#this is based on a old art i did but it had. red threads which is Not fitting as of retri canon LMAO so i went for this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cassandraclare · 4 years ago

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The Whispering Room: James’ POV

Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!

*art by Cassandra Jean

Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold

James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...

worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.

And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.

Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.

Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.

When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.

“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed. “What was that?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.

Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.

“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.

Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.

“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”

“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.

“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”

All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”

Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”

Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.

“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”

In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.

“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”

“But what about you?” said Cordelia.

Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”

Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.

James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.

Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.

Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.

He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.

His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”

The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.

“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”

“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”

Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.

James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”

Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”

“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”

Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.

Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“

James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.

He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.

Time stopped.

Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.

Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.

Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.

The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.

He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.

Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.

His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.

The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.

He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.

He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.

His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.

He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.

He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself, reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.

“James?” Matthew said.

#the whispering room #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #cassandra clare #cassandra jean #chain of gold

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

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The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 7

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 7 - This Venerable One Likes Wontons

The scorching sun was blazing.

The veranda of Life-Death Peak stretched for mile.

As a rising star among immortal cultivators, it was quite different from the other famous clans of the immortal world.

Take the most prosperous Rufeng Sect of Linyi. The main hall of the sect was called the "Six Virtues Hall", which intended to encourage disciples to be "wise, faithful, holy, righteous, benevolent, and loyal" in accordance with the six virtues. The area where the disciples live was called the "Six Behaviours Gate", which warns the disciples to practice "filial piety, friendship, harmony, marriage, responsibility, and compassion." The place where classes were taught was called "Six Arts Platform", which meant that disciples needed to be proficient in the six skills of "ritual, music, archery, riding, calligraphy, and mathematics".

All in all, its elegance was endless.

On the other hand, Life-Death Peak came from a poor background. Its names were hard to explain. "Danxin Hall" and "Platform of Righteousness and Evil" were alright. Perhaps it was because Mo Ran's father and his uncle weren't scholars and couldn't determine any better names. After a while, the names started to get more nonsensical, naming things "Xue Ya" -sounding names left and right.

Therefore, there are many plagiarised names from the underworld on Life-Death Peak. For example, the room where disciples practiced self-reflection was called Yanluo Hall.

The jade bridge connecting the resting area and the teaching area was called Naihe Bridge. The dining hall was called Mengpo Hall, the martial arts field was called Mountain of Daggers and Sea of Flames. The forbidden area of the back of the mountain is called the Ghost Room, and so on.

These weren't too bad, but there were other places simply called "This is a mountain", "This is water", "This is a pit", as well as the famous "Ahhhhh" and "Wahhhhhh" cliffs.

The elders’ dormitories naturally did not escape, and each has their own nickname.

Chu Wanning was naturally no exception. He liked peace and didn't want to live near others. His residence was built on the South Peak of Life-Death Peak, hidden in a sea of bamboo. There was a pool in front of the main hall, and the pool was red from lotus petals blocking the sunlight from reflecting off it. Because of its abundance of spiritual power, the lotus flowers were in full bloom all year round in the pool, like red clouds.

The disciples secretly called this beautiful place--

Red Lotus Hell.

When Mo Ran thought of this, he couldn't help but laugh.

Chu Wanning wore a terrifying face every single day, and the disciples who saw him thought he was the devil himself. Therefore, shouldn't the place where the devil stays be called hell?

Xue Meng interrupted his daydream: "You laugh even though you were scolded! Hurry up and eat breakfast. After eating, follow me to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil. Shizun will punish you in public today!"

Mo Ran sighed, and touched the whip mark on his face: "Hss. . . ow."

"You deserved it!"

"Hah, I wonder if Tianwen has been repaired. I hope he doesn't try it out on me again before it's fixed. Who knows what nonsense I might say."

In the face of Mo Ran's sincere concerns, Xue Meng's face flushed, and he angrily said: "If you dare to speak out indecently in public against Shizun, I'll rip your tongue out!"

Mo Ran covered his face and waved his hand faintly: "No need, no need, if Shizun ties me with willow vine again, I will end myself on the spot to prove my innocence."

When the hour came, Mo Ran was brought to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil according to customs. He looked around, and there was a deep blue sea of people below. The disciples of Life-Death Peak all wore the sect uniform; blue so dark it was almost black armour, the lion's head belt, wrist guards and the silver threads gleaming on the hems of robes.

The rising sun, below the Platform of Righteousness and Evil, the sea of armour shone.

Mo Ran kneeled on the raised platform, listening to a chief elder list off a long list of the crimes he'd committed.

"Mo Weiyu, disciple of Elder Yuheng, arrogantly disregarded teachings, disobeyed the rules of the sect, and abandoned morality. You have violated the fourth, ninth, and fifteenth mandates of this sect. As punishment, you will receive 80 strikes, copy the sect rules a hundred times and reflect in solitude for a full month. Mo Weiyu, is there anything you have to say in your defense?"

Mo Ran glanced at the white figure in the distance.

That elder was the only member of Life-Death Peak who wasn't required to wear the standard blue and silver rim robe.

Chu Wanning's robe was made of snow-white satin, an outer robe made of cloud-patterned silver silk, like he was dressed in a heavenly frost, but the person wearing it seemed far more frigid than either snow or frost. He sat quietly, far enough away that Mo Ran couldn't see the expression on his face, but he knew that this person was probably completely unphased.

Mo Ran let out a deep sigh: "I have nothing to argue."

According to customary practice, the chief elder asked the disciples below: "If anyone is dissatisfied with the verdict, or has something else to say, this is the time to make such a statement."

All the disciples began to hesitate and averted their gaze.

None of them expected that the Yuheng Elder Chu Wanning would actually send his disciple to be punished publicly on the Platform of Righteousness and Evil.

To put it nicely, this person was impartial, but to word it differently, was also called a cold-blooded demon.

The cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning faintly propped his chin and sat in the position. Suddenly someone shouted with amplifying technique: "Elder Yuheng, this disciple is willing to plead for leniency on behalf of Young Master Mo."

". . . Plead?"

This disciple obviously felt that since Mo Ran was the nephew of Life-Death Peak's lord, even if he had screwed up this time, his future prospects would still be bright, so he decided to take the opportunity to win Mo Ran's favour. He began to talk nonsense: "Although Junior Brother Mo is at fault, he loves his fellow students and helps the weak. Please treat consider being lenient for the sake of his kind nature!"

Obviously, he was not the only one hoping to please Junior Brother Mo.

Gradually, more and more people spoke up for Mo Ran. They threw out all sorts of arguments, it made even Mo Ran embarrassed to hear; when had he ever had "an innocent heart, pure and open-minded"? This was a disciplinary meeting, not a commendation meeting, right?

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me exterminate demons and killed deadly beasts. I would like to beg on Junior Brother Mo's behalf. His merits will offset his demerits, and I hope that Elder will lighten his punishment!"

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me dispel my demons when I experience qi deviation. I believe Junior Brother Mo made a mistake this time and was only momentarily confused. I also ask Elder to please be lenient on Junior Brother!"

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once gave me an elixir to save my mother. He is a benevolent person. Please, Elder, punish him lightly!"

The last person’s remarks were based on the previous disciples', and he was at a loss for words. Seeing Chu Wanning's frozen eyes sweep over, the anxious disciple didn't hesitate to say: “Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me dual cultivate--”

"Pff." Someone couldn't help laughing.

The disciple immediately blushed and retreated.

"Yuheng, calm your anger, calm your anger..." Seeing that the chief elder was not happy, he went to his side and hurriedly persuaded him.

Chu Wanning said coldly: "I have never seen such a shameless person. What is his name? Whose disciple?"

The chief elder hesitated a little, then bit the bullet and said softly, "My disciple, Yao Lian."

Chu Wanning raised his eyebrows: "Your disciple? Save face*?"

(Pronounced the same as Yao Lian's name)

The chief elder couldn't help but feel embarrassed, and his old face tried to change the subject with a red face: "He's talented at singing, and he can be useful when he receives the offerings."

Chu Wanning scoffed and turned away, not wanting to waste time talking nonsense with this shameless chief elder.

There were thousands of people on Life-Death Peak. A couple flatterers were nothing surprising.

Seeing the conviction in the faces of his sect brothers, Mo Ran himself almost trusted their words. Very impressive indeed. It turns out he wasn't the only person in this sect that knew how to concoct wild stories in broad daylight. There were many talented people here.

Chu Wanning, who had heard "Elder Yuheng, please be merciful" countless times, finally spoke to the disciples.

"Pleading for Mo Weiyu?" He paused and said, "Yes, all of you may come up."

Those people didn't know what would happen and went up tremblingly.

A golden light flashed in Chu Wanning's palm. Tianwen appeared as commanded, and wrapped around the dozens of people together with a whistle, and tied them firmly in place.

Not again!!

Mo Ran was beginning to get desperate. Just the sight of Tianwen made his legs weak. He really didn’t know where Chu Wanning got such a perverted weapon. It was a good thing he had never taken a wife in his previous life. The poor girl who would marry him, if she didn't get whipped to death, she would be questioned to death.

Chu Wanning's eyes were quite mocking. He asked one of them: "Mo Ran helped you ward off evil spirits?"

How could the disciple resist the torture of TIanwen? He immediately howled: "No! No!"

He asked another one: "Mo Ran helped you overcome your qi deviation?"

"Ah! Never! Never!"

"Mo Ran gave you an elixir?"

"Ah—! Help! No, no! I made it up! I made it up!"

Chu Wanning loosened the hold, but then raised his hand and waved the weapon fiercely, it crackling and blazing, Tianwen suddenly lashed out and hit the backs of the lying disciples.

There were screams instantly, blood splashing.

Chu Wanning's eyebrows furrowed, and he scolded: "What are you calling? Kneel down! Disciple attendant!"

"Here."

"Deliver the punishment!"

"Understood!"

As a result, instead of reaping the benefits of defending Mo Ran, each of them was beaten with ten strikes each for violating the mandate of deception, plus a bonus willow vine lash gifted by Elder Yuheng.

After nightfall, Mo Ran lay on his bed. Although he had been given medicine, his back was covered with staggered scars. He couldn't even turn himself over without almost crying from the pain. He sniffled.

He had been born, so whimpering like this made him look like a fluffy, abandoned kitten. But it was a pity that his thoughts didn't match that cute kitten image.

He gripped the bedding and bit into the sheets, imagining that this was that bastard Chu Wanning. He bit! Kicked! Stomped! Tore!

The only comfort is that Shi Mei came to visit him with a bowl of wontons. He stared at him with those gentle and pitiful eyes, and Mo Ran's tears fell even more fiercely.

He didn't care whether men were supposed to hold in their tears or not, he loved to act spoiled in front of the person he liked.

"Does it still hurt a lot? Can you sit up?" Shi Mei sat on the edge of his bed and sighed. "Shizun, he. . . he was too cruel. Look at your back. . . there are several wounds. Some are still bleeding."

Mo Ran's heart softened, a warmth gradually rose in his chest. His teary eyes lifted from the bedding and he blinked.

"Since Shi Mei cares about me so much, I, I'm not in too much pain anymore."

"Oh, how can it not hurt if you look like this? You know what Shizun's temperament is like, will you dare do something like this in the future?"

In the candlelight, Shi Mei looked at him a little helplessly and a little distressedly. The amorous eyes were gleaming, like warm spring water.

Mo Ran's heart moved slightly, and he cleverly said: "Never again. I swear.

"Does anyone believe your promises anymore?" Even though he said that, Shi Mei also smiled, "The wontons are getting cold, can you sit up? If you can't get up, just lie on your stomach and I will feed you."

Mo Ran had already climbed up halfway, but immediately collapsed back down when he heard this.

Shi Mei: ". . ."

Whether it was this life or his previous one, Mo Ran's favourite food was Shi Mei's handmade wontons. The dough was as thin as a cloud of smoke, and the filling was tender and moist, melting in his mouth after every bite.

Especially the soup, the milky consistency, sprinkled with green onions, tender yellow egg wisps, and topped with a spoonful of spicy chilli peppers fried with garlic. It made whoever ate it feel so warm that they would never be cold again.

Shi Mei carefully spoonfed him. While feeding him, he said: "I didn't put any chilli oil today. You're badly hurt. Spice isn't good for recovery. Just drink the broth instead."

Mo Ran stared at him and he couldn't look away. He smiled: "Spicy or not, as long as you made it, it's delicious."

"Smooth talker." Shi Mei also smiled, picking up a poached egg lying in the soup, "Here's your reward, I know you like them."

Mo Ran laughed, a small tuft of hair curling on his forehead, like a flower blooming: "Shi Mei."

"What's happening?"

"Nothing, I just felt like saying your name."

". . ."

The hair tuft swayed back and forth.

"Shi Mei."

Shi Mei held back a smile: "Just felt like it again?"

"Hmm, just saying your name makes me happy."

Shi Mei sat silently for a moment then gently touched his forehead: "Silly boy, do you have a fever?"

Mo Ran let out a laugh. He rolled over, looking at him sideways, his eyes bright, as if full of fine stars.

"It would be a dream if I could eat Shi Mei's wontons every day"

He truly meant it.

After Shi Mei died, Mo Ran had always wanted to try the wontons he made again, but it is what it is, and he wasn't coming back.

At that time, Chu Wanning hadn't completely broken off all relations with him. Whether it was out of guilt or something else, he didn't know, but when he saw Mo Ran knelt in front of Shi Mei's coffin in a daze, Chu Wanning went quietly to the kitchen, kneaded dough and minced the fillings, carefully folded a couple wontons. But Mo Ran saw what he was doing before he had finished. With the loss of the love of his life, Mo Ran just couldn't bear it. He felt like Chu Wanning was doing it to mock him, a botched attempt at imitating them, a deliberate insult to injury.

Shi Mei was dead. Chu Wanning could have saved him, but he refused to help. Afterwards, he wanted to replace Shi Mei and make wontons for Mo Ran instead? Did he think that this would make him happy?

He rushed into the kitchen and knocked over all the utensils. The round wontons fell out of his hands and all over the floor.

He screamed at Chu Wanning: "Who the hell do you think you are? You think you're worthy of replacing him? Of making the food he used to? Shi Mei is dead, are you satisfied? Or do you have to torture your disciples until they go mad or die before you're happy? Chu Wanning! No one in this world can make those wontons anymore. You can try but you'll never be him!"

Now he was eating this bowl with such deep joy. He slowly ate them, savouring them. Although he was still smiling, his eyes were a little moist. Fortunately, the candlelight was dim, and Shi Mei couldn't see his subtle expression clearly.

Mo Ran said: "Shi Mei."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Shi Mei froze for a moment, and then smiled gently: "Isn't it just a bowl of wontons? No need to be so formal about it. If you like them, I will always make them for you in the future."

Mo Ran wanted to say, the thanks wasn't just for the wontons.

Thank you also, whether in the last life or in this life, for being the only one to look out for me, not caring about my origins, didn't care about the fourteen years I spent scavenging around.

Thank you, because if it weren't for the sudden thought of you, after being reborn, I'm afraid I would not be able to stop myself from killing Rong Jiu. I would've made a big mistake, and walked the same path I had before.

Fortunately, in this life, I was reborn before you die. I will definitely take good care of you. If you are sick, and that cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning is unwilling to save you, I will.

But how could he have said these words aloud?

In the end, Mo Ran just drank the soup, leaving not even a single green onion behind. He licked his lips unconsciously, his dimples prominent, and he was as cute as a very fluffy little cat.

"Will there be more tomorrow?"

Shi Mei couldn't help but shake his head: "You don't want something else? Won't you get sick of them?"

"I'll never get tired of your wontons, as long as you don't get tired of making them."

Shi Mei shook his head and smiled: "I don't know if there's enough flour left. If there's not enough, I'm afraid I can't make it. If I can't, do you think the eggs in sweet soup are alright instead? They are also one of your favourites."

"Okay, okay. As long as you make it, anything is okay."

Mo Ran's heart surged. He was so happy he could roll around in the blankets.

Look at caring Shi Mei is, Chu Wanning, you go screw yourself! I get to lie in bed with a beauty taking care of me, hehe!

Thinking of Shizun, a rush of anger mixed with the tenderness he had been feeling.

Mo Ran started to dig the bottom of the headboard with resentment again. He cursed, what Yuheng of the Night Sky, what the Beidou Immortal, it's all fucking bullshit!

Chu Wanning, just wait and see!!

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

#the husky and his white cat shizun #english translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei #mo ran #chu wanning #2ha #2ha translation #ranwan #hyx

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emerald-studies · 4 years ago

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Racist Clothing Brands + Black Brands to Buy From Instead:

Racist Brands

Chanel

Chanel has been repeatedly accused of racially profiling Black customers and last year they hired a white woman as head of their "diversity and inclusion" department.

Gucci

Gucci has a complicated history with the Black community, stemming from them all but trying to destroy Dapper Dan's business only to hire him two decades later. Most recently they came under fire for releasing a sweater that had suspiciously Blackface elements and stealing designs from Black designers.

Prada

Prada has a similar history and they recently had to apologize after releasing a collection of monkey key chains.

Dior

Dior's most recent fragrance campaign came under fire for racist undertones but a Black Hollywood stylist also gave BET.com an account of an incident that she had with a brand. The stylist requests to remain anonymous says, "they compromised our creative relationship by not following through on requests and instead loaning looks that were promised to me to white actors instead."

Celine

Celine's branding is notoriously extremely thin and extremely white. A quick scroll of their social media will reveal exactly their opinion on Black lives.

Barney’s

Before going bankrupt, Barney's had to pay out a settlement in a racial discrimination case of $525k to two plantiffs.

Moda Operandi

A former employee of the company released this thread on Moda Operandi, citing several micro aggressions she suffered there.

Burberry

Burberry issued an apology after releasing a sweater featuring a noose motif.

Tommy Hilfiger

In 1996, Tommy Hilfiger famously made comments against the Black community and has since clarified what he meant, but the hurt in the community lingers.

Moschino

Managers discriminated against black customers who did not appear to be rich or famous.

“If a potential black client was not a celebrity and did not have an outward appearance of money via diamonds or name brands, defendant [Ranna] Selbak called them a ‘Serena’ to other sales associates and wanted the ‘Serena’ to be closely watched,” according to the complaint.

Versace

A former male Versace employee sued Versace for allegedly firing him after his manager realized he was Black.

Zara

Zara was accused of using racial code words for black and Latinx customers. The Center for Popular Democracy surveyed 251 Zara employees in New York City about the retailer’s practices. Poll respondents said that when the term “special order” was used at the store, employees were to find the location of the shoppers in question and follow them around. Black customers were most often described as “special orders,” according to the survey results.

Reformation

They were criticised for their internal practices by a black former employee, Elle Santiago. Santiago said she was denied work promotions in favor of white colleagues, as well as being ignored by the company founder, Yael Aflalo, because of her race.

“Being overlooked and undervalued as a woman of color who worked and managed their flagship store for three years was the hardest,” Santiago wrote in an Instagram post picked up by industry watchdog Diet Prada. “I cried many times knowing [that] the color of my skin would get me nowhere in the company.”

Urban Outfitters

“As one of very few PoC [people of color] I quickly noticed the toxic environment I’d joined,” says the former employee, who wishes to remain anonymous. “Within my first month my manager made a flippant racist comment in regards to an Uber I’d called; the driver’s name was Muhammad. Her comment was, ‘You would get a Muhammad’ – in what I can only take as a comment made because of my heritage.

“There’s no PoC in the executive team and very little representation of PoC in head office, on the website, marketing campaigns and within the retail management teams.”

The company has a history of producing offensive items of clothing, including a seemingly blood-spattered T-shirt seen as a reference to the 1970 Kent State shootings; a T-shirt in a color named “Obama/Black”; another featuring a six-pointed badge, which seemed to allude to the Star of David badge that Jewish people were forced to wear during the Holocaust; and a racially insensitive Navajo line which used the Navajo nation name illegally.

Dolce & Gabbana

Ads, featured a Chinese woman struggling to eat spaghetti and pizza with chopsticks.

Comme des Garçons

White models wore wigs of traditional Black people’s hairstyles during its men’s autumn/winter 2020 show.

BLACK BRANDS

ASATA MAISE

This designer transforms vintage fabrics into unique pieces that are made to be photographed. I mean, this whole slideshow of looks is A-R-T. Of course, being a one-person business can be overwhelming, so if you have the means, you can donate to Asata's GoFundMe which will provide her with equipment to keep up with demand.

Website: asatamaise.com

MIE

If dreamy, flowy dresses are up your alley, you definitely want to give this brand a follow. All the pretty pieces, including this stunning red puff-sleeve number, are made by local seamstresses and artisans in Lagos, Nigeria where it's based.

Website: mie.ng

JBD Apparel

Kim Kardashian recently gave this brand a shoutout, and it's easy to see why she's a fan of these body-hugging knit sets. All the pieces are handmade to order.

Website: jbdapparel.com

PHLEMUNS

Another celeb fave is this gender-neutral brand designed by James Flemons and based out in Los Angeles. Solange Knowles, Lizzo, Billie Eilish, Clairo, Lil Nas X, Miley Cyrus, and Bella Hadid have all worn its designs.

Website: phlemuns.com

RIOT SWIM

Looking for a truly standout swimwear piece to add to your summer wardrobe? Check out this label designed by Monti Landers featuring minimalistic silhouettes and shades that blend in seamlessly with darker skin tones.

Website: riotswim.com

COME BACK AS A FLOWER

Specializing in hand-dyed garments, the pieces are ethically made using 100 percent recycled cotton. It also does drops of cool vintage tees, and stars like ASAP Rocky and Big Sean have worn its clothes.

Website: cbaaf.org

HUMANS BEFORE HANDLES

This jewelry label has some of the cutest accessories for summer (eyeing these seashell ones, wow), and most impressive is the fact that everything is under $50.

Website: humansbeforehandles.com

LAQUAN SMITH

Here’s a real celeb fave (Rihanna, Beyoncé, and sooo many more have worn his pieces). Go to LaQuan Smith for any of your glam/sexy outfit needs, please!

Website: laquansmith.com

BROTHER VELLIES

Founder Aurora James creates truly one-of-a-kind shoes (please look at this pair of mesh boots topped with feathers) and small leather goods that are handmade by artisans around the world.

Website: brothervellies.com

CUSHNIE

Designer Carly Cushnie’s sleek styles have been worn by the likes of Jennifer Lopez, Ashley Graham, and Lupita Nyong’o, btw.

Website: cushnie.com

JADE SWIM

Need a swimsuit? You’re going to want one of these pretty, minimal designs by former fashion editor and stylist Brittany Kozerski.

Website: jadeswim.com

CHRISTOPHER JOHN ROGERS

The 26-year-old designer from Louisiana was one of the hottest tickets at New York Fashion Week in February 2020, and high-profile ladies like Michelle Obama and Cardi B. have worn his unique, colorful pieces. Find his clothing exclusively at Net-a-Porter online.

Website: christopherjohnrogers.com

MATEO NEW YORK

Matthew Harris of Mateo New York is a self-taught jewelry designer hailing from Montego Bay, Jamaica, and living in NYC. Shop here for beautifully minimal 14k-gold fine jewelry.

Website: mateonewyork.com

TELFAR

Looking for something truly magical and out there? Consider designer Telfar Clemens, whose hybrid pieces (hello, “sweatpant jeans” and “scarf-collar shirt”) really stand out.

Website: telfar.net

FENTY

DUH.

Website: fenty.com

PYER MOSS

Founded by designer Kerby Jean-Raymond in 2013, Pyer Moss uses its platform for social change, storytelling, and activism as well as art and design. For shopping, come for the bright, matching suits, glam, and pleated gowns and stay for comfy sweats and jeans.

Website: pyermoss.com

+ More Brands Here +

#blm #gucci #urban outfitters #black lives matter #black brands #black owned #tommy hilfiger #dolce and gabbana #zara #chanel #versace #juneteenth

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januaryisnotanartist · 3 years ago

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KanSang Week Day 07 Victory

Pairing: Kan Jian/Liu Sang (future), Pangzi/Piaopiao (background/established)

Genre: fluff, school festival (canon ish universe) Tropes: getting together, (background?) found family, school festivals, Liu Chang and Waer Liu Sang and Kan Jian: Babysitters extraordinaire Special spotlight thief Guest Star: Xiao Mei Word Count: 1,400 ish

Kan Jian and Liu Sang looked at the mountain of clay before them. Clay was no stranger to either of them, over many years and various dig sites, they'd both become familiar with clay. Digging it, crawling through it, clambering over it.

But this... this was not their expertise.

“It's okay if you aren't any good at making pots,” Xiao Mei said, but even Kan Jian could hear the sadness in her voice.

Three tables over, halfway across the room, another girl looked over at them, a smirk on her face.

“Oh, A-Mei, haven't you started yet?” The tone was saccharine and mocking. “My parents and I are making great progress, you don't want to fall behind and not make the judging.”

Kan Jian leaned down, turning a little to hide his mouth and whispered, “I can totally wreck their pots if you need me to, no one will be able to prove it.”

Xiao Mei shook her head, fists clenching.

“Even if we lose to her, we'll do it fair and square.”

Liu Sang scoffed quietly, “I'm pretty sure that damn Fa- uh, that your dad would be with Kan Jian on this one.” Xiao Mei looked up at him in consideration, but nodded in agreement.

“Mum wouldn't, not over a school festival,” she said at last, “we'll just have to try our best.”

“Right,” Kan Jian agreed readily, but like Xiao Mei, he didn't move to start shaping the clay.

“You know, when Pangzi asked us to go with you today, he only did it because we were the ones available,” Liu Sang said while he rolled up his sleeves and began getting ready to deal with the clay. “But you actually got a bit lucky, I use listening urns in my work, and my teacher actually taught me the art of making them. Allegedly to better appreciate them as well as to know how to find good quality ones... or replace them if I was clumsy enough to break one.”

Xiao Mei looked at Liu Sang with new hope.

“Let me show you what to do?” Liu Sang asked the pair.

Xiao Mei hadn't been sure about her dad's friends, she'd been hoping her mum and dad (her awesome new one, not her mean old one) would be able to come with her to the school festival, so they could take part in the family competitions together, but so far her new big brothers were really cool.

They hadn't really come first at anything yet, and she could tell it was annoying Sang-ge, but they were placing second and third in most of the events, so technically they were 'overall' winning.

Xiao Mei wasn't really looking for first place, any placement was fine... as long as it was better than Feifei's. Feifei was the worst, she'd teased Xiao Mei about not having a 'normal family unit' since, well, for as long as they'd known one another.

So beating Feifei wasn't just a personal mission, it was justice, for all non-nuclear families out there.

Also it would be so satisfying.

“- which is how you figure out the best angle for the balloons on the fly,” Kan Jian finished, looking away from the special slingshots they were to use as water balloon launchers, to make sure Xiao Mei and Liu Sang understood.

It was the last event of the day, the water balloon fight. Each family unit was to be hidden in an identical cardboard base with a supply of water balloons. The goal was to wreck someone else's base before theirs was destroyed.

It was also their last chance for an Event based First Place.

Xiao Mei looked determined, a fire in her eyes. Liu Sang was watching Kan Jian with approval in his eyes.

“We have ten minutes left to decorate our bases,” Xiao Mei reminded her big brothers, “and to reinforce the cardboard if we want. Should we get started?”

“How are they reinforcing the cardboard?” Kan Jian asked, looking around at the other nearby families.

“By gluing on additional cardboard layers,” Liu Sang told him, a smirk growing on his face, “with wet glue.”

Kan Jian grinned back, “we have wax crayons to colour don't we?” He looked at Xiao Mei, “orders laoban?”

Xiao Mei looked back and forth between the two men, confused at first, then she joined their smiling as she realised what their words meant.

“Colour everything, start with the weakest points, no glue allowed.”

Two minutes to go, Liu Sang leaned in close to Xiao Mei.

“Young girl with the blue hair ties,” he murmured, “doesn't like that girl you want to crush, what do you think about an alliance?”

Xiao Mei nodded, “I'll be back in a minute.”

The battlefield was a circle of cardboard bases, and theirs was the most colourful one on the field. That was fine, because theirs was also the driest. The wet glue hadn't dried as quickly as people thought it would.

More importantly, Feifei was directly across the circle from Xiao Mei and her brothers. Feifei would be the first to fall.

The starting whistle blew and the air filled with flying waterballoons.

Three flew from their base across the way to Feifei's. Xiao Mei's first shot fell short of the target, dashing across the concrete. She didn't miss her second.

Receiving the first place ribbons for the Water balloon fight and the Overall scores, was actually the second best feeling of the day for Xiao Mei. The best was hearing her dad's loud applauding and cheers along side her mum's slightly quieter cheering as Xiao Mei closed her hands around the ribbons.

She waited long enough to be polite before leaving the award area and flinging herself at her dad for a hug. Her mother was still sore from her accident and recover, even after two months.

“We won,” she told her parents, aware they'd seen the award ceremony.

“Good job,” her mum told her, pressing a kiss to Xiao Mei's hair.

“Glad those two didn't hold you back,” her dad said cheekily.

Liu Sang scoffed from nearby and proceeded to ignore Pangzi.

Xiao Mei started telling her parents all about the day, several sentences in she paused and turned to call her brothers over to help, but stopped at the sight of them.

They both looked nervous and on edge. Xiao Mei and her parents, when they noticed what had caught her attention, shamelessly eavesdropped.

“-and I was just wondering if you wanted to get ice cream with me, later,” Liu Sang asked, his hands worrying the hem of his shirt.

Kan Jian looked devastated, a slow dawning of grief emerging across his face.

Liu Sang didn't move much, but somehow he looked like a turtle retreating into its shell, “it's fine if you don't want t-”

“I'm lactose intolerant,” Kan Jian cut Liu Sang off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Liu Sang's brows scrunched, “they have dairy free at the place I wanted to go, if that...” Liu Sang looked tentative, too scared to be hopeful, but Kan Jian smiled and nodded.

“Awesome, I'd be happy to go with you, I just have to be careful cause not all the ice cream places do dairy free.”

Liu Sang steeled himself.

“Just to be clear, I'm asking you out on a date. With me.”

Kan Jian laughed and reached out to take Liu Sang's hand, “oh good, I was hoping that was what was going on here.”

Quietly Pangzi cheered and told his girlfriend and daughter, “just won a bet with Xiazi, he reckoned it would take them another few months to work it all out... just lost a bet with Xiao Bai, I thought it would be Kan Jian to make the first move.”

“You bet on us?!”

“Don't use your hearing to eavesdrop on good and decent people!”

“Eh? Who's decent? Not you!”

Kan Jian used Liu Sang's distraction to thread his and Liu Sang's fingers together.

“My boyfriend,” Kan Jian said, barely audible, just to test it out. Liu Sang heard it of course and flushed bright red.

Piaopiao laughed, leaning against Pangzi, “alright, how about you boys come with us for a victory dinner? To celebrate your win, and as thanks for being here on our behalf.”

Xiao Mei and Kan Jian cheered, Liu Sang... continued to blush.

#dmbj #lost tomb reboot #tltr #reunion: the sound of the providence #kan jian #liu sang #xiao mei #kansang #kansang week #I didn't think we I was going to do one today #but somehow here we are #yay? i completed the week?#shipweeks are hard #my last attempt at one was in 2011

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acraftedmistake · 3 years ago

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Nether Time!

Cassie and Petra need to get stuff from the Nether! It’s been a while since they’ve done this.

“Nether time!” Petra sang as she leapt out the portal.

“Nether time!” Cassie Rose chimed as well, landing right beside her friend.

The two exchanged big grins with one another. Cassie was holding onto her outfit so tightly she thought it’d tear.

It’s been ages since they’ve been in their house together. Everything still looked and felt the same. The red and teal carpet was still covering the netherrack floor, still stained and torn, the walls were that weird combination of wood and netherrack that she remembers so fondly, shelves and counters surrounded them, holding both their’s and the previous owner’s items. Those four cushioned chairs they placed in the upper left corner of the house--the ‘kitchen’--have yet to move. The kitchen itself was just a few chests filled with food, a battered stove that stopped working years ago, and a cauldron with strange splatters in it. There were also the remains of their kitchen table. Used to be fine, sturdy wood, but when they first arrived at this house, monsters were trying to break in, so they had to use the base of the table and the legs to fend themselves. The decorations were still hung up too! Bells, chimes, other sorts of art pieces attached to strings that hung from the ceiling, just as Cassie remembers it.

Well, it technically isn’t ‘their’ house. Their portal just happened to appear inside this strange old place one day, and they claimed it. Finders keepers, you know? Besides, the previous owners were probably long dead.

“Come on, we need to get your pumpkin.” Petra made her way to the counters beside the portal. The countertops were covered with broken weapons, ores, and strange nik naks they found over the years, and sitting in the middle of it all: Cassie’s white pumpkin.

Petra grabbed the hollowed fruit and spun it around in her hands, “You’ll be happy to hear I’ve been taking good care of your other pumpkins back at the cave.”

“That’s impressive, considering you somehow managed to kill a cactus that one time.”

“Hey, I already told you that stupid cactus killed itself. I was gone for one day, and when I came back, it was dead. I did nothing wrong.” Petra denied as she tossed Cassie her pumpkin.

Cassie quickly dropped her extra set of clothes to catch her it, “Did you water it when the soil got dry?”

“It’s a cactus. Water’s irrelevant.” Petra avoided Cassie’s little glare by facing the counter again and sorting through the random items.

Cassie held the pumpkin in her hands and stared at it for a moment. It’s been a few years since she’s worn it last. Memories were flooding through her. She still remembered how she first got her hands on her first pumpkin; she stole it from a crazy old guy’s backyard. She just happened to spot it while walking through a random town one day, Petra told her ‘If ya like it, get it.’ And she did exactly that. It was a real strange pumpkin. When the two cut it open, it hardly had any guts, and the inside smelled like… Nothing. Well, it smelled ‘wet’ if that was possible. The sorta wetness you’d smell in a forest after it’d rain. They were surprised at how durable it was too, which soon sparked the amazing idea of shoving her head inside the pumpkin and using it for protective gear. It sounds ridiculous--heck, it probably looks ridiculous--but it works, and Cassie likes it, so that’s all that matters.

Cassie ended up planting the few pumpkin seeds years ago, and before she knew it, she had a bunch of = pumpkins to last.

Cassie can trust Petra with the pumpkin care, but she always makes sure to check in on them. That white pumpkin got her into plants, she even has a few houseplants back at home, but she’s still too embarrassed to tell anyone yet.

“Oh!” Petra snapped her fingers. She dashed back to the portal, shoved the upper-half of her body into the vortex, then came back out with her Wither Skull in hands. “Nearly forgot this bad boy.”

“I’m surprised that thing’s still in one piece.” Cassie said while she watched Petra grab a cloth from a chest in the kitchen.

“Right? This thing’s insane!” Petra exclaimed as she cleaned the inside of her painted skull. “One time I forgot it outside, a quake happened, and when I ran out to get it back, a tree landed on it and it was still in one piece.”

“You ever thinking of repainting it?” Cassie asked. She began putting on her long, oversized, dark blue pants over her leggings.

“Nah, the stripes are iconic. “ Petra tossed the cloth aside then shoved her head into the skull.

Cassie let out a grunt as she struggled to put her large long-sleeved shirt over her hoodie. She knew she was going to be drowning in sweat with three layers on, but that’s three extra layers of fire protection. When she finally got it on, she began tying the belt around her waist and slipped on her thick, brown gloves.

As she was adjusting her gloves, Petra handed her a crooked pickaxe and a worn-down sword.

“If I knew you were comin’ over today, I would’ve made some better tools for you.” Petra said. She was holding a blue backpack in her other hand that’s seen better days. One black strap had been completely torn off while the other was just barely holding on. There were holes where the buttons used to be. Hopefully it’ll be able to hold their stuff.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Cassie said, holding the tools by the sides of her arms. “We’re just gonna pick up a few things anyways.”

Cassie stuck her head into the pumpkin.

“You ready?” Cassie asked, her voice muffled. She took the weapons out and held them firmly.

“Super ready.” Petra smiled as she watched Cassie twirl the tools around before shoving them into her pockets.

Petra swung open the front door, and a horrible heatwave rushed in and hit their faces. Cassie’s eyes watered. You’d think after all those years of exploring the Nether, she’d get used to it, but it always seems to get worse each time.

Petra held the door open with her foot and the girls made some quick, last-minute readjustments with their outfits.

Cassie glanced to the side and spotted a familiar sign hanging under the doorknob. It was a piece of oak wood with the words “No Boys Allowed” that she made as a joke. That was way back when they first spawned into this house.

“Why do you still have that old sign up?” Cassie asked, surprised it hadn’t burnt to a crisp.

“To keep the boys out.” Petra said casually as she closed the door.

“But we’re the only two here though.”

“All thanks to the sign.” A little smirk formed on Petra’s face.

Cassie rolled her eyes and gave Petra a playful shove as they went out into The Neighborhood.

The Neighborhood… A sweltering ghost town. Awakening members used to live here years ago. Their ‘homes’ were just hollowed out holes in netherrack hills, making the place look more like a Hellish wasp nest than a cozy neighborhood. The openings were usually covered in old wood, and their front doors were rather busted or missing. And the way these houses were placed in such unorganized clutters just felt… Wrong. People weren’t meant to live in the Nether.

Any leftover space was taken up by Nether portals. It didn’t matter if the space between the houses were huge or cramped, people found ways of making the portals fit. Maybe the Neighborhood looked real pretty when the portals were all activated, but they’ve been deactivated for years, and Cassie and Petra weren’t planning on lighting them up anytime soon. It was bad luck to reactivate dead portals.

“So what things you lookin’ for again?” Petra asked.

“Gold’s high on the list,” Cassie replied, “we also need extra iron, extra flint, and some netherrack just in case.”

“Awh shoot, what?!” Petra froze. Her tone turned serious.

“What? What’s up?!”

“Do you know how hard it is to find netherrack!? We’ll be looking around for hours!” Petra exclaimed, standing on the netherrack floor. Surrounded by netherrack hills. With a netherrack covered sky.

Cassie couldn’t see Petra’s face, but she KNEW she had that big, dumb smile.

Cassie gave her a quick bonk on the skull and bent down to gather an arms-full of netherrack chunks, all while Petra was laughing.

“Damn, talk about lucky.” Petra teased, “You always had a good eye for rare items.” She slipped the bag off her shoulders and opened the flap for Cassie.

“Yeah, yeah. You gonna be messing with me the entire time we’re here?” Cassie rolled her eyes as she shoved the netherrack into the sack.

“Awh, come on, it’s been almost two years since we’ve done this. I’ve missed ya.” Petra said. The two began walking again. “It’s really boring without ya, you know?”

“Man, has it really been two years?” Cassie stared at her feet, a feeling of guilt starting to gnaw at her.

“But I mean--mentally, it’s only been two days.” Cassie said, looking back at Petra.

“Ex-ACT-ly. Time doesn’t move unless we’re together. Common knowledge.” Petra gave her a grin. Cassie couldn’t see most of it, but she could feel it. It was reassuring.

The two stepped over a wooden bridge that was splayed out over the ground. It’s been there since day once, wood planks, rope, and all. They kept telling themselves they’re gonna move it, but they never do. It’s not like it’s a huge obstacle or anything.

There was a lotta stuff like that around the Neighborhood. If you looked up, you could see more bridges hanging between the hills, many of them missing their planks or dangling by their threads, and a bunch of the houses built into the top of the hills had staircases, ladders, or ramps that stretched all across the area. Cassie and Petra had the “fun” experience of finding out which ones were stable or not.

“So, shouldn’t we start looking through the houses or somethin’?” Cassie asked, her eyes scanning the dozens of houses they’d have to scour through.

There were still items in these houses. Even though this place was abandoned years ago, a looming presence remains. Dirty dishes sitting in cauldrons, rotting meals on kitchen tables, unfinished letters on desks, wrinkled blankets on unmade beds, all signs that this ghost town was once full of life. Petra and Cassie have spotted many weird trinkets The Awakening members have made; chunky jewelry, small dolls carved from nearby materials, chimes, and masks that lacked eyeholes. Many, many art pieces included the Awakening symbols: A red flower with hundreds of petals, their empty eye, and the Hero. Another thing many homes seemed to have were mirrors, but they were never in one piece. Instead, they were often broken into several large parts and tied to strings that’d hang from the ceiling, or arranged in odd shapes on the walls. Sometimes the shape would resemble their eye, but most of the time it looked like nonsense.

“Nah, I have a different place in mind.” Petra replied.

“Have we been there before?” Cassie tilted her head.

“Perhaps.” Petra said, “Just gotta wait and see.”

The two stayed on the path, which was a mix of netherrack, gravel, and soul soil, passing under the hanging decor above.

Wooden poles were on each side of the path with rope tied to the tops, connecting them together while chimes, flags, and glass hung from the threads. When a hot breeze came by, the Neighborhood would create its own music. The clinking of the glass, the flapping of banners, the clattering of metal chimes, and the creaking of wooden doors created this strange but soothing sympathy to fill the silence.

“How’re things with the other Jesse and Olivia goin’?” Petra asked, swinging her sword around.

“Frustrating.” Cassie huffed.

“Oh?”

“Things were kinda going okay until Aiden decided to basically blurt out what was happening to our Jesse. Now Stella’s all stressed out, and we gotta keep an eye out for that cult creep, and Aiden’s probably gonna be super bummed that he made poor little Jesse upset--” Cassie ranted.

“I remember bout Aiden spillin’ the beans.” Petra commented. “Sorry everything’s been stressful.”

“It’s been so freaky with those two around! I dunno if I should be happy, upset, but Hero, everytime I look at them for more than a minute I start to feel sick.” Cassie felt that familiar queasy feeling rising in her stomach, “I’m not saying they’re bad people or something, just that… Everything sucks. And having our Jesse running around isn’t helping.”

“I mean, it’s a weird situation. Don’t blame you at all for feeling that way. Heck, even when I first saw them I was thrown off. Felt like two freaks wearing Olivia and Jesse’s skins.” Petra noticed her friend falling behind and waited for her to catch up.

“That’s a fun way to put it.” Cassie said, trudging along.

“Jess and Liv,” Cassie mumbled, “they’re nice, but I can’t wait for them to go home. I wanna forget this ever happened. They make me miss those two all over again.”

“I can imagine.” Petra went quiet when Cassie joined her side. The sounds of the Neighborhood filled the air.

Petra extended her arm out, “I’m here for ya, though, ya know? If you ever wanna complain, cry, or get angry about that Radar guy, I’m always here.” It was hard to see it, but through the gaps of the skull’s teeth, Petra was giving her a smile.

“Thanks.” Cassie took one hand out of her pocket and went to lock arms with Petra, something they used to do years ago, “I mean it.”

“Course.” Petra said.

And with that, the two picked up the pace.

Petra glanced at her friend then glanced at the various portals surrounding them, “I’m gonna guess Jesse and Olivia didn’t walk through an obsidian portal, right?”

“No, some weird blue portal. Probably lapis. I wish it was somethin’ as easy as obsidian.” Cassie sighed. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen Jesse recently?” She asked.

“Nope.” Petra lied, “Not yet. I’ll let you know though.”

Cassie gave her a nod and looked ahead. They were nearing the Nether Fortress. Their Nether Fortress.

Seeing this place after so long… It was like seeing it for the first time again. The broken, tall towers, the bridge stretching across the sea of lava, the ruined railway system, it was so otherworldly. The only thing missing were those hundreds of monsters crawling around the place that Cassie and Petra used to beat up.

That wide open bridge over boiling magma--with the Fortress being so close--was just begging Cassie to run across it.

Petra noted Cassie’s excitement and unlocked arms with her.

“Go ‘head, I’ll be right behind ya.” Petra said with a grin, and on cue, Cassie bolted off to the entrance.

Memories of the two of them raced through Cassie’s mind. The hot air hitting her face, the colors blurring together, her feet stinging each time they hit the ground, it was just like old times. This was liberating.

“Hey, I’m winning!”

Cassie whipped her head at just the right time to see Petra taking the lead.

“Not for long!” Cassie hollered as she picked up the pace.

They were both set on the entrance. Cassie could see Petra out of the corner of her eye. She could feel the confidence radiating from her, like she knew she was gonna win. But not this time.

When Cassie was just feet from the entrance, she dived. She crashed into the ground, her pumpkin making a loud THUD when it hit the floor.

Before she could push herself up, Petra fell on top of her. She must’ve had the same idea.

Both of them were laying on the ground, panting and laughing.

“Pretty sure I won.” Petra finally said.

“Nu-uh, my hand made it past the entrance first!” Cassie shot back, still breathing heavily.

“Yeah, but your hand didn’t touch the ground first, so technically--”

“Since when were you about technicalities?!” Cassie exclaimed. Petra could hear the laughs between her words.

“Alright, if it’ll make you happy, then I’ll admit it…” Petra got up and helped Cassie to her feet. “We tied.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Welp, guess we’ll never know who won.” Petra shrugged. Cassie gave her a playful shove.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cassie adjusted her belt. The two stopped and faced an intersection of three hallways.

“Which way do we need to go?” asked Cassie.

Petra glanced at the wooden arrow signs above then pointed ahead, “Straight, then a left, then straight again.”

“Got it.” Cassie started walking and couldn’t help but snicker at the words on the signs. There were a bunch of those signs hanging around here, their original words have long since faded, so she and Petra took some creative liberties.

Cassie recalled those directions, they were heading towards the ‘Spicy Abyss’, which was the second bridge on the other side of the Fortress. It's in ruins, so the two of them just like to sit on the edge and enjoy the view.

The middle sign was ‘Lotsa Boxes’, which is the hallway they’re currently walking through. It’s a rather wide hall--nearly as wide as the bridge they just crossed--that’s filled with abandoned stalls, carts, and chests. The stalls had boxes in, on, and around them, the old carts had boxes in them, and the chests--the chests were already boxes. This place must’ve been a Trading Hall, a storage, or even a marketplace for the Neighborhood back then. The way everything was arranged reminded Cassie of the night-market in Obsidian Town; lots of trading, buying, and selling, except not in the middle of the blazing-hot Nether.

Banners hung from short poles in the walls, all shades of red, turquoise, and gold while covered with symbols and faded words advertising goods. When Cassie and Petra first found this place, they were surprised at how many tools, ores, and old books were left behind, so of course they gathered them all up and sold ‘em. Made them a great deal of money!

The two took a left and continued down another hallway. They were pretty close to ‘Petra Fell’; those were the words on the last sign. It was one of the three tall towers you could see through the windows. It was the shortest of the bunch, it’s upper half is completely missing, but it was the best place to climb and get a fantastic view.

Cassie and Petra haven’t been on top of that tower in years. The last time they were, Petra was playing around near the edge, stumbled, and nearly fell to her death had it not been for Cassie catching her. Petra’s been terrified of heights since then. Cassie can’t blame her.

It’d be nice to rush through that tower again with Petra, even if she didn’t want to go to the very top, it’d be a great… The tower…

It looked different.

Cassie couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was off. She could feel it.

“Hey, did that tower get shorter? Or have I just been gone for too long?” Cassie asked.

Petra didn’t even glance at the tower, “Already noticing my hard work, I see.”

“Hard work?” Cassie tilted her head. Petra didn’t elaborate. Cassie kept pestering her, but she wouldn’t budge until they reached the end of the hall.

Where there used to be a big, gaping hole was now covered up by tons of banners. They were sloppily sewn together, trying to hide every piece of the other side.

“So,” Petra began, “Remember how I said I had a different place in mind to find those items?”

“Yeah?” Cassie answered slowly.

“And remember how we always wanted to build that bridge to the other side of the Nether?” A grin grew on Petra’s face as she watched Cassie’s eyes light up.

Cassie gasped, “No, nu-uh, you did not!”

“I did.” Petra raised her brows. When Cassie took another step forward, Petra yanked the banners off to reveal a magnificent bridge that stretched across the sea of lava and connected to the other side of the Nether. It was a mish mash of netherrack, nether brick, gravel, and even some obsidian. There weren’t any rails on it, and Cassie was certain it hardly had any support underneath it.

It looked dangerous.

It looked fantastic.

Petra watched Cassie take all this in. She was bouncing in place, hands over her mouth, all excited like a li’l kid. Man, Petra could only imagine what Cassie’s face was like under that pumpkin. Her eyes were probably sparkling and she had that big, dorky smile that’s bright enough to light up this entire fortress.

“Oh Hero, oh--Oh I canNOT believe you!” Cassie exclaimed, grabbing Petra and shaking her excitedly before giving her a big hug.

“Hey, we always wanted to see more of the Nether together.” Petra chuckled, “Thought this would be a nice little surprise for when you came back.”

Cassie let go to look at the bridge again; Petra took a lungful of air.

“And don’t worry, it’s stable.” Petra said, “I’ve tested this bad boy out hundreds of times and only had several near death experiences.”

“Perfect, great! All I need to hear.” Cassie was revved up. She dug her feet into the ground, ready to blast off, but she stopped herself. “Agh, wait. I promised Aiden I’d come back home soon.”

“How soon?” Petra leaned against the wall.

“Like, by the end of tomorrow, I think?”

“Well, you got here at a pretty good time, so we got, what? Several hours to work with?” Petra tapped the skull’s chin, “If we’re fast enough, we could see some good sights and get your stuff. So whaddya say?”

Petra got closer to Cassie, “Wanna see how fast we can blast through this sucker?”

Despite the skull hiding her face, Cassie knew Petra was smiling, and Cassie smiled right back at her.

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm petra #mcsm cassie #fic #another part of apwhnpmcsmwasamcsm #it is like a half chapter!!#enjoy!!

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the-flowerwolf · 4 years ago

Text

"I won't let him hurt you again" Part 3

Jake x fem!Mc

They were found the same day.

Before going to the mine, Mc installed a GPS tracker on her phone and a tracker on the other. So if she had left and not returned to the Motel that night, the second person would have gone to the police and given them her location. That person was Lilly. However, she had difficulty convincing the police to go in search of Mc. So when she finally did, she and a few police officers went to the mine. It also took time to make sure it was safe enough, so they didn't find the missing until late at night.

It was at the same time that the man without a face came to them with a new bag of food, so they caught him red-handed.

The kidnapper turned out to be Hanna's therapist. He tried to convince her of the falsity of old memories in which she saw someone killing poor Jennifer. But when it didn't work out, he prescribed her antidepressants, making Hannah believe that she was really just sick. He didn't want to kill her like the other two girls, because it contradicted his sick beliefs based on an old legend. But he also couldn't let her dig any further, so he kidnapped her when she got too close.

He was arrested.

Some time later, the Duskwood gang threw a party to celebrate the return of Hanna and Mc... And of course, Jake, too. They gathered at the Aurora bar, where Phil had given them the best seat. He was so kind that he even let Cleo and Thomas come along with the others.

"Drinks are on me," he said, winking at Mc.

They all sat down at a large round table, talking loudly and enjoying the fact that the worst was over.

Jake didn't really want to go there. On the one hand, it was an opportunity to make friends that he hadn't had for so long. But on the other... He just wanted to lock himself in his home, with the computer, and feel completely safe. But Mc insisted and even said that the others really wanted to meet him, so he went.

So they all sat together on that beautiful, warm evening and didn't think anything bad. This was after all the kidnapped were released from the hospital, so Hanna and Mc had already told them everything in great detail. And now all the attention was on Jake.

They asked him everything: where he came from and what he likes to do, how he found out that he, Hannah and Lilly are siblings, and so on. And he was willing to answer all the questions, even though he was embarrassed by the amount of attention. MC, who was sitting next to him, was holding Jake's hand. He didn't want to think about the dangers of this relationship, or the fact that the doctor's trial hadn't taken place yet, or that the FBI was looking for him. It was just a good evening and he intended to enjoy it.

Soon the questions to him stopped and the fervor of friends subsided. They had silently accepted Jake into their company and were now talking about other topics.

Soon Phil came over, holding a very beautiful drink.

"For m'lady," he smiled charmingly as he handed a glass to Mc. She looked at him with delight.

"Wow, Phil, it's so pretty. What's that?"

"New recipe. We haven't added it to the menu yet, so you'll be the first to try it."

Jake glared at him and then looked at Mc. Phil had joined them, moving Richy to sit on the other side of Mc, and now they and the rest of the gang were having a nice conversation. Phil was the most active. He spoke loudly and confidently and often people turned to him directly to say something about the topic.

Jessy wasn't much different from her brother. She laughed a lot, chatted incessantly, and people listened attentively, smiling and asking questions.

Hannah made them laugh most of the time. She inserted clever comments everywhere and seemed to be able to keep up a conversation about everything from art to politics.

Mc felt like a fish in water in this company. Of course, she chatted a lot with most of them, but it was as if she had been with the group from the beginning.

Jake often tried to catch the thread of the conversation, to push through it as one might push through a crowd, but in vain. He didn't know anything about the topics they were talking about, and he wasn't sure if anyone was interested in hearing about what he liked. The longer the evening went on, the more alien he felt. He felt like a black sheep and, thanks to his lack of confidence, ignored the moments that refuted it. Instead, he noticed those in which he said something, but for some reason was ignored. Or that the responses to his comments were radically different from those received by his sister. And with each such time, his confidence and cheerfulness evaporated more and more.

He looked at Richy and Lilly. The only other people who didn't talk much and listened a lot. But it didn't seem to bother them at all. Richy was often distracted from the conversation, thinking about something else, and Lilly turned all her attention to her sister, holding her hand and asking if she needed something from time to time. They weren't active participants in the conversation, but they didn't care. They felt comfortable knowing that they were as important a part of the company as anyone else.

Jake didn't feel that way. He wasn't sure they liked him, at least. It was always difficult for him to feel needed by someone. It seemed that the only person who, Jake was absolutely sure, needed him was his mother. But she died a few years ago and Jake was left alone. Until Mc came into his life. To be honest, it took him a very long time to realize that she liked him as a person. And this despite the fact that she often said it directly to him. But he still didn't feel good or interesting enough for her to like him. Especially when Jake saw her interact with the rest of the group. And especially with Jessy. Their communication was more lively and diverse than his and Mc's. Jake blamed himself for that. He often ran away from her as soon as they discussed all the important points about the case, not considering that Mc would be interested in communicating with him on other topics and not wanting to impose. He is used to being the one in the company who always stays behind if there is not enough space on the sidewalk.

But this time, Jake had the hope that he could fit in, find those who appreciate him for who he is. And that hope was fading by the minute.

This, of course, was no one's fault. The friends were so engrossed in conversation that they could hardly notice his condition. And they didn't involve him in the conversation, thinking that he was just one of those who is silent a lot.

And well, it is always very difficult to resist your inner fears.

Jake wanted to calm down a little. Without a word, he got up and left the "Aurora", wondering if anyone would notice his absence.

It was warm and fresh outside, but Jake was hot and stuffy. He wanted to go back to his computer, back to the reality where he felt worth something.

Jake decided to stand there for a few minutes and then go back to Lilly's place. She insisted for that she, Hannah, MC, and Jake live together for a while.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched. Jake turned quickly. Mс stood next to him, looking worried.

"Are you okay, Jake?" She asked. He turned away.

"I'm fine."

He didn't want to talk about his feelings. Jake knew they were pathetic.

"Talk to me, Jake."

He liked it when Mc called him by his first name. On the other hand, she didn't even know his last. The thought unsettled him even more.

"I'm fine. Just tired." He said, perhaps too sharply. Mc grunted and turned him around to face her, looking into his eyes.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" Jake was silent. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Because it's stupid! Please, MC, just leave me. I just want to go home, stay with your friends."

"You wanted to say with our friends."

Jake still said nothing. Mc sensed how much he was straining, knew that he wanted to end this conversation as soon as possible, but she didn't let him. Now that they were face to face, he couldn't just run away from her. And she was going to find out what was bothering him.

"Jake. Please."

Jake was silent, and Mc thought he wouldn't answer her, but then she heard his soft voice say:

"I feel superfluous."

Mc frowned.

"Why?"

"I don't know? Because I'm a fool?"

"Don't talk about yourself like that."

"But if it's true? I just come up with problems from scratch, overthink, and then suffer. Isn't that foolish?!"

Jake clenched his fists and turned away again. He wanted to cry. He hated himself at times like this. He hated that he couldn't resist it. He knew that people they won't reach out to him if he doesn't reach out to them, but it was so difficult every time. He was afraid that they would just reject him.

Being alone is better than being rejected.

Jake felt her arms wrap around his torso and Mc pressed her body against his.

"Whatever you feel, it's not foolish. All your feelings and problems are important. And I care. Always remember that."

Jake started to shake, and tears came out of his eyes. Mc loosened her grip, but only enough to face him. She was still holding Jake to her with one hand while she wiped the tears from his cheeks with the other.

"I'm just a fool."

"No, you are not. You're human. We all have our weaknesses, that's normal. You don't have to shut yourself in. Let me help you."

Jake sniffed.

"Forgive me. I've ruined your evening."

Mc smiled.

"That's not true. You made it better with your presence."

Jake closed his eyes, tears continuing to flow down his chin.

"I feel so alone..."

Mc frowned slightly. She cupped Jake's face in both hands and brought it closer to hers.

"You're not alone. Not anymore." She said. "I won't let anyone hurt you again."

Jake finally unclenched his fists and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing Mc as hard as he could without hurting her. Mc closed her eyes.

They stood there for who knows how long, holding each other tightly, until at some moment Mc shifted her face a little and gently kissed Jake on the cheek, not far from his lips. He opened his eyes to meet her warm gaze and smiled slightly. Jake slowly lowered his mouth to hers. They kissed. It was a tender and full of love first kiss that they will definitely never forget.

It was one of those kisses where souls are entwined in bliss and hearts are opened to plow, making two lovers one.

And they would have stood there kissing each other for ages if they hadn't heard Richy's cheerful voice.

"There you are, lovebirds!"

Jake and Mc slowly pulled away from each other, but didn't stop hugging.

"Always on time, Richy," Mc said, but without a trace of anger. She looked at her friend and a sparkle shone in her eyes, "Tell the others we'll be right back."

"Whatever you say! Just don't stay here too long, Dan and I wanted to talk to you about something, Jake."

"To me?" Asked Jake, amazed, "About computers?"

"No, of course not!" Richy laughed, "We want to have a bachelor party and we need your opinion! Dan says it's better to go to the bar, but I told him that after that car accident, it's not the best idea..."

"We get it, Richy," Mc giggled. She and Jake were still clinging to each other.

"Oh yes! I'm sorry! Adios!" With a chuckle, he disappeared back into the bar.

Jake and Mc turned back to each other. He could feel peace spreading through his body. The tears stopped long ago.

"So," Mc grinned slyly, "Where were we?"

Jake smiled and kissed her again.

#duskwood everbyte #duskwood #jack duskwood #mc duskwood #jake x mc

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eclectic-feathers · 3 years ago

Text

Hello! Here’s my submission for @50yearsofqueen’s event. Posted nearing midnight for the drama. It’s a Doctor Who crossover that doesn’t really have much to do with the franchise other than in concept. It’s a very complex show, but canon’s already constantly challenged so I might as well challenge it even more. Thanks to my partner @bananavarina who made the art for this chapter and other chapters to come. Special thanks to @anne-white-star for helping me with the concept. Hope y’all enjoy!

———————————————

Humans succumb rather easily to trickery. After all, an unfortunate amount of them lead such jaded lives to the point they gradually lose the ability of thinking outside the box. This particular box is all these humans have ever known, yet, still, it serves as a case study in the development of claustrophobia. It’s stuck moving at a steady pace in a singular direction: forward. No turning back, no jumping ahead. Worst of all, the box never takes you anywhere. You need gasoline for that and gasoline, as you may well know, is expensive.

And if you don’t prefer a cheaper alternative for transportation, you’re either very well off or there’s something terribly wrong with you.

Thus, when presented with a different box, a time-traveling, space-hopping one which happens to accommodate much bigger dimensions on the inside, humans are easily fooled into stepping right in, putting aside all reasonable caution.

It’s for this reason that The Doctor recruits folks aboard his TARDIS with relative ease. It’s an art form he has nearly mastered, effectively trapping starry-eyed wanderers under the guise of adventure into a lifetime’s worth of the terror they least expect upon boarding. This terror had plagued dozens of Earthlings whose narrow understanding of space and time rendered them rather clueless as to how they might defeat it. This entity was, as brave Jamie McCrimmon ever so rudely proclaimed, a threat less comprehensible than Cybermen. This threat was unwanted exposition.

(Which is more commonly referred to as rambling.)

Countless humans have fondly (and exasperatedly, as certified human, Tegan Jovanka may attest) listened to The Doctor ramble for hours on end. It was a familiar dynamic, one The Doctor found comfort in. Perhaps, most of his companions never truly understood what he would be rambling on about, but it was, and still is, part of their exchange. The Doctor finds joy in showing such excitement, such beauty and wonder, to his friends. In return, his friends put the fun in his travels and gawk, accordingly, to all that they witness.

The Doctor always expected his companions to marvel in the sights and let him ramble on and on from topic to topic. What he didn’t expect was for them to stop marveling and start rambling back.

“Your mama loved scarves. They were all she had managed to pack from home when she was taken here.”

Brian slipped on his rubber footwear, his feet secured by tiny pieces of braided cloth cut from a scarf threaded through unevenly punctured holes. Haru had called them flip flops although he wasn’t quite sure whether it was a name he’d invented to cheer him up when he was little (like when he used to call lightbulbs fireflies) or if it happened to be the effect of inherent human silliness, thus making it the correct term.

“This is your papa’s favorite pair of pants. Your mama doodled stars and planets on it for his birthday. He loved them as he loved her...you love them too, don��t you?”

He pulled the pants up and fastened it with a belt. It was rather long and baggy for a ten-year-old. Still, Brian tried to make it work, bunching up the cloth and standing as tall as he could. He wondered if his father was out there, unaware of the existence of a son, finally home among the stars drawn daintily across his trousers.

“We all had to wear long sleeved shirts back in the metropolis. I wore green. He wore white.”

Brian put one on accordingly. The sleeves flopped and swallowed his arms as the shirt engulfed his skinny frame.

“Your mama had sewn him a vest. He wasn’t particularly fond of vests but he was very fond of your mama.”

He put on the black vest

Little Brian stared at the mirror in front of him, unsure what to feel. He felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, yet he wasn’t quite sure if it were right to mourn for something he’d never known.

“Bri?”

Brian looked up to find Haru standing at the doorway. His face was blank, yet a storm seemed to brew in his eyes. Perhaps, he was upset that the child he’d loved and raised as if he were his own was wearing the painful reminder of his friends long gone. Or, perhaps, he was disheartened that said child wasn’t satisfied enough with his care to stop yearning for his parents’ presence. Perhaps, he was neither of those. Perhaps, he was angry.

Brian hoped he was angry.

A moment of silence passed between them. Then another. Brian had read about moments like this in fictional Earthling books. He was steeling himself for those angry outbursts he always read about. Haru rarely got upset, yet Ian had never messed up this terribly before. So he braced himself…

Only to be engulfed in a bone crushing hug.

Brian quickly hugged Haru back as the latter trembled. He felt the pitter patter of tears falling on his shoulder and for the first time in his life, he felt the crushing weight of loss.

“You deserve to know your father,” Haru croaked as he regained his composure. Brian merely buried his face in his shoulder as he finally let his own tears flow.

“I already do, Dad.”

—————————-

“Doctor, your library’s collection of medical books is incomplete,” proclaimed Brian, a young man clad in white, signifying his status as an esteemed astronaut of Planet Rhye.

The Doctor gasped theatrically, startling Deacy, a man from 21st century Leicester, younger and less knowledgeable than Brian, yet seemingly much wiser. He’d been tinkering with a malfunctioning lever for about an hour now.

The Doctor merely smiled in apology to which Deacy responded with a fond shake of his head.

“Oh the TARDIS hasn’t been fixed yet?,” Brian inquired as he sank into a lavish red sofa situated in the console room.

“Not to my knowledge, no,” Deacy replied.

The Doctor laughed.

“Cheeky now, aren’t we?”

“Well, I deserve to be cheeky. After all it wasn’t me who busted the wiring in the butterfly room for a photoshoot.”

The Doctor scoffed as Brian let out a snort of his own.

“I’ll have you know, darling, that we’re perfectly safe and untarnished. I managed to avert the crisis by rearranging the wires before anyone could get hurt.”

“Did you, now?,” Deacy asked, his confusion evident.

“Of course I did!”

“Then how come the wires here are all mismatched and tangled up?”

A sudden silence swept across the room.

“Oh! You managed to rearrange them well enough for the TARDIS not to combust but they still weren’t in the correct order because based on the times we were on Itakam and the time we went to Roman occupied Greece, you’re no good at technical repairs,” Brian piped up, rather satisfied with himself. Deacy chuckled as The Doctor gaped at his lack of tact.

“Brian...do tell me about the library,” The Doctor muttered, as Deacy amusedly returned to his work.

“I’ve searched high and low in every single shelf of your library and found references to every single medical lung condition I’ve read of back home. They were all there...except for one.”

“Well, that’s silly, darling! The book dealer had been very sincere. I couldn’t have been tricked!”

“Perhaps, you’d simply been gullible?,” Roger suggested as he entered the room. He was exceptionally beautiful with no trace of wrinkles, pores, or even a philtrum. His skin was smooth as silk save for a pair of gills which rested on either side of his neck. He sat next to Brian and plopped his feet on the former’s lap. It was no secret that this Doctor, unlike the last two of his incarnations, was reserved around strangers. That being said, soaked up every last trace of physical affection from his friends like a sponge. Yet, even he chuckled at the display of such disregard for human manners.

Brian was human. However he’d been raised far from Earth, isolated from society with no one but Dad for company. Etiquette was unimportant in his little world and Dad hadn’t known enough about human custom to teach him anything of substance. Brian hadn’t known touch for years and he embraced, quite literally, its sudden return in the form of team cuddles. It seems rather funny, doesn’t it? That there are things you never realize you lost until you find it and cherish it once more? Ian seemed to believe so.

Roger was a fish.

“That’s impossible, for how all that pretentiousness my sixth face had, he simply wasn’t one to be tricked.”

“I beg to differ,” Roger countered. “I’ve met him. You’re absolutely rubbish at spaceship maintenance, I give you that. But you’re actually quite clever...very creative even. He was witty and creative too, but he wasn’t clever. He was mostly a bumbling fool.”

The Doctor didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.

“What medical condition were you looking for anyway?,” Deacy inquired as he rolled up the sleeves of his turtleneck and took off his spliced button up.

“Hanahaki disease.”

At this, Roger quickly turned away from Brian, trying to hold in his laughter. The Doctor buried his smiling face in Deacy’s shoulder as the latter forcibly schooled his expression into one of nonchalance. He was well aware that Hanahaki disease was fictional, after all, his girlfriend, Ronnie used to write fiction in her spare time and he’d be the beta reader. He nodded politely, as Brian happily hummed a little tune, oblivious to his friends’ antics.

You know you’ve got a terrible grasp on human custom when even a fish is more culturally aware than you.

“Well, either way,” Brian piped up, still blissfully unaware, “your collection’s incomplete. Maybe we should go look for the missing volume after Deacy repairs the console?”

“I reckon we need another adventure,” Roger agreed as he set his legs on the floor and yanked The Doctor towards the couch. Brian scooted closer, letting his head rest on Roger’s shoulder as The Doctor climbed in and rested his upper body on his companions’ laps.

“I’m afraid we’ll be stranded here for a little while,” Deacy remarked.

“Then what are you waiting for?,” Brian asked as he beckoned Deacy over to the couch. The latter smiled as he joined in what he believed to be the best part of traveling with The Doctor: cuddle piles.

—————————————-

“Are we gonna tell him…?”

“No!”

“How dare you?! I invited you onboard expecting a starry-eyed audience to gawk at everything I do but instead I got someone who seems to know my TARDIS better than me!”

“There’s no point in complaining about free maintenance.”

“You’re one to talk, fishman. There’s no point in bringing you along with me to witness the universe if you’ve already seen it all!”

“Yet you still keep us around.”

“...I suppose I do. Now wipe those smug looks off your faces. We’re going to 2012. Just to appease him.”

#queen #50yearsofqueen #doctor who #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #Freddie Mercury

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blushinggray · 3 years ago

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Okay ngl I usually don’t post hc’s or updates or ideas about my fics bc I usually wanna keep them “as a surprise” for when I do publish it (if I ever even do lol) or I’ve had this mindset that just talking about writing prevents me or takes time from actually writing. Or that even if I do talk about my feelings/ideas about smth, that no one will really care. Which is why I kinda save it for dm’s with friends/when the topic actually comes up. And even then, I don’t wanna overwhelm them with all my thoughts/ideas so I kind of hold back on some things

But recently I came across this Twitter thread that reminded me that it is perfectly fine to blabber on about the things I like if I want to. And even if no one cares, it’s MY freaking blog. I write for fun and for free and for ME. So I should stop trying to hide behind self deprecation as “humility” or keep my ideas bottled up just to save them as “surprises” when I actually just wanna talk about them!!!!!

I’m gonna start tagging these as #fic trivia so if you don’t care to see my babbling, or you prefer just my surprise fic emails outta nowhere, then feel free to hide that tag from your dash. But I am gonna try to start being more open about what I wanna talk about when I wanna talk about it, regardless of the feedback/interaction (or lack thereof) that I get

So without further ado, some hc’s from my tattoo artist!bakugou fic:

Among his friends, Bakugou has tatted:

Jirou (first practice canvas)

Kirishima (upper arms and chest, maybe legs)

Uraraka (upper arms)

Kaminari (random scattered pieces for whenever he’s feeling spontaneous and can handle the pain)

Sero (one sleeve, chest, legs)

Deku (he’s a good boy but he wanted one by his friend so he got one on his hip just to support kacchan/hide it from his mom)

Ashido (random pieces all over, not only by Bakugou bc she has more tattoo artist friends who practice on her, so she’s pretty filled up)

Inasa (whole sleeves and chest pieces)

Camie (one thing on her back maybe)

Tokoyami (random pieces on his upper arms)

Sato (whole sleeves)

Shoji (whole sleeves and random stuff all over)

Tetsutetsu (whole sleeves and chest pieces)

Among clients, Bakugou has tattooed:

Nejire (obviously) — a singer in this au

Shindou (chest and upper arms)

Nakagame (one thing in her arm)

Gang orca (whole sleeves)

Death arms (chest pieces, one thing on legs)

Kendou (one on her arm, one on her side)

Present Mic (one on his arm)

Vlad King (one upper arm/chest piece)

Burnin’ (tat on her back)

Before starting Dynamight Studios, he was an apprentice for Best Jeanist for several years. His mentor was a lot more artsy than he was, but Bakugou respects legends in their own right. Plus it gave him a chance to experiment with things to find out that he does, in fact, only like to do what he wants to do 😪

But Jeanist gave him a ton of experience and brought him along to plenty of conventions, domestic and international, so his time as an apprentice is irreplaceable. They still talk and Bakugou visits every once in a while.

Reader has tattooed:

Yaomomo

Nejire

Mount lady

Intelli Saiko & friends (from provisional license exam arc)

Kodai & Komori (came in together)

Probably way more people in her base area

Reader apprenticed with Hawks, which honestly gave her a bit of a headache. He’s a super talented tattoo artist but his work style is kind of overwhelming. She learned a lot from him, that’s for sure, but the way he would just make her crank out dozens of sketches a day was not sustainable for her. It did force her to think out of the box a lot though, which is what eventually birthed her new personal style

She now works at a relatively popular tattoo shop she started with another tattoo artist friend, but she takes jobs from a lot of people and places. Sometimes, she even gets a client referred to by her old mentor, whom she visits every so often with food.

About Red Riot Bar:

It’s a pretty spacious place, with mostly low rise coffee tables and stools so that you don’t feel like you’re being obstructed when you talk to others by tall furniture. If there are tall tables, they’re off to the side/the bar itself

There are arcade games set up one side of the bar, like pinball, darts, Pac-Man, etc. Opposite the pool table. and the walls are decorated with all of kirishima’s favorite art, bands, and inspirations (esp crimson riot, his favorite tv show character. He’s still waiting for the day that the actor shows up to his bar so he can put a framed photo on the walls)

It’s a chill place, where the music is good but not too loud and everyone can feel at ease. It’s on a street that’s pretty popular and busy with restaurants and other izakayas, so he’s got competition. But the ones who do come in and stick around are exactly the type of clientele he prefers for his bar

Was talking to @tonystonem about this but if you happened to stop by his bar a few times casually after work or smth, he would probably remember you since he’s pretty friendly with all his customers and likes to get to know people

And bouncing off of that, if you happen to catch his eye, then maybe he’d crank up the flirting a bit. Or get a little nosy when you bring a guy friend/acquaintance along with you one day

Obviously, jirou and yaomomo are in a band together, along with some other friends. (Although yaomomo still has a part time day job working for her family’s business) They play for a lot of different live music places and sometimes get booked for touring artists or events.

Their first big gig was given to them by popular radio host and producer present mic, at a music festival. They’re working with him occasionally on an EP, but they’re putting a lot of care into the project so it’s taking a bit longer than expected. But it’s gonna be so good and kirishima is definitely gonna stream it nonstop in his bar when it comes out

Kaminari knows everyone and everything in the city lmao. Everyone wonders if he actually has a job bc he’s always just out socializing and partying and having a good time. He does have a job tho! He’s like a recruiter for his company, so he has to go out and find new clients or workers all the time but that usually involves inviting them out for a casual hangout first to throw his pitches. It’s not always successful but he makes a lot of friends out of it. More than he can handle/remember sometimes lol

#fic trivia #lmao might have to go back and search for a few old posts where i answered some asks about my other fic hc's but this is a start #i feel the need to say things out loud more despite how i fear the lack of feedback #bc i gotta remember i don't write in the first place for feedback???#and if no one gives a crap either way then i might as well spit it out instead of letting it just fester in my brain and die in my notes #don't get me wrong i absolutely adore feedback but since i don't get much of it nowadays (compared to before) then i get doubtful about #how good it actually is sometimes. like /i/ think it's good but if other people don't then maybe i should re evaluate why that is #or maybe it's bc i'm writing in a style/for characters that i wasn't usually known for and those who used to read for those things are #no longer interested in reading my new stuff #which i get but still. makes me wonder if i'm really evolving sometimes or not #damn hokshi really be out here just vomiting her insecurities into the tags without a stopper huh?#but whatever. again gotta reiterate that i shouldn't be sorry for being honest or saying what i wanna say

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threeletterslife · 4 years ago

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Brevity (But Most Often Not)

→ [2/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: All your life, you've been with guys who didn't bother to read the news or appreciate the art form of journalism. But Hoseok... Even the way he carefully chooses his words is a sign that you and he are a match. If only he weren't in a dilapidating psychiatric hospital. Then maybe you'd have a proper boyfriend who treated you right for once.

→ pairing/rating: hoseok x reader | PG-13

→ genre: 100% angst (but like, soft angst?? mellow angst?) | journalist!au

→ warnings: depictions of a psychiatric hospital and mentally ill patients, slight manipulation

→ wordcount: 6.6k

→ a/n: based on this ted talk! *disclaimer,,, the characters in this fic are fictional and do not correlate with the real members whatsoever!*

Merrymoor Hospital stands before you behind the gray clouds of fog that have drifted mysteriously and rather suddenly following your rather nervous departure from your car. Almost as if you've walked straight into a horror movie and Merrymoor Hospital was the haunted castle that would end up dragging you down to your demise.

You swallow.

The foggy weather isn't helping your anxious nerves. The weeds are overgrown in the dirt and a collapsed sign catches your eye. It reads Merrymoor Asylum for the Criminally Insane. That used to be the name for Merrymoor Hospital before they changed it to something a bit more... civil.

No wonder they're trying to close this place down. The whole building looks like a brewery for disaster—or murder if you will.

They should've sent Namjoon up for this job instead of you. The man has thick skin and probably hasn't watched a horror movie in his life, which would probably make him immune to the fear of entering a hospital that screams haunted mansion.

Though your hands are clammy, you make sure to take quick notes in your notebook about the surroundings.

Inhospitable hospital, you write. Might have something to do with weather. Possible revisit.

But you hope it doesn't have to come to that.

You're this jittery for your first visit; you don't want to think of the possibility of a second.

All you can do is hope the first visit at Merrymoor Hospital is so horrible that you can convey the exact picture of it in your writing and get it published. Then the place will shut down.

For nearly six years, citizens have been wanting to shut down Merrymoor because just the thought of these criminally insane people escaping the confines of the asylum terrifies them. And now your agency is taking action. If you write an article convincing enough (about your horrible findings) then Merrymoor will finally be shut down.

Of course, there is a slight chance that Merrymoor isn't as bad as everyone assumes it is. You'll have to report the facts as they are. If there's one thing you hate more than horror movies, it's yellow journalism. You promised yourself that when you became a journalist, you'd write everything as it is without exaggeration and overly pretentious language that the common man wouldn't be able to comprehend without pulling out a dictionary.

So here you are. At Merrymoor.

In a way, the place looks a bit like a college campus. If the campus had been severely mauled by zombies in a post-apocalyptic world, though. Cautiously, you step closer to the entrance of the building. There are guards there—unusually large and buff.

You clear your throat. "Hello." Your voice comes out squeaky and if your body language didn't give away how terrified you are, your voice sure did. "I'm Y/N. I believe I was invited to inspect Merrymoor Hospital today."

"Y/N..." a guard mutters gruffly.

You fight the urge to shrink back.

"Oh, Y/N L/N. The journalist? Yes, they're waiting for you."

Oh, thank goodness.

The guards nod at you before opening the heavy-looking doors.

"Thank you," you manage to squeak out before slipping into the entrance. What waits for you are bright white walls on all four sides of the hallway. There's a bit of dust in the corners and what you hope are water stains on the welcome mat you're stepping on. But otherwise, the conditions inside are far better than the outside.

"Y/N!!"

Your head jerks up when you hear your name.

"Hello!" A man dashes toward you, wearing a white lab coat and flashing his white teeth in your direction. He looks a bit too friendly to be working in such a serious place. "Y/N, right? Sorry I couldn't meet you outside. We were making sure your visit here would run as smoothly as possible." He grins at you again and you're starting to think he's doing that to hypnotize you into liking the hospital.

"Yes, I'm Y/N," you say. "Nice to meet you, Mr..." Your eyes trail down to glance at the name embroidered with gold thread on his coat, "Park."

"Oh, please, call me Jimin," the man smiles again. You have to admit if he wasn't stuck working here, he could've appeared in some magazines and gotten rich. "Welcome to Merrymoor, by the way. We're a psychiatric hospital established in 1863. Pretty old, aren't we?" He laughs but you don't.

Est. 1863, you scribble in your notebook. "Sorry if I don't respond sometimes," you mutter apologetically. "But I'd love it if you can tell me everything about Merrymoor."

"The more information, the better article you can write!" Jimin answers merrily.

Oh god. It sounds like Jimin's adamant about keeping the hospital open.

He drones on and on about Merrymoor's impossibly high specs and their success in helping their patients reach a peak in their lives. You scribble the facts down but don't include Jimin's biased side comments about the wonders of the asylum.

"Want to meet the patients?"

Jimin's sudden question startles you especially because you hadn't expected to actually come in contact with them.

"A-Assuming they're..."

"They won't hurt you," Jimin says, shaking his head. "Just don't bump into Gladys. She tends to get fussy when that happens. And don't mention the color blue in front of Jungkook. He doesn't like that. Steer clear away from anyone who looks like they're living in their own world. Some of them think they can get away with homicide in their minds. If someone approaches you and you feel nervous, call for me, okay?"

"Don't bump in Gladys. Don't say blue in front of Jungkook. Steer clear from people living in their own little bubble. Call you when I'm nervous. Got it," you say. "Thank you."

"No problem," Jimin salutes you.

Hm. He's cute.

You'd think the wellness center where all the patients are located for the evening would be behind one or two gates at the maximum. Instead, you and Jimin pass through six gates with even more buff guards.

Not bad, you think. Good security, you write in your notebook. Jimin glances over your shoulder and smiles proudly.

"You ready?" Jimin whispers to you before the guards open the seventh gate. "There are red panic buttons on the side if there's an emergency. But that's pretty rare." He shrugs.

"Yeah," you say. "You can open the door."

The moment the gates open, a rather large room is revealed. It sort of looks like a hotel lobby but with softer, pastel colors that are universally accepted as calming hues. The only bright color that stands out is the reds of the panic buttons scattered across the pale green walls.

"The rooms used to be pastel blue," Jimin says. "But after Jungkook came to us, we had to repaint them. He thinks the color is a curse."

"O-Oh..."

The patients are lazily lounging around the old armchairs or rocking on the balls of their feet in front of walls. Some are talking to themselves. Others are entranced in a kid's television show playing on the cracked television screen.

"It's been a long time since we've gotten donations," Jimin explains almost apologetically. "There are games in the closet over there," he says, pointing at the closet that is locked shut. "We lock that for safety reasons. But not a lot of them want to play checkers and battleship anyway."

There doesn't seem to be a set uniform for the patients. You see comfortable clothes on most of them. Sweatpants with mysterious stains and t-shirts with worn-out holes. All of them have a battered name tag pasted on their shirts.

Inadequate funding, you note. Jimin's smile crumbles a bit.

"Are they always this... turtle-like?" You stop yourself from saying slow.

"Well... They're... medicated," Jimin whispers as if it's the most important secret in the world.

That makes a lot more sense as to why some older patients are drooling on themselves. A lot of them seem to be drifting along like ghosts in some sort of vivid slumber. It's unsettling.

"Ah... I see," you answer. "May I talk to a few of the patients?"

"Yeah! Sure," Jimin says. "I'll get out of your hair. Call me if you need me."

"Thanks."

In general, the patients seem content, but you're not very sure if it's the drugs that are talking. They hum off-key songs and talk to themselves. Some glance at you but others act like you aren't even in the room. You try to pick out a patient from the crowd who doesn't look very... threatening. Just in case.

There's a strange man in a well-ironed navy blue suit who catches your eye. His hair is pushed back and gelled into a stylish sweep, revealing his forehead for others to admire. His nose stands tall and his posture is impeccable. He's arguing with an obvious patient in sweats.

You don't mean to eavesdrop but—

"You're wearing blue!"

"Navy blue to be more precise," the strange man says. "What do you want, Jungkook?"

"I-I c-can't allow it!" Jungkook declares. "Take it off! Take it off!"

Upon closer inspection, the strange man has a name tag on his suit; it is the only thing that ruins his pristine image. Hoseok, it reads. You can't even fathom that he's a patient in a mental asylum.

"That would be considerably inappropriate," Hoseok says. He frowns. "I fancy this suit quite so, Jungkook."

"BLUE!" Jungkook shrieks. He begins to thrash about so hard that you contemplate pushing the red emergency button. But just as you move closer to the wall, Jimin comes to the rescue.

"That's enough wellness center for you, Koo," he tells the crazed man. "Want to go back to your room? The color won't haunt you there." Jimin shoots you an apologetic look. "I'll be right back. Refer to the other clinicians if you need them, okay?" You nod politely. Jimin looks at you gratefully before he and Jungkook walk away.

Great. Now you're left alone in a room filled with a bunch of potentially dangerous crazies.

"You're new here, ma'am?" Hoseok, the patient in the prim and proper suit says. "You aren't a patient here, I suppose?"

"Oh, no," you say, quickly shaking your head. "I'm just here to observe."

Hoseok points to your notebook. "A journalist, Miss...?"

"L/N. But I go by Y/N," you say. "And yes, I am a journalist." You quirk your brows. Insanely observative for him to notice.

"Ah, I reckon you're here to write an article about Merrymoor's imminent closure?" Hoseok drawls on. He sits down on a busted armchair and gestures you to sit across from him. He's so charming, you do exactly as he suggests.

"Well, I'll have to see what Merrymoor is like before I can write such a..." you trail off, trying to rack your brain to find a fitting word.

"Definitive article?" Hoseok finishes for you. Right, definitive. He crosses his legs casually and leans back, exuding the aura of an extremely young but successful CEO rather than a patient at a mental hospital.

"Yes," you say, cocking your head. "A definitive article."

"May I ask how you fancy Merrymoor as of now?" Hoseok says. "Awfully decrepit, isn't it? Such a dingy environment. Yesterday, I'm afraid I found a toenail in my meal. Not much up to par with the other hospitals, this one. Is Merrymoor too run-down for your taste as well, Y/N?"

"Yes, just a bit," you admit. "But so far everything seems to be set up for the best of the patients."

Hoseok laughs a merry laugh. "Y/N, there is hardly any regular Merrymoor inhabitant adept enough to hold an intellectual discourse with me. I'd say I'm always a little more than bored here."

"Oh... I'm sorry." You're not sure how a man like Hoseok got stuck in Merrymoor Hospital. He doesn't look very criminally insane to you at all. Just very well-spoken and well-dressed.

"Oh, you don't have to be sorry," Hoseok smiles. "But it's rather often that I feel forsaken here. With no one to converse with except the clinicians... Even then, they are vigilant around me though I try to convince them I am not dangerous. They check under my blankets—even my mattress. Won't let me around scissors. Y/N, it's almost offensive how fastidious they are."

I doubt any of these patients want to be dangerous on purpose, though. It's obviously a good thing that the clinicians are so attentive. Bonus points.

"They're just looking out for you, Hoseok," you offer. You scribble attentive clinicians in your notebook.

"I would like to beg to differ," Hoseok says. "As you can surely tell, Y/N, I hardly belong here." He gestures at himself and glances detestably at the others in the wellness center. "Quite obviously, there has been a mistake."

"A... mistake?"

"Yes," Hoseok says. He uncrosses his legs and crosses them the other way. Then, he leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "You see, I wasn't a very courteous young adult, Y/N. When I was 21, I committed a minor crime that would sentence me to jail for about six years."

You frown.

"Yes, I know," Hoseok sighs. "I've deeply repented my faults before my departure to jail. I was in the prime time of my life, Y/N. I couldn't spend six years in jail at age 21. Not especially when I already mulled over my actions and expressed great remorse to those I hurt..."

His words are so convincing that you nod along with him.

"I remembered what someone had once told me. To get out of an unnecessarily long sentence, all I had to do was fake a mental illness." Hoseok shakes his head disapprovingly. "Apparently, my act was so persuasive, they threw me in Merrymoor instead. Now I can't get out."

"Oh god... How long have you been here?"

"Nearly fifteen years. Almost three times as much longer than my original sentence," Hoseok laughs bitterly. "Turns out, it is incredibly difficult to prove that I am, indeed, sane."

"Oh no..." you breathe. "I'm so sorry..."

"That isn't necessary, Y/N." Hoseok smiles. "But my only wish is for Merrymoor to close down. So I am finally let loose to freedom."

You gulp. His charming smile is so eye-catching that you can barely look away from his handsome face.

"I've always wanted to be a journalist..." Hoseok says sadly. He looks at the notebook in your hands longingly. "Words have always fascinated me, Y/N. You see, the wielder of words is more powerful than any delinquent brandishing a weapon. Words are controllable and may hold so much potent..."

"Oh, I agree!" you smile. "As a journalist, I kinda think of myself as the informer for the people. I write so others can read! And my reports will benefit someone with good information. At least, that's how I like to think of it. I'm glad you think the same!"

"If we didn't meet inside Merrymoor, I would've easily asked you out on a date, Y/N," Hoseok smiles, shaking his head. "But it seems so that dates might be impossible here. There is little to no privacy."

"O-Oh!" Your cheeks flush bright pink. "Maybe you'll have a tribunal one day. And then we'll have to see."

"I'm afraid that might be unlikely," Hoseok sighs. "They are concerned about the feasibility of recidivism..."

"I-I'll visit," you blurt out before you mull over your choice of words. "Maybe you'll feel less lonely then. I have to come back here anyway..."

"Tomorrow. 11 a.m." Hoseok says. He quirks a handsome brow at you curiously. "I'll be waiting."

Your stomach twists in anticipation and you have to look away from his intense stare. "I'll be there."

Once in the safe confines of your room, you open up your laptop and begin to transfer your written notes to an open document. You like to get the most of your workload done the first day, so you end up researching the history of Merrymoor Hospital. Until you read the articles about it up-to-date.

Apparently, if the people finally decide to close down Merrymoor for good, they might turn it into a hotel. Kind of fitting, especially since the wellness center had a striking resemblance to a hotel lobby.

But after a while, you start getting distracted by Hoseok. The charming man had certainly known what he was talking about.

All your life, you've been with guys who didn't bother to read the news or appreciate the art form of journalism. But Hoseok... Even the way he carefully chooses his words is a sign that you and he are a match. If only he weren't in a dilapidating psychiatric hospital. Then maybe you'd have a proper boyfriend who treated you right for once.

Your exes all had one thing in common. They all told you that you talked like a journalist. Apparently, that's a big turn-off. Not as much of a turn-off when they think 'fancy' dressing means wearing cargo shorts with a t-shirt and socks with sandals.

Now Hoseok is a man who is an obvious connoisseur of words and clothes. And you deserve a man like that. A man who is so well-spoken that you become lost in his speech.

Your laptop begins to dim to save battery but you ignore the darker screen and instead, look at your lacking closet. Tomorrow, you should wear something nice for once. Rather than your usual pants and blouse, you should pick out something... more flashy.

At one point in your clothes hunting journey inside your own closet, you remember that the purpose of going to Merrymoor again is not to impress Hoseok but to write an article. Right. Your job always comes first. So you sigh, throwing away your heap of useless and bland clothes to the side and sliding in your desk chair to wake your laptop.

You'll have to finish outlining the main points of the article today. Then maybe you'll let yourself go out and buy a cute outfit for tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes so slowly that you swear time delayed itself while you were asleep and now the world runs not in seconds but in lethargic minutes.

Jimin greets you just like the day before and he seems pleased that you are in a brighter mood than yesterday. For one, the weather isn't as foggy, which actually does wonders to the outlook of the outside of the hospital. Without the fog, Merrymoor doesn't look like a haunted mansion at all. In fact, it looks more like a grandiose museum promising historic artifacts and old texts. Much less terrifying than the previous day.

"How was your visit yesterday?" Jimin chirps as he offers you a cup of hot coffee. His eyes linger on your shorter-than-usual pencil skirt and low-cut, silky black blouse. "I hope it was good." He beams when you accept the coffee with a smile. "Do you have any specific places you want to visit today?"

"Oh, thank you!" you say. "It was great," you tell him truthfully. "The guards already toured me around the outside today, but I was thinking I could visit some individual rooms."

"Of course!" Jimin grins. "The patients should be in their rooms right now. Good timing."

You realize Hoseok had said 11 o'clock with a plan in mind.

"Don't worry," Jimin soothes. "There are two guards at every door so you should feel safe."

Good security x2, you write in your notebook while making Jimin hold your coffee. The clinician beams.

Jimin guides you around the white walls of the hospital. "Did you know, these walls used to be green? In the old days, they thought green stimulated mental health because it represents the color of nature and growth. But I think white looks much better now. Blue is supposed to actually stimulate health, though. But Jungkook's sensitive to blue so we stuck with white for the hallways."

You nod thoughtfully. But you really wonder how Hoseok will greet you today.

"Um, Jimin?"

"Yes?" Jimin turns to you hopefully.

"Can I visit Hoseok? I met him yesterday and I think he'll be great to interview... You know, for the article."

Jimin visibly pales. "Oh... You mean, Jung Hoseok, huh? He's... um, are you sure? Jungkook might be a better candidate for an interview. Maybe even Yoongi. How about Taehyung? Or Seokjin..."

"Yes, I'm sure," you nod. "He's well-spoken so I think I could get good quotes from him. I can visit the rest of the patients later. Is that okay?"

"Um... yeah... sure..." Jimin says but he doesn't sound so sure.

Regardless, he leads you to the door to Hosoek's room. From the open wide slot on the door, you can glimpse at the interior, which looks surprisingly cozy with warm blankets and even a window letting some of the morning sunlight shine in.

"I'll be waiting outside," Jimin says. "The guards will follow you in if that's okay."

"Yeah, thanks."

"No problem!"

When you enter the room, you find that Hoseok's sitting on a little wooden chair in the corner of the room. Today, he's in a classic pinstripe suit with a red tie. He grins brightly when he sees you, but he scowls at the two guards behind you. The guards ignore him, instead, standing at the entrance. You cautiously walk forward.

"Hi, again, Hoseok," you say. "I was wondering if I can get an interview with you today... If that's all right with you."

"Of course that's all right, Y/N," the man beams. "Here," he says, standing up and letting you take the chair. "I prefer standing during serious discussions."

"Oh, of course. Thank you." You slide into the small chair, looking up to face Hoseok. "Can I have your permission to record the interview?"

"Yes, by all means. You look gorgeous, by the way. Lovely skirt. Beautiful blouse."

You blush, tugging at the ends of your pencil skirt. "Thank you." Bringing out your little voice recorder, you clear your throat before pressing record. Then, you begin to speak. "I'll be asking about your stay at Merrymoor Hospital. All you have to do is answer to your best ability. Don't worry if you need a moment to think. Can you please state and spell out your full name? If you are comfortable, you can state your age as well."

Hoseok does so in a relaxed, enchanting voice that makes you wonder how tortuous it will be for you to listen to this interview over and over again to transcribe it.

"Why were you admitted into Merrymoor Hospital? And what year?"

"I didn't quite mean to be admitted into a psychiatric hospital so young," Hoseok hums thoughtfully. "I suppose I was reckless in my twenties... But who isn't?"

You nod. Your twenties were disastrous. Full of bad men, too much alcohol and little to no care for the repercussions.

"I did use my fists quite rashly once when I was twenty-one and that resulted in me getting a six-year sentence for prison," Hoseok shrugs. "The roaring twenties is called the roaring twenties for a reason—aside from the historical reference, of course. Nobody desires to be locked up at the rush hour of their lives, do they?" He smooths back his immaculately gelled hair. "After I severely repented my wrongdoings, I came up with a brilliant idea to reach liberty. I heard they coddle you at mental hospitals before releasing you to freedom after a couple of days. So I figured it was genius to merely act mental.

"But my act was so convincing that they sent me here. In 2005, I was shoved in this little, dingy cell, forced into isolation from the rest of the world and being stripped from my well-deserved privacy." Hoseok scoffs bitterly. "For nearly fifteen years, I've been trying to convince every clinician in here that I am a normal, average citizen. I am definitely not insane. But how do I prove that I am sane?"

The last question rings in the room. You shift in your seat. "If the clinicians are suggesting—"

"Wrongfully accusing," Hoseok corrects with a small nod.

"Right. If the clinicians are 'wrongfully accusing' you of having a mental disorder, then which one is it?"

"They've wrongfully accused me of a plethora of disorders from a medical book. I was forced to take written or multiple-choice or even verbal tests that would prove my insanity," Hoseok says with a scornful frown on his face. "If I made every single clinician in Merrymoor take the same tests that I took, I guarantee you that all of them would definitely come out as positive for one or more disorders. Everyone's a little insane inside."

He grins but it isn't maniacally. It is almost consolingly. Convincingly.

"Are you finished with your inquiries, Y/N?" Hoseok asks. "I have some of my own for you."

"O-Oh, I only asked two questions so far—"

"Will I be able to see you again?" He stands over you with a dominant aura that makes you forget how to deny a request. "I enjoy your company very much, Y/N."

"Yes, surely," you reply. "When would you like to schedule another interview?"

Hoseok grins, reaching forward to pet the perfect curls of your hair. The guards in the back flinch forward but when they realize you're fine with it, they ease their tension.

The man cups your cheek with his hand, which is surprisingly ice cold. You stare up at him with admiration. He laughs quietly under his breath. He's got you wrapped around his finger.

When you're around Hoseok, it's easy to forget your duties as a journalist. You're supposed to poke and prod for information, but Hoseok is so good at speaking that he often gets away with not answering your interview questions directly. There's something about the eloquent way he talks that makes you want to stop everything and just listen to him forever.

Your laptop is open again as you transcribe five days' worth of interviews with Hoseok. Embarrassingly enough, it took five days to get a day's worth of quotes and questions from the handsome man. But you strangely don't mind. Those five days visiting Hoseok over and over again was blissful.

And now that you have no more questions, you don't have an excuse to go to Merrymoor any longer. But it's hard to focus on writing your article (even though the deadline is rapidly approaching) when all you can think of is Hoseok.

He's been trying to convince you that Merrymoor should be closed, but from what you see, Merrymoor isn't the problem at all. The patients are genuinely well-treated and the clinicians are respectful and kind. Safety is a priority, which was the people's largest concern. And even the guards are polite.

If the people wanted to turn Merrymoor into a hotel, they'd have to let go of that thought. Merrymoor should stay as a psychiatric hospital.

Meanwhile, maybe you can put in a good word for Hoseok to get him out of Merrymoor. You admit it had been silly of him to pretend to be mentally ill (especially when psychiatry definitely isn't a joke) but he's obviously matured since he was 21. He's spent nearly fifteen years regretting his past. You think it should come to an end.

Maybe you're doing it for your own good too. You can't help but wonder what your relationship with Hoseok will blossom like outside the hospital. When he pets your hair or caresses your cheek, you feel like you're going to combust. And the last few interviews, you told the guards to stay outside the room. He was this close to kissing you, too. But he had pulled away last second, smiling teasingly at you. It was as if he was saying you'd only get a kiss if he was finally liberated from the confines of what he liked to call the prison cell.

God, you remember how breathless you had been the moment he pulled away. Imagine how breathless you'd actually be if he'd really kissed you.

You let your laptop screensaver go on before sighing. Without a second thought, you grab a coat and rush out of your modest loft. You drive yourself all the way to Merrymoor and park haphazardly in the dirt. The guards are so used to you by now that they let you in immediately.

You're breathless by the time you reach Jimin's office. The young clinician looks surprised but happy to see you. "Y/N!" he greets you warmly. "I didn't know you were coming here again!"

"I have to talk to you!" you blurt out. "Please," you add for good measure.

Jimin laughs. "I didn't know you were so excited to talk to me." Usually, he's wearing his white lab coat but that stays hanging on a coat rack near the door. He has a black turtleneck on with some casual jeans. It's nowhere as near stylish as Hoseok's attire, but he still looks effortlessly fashionable. Jimin looks you up and down and grins. "I see you're participating in pajama day today." He giggles.

You gasp when you realize that in your hurry, you'd forgotten to change out of your home clothes. Your face turns a bright shade of red as you wrap your coat tighter around you. "I-I was in a hurry."

"I can see that," Jimin smiles. "What is it that you want to ask me about?" He sits down on his big chair and gestures for you to sit across from him.

You gather your breath, tucking your hair behind your ears as you take a moment for yourself. Jimin waits patiently.

"It's about Hoseok," you finally gasp.

"Oh. Hoseok..." Jimin sighs. "Yes, our patient. What about him?"

"Well, there's been a mistake," you say. "He's not supposed to be here. He lied about being mentally ill when he was younger, but I'm sure he's learned his lesson by now. Hoseok's as normal as we are," you plead. "He just wants to be released. Get the freedom that he deserves."

To your surprise, Jimin sighs. "Oh no, Y/N..."

"What?" you say, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"God, how do I break this to you?" Jimin shakes his head. "Wow. Um... Well, this is awkward."

"Why is it awkward?" Your inside twist at the impending bad news that you were going to hear any second now. You hope for the worst.

"Well... Y/N... Normal isn't a very good way to describe Jung Hoseok. He's definitely not normal," Jimin says, scratching his head. "I'm his clinician. I should know, right?"

"Not normal? Then...?"

"He's a psychopath, Y/N," Jimin says.

"A what." You deadpan so seriously that it's Jimin who flinches back.

"A psychopath. Not all are dangerous... But some do have a tendency to commit crimes and try to get away from the consequences," Jimin says. "They're cunning, manipulative people, Y/N. Very abnormally large egos. And lack of empathy. They don't feel the way we do."

But Hoseok... He'd... he'd liked you, though.

"I'm sorry," Jimin apologizes. He looks genuine. "The fact that Hoseok tried to fake mental illness to get out of a prison sentence makes him abnormal. He's a clinically diagnosed psychopath."

"What do you mean they don't feel the way we do?"

"They tend to lack emotions like fear and sadness and guilt, Y/N... But they're usually very good at pretending they do," Jimin says. "It's hard for them to make emotional connections with others, but they'll use their charm and way with words to get what they want. Usually, they're a bit narcissistic too. I mean, Hoseok threw a fit when he realized we weren't installing a mirror in his room... And he might think of you as more of a thing than a person."

"A thing?" you scoff incredulously.

"He must've wanted you to feel attracted to him," Jimin sighs. "He probably thought you were the key to getting out of Merrymoor. He's tried that with several other women around here—even men."

You stumble over your words, fists clenching. "You mean he can't really care for me?"

"He might... But for different reasons." Jimin fidgets with his hands. "He cares about you in a sense because you'll benefit him."

"So he's puppeteering me," you scoff. "Like I'm some doll he can show a little bit of love to and I'll come running back to him! God, I'm so stupid!" You bury your face in your hands. "I thought he really liked me..."

"Manipulation is the term we use," Jimin sighs. "Normally, most psychopaths can function well in a given society. But Hoseok's proven to struggle with that a little bit. Um, he has violent tendencies..."

You're left speechless.

And you really thought you could have a future with him. You feel foolish.

"T-Thank you, Jimin," you manage to stutter out. "Thank you for telling me... I just... wow. I fell right into his trap."

"He's a charming man," Jimin smiles warmly at you. He has a way of making you feel better. "I'm sorry... I should've noticed something was up..." His expression shows nothing but warmth.

If Hoseok smiles, you feel the cold ocean breeze kissing your cheeks. When Jimin smiles, you feel like you're basking under an orange sunset where the last of the sunlight warms not just your cheeks but your whole body.

"It's fine," you say, shaking your head. "I should've known better."

Quickly, you stand up, suddenly feeling rather flustered to have a serious conversation with Jimin in your pajamas. "I'm sorry for bothering you," you say. "Um, but good news. I really liked Merrymoor. And even Hoseok couldn't persuade me otherwise."

Jimin's lips curl up in a bright smile. "Oh, that's great! Thank you!"

"I'll make sure to write a good article," you promise. "Maybe you guys can get the funding you need to replace some of the old furniture."

"That'd be amazing," Jimin grins. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

You shrug. "I'm only relaying the truth to an audience. You and the other clinicians did all the work."

Jimin blushes at the compliment. "Email me when the article is published—so I can brag about it to family and friends."

"Hm," you hum. "Isn't texting much easier?"

You leave Merrymoor Hospital with lost hope for Hoseok but a new number from Jimin. The day doesn't seem so horrible anymore.

Psychopaths value charming, beautiful words that sound like music to the ears. They're fastidious, choosing each word with scrupulous care. It also makes them awfully pedantic to the average person.

You didn't mind Hoseok's elevated vocabulary.

But you do mind the fact that he's incapable of love. With much research, you learn that psychopaths are able to fake their emotions to find their way into the top spots of society. That they value pragmatics over emotions. Usually, they don't even know that they're different. Sometimes that makes them dangerous. Other times, they're just humans with another perspective on life. Just because they have a superficial charm that they may switch off and on at will does not make them insane. It is what they do with their different brains that decide whether they are mad.

The psychopath test is online. And when you look at it, surprisingly, you find yourself checking off a few of the psychopathic points.

Hoseok's right about one thing. Everyone is a little insane inside. Maybe not to the extent of a psychopath who gets in trouble with the law but just enough so that nobody is really normal. Normal is just a social construct people created to form a little more equality in a non-binary world.

You have so many ideas to write about after this article.

You open your laptop, being greeted by a screen full of independent sentences that are yet to be placed in coherent paragraphs. The deadline for the article is near but you've been putting it off to think.

You'll have to paint a beautiful picture of Merrymoor for the readers to make this work. Describe the patients who truly need help and friendly staff who give help when needed. You'll need to make Merrymoor sound as least threatening as possible. To show people that this hospital is more important than whatever hotel that could be there.

Then, you type away.

Halfway through, you get an email notification from an address you don't recognize. Upon further inspection, you realize that Hoseok had somehow acquired your email.

My dear Y/N,

I miss you dearly—I yearn to see your beautiful face again. I've already picked out my best suits to wear when we go on our first date. To my imminent freedom, yes?

Did I ever mention I am prohibited to have a mirror in my cell? Every day is a pain to style myself without the proper tools. I don't think I deserve this kind of prisoner treatment.

Regardless, I hope I can see you soon, Y/N.

Best, Hoseok

It's subtle, the way he tries to get you to put in a few bad words about Merrymoor for him. But now that you know his manipulation tactics, you won't fall for them. You ignore the email and go back to writing.

Merrymoor: Hotel or Hospital?

Everyone in town scrolls through the article Thursday morning as you sit back and relax as the comments and responses flood in. It's the best article you've ever written, according to your editor. People are buzzing about the heroicness of Merrymoor Hospital and marveling at the jobs of the clinicians. The citizens have found respect for them.

You finally reply to Hoseok's email with a link to the article—no other words. He'll have to figure out where you stand for himself. With that, you close your laptop for good.

You'll take a little break from writing for now. Maybe relax a little from your journalist duties and enjoy other people's company. Namely Jimin's.

You're due for a date with him in about... five minutes.

You hope things go well.

[1 YEAR LATER]

"You sure you want to go to his tribunal?" Jimin asks in a worried voice. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest.

"I'm sure," you say, snuggling against your boyfriend. "He emailed me, asking me to come. So I'll go. There's no reason to refuse, right?"

Jimin rubs your arms. "Right..." You look at your boyfriend with such adoration in your eyes at Jimin giggles. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, it's just that... you're amazing," you laugh. "You could've easily told me that I was delusional for loving Hoseok. You could've told me not to take part in clinician business especially because I don't even have the right degree. But you didn't do any of that, Jimin. You were respectful. And you just made me... understand."

"Well, that's my job," Jimin says. "I try to make everyone understand and respect each other."

"Hoseok once told me everyone's a little insane inside," you whisper, playing with Jimin's shirt. "Do you think that's true?"

Jimin laughs out loud. "Would you kill me if I said I'm insane about you?"

"Yes, I would!"

"On a more serious note, yes, we're all a little crazy," Jimin says. "You obsessed over your job before you met me, right? My other friend fusses about his looks the whole day. And I'm absolutely crazy about you." You roll your eyes but smile. "Everyone's a little crazy," Jimin chuckles. "But crazy has a whole spectrum of its own."

"So to put it succinctly, normal doesn't exist."

"Exactly."

—masterpost

—masterlist

#ficswithluv #btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #bangtanidx #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok imagine #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #yn having bad taste in men the never-ending saga #she rlly thought lmfao #brevity

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madamemedic · 4 years ago

Text

The Handmade Gift

Gio is a very fashionable person, in fact you would dare say he was most fashionable person you have met. All the suits he wore were designer and custom made for him. Undoubtedly very expensive too. You see his sense of fashion doesn’t really just stop at him, it extends to you too. Everything you now owned clothing wise was high end brand and expensive, not that he told you the price of it. You could just tell.

You had just received another dress from Gio, it was a knee length, deep purple pouf dress with a red sash as a belt. It was simple but it looked gorgeous. You thanked him and kissed him. Just as you were about to offer if he would like to see what it would look like on when his phone went off. This was normal, as Gio is normally is very busy man. However, the good mood was soured immediately as by he answer and his face twisting into a dark expression. You could tell this was serious and waited for the call to end. As to be expected he hung up looking as if he wanted to kill somebody, where his hair was normally green was now a throbbing red colour. He sighed with his eyes closed then a mumble of Italian was heard as he rubbed his eyes. Looks like he had to leave but before going he kissed you goodbye and maybe he would get to see in the dress soon. Then promptly leaving you in his home office.

Leaving you up to your own devices. You felt bad, whatever it was got Gio really steamed and you hoped to help him. Well help in broad sense of the term since you probably couldn’t help with what was most likely Don related problems. Still, you wanted to try. Maybe a gift would help cheer Gio up. Here is the problem… what do you give to a man who has everything? A car? No, he has lots in his drive way. Buy him a suit? No, he had lots and the kind HE liked was expensive. Wait. A suit, no just any. No, this suit would be different. You were going to make it by hand and the give it to him. How hard could it be.

The next day rolled around and you set work drawing and sketching out the suit that you were going to make for your darling Gio. Was it going to be striped? Plain? Or maybe embroidery? The longer the time went the longer you thought about it. The more it seemed like the task was harder than you thought.

Ding! As if a light bulb went off in your head. Why didn’t you think of it. Gio’s wardrobe! Why didn’t you just go in and see what he already had?

Leaving your room, you made your way to Gio’s room. You could tell who’s room from who’s, due to the doors that each Don had. Gio’s had carved in beautiful art, Zhuk’s was plain because in his words “it’s only a door, what matter is what is inside”, Cia has what look like symbols, Bee had words on his but you couldn’t read nor understand them and Bajo also has carvings but it was just a simple rose.

Knocking on Gio’s room, slowly opened the door to see him not there. Thank goodness or how where you going to explain that you where looking at his suits?

“Hey babes, mind if I look at your suits? Reason? Uhhh, they look good?” Yeah… no, hard pass on that.

Walking to his walk-in closet you had to turn on the light to see into the large but dark room. As far as the eye could see, most of his suits seemed to be pin striped. Well at least you knew the pattern but now was the materiel and measurements next. Slowly approaching one suit, your hand reaches out and pulls (well more like yanks, since you are very much smaller than he) it down. It is soft to the touch. Silk. Well know you knew the materiel. The was only one thing left measurements.

Good thing for you Gio tended not to keep suits for too long because “I change my mind, it’s ugly” then throw them away. Well he would throw them in a basket at the end of the closet next to the draws that held his gloves in.

“Let’s hope he’s planning on throwing away a full suit set soon” You prayed as you pulled to lid off to find indeed he had planned on throwing a suit away. It was pin striped but it had a stain that you were sure wasn’t wine or jam on it. Taking it out of the basket, you look decided this was the only way to get his measurements without asking.

Quickly you take the jacket, trousers and scamper away to your room. That was step two. Now to actually make the suit.

Luckily for you, you still had some materiel left from a previous cosplay and of course it was silk. Black and white striped to be precise. Of course you made a few cosplays but a whole ass suit. That would take your skills to the test.

The first thing you did was google patterns to make a suit from scratch. It didn’t look too bad but not all things that look easy are easy to do. Once you obtained the pattern, you had turned to the old suit and slowly started to take it apart at the seems to get its measurements. It was slow but worth it as you snipped at the cotton thread that held it together. It didn’t tear, so you could use the scraps as a base for the new suit.

“I hope this turns out OK”

Over the next month (almost two), you poured yourself into making the suit for Gio. It was WAY harder than you had expected it to be. One minute the sewing machine stoped working, so you had to hand stitch it. Then you’d constantly poke yourself with the needle which led to bleeding on the material; well the white bit. So you had to start again. Then order more of the silk as you only had enough to make the suit as long as there wasn’t many mistakes but unfortunately that was not the case. However, you still persevered. Day by day came and then went. It was getting there.

Of course the rest of the Dons grew suspicious of why their little angel was away in her room and not walking around or hanging around with them but of course with a bit of hushing and “it’s a secret” they gave up. Thank goodness to that too. You didn’t want any of the Dons slipping up and telling Gio by accident. Well you knew that the chance was small but it was still a chance that you couldn’t take.

Today was the day that the extra bits were to come in, such as cuff links and buttons. You knew that if the suit materiel was going to be high quality then the extras would be too. Well, they weren’t the traditional type either. The cuff links were in a shape of golden love hearts and the buttons had beetles carved in the small golden circles. Sure it made you more late but it would be worth it.

“Today is the last day and then I wait” You sigh as you glance over at the nearly finished suit. The trousers and top were finished. You added a few more details such as emerald green inlining as well and a red handkerchief In the breast pocket as well another in the pocket. It looked good, for your first time that is.

“Angel, package for you” Zhuk’s voice comes from the door of the mansion.

“Coming” You reply as you race down to get what was most likely the last pieces of the suit. Skidding down the hall you could see Zhuk holding your parcel but to your horror, he was also talking to Gio.

“Uhhh Gio, you didn’t tell me you were back” Gio then stopped talking to Zhuk and grinned as you made your way over to him.

“ Ah Principessa, there you are” Gio holds you close to him. “It’s been lonely with you with you la mia Principessa” Gio kisses the top of your head, you could hear Zhuk give a chuckle.

“I missed you too Gio” You pull away from him and turn to Zhuk, getting your package Zhuk hands it over but then starts to speak.

“Little one has been in her room the most of the time you’ve been gone, would even tell us why just kept on saying ‘hush’ and ‘it’s an secret’” You knew what was happening. Zhuk was trying to get you to tell him why you were in your room so much the last past weeks by using Gio as a pressure point.

“Away in your room? What? Why Principessa?” A confused Gio was now reaching out to place a hand on your arm. You could see concern on his face but on Zhuk’s was concern but a glimmer of mischief.

“Well… it’s a secret. Don’t worry, it’s a good one” You pull away but this doesn’t get rid of the concerned look on the dons faces.

“Does it got to do with your box?” Gio asks, his gaze on your parcel in your hands. Damn. Her recognised the box. Of course he would, that’s where he got his cuff links from.

“Maybe, maybe not. I said it’s a secret” Your reply was a bit snippy but you want to just leave and finish the damn suit so you could just give it to him.

“Well, I’d like to believe that you think I’m not stupid but I’d like to also believe that you are not stupid either to notice that is where I get my cuff links from” Drat. He knew. Think, think of and excuse, a reason.

“I… I… uh… this is embarrassing but I’d thought I’d buy the, for me and maybe get a few suits of my own” The lie came out and you hoped they believed it. Which it looked like they did.

“Oh, nice choice. Maybe you could show me them when you get the chance. I’m sure they look great” Gio winks at you. “Maybe I‘ll get you a nice suit to match the” Great, now is the time to leave before another Don joins in and makes it harder to leave.

“Well, as much as I like talking, I have to go back and finish my secret thing” You then sprint off back into the mansion, leaving behind two very confused Dons.

As you closed your door behind you, taking a deep breath you go and sit on the chair by your desk. Grabbing a knife near by you cut the sticker that held the box closed. Inside was a black velvet rectangle. The box looked amazing but you were more interested in the contents. Opening the box you were blown away by the quality of the product. The good glimmered in the light. They where beautiful.

“Now to finish this” You now had the buttons of the jacket and it was time to sew them in place. Over time you had got better at sewing. One by one, each button is sown on by hand with extra care. Then you add the cuff links to wear they would go.

It was finished. You were finished. You jump for happiness and dance for a while but stop when there is a knocking on your door.

“Principessa, can I come in?” Shit. It’s Gio.

“In a sec… I’m naked” Wait. Why did you say that? Never mind. You take the suit off the display model to place it in a gift box for clothes.

“Naked, well I definitely want to come in now” You could hear the humour in Gio’s voice as you place a ribbon on of the box. Now all you had to do was give it to him. Of course you didn’t want him to see it right away, so you placed it inside a draw and closed it.

“Ready” You call out, straightening your clothes you look at a slightly disappointed Gio.

“You are clothed, I thought you were naked. No matter, plenty of time for that now that I am back” Gio takes you hand as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Yeah, I guess I just said what was on the top of my head” You reply shyly. Now it’s not like Gio has net seen you naked plenty of times but you still felt shy about it.

“Don’t worry about it Principessa, I got you something” Gio pulls a box from back. It was thins and a square. Giving it a look over, your eyebrows raise.

“It’s not a pizza right?” At this Gio looked at you, his face splitting into a smile and then turned into laughter.

“No, no. It’s not pizza. Open it” He holds it out to you.

“Wait, I have something for you too” You go over to open the draw and open it to retrieve the box.

“Oh a gift for me? Oh you shouldn’t have Principessa” Turning around you both have boxes. Both are roughly the same shape but his has a red bow and yours green.

“Soooo… Who is going to open first… I mean, I don’t mind if you open mine first” Gio goes on, looking at his gift then yours.

“I guess since you came all this way to give it to me, I’ll open yours” You places you’re box on the table and take Gio’s. You pull the ribbon to open the box where inside is a white dress… wait. On top is also a veil dripping with pearls of all sizes. You start to pull out the tiara with crown first, putting it on your box and then the dress. It was 100% a wedding dress. Looking up from from the dress to see Gio on one knee, his face slightly pink due. You have now spotted something else at the bottom. A ring.

“Gio…” You are stunned. You’d never thought that Gio would marry you, well you’d like it but never wanted to force him to do so.

“Principessa, (Y/N). Being away from you for almost two months made me realise that… I can’t stand not being not with you, you are kind, smart, beautiful and I can’t see my life without you” Gio picks up the ring from the box. “You make me a better man, well as better as you can get” You let a small chuckle. Tears streaming down your face as he continues. “What I’m asking is… Will you make me the happiest man demon whatever?” Gio holds his breath as he waits for answer.

“Yes, Yes I will absolutely marry you” You launch yourself into Gio, almost making him fall back. The two of you laugh and cry a bit. Gio mainly from the release of anxiety. Kissing all over your face, Gio then places the ring on your finger then kisses then back of your hand.

“So is this what the recent was meant to be for” You couldn’t help but laugh, Gio does too.

“Yes. The trip was for your dress, they messed it up and I had to go back” He laughs again but then notices your quietness. He is nervous again.

“Well damn… my present is going to be shit compared to yours” Oh… that’s why. Gio cups your face in his large hairy hands.

“Principessa, you could give me a random leg you sawed off random person and I’d still love it, you know why right?” He looks into your eyes, you could feel yourself starting to calm down. Getting and sitting back on the chairs, you pick up the last gift so you could hand it to Gio.

“My gift probably isn’t as good as yours is” You ramble off as Gio opens the box. He is silent as he takes out the suit jacket. Sure it wasn’t any wear near his usual standards but you made it. That made it worth more than any suit he’s ever owned. “G? Gio? Scarafaggio?” You gasped as he had once again began to cry, just as you were about to speak he interrupted you.

“It’s perfect” He then quickly takes the trousers out and starts to inspect the new suit in his hands. It was soft, most likely Silk he notes to himself. His eyes go over the beetle buttons and the love heart cuff links. Gio smiles and he then looks at you again. “ You made this? How?” Gio then notifies himself of the green of inside of the jacket. It really was beautiful and was made of love.

“I did, it took me a while, I know it’s not your normal suit but I wanted to try and well” You gesture to it.

“No, it’s perfect, in fact. The fact that you took your time to make this for me and it’s shows. It’s fine besides if you want to get better I can help you, maybe I’ll make you a suit instead” Gio looks at his own suit, the back at his new one.

“Wear it” You could tell he was going to ask anyway.You didn’t need to tell him twice. Quickly Gio takes off his suit trousers and jacket. You blush, not expecting him to do it right away. Then it became another reason to do so. It was a tighter fit than normal but it still felt comfortable. Gio throws the suit in a near by washing hamper and does a twirl. It look good but definitely not what he was usually seen with.

“Looking good babes” You wolf whistle at Gio and he winks in return. The he grins and rushes out the room leaving you stunned. Where did he go off to? Doesn’t matter, you have a wedding to one of the men in your life to day dream about.

“Boys, look who just been treated nicely” Gio calls out in the lobby, soon each Don slowly makes their way to the lobby as well.

“Well that’s different” Bajo gets closer to look at Gio’s new suit.

“Doesn’t look like your normal suit… what make this one so different?” Cia eyeballs Gio carefully as Gio shows off his suit.

“Yes, why why this suit be so different, almost as if somebody very, very close has spent all her time on it despite not knowing how to and did it anyway just to make me happy” Gio knew that they would all know who made this suit.

“No way” Zhuk starts to examine it closer, yet it wasn’t the best but it was made with time and care. The hand stitching was prescient as ever.

“Yep, nostro caro made this. Just. For. Me”Gio could feel the tingle of jealousy from the rest of the Dons.

“Well I’m going to ask for something to be made then” Bee declares as he rushes past the group to your room.

“Oh no you don’t, I will” Zhuk followed then is also followed by Cia and Bajo. Gio watches and chuckles, looks like you were going to do a lot more clothes.

[Author’s Note: Not Beta read and this is most likely the last time I write for the Dons. Hope you enjoyed and stay safe.

Dons belong to @beetlebitchywitch and friends

P.S, Sorry for ten formation of this fanfic, when it’s is converted to to Tumble, it fucked it up.]

#@beetlebitchywitch #no beta read #gio x reader #scarafaggio x reader #beetlejuice x reader

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blake-belladonna-defence-force · 5 years ago

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Ink Master AU

God help me, I came up with another au.

This one is based on Ink Master, the show where tattoo artist compete against each other.

Yang’s spent years studying and perfecting her craft, attending college art courses and spending years as an apprentice.

Blake... basically grew up with the wrong crowd and began stick and poking at the age of 14 and has been tattooing ever since.

Let’s see what sort of dynamic we can make.

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Yang rolled her shoulders out as she walked through the Ink Master house, a content smirk on her face. She was damn proud of her work today And hopefully, she had pulled through with a win.

She knew she was a good artist. She was 30 years old and held multiple degrees in art throughout her life. She had been tattooing since she was 20. She was damn good and she knew it. Even her own tattoos were held up to a high standard and only ever done by people that she knew and trusted to give her what she paid for.

The dragon across her back, the series of golden mechanics going down her right arm and the heart with a mum banner on her left were all pieces that she was proud to wear on her body. They were art. They had taken time and skill.

Which is probably why Blake Belladonna pissed Yang right the fuck off.

Whereas Yang and the other artists were well known in the tattooing community, Blake had almost seemed to pop up from nowhere, with tattoos that ranged from stick and pokes to professional grade tats. Her tattoos weren’t placed with purpose and neatness like Yang’s were. No, Blake Belladonna’s were as chaotic as she, herself, was. A series of Belladonna flowers lacing down her left forearm, threading through a wolf skull with glowing red eyes. A woman wielding a katana on her right. Small tattoos that didn’t belong with either in the clear space on her arms. And the amount of stick and poke tattoos the woman had infuriated Yang beyond belief. A lot of her business was covering up shitty, home made tattoos and here Blake was, toting them around like they were something to be proud of?

And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that Blake Belladonna did not get along with anybody in the house. She’d place a sly, sharp word and quickly and effectively get onto people’s nerves and when they snapped, she’d watch the fallout with a calm smirk on her face, infuriating them even further.

Yang hated her… it was just unfortunate that she was hot.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! You’re a 30 year old artist! With a functioning tattoo machine! Why are you giving yourself a stick and poke?!”

Yang snapped as she walked into the living room and saw Blake sitting at the coffee table, now covered by sterile pads, with a needle in one hand and a bottle of black ink setting on said table. Her long black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, short curls framing her face perfectly as she paused in her work to look up at Yang and quirk a pierced brow. Her lips curled into a smile, her tongue flicking out to toy with her lip piercing as she chuckled. She shifted in her seat, her black tank top slipping off of her right shoulder slightly.

It wasn’t distracting at all. Nor did Yang care about how well her ripped jeans fit her. Nope.

“Hey, Art Major.” Blake smirked, her eyes darting behind Yang and spotting the cameras, her amber eyes gleaming. The woman lived for drama, that was for certain. Yang knew that she was up to something. “I think that it’s important to never forget your roots, you know?”

“...but why stick and poke? Do you have any idea how- how dangerous that is? You realise there are kids watching, right?” Yang sighed, feeling all of her art teachers and tattooing mentors screaming. She doubted that any of them would get along with Blake.

“What’s wrong? A little salty that my stick and pokes look better that the shit you do?” Blake said slyly as she turned back to her wrist and continued with her work. “I guess degrees don’t make the artist after all.”

“My degrees are what make me a better artist.”

“Your degrees don’t mean shit. It’s experience that makes the artist. Go back to the paper canvas, little girl. Leave the skin to those who actually know what they’re doing.”

“You use stick and poke!” Yang snapped, her blood slowly boiling as she glowered at Blake. A part of her knew that Blake was purposely riling her up for a fight. But another part of her wanted to fight just as badly. “You take no pride in your own tattoos and have the most shit poor attitude. You don’t give a flying fuck about anything or anyone, do you?!”

“Why should I?” Blake shrugged, apathetic as ever. “Caring leads to hurt and disappointment. I care about my work. I make sure my clients walk away happy. What else is there to care about?”

“Oh my God… you’re a miserable bastard, you know that?” Yang growled in frustration. She could tell by the way Blake’s cat ears flicked that she was pleased to be getting a reaction out of Yang, enjoying the fact that she was getting under her skin. She watched as Blake almost carelessly wiped at her wrist and grinned down at it before looking up at Yang, a dangerous smirk on her face as she turned it around to show it off…

And revealed a small, Chinese dragon curled up on the inside of her wrist.

“What do you think, Little Sun Dragon?” Blake practically purred as she threw her gear into a small bag, supposedly for disposal after the fact.

“... you gave yourself… a fucking dragon?” Yang said quietly, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Blake. She ignored the way the camera man snickered under his breath. They all knew that the audience was going to eat this up like candy. “Why?”

“Because fuck you. That’s why.” Blake shrugged as she stood and calmly examined it before looking up at Yang through her lashes slyly. “Damn. I’m pretty good. It’s just like yours.”

“Just like- you-“ Yang sputtered angrily as Blake walked up and stood in front of her, a pleased smirk in her face. “I spent weeks perfecting my design! My artist spent hours tattooing it on me! Your little stick and poke is nothing, Scratcher!”

“You see… that’s your problem…” Blake sighed as she reached out and lazily traced the golden gears in Yang’s left arm, grinning slyly as a shiver ran through Yang’s body. “You’ve never given yourself a tattoo. Sorry, Yang, but until you can work while dealing with pain… I’m better than you’ll ever be.”

And with that, Blake ducked around Yang and sauntered to her room, a purposeful sway to her hips as Yang stared after her, lips lifting into a silent snarl.

She really hated Blake Belladonna… but goddamn, if she wasn’t exactly Yang’s type.

#tattoo au #bumbleby #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #rwby #fanfic #my writing

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mellifluoushood · 5 years ago

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manic - C.H.

A/N: I highly recommend listening to ‘clementine’ and ‘Graveyard’ by Halsey whilst reading this! It’s a fic based on my experience of eating an edible and then being driven home and how perfect the weather made me feel. It’s a super soft, fluffy piece that will hit you right where it hurts, so I’mma go cry. There’s no real plot except for a drive that ends in kisses. Thank you again to my lovely, lovely, love girl @ammwritings for the moodboard! She’s been making them for every fic I write and I adore her and I love my girl, Anne. xxxxxx Genre: angst / fluff / smut Type: blurb / imagine / series Warning: mentions of weed, mentions of exes, best friends to lovers! Word Count: 2.5k Taglist: @gigglyirwin @loveroflrh @ammwritings @calumscalm @dukehoods @toofadedtofight @babylon-corgis @spicycal @vipclifford @haikucal @talkfastromance4 @thesubtweeter

Her skin glowed in the light of the sun. She could feel the way her cheeks began to tingle and heat under the aggressive rays, but she basked in it. After weeks of quarantine, she welcomed the possibility of sun-kissed skin. Her arm hanging out of the window didn’t feel the heat of the sun quite as much, being caressed by the wind whipping by the window. She ate up the small beats, like a drum, of the breeze against her limbs. It was a sensation she would hate every other day of the week, but sitting in the passenger seat, watching as the hills came and went, glowing a bright green of grass and budding trees, she loved it.

“I'd like to tell you that my sky's not blue, it's violent rain,” she sighs out, eyes lazily casting to the stereo of the car, watching as the letters floated across the screen, “And in my world, the people on the street don't know my name.” She finishes, moving her glance back out the window. She watched as trees whisked away as the car drove down the street, the sun peeking through breaks in the branches and newly grown leaves. She loved the way the sun gently met the chlorophyll, the colour bursting into a new shade of sunlight and scenery. Her eyes floated over each and every silhouette and shape of the trees, the hills, and the bursts of grass with dandelions and sweet violets.

Her eyes flutter shut, completely consumed by the feeling of the world swirling around her, filling her chest after feeling like the world had completely stopped around her. She basked in the feeling of knowing the world was still moving, the earth was still spinning on its axis, and that nature was growing and growing, not at all bothered by what was consuming the human population. The lingering anxiety in her shoulders was swept away along with the wind beating at her cheeks.

Her head drifted to the edge of the open window, resting against the surface. Her mind felt light, filled with no thoughts, no worries, no feelings. It simply sat against the door of the car, welcoming the harsh movements of the windows against her face, the sun beating through her eyelids, alighting her dark mind with rays of yellow and white. A feeling eased its way into her stomach and chest, a feeling of air and lightness. Her features shifted at this moment. Her eyebrows rested and her lips halted, nothing moved. She soaked up each and every molecule of sunlight offered to her, inhaling each breath of fresh oxygen her lungs could manage.

She had very rarely felt this easiness in her chest. The easiness didn’t come from how pure the air was, or how bright the sun shone, but how everything felt at peace. No task rushed to be finished, no thought demanded to be heard, no voice telling her what to do. It was simply silent. The only thing that occurred in her head was the lyrics of ‘clementine’ floating through the air, past her head, and out the window, joining and mixing with the breeze and sun. She felt elevated, renewed like her soul just had a moment to itself. As stoned as she was, the only proper way to describe the feeling pumping through her veins, was ‘euphoria’. It felt like the sunshine was running through her veins, replacing the dark red of her blood. It felt like the breeze was the only thing in her chest. It felt like there was no cloud in her sky.

“I don't need anyone,” she sighs, “I don't need anyone, I just need everyone and then some,” her voice fades with the instrumental of the song. Her eyes blink over, her head turning to look at the driver.

“I figured I wouldn’t disturb you,” Calum muses, his arm resting on the door of the car, window open. His left-hand holds his head up, fingers threading through his hair from time to time.

“Hmmm, thank you,” she sighs, a small smile drifting over her lips. Her legs are crossed in her seat, knees raised slightly as if she was curling up in a ball to savour the feeling running through her limbs.

“You looked like you were consumed by complete and utter bliss,” he chuckles, his other hand resting on the top of the steering wheel. His arm is completely lax, tattoos illuminated by the heavy cast of sunlight through the windshield. He looks at her again, watching the way her hair tangled with each breath of wind.

“I was indeed.” Calum’s hand on the steering wheel moves from its spot briefly, spinning the dial on the volume, turning the next song up even higher than ‘clementine’ had been. She smiles at him, her eyes glassy and stained with red, a hazy look across her features, but the smile reaches her eyes and Calum can’t help but return the grin.

Her head turns back to the window, almost trying to recreate the feeling that overcame her earlier, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to. It was too special of a feeling, too one of a kind. She felt at peace with knowing she may never feel that again, and if she did, it wouldn’t be for a while. But, she still found herself pressing her head against the car door again, welcoming the same sensations that brushed her skin earlier.

Calum looked over now and then, fondly, and somewhat chuckling at her. She was stoned, that much was clear, after taking a whole cookie while he only took half. He knew it enhanced her senses and the lightness that so desperately wished to occupy her mind. Her painting sat in the backseat of his car. He loved it. It was one of the freest, colour orientated paintings she had ever created. He knew she loved to do abstract and colour exploration paintings, but this felt like something else. He could see the influence of the album they had been listening to while painting, ‘Manic’. The pinks bled into different shades, the blues delicately weaving like they were clouds in the skies. But, in the middle, where both of the colours should meet and blend, she left harsh. She let small influences of purple tickle the edge of the soft pinks in the middle, but ultimately, the two colours clashed. And Calum thought it was brilliant.

He remembers watching her paint. He remembers the way she slouched over her painting, her hair tied up in a ponytail, her fringe dusting her eyelashes. When she looked up at him to respond to his comment, her eyes met his and they lit with her high, but a sense of happiness he rarely saw from her. His chest warmed at the sight. She had been wearing one of Calum’s old t-shirts in case she got paint on herself. It went past her knees, tickling her skins. She looked so small, swallowed by the clothing, covering so much of her body as she sat, cross-legged on the floor of his living room. He watched as her eyebrows furrowed in concentration and the way her wrist flicked with each stroke of her brush. He noticed the different techniques she used, which suited the painting and which ones she went over. He watched more than he would’ve liked to admit, barely able to focus on the Bob Ross video he insisted on following. He found himself memorising a different piece of art - her.

She was a piece of art to him. On the outside, she was all about organisation. He saw the way she obsessively filed every single handout from college. He noticed the way the three bookcases in her room were alphabetised. He watched the way she unloaded her dishwasher and where every single thing in her kitchen had a place. But underneath all of that, when she was comfortable, she was free. She painted what she wanted, she wrote what she felt, she listened to what she wanted. Her inside never matched her outside and that intrigued Calum to no end. It was a hurricane, a manic mess of colours and songs and books, different moods and habits, different reactions to similar situations. But, it was a beautiful hurricane. A beautiful, manic mess.

His brown eyes always flickered towards her, watching as she mouthed the words to the same album they had been listening to before. ‘You should be sad’ came on after her favourite. He watched her chest inhale and the sad exhale prickling at her lips that followed. His hand reached to press ‘skip’, but her hand reached out for his, gently wrapping her fingers around his wrist. She didn’t look at him, but he understood her message. Instead, he swallowed and removed his hand from the screen. Before she could put her hand back in her lap, he grabbed her hand and entangled his fingers with her’s. She didn’t say anything, but she held his hand a little tighter, the corners of her lips quirking up. The warmth of her hand holding his sent a small shiver down his spine, his heart clambering against his chest particularly hard. He let his lips mirror the same smile as her’s. Her hand was significantly smaller than his, her fingers fitting perfectly in the spaces between his. The tips of her fingers weren’t callused like Calum’s were, but her palms were. The rough skin on the balls of her fingers contrasted the rest of her smooth skin, but it was a part of her.

“You aren’t half the man that you think that you are,” she whispers, eyes cast along the landscape in front of them, Calum’s glance sweeping the scenery in front of them. She moves her head, mouthing the rest of the lyrics of the chorus. And that’s when she shakes her head, keeping her hand in Calum’s and reaching forward to change the song. She skipped back to ‘Graveyard’ to Calum’s surprise. He didn’t comment, he let her hold his hand.

“Don’t wanna think about him anymore,” she mumbles, looking over at Calum.

“Good, you don’t have to.” He looks over at her, her eyes searching his for something, she wasn’t sure what exactly, but she’ll know when she hears it.

She looks at him. She looks at the way he’s wearing the shirt she had originally borrowed from him to paint in. She had stripped it off and left it in the living room and changed into her jumper before they left his house. When she returned from getting her handbag in the kitchen, he was already wearing the shirt, looking down at his phone as if the sight hadn’t made her heart swell in several different languages. His jawline was prominent, cleanly shaven, which she loved. He knew that, and made sure he shaved before picking her up for a quick rendezvous to his for painting. His time in isolation had been spent walking Duke and sunbathing, the tan hugging his skin perfectly, his cheeks rosy from too much time in the sun and too little sunscreen. Her lips quirk into a smile when he looks down at her, meeting her gaze.

She turns away again, slowly, with the windows still down, and the sun still beating, her hand in his, he takes a risk.

“I love you,” he said, admitting the feeling bubbling in his chest for the past months of being around her. Feeling her warmth, her energy. Being a part of her life. He had fallen in love with the beautiful, manic mess that was his best friend.

Her eyes looked towards him, knowing he meant something much different than usual. And she knew, at that moment, when her eyes were searching Calum’s, this is what she was looking for. And her hand gripped his harder, her smile growing as wide as the Cheshire cat.

“I love you, too.”

Calum can’t help but immediately pull the car over to the shoulder of the road, the wheels almost skidding along the pavement, haphazardly putting the vehicle in park and leaning over the console. Her hands find the sides of his face, pulling his lips to hers. It’s passionate. Calum’s brows furrow as he tangles his fingers in her hair, pulling her as close as to him as he can manage. His stomach erupts in butterflies, fanning the flames that ignited in his bones. Adrenaline shoots up his neck like it’s heroin, coating every nerve in excitement and bliss. Her skin heats up with excitement, underneath the sun beating down through the glass of the car. Her lips against his are soft, gentle, supple as they press into each crack and crevice of his. They taste like her, he’s never known what she tastes like until now, but it just makes sense.

The feeling she had felt earlier in the car rose throughout her body, pumping in her veins instead of her blood. Her fingers caress his cheeks, their lips pulling and parting, meeting over and over until they’re satisfied. When they pull apart, Calum rests his forehead on her’s, eyes opening. The crinkles beside his eyes dig into his skin, looking into her eyes, his smile widening with every millisecond she looks at him,

“I am in love with you, Cal,” she whispers, using her thumb to trace the feeling of the creases near his eyes as he smiles down at her. His skin glows underneath the sunshine, his teeth glistening in the light,

“I’m in love with you, too,” he replies, leaning down to kiss her once more.

#isabella writes #CH #calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood fic #calum hood fluff #calum hood imagine #calum hood smut #5sos #5sos blurb #5sos fic #5sos fluff #5sos imagine #5sos smut #imagined

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