

Nothing absolutely astonishing. Therefore you didn’t call and what a surprise this one Thursday afternoon turns out to be when he appears at your class’s doorway.

He’s wearing very casual clothes, a simple light linen shirt and some distended jeans to pair, sneakers and his hair -you've only seen neatly tucked to the side- is floating about his forehead, freshly washed and devoid of any wax. It’s a pleasant surprise, especially with the evident appearance of calm and quiet tranquillity he’s carrying.

This man looks rather handsome when he’s on vacation, stressless and well-rested and seemingly content, you note.

“Mr Kim?”

He looks up from his son he is holding the hand of, eyes wide and bewildered as he stares a little. You chuckle, confused but amused. He’s the one paying you a surprise visit but he’s shocked when you do talk to him?

“Is it bad timing? I can come back another day...” From the look he’s giving you, or more accurately, barely sparing you, body already aiming for the corridor, you wonder if you should return the question. It'd be cruel though, to tease, therefore you choose to simply shake your head and insist on him walking in. And then it happens, the man can’t take a step inside, for some reason. He’s just paralysed, looking like a million contradicting thoughts are fighting inside his brain and he simply cannot make out the best option, if he would or not step in; and it’s Jimmy who takes the decision for him. Puffing his cheeks out in annoyance, he pushes against his father's leg, small hands pulling the bigger one towards him. It’s like watching a tiny mouse trying to drag along a giraffe. It has little to no physical effect until there’s an aggravated tiny whine of “appa”. He moves, at last, letting himself stood in front of me before Jimmy lets go of his hand.

He gives you a look you're not sure you interpret well. Dark eyes all serious, attention loud, he seems to be intrusting his father to you. A gentle smile, hiding your teeth biting back a hilarious grin, sends him away towards the very back of the room. Taking a seat next to the bookshelf, it takes Jimmy a few minutes only after you've diverted your attention from him to grab an image book and start going through it patiently.

He's so comfortable. Almost too comfortable. He looks strange, like that. Strange because different from usual but still, oddly, it fits him well. It's like a projection, a little vision of a future little boy, easygoing, at peace with himself and his environment, that won't take too long to be born again.

And it's now the dad who's acting weird. He's standing on his two never-ending legs, the tip of his fingers toying nervously with the button of his vest, his mouth keeps teasing, opening slightly, as if about to spill a word, only to shut itself right up, a lightly aggravated sigh following soon after. It happens quite a couple of times until you get tired of waiting. Tired of the eyes avoiding you, the tension heavy for no particular reason that you could decipher, you ring him awake with an abrupt overexaggerated clearing of your throat.

"Mr Kim?" He's confounded again, caught off guard somehow. "Did you mean to discuss something with me?" It's hard to make an adult talk, you realise. Sometimes children can be difficult. Put aside Jimmy's case, sometimes children are like that. Making them want to share, especially when they are at that age where they can't express themselves and their ideas as well as they wish they could, frustration, laziness at times can get the better of them and having a fairly constructed conversation with them is like pulling teeth out of a very adamant, unwilling person. But you manage. Adults, on the other hand, have never been too much of your cup of tea. There's a reason why you chose to spend the better part of your weeks with children instead of adults. You're not that terrible at getting along with them, you do it pretty well, honestly. But the reason is probably the fact that you're not difficult. You're convenient as a person, always willing to help, always trying to be positive, you do not get in people's way and most of the times, it's enough to make it through.

You don't deal with adults the way you deal with children. With great pleasure and passion, you insert yourself into your pupils' existence, try to leave a mark and help them have the better, feel the better, be the better. Adults, you don't get too involved. They sound complicated, complexed, too many compromises, too many facets. You know because you are one too.

And Mr Kim, looking all nervous and troubled seem the very embodiment of this bias you have. He looks some sort of troubles. Probably nothing that terrible. He appears too childish for it to be that grave. But he's serious about it, about the anxiety, the struggle, the uneasiness he's feeling, you can tell, just from the way he hasn't been able to look at you in the eyes since he appeared in your class. Still, whatever it is, will cost some of your time, and with that, might clog up some very much needed space you require in this busy head of yours.

It's happened before. A new neighbour trying to get closer to you, maybe because they've just moved in the city, didn't know anyone, and you looked friendly enough and they needed someone to listen to the exhaustive list of all the things that made them leave their hometown -even though, you don't necessarily care for any of it. Or a colleague, trying to get you involved in their office dramas, simply because people need the attention, the feeling of importance and support.

Quite frankly, you've never been interested in any of them. Adults sound like too much work, especially given the fact that, as filled with flaws as they are, they are a pain, and often impossible, to fix. And they say things they don't mean. And they want things that they don't need. Their words and their acts hardly ever match. They're for the most part unrecoverable and unfixable, and you don't want any of it.

But Mr Kim and his dimples -invisible to the eye at the moment, but that you realise marked your brain so strongly you can picture them exactly where they should be winking- are piquing your interest. You're ninety-nine per cent sure it is not about Jimmy but you'd like to know. Never mind that curiosity killed the cat.

“Yes, uh-“ Clearing of the throat, scratching of the neck and more clearing of the throat. “about last time...”

You're lost. For a second, your body freezes to give your brain its full capacity to wreck through the whole place and retrieve a memory that seems to have been lost somehow, somewhere. You have no idea what time he is referring to.

He seems so invested, so intensely experiencing his emotions you're left shocked and deeply embarrassed to not remember something that had that effect on him yet didn’t leave a single trace on you.

He insists then, having to face your transparent confusion. The more you stand in pure oblivion, the more awkward he gets. Stuttering more, an accent, very deep, adding rough edges to his voice, colouring his words with new shades that you've never heard before.

“Mr Kim-“

“Namjoon.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s me, I am, I’m-“ You will, later, feel terrible for it. It’s undeniable. But right now, facing this grown-ass man, usually so collected now decomposing in the most adorable red-cheeked boyish thing, you can only start laughing. It renders him speechless which in a way is almost an improvement and when you finally can restrain the giggles from bubbling straight from your belly, you start again,

“Maybe take a deep breath, take your time.” You bite your lip down to the blood, poorly concealing your grin when he actually does it. “What did you mean by ‘last time’?” You're mortified to ask, honestly, persuaded that you should know but at this point, it’s pretty mean but you don’t think you can embarrass yourself that much in front of him, not when he’s been such a mess himself.

“When we met. When I came to talk about my son.” Calmly, diligently he answers. Like a good boy answering his teacher’s question, a shadow of worry covering his usually sharp gaze.

“Oh, what about it?” Curiosity melts with confusion as you refrain yourself from pressing him further into elaborating faster, eager as you are to understand. You were sure he was not going to talk about him.

“I’d been a bit much and I wanted to apologise personally to you.”

Been a bit much?

“In what sense? I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s just- I poured myself and our luggage on you when you’re- I know you care about my son but I shouldn’t have, I don’t know, I shouldn’t have-“

You hate cutting people off. It’s a terrible habit you are constantly trying to teach your students to drop. But here he is, struggling to express an idea that irks you strongly. Is he able to put the words he needs? Does he even know them in his own mother tongue or do they even exist? Maybe what he's trying to express are pure emotions. Unease coming from a heart shameful for having shown itself vulnerable to a stranger. You'd know about this feeling. You've experienced it plenty of times, throughout all your life. Even if it wasn’t in the form of you stripping your heart off to someone, like he did, simply showing that you cared gave you the same sense of vulnerability, of terrifying exposure you've always had a hard time dealing with.

You hate the idea that he regrets it, especially with you. At that time, you could tell he had words to pour out. You were glad, you were even enchanted to be the one helping out no matter how small you just assumed your impact to have been. And now, he's trying to say that he regrets it?

“You said you were thankful to have someone to talk to.”

“I did say that.” He mumbles, pressing the pad of his fingers against his closed eyes.

“Then don’t regret it. I don’t want you to be embarrassed about this, seriously. I had parents do way more, actually embarrassing, things in my career. Don’t even worry about it.” He’s thinking it over. You can tell your words have little to no impact on his bruised ego. “I’m not sure how appropriate it is for me to say that but if you need it, whenever in the future, don’t hesitate. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m just- I’m willing to listen if it can help. I mean me or anyone else, really, you should in general just share. It’s important. You don’t want Jimmy to mimic such bad habits like so, holding in and all.” You may be talking too much. The man just looks so eager to hear those words and it spurs you on. “You really shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I can understand the feeling, where it comes from, but it’s pointless with me.”

“You’re really kind.” You give a smile, only. It’s not much but you're pretty sure it’s the genuineness tinting it that renders it enough. Again, he seems surprised. As bewildered as last time but undoubtedly convinced. “I’m glad he has you as his teacher.”

Your cheeks burn intensely. You don’t know how conscious he is of his words. If he realises that he perfected the art of flattery and of slipping people in his pocket. He really did. Especially when he’s leaning slightly towards you, gaze intense and on you now that the embarrassment has vanished for the most part and he can bear looking at you, seemingly hanging out for any other words you may have in stock.

There’s nothing left for you to say though. It takes you quite a few attempts to skim over your brain, trying to formulate a sentence, any word, but you come out completely empty. You can’t even stutter a thank you from how utterly flustered you're feeling.

Therefore you choose the easy way out. Waltzing on your heels to give him your back, your hands reaching to the barely messy top of your desk to pretend they’re busy. You believe yourself to have been sleek enough but apparently not so -maybe it’s the fact that you're just picking up stuff to put them exactly where they belong, at the exact same place.

“Was I inappropriate? I’m really sorry, Mrs ___. Sometimes I just talk too much and I don’t realise that maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Please stop apologising. It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re just- You saying nice things that you mean,” You stumble upon the last words as if maybe you're getting over your own head to just assume and claim so loud that he must mean the sweet things he said to you but that bashful yet adorable expression he's wearing, with the eyes a bit wide and the bottom lip munched, fill you with a regain of confidence, “can’t be an issue. It’s just unexpected and- I mean you’re fine you can say whatever you want. I mean I’m not asking for more compliments, I’m just saying-“

It’s terribly unnerving. You don’t know what impression you're giving off as a teacher. Lacking so much elocution, scrambling to form sentences and turning into a messy, overwhelmed emotional mess.

“I don’t mind giving you more compliments, Mrs ___.” Here comes that curious principle of balance again. You're half-dying of mortification and he seems to be having fun, smiling kindly, with a hint of something else -amusement, maybe even smudginess.

Is he flirting with me? There’s no way he’s flirting. I think I’m losing my mind.

“It’s Miss, actually.” You swear to yourself, silently, that you're not flirting back -assuming he is, in fact, doing just that- and you just mean to be called by an accurate name.

“Oh.” He almost gasps. Looking shocked and you don’t understand what’s going on anymore. Was he really not flirting? Why does he look so shaken as if you misinterpreted his intentions and now he’s misinterpreting yours and think you're getting over your head -because you're not, you were not flirting!

“I’m not flirting with you, I’m just clarifying!”

You hate this whole conversation. You hate yourself, your life and anything and everything that may or may not have led you to this tragic instant.

You're positive you screamed a little. You get confirmation of just that from the tiny mop of hair bouncing up in your peripheral vision, as Jimmy gives you two a slightly concerned, curious look.

The tension is blatant. It's a mixture of irritation, of anxiety, of embarrassment. You couldn't have messed up any worse than you did and you positively want to simply die, right about now.

The mere thought that you'll have to live with this humiliation not only for the whole day ahead, blatantly hanging out at the back of your head, sometimes probably too close to your consciousness for any sense of comfort to ever inhabit you again, but for your entire life makes you want to throw yourself out the window. You decide not to indulge in the pressing pulsion only because you're on the ground floor, therefore, it would be pointless if not even more humiliating.

Mr Kim, somehow, helps a little. By not wearing a mask of pure revolt, revulsion or aggravation. He stares soundly, expression not giving off much to work with. Just enough to understand he is not mad, simply lost in his own thoughts he doesn't seem too keen on sharing.

A spark of sensibility blooms suddenly in your brain. You're so thankful for it, you jump right on it, grab it with your two hands and start again, as if nothing happened, as if you haven't just humiliated yourself in front of this man (and his son), "Jimmy has made a lot of progress, I've noted."

Mr Kim blinks a few times, unnaturally so. "Yeah? I mean, yes, I've noticed too, actually." He keeps staring with the same obnoxiously loud thoughts running in his mind. His brain is on full activity mode. It's obvious. And he doesn't care too much about talking about his son right this second (even though he doesn't seem to care much about sharing what's going through that private head of his either).

How disappointing. You sincerely thought the one subject that matters the most to him would successfully tear the attention away from you but you're a fool. Apparently, even the cute little bean of a son he has can't divert the attention from the humiliation you've just submitted yourself to.

"Anyway, I won't hold any more of your time, you must have work to attend to."

"Actually I'm not working today. I have the day off." Your lip now too sensitive, you attack the inner part of your cheek with your teeth -thankfully you've turned your back to him again, feigning observing with great attention something through the windows- to stop yourself from screeching. It takes him so long, so fucking long for him to decide, finally, that maybe he should leave. The longest dozens of seconds of your life. Staring outside, picturing him behind you, probably watching you wondering to himself how you can be so lame and how he could have thought you a good fit to be his precious son's teacher. "Ah, I should leave anyway. Your class is about to start?"

"Ah, yes. Well, thanks for passing by. I hope you rest well." It's the least genuine you've been with this man, and anyone for the matter, in so long. Your heart and mind are in such a shamble you don't actually remember the reason for his coming and if, really, anything positive came out of this conversation.

It's ridiculous how you feel, all bothered and nervous, aggravated with him for making you feel so flustered. You give him the most convincing fake smile you own, not taking the time to check if he buys it as you don't dare lingering your attention on him for any longer than the blink of the eye takes.

When he leaves, only after having scattered a bunch of smooches on Jimmy's face, you find yourself breathing again. It's like you've been holding in for so long, you're getting dizzy at the taste of oxygen again, heart beating furiously in your chest, sweating all over.

Fuck, that was painful.

You're such an idiot sometimes. Why do you have to be such a fucking idiot? It's not like you're asking much in this life, honestly. You're not aiming at any groundbreaking, universe shaking novelties. You're staying in your line, trying to be good and do good in your own little world. Not asking much, not taking without beforehand being offered. Is it really that much to ask to not be absolutely humiliated in front of one of your kids' parent, who happens to be a stupidly handsome man? (Yes, he is. You can admit that -to yourself. It's probably the reason why your brain stopped working properly, by the way.) You're cursed. I'm cursed, I'm cursed, I'm cur-

"Mish?" The quietest little call comes from the quietest little boy. Standing a secure meter away from you, his peculiar big black eyes staring with a silent demand in them, Jimmy waits patiently for your attention to be given to him. You offer it to him with great enthusiasm. Because between self-pitying your dumb ass and celebrating the first-ever-self-willingly-uttered word to you by this boy, the choice is not even to be pondered over.

"Yes, Jimmy?" He's holding in one hand your crayons he slowly tends your way, careful not to spill them all from his tiny fist. In the other one, there's a paper he's drawn on. Your eyes instinctively are driven to it, curious to see what he decided to draw when he felt comfortable enough to do it. He catches the line of your attention, evidently, and it takes him a second but then, finally, he decides you're allowed to see it. It's a too accurate copy of the ugly cat you made for him the other day. The colours are different, the traits a bit shakier yet, completely unbiasedly, you have to admit that he somehow made it look better. "That's a very pretty cat, Jimmy."

He looks at it, ruminates your words, trying to make sense of them, verify their accuracy. Suddenly he seems to decide that you're right and giving you another candid look, he returns to his table where he proceeds to carefully slip the drawing in his bag.

You realise your eyes are filled up with prickling tears while you sniff. You're not sure how much is due to this, how much the terrible, terrible encounter with his dad worked your emotions so intensely you're so sensitive now. In any case, it turns out for the better. It's this cute little cat that ends up making you and your day ahead feel better. You're so thankful for it.

Again, you know you're too involved but how are you supposed to do any different with them? Maybe it wasn't a punishment earlier. Maybe it was the storm before the ray of sunshine. It's probably the case. You're less aggravated, suddenly. Less vexed and probably more lenient on talking to this man again given, not the ray of sunshine, but actually rainbow that he may have helped cause to colour your day.

A/N: thanks for reading 💜

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #thekimlinenet #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #bts fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon scenario #namjoon fanfic #my writing

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fondnesses · 4 years ago

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roscoe’s notebook post

A while back I said I was going to write a post about the way I use notebooks for writing projects. This is the first of several posts about Writing Process I’ve been tossing around in my drafts for a little while as a result of conversations with friends, so bear with me.

I. Love. Notebooks. I genuinely would have to deeply overhaul my whole Process of writing anything on the longer side if I were to go paperless; I find physical paper pretty invaluable when I’m outlining, brainstorming, and researching, and I still probably write ¼-⅓ of all my actual content on paper first. (That proportion used to be a lot higher, but I’ve gotten better at being productive on a computer in recent years, which is great.) I’m a very visual person, so notebooks really help me visualize my ideas, story structure, etc. It’s very helpful to be able to use arrows and diagrams and physically strike things through, and the tactility is really soothing to me. If I show people my notebooks or talk about them, I often get a response like “this is so organized”, which is sort of true, but I have to stress that it’s “organization for a disorganized mind”; I can’t misplace ideas or notes if it all goes into the same physical object, vs. electronic notes, which are much more, like “Did I say that in a voice memo? PM it to myself on Discord? Leave it in a desktop sticky note? Write it directly into the Google Doc? Who knows! It’s lost to time!”. It’s very much an ADHD management strategy.

It helps that I’m a very neophyte stationery hobbyist and appreciate any excuse I have to use my pens, but I also will go off at any opportunity about how helpful I find them for writing projects, which is why I decided to just make a post about it. Right now I mostly use them for (fan and original) fiction projects, but I used a notebook for a very similar purpose when I was working on my undergrad thesis, and I have a slightly different but equally necessary-to-me approach to notebooks I use at work.

My typical structure for a notebook that’s devoted to one project only looks like this:

I always leave the first couple pages blank so I can go back and retroactively index bujo-style. I don’t always actually do the index, because sometimes I get too lazy, but I like having those blank pages there to give me the option. I also usually put epigraphs/inspo quotes on the first page.

After that, there’s often (but not always, I’ll talk about it) a couple pages at the start where I’m frantically jotting down loose brainstorming ideas before they've coagulated into a story structure. Just, like, vomiting into the void.

Stemming out of that, I usually write out about like 5-10 pages of outline-style notes in chronological order, laying out all the main story beats and charting out the story trajectory. This will inevitably get revised and rewritten many times, but I find the process of writing these wide-angle synopses really useful for dislodging ideas, making connections re: thematic threads, etc. from my brain.

I’ll devote a couple pages after that to specific things like "sex scene brainstorming", "random scene ideas/minor details that don't have a clear place in the outline right now but I'll turn to for inspo later" [this is what I refer to as “bits” in one of the later photos], "page where I just outline the Motifs And Themes", "research notes", "to-do list", "stuff to check on a second pass", "things to put in the a/n and AO3 tags", etc.--the specifics vary with the story.

Then, I skip ahead to approx. halfway through the notebook and cordon off the rest of the pages to be “free writing” space, AKA writing of actual content rather than planning, with the expectation there will be no internal organization and I’ll transcribe to laptop as I go. Writing on paper feels less binding than typing something on a computer; it’s like a little secret kept with myself, and it doesn’t need to go anywhere or be seen by anyone if I decide I don’t like it. Setting aside pages in the back half of the notebook means that, as more things come up re: planning, I can go back and add those in the rest of the pages that were intentionally left blank. This is how I avoid (for the most part) having the whole thing be a jumbled mess where there’s no separation between the notes and the actual story writing; I learned this the hard way via the first notebook I’ll show you in a second. I’ve recently gotten really into using Muji sticky note tabs to label any pages/sections of particular import that don't want to have to refer back to in the index and would rather just flip to instantly.

I do use notebooks that aren’t specific to any one project, but those are much less organized and less worth sharing.

Before I look at more recent stuff, here are some selections from my notebook for the project that got me into writing longfic, my Golden Kamuy canon divergence AU (with apologies for the bad photos, my phone’s camera is trash). I worked on this from Sept 2018-July 2019. It was a learning experience in a lot of ways, and notebook utilization was one of those. I’ve always used notebooks for keeping track of writing projects, as I said earlier, but before this it was largely without much organization or structure; just total chaos. Having a physical notebook became really important for this project because it was a sprawling multichapter story with rotating POVs and a lot of historical research. I also learned a lot about what not to do with a notebook, personally, or at least things that don’t work so well (for me). This was a college ruled spiral-bound Decomposition Book, for the record.

By the time I bought a notebook for it I already had a (very basic) plot outline in mind, so I wasn’t doing that very initial ground-zero brainstorming in here; I was copying out of my phone’s notes app, basically, and then going from there.

This is one of the first pages in this notebook; I wanted to visualize the relationship web between the four central characters in the story in terms of how they feel about one another. The two colours correspond to the POV characters (Sugimoto in orange, Ogata in pink), and I used this colour-coding throughout the notebook with highlighters, etc. to keep track of information that was more relevant to one character than the other. Tsurumi and Yuusaku aren’t POV characters, but they’re prominent in the story and their presence impacts the central relationship between Sugimoto and Ogata, and it was helpful to me to map out the emotional ecosystem, as it were.

(There are coffee stains all over this, because I wrote the vast majority of the story in coffee shops because I didn’t want to be around my roommates, lol. This is part of why I never do fiction writing in notebooks that are too nice, I get neurotic about needing to keep them tidy. I can’t use ones that are too shit though, either, so it’s a bit of a narrow window. I’ll talk more about brands and paper quality etc. later.)

As you can see, this is the first page of many I set aside specifically for jotting down different pieces of historical information relevant to my story. It’s about fictional characters who are members of an army division that existed in real life, and both the canon and my fic involve a high level of attention to detail with regards to which divisions were present for which battles, etc., as well as general historical details specific to the Russo-Japanese War setting--what did people eat in the trenches? What did they do to fill time? How did they get through the winter? What did third party observers have to say about the conditions? What were the specs of their weaponry (particularly important because one of the POV characters is a sniper and gun nut)? I did a lot of reading (and watching of antique gun collector Youtube videos... the things I do for love, eh), and it came in handy so many times, because it turns out it’s much easier to write trench warfare slice of life if you have factual details to pull from when you don’t know what to do with a scene! Imagine that!

This is the first of three “grid outlines” I made; this is a way I sometimes like to visualize a story outline all on one page, with the columns representing chapters and the squares within the columns representing sections/scenes within the chapters. As you can see, early on I was hoping to get this done in five or even FOUR chapters (whatmakesyouhaha.mp3), with POV switches happening internally within the chapters. This proved to be unwieldy for many reasons, so I revised the outline:

Here I’d come to terms with the fact this story was going to have a lot more chapters than I’d planned, and I rearranged things so that it would happen in ten, with each chapter belonging to only one POV character. This also needed revising later, and in the end the story looked a bit more like this (though it did in fact end up being twelve chapters, but only because Chapter Ten was like, 12k, and needed to be split in two chunks):

I must have remembered to bring my fineliners to the coffee shop this time, lol, because as you can see it’s properly colour-coded this time. This outline was made when I was already four posted chapters into the fic, which hopefully gives you a sense of the way in which I am sort of a planner and a pantser; I can’t get into a longer project without an outline, but the outline inevitably changes many times throughout writing and I often end up with a finished product that looks pretty different from what I was intending. My creative M.O. as always is Do The Maximum! Amount! Of! Work! Possible!

This is what a “free writing” page looks like, for me. In this notebook I didn’t set aside any specific spaces for free writing so it’s strewn throughout the notebook in a really disorganized way and I was constantly flipping through looking for bits I’d written and forgotten to transcribe, and I decided to be more organized in future as a result of that. If something’s crossed through, that means I transcribed it. As you can see, they’re often small sections, sometimes just a coupled decontextualized sentences. About 3/4 of what I write in a notebook makes it into the story, I’d say; some of it never goes anywhere, and that’s OK. I have less of an issue killing my darlings if they never make it off the paper page.

A very brief, top-down chapter outline, where the goal was not to get too bogged down in details and just to visualize the beats and pin down what they’re trying to accomplish. Chapters for this fic typically ran about 6k, and five or six scenes per chapter was pretty common, so the average scene length was about 1-1.25k words/scene. IDK why I called it storyboarding when I didn’t make drawings. (Margin numbers are to keep track of word count, since I was using a daily word count tracker while writing this.)

This page was, as titled, for keeping track of the various balls in the air when I was about 2/3-3/4 of the way through the story and really feeling the pressure with regards to tying up the various loose ends. This was... a struggle. I hadn’t ever written anything longish (this fic ended up just under 70k) that had an action plot before, let alone a canon divergence scenario where I had to engage with and explain away various canon plot elements so I could maintain the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

Now, I mentioned earlier that I learned various “things not to do” with my notebooks while working on that project. One of those lessons I learned is to be more realistic when assessing how big a project is likely to get, not least because I RAN OUT OF PAGES around the chapter 9-10 mark. In my defense though, that’s because I’d never written anything even half this long! But I know better now, and try not to be in denial. Finishing the notebook early was a way bigger problem than I’d anticipated, and was part of the reason the last few chapters took several grueling months to finish. The issue was that I needed to be able to use a notebook to maintain my workflow--attempting to do it only on a computer was dismal--but it seemed silly to start a notebook of a similar size to the one I’d finished (80pg, approximately B5 dimensions) when there was no way it would need that much space, especially since the reference pages, like the historical notes, didn’t need to be transcribed over. I was also pretty broke at the time and didn’t want to spend money unnecessarily, lol. I tried to get by using a Moleskine Cahier for a month or so because I had one lying around, but it was horrid; it was too small to be used comfortably, it wasn’t spiral-bound so it wouldn’t lay flat, the ghosting is terrible and I hate the way Moleskine paper feels, etc. Eventually I caved and went to Muji and bought a 30ish page A5 with closer to lay-flat binding, and I finished the story in there. I would take a comparative pic for you of the relative notebook sizes and include some of the scene staging diagrams, etc. I put in there, but I can’t find it :(

So I learned that specs really do matter, and it’s okay to be picky if the pickiness is going to make the difference between actually using a notebook or not. Things that are important to me in my notebooks:

Ruling (gotta have ruling, I can suffer through grid but blank or dot is a no-go)

Size (I can’t use anything smaller than at least a medium-large notebook, I find it claustrophobic and get miserly about page space)

Binding (twin ring is my preference because it looks and feels better than a classic spiral but has the same comfort of use with regards to bending the pages back to suit workspace size and laying flat with ease)

Paper quality and colour (I don’t like anything too slippery/smooth or with too much visible ghosting, and I strongly prefer an off-white paper to bleached paper--part of why I don’t use Decomposition Books anymore, the paper is scratchy and it’s too damn bleached!)

Pagecount relative to size of project

Portability (in non-COVID times; anything bigger than a B5 wouldn’t fit in the satchel I used to bring to work at my old job), etc.

But everyone’s taste is different in this respect, and the only way to figure out what works for you is through trial and error, I’m afraid. I also suspect I’m more neurotic and particular about the sensory experience of using a notebook than most people are, but I yam what I yam.

Now to talk about the notebooks for my current projects, where I’ve refined my approach somewhat. I’ve included less photos for these because they’re ongoing WIPs I don’t want to spoil completely, but I’ve tried to include some outline-type stuff to give you an idea.

My big bang fic is in the very ugly twin ring notebook on the right; I got it at a dollar store by my house because I needed something to work in and didn’t want to wait for an online order, but it’s been very serviceable for my needs. The paper isn’t even bad. The bigger notebook (B5) is my Sangcheng fic.

I wanted something with a lot of pages for this, because I knew it was going to be a long story, and for some reason the fact it’s smaller than my usual preference doesn’t bug me (I think it’s an A5?); it just fits this story, somehow. I’m not sure exactly how many sheets are in here but I’d guess about 150.

Because this notebook has upwards of 100 sheets, I made a lot of use of sticky-note tabs to label high-priority pages. The colour coding of these doesn’t mean anything, it was just whichever ones I had at hand at any given moment. These are those tabs from Muji I mentioned, I’m really obsessed with them--the shape makes them so much less obtrusive and more practical than conventional squares/rectangles OR flag shapes, IME.

My big bang story is nonlinear, so, similarly to what I did with colour coding for the two POVs for my GK fic, this story has two main colours corresponding to whether a given section takes place in the “before” or the “after” portions of the timeline, with blue as “after”, yellow as “before”. This is what the most current version of the outline looks like in there:

If you squint, you can see the alphanumeric notes in the top right of each section entry; I gave them each a code like “A3″ or “B5″ corresponding to their position in the story sequence (so, it goes A1, B1, A2, B2, etc., through to B9 and then the epilogue). [Unintentional that this schema overlaps with notebook size labeling and so is kind of confusing in the context of this post.] At first I was just keeping track of the sections via the highlighted titles, but it got confusing because I’d write down “Wedding” or “Yiling” in my notes and then refer to the notes later like “but there are multiple marriages?? and multiple scenes in Yiling??”. Stuff gets struck through with a straight line if it’s been written in a more-or-less complete form and crossed out with a squiggly line if it’s been cut from the outline or made redundant.

As I said earlier, I started out all the initial brainstorming for my Sangcheng fic in its notebook, instead of brainstorming it in someone’s DMs/my notes app/a voice memo/etc. and then transcribing it into the notebook in a somewhat more organized fashion, which is how my stories usually start out. Because of this, the first five-ish pages are basically just stream of consciousness rambling where I was trying to jot down every disconnected thought I had about the story concept. I don’t have photos for that because it’s too spoilerific for later developments in the fic, but I can show you some of the stages the outlines went through, once I was able to corral those initial notes into a story structure:

All the chapters in this fic have their own highlighter colour, so when I started trying to make sense of my initial brainstorm notes I just went through and highlighted stuff in the colour of the chapter it would make the most sense for, and then transcribed things more-or-less in chronological order into the relevant chapter outline. I later ended up rewriting all the chapter outlines AGAIN to refine them and divide them internally by the individual scenes, which makes them a lot more legible and less wall-of-text-y. They look like this now, with about four sheets per chapter:

Because this fic is on the longer side, I have some pages that are just for keeping track of other story elements, like this, where I refer back to whatever the fuck the “themes” are supposed to be whenever I forget what this fic is about:

It’s all about the visionboarding... Anyway, that’s most of what I have to offer, since most of these two notebooks is Forbidden Content.

With regards to brands/supplies, I really like this Kokuyo Campus Wide notebook that I’m writing Sangcheng in, it’s pretty perfect for me. I also like the B5 Muji twin rings, but those only come in 30 sheets, so I wouldn’t use it for anything above a ~20k project. The B5 Maruman Spiral Note 6.5mm ruled/80 sheet is another good one, though I wish it was twin ring instead of spiral. As you can tell, I like Japanese stationery brands because it’s easier to find decent paper quality and minimalist design without shelling out $$ than it is with American/European brands, at least IME. I like Rollbahns too. But honestly, I can usually find pretty serviceable random notebooks that aren’t brand-name from Asian dollar stores; it’s really not something where you need to shell out tons of money.

#notebooks #writing #idk how to tag this!

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saviorinsilk · 4 years ago

Text

Supreme 5, Y/N 3

Ship: Cordelia Goode x Female Reader

Words: 1 422

"You can't be serious," Cordelia said in awe, her jaw slacked into a surprised expression. You were sitting on the bed you and Cordelia shared, the softness of the cotton sheets against your bare legs feeling like heaven. You were in your floral nightgown, hair pulled up in a messy bun, glasses perched on the ends of your nose. It was well past midnight but it had been a long Friday night full of games and storytelling by the fireplace with all the girls in the house, which was definitely worth the late night. You and Cordelia had retired to your room a few hours ago, sharing a hot bubble bath before getting into your PJs and putting fresh sheets on the bed. Cordelia stood in front of you, running a comb through her wet tangly blond hair.

"Ah yes, I am. A baby sloth is definitely the epidemy of cuteness." You said, smiling at your wife. Cordelia shook her head, her glasses slipping down her nose a bit as she did. "First of all, look you at you using your big girl words," She teased, referring to the small vocabulary you usually had, "And second, there is no way that a baby Sloth is cuter than even an adult Armadillo." You scoffed, scooting up to the headboard as you slipped your legs under the light pink blanket. "Baby, did you hit your head or something? Because I don't think you understand what you're saying to me right now." You spoke in a voice you would use to talk to a young child, as you cross your arms. Cordelia rolled her eyes, setting the comb down on the bedside table. "Sloths are like giant, live stuffed animals. I mean those eyes?? They are so cute and round!" You gushed, hugging your arms to your chest and rocking back and forth slightly as if you were rocking a small sloth to sleep. Cordelia picked up her phone and began to google a picture of what she thought was the definition of cuteness. "Ya, not to mention those massive claws that could take your head off with one swing! Or the fact that they are so lazy! They don't move. They literally just hang there." She wined, climbing onto the bed next to you as you rolled your eyes and scoffed. You couldn't believe that the woman you married, the leader of your coven and the future mother of your children thought there was anything cuter than a sloth. It was a ludicrous idea. When Cordelia finally found a picture that she thought captured the right amount of cuteness, she scooted in front of you. You were distracted for a brief moment by her exposed thigh, were her cream nightgown had ridden up. Geeze! Not right now! You scolded yourself. There's no time for sex, we are at war! Cordelia held her phone screen close to your face, too close in fact, making you back up slightly, squinting at the bright screen in the dimly lit room, but Cordelia didn't even notice, her excitement over the tiny shelled creature too strong. You shrugged, which pissed her off even more. They were cute, but nothing compared to the beauty of those little beady-eyed potato sack babies you loved so much. "They look like mutated turtles. They are creepy, not cute." You said in disgust, hamming up your reaction since you knew it riled her up. "HOW DARE YOU!" She shouted, completely forgetting about the house full of witches that lay asleep around you, not to mention it would be the most appropriate thing imaginable if they were awoken because their Supreme was in a battle about baby animals. You exploded into laughter as she smacked you playfully, but roughy across the shoulder. You held your fingers up to your mouth, shhing her, which only got you another slap. "Geeze baby, don't be so rough! You're turning me on." You teasing in a sexy voice, a satisfied smirk taking over your face. Cordelia picked up her pillow and was about to ram it into your face when cursing sounded from outside your door. Without knocking Madison pushed the closed door open, her face unimpressed, reeking of annoyance. "Goddammit would you two shut up! Some of us are trying to get our beauty rest!" She groaned. There were whispers behind her and you didn't need to see into the hallway to know that Zoe, Queenie and Misty were all there as well. "Ask them what they are fighting about!" Misty's thick southern accent drawled, curiosity in her voice. Cordelia seemed unbothered by the fact that they had just barged into your room but you were too excited about the prospect of gaining others on your side to care either. "Guys come in here!" You called excitedly. As the four girls piled into your candle fill sanctuary, Cordelia straightened out her nightgown and readjusted her glasses. "Were you guys fighting over animals?" Zoe asked, a smile on her excited face. She wore small shorts and a tank top, the supers heat stopping her some wearing nothing more than that to bed. You nodded quickly and elbowed Cordelia in the side playfully. "Delia here thinks that a baby Armadillo is somehow cuter than a baby sloth." You couldn't even say the sentence without laughing. "No way! Sloths are way cuter!" Queenie squealed. She was too in her summer PJs, all the girls where. You raised your fists in the air in victory. "I have to go with Miss Cordelia on this actually," Misty said, glancing from me to her best friend. "That's just cause she's your best friend!" Zoe exclaimed, "Baby sloths have those big wet pink noses. I bet they a squishy too. I am so on your side Y/N" She said, sighing dreamily. Everyone turned their attention towards Madison, both you and Cordelia holding your breath to see which she would pick. Madison threw her hands up in defeat. "I'm so done with this. I vote twice for Armadillos, their skin is as hard as rocks, just like my heart. There. Cordelia wins. Woohoo. Now can you love birds please go to bed or make out or something? I don't care just as long you shut up so I can sleep." Madison said in the most unimpressed voice you had ever heard from her. She groaned as she stormed out of the room loudly. You sighed in defeat and face planted into the mattress, hiding your face in shame. Cordelia winked at the girls who remained and they made their way to the door. "Anyways, Madisons right. You two show make out or something, You're just too adorable together." Zoe practically sang as Queenie shoved her out into the hallway with laughter as she shut the door, leaving you two alone once more. A few moments passed and you felt Cordelia's fingers in your hair. "Fine. You won. Supreme 5, Y/N 3" You grumbled into the pillow, remembering exactly how many times she had won arguments. Cordelia chuckled softly as she ran her fingers through your hair. The middle-aged women leaned down and kissed your head that was still in the sheets. "You know, Zoe's right. We should probably make out or something because I think one argument you're definitely never going to win is the one where I say you are the cutest creature I have ever laid my eyes on." Cordelia whispered into your hair. You couldn't help be smile stupidly despite how much you wanted to pout. You lifted your face back up to the land of the living and flipped onto your back. Cordelia readjusted herself so that she was now hovering over you, her eyes filled with desire as she leaned down, kissing you gently but with the passion of a strong confident woman. You kissed her back, wrapping your arms around her neck, tying yourself to her warm body, in the hopes that you would never have to separate from her. "I don't know about that Delia. You're kinda the most beautiful Witch around." You teased, whispering against her plump lips. It didn't really matter who had come out on top that night, because no matter what animal you thought was cuter, what season was better or what colour better suited your bedroom walls, what you both could agree on 100% was that both of you were the luckiest women in the existence. You had each other and no one would ever argue the love you shared.

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#cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #ahs #ahs coven #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #american horror coven #fanfiction #ahs fanfic #american horror story fanfiction #lana write

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littlespoonevan · 5 years ago

Text

Indefinite Babysitting Duty

I just wanted ian and mickey to go to one of liam’s parent-teacher conference nights lol enjoy <333

If you’d asked Ian how he thought he would be spending his evenings now that he’s a married man, his answer would not have been at a Parents evening at the local elementary school. But here he is, Liam on one side of him, Mickey on the other with Franny on his hip as they wait for Liam’s teacher to finish up with some other kid’s parent.

Ian swallows down his nerves, thinking back over every time Fiona did this for each of them, the questions she used to ask, the stuff she’d write down that was important. Fuck, he doesn’t understand why Lip – who’s an actual parent – isn’t the one doing this. But Lip had pulled the baby card and Debbie had had to work late which had left Ian and Mickey as the only semi-functioning adults in Liam’s life.

And if Ian’s being honest, he’s sort of commandeered taking care of Liam the past couple of months, the only one besides Carl without his own kid and thus, the only one who could actually devote an appropriate amount of time to Liam. So it probably does make sense that he’s the one doing this but still.

“Man, will you stop freaking out?” Mickey says from beside him. “If anyone should be nervous it’s me. They probably still have pictures of me in the teachers’ lounge with the word, “Beware!” scrawled across it.”

Ian breathes out a laugh, feeling his shoulders drop and sliding an arm around Mickey’s waist. “I’m sure they’ll be awed by your redemption story,” he teases, kissing Mickey’s cheek just as the door to Liam’s classroom opens.

Ian starts, blinking at the parents that slip past them to move down the corridor. He turns to Liam then, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “You good to wait here for a few minutes?”

Liam nods, affable as ever. “Want me to watch Franny?”

“You kiddin’?” Mickey scoffs. “She’s our excuse to get outta there if your teacher’s being an asshole.”

“Ms Patterson is nice,” Liam says but Mickey makes a face like he doesn’t believe him.

“Come on,” Ian says, putting his hand on the small of Mickey’s back to guide him into the classroom. “We’ll be back soon, buddy.”

Liam waves them off and Ian forces his gaze away from the safety of his brother to the teacher waiting expectantly by her desk.

“Ms Patterson, hi,” he says, using the voice he normally reserves for his patients as he starts forward to shake her hand.

“Mr Gallagher,” she greets warmly, taking his hand. “I’d heard Fiona left town.”

Ian winces a little at that but nods. “Yeah uh- my husband and I are currently Liam’s primary caregivers.”

It’s true even if it’s not legally true.

“Congratulations,” she smiles, nodding at Ian’s ring before her gaze travels to Mickey. “Lisa Patterson,” she says, holding out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Mickey chews his lip like he’s unsure whether or not he should respond before he shifts Franny onto one arm and shakes her hand. “Mickey.”

“Milkovich?” she blurts out, sudden realisation colouring her face.

Mickey’s mouth twists and he nods shortly as Ian subtly attempts to ground him by squeezing his hip beneath his denim jacket.

“Well you’ve certainly um- grown up,” she stutters, looking flustered as her eyes dart between them. “Congratulations on your marriage!” She quickly clears her throat then, making a concerted effort to calm herself before she gestures toward her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

They sit down as she rounds the desk to her own chair and Ian allows himself a private smile in Mickey’s direction. As far as first impressions go, that could’ve been worse.

“Is um, is this your daughter?” Ms Patterson asks tentatively as she nods at Franny.

“No, that’s Debbie’s daughter,” Ian explains, glancing over fondly at Franny before he returns his gaze to the teacher. “We’re just on babysitting duty.”

Ms Patterson’s expression seems to relax at the apparent kindness in Ian’s voice and she nods, looking almost sentimental. “I still remember when you were all Liam’s age running around this place.”

“Bet you wish you could forget me,” Mickey says, snorting out a laugh, and Ian suppresses an eyeroll. The lengths his husband will go to goad people.

Ms Patterson only smiles at him though. “Well you seem to have grown up to be quite a fine young man in spite of that, Mr Milkovich.”

Ian bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide at that. The stint in prison notwithstanding she’s one hundred percent right and Ian will never get tired of seeing other people compliment Mickey.

Mickey squirms under the praise, looking from Franny to Ian to Ms Patterson before he hunches his shoulders and mutters out, “Can we talk about the kid now?”

“Of course,” Ms Patterson says with a knowing smile in Ian’s direction.

Ian bites back a laugh and waits for her to talk.

“Liam’s doing really well,” she says and Ian doesn’t know what he’d expected her to say but it still makes his stomach lurch to hear it.

“He is?” he asks, quiet and hopeful.

“He is,” she assures him. “Being completely honest, I was a little concerned for him at the start of the year when I heard Fiona had moved but he’s really come along in the past couple of months. He’s playing with more kids at lunch, participating in class more. He really seems more settled in himself.”

Ian feels himself deflate in his chair, relief flooding through him. Objectively, he’s known he hasn’t been doing a bad job with Liam but to actually get confirmation that everything is okay and not only that, but that Liam’s been improving since they started taking care of him? It’s more than he ever could’ve hoped for.

Ms Patterson starts going through each of Liam’s subjects in detail then, telling them what he’s doing well in and how he needs to improve and Ian is so glad he made Mickey come with him because he’s on way too much of a high to take in half of what she’s saying. But Mickey nods along the entire time, asking all the right questions when she makes suggestions on how to help Liam with his homework.

Before Ian knows it, the meeting is over and Ms Patterson is thanking them for coming and ushering them to the door. Mickey’s hand in his is the only thing that actually manages to snap Ian out of his racing thoughts and he just about remembers to thank her before he’s opening the classroom door to find Liam immediately bounding off his seat.

“What did she say?” he asks instantly, his normally cool demeanour cracking a little as he looks anxiously up at Ian.

Inexplicably, Ian feels tears burn behind his eyes just at the sight of his little brother. Crouching down, he meets Liam’s gaze with a reassuring smile before pulling him into a crushing hug. He can tell Liam doesn’t expect it because he takes a minute to react but when he does he hugs back tightly.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ian murmurs, giving him one last squeeze before releasing him. “She said you’re doing really good.”

Liam’s gaze shifts from Ian to Mickey as if looking for confirmation and Ian turns in time to see Mickey nod and hold out his fist. “You crushed it, man.”

Liam breaks out into a beaming grin as he fist bumps Mickey. “Seriously?”

“Hell yeah,” Mickey says, meeting Ian’s gaze with a smirk. “Your brother almost cried.”

“I had good reason,” Ian laughs before he nudges Liam. “Hey, wanna go out for dinner tonight? You can pick the restaurant.”

It’s the least Liam deserves for keeping his shit together in school while the rest of them muddled through the messes in their lives.

Liam seems to think about it for a minute before asking, “Can we go to Patsy’s?”

Mickey barks out a laugh. “Kid can go wherever he wants and he picks Patsy’s.”

Ian grins, standing up and putting a hand on Liam’s shoulder to guide him along as his other hand finds Mickey’s back. “Of course we can go to Patsy’s. I’ll text Carl, see if he wants to meet us there.”

Dinner is nice. It feels good to eat together as a family even if Lip and Debbie are missing. It’s been so long since any of them have eaten together – even he and Mickey don’t always get to have dinner together when their work shifts don’t align. But this feels good, feels like before. Ian’s always craved the comfort of his family unit even when he used to run from it. Now he never seems to be without it.

When they get back to the house Carl offers to put Franny to bed and Liam immediately plants himself in front of the TV, announcing he should get to watch what he wants since he got such a good report in school so Ian opts to head upstairs to change out of his good-impression clothes, Mickey following close at his heels.

Getting changed inevitably leads to them tangled on the bed, trading lazy kisses and letting their hands wander. They don’t let it go any further, not when the majority of the house is still awake and seem to have a sixth sense for walking in on them at the just the wrong time. So Ian contents himself with trailing his fingers through Mickey’s hair and letting their lips brush together one too many times.

Mickey pulls back some indeterminable time later, hand curved around Ian’s jaw as his thumb presses into the hollow of Ian’s cheek. “Hey,” he says softly. “You’re doin’ a good job.”

Ian’s brow furrows, a confused smile on his face and Mickey rolls his eyes. “With the kid,” he clarifies, sounding far too fond and doing things to Ian’s heart.

“I didn’t realise how nervous I was until she started talking,” Ian admits quietly, curling his fingers around Mickey’s wrist.

“Ian, you know what you’re doing,” Mickey tells him, sounding so, so sure. “You knew when you were seventeen and you know now. You literally take care of people for a living. You’re born for this shit.”

Ian’s heart stutters at the reference to before, to the tiny, makeshift family they’d tried to create all those years ago. They don’t talk about it all that much now but Ian still thinks of it a lot – the good parts at least. “Thanks,” he mumbles, eyes downcast as he feels his cheeks heat up. “You know I couldn’t do any of it without you?”

Mickey scoffs disbelievingly. “You could do this shit in your sleep.”

Ian shakes his head, shifting closer and burying his hand back in Mickey’s hair. “Do you know how much I’d second guess myself without you? How much I’d fuck up if I didn’t have you next to me helping me figure out the best thing to do?”

Mickey goes still, gaze softening, and Ian lets his mouth lift in a smile. “I might know how to take care of people but you’re the only one who’s ever known how to take care of me,” he murmurs. “So, no. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Mickey kisses him slow and sweet, pulling back after a moment and raising his eyebrows. “Guess I’m the one who deserves congratulatory sex tonight then, huh?”

Ian laughs, hand tightening in Mickey’s hair. “I mean it is what you deserve.”

Mickey smirks, self-satisfied, and draws Ian into another kiss as he drags his leg over Ian’s hip. It hardly lasts thirty seconds before Carl starts banging on the door.

“Ian! Franny won’t go to sleep.”

Ian sighs against Mickey’s mouth and rolls onto his back. Craning his neck to the side and meeting Mickey’s exasperated eyes, he says, “I’ll congratulate you in ten minutes.”

Mickey only smirks, pulling him in for one last kiss before letting Ian climb off the bed. “You better.”

Ian gives him one more lingering look and resolves himself to be back within eight minutes. Because this? This is exactly what he wants to be doing with his evenings as a married man.

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #liam gallagher #shameless #my fics

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years ago

Text

Ash The Ironbelly ~ KNJ [Request]

↱↱↱Word Count: 5.1k

↱↱↱Genre: Magical!AU, fluffy, crack? Tiny angst, platonic

↱↱↱Pairing: OT7 With Reader

↱↱↱A/n: Hope this is okay for you love! This was my first time writing something like this and I actually really enjoyed being able to ‘’create my own world’’ I guess I didn’t because I used a lot of harry potter references but I really enjoyed writing this

You took in a deep breath as you walked through the forest, taking in as much of the forest air into your lungs as you could manage. It was early feeding time which meant you'd just gone to feed the trolls and were heading down through the forest towards the lake where Jimin would be but you were walking slowly since the trolls and you occasionally looked after Hades whenever Tae wanted some help with the little guy. The morning dew on the grass kept leaking inside of your shoe but you didn't care, it made your morning walk extra refreshing and helped you wakeup a little bit more- as if you would need that after the 10-minute walk into the forest.

"Bert!" You cried out of excitement when you felt the oldest, and tallest troll of your bunch bend down and scoop you into his hand. He was sixteen feet tall and his hand was the size of boulders so you sat perfectly in the middle of his palm. He was nothing but a huge softy to everyone he met but because of his size everyone was terrified of him, so he moved out into the forest with his wife to get away from people.

"Wet." He grunted loudly as he carried you over to the lake, you smiled up at him running your hand along his skin as a thank you while you plunged into your pocket for earplugs so that the mermaids couldn't put you into a trance.

"Morning Bert has she got you moving her around, so lazy." Jimin teased smiling as Bert gently put you down by the river bank before disappearing back into the large green trees so he could go back to his wife Gertrude. They'd been together for as long as you and the rest of the boys had been living in this part of the woods, you and Namjoon had come together after finding secrets about the place. You wanted to study the creatures and help any of the sick and injured ones that you came across, the rest of the boys all agreed to help as well.

"How are they doing this morning?" You questioned Jimin who pointed at the rock that was always sitting half in and half out of the water, you stared at the mermaid that was laying there. She was beautiful and you were sure that somehow their siren calls didn't just end with their voices, their beauty could intoxicate people too. She was laid on the rock with her grey and blue trail trailing down by her side, her hair was brown and done in plats so it was easier to swim with. She span around to see you standing close to Jimin and she leered at you, diving into the water and swimming over to the riverbank to inspect you.

"Behave," Jimin warned her as she continued to leer at you from inside of the water, a lot more of them all coming to join in and watch you closely.

Jimin was in charge of the mermaids because he was the only one exempt to their siren song which sounded so sweet and irresistible when you first heard it but once you saw the effects it quickly lost its appeal. Especially when the grey tailed one almost dragged Jungkook under the river to drown him, the attraction was over but for some reason, none of it seemed to affect Jimin. You later found out through countless bits of research that it was because of Jimin's natural flirty tones, you just assumed he must have been part siren.

"Hows Gertrude doing?" You looked over at the trees and then sat down with Jimin on the riverbank looking at the water, it was foggy over the water but it still looked peaceful and beautiful.

"She's good, almost ready to blow bless her." You laughed softly thinking back to when you first had to look up Troll pregnancies, the woman in the market thought you were insane for doing what you did out here.

"I heard Namjoon went into town this morning," Your ears picked up at the sound of Namjoon leaving the hut you all lived in,

"Really? Like just got up and left?!" You stood up from the floor and brushed off the trousers you were wearing, Jimin started at you while nodding. It progressed, Namjoon hadn't left the hut since his phoenix had combusted into flames and not come back after the week of rest it was supposed to have. You'd read up that after one week if they didn't come back it was over and Namjoon hadn't taken it very well, he began locking himself up in his room not wanting to talk to anyone.

"Yeah, Jin said he saw him leaving when he went down to feed Buckbeak this morning." You nodded and looked over at the hut, Taehyung was just getting back from a walk with Hades, Yoongi and Kat so you were going to have to go and start breakfast.

"Extra bacon?" You questioned Jimin knowing what he was thinking already, he smirked and nodded watching you sprint off in the direction of the stone hut you all lived in.

"Who's a good boy? That's right, you're such a good boy aren't you?" You giggled in a tone that had the rest of the boys staring at you from around the kitchen table. They'd all come back from looking after their morning animals and you were fussing Hades, the Cerberus that you and Taehyung co-owned. You fed all three of his heads a raw steak before standing up on your feet and stroking the body. Three-headed pitbull stood at 6 inches tall and was huge but when you first got him he was only a little baby, so small and fluffy that you slept with him every night, despite Jin's claims that it would be bad for him,

'He's supposed to be like his ancestors.' His ancestors being the ones depicted on ancient Egypt vases and walls, or ones told in the stories of Greek gods.

"You pamper him too much," Jin said as he watched Hade's walk into your room of the hut and jump onto your bed getting ready to sleep away his morning walk.

"I do not, he deserves it." Yoongi stared at you then over at Kat, the Kitsune he was in charge of looking after. A nine-tailed fox which he insisted on everyone calling a Kitsune because of what locals had been turning nine-tailed foxes into online.

"Yoongi spoils Kat." You shot back and it sparked a debate between you all over the kitchen table.

"Is Namjoon still not back?" Hoseok asked later that night when he walked up to the door with Jungkook close behind him, you'd been sat on the doorstep for hours. Looking up at the pitch-black sky for a while, while you waited for Namjoon to come home but it was getting late and there was still no sign of him. Jungkook was sweating and covered in glitter so you assumed the Unicorn he had been looking after in the forest had just given birth, you grabbed him a beer from the basket you had on the doorstep beside you.

"Congratulations Granddad." You teased smirking as you grumbled about going for a shower and left the bottle of beer on the kitchen side.

"How are the jackalopes doing?" You questioned Hoseok who sat down beside you on the step, he was about to go into depth with what he'd been doing with them when you heard Namjoon's voice.

"You're up late." He sounded shocked to see you awake, probably because you were the first out of you all to head to bed and the first to wakeup.

"Colour me stupid but I was worried about you, where did you go?" He looked in his bag and you frowned wondering what he was doing when he told you to get everyone into the living room.

"What's this about?" You questioned but he ignored your questions and pushed through into the house without another word.

"Go wake Yoongi up and I'll get the rest of them." There was no way you were going to be in charge of ever waking Yoongi up,

"Hades, here." You tapped your hip and Hades followed you into the hut and jumped onto Taehyung's bed waking him up in an instant,

"Family meeting."

"What is it Namjoon? Why did you wake us all up for a family meeting, could it not have waited until tomorrow?" Jimin grumbled laying his head on Hade's back as Hade's slept on the back of the sofa.

"No, this is important. Look, Y/n...What do you remember about that old guy from the tavern?" Everyone stared at you waiting for answers and you shook your head while shrugging your shoulders,

"Not much, he was an old drunk that used to tell me tales about this old place." Before you all moved into the hut you were working in a small tavern in the village hearing all of the crazy stories. You knew of magic, and mystical creatures but you had no idea that they were so close by you could walk to them.

"Do you remember he told you about dragons?" Namjoon was sweating as he sat by the fire, his sachel held as close to it as it could get without catching and going up in flames.

"Yes and I also remember him telling me that this place was haunted...Namjoon dragons went out years ago, along with old ghost stories-" You slowed down to a stop when you saw Namjoon reaching into his bag to pull out a teal coloured scaled egg.

"Namjoon what is that?" Jin questioned leaning forward, reaching out his hand to touch it but Namjoon put it back into the sachel.

"A dragon egg." He answered proudly looking over at the boys who were all now suddenly wide awake and filled with questions about the dragon egg while you were too busy trying to remember where you'd put all of the books on them.

"Where did you get it?" Their voices began to drown out as you walked towards your room in the hut, Hades following close behind to watch what you were doing.

"Hold this," You whispered to him handing him the latch to the attic, he placed it down on the floor and watched closely as you scaled the wall and got into the attic with ease.

"Dragon eggs, dragon eggs," You repeated as you ran your hands over the stacks of books in the attic. You and Namjoon had put them all up there when you finally took over the animals that lived with you and didn't need them anymore.

"Got it, Hades!" The dog was standing to attention at the bottom of the attic drop and you passed down five different books to him.

"Take them to the boys." All three heads took a book each and you picked up the last two flicking through them to see if you could find any information on eggs.

"Keep them warm, we have to keep them hot. Body temperature is good too." You mumbled aloud to the boys as they watched you and Namjoon began to flick through the books in front of you both.

~22 Months later~

You were bouncing the egg from side to side in a baby sling that Jin had picked up from a flea market a couple of months ago. According to the book the egg should have hatched around the nine-month mark but yet here you were still holding an egg 22 months later.

"Like a baby elephant," Jimin said that morning before leaving to go down to the lake, Taehyung had taken overseeing to Bert for you while you and Namjoon stayed home to take care of the egg and Hades.

"Here, you look exhausted." Namjoon went to take the egg from your hands but it slipped falling and hitting the floor by Hades face, he sniffed it before looking up at you both.

"Are you fucking stupid?! Namjoon that's a fucking baby dragon and you just dropped it!" You screamed looking down at the egg and then back to Namjoon who was turning a bright red colour and clenching his jaw.

"It's a rock hard egg! I'm sure it's fine!" The tension was high in the air and you could have cut through it with a butterknife at this point. Namjoon and you had both been on edge for the last couple of months since the egg wasn't showing any signs of changing since it changed from it's teal colour to a dark blue one with red sparkles on every other scale.

"It's a baby dragon!" You screamed bending down to pick up the egg but noticing it was starting to wiggle around and a crack was forming around the top half of the egg.

"Namjoon! Namjoon!" You screamed as he stormed off into the kitchen to get the hot water bottles ready,

"It's happening! It's time!" You screeched, he came running into the room almost slipping on the rug as he came in and you, Namjoon and Hades all gathered around the egg waiting for it to hatch.

The door to the hut opened and Jimin's loud opera singing sounded through the hut,

"SHUT UP!" You both screamed in unison making him stare at you acting offended until he noticed you all huddled around the egg which was almost completely cracked in a circle.

"You're going to be parents." He joked looking at you while stroking Hades main head while staring at the egg and waiting for something to happen but, he was impatient and walked away the second nothing happened while he waited there.

"Namjoon." You moaned pushing his shoulder away from you, you'd taken the egg to bed and laid it between you so that if it hatched you'd hear him or her coming out of the egg to greet you but Namjoon was laid right next to you and the egg was smashed into tiny pieces.

"Namjoon!" You panicked pushing him off the bed to wake him up and he looked up at you rubbing his eyes,

"Where is he?!" Your voice was masked in panic while you looked around the room only spotting the golden dragon on the bed, laid asleep on the pillow between you and Namjoon.

"Awh, look..." You both slowly drew closer to the bed and sat down watching the tiny dragon sleep, he was around the size of a bearded sleeping with his wings spread on the pillow.

"So tiny," Namjoon whispered running the side of his pinky down the back of the dragon's back and smiling as the dragon woke up and tried to fly up onto his hand.

"Here little guy," You whispered picking him up in your hands and shifting so you were sitting in front of Namjoon with your legs crossed,

"Namjoon will hold you okay," Namjoon held out his hands and the dragon took a couple of steps before falling back down onto his front and curling up to sleep in Namjoon's palm.

"It's weird huh?" You whispered to Namjoon while nodding at the dragon,

"What?"

"All the books said he would be about the size of an infant but he's tiny." Namjoon hummed and laid back against the headboard of your bed. You sat beside him watching the dragon sleeping, it was letting out small puffs of smoke through his snot.

"I should take Hades out for his morning walk," You yawned looking over at the window to see the sun rising through the gaps in your blinds.

"What? No. What if he wakes up!?" You stared at Namjoon as you got up from the bed and shook your head at him promising him that he would be fine. All of the books said that baby dragons will eat scraps of meat and you had plenty in the fridge from what you fed Hades with.

"Come on boy," You clapped your leg and Hades followed you out of the room and into the kitchen where Jin was getting ready to leave and Jimin was drinking his first mug of coffee.

"Any sign of him yet?" You nodded over at your door and they all rushed inside to get a good look at the baby dragon while you took Hades out to see Bert and Gertrude, along with their baby.

"Hey! Hades found this really weird looking- what did I do?" You asked when you came back that morning to find all of them staring at you,

"You left! For three hours! What time do you even call this?!" Namjoon asked looking at the dragon which was sitting on Jin's shoulder,

"I call it 9 am, what do you call it?" You asked going over to the fridge and getting meat for Hades who looked unimpressed that you were both being stared at by all of the boys.

"You didn't even stay to come up with a name!?" Taehyung asked, you walked over to Jin and took the dragon from his shoulder holding him close to your face and giggling as he licked your nose.

"I thought we agreed if it was a boy he would be called Norbert and if it was a girl Norberta like in Harry Potter?" Namjoon scoffed pointing at the dragon and questioning if you really thought he looked like a Norbert,

"Nah maybe more like a Draco." You teased knowing that they all hated Draco in the films so they weren't going to call him after their most hated character - who happened to be your favourite.

"Hagrid?" Jimin suggested but none of them looked like what your dragon should have been named.

"I've got it!" Yoongi said as he looked over at you, the dragon was now crawling its way on top of your head and it sat in your hair.

"Ash." You stared at Namjoon who was thinking about it for a couple of minutes before he started nodding,

"It's cute,"

"And a pun...Yoongi I'm proud!" Jin yelled causing Yoongi to let out a groan of annoyance about how he'd made a pun when he really hadn't intended to in the first place.

"Ukrainian ironbelly," You mumbled tiredly as you walked out into the garden, Namjoon with sitting with Ash on the grass waiting for him to try and fly for the first time while you had been reading up on all the different breeds trying to nail down what he was.

"Ash, go on...go on." You clutched the book close to your chest to see Namjoon encouraging Ash to jump form the gate post he was on, Ash was the size of an infant now and was supposed to have learnt how to fly months ago but you figured he was a slow developer or a different breed of dragon.

"You think that's why he's a little on the slower side?" Namjoon whispered as if Ash could hear you and would get upset about it, you nodded slowly showing Namjoon the pages of the book.

"Ironbelly's are supposed to develop a little slower but once they reach-"

"Whoa." You sighed in agreement as you realised what photograph he'd just seen.

"Yep," Namjoon picked up the phone, the dragon shown was bigger than Bert and Gertrude put together and was supposed to grow as big as skyscrapers.

"Where did you get him, he's really rare Namjoon." You started scratching underneath his chin and he began blowing more and more smoke out of his nose until he started flapping his wings from excitement. The book Namjoon was holding dropped onto the grass as you both watched Ash with his eyes closed picking up into the air, it was just a little but enough that it could be considered flying. You hand pulled away and as soon as it did he dropped onto the fence post again and it was as if he was pouting at you both which made you giggle.

"Do you want a treat? Fly onto the floor and I'll give you an extra-large steak." Ash stared at you, then to Namjoon before flapping his wings and launching himself from the fence post flying a couple of metres before dropping onto the floor.

"He's a lot like you," Namjoon said wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walked into the hut together to get the steak.

"What do you mean?" You laughed, Ash made his way up the small step and stood in front of the fridge where he knew the meat was kept.

"Will do just about anything for food." You hit his chest with the fridge door and grabbed the steak, glancing out of your peripheral vision to see Hades slowly making his way over.

"Yes baby, you get one too." Namjoon got three more steaks out and you bent down to feed Ash who grabbed the meat and began trying to fly up onto the table so he could eat in peace away from the three-headed dog that demolished his within a matter of seconds.

Jin came in from looking after Buckbeak - the hippogriff- that you all kept and he was sweating and panting,

"You went past the lake again didn't you?"

"He did! Angel nearly had my eye out trying to jump up in the air for him!" Jimin screamed coming into the house covered in water, you giggled at the sight and pointed over at the table.

"Jungkook went into town and brought back food," Jimin grumbled something under his breath and walked away while Jin got himself a plate of food and sat between Yoongi and Tae who were discussing something about Kat.

"She's starting to pine for someone, she needs breeding but I don't know anyone with male foxes...do I just let her go to find one? She keeps trying to go for the mountains," You glanced over at Kat who was chained down to the floor, it seemed harsh at first but letting her out into the wild at night offered too many problems and he didn't want her to be hunted or lost.

"Maybe take her out in the morning and keep up with her." You suggested before shoving a bunch of noodles into your mouth and looking back down at the articles you'd found online about Ironbellies.

"What are you two going to do?" You swallowed the food and looked at Jungkook who had said it,

"Do about what?" Namjoon questioned putting down his book and looking at the youngest boy, Jungkook shrugged his shoulders and pointed at Ash who was curled up between you and Namjoon.

"We've all seen the photos, he's going to get too big to stay around here and then what are you going to do?"

"Keep him..." You said slowly as if there was any other option. He was like a son to you and Namjoon you weren't about to give him up.

"Pretty soon he won't be small enough to lay in the space between you at night." You looked down at Ash who began stretching and yawning, you knew they were right but you'd grown so accustomed to him sleeping between you and Namjoon it was going to be weird going back to just sleeping alone. Namjoon would go back to his room and you would just lay there alone all night.

"We can still keep him here though, we have a huge forest he can go to-"

"He won't be happy there, he needs to be with his own kind." Jin offered but you'd heard enough and got up from the sofa making a fast exit and locked yourself in your bedroom.

That night when Namjoon came into the room you laid awake while he and Ash slept soundly beside you, what the boys had said was sticking in your mind and it was making you want to cry. The thought alone of giving Ash up was breaking your heart, you didn't want to have to do that but you knew he was going to want to be with his own kind. Shifting over you looked at Namjoon as he snored silently, he was just as attached to Ash as you were since his phoniex was gone but you knew this was going to hurt him more when Ash went.

"Fuck." You whispered as you let tears roll down your cheeks and onto the bed, you sniffled before turning over and stared at the wall not wanting to think about it but it was all that clouded your mind. A fog over every thought about Ash and Namjoon, a fog so thick it was hard to see a future for you guys anymore.

Namjoon knew what you'd been doing all week and for the last six months. You'd done nothing but stay awake until unholy hours researching dragon trainers, dragon inn's and ringing up different places to discuss their treatments of the animals but nothing seemed as good as what you and Namjoon were able to offer but you knew you weren't going to find something like that.

"You got a place?" You nodded sliding the photographs of the sanctuary over to him and looking at Ash who was outside the front of the house asleep. He was huge now, about the size of a double-decker bus and it was scaring you how fast he was growing, it meant you only had little time left and all you wanted to do was spend time with him but you couldn't.

"It looks lovely and it's out in the desert, they have free range...He'll love it." Namjoon's voice croaked and you knew he was getting just as upset about this as you were, no one wanted to see Ash leave but it was one of those things that had to happen.

"They have a lot of Ironbellies there, they opened the place up to breed them so they could bring more back and study them because as you know...there isn't a lot on him or dragons in general." You both stared out of the window at Ash and you got up to go out and feed him while Namjoon flicked through the pages that you'd given him,

"Hey buddy," You whispered walking over to Ash who waited for you to get closer before bowing his head down and letting you hug him. He was so tame and used to you guys that it was like having a dog rather than a dragon. Namjoon cleared his throat trying not to cry and when he looked up he saw you hugging Ash, he smiled softly at the sight knowing that you'd all grown close to him and it was going to kill you all to give him up. Even Hades had grown to love him sleeping outside with him most nights or sharing meat with him, Namjoon sighed looking back at the photos and deciding it was the better option for everyone if Ash went away but he was going to check something first.

The dreaded day had come around far too soon for your liking, you'd laid outside with Namjoon and Ash all night to spend a final night together before he left with the trainers today, you looked at Ash who was snoring just like Namjoon only small flames were shooting out into the firepit beside you both. It had kept you warm all night but was starting to die out since the morning dew was hitting again.

"Coffee?" You glanced over to see Yoongi who was holding a mug and you got up from the floor and laid your blanket over Namjoon.

"Thanks." You whispered taking the cup and sipping from it, he watched you closely as you sat in the kitchen but in view of the window.

"They won't escape, you have to let go y/n." You knew he was right, he'd done the same with Kat and she came back. With 10 different little Kitsunes along with her but she came back.

"It just sucks," You whimpered rubbing your tears on your sleeve and then looking at Yoongi who was sighing, he'd never been good at the comforting thing so he just tried to reassure you by hugging you.

"He'll do better there," Again, you knew he was right but it didn't make the situation any easier to deal with, Namjoon started stirring in his sleep and you looked out of the window to see why. Dragons were incoming which meant the time was coming for Ash to leave.

"You just have a couple of forms to sign but once they're all done you're good to go Mr and Mrs Kim." You stared at the man in front of you and Namjoon informed him that you weren't together,

"Odd, usually people who raise dragons together are usually couples. My sincere apologies." Namjoon noticed you gazing out of the window and nudged for you to go,

"I've got this, go say goodbye." You sniffled and walked out of the hut going over to Ash who was being pampered by the other dragon keepers,

"Can I be alone with him for a minute?" They left without a word and you looked at Ash who stared back down at you with his jet black eyes.

"Hey buddy, you're erm...You're going to go away for a while okay," You reached your hand up to his face and he nestled into your touch making you let the tears fall from your eyes.

"They're really nice though, and you'll find a girlfriend or you know, a boyfriend in no time." You sighed leaning your forehead onto his and he nudged you so you would fall onto the floor at his feet and cuddle him. The way you had fallen asleep the night before.

"Y/n it's time." You got up from the floor and Namjoon held you close to his waist as you watched the trainers unhook Ash from his chain and add ropes so that they could ride him home, his new home.

"I meant what we discussed Namjoon, any time." Namjoon nodded and you both watched closely as Ash began to take off into the air flying further and further away until he was a dot in the sky. You sniffled and Namjoon rubbed your waist comfortingly.

"What did you discuss?" You whispered trying to get your mind off never seeing Ash again when Namjoon turned you to face him, he wiped the tears from your eyes.

"Ash can come and see us every three months and we're more than welcome to fly out and see him whenever we want." Your heart picked up at the thought and you threw your arms around Namjoon as you thought about going to see Ash when he was settled.

"We could go and see him when he's finally settled down and maybe has someone to mate with." You giggled excitedly and Namjoon watched you as you ran into the house to tell the rest of the boys the good news about Ash.

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @lyoongx @fan-ati--c @mitzwinchester @callingmyangel @rjsmochii @btsiguess-kpop @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie

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igirisuhito · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Your love is a fraction, and it’s not adding up Relationship: Kamukura Izuru/Matsuda Yasuke Rating: Mature Summary: Mundane tasks bore Kamukura Izuru. Incompetent children who don't know how to take care of themselves piss Matsuda Yasuke off, apparently. Trigger Warnings: Eating Disorders

[Ao3 Link]

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"How many days has it been this time?!"

The door slammed against the wall with a bang, and there stood a slightly out of breath Matsuda with a deep scowl on his face. His eyebrows were so furrowed that you could barely see that icy blue glare beneath them. If Kamukura's guess was correct (and it always was) he had just come out of his weekly check in with the steering committee.

"Please specify what it is you're asking." Kamukura spoke, his soft tone contrasting heavily against the booming voice that left the other boy.

Removing his hand from the door, Matsuda crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin up to the ceiling, flicking his hair back out of his eyes in the process as he looked down at Kamukura. "Don't act stupid, you know exactly what I'm asking about you fucking greasy troglodyte."

"I don't think the person keeping me here has the right to call me a troglodyte." Kamukura's eyes flickered down to the manga in his hands. "However, if you're inquiring how many days it has been since I refreshed myself, the answer is five, rounded down."

"Five days?” Matsuda snorted, “You’re shitting me, no wonder Kobayashi was so bitter. You know it's me who has to touch your disgusting self, right?"

Kamukura brought his hand to his mouth and quickly licked his thumb before turning the page with a loud flick. "I'm aware."

“You dick.” Unfolding his arms, Matsuda took a few long strides that made his sandals snap against the vinyl floor before snatching the manga from Kamukura’s hands. “Stop licking my manga, you’re disgusting. And stop being such a spoiled brat, it’s an unbecoming trait in troglodytes.”

“Again, I believe it’s--”

The manga was slapped hard against the top of Kamukura’s head, how unfortunate that he was reading an extended edition of Ponpon, because that one actually hurt a little. “I don’t give a shit about what you believe . Go wash up before I take away one of your five senses.”

Kamukura sniffed the air, staring at Matsuda’s crumpled Hope’s Peak shirt. There was a toothpaste stain just below his sternum.

A loud scoff left the older boy. “What? Are you pretending to cry? I already know you’re incapable of that you emotion deficient sack of--”

“How long has it been since you bathed?”

Twack. The book hit Kamukura’s cranium once again. “This isn’t about me, Kobayashi was complaining about you.”

Ah, Kamukura had hit his mark, perfect. “Perhaps I should start complaining to the Steering Committee that my doctor is unprofessional and fetid. Surely they would be willing to give me another who has higher standards for personal hygiene and knows how to wash his shirts.”

“I know how to wash my fucking shirts. I’m so sorry that I don’t have a personal maid waiting on hand and foot to do my laundry every single day.” Matsuda hissed, glancing down at himself and tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“You’ve been wearing the same toothpaste-stained shirt for three days now.” A slow blink passed as Kamukura looked up to meet Matsuda’s eyes. “I’m willing to speculate that you haven’t bathed for longer than that.”

“Yeah? And so fucking what, Sherlock?”

“You know I don’t understand your references to Western media…” Kamukura mumbled. “But my point is that your accusations hold no weight, for I will not bathe for a hypocrite who cannot uphold his own standards of cleanliness.”

A hand reached out, securing a fistful of ebony hair and tugging harshly in a way that forced Kamukura's head to jolt forward. “Actually, yes you will, because I am your supervisor and you will listen to what I tell you to do.”

For a second, Kamukura said nothing, turning over the possibilities in his mind. With an impatient sigh, Matsuda allowed him a second to process and gather his thoughts. Matsuda Yasuke may be an asshole, but he was sympathetic to the poor kid who he gave capabilities much too big for his brain to handle.

Only a little, though.

Once finding his words, Kamukura gave Matsuda another slow blink, seemingly unbothered by the hand in his hair. “I do not have to obey your demands, however, I am willing to yield if you admit to the fact you are a hypocrite.”

“That’s not happening. Come on.” With a sharp tug, Kamukura was yanked up to his feet, no pain showing on his face but it definitely hurt more than he would have liked. “The safest place to take you would probably be the communal baths in the old building, because you are not setting foot in my dorm.”

Kamukura followed obediently as Matsuda began to drag him along. “This is likely due to the fact it is as dirty as you are, am I correct?”

"Shut your filthy mouth."

At some point during their walk to the old building, Matsuda had politely let go of Kamukura's hair, probably out of laziness and a fear of being questioned by any passer-bys. It was dark outside, judging by the angle of the shadows and the height of the moon, Kamukura was able to determine the sun had only set an hour ago. There were few students wandering the campus, those who did notice Matsuda didn't seem to acknowledge Kamukura. As they shouldn't, after all, he was very good at hiding his presence.

Matsuda's face had an unhealthily pale glow in the moonlight. It reminded Kamukura a little of his own sun-deficient complexion. Those cheeks seemed to have thinned out significantly since they had first met, something that caused an unfamiliar sensation to swirl in Kamukura's chest, a sensation that weighed heavy on his jaw and heart.

"Did you eat dinner? It's not healthy to skip meals."

A soft "Huh?" left Matsuda's lips as he turned to the boy to his left, glancing down at him. "That's a stupid question for a troglodyte to ask. Shouldn’t a troglodyte such as yourself be able to at least ask me something interesting?"

Kamukura pursed his lips together, before separating them with a soft pop. "Being a troglodyte is unrelated to the question."

"So you admit that you're a troglodyte then?"

"I admit that you need a better insult."

Matsuda tipped his head back as a loud snort of laughter escaped him. Kamukura merely clenched his teeth more tightly. "You avoided the question."

Huffing, Matsuda pushed open the door to the old building, stepping inside and propping it open with his foot whilst he waited for Kamukura to follow. “Like I said, it’s a stupid question, why would I bother answering it?”.

“When placed in situations that are stressful, some people resort to binge eating, whilst others tend to eat less frequently.” Stepping into the building, Kamukura glanced around at the familiar sight of the lightly coloured halls. “This is because one who is stressed may desire to distract themselves, or be so troubled by their worries they no longer notice the signals their body is sending to the brain.”

“I went to fucking med school, I know this. Who’s dodging the question now huh?” Shoving his hands into his pockets, Matsuda stepped around the small seating area and turned right down the hall, heading in the direction of the old dorms and cafeteria.

“I’m expressing that you may be one of those people, Matsuda. You have lost a significant amount of weight in the last month.”

Matsuda rounded a corner, his pace quickened slightly. “I’m on a diet. I could afford to lose some weight.”

“But you are within the healthy weight range for your age? Even if you are leaning slightly towards the ‘overweight’ category, there’s no need for dieting.”

“See, you just admitted it, I could stand to lose a few kilograms.”

A soft inhale could be heard from Kamukura. “Is this why you haven’t been eating the snacks I give you?”

Finally, Matsuda stopped and glanced back at the other boy. There still was no emotion painted on Kamukura’s ever stoic face. Beautiful and apathetic, like a porcelain doll to be perched upon one’s collection. The thought made Matsuda’s throat tighten in an unpleasant way he refused to acknowledge.

“Yes. I haven’t been eating your snacks because I’m trying to lose weight.” He thread a hand into his hair with a sigh.

“I see. So why have you still been eating your own?”

Shck! Matsuda could hear the sound of Kamukura’s keen argument cutting through his flesh. Those burning scarlet eyes were digging into his soul, slender fingers reaching towards the truth of his lie. It was a nauseating sensation, one that could have been completely avoided by just telling the truth to begin with.

But Matsuda was in too deep, as was the case with most of the lies and secrets he had picked up since beginning his studies at Hope’s Peak Academy. It was a realisation that shook him to his core.

A slow blink, “Matsuda?”

He snapped back to reality. “Let’s just get you cleaned up you gross weirdo. I don’t think I can stand being in the presence of someone so smelly for much longer.

Kamukura opened his mouth to argue, but his hair suddenly being pulled in the direction of the bathrooms distracted him. He knew better than to question Matsuda’s motives, no amount of interrogation seemed to get anything out of him. Besides, he was sure whatever deep rooted issues Matsuda was hiding would bore him anyway.

With Matsuda’s arm parting the curtain, the two of them stepped into the change rooms. Within moments, Matsuda was already pulling off his tie and tossing it into one of the lockers.

“It seems like a worthless choice to leave this building still functioning.” As he shrugged off his jacket, Kamukura watched the other’s movements closely.

“Not really, I’m pretty sure there’s a few people still staying here and using the facilities for convenience sake." Those precise fingers undid a few buttons on his shirt. "Not students, though, teachers, personnel.”

“I see.” In a swift movement, Kamukura pulled off his tie and placed it into the locker beside Matsua’s along with his blazer. “You do realise we won’t have clean clothes to change into after this?”

“There’s a few spare uniforms in one of the lower lockers. I had someone bring some here after our last incident.” The inflection on the last word would have made most people feel somewhat guilty, but Kamukura didn’t care in the slightest.

Matsuda pulled his shirt off, exposing his bare chest to the open air. Kamukura’s eyes immediately darted to the small pouch of baby fat sitting on his stomach, he wasn’t as chubby as Kamukura recalled.

A flick against his forehead brought him back before he could get too deep in his thoughts. “Stop fucking ogling me and get undressed, creep. Or are you such a useless weirdo that you need me to help?”

Before Kamukura had a chance to answer the question, Matsuda had begun undoing the buttons of his shirt, starting from the collar. He went to reject the help, as he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, but something about the other boy being so close in his vicinity just made him close his mouth again.

Once all the buttons had been undone and Kamukura’s mouth was thoroughly dry for a reason he didn’t understand, he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and placed it with his other clothes. He realised he wasn’t getting any further assistance when Matsuda took a step back and kicked off his sandals, reminding Kamukura to slip off his own socks and shoes as well.

The click of unclasping metal seemed incredibly loud amongst the silence of the room, along with the following shuffle of Matsuda sliding his pants off his legs. As Kamukura began to unbuckle his own belt, he couldn’t help but glance at Matsuda’s underwear. Something deep within him was so curious about what Matsuda’s underwear looked like, and he didn’t quite understand what that was.

The answer was unsurprising. They were rather faded and thin, with an incredibly distracting striped pattern. Kamukura could see the globes of his ass through the fabric, which also meant they were much too thin.

He reverted his attention back to the task at hand, undoing the button and fly of his slacks before pulling them down and stepping out of them. He then hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers before tugging them down at well.

It didn’t feel too strange to be so exposed next to Matsuda, after all, he was frequently stripping down to his underwear for examinations. He would go naked had Matsuda not insisted on him not doing that. Kamukura could recall how he very clearly stated that he does not want to ‘see another man’s junk.’

Unfortunately it is inevitable that such an event will occur, especially if you’re often dragged into one of the science labs and forced to bathe under the cold water of the chemical rinse shower. Such a punishment would have taught most people a lesson about refusing to bathe, but not Kamukura.

“Oi, hurry up, I’m cold.” A harsh voice cut through Kamukura’s moment of recollection.

He turned to Matsuda just as he was closing the locker he shoved his underwear into. Matsuda had a pair of white towels in his hands, one extended towards Kamukura. Taking it with a steady hand, he then watched as Matsuda turned and headed into the men’s bathroom.

He's rather attractive from behind.

But like many other of his worthless observations, Kamukura shoved the thought into the deep recesses of his mind as he followed the boy closely behind.

The bath was rather humid, a thick layer of steam coating the room and leaving everything slightly damp and sheeny. The air was warm, implying that this place was used more recently than he had originally expected. “It appears you were correct.”

Matsuda tossed his towel onto one of the wooden seats near the corner of the room as he entered. Following suit, Kamukura dropped his towel there next to Matsuda's.

“Of course I’m fucking correct, I always am.” As Matsuda hissed, he pointed towards the row of showers and stools along the wall. “Sit down and I’ll wash your hair, it’s going to take too long to do yourself.”

“You understand that--” Before Kamukura could finish his sentence, a pair of hands slapped hard against his shoulders.

Matsuda spun him around and pushed him towards the showers, Kamukura walking along obediently. He didn’t speak a word as Matsuda forced him to sit down. “I understand that it’s difficult, Kamukura. You have a lot of fucking hair.”

He didn’t give Kamukura a chance to ask any more questions, as cold water was suddenly being blasted into his face from the shower head in Matsuda’s hand. He must have flinched, because Matsuda snorted and started cackling. “Oh the look on your face! So betrayed!”

Kamukura was certain his expression didn’t change, but Matsuda was acting strange. Like he was forcing a mood, deflecting, distracting Kamukura from his multitude of questions about the upkeep of his personal health.

Ah, he understood now.

He decided to play along. “To splash me with such cold water, how very cruel of you Matsuda Yasuke.”

Running the water onto his hand for a while, Matsuda allowed it to heat up and adjusted the temperature before bringing the stream of water back to his scalp. The warm water made Kamukura’s muscles feel as if they were turning to jello as a pleasant tingle creeped down his spine.

Lithe fingers threaded into the dark strands, spreading them in a way that allowed the water to completely rinse through. “Too hot?”

“Not at all, I prefer it hot.” Relaxing into the soothing touch, Kamukura allowed a soft sigh to pass his lips.

“Good, at least you’re not a complete freak. Still a little bit of human left in that big brain.” Matsuda tugged at a bit of hair, a small smile barely visible reflected in the mirror in front of him. It was a rare sight, he must be enjoying himself.

Kamukura considered returning the smile, but couldn’t quite bring himself to it, it felt wrong, foreign.

“You’re praising me for preferring hot water, yet I recite hundreds of digits of PI and you are not impressed.” He tilted his head slightly, allowing the warm water to trickle down his neck and onto his chest. “I do not understand, what is it about my intelligence that bothers you?”

“See, you’re asking stupid questions again.” The water was suddenly taken away, the tap switched off as Matsuda stepped forward to hang it back up. “Nothing about your intelligence ‘bothers me’ it’s just easier to fucking- to relate to you when you’re not whipping out a talent.”

He reached for a bottle of shampoo that had been left in a small tray on the floor, jumping when Kamukura spoke up again. “You would prefer if I was normal.”

Matsuda angrily snatched the bottle and uncapped the lid before tipping it upside down over the other boy’s head and squeezing hard.

“If that was the case, I never would have given you those stupid talents, would I?” His words were contradictory to his tone. And within them held a bitter truth Matsuda seemed to not want to be confronted with.

“You don’t understand your actions and resent yourself for it.”

“And you need to stop trying to psychoanalyse people. Nobody wants to talk to a weirdo who makes them uncomfortable.”

Once Matsuda has squeezed out the entirety of the bottle’s contents, he tossed it aside and began to lather up his hair, bringing the ends up and wrapping it in a soapy mess on top of his head. He was rather rough in his technique, but Kamukura didn’t mind.

Deciding to keep his mouth shut, he hummed softly in contentment. Trying to get anything out of Matsuda always proved difficult; he was stubborn. For a guy with such a deep interest in neurology you would think he’d be able to acknowledge his own psychological issues. It was just another one of Matsuda’s many self-destructive personality traits.

A strong tug on his hair perked Kamukura’s attention. “Oi, stop watching me like that. You’re going to get it in your eyes.”

He made a soft noise in response, allowing his eyelids to settle over his eyes. With one less sense active, Kamukura found himself melting into the sensation of blunt nails scraping along his scalp and massaging gently, almost as if they were seeking out something.

Slender fingers rubbed soothingly over the bumpy scars lining Kamukura's scalp, coaxing a soft huff of satisfaction from the boy beneath him. Matsuda made a noise like he was about to comment, but merely sighed instead. “Put your head down so I can get the hair at the back.”

Carefully, Kamukura craned his neck forward, uncovering his nape even further. It was an incredibly vulnerable position; completely naked with his eyes closed and neck exposed, yet he couldn’t find himself feeling worried. If Matsuda did have any intentions of killing him, he probably wouldn't mind dying by his hand anyway.

Matsuda's fingers threaded into the sensitive hair resting at the back of his neck, eliciting a shudder from Kamukura. He worked the shampoo into the knotted hair, grumbling softly as his fingers got caught multiple times.

“You really should try to brush this mess more often you know. If you just took better care I wouldn’t have to deal with it when it gets this bad.” A soft hiss could be heard as he yanked at some more strands, however, the sound hadn’t come from Kamukura. “It’s like you enjoy making my life a living hell.”

“That is not the case. Brushing my hair is a mundane task with little reward, I do not enjoy it.” Kamukura explained.

“Yeah, and neither do I.” A loud groan left Matsuda as he contemplated the best way to clarify things. “Most things involving general upkeep are mundane, but you still have to do them you spoiled brat.”

Those comforting hands left Kamukura’s hair and he found himself instantly missing the sensation. Leaning over his shoulder, Matsuda reached for the shower head once again and turned on the tap.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

A torrent of warm water hit Kamukura’s face, rinsing the shampoo from his bangs. He pursed his lips together and squeezed his eyes closed a little tighter to keep the soap out. Matsuda stroked through the wet strands to ensure they had been thoroughly rinsed, an uncharacteristically soft sigh escaping from him into the tense air.

When Matsuda moved to working on the back of his hair. Kamukura spoke up. “Something is on your mind.”

“Get out of my head freak.” That scathing tone quickly returned. “You just look weird like this, like a drowned rat.”

“Ah, I see. This amuses you?”

Another sharp tug on his hair. “No, brat. It annoys me how much of a child you are, completely incompetent. You know I don’t enjoy cleaning up your fucking mess.”

Grumbling something that sounded an awful lot like, “Dumbass.” Matsuda stood up again and turned the water off. “You can finish washing yourself, learn to be more responsible.”

Kamukura nodded. “Thank you, Matsuda.”

With a final sigh, Matsuda sat down in the stool to his right and reached for another bottle. Kamukura turned back to the dish in front of him, picking up the bottle of liquid soap before uncapping the lid and pouring some into his hand. He lathered it up between his hands to bring it to a light foam before beginning to scrub at his skin, starting with his arms.

Beside him, Matsuda was working shampoo into his roots. It was rather odd to see him with his bangs slicked back, exposing his forehead and thick eyebrows. He couldn’t help but admire how nice of a look it was on Matsuda, to have his face exposed to the light for once instead of hidden beneath dark bangs and poor basement lighting.

He really was as pretty as the reserve course girls rumoured him to be.

Turning back to what he was doing, Kamukura focused on the sensation of soap rubbing away the thin layer of grime that was clinging to his skin. As much as he refused to bathe, he truly did understand why people did it. It’s refreshing, makes one healthier, relieves feelings of fatigue. What he didn’t understand was why it seemed so difficult to motivate himself to engage in a task that rewarded him greatly.

It was strange. If someone desires to do something, they should do it, correct? Yet he had no desires.

They had been surgically removed by Matsuda’s precise hand.

Was his lack of proper hygiene habits only skin deep? Was there truly any point in analysing and fussing over it?

But, there was always that small chance, the chance that it was something more. Perhaps was there even something wrong with his brai--?

“Are you done? Or you can’t even do this?” Leaning his hands onto his knees, Matsuda pushed himself up from the stool and turned to Kamukura.

Ah, he had spaced out yet again.

With a nod, Kamukura reached for the shower head and began to rinse the soap from his body, avoiding Matsuda’s steely gaze all the while.

Once clean, he hung the shower head back up and looked to the other boy, eyes instantly wandering downwards in a moment of distraction. Huh.

“It’s smaller than average.”

Matsuda blinked hard a few times, processing the words. His face twisted into a scowl and his cheeks quickly flushed with a bright red colour as he followed Kamukura’s gaze, “What?!”

“Ah." He pulled his eyes back up. "Nevermind. It’s unimportant.”

With a huff, Matsuda turned on his heel and made his way over to the large bath. The other boy followed at a short distance, careful not to slip on the tiled floor that had been coated with a thin layer of condensation.

Once he reached the bath, Matsuda leaned down and sat on the wooden edge that rimmed it. He dangled his legs into the warm water, a rather gentle smile perking on those thin lips at the sensation.

“Oi, weirdo, get in.” He waved a hand, beckoning the other to join him.

Obeying, Kamukura sat himself down next to Matsuda. He then pressed his palms into the polished wood and shifted his weight, slowly lowering himself into the hot water. The water was a perfect temperature, and he couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh of pleasure as his torso became submerged in a blissful heat.

“It’s good, huh?” A soft chuckle escaped Matsuda, “Why would you ever deprive yourself of this?”

“Hmmmmm, I don’t know.” Closing his eyes, Kamukura sunk further into the water until it rose up past his lips and sat just beneath his nose, nearly impeding his breathing.

Matsuda slipped himself into the water beside Kamukura with a smirk. “Oh? So Mayor Dumbass of 'I Was Wrong To Not Listen To Matsuda' -ville admits he's at fault? You mean to tell me he isn’t a perfect being? Shocking."

Shaking his head, Kamukura pushed himself up out of the water a little. “No, I am a perfect being.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Matsuda raised his arms over his head. He groaned audibly as he stretched the muscles and tried to work the tension from his shoulders.

Keeping the other in sight, Kamukura sunk back into the heated water, reveling in the feeling of being surrounded by such pleasant warmth. It made his skin tingle and his limbs feel like they were floating, much like his hair beside his face.

Moving through the water, he eventually came up the wall of the bath and leaned his back against it, allowing his eyelids to flutter close before taking a deep and relaxed breath.

With the environment being so calm, it felt as if his brain was finally beginning to slow down. Concerns about Matsuda’s wellbeing, anxieties of the past, confusions of the present; they all melted away into the muggy atmosphere, leaving his head filled with nothing but a pleasant foggy sensation. It reminded him too much of the drug induced haze that was settled over his mind for the first few days after his birth.

“Matsudaaaa.” His weak attempt to whine came out more like a monotone groan. “I think I might fall asleep here.”

“Don't be a moron.” Matsuda splashed a bit of water in Kamukura’s direction, smirking when it hit his cheeks. “I’m not going to save you if you drown in the bath. You're on your own this time."

“Mm…” With a soft nod, Kamukura submerged the lower part of his face again, indicating he was tired of talking. The pleasant warmth kissed at his lips, a sensual feeling that made every bone in his body soften beneath its touch.

He felt as if he were floating endlessly through space.

Logically, he wasn’t, it was merely the buoyancy of the water giving that illusion of sensory deprivation. But that didn’t matter, all that mattered was the enticing pitch black void beginning to swallow him whole.

Kamukura let go.

“Oi, troglodyte…”

“Kamukura?”

“Izuru-! What did I say?!”

#Danganronpa 0 #Danganronpa #Matsuda Yasuke #Kamukura Izuru #Matsukamu #Ficgiri

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harcourtholmesii · 4 years ago

Text

Unintended Purpose (Part II)

Pairings: As Of Yet; Unknown

Warnings: - Swearing - Slavery (Whether Characters Realise It Or Not) - Mentions of Violence

Words: 2110

Enjoy!

The ride to breakfast was a strange one. ‘Connor’ had taken a seat in front, staring ahead and with back ramrod straight. Hank had been worried the thing had broken the moment they had entered the car, but he was relieved to see it turn its head as he switched on his music.

In the backseat, Cole was excitedly asking about what working as a police officer was like, and even if the android was about to answer, Cole was quick to ask something else. Hank watched the android with some suspicion, a little frustrated that it had not even attempted to answer Cole’s questions or humour the kid even a little. He had to keep reminding himself that this was not your standard model. Fucking thing probably didn’t understand the concept of ‘small talk’.

Hank pulled up to Chicken Feed, Cole dashing out of the car with a wave at ‘Connor’, barely waiting for Hank to stretch his legs. He turned, opening his mouth to order the android to stay behind, but decided against it when the damned thing didn’t even turn its head to acknowledge him. It reminded him of some pompous blue blood from the higher ranks in the force; some cock-sure asshole who ordered officers around from the safety of his desk.

He met Cole by the food truck, lifting him up so that he might have a proper view of the menu. Gary was a close acquaintance, always willing to shirk some dollars off the bill in return for Hank not taking him in. Not that Hank would. The Chicken Feed truck served only the best burgers in Detroit, and he wasn’t going to let the police force take it away.

With their food in greasy paper bags, Cole and Hank returned to the car. And to ‘Connor’. It confused Hank why, of all times, did the android wait until they had left to turn its head and acknowledge them. Warm, brown eyes peered at the bags in their hands, and for a moment, the LED blinked a bright yellow.

As they took a seat in the car, ‘Connor’ finally spoke.

‘Lieutenant.’ Hank nearly jumped in his seat, glaring at the android beside him. How the fuck did he know about his rank? ‘I would not recommend eating what food you have purchased. The food has been prepared in an unsanitary environment, as the owner, Gary Keyes, has a criminal record of violating hygiene regulations.’

Hank just stared.

Cole just gaped.

‘The food may not be toxic to the human body, but the calories are twice the amount recommended for a man of your age, and may cause indigestion for Cole Anderson. I understand that you have a history of minor egg allergy, suggesting that you may have passed the condition onto your son. The condiment, mayonnaise, has egg as its base ingredient, and may cause illness if either of you should ingest it.��

‘Connor’ reached across and grabbed the paper bags from Hank’s hands, the man too stunned to say anything. The android returned them just as quickly, running leftover grease from the bags between his fingers and licking it from his synthetic skin. Hank felt a little sick.

‘It appears that Gary Keyes had been drinking before-hand. He has also left traces of blood in the grease from an open wound, presumably from a cut on his hands.’ The android’s mouth snapped shut, as it tilted its head to look at Hank, almost innocently. ‘Perhaps you should arrest Gary Keyes, as he is still operating the establishment without a license.’

Silence.

The android returned to peering straight ahead, Hank just completely astounded by what he had heard. Yes, he was familiar with the conditions the Chicken Feed worked with, but he never knew so much detail. In fact, he still didn’t understand how the Hell this fucking android knew half of what he did. He shouldn’t have access to those kind of files.

Cole was suddenly pushing himself half into the front seat, babbling on at a hundred miles a minute.

‘How did you do that?! That was so cool! How did you know my dad works with the police?! Did you work with him?! Can you tell me about the criminals you busted?! Did you use a gun?! Can you do that again?! What do you know about me?! What do you know about Dad?!’

‘Cole!’

Hank felt a little guilty when Cole shut his mouth, and slowly slipped back into the backseat. Hank would apologise later, but he just wanted to get the android’s attention and work out what the fuck had just happened.

‘Hey!’ No answer.

‘Connor!’ Those eyes turned onto him. They seemed so emotionless; cold. It unnerved Hank. He didn’t trust this thing. Not even a little bit, and normally Hank’s gut was pretty good to trust. ‘What the Hell did you just do?’

‘Are you referring to what I said, lieutenant?’

‘What else?’ The android tilted its head once more, seemingly confused by the response. ‘Yeah, what you said. What was that?’

‘I simply relayed to you the details of what I scanned of the premises and the staff. It is my duty as your assisting android to aid you in what ways I can; including preventing you from causing potential harm to yourself and your son, or potential endangerment of your career.’

Hank couldn’t believe this. This fucking robot thought that a couple of burgers were practically poison and that ignoring this one man was going to get him fired from his job? That was rather insulting. Hank may no longer have been as popular or as young as he used to be; he had gotten a bit lazy as to who he would bother to bring in, but that didn’t mean he was about to get fired over something minor.

‘Do you scan everyone you see?’

‘Of course. If there is the potential that someone is a threat to you or your son, lieutenant, I must be ready to act. If I fail to search for threats and you are placed into danger, I will have failed my purpose, once again.’

Hank had forgotten about that. If the thing was human, he wouldn’t have been surprised if failure scared it. A human failing once was not often the end of the world. Normally it meant something minor, such as answering a question on a test incorrectly, or mistaking how many steps in an apartment stairwell, causing them to trip. But for an android, failure often meant deactivation, and being torn down for parts.

‘Can you scan me?’ Cole asked, peering up at ‘Connor’.

‘I already have. If you wish me to relay to you what data I found; you are nursing a slight limp in your left leg. Still recovering from a minor shock and minding what pain is there. Perhaps you tripped. Your hands have traces of isopropyl alcohol, and minor stains to your fingernails would suggest you were using a colouring book, specifically, a paper-back book. Fine hairs on your clothes, primarily white, bare the DNA samples of a St Bernard, and from the wear on your trousers, one that is small and excitable. A puppy.’

Holy shit.

‘I am correct?’ It sounded more like a statement than a question, but Hank nodded slowly all the same. Instead of bursting into another round of uncontrollable questions, Cole simply sat there, mouth agape as Hank pulled off the curb.

The drive was a slow one, almost drawn out by the silence in the vehicle. Hank really wasn’t sure what to think. On the one hand, this android was far more advanced than the ones that worked at the precinct; able to gather such in-depth information with a single glance. It was beyond impressive, and Hank would have given most anything to have that power.

On the other hand, he was pissed. The android hadn’t spoken a word since he introduced himself and then he was suddenly telling Hank that he was putting his son in danger?! Well, whilst it had not been specifically stated, it seemed implied. Could androids even imply things? Either way, Hank wasn’t sure how he felt about an android being able to ‘scan’ Cole or himself.

When they finally pulled onto Michigan Drive and then up the driveway, Cole rushed out of the car and practically pulled Connor out with him. Silence broken, he started babbling like mad about how ‘mom’s gonna love you’. Hank doubted it.

Entering into the house, Hank was thankful for the smell of crispy bacon and the sweeter scent of pancakes. He hurriedly tossed out the paper bags full of burgers, and let Cole run over to the kitchen to greet Renee. Cole practically dragged her out by the hem of her skirt, until she was facing Hank. And ‘Connor’.

‘H-Hank…’ Oh, fuck. He knew that tone. It was one of some disappointment. ‘W-What’s this?’ She crossed her arms, indignant at the sight of their new android. Before Hank could answer, ‘Connor’ had stepped forward.

‘Renee Anderson née Tuppens. I’m the RK800 android as made by CyberLife. Intended purpose; a failure. New purpose; home assistance. May my work be satisfactory to you.’

One dark brow arched, red lips pursing as she all but glared at ‘Connor’. Her lips stretched to accommodate a strained smile as she gestured Cole to the kitchen table and then took a step forward, around ‘Connor’ and over to Hank.

‘It’s ‘intended purpose’? And what exactly was that?’ Hank should have known she would latch onto that. It was why he had hoped to speak first. Perhaps, knowing from him that the android was once a police detective, she would have considered it another layer of protection, or some shit. But then the idiot bucket of bolts had to open its mouth.

‘It… It was a police android.’

‘A police detective; a prototype for the new RK900 models due for release in December.’

‘Oh?’ Renee turned her angered gaze onto ‘Connor’, and Hank cringed for him. ‘And, how exactly did you fail your original purpose?’

Hank, admittedly, was just as curious. But he didn’t want it to become another argument between himself and Renee. The last thing he wanted was for her to stress for Cole’s safety because the android had failed some multiple choice quiz.

Both pairs of eyes on ‘Connor’ took notice of how the LED ring lit up almost immediately neon yellow, and then briefly flashed red. Hank knew that was never a good sign. He raised one hand to rest it on Renee’s arm as if to pull her behind him. Of course, she just shrugged it off, too pissed to care.

Sumo, though excited to greet them at first, had slunk away, and was hiding beneath the kitchen table and Cole’s dangling feet. Cole was watching the confrontation, mouth half stuffed with pancakes looking between the three of them.

‘How did you fail your original programming?’ Hank asked, resting one hand over his jacket where his holster would have been.

A moment of silence.

‘It was my first mission; I was supposed to capture a deviant android for questioning and eventual deactivation.’ Hank knew about deviants; very few people didn’t. Androids that ‘broke the bonds of their masters’, or just ‘completely snapped’. Most deviants turned violent, triggered by something that would be traumatic for a human, and sometimes killed their owners.

‘I found them. However, I made a mistake when I confronted them.’ Deviants were often unpredictable, and had the power to turn the tables of a confrontation or the ability to blend in once the LED was removed. Perhaps, an android that was not turned deviant would struggle to predict most courses of action, even one as advanced as ‘Connor’.

‘There had been a human officer that was injured in the crossfire. Though the deviants were incapacitated and eventually destroyed, it was determined that it was a miscalculation on my part.’ Hank didn’t like where this was going. Suddenly, Renee was clinging tightly to his arm, when before she had been so willing to ignore it.

‘I had shot him in the shoulder. He was in critical condition when they shut me down to be wiped of my programming.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘I do not know if I killed him. But I did cause him damage, and as an android, I was fortunate not to be scrapped immediately.’

The LED was bright red.

‘Thank you for allowing me into your home.’ By the way Renee’s fingers tightened, and how her nails dug into his skin even through the jacket, Hank knew he had fucked up.

#DBH #Detroit: Become Human #RK800 #RK800 Connor #Hank Anderson #Cole Anderson #Fanfic #Fanfiction #HarcourtHolmesII

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taptroupe · 4 years ago

Text

finally we are here. EVERGRACE CHAPTER 10 PART 3 LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO but this time it’s actually serious

youtube

i even made an animated visual this time!

but this kinda spoils the later part of the chapter so please enjoy it once you reach the part in my tumblr post. thank you. also warning this is pretty fucked up and violent and has slight implications of asphyxiation maybe

“So, Morpheus is up there, right?”

“Yes. We’ll be taking a gondola from near here, and then climb a stairway to get to him.”

“Guess it would be tiring to walk the whole way.”

“[something someting] it’s a normal stairway, but it goes up this hollowed out tower, and many parts of this tower are still untouched [think this was mentioned over in the second part in fact]”

“And Morpheus is at the very top?”

“Yes.”

“Man, he must really enjoy that God complex.”

“I’m not sure about that... The Tower’s peak is the closest to the outside world, after all. The Cycle...”

As soon as the word “Cycle” left her mouth, she gasped and looked at Darius.

[...or did Darius gasp, leading to Medina to stare at him?]

“If he were to free this world, captured by the Cycle... That’s certainly a fitting place to do it, wouldn’t it?”

“Are you saying my country’s been caught up by this Cycle?” of course orlaidnfids is saying this bit

“That’s what I remember hearing, but... I’m not sure of myself.”

wellll once they got down the stairs they saw the funny looking pillars of the soaring tower. you know the ones you brute force the fuck out of lol i sure did

As they descended to the end of the stairway, they came across some strange pillars. The four evenly spaced round pillars were of white, red, green, and blue. And at the wall nearby was a door that certainly wouldn’t be opened by hand.

“if it hasn’t changed, then this should work...”

Medina stood near the colourless pillar, and like she had hit the leaf relief, fired palmira actions at the coloured pillars from her arm. [must be her alcrest powers]

Red fire Palmira. Green leaf palmira. Blue Ice Palmira.

Then all the lights turned off, including the colourless pillar. And once more, Medina launched leaf palmira at the green pillar, turning it on again. And the colourless pillar turned green toooooooooo........ AND THE DOOR OPENED WOW EVERGRACE WIKI GET YOUR WALKTRHOUGHS HERE LOL

“alright everyone get in and ride this bad boy”

medina ushered the two guys into the small room that opened up. there was a lever near the wall and she activated it, closing the door. with a small bump, the lights in the room dimmed, and started to move or something

“So this is... A gondola, huh?”

Darius asked without a shred of ill will, as he looked around the room. Medina couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

“First time?”

“Not like that, but I mean... Rieubane is pretty amazing. We haven’t reached this kind of technology in the time period where I come from.”

“Time period?” orlainde and Medina both ask.

“Right, in the place where I come from... Rieubane’s already been destroyed for 100 years now. How I’m here, how this can all still be here... I don’t really understand it.”

“Ah, Sharline did talk about the Darius who was a young boy... Perhaps time’s been shifted between the outside and in here.”

Medina continued on.

“In this closed country, perhaps we’ve been left behind by the passage of time.”

“It’s been a year since that incident that our country was blocked off, right? And you said that it’s been a hundred years out here... So perhaps, a day here equals 100 days outside.”

oralindade did the math. I did the math. This is his math. could it be? 100 days outside means 1 day inside?

if sharline and darius are separated by 13 years, then... that is 4745 days outside, but converted into rieubane days that’s like, almost 50 days! but didn’t the others say sharline was only there a few days ago?! not over a month...?!

“What did you say?! Wait, my friends... No, the starving villages and cities...!”

“Hey, hey, it’s just something I thought up! It’s just a guess.... Gah!”

The gondola stopped with a sudden, loud noise. The three were probably knocked to the ground, and Medina looked at the gondola with a worrying glance.

“This is the first time this has happened...”

Medina pulled the lever and opened the door to a dark room.

“looks like the plans have changed. it seems to have stopped lower than usual.”

“So, we can’t go up?”

“No, this is the highest point. We’ll walk from here.”

[i wonder what she meant by that? is this the appropriate destination? probably the “first time” bit was how it stopped suddenly perhaps.]

Darius stepped out and looked carefully around the room. No sign of monsters, but the sound of the wind outside the tower could be heard from far away. There was a door-like opening with an arch, with rubble strewn about.

“If we continue in from here, we’ll reach the beginning of the staircase.”

As Medina continued onward, she was stopped suddenly by Darius.

“Thanks, but... I have a bad feeling about this. You should walk behind us.”

this WHOLE bit about describing a room is so hard. i’m just gonna machine translate this and pray to god. it’s like a room.. it’s dusty... fanshaped with weird things everywhere..... experimentation tools like the room of the legendary mercenary... two doors split off, and there’s a tower with an iron grate near the centre of the room... idk there’s a light near the back, and an open door near there too. this is alot and i can’t even figure out where this is in the game. SORRY LOOK OKAY LOOK GUYS HERE’S

Going through the strange doorway, Darius follows a narrow dark path. He motions for orsdfjsdfds and Medina to stop as he peers through the iron grate. I can kinda understand the layout of the room now hahaha

A glowing bluewhite pillar stands in the middle of the room. There are female soldiers with blonde hair and purple skin standing side by side or something.

you know. them

beyond the female soliders was a transparent like wall, like the one they saw in the human laboratory. and beyond that wall was a girl sitting on her knees - a girl with red hair.

with a gasp, darius pulled back from the grate.

“darius, what’s wrong?”

orladin rushed to him, with quiet footsteps. darius replied back in an equally hushed tone.

“it’s sharline.”

“huh? just by herself?”

“It seems like it. she’s in a... strange tube while the soldiers stand around it.”

SHARLINE IN THE TUBE WEDNESDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

now you may watch the video at the top of the page.

“that’s an experimental cell and transfer device that my grandfather made, and those are ‘ferugu’ patrolling around it - also made by my grandpappy”

orlsjfid looked around the room the three were in.

“hey, there’s a lever on this wall. will this open the grate?”

“i haven’t been here often, so i’m not sure...”

“how about this one..?”

darius notices another lever on the wall opposite.

“i really don’t know, but... perhaps if we both activate the levers, the grate might open up, then.”

“We’ll try it. I’ll be counting on you two.” Darius says, warhammer in hand, already facing the grates.

orladidifns stands near one of the levers, waiting. and asks:

“so.... how did morpheus activate this grate, when it takes two people?”

“i don’t think he’d really have a reason to come here. and if he did have something here, the transfer device would’ve taken sharline up to his experimental lab, anyhow.”

“i see...”

“i wonder if sienna is nearby?” “we’ll probably figure it out as we go up.”

oljskfjksf stands silently near the lever now.

“the first plan of action will be to rescue sharline, right?”

“right, otherwise she might be transferred away.”

[koitsu wa ugokan darou was hard to understand but i think that’s it. the alternative is that he’s referring to darius just moving on from this debacle if they didn’t wanna save sharline lol]

cranking the levers to a steady rhythm, the grate slowly rose up from its position, and darius followed the path briskly (worried that the grate might unexpectedly fall on him haha). and in no time at all, the female soldiers took notice of him and readied their swords.

darius kinda like. deflected some of their attacks because they’re pretty slow? might’ve dodged a few by ducking. ignoring their sluggish moves, darius turns and runs to where sharline is.

『Darius!』

i thought it was an interesting choice to have double quotes like that so i’m keeping it in and i’m lazy to figure out how to localize that emphasis for an english audience. bbut the following line makes sense as to why.

across the shimmering wall, a muffled voice could be heard. sharline hit the wall with her fists, trying to break free. darius shouted.

“Get back!”

seeing the warhammer in his hand, sharline backed up against the wall. with a tight grip, darius swung at the light wall, shattering it into pieces.

it was for a moment, but the shattered pieces seemed to glitter as they danced in the air.

At the moment, a heavy thud reverberated. A sound much like the dropping of a grate.

Followed by Medina’s cries.

“Darius, behind you!” Sharline shouted.

darius swung around and could notice the panicked faces of medina and olksjfsjf beyond the grates. olskfjlsfjlsf seemed to be shouting something that he couldn’t make out. and furthermore, the female soliders were getting up, ready to face him again.

But at that moment, darius felt a familiar warmth against his back.

“I just knew you’d come to save me, Darius.”

Sharline smiled, with a smile wide enough to reach her ears.

A cold smile, as her arms dug into Darius’s neck.

“Under my master’s command, I stayed here all nice and put. Y’see, my master really wants to see the Crest up close... So why don’t you come with me?”

It was Sharline’s voice, yet what came out of her mouth wasn’t anything like Sharline at all.

[use of omae below]

“You... You’re.... What monster are you...?”

“I’m Sharline.”

It was like some kind of inhuman strength fought against Darius as he struggled to break free. A strange pattern emerged from the sparkling debris of the cage, marking the ground with its shape...

Darius hesitated for a moment before he closed his eyes shut, and struck Sharline’s torso with his elbow.

It was like hitting rock. She continued to press on.

>be me >at the soaring tower >bringing my comrade and a nice lady who lives here to the top floor >sees my sis in a tube >she’s super weird >asked her specifically to get back so i wouldn’t accidentally hit her >she’s free of the tube >we get out, things are looking better >she busts out the stranglehold >mfw

just wanted to the lighten the mood with a funny thing based off a tweet liv made once. back to work

He scrambled to find his knife, but his fingers only touched an empty sheath - a thought arose in Darius’s frantic mind, that the knife must’ve fallen out during his battle with the Legendary Mercenary.

“You know, if you thrash around like that, it’s only gonna be pain for you. Y’see, there’s only one thought in this head of mine - and that’s to kill any naysayers. Sooo, if you don’t come along with me, I’m just gonna tear you to bits like that!”

[lots of wa and yo and no and ne suffixes here. like much more than usual, and sharline’s speech pattern is really cheerful and interjected with bits of things. in short, Energetic Elder Sister Of Kill]

The female soldiers approached them, with sword in hand. Darius tried to swing them away with his warhammer, but a thin hand pulled his arm back with the strength of iron shackles.

“I just wanted to get you there quickly safe and intact, you know... If you’re not going to listen to me, I guess I can’t expect you to act like a grownup either, huh?”

With a giggle and a smile, the monster that took on Sharline’s shape tightened her grasp around Darius’s neck.

Darius tried to use the momentum to lunge to the side, hoping to knock Sharline to the ground, but her feet would simply not leave the floor - as if planted to the ground.

“Oh yes, your friends are over there, aren’t they? But you probably won’t make it in time.”

Using his one free hand, he tried to grab the sword of the nearby soldiers, but it was no use... Palmira actions wouldn’t work either, at such a close range...

Darius readied his warhammer as the female warrior swung down her sword. But, at that moment, something behind the warrior swung and struck it, sending the warrior flying.

Behind that warrior, in front of where the grates were, was a strange figure cloaked in black armor with a large knife.

All Sharline could let out was an “Eh?”

Darius, shaking free of her momentarily slack arms, plunges the sword into her, channeling Palmira power into the blade. Though the attack landed, he feels a dull impact at the tip of the sword, and the recoil sends him back. His armor makes sparks against the ground, and his back is er.... the skin peels off his back, it probably really hurts that’s kinda a lot of detail novel

But with the power of luck, Darius pushes the sword in deeper, and finishes the monster off. Sharline staggers backwards, shrieking some noise that could never come from a human...

you know i don’t actually get the intricacies of this bit here and i’m here to write about darius and sharline being best friends not to see them beat each other to death so i’m freeballing it. contact me if this pisses you off somehow

darius lands a hit with the warhammer to her collarbones, her red hair seems to fly, and sharline crashes into a white pillar and falls. it was as if the red hair fell out in bundles, skin like porcelain and i’m not digging how she’s described as white skin and thin arms at all but this bit at least it implies it’s porcelain BECAUSE SHARLINE’S SKIN IS CRACKING AND PEELING OFF

it was like reddish-brown sand scattered and spilled to the ground, like a leather pouch deflated on the ground. and as if a dust of white fog, sharline’s clothes and the mountain of sand it rested on... all disappeared....

My God. Fucked Up Bit. this is going out because it’s already plenty long. DAMN

THANKS SNAZZ FOR HELPING WITH THE “DARIUS TRIES TO THROW SHARLINE TO THE GROUND” BIT THOUGH

#evergrace novel funtime #this bit was literally fucked up beyond belief i made a new follower look at it and they were like wow that's screwed up #i'm here to write about happy sibling moments not Sharline Gives Darius A Noogie of Death #it was fun to write her dialogue because it was pretty cute and cheerful but that's because it contrasts her fucked up actions anywaysssssss #fucked up sure is

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afoxysunny · 4 years ago

Text

Robbie as Bullock

This post will probably differ from the others in structure and be a lot longer for one big reason

When choosing Miraculous for the Lazytown characters i really wanted to only use ones that we've already seen in use in Miraculous Ladybug and know how they work from there.

For Robbie i broke that rule. I don't really remember what first made me consider it but it probably had to do with the fact that i think the Ox Miraculous, just aesthetically, would fit Robbie perfectly!

So for this one i had to start from scratch completely, no reference for a canon hero design, no idea what power or weapon he'd get, no clue what the phrase to transform could be.

Of cause i used the most references for him but here are the ten i found most important

Obviously i don't expect any of my speculations to become even remotely canon once we find out what Stompp, the Ox Miraculous, actually does but i hope it at least makes sense for now.

I like how I've drawn all the others standing head on to face the camera and Robbie just leans there. That's because you have to think he doesn't care, the little Tsundere

Concept Overview:

In the Miraculous Ladybug episode we meet all the Kwamis, including Stompp, he is the most actively concerned about Nooroo so now that the Butterfly Kwami is back I'm sure Stompp would want to stay around him. With Sportacus partnering with Nooroo, teaming up Robbie and Stompp made the most sense to them.

Design Notes Incoherent Thoughts I had to justify what I'm Drawing:

Purple and Blue - it amused me no end that with the choices i made blue Sportacus got a purple Kwami and purple Robbie got a blue kwami. I did kinda dislike at first how little blue the costume has in comparison to purple but i decided i don't have to make a decision because apparently the canon show can't make up its mind about Stompp's colour either. The blue and purple can always be swapped if i decide i don't like it

Harness - Ox' are hard working animals, mostly used to pull heavy objects. For that purpose they get strapped into a harness. Obviously i had to include that in this design, the chain hanging from the collar around his neck has a similar purpose (it only occured to me way too late how kinky it looks please ignore that)

Cape? No cape? - because of the imbalance in colours i briefly considered giving him a cape like a Matador would have but only for a second or so. I wanted to keep Robbie's iconic body shape untouched by a bunky cape, also the few times he wore a cape in the show he really struggled with it and also i think it would've clashed with the tail

Tail - speaking of which, an ox' tail has that frizzy end to it but i really liked the chain as his tail so to emulate the thicker part at the end i hung a padlock there. And that really worked. Not only bc that's just how bulls and ox are kept in check with their strength but also because the oblong shape of a combination lock makes for a fitting shape and can be used in universe. You see, Robbie is not that good with just saying what he wants or expressing how he feels. This four letter combination lock is magic and kinda betrays and helps him at the same time. It spells out any given four letter word that fits his mood best at any given moment

Miraculous Nosering - if a Lazytown character would unironically get a nosering, it'd be Robbie. I'm sorry, i don't take criticism on that

Horns - he needed horns. He just did. Look how good he looks with horns! But for real, in Miraculous Ladybug Chat Noir gets actual cat ears so he can get actual horns, also like Chat he the white parts of his eyes turn yellow like Stompp's while keeping his signature grey iris

Hair - ox' are mostly shown with like bangs covering their eyes so i couldn't resist ruffling his usually so perfectly done hair up to make it fall a little like that

Weapon - my first thought of "Miraculous takes cliché traits for animals to base their powers on so i guess bullfighting is the way to go here" made me really sad. This "Sport" is so disgusting i wanted to cry and puke while reading about it. I'll spare you the details but in addition to the Matador in the arena there's other guys too to weaken the bull before the Matador kills it, one of them throws knives. Miraculous Ladybug likes combining weapons with toys so I'm giving him darts. They are fastened to the front of his harness and i think how they can be used is along the lines of, once he zhrows them with his super strength and they pin into something they can only be removed when he allows that, also like the ladybug's jojo they can fly how long and whatever direction he wants, and probably also is able to just manifest them back to himself if ever one gets lost

Miraculous Power - again, just pure speculation here, but the powers we so far know of are all loosely based on an exaggerated cartoon trope of each animal so for the ox that is hard working and persistent and for the bull that'd be aggression and tunnel vision. While typing this i get the urge to add blinders to his mask but i digress. So i made up an exaggerated power that'd fit both but when i told my test group (two people) one said "oh, kinda like Bloodhound from Apex Legends" and the ozher said "so like hunter's mark from DnD" i play neither so i don't know but maybe you do do that's the short version of the explanation xD his power is based on the cartoonish depiction of a bull seeing something that bothers him and then charging at it for as long as he can until he gets it. Once Robbie focuses on an enemy or someone running away or someone he is following for whatever reason he can use his power to keep track of them. No matter how far away they go or where they try to hide. It sounds OP as shit but think of the Snake and Bunny who can both time travel and then say that again. The catch is he needs to use it while that person is still in clear sight for him so i think it balances a little better

Name:

Do you know the difference between a Bull and an Ox? Well, let me mansplain it to you anyway

The reason i kept switching between drawing inspiration from bulls and ox' is because it's the same animal. Those are both names for an adult male cow. The only difference being that an ox is castrated and a bull is not. Stompp is the Ox Miraculous so tough nuts Robbie, literally. But making babies isn't really on his to do list anyway with Sportacus as his partner so who cares.

Anyway, I had the design done and like always i struggled a lot with naming it

But then i learned a Bullock is not only a cool word that seems to be a mix of bull and lock like his design is but it also is the official name of a male cow too young to be castrated yet! Isn't that just perfect? I think it is

Also I'll include in this section the phrases one needs to speak to have Stompp transform them into this Ox themed Superhero and for the power to activate. If you think of something more fitting for either please let me know!

Transformation:

simple version - horns up / horns down

More detailed - time to charge / time to loaf

(charging is when a bull starts running blindly at something; loafing is the professional farmer term for a resting cow)

Power: Target Charge, Locked On, or my personal favorite option Head-On. Again going with the more in depth terminology, that's what the running style of a bull is called when he's chatging at a target

Story:

Robbie lived in Lazytown but when the kids grew louder and older and he got more annoyed wih not having his peace and quiet he just up and left. He spent a lot of time traveling around, living wherever it was comfortable and leaving when it wasn't anymore. Thanks to being an inventor and overall talanted crafty person he got by pretty easily as there was always a company running on "hire a lazy person for an important job, they'll find the easiest solution for the most complicated problems" so he never really had to worry.

Whether by coincidence or fate Robbie and Sportacus run into each other and despite Robbie being a little difficult they both immediately feel strangely drawn to one another. With time going by they meet more often, at first more or less by chance but eventually they plan to meet up regularly. They might have very different ways of doing it but they share a common lifestyle: helping out others to live a comfortable and fulfilling life.

Only after Sportacus was chosen to be the new Guardian of the Miracle Box he finally asks Robbie to join him, full time by his side traveling in his airship around the world wherever they may be needed. Of cause only for moral support and such, obviously. You see, they always enjoyed each others company and sort of over time eased into a relationship like coexistence but neither of them ever really acknowledged that. Only when Sportacus got Nooroo's power to sense other people's feelings that barrier of miscommunication fully fell. Robbie is incredibly bad with conveying his emotions but now Sportacus can sense that he has potentially the most powerful and purest emotions he ever encountered. Not only is each feeling of his powerful but when there is more than one at play they don't mix together and muddy each other but instead boost even more. He knew before that he wanted Robbie to join him but that discovery made it a necessity.

Despite not being able to actually say so Robbie is thrilled to come along. Only over time and with a lot of painfully slow conversations they manage to agree to make their relationship official.

Stompp, the sassy Ox Kwami, regularly bursts out of the Miracle Box to want to check on Nooroo and slowly he and Robbie bond over telling Sportacus and Nooroo to go easier on themselves and let a little responsibility get taken off their shoulders so eventually they team up and Bullock is created.

Thanks to Robbie's hard work to better himself with Sportacus' help, Stompp's magic transformation provides him with a tail that conveys his feelings for him.

When they hear that Lazytown has been wiped clean of grown-ups Sportacus immediately flies them over there so Robbie can check on his hometown. Finding only a few children, now teens, left there Robbie recognizes them and the two form the plan to give them Miraculous' too so they can help to find their lost family, friends and neighbors and fight together to bring them back.

Wow that was so much to read and you did it! I'm so impressed and thankful! You deserve a pat on the back (if you want one) and a cookie and/or sportscandy on your way out

#Lazytown #miraculous ladybug #Lazytown au #Miraculous Lazybug #revive the lazy #Robbie Rotten #sportarobbie #mentioned #Stompp

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