#why does this sketch make him look so sad and pathetic

[halohearted]

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

(part 4 of my advertising agency office au. check out part 1/2/3)

At the end of the day, Nicky tries to think of ways to more properly thank Joe for saving his bank account and, probably, his job. A handshake, perhaps? No, that’s not enough, and after the jacket incident, it would feel too formal. Perhaps an email? A curt nod?

Ug! He buries his fingers in his hair. Why is he so bad at this?

On a poster on the wall of his cubicle, the kitten clings to that tree branch. Hang in there! If the kitten can do it, then surely he can -

A card! Decided, he turns back to his computer. He could try to make one by hand, but he lacks any artistic talent. The best he can do is adjust the word processor to print out a few clip-art designs in a way he can fold into a card. Nicky has to buy his own ink for the printer beneath his desk, but he doesn’t mind using it for this. He only wishes he splurged and bought color ink instead of only black.

After carefully folding the thin computer paper into a slightly lopsided, card-like shape, he fills in the boxy THANK YOU on the front with pink, yellow, and blue highlighters. Inside, beneath a smiley face, he writes his name: Nicolò.

Around him, his co-workers begin to leave. The clock on his monitor tells him it’s already ten after 5. Nicky grabs his card and his jacket and leaves his cubicle. Like wading upstream, he dodges his exiting co-workers, all headed the opposite way, as he makes his way past the water cooler and toward the offices.

He glares at the copier as he steps around it, and knocks his knuckles on the door frame to Joe’s office.

Joe’s three monitors are on, two paused on different sections of what appears to be a commercial-in-progress. The third shows his email inbox. Joe is looking at none of them. Instead, he’s swiveled in his desk chair to the barren section of his L-shaped desk. He sketches something in a notebook. Under his desk, he’s kicked off his shoes.

At Nicky’s knock, he looks up, and those heavy bags under his eyes have only darkened since this morning, he visibly brightens when Nicky steps into the room.

“Have you been home since yesterday?” Nicky asks.

Joe glances to the side, like he’s thinking of a lie, but he quickly sighs and says, “I went home for a shower about 4 this morning.”

“Have you eaten?”

Joe waves to the take-out containers Nicky now sees wedged behind his monitors. There’s several days worth.

“You should go home,” Nicky says. “You’ll get sick like this.”

Joe shrugs. “It’s only until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” That doesn’t make sense. Nicky has seen the forecasted earnings for the next month, coupled with the designer-client meeting schedules. He knows Joe’s meeting with the Pharmaceutical company isn’t until next week. And even if Merrick convinced Joe to move it forward, tomorrow is impossibly soon.

“Honestly, I thought I’d get far enough ahead last night to give me a break tonight but... things change.” He smiles up at Nicky, but it doesn’t hold.

Things change. What could have changed from yesterday to today?

Oh.

Oh, no.

“Joe,” Nicky storms further into the room, coming right up to the edge of Joe’s desk. “Tell me you didn’t move up the schedule because of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” Joe says, but his eyes are soft and sad. He’s lying.

“Joe.” Nicky clutches his pathetic card in both hands. It’s not enough. Not near enough.

“What Merrick wanted to do to you was wrong. If I could fix it by putting in another all-nighter, what does it matter?” He holds Nicky’s gaze, and that at least, is earnest. Which only makes Nicky feel worse.

“But, Joe -”

“I did what I had to do, Nicky, and I’d do it again.”

“But you didn’t have to.”

Joe laughs a little, under his breath. “I will always stay true to my heart.”

Nicky’s not sure what he means, so he doesn’t know how to argue. He looks down at his card. At the very least, he could have more carefully colored the letters inside the lines. Yet somehow, he knows Joe will still love it.

It’s not enough.

“What are you having to eat tonight?” Nicky asks.

Frowning, Joe waves to take-out containers again.

Nicky’s stomach flips. “No,” he says, before he even realizes he’s spoken. When Joe blinks at him, Nicky trudges onward. “Do not eat that. I will bring you dinner.”

Joe leans back in his chair. Those dark bags are barely visible now, with how bright his eyes are, like he just woke up to Christmas morning.

“Wait for me,” Nicky says, and all but throws his silly card at Joe.

Joe catches it with both hands. Nicky turns and leaves before he can see him read it.

*

Nicky, fortunately, has stew cooking in a crock pot since before work. He woke up early, restless from having heard Joe call his name in his sleep. To distract himself, he sliced carrots and potatoes and beef. He paced the length of his small kitchen, worrying over spices, trying not to think of Joe.

So, after rushing back to his apartment, he doesn’t have to worry about making anything new. He cooked enough for several days of leftovers, but he packs it all up now into five different containers, and puts them into an insulated thermal bag. He also throws in some napkins, two forks and a spoon, not knowing Joe’s preference. He grabs some waters from the fridge, a bag of fresh rolls from his pantry, and hurries out the door.

Back at the office, Joe has tacked Nicky’s ridiculous card onto the wall. He’s smiling at it when Nicky steps through the doorway.

“You’re back.” Joe turns that smile on Nicky, and Nicky trips a little on the carpet.

“I hope you like stew,” Nicky says, dropping his gaze to his feet so he can make it safety across the room.

“I love it.”

“Good. I brought you enough for several days.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Joe says.

Nicky opens the thermal bag. He pulls out one container and places it before Joe. He sets a second one beside it, for himself. He removes the napkins and the silverware, and sets the rest aside.

“Take my chair,” Joe tells him, standing. He slides it over before Nicky can refuse, then goes to retrieve a metal fold-out from against the wall.

“Joe -”

“Just sit, Nicky. You went to all this trouble.” Joe arranges the fold-out and sits. “I’ll be in that chair all night. It’s good to spice things up.”

Nicky could hardly see how sitting in a metal chair would ‘spice things up’ but he decides not to argue.

They remove the lids and dig into the food. At the first bite, Nicky’s pleased the stew is still hot. All thoughts fizzle, however, at the sound of Joe moaning delightedly.

Joe’s eyes flutter closed. After he swallows, he laughs. “Nicky, you have spoiled me. This is delicious! You must tell me which restaurant you bought this from. I will never eat anywhere else.”

Nicky’s face burns so hot, he might catch fire. “I made it.”

Joe’s gaze snaps to him. “You...?“ Surprise makes way to something else, something warmer, and for a moment, Nicky suspects Joe might hug him. Or maybe he just wants him to.

“Nicky,” Joe says. “I am convinced you are an angel.”

Nicky shakes his head. “If I was an angel, I wouldn’t have broken the copier.”

Joe grunts, like he doesn’t agree, but rather than argue, he returns to the stew.

They eat for a time, before Nicky wonders aloud.

“You surprised me, the other day,” Nicky says. “When you knew my name.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Joe lowers his spoon. “You were introduced on your first day.”

Nicky remembers Merrick waving toward him unceremoniously as he stood by the water cooler on his first day. People stood in their cubicles and sat down immediately after. He hadn’t noticed anyone step out of the offices.

“That was a year ago,” Nicky says.

“I would never forget you.” Joe scoops fresh stew onto his spoon and brings it to his mouth.

“But you never...” Nicky has no idea how to handle this new information. “We never...” He motions his fork between the two of them.

Joe lowers his chin, sheepish. “I thought of how to approach you a thousand times. But you are so...”

Oh. Nicky frowns. “Quiet.”

“No!” Joe leans forward. “Beautiful! That’s what I was going to say.”

Nicky blinks, too stunned to speak.

“I wanted to impress you, but I didn’t know how. I even tried to learn Italian, though work has been so... it’s been difficult to find time to do anything else.” Shaking his head, he sits back in the chair again. He lifts his spoon. “I’ve only learned a few words so far, but I will learn more. I’m determined.” Joe speaks with such confidence, Nicky believes him.

“Joe.” Nicky tries to find his voice. It feels important, to reply.

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Nicky says. “The opposite.”

“Oh?”

Nicky swallows his nerves, takes a breath. “Joe, you are the most beautiful person I have ever met.”

Joe’s cheeks tint red. His eyes sparkle, or maybe it’s the overhead light reflecting just right. What does it matter, with how lovely he looks when his lips part and he whispers, “Nicolò.“

If Nicky stays, he will kiss him, and if he kisses him, he will not stop. “I should leave you to your work.” Before hurt can settle on Joe’s face, Nicky reaches out and places his hand on Joe’s arm near the wrist. His thumb circles the fragile bones there. “The sooner you are finished, the sooner you can leave.”

Joe’s smile returns, a touch more devilish than before. “And then?”

Joe’s skin is warm under Nicky’s hand. All Nicky would have to do is lean a little closer and he could... They could...

He starts to. So does Joe.

But then Nicky snaps back, remembering, and makes himself pull away. He stands and moves around the chair, placing it between them. Yet even with the distance, the air sparks between them.

Nicky gives Joe a look. “And then.”

Whatever Joe sees in his face has Joe popping out of his chair. “Nicky, stay.”

“You’ll never finish your work.”

“To hell with it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, and I...” He stops himself and sighs. “No. When my lips touch yours for the first time, it will not be in this place.”

The thrill of a kiss rushes up Nicky’s spine, and he shivers. “When this is done...” He sucks in a breath, steadying himself. “When this is done, we will meet, and then...”

Joe licks his lips. “And then.”

[hoshiwilluploadstuff]

Once || Levi X Reader ||

Once || Levi X Reader ||

Summary: “I never stood a chance, did I?” She whispered loud enough for the Corporal to hear. He paused and lowered the paper in his hands to look at her. “That’s the sad part- you did once.”

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Major character death, angst, sad

There was just eerie silence in the field. The air felt stale and empty while she stood there. (F/n) wondered why she was even there in the first place, but the wet droplets reminded her the reason. She raised her hand to wipe off the wetness from her flushed cheeks. However, the wetness never dried. It just kept on coming.

(F/n) found herself keeling over and sobbing in the grass. The stale air made her choke and cough. Still, she kept sobbing. Why was she even feeling like this? Why was she hurting over someone she never had a chance to be with?

Being trapped within these walls- her shimmering, (e/c) eyes flickered to the towering walls. It made her feel choked up. And she needed to breathe.

She thought she could breathe with him. They shared the same sentiment.

She thought their feelings would mold into something extraordinary- to escape this damn society of theirs.

And yet, here she was, crying her eyes out and clenching the grass for air. For fresh air.

“(F/n)?! Are you alright?” The voice was gentle and filled with worry. She would have felt at ease at the concern. If it had been someone else. She shifted her glare from the walls to the woman jogging over to her.

Petra Ral.

The name made her grit her teeth with disdain, but she stopped herself from screaming for air. She got up from the grass and wiped off the remaining tears that trickled down her stained cheeks.

“Yea. I just needed air.” Her voice was sharp and emotionless. And so were her eyes for the matter. Her eyelids lowered into a half-lidded gaze and shifted over to the worried, brown eyes of her comrade in arms.

“Oh…” Petra scratched her arm in discomfort, shifting from one foot to the other. “…I was looking for you…”

(F/n) scoffed and looked to the side. Her fingers scraped through her scalp in irritation. “And why? What else are you going to take from me?” She meant the bitterness of the sentence and was satisfied by the jump from her companion.

The woman before her frowned and pursed her lips. “Levi…doesn’t belong to you, (F/n).”

The low flame in her gut flared at the statement. She snarled, teeth gnashing with anger. “I was talking about my family, Ral.” She said her name with much hatred she could muster. The moment her eyes widened in realization, (F/n) began to berate her.

“What? Do you think I didn’t know? That you pushed my brother to a titan just to save your own pathetic excuse of a life?” The memory was so vivid and it only made the flames in her gut stronger. The screams of help rang in her ears on repeat, continually reminding her of her strong vengeance. The fear in Petra’s eyes was adding fuel to the fire, making her more enraged.

And she just needed air.

“How does it feel, huh, Ral?” She hissed, eyes narrowing to a sharp, threatening glare. “That the man we love doesn’t belong to either of us.” The gasp was almost like a cold splash of water over her fanning flames.

And finally, she could breathe.

Petra gritted her teeth and tried to slap her face, but it didn’t hit her at all.

“So, what did you come here for?” She calmed down, but the anger was still directed at the brunette.

Petra stumbled on her words. “C-Corporal…is looking for you.”

(F/n) clicked her tongue and stalked away, passing by the trembling woman with her head held high. It felt fulfilling that she managed to drag Petra down to the level of trash where she belonged to.

The stale air returned almost immediately once she walked to Levi’s office. Her movements felt stiff and her lungs begged for air. Still, her face was emotionless and her eyes were blank. There was no hesitation in her movements whatsoever as she knocked on his door.

“Come in.” His voice was quip and sharp from the other side of the door. she immediately entered and saluted.

“Corporal, you called.” There was no question whatsoever. Their blank eyes locked and she felt the staleness in the air evaporate. It made her stiff shoulders lower in relaxation and her thin line of a lips quirk into a smile.

He smiled back, a small smile that made her heart flutter. “I wanted to talk to you.”

She finally breathed and nodded. Her walk over to the chair situated in front of his desk was quick. She wanted this over and done with so that she could return to her monotonous lifestyle.

(F/n) knew what he was going to say.

“You want it to stop between us.” She had said it before he could. His eyes widened briefly before closing and letting out a relieving sigh.

“Yes.” It was blunt and it hurt, but at the same time she felt the burden on her shoulders elevate and the space in her heart filled. His eyes opened to look over her in concern, but she smiled at him.

“Who?” She asked. Her voice was careful and curious, but the sadness was there.

“She sells tea in District Trost.” His silver, cold eyes became warm and longing and it squeezed her heart.

There was a thick, but not awkward silence between them. (F/n) found herself wondering just a little bit.

“I never stood a chance, did I?” She whispered loud enough for him to hear.

He paused and lowered the paper in his hands to look at her. “That’s the sad part- you did once.”

Her eyes briefly widened before closing. She laughed softly. “And what about Ral?”

Levi grunted. “Only you, (F/n). You made me feel something.”

It made her smile, a truly genuine smile. “What happened?”

He closed his eyes and brushed his fingers through his hair. “You died.” (F/n) closed her eyes and leaned against his desk, reaching out to touch him, but she could never.

Levi looked at the frame before him. It was the last picture she drew for him. For both of them. He was glaring at her while she was smiling up at him. She was still bad at sketching- promising to practice more when they got back. Still, it looked exactly like the both of them. The pain in his heart squeezed the remnants of his strength, but the sight of her smile made him return to his work.

He could hear Petra’s cries even from inside his office. He could even hear Eld’s comforting her. The last expedition only had two of his squadron killed.

(F/n) (L/n) and her older brother, (B/n) (L/n). Thanks to their sacrifice, they were able to go further from the walls.

And just once, he felt there might be hope for humanity after all. And maybe, in the near future, he could introduce his lover to (F/n) and wish for her blessings.

With that renewed glow, he returned to finishing up his paperwork.

[astrozones]

It’s Hardly Art

Summary: Roman never deserved his prince costume anyway.He was too selfish, too arrogant, too idiotic. Those weren't the makings of a prince, they were villain characteristics.Glancing at the offending clothes, he made a decision.He didn't deserve the costume; it was time to destroy it. Characters: Roman and Virgil. Can be read as platonic or romantic.

Spoilers for Putting Others First

Discord Server: Astro’s Zone

There was no good or bad. 

There were no heroes or villains. 

There was no "pure" or "dastardly".

There was right and wrong.

There was everyone and… there was Roman.

Roman who was always wrong, no matter which side (heh, Patton would be proud of that one, if he even liked Roman after this fiasco) he chose, it was he who was in the wrong. Even when he went against his instincts and chose the other side, he was wrong, because he was Roman, and Roman is always wrong.

No matter what.

He let out a grunt of frustration, flopping down onto his unbelievably extra bed. Ugh, why did anyone even like him?

Oh wait, they don’t.

He huffed, snuggling closer into the sweater he had grabbed as soon as he sunk out. He didn’t deserve his prince costume anyway. His stupid, idiotic dreams were always getting in the way, he might as well start spring cleaning and throw them out. Starting with his stupid getup.

He set up his prince tunic on a mannequin, which he owned in case of clothing inspiration, even though that was more of Virgil’s thing. Of course it was Virgil’s thing, what good was Roman for? The other Sides could act just as well and- ugh, this wasn’t going anywhere.

He stared at the costume, the stupid, idiotic, creation of his that he had once adored. He curled his arms around himself as he shook. What was he doing? Why was he always so… horrible? Wrong? Painstakingly extra?

He sank to the floor, tears trailing down his cheeks.

He just wanted to be loved. Or, at least, feel loved. He thought Janus was wrong, they told him Janus was wrong, that siding with Janus made him wrong, and evil. As the hero, he wasn’t supposed to side with the villain. 

But then Janus wasn’t the villain, and Roman wasn’t the hero, and Roman was in the wrong even when he took their side. He just... wanted to be loved. He poked fun at Janus’ name because he thought they wanted that. And if he did what they wanted, they’d love him.

Now, he’s figured out how much of an impossible feat that is.

He grabbed a pair of scissors from his desk, leaning up and quickly cutting off his sash with a snip! He watched as it fluttered towards the floor. He wiped the tears from his eyes before picking it up, staring at the jagged ends.

Snip!

Snip! Snip! Snip!

Cut, and cut, and cut some more. Watch the pieces fall to the ground as he snipped his worthless, good for nothing sash. A staple of his idiocy, really.

Snip! The last pieces fell into a neat pile. He grabbed a handful and threw it to the side, hiccuping sobs leaving his mouth. Biting the sleeve of his sweater, muffling his cries, he glanced back up to the rest of his outfit. It almost looked naked without the bright red.

It was still too prince-like to be worthy of him, though. The gold- stupid gold, stood out amongst the white.

He stood, picking at the edge of one of the gold lines. Seams ripped from cloth, and with a harsh tug, the gold was riiiiiiipped off. 

He ripped off another. And another. And another. Until, finally, the chest of his shirt was practically ruined, along with the collar and sleeves. 

It was almost perfect. Except for…

His logo. The one he had spent days over, carefully sketching picture after picture, searching for the perfect logo that represented him. All of him.

It looked awful.

Grabbing the scissors once more, he cut around the patches, holding them in his hands for a few moments. Or perhaps it was hours, he didn’t know. 

Striding over to the other side of the room, he held them over the fireplace. He hesitated, even while his proximity to the fire caused his arm to ache like nothing other.

He was too loud. To brash, too harsh, too unsympathetic. Heh, he really put the pathetic in unsympathetic, didn’t he?

Even your jokes suck, the voice in his head said. No wonder no one likes you. Not even the fans.

He dropped his logo into the fire, watching as it burned away. His hand was red, nearly as much as his ex-sash. The injury hardly even phased him as he turned back towards the remains of his clothes. 

After a couple more rips, Roman determined it was awful enough for him to deserve it, even if it was a little bit better than he deserved. Perhaps he would show up in it next time. Or, maybe he wouldn’t show up at all. They’d like that, wouldn’t they?

Slumping onto his bed, he stared emotionless at its remains. 

He really was a jerk, wasn’t he?

--

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Virgil knocked on the prince’s door, awkwardly shuffling in place. Patton had informed him on what happened, once he walked downstairs only to see Patton and Deceit having a normal conversation.

No, not Deceit- Janus, apparently, because they trusted the liar now.

Virgil had watched them incredulously as they explained the events of today. About the wedding, the argument, Janus’ appearance, Patton turning into a frog- all of it. And when Janus left to go tell Remus, Virgil turned to his friend.

“Do you really trust him? After what he’s done?” Virgil whispered sharply. Patton nodded.

“Of course! Besides, he hasn’t done much,” because of course, they didn’t know. Not like Janus would tell them. Virgil scoffed.

“Of course,” he had muttered, turning away. “Of course you’d all take his side without a second thought.”

“Now kiddo, don’t hate on him! We hardly know him, after all!” Was he daft? “C’mon, Virge. It’s okay. I’m sure you and Roman will learn to love him eventually.”

Him and Roman? Was Roman the only other one who recognized Janus for who he was? Roman, who had tagged along with his flirts and manipulations?

At least he had one person on his side. 

“Roman?” he asked. Patton nodded.

“Yeah… he said Janus’ name was very close to Janice and made fun of him for it. Then Janus said that if Remus didn’t have a mustache there’d be no way to tell the difference between the two,” he what- “Which is a little rude but I understand why he did it. Still, I’m certain both you and Roman will learn to come to terms with Janus! I know it!”

“Sure,” he had said. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

And after walking up the stairs with a huff, Virgil found himself where he was now, at Roman’s door. 

“Princey?” he called. “It’s Virgil.”

The door opened.

Virgil peered inside, glancing around the room until his gaze landed on Roman, laid on his bed, curled on his side.

“Oh, Roman,” he said softly. He glanced around the rest of his room, eventually noticing the ruined costume of his favorite prince. He gasped quietly, dread settling in his stomach. Roman loved that thing with all of his heart, he was so proud of it, and now it was… ruined. 

Oh, Roman.

He sat down on the bed next to him. “Roman?” he asked. “Can I hug you?”

After a few seconds of silence, Roman gave a stiff nod, and Virgil gathered his friend in his arms. 

“Did someone ruin your costume?” Virgil asked. Roman shook his head.

“Did it- did it myself.” He mumbled into Virgil’s shoulder where his head lay. “Don’t deserve… it.”

“What makes you think that?”

Roman sniffled, opening his mouth only to close it seconds later as a low keen escaped.

“I’m hardly a prince,” he said, finally. “I’m just… too selfish. Narcissistic. I’m idiotic, and naive, and unrealistic. Those aren’t things that make a prince. So I… I destroyed the stupid costume. It doesn’t deserve to be mine. I deserve rags, and- and torn clothes, and broken dreams.”

“Oh, Princey,” Virgil muttered, heart aching for his friend. He hugged him tighter. “I’m so sorry we ever let you think that. I know it’s hard to believe, Roman, trust me, I know, but it’s… it’s true when I say that you deserve all that, and more! 

“Because you’re you, Roman. Beautiful, wonderful, you, who tries his best at everything he does and tries so hard to be a good person. Of course you’ve made mistakes, and you’ll make many more, but you’re still a good person, even after all that. What was said today was bad, but Dec-Janus’ response was bad, too. You know it’s not true, right? You and Remus aren’t alike. You know that, right?”

To Virgil’s relief- and surprise, Roman nodded.

“I know…” Roman whispered. “I know… and- and I know that… Remus is better than me and- and!” he cut himself off with a pointed look at Virgil, even through his tears. “And you don’t have to pretend like it’s not true. It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it.”

Roman…

How did we let you get so bad?

“Nonsense,” he said. “That- that’s nonsense, true and utter nonsense, Princey. While I know that no one’s perfect, and no one should be compared, I know that if forced to make a decision, I would say you’re better than him. But since I can be a sensible person, at least in cases like this, I know that neither you or Remus are better than the other. It would be wrong to compare you two, because you’re both so different. You may have the same role, but you’re far from the same person.”

Roman simply shifted in response, hiding his head once more. Virgil carded fingers through his hair, humming softly. 

“I feel so sad, Virgil.” Roman said eventually, desperation straining his voice. “It hurts. It hurts so bad.”

“What hurts?”

“Me,” glancing up at Virgil, Roman hiccuped. “Everything. It just… it hurts to be me right now. I feel so empty yet full with every negative emotion possible. I feel alone, even with you here. I miss feeling loved, Virge… Everything was easier back then. I knew things, or at least thought I did. I was confident, without faking it.

“Now I feel like I just… hurt everyone. Intentional or not, it’s all I’m good for, and it’s not even good! It’s bad. I’m… bad,” he shoved his face in his hands. “I’m evil, Virge, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Virgil frowned. “Ro… you’re not evil. Far from it. Mistakes were made, sure, but you’re still a good person. And you’ve been trying so hard for it too, and for the most part it's paid off well. I believe in you. I believe you can do it- no, I know you can do it, Roman. Because you’re Roman, and the Roman I know tries his best at everything he does and succeeds. Even when he’s been stepped on, he rises again and demands another challenge. He’s brave, and imaginative, and is willing to change bad behaviors. He’s a good person. You’re a good person. I promise.”

Roman stayed silent. Virgil gave a slight sad smile.

“I know it’s likely you don’t believe me, and I know that it can take a while to accept it as truth, but I’ll be there to help you every step of the way, alright, Roman? If you ever- whenever you feel bad, feel free to come to me. Even if I’m asleep or busy. I’d rather help you feel better than sleep, and it helps me to know that I can help you. Alright?”

Roman nodded, crying once more. “Thank… thank you, Virgil. I appreciate it. I really do.” Virgil smiled, hugging him closer.

“Of course. Anytime.” After a few seconds of thought, Virgil spoke again. “Wanna make a pillow fort and watch Disney?”

Roman nodded eagerly, causing Virgil to giggle.

Collecting the blankets from his room, Virgil allowed himself time to think. No, it wouldn’t exactly be easy to help Roman, but Virgil was willing to try. Because Roman was important to him.

--

Weeks later, Virgil showed up at Roman’s door with a new prince costume. When Roman cried, they were tears of joy.

Maybe things would get better.

[autistic-singer515]

The Brain’s Love Confession.

Here’s my fan comic sketch version of my previous fan art of Pinky and the Brain where the Brain thinks Pinky is dead and FINALLY confessed his love for him as well as blaming himself for his actions, including abusing his friend and forcefully controlling Julia.

The Brain: “Pinky! Pinky! Wake up! Oh, please..... “

The Brain tried and tried desperately to wake Pinky up by shaking him. But it didn’t seem to be working. He didn’t seem to be breathing. His pulse appeared to have stopped. The Brain felt his stomach drop. His sad eyes remained very open and still. Losing Pinky was like the world stopped turning for the Brain. His eyes filled with warm tears. He hyperventilated that it was almost difficult for him to breath. He knew he couldn’t avoid the fact that he was responsible for his friends apparent death. There was no way he was going to back it up or take it back. It was too late to save Pinky.

Where did he go wrong?

Pinky was always the lucky one when it comes to injuries compared to the Brain. Why did he have to get killed now?

It doesn’t make sense.....

The Brain never wanted Pinky to die or leave him alone. He had been his friend ever since after he was experimented on by scientists all alone and abused.

The Brain: “no, no, no, no, no! That should’ve been me who got killed!...... I made nothing but terrible mistakes!..... Pinky, how could have been so stupid!..... I didn’t want this!.... You were always getting in the way!.....”

But the Brain stopped himself and slapped himself in the face. He knew he should be grateful for his friends rescue and his devotion for him.

The Brain: “no! Snap out of it, Brain! No more insults!....”

The Brain looked down at the unconscious Pinky tearfully. He never seen his funny friend so lifeless in his entire life. He had bruises in his body too. He never thought it would happen.

The Brain finally clutched Pinky’s hand tenderly. He rubbed it with his other hand.

Even behind the Brain’s stoic appearance, he secretly loved hearing Pinky laugh, he’s even starting to miss him saying oblivious things like “I think so Brain and replies about stupid things like replacing the P of his name with an O and if I eat myself, would I disappear?”, say nonsensical words like Narf and Poit! and do idiotic stuff like squirt whipped cream into his ears to his mouth and dance to that stupid Schmeerskahoven song. Now Pinky the only mouse who loved the Brain dearly no matter how abusive he is and stuck with him through thick and thin was gone. He’ll never see him do silly things again. The Brain’s heart stung as he looked at Pinky. He grabbed his chest so tightly.

This depressing feeling of losing Pinky really hurts the Brain. He haven’t felt that way ever since he went to hell to save Pinky 24 years ago. But this was way worse.

“What kind of friend am I?” thought the Brain tearfully. “I gambled with his love for me..... And look what I’ve done to him....”

The Brain picked his friend up and let his head settle in his arms. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, trying not to hide his feelings this time even though it wasn’t easy. But Pinky is apparently gone, so he wouldn’t be able to hear him confess to him. But the Brain felt like doing it anyway. He couldn’t bare to hold it in much longer. It got him nowhere before and it would do it again. How the Brain regretted it.

The Brain: “Thanks for saving me, Pinky...... I’ve always said mean things to you, treated you like you were inferior to me and abused you.... You always were a good friend.... I never got to tell you how I really feel.... I was too obsessed with being tough and intelligent.... I was afraid I would once again be hurt and betrayed if I tell you my true feelings..... I couldn’t be the helpless and weak little mouse I once was....”

The Brain’s tears kept running down his cheeks profusely. He angrily shook his fist. He was so angry at himself for letting his obsession get to him. He could just kick himself for that. If only he could take all of it back.

The Brain: “It’s all because of my stupid childhood trauma and my stupid obsession with world domination!....... I haven’t realized it until now that every time I bottled up my emotions, it just gradually makes me worse!..... It just frustrates me to no end!.....”

The Brain touched Pinky’s lifeless face tenderly and began to rub his cheek. He began to smile bittersweetly, thankful to have Pinky as a friend. Without him, the Brain wouldn’t learn to love again, just pure anger and hate. He wouldn’t have wanted friends after he was taken away from his family to be experimented on and then his former best friend Snowball betrayed him. He never would’ve read his Christmas list for Santa. He never would’ve saved Pinky in the jungle after he gave him the courage to brave the unknown. He never would’ve sacrificed the world for Pinky at Halloween. He never would have quit smoking or stop encouraging children to smoke. He never would’ve fight his future self just to save him from him. And most importantly, he never would’ve changed his ways after Pinky felt his and Julia’s pain. Pinky might’ve ruined his plans for world domination, but the Brain couldn’t care less. He realized that Pinky was more important to him. If only he realized it sooner, even though he did save him a bunch of times.

The Brain: “But you showed me that it’s okay to be weak sometimes.... You didn’t treat me like the world’s greatest dictator.... But a normal individual who has inner compassion..... I knew it in my heart that you would never hurt me.....”

But the Brain’s smile dropped down. He sniffled. Saying those words made his depression grow. He rubbed his cheeks to dry off his tears.

The Brain: “But I learned those lessons too late.... I’m the one who hurt and betrayed you..... I’ve become the electric cheese platter.....”

The Brain sniffled again. If only he was a better friend for Pinky. If only he hadn’t abused him. If only he hadn’t abused Julia. That got the Brain’s friend killed. If only he was aware of his surroundings before he could go that far. But it was too late to take it all back. He didn’t even deserve Pinky in the first place. The Brain finally knew that he was a bad mouse.

The Brain: “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through, Pinky..... I don’t deserve to have a friend like you.... Lately I was more selfish, cruel, bitter, angry, pathetic and even...... EVIL!......”

The Brain thought about his old friend who turned against him and the world, Snowball. He was once hurt and betrayed by him after they’ve turned intelligent, just like the cheese platter hurt him. He never thought he would sunk this low like Snowball.

The Brain: “I’ve become more like Snowball..... My jealousy towards Julia has got you killed......”

Julia feels guilty for her own actions as she watched the Brain cradling Pinky tenderly. She unfondly remembered the Brain as a heartless and abusive dictator who seemed to be deprived of any emotions and love. But boy, was she wrong. The Brain just hid his inner struggles and love inside him just so he could take over the world. He does loves Pinky. He does have emotions after all. The Brain’s empathy is what saved her from her monsterous form and the obedience chip in her ear in the first place. But Julia’s eyes filled with tears. She thought her life was going to be so perfect when she was elected senator. She never thought this would happen.

How could she have sunk much lower than the Brain?

She killed Pinky all because of her unhealthy obsession with getting rid of the Brain after he controlled her forcefully.

She sadly thought about the times she had with Pinky when she kidnapped him. She abused him the same way the Brain did all because of the obedience chip changed her mentality. But Pinky was still so nice to her despite it all. Julia knew how much Pinky saw some good in people despite his faith in them could be blind at times.

Her lips shook intensely as she thought about Pinky.

Julia: “What have I done?.... Brain, I’m so sorry.... it’s all my fault.....”

The Brain felt just as guilty as Julia as she apologized to him. He pouted and bowed his head.

The Brain: “No!... You were right, Julia!...... I’m not a genius!..... I’m a monster!..... I made you suffer the same way I have suffered long ago.... if I haven’t controlled you with my obedience chip..... Maybe none of this would’ve happened!...... I would’ve let you make your own choices!.... I would’ve swallowed my pride!.... Pinky wouldn’t have sacrificed himself to save me from you!....”

The Brain sobbed really hard uncontrollably.

Even if the Brain admitted he was wrong, Julia still felt awful for her own actions. She was just the same as the Brain. A real senator would never do those things. If only she realized it sooner before it was too late. If only she listened to her conscious constantly telling her that her actions were just as wrong as Brain’s. She sobbed uncontrollably as well. She thought of herself as a vengeful monster too.

The Brain hugged Pinky tightly as he continued sobbing gushers of tears. His tears formed a puddle on the ground. He thought about the times he had with Pinky while trying to take over the world for over 20 years like dressing up as super heroes to save the world, traveling to the North Pole, reading Pinky’s Christmas list to Santa after rejecting multiple times, saving Pinky from Snowball a few times, getting lost in the jungle, saving Pinky from being trapped in hell instead of taking over the world alone, dancing in the beach together, saving the world together to stop people from being stupid from that stupid dance from the evil intelligent cat, Pinky carrying him when his robotic son exploded, saving Pinky from his future self and being trapped in a car machine. The Brain sang a dark depressing reprise of “Bonding” to Pinky.

The Brain: “I don’t deserve to have you back!..... It’s all my fault!....”

The Brain decided to really say the big one. He never said it to anyone in his life, not even Pinky.

The Brain: “I....... I.... I.....I......”

Why was the electric shock still making him nervous to say it?

Being weak sometimes isn’t that bad.....

It’s just new for him to say it to anyone, right?....

Come on! Spit it out!

Stop trying to hide it!

The Brain let his tear fell off his eye and dropped on Pinky’s nose. The tear on Pinky’s nose reflected the Brain’s tearful face. The Brain continued to cradle Pinky.

But then Pinky’s nose wiggled, feeling the tear. His heart began to beat again. His closed his squinted, unaware of his surroundings and the unexpected cradling back and forth. He weakly opened his eyes and looked at the glistening teardrop rolling down his nose. It felt wet.

Is it raining outside?

But the dew on his nose felt very warm.

It couldn’t be rain. Rain is usually cold.

But the dew rolled down into Pinky’s mouth. He tasted it. It was salty.

Tears?

But from who?

Then Pinky felt a very warm and fuzzy embrace around his head. He also noticed that his back head was also settled onto a round belly like a pillow. His right ear felt a heart beat at the Brain’s chest. Then the hug tightened. Pinky’s eyes popped out as he was being squeezed. He also recognized that tight grip.

Could that be?.....

Pinky slowly looked up and saw that the Brain was crying for him as well as hugging and cradling him.

That is so unlike Brain to do this for him. He was usually stoic and grumpy.

The Brain couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t waste it any longer. He exhaled.

The Brain: “I LOVE YOU, PINKY!!!!.... I LOVE YOU MORE THAN WORLD DOMINATION!...... THERE!.... I’VE SAID IT!......”

But Pinky did hear the Brain confess his love for him. His heart began to jump with glee. Finally! The Brain finally confessed his love for him!

How is that possible?

But Pinky didn’t bother about the logic surrounding it. He just smiled at the Brain.

He was loved. He was loved by Brain after all.

Pinky weakly pulled up his right arm. His hand touched the Brain’s cheek to rub off his tears.

Pinky: “I love you too, Brain...... Narf!.....”

The Brain heard his friends voice.

Could it be?

Is he alive?

Or was it his imagination?

The Brain suddenly grabbed his friends wrist.

The Brain: “Pinky?....”

The Brain looked down at Pinky. Pinky was smiling at him lovingly. He realized that he did heard him confess. The Brain touched his friends hand and clutched it tenderly again. He gasped happily. Happy tears were streaming down his face.

The Brain: “Pinky! You’re alive! Oh, thank goodness!”

Julia uncovered her face as she heard the Brain’s excited yells. She saw Pinky alive and well. Her heart sighed with relief. She didn’t kill Pinky after all. Happy tears streamed down her face too.

Julia: “Pinky! You’re okay!.... Bless my heart!...”

The Brain and Julia never felt this relieved in their lives.

The Brain hugged Pinky really tightly as he laughed and cried. He twirled him around. He didn’t even shy away from hugging him or denying it this time. As Pinky looked at the happy Brain, he sees him returning to his nicer self in the 90’s. And rather than speaking in an a more angry and slightly higher worn out voice, his voice became a lot calmer and deeper once again too. But Pinky had a feeling that it’s gonna be permanent this time. Their relationship is going to change for the better. Realizing this, Pinky happily hugged the Brain back.

The Brain: “For a while I thought you were a goner!... You scared me!.....”

Pinky hushed him calmly.

Pinky: “It’s okay now, Brain.... I’m here... I’m fine now....”

The Brain: “Oh, Pinky.... Oh, Pinky..... I can’t hold it back much longer..... I’m not that strong of a dictator.....”

Then the Brain finally bawls his eyes out, letting out years of repressed emotions. He cried more puddles of tears.

The Brain sobbed “I....I....I’m so sorry!...... I didn’t really m....m...mean to hurt both of you!..... I didn’t really mean to h....h...hurt anyone!..... I was such a repressed jerk!.....”

Pinky hushed him gently again.

“It’s going to be okay now, Brain.....” said Pinky reassuringly.

Julia herself wasn’t sure she should join in the hug after what she did to Pinky.

But Pinky gestures for Julia to join in the hug. So Julia joined in and cried remorsefully too.

Maybe the happy ending was all thought up by Dot who was infuriated by the overly moralistic and realistic tv executives who wanted the episode to be a sad cautionary story of Pinky and the Brain.

[palmtreepalmtree]

Hey everyone!  I am pleased to present the first holiday edition of...

The Worst Movie on Netflix Right Now™!

Today we’re going to talk about the first Netflix holiday release, Holidate.

Deep sigh.

OYEZ, OYEZ.  NOW COMES BEFORE THE COURT THE CASE OF PALMTREEPALMTREE V. NETFLIX.

NETFLIX PRESENTS FOR CONSIDERATION IN THE HOLIDAY ROMANCE GENRE THE NETFLIX FILM KNOWN AS HOLIDATE (HENCEFORTH ”THE FILM”).  THE FILM IS CHARGED WITH UNNECESSARY ADULT LANGUAGE, POOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, CRUELTY TO SINGLE PEOPLE, AND NEGLIGENT TREATMENT OF SERIOUS FIREWORK INJURIES.

PALMTREEPALMTREE, PLEASE PRESENT YOUR CASE.

Thank you, your honors and friends and gentlepeople of the jury.  Today we consider a film known as Holidate and whether it’s worthy of our collective viewing.  Let’s cut right to the chase here.  It is not worthy of our time.

Let me break this one down for you:

THE PREMISE

The premise of The Film is pretty much the only thing that’s not bad about it.  A young woman, tired of feeling uncomfortable as the only single person at family get-togethers, makes a pact with a handsome man that she randomly met at the mall to be each others’ so-called holidates.  They basically agree to attend whatever events need attending on the holidays with zero romantic expectations.

As a premise for a rom-com, this is totally sound.  We’ve arranged for our two heroes to spend quality time together that will eventually lead to them falling in love, right?  Right.  

So where does this go wrong?

UNNECESSARY ADULT LANGUAGE

The Film kicks right off with a mature rating.  It really wants you to know it’s mature.  In fact, this is the first line of the movie:

She promptly extinguishes that cigarette on the head of a light-up Santa Claus. You might immediately think, OH HAHA FUNNY.  But no, it’s not.  Take it from an expert.  Cursing for cursing’s sake is not funny.  It’s true that the word ‘fuck’ may have a funny fucking rhythm to it, but the word alone is not a fucking joke.  It’s not inherently funny to say ‘FUCK.’  Also, ‘pussy,’ ‘slut,’ and ‘clitoris.’  Not funny when you’re just working it into a sentence for no purpose.

It’s like this movie wants to be the Bad Santa of holiday rom-coms.  But who the fuck asked for that?  This movie is like the girl who claims she’s ‘not like other girls.’  This movie is the girl who ‘doesn’t know why, but only has guy friends.’   This is the ‘girl who listens to the Joe Rogan podcast’ of rom-coms.  None of these things fucking exist.  But this movie sure is trying.

POOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

Listen, I’m not saying that all women in the world have friends.  But most women in the world (especially pre-long-term partnership) have some sort of friend group.  Even if it’s long distance or online or something.  But the main character here, played by Emma Roberts, appears to have no one.  Just her consistently abusive family members (more on that later).  

The premise of this movie quickly morphs from “I need a date to bring to my family events,” to “I need a date for every holiday on the calendar including ones that don’t involve my family.”  Why does she want to hang out with this rando on St. Patrick’s Day?  Cinco de Mayo?  Halloween?  WHERE ARE HER FUCKING FRIENDS?

There are no friends in sight.  This would be more believable if the script even hinted that she had friends.  Like maybe she’s tired of third-wheeling it with her couple friends while she tries to find dates of her own?  Or maybe she’s super emotionally wrecked from her last guy (even though she only dated him for a few months!?!?!?)  But no.  Instead, she spends the better part of the year of this movie going out with this fucking placeholder instead of trying to meet people or having fun with her actual fucking friends.  

Her personality is just a general sketch of habits: eats junk food, smokes and lies about it, works from home, enjoys pajama pants, etc.  We know nothing about her otherwise.  At least she’s not clumsy.

If it seems weird that I haven’t mentioned the male lead that’s because he’s fucking boring and I don’t really give a shit about him.  He’s oatmeal.  

CRUELTY TO SINGLE PEOPLE

I honestly can’t believe I have to say this, but if you’re going to make a rom-com that people can relate to maybe you should not spend the entire film showing contempt towards single people?  Actual lines from the movie:

[with shock horror] “What do you mean, you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day!?”

“She’s going to die alone in a wheelchair and a diaper.”

“Human beings aren’t meant to be alone on the holidays.”

“She doesn’t need another friend she needs a husband.  A partner.  Someone legally bound to be there during the chemo.”

The main character’s single status is treated by everyone as sad, pathetic, something that needs to change as soon as humanly possible.  They are aggressively cruel to her about her single status.  Her mother says things to her like, “I care about you.”  And characters are always observing that she seems sad.  I can credit the Film with these expressions coming out of a sincere place.  But because it simultaneously always plays those moments for laughs, there’s an element of meanness to it.  

“YOU SEEM SO SAD, HAHAHA!!!!”

Look, I’m not saying the movie doesn’t have a point.  I think human connection is really important.  Caring for other people and having people who care about you is important.  But this movie and all of its characters treat romantic relationships as if they are the only type of relationship worth pursuing.  What if this movie ended with them just being friends?  Would that have been so bad?

Also, nearly all of the other romantic relationships in this movie are a fucking disaster --- and again, they are played for laughs.  The main character’s sister is trapped in a marriage where she and her husband are living separate lives with different priorities and values; her brother has gotten engaged to a woman after three months of dating who HAHA he doesn’t even seem to know very well; and her mom is single and maybe possibly is projecting her own fears and loneliness even though that’s never actually acknowledged in any way?  

I don’t know guys, but I think a rom-com should leave you feeling optimistic about love.  I mean, what the fuck else is the point?

NEGLIGENT TREATMENT OF SERIOUS FIREWORK INJURIES

Look, I don’t want to get into the weeds here, but in the pursuit of cheap laughs, this movie absurdly treats some pretty serious injuries lightly and it’s weird and it doesn’t work and I honestly don’t know why this movie is what it is.  It should be called Holidate: a movie in search of a tone.  

CLOSING ARGUMENTS

A good rom-com requires several things to be truly successful: 1) a fun, engaging premise; 2) believable characters that you care about and want to end up together; and 3) a good feeling at the end that leaves you optimistic and warm and fuzzy.  This movie may succeed in being occasionally funny (I guess, if that’s your sort of thing, it’s not mine, I just thought it was weird and gross, and I don’t fucking know), but it fails on 2/3 of those requirements.  

Not to mention, WHAT A FUCKING WASTE OF KRISTIN CHENOWETH.  

In conclusion, your honor and gentlepeople of the jury:

THIS MOVIE IS A FUCKING MESS AND IT SHOULD LEAVE SINGLE PEOPLE ALONE.  

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 13: Paper And Ink]

A/N: Can I just take a second to say how happy I am to see all of your reactions to my little fic?! I have never been a super popular writer on Tumblr but I like to think that I have some of the cleverest, kindest, most thoughtful readers around. Your support for and emotional investment in my stories makes me so, so, so happy. Please enjoy this latest chapter...it’s the longest one yet! 💜

Also, MAJOR shout out to @writerxinthedark​ and her constant insanely astute observations!! Girl, I’m shook. Do you have ESP or what...? 👀

Chapter summary: Roger tries to reach a compromise, John tries to offer solace, Chrissie tries out some retro science, Y/N tries to process some alarming new information.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language! Discussion of substance abuse! Babies! Drama! Angst!!!

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“You can’t leave,” John pleads. One of his hands—strong, nimble, a gold band on his wedding finger—is clutching the wooden bedpost. Chrissie paces back and forth beside him, gnawing her thumbnail until it bleeds, silent tears streaking down her ruddy cheeks.

You throw your open suitcase onto the bed and start yanking things out of drawers: panties and bras—the practical ones, not the sexy ones, I won’t be needing those in the immediate future—jeans, velvet dresses, sweaters, socks, mittens, scarves. It’ll be cold in Boston. “I’m going home.”

“Love, please...” Chrissie sobs.

“I’m not staying here.” Your voice is surprisingly steady, resolved even. “I’m not going to stay in this house with him. I’m not going to follow him around the world watching him fuck other women and humiliate me in tabloids. I’m done, I’m going home.”

“You have a contract with the record company, you’re the tour nurse!” Chrissie protests. “Jesus christ, they could sue you for non-performance! When does the band leave, a week from now?!”

“Six days,” John says softly.

“Six days!” Chrissie shouts at you.

“I’m not going. They can sue me, that’s fine.” I don’t have any money anyway. None that’s actually mine.

“You can’t leave,” John says again. His greyish eyes are wide and restless, desperate; you didn’t know it was possible for him to be this agitated. He’s not Queen’s unflappable bassist today.

“Yeah? Observe.” You pick the pink conch shell up off the dresser—the one John found for you on the beach in Ostia, during a tour that feels like a lifetime ago—and tuck it gently into a corner of your suitcase where it will be cushioned by knit sweaters. “John, I have a bunch of your sketches downstairs. There’re some on the refrigerator, some framed in the living room, a couple on the dining room walls...will you go get those for me, please? I can’t leave without them.”

John just stares at you, blinking and thunderstruck.

Next to the empty space on the dresser where the conch shell once lived is the Canon F-1. You consider the camera for a moment, then snatch it up and move to hurl it out of the second-story window.

John jolts out of his paralysis. “No no no no, I think you’ll regret that.” He gently pries the Canon out of your grasp and places it back on the dresser.

“What the hell are you going to do in Boston?!” Chrissie wails. “All your friends are here now! Your life is here!”

“I’m going to get a job at the hospital and marry some boring, predictable man and get a house with a white picket fence and fill it with two exceptionally average children”—if I can have them, and that’s a big if as it turns out—“and a golden retriever and live out the rest of my days in blissful, prosaic anonymity. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh come on, you don’t want that!” Chrissie snaps. “You’ve never wanted that, that’s why you came to London with the band to begin with!”

“I don’t want to feel like this!” you scream, and all those tears you didn’t know you were biting back start spilling out in hot, torrential streams. Your breath hitches; your throat burns. Like wildfire. John pulls you to his chest, murmurs that everything will be okay, cradles the back of your head with his palm. You know he’s exchanging a glance with Chrissie over your shoulder. That’s why she brought him here, after all; to help talk you off the ledge, to help convince you to stay.

“What a fucking mess,” Chrissie says in despair.

“It’s my fault,” you choke out.

“It’s not,” John whispers.

“It is,” you insist bitterly, sobbing into him. “Everyone warned me and I ignored it because I’m a complete idiot and now I’ve gone and ruined my life.”

“You don’t have to go!” Chrissie implores. “You can stay here. With us, with me and John and Mary and Freddie and Brian. You have British citizenship, you can get a job at a hospital in London if you really want to leave the band. You can stay with me and Bri for as long as you need to until you’re back on your feet, or with Freddie...they’d give you any amount of money you needed to get started...they’d be heartbroken if you left, love, you’ve been there for them through everything, since Queen was just a bunch of nobodies, since we were all flat broke...they’re never going to forget that loyalty you showed them, that faith. They’d do anything to repay you.”

You sigh shakily as you untangle yourself from John and wipe your eyes. “If I stay here, I’ll spend the rest of my life dodging Roger at birthday parties and holidays and restaurants. And being known as the wife he fucked around on. I’ll be a pitiful mess of a person. They had a photo of me in the News Of The World, did you know that? A tiny little circular photo under a huge, glamorous one of Dominique. ‘Look everyone, check out the dashing rock star’s sad, pathetic, unremarkable, soon-to-be-ex-wife. Surely you can appreciate why he’d shop around.’”

“Yes, I saw that part,” Chrissie says softly. She understands some of what you’re feeling, surely, and yet she must also have a sensation of gratefulness; plenty of musicians wander like tornadoes, touching down and sowing chaos wherever their compulsions take them, but few wives have the misfortune of seeing their names and faces paraded through the tabloids. Suddenly, Chrissie isn’t the most-wronged wife in Queen anymore.

You bury your face in your hands. “Oh god. My parents might even hear about this. They could be buying wine and Cheetos at the grocery store and see my husband and his girlfriend on the cover of a magazine in the checkout line.”

“I’m so sorry,” Chrissie replies, her voice hoarse. John crosses his arms over his chest and says nothing; but he kicks the wooden bedframe hard enough to send a crack down the center of the footboard.

Downstairs, you hear the front door open. Chrissie and John whirl to you, panicked.

“Hey, love of my life!” Roger’s chipper voice vaults up the staircase. Someone hasn’t checked the headlines yet. “Baby? You home?”

“Do you want me to stay?” John asks you.

“No, I can handle it.”

“Are you sure? Because I’ll stay for as long as you want me to. I’ll hide in the goddamn bushes outside the window if that would be helpful.”

“No, John.” You smile and climb onto your toes to wrap your arms around the back of his neck, to hug him goodbye. He’s warm and comfortable and sheltering. He feels more like home than this house ever has, isn’t that strange? And for a second, just one, you wonder what your life would look like if there had been no Veronica, no Roger.

You’d still be in Boston, you idiot, you chastise yourself. You never would have come to London with Queen if it wasn’t for Roger. And You’re My Best Friend wasn’t about you.

“Thank you,” you tell John. “But I have to do this part myself.”

“Okay. Don’t you dare go cart yourself off to Heathrow without telling me first, alright?”

“Sure,” you say, not meaning it. I can’t let him stop me.

“Good luck,” Chrissie frets, wringing her hands, twirling her wedding ring. “Call me, okay? I’m going to be a nervous wreck until I hear from you. I’ll chew my poor fingers to the bone.”

“I’ll call. I promise.”

“Hey baby!” Roger materializes in the bedroom doorway, pushes his prescription sunglasses up into his windswept blond hair, peers around the room at you and John and Chrissie. And you’re suddenly reminded of how a room changes when Roger walks into it, how everything shifts somehow, becomes brighter, more alive, brimming with magnificent potential; how cavernously empty the world would feel without him in it. Chrissie glares at him with her arms crossed, nostrils flaring, tapping one fashionable riding boot against the hardwood floor. “Uhhhh...am I interrupting something?”

“Bye, love.” Chrissie kisses you quickly on each cheek and breezes out of the room. You hear her boots clopping as she descends down the staircase. After a moment, John follows her.

“You despicable prick,” John hisses as he passes Roger in the doorway.

Roger is mystified. “Baby, what’s going on?” His eyes flick to the hastily packed suitcase, to the cracked footboard. “What the fuck happened to the bed?”

There are so many ways to ask the same question. When did you decide that you needed to have her? Who is she to you? How could you do this to me? What did she give you that I couldn’t? Instead, what you ask him this: “Have you seen the News Of The World today?”

His brow furrows into deep grooves. “No...” But something primal flashes in his vivid blue eyes, just briefly. Something like fear. He knows he’s done things that would hurt me. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unearth them all.

You grab the magazine off the bed and hurl it at him. Roger picks it up off the floor and flips to the front page. His shoulders slump, one hand comes up to cover his mouth, he exhales in a deep sigh; his whole body shifts the same way a room does when he walks out of it: dims, deflates, goes bloodless. He calmly lays the News Of The World on the dresser, folds his sunglasses and sets them down as well, rubs his eyes with the heels of his calloused hands. Then he turns to you.

He’s going to deny it, you think, revolted. He’s going to deny it just like Brian did, try to patch things up in some weak and gutless way, placate me so he can drift off to sleep at night imagining he’s a good husband.  

But Roger isn’t Brian. He never has been.

He asks you quietly, in surrender: “What do you want to know?”

Your stomach plunges into freefall, because this is real. Maybe there was some part of me that was hoping this was a mistake, some naïve and hopeful sliver of idealism left over from childhood, from a time when everything in the world was either good or evil and nothing lived in the treacherous shadows in between. “How long?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, Roger, it matters.”

“Not long.” He waves a hand glibly. “She...ah...well she thought I was pretty maddening at first. It took her a while to come around to the idea.”

You flinch like you’ve been slapped. “Jesus christ, Roger. Thank you, that’s great, thank you for that information.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he protests, exasperated. “I’m really not, I don’t...I just don’t...bloody hell, I don’t know how to do this.”

“To do what? To fuck around?! Obviously that’s inaccurate—”

“No, to confess!” he shouts. “I never confess, I never admit it, I just avoid or deflect or deny it, and when that doesn’t work anymore I just walk out because usually I don’t care enough to have the conversation. But now I do so I’m really, really trying to give you what you want. I thought you wanted answers. So ask me whatever you want to and I’ll tell you the truth.”

Everyone lies. Everyone disappoints you. I knew that, I really did...but somehow I let him convince me that I didn’t. That he was built of nothing but light. “Do you love her?”

“No,” he replies instantly. “It’s a fling, that’s all.”

“So you didn’t corner her somewhere and tell her that you’re planning on breaking up with me.”

Roger winces. I wasn’t going to end up like Josephine, that was the first promise I made to myself on British soil. And look where I am now. “No. Never.”

“Why, Roger?”

He looks away, runs his hands through his hair; he genuinely doesn’t know how to answer.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you even sorry...?”

He speaks carefully, purposefully. “I’m sorry you had to find out, that you were hurt by it. And I’m really fucking sorry about that headline. Discretion is extremely important to me. I never would have let that happen, but you know...” He shrugs, smirking guiltily in that disarmingly bewitching way that he does. Stop, you warn yourself, feeling something in you grasping for reasons to stay. “I haven’t been thinking especially clearly lately.”

“Yes, between the coke and the drinking and the pills you’re quite the disaster, aren’t you?” Scalding tears slither down your face. “So you’re not sorry you did it. You’re not sorry that you’re an addict or a cheater.”

“It’s not about that. It’s...” He searches for the words like premonitions in tea leaves. “Yes, there are drugs and parties and women. There are a lot of those things. But I’m not addicted to any of them. I’m addicted to being Roger Taylor, drummer of one of the best bands in the world. It’s everything I am, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted to be. I never want to live in a world where that’s not who I am anymore. You understand that, what it’s like to feel caged and miserable, you know what it’s like to want to experience things. And so if it takes coke and pills to get up on that stage every night and drum under those blinding lights until it feels like my arm is split open again, okay, no problem, I’ll do it. If women are a part of the lifestyle, a part of being free, then I’ll take advantage of that. And why the fuck does it matter? Why do so many people think that fidelity is the ultimate manifestation of love? Plenty of faithful people hate each other. Plenty of people who screw around are irretrievably in love with one person, are fucking owned by them. I love you. I want to come home to you. I want to raise my children with you if that’s a possibility, and if it’s not then fine, whatever, I’m gonna love you all the same. You’re still on my list, Boston babe. You’re always going to be on my list. Why isn’t that enough?”

“John doesn’t cheat,” you object helplessly. Even if he has all the reasons in the world to.

“No, he doesn’t. But he’s a very different kind of man. A better one, probably. But you’ve always known who I was. And I never promised you an ordinary life.”

You shake your head, hide your face in your hands, can’t force the words to leave your trembling lips. It’s not enough for me. Maybe I thought it could be, but it’s just not.

Roger says, gently: “I know we said the marriage didn’t mean anything”—yes, that was your condition, wasn’t it?—“but that’s not completely true. It’s not just paper and ink. It does mean something. It means that you’re the person I want to take care of, the person I can rely on to provide for my family and friends if something ever happened to me. It means that I love and trust you in a way that is unconditional. That you’re my best friend.”

“I don’t want to live like this, Roger,” you whisper.

“So what’s next?” he demands. “So you’re going to take that suitcase and run back to the States and...what, get a job at the same hospital you were so desperate to escape from? Back out of the tour? Abandon the band and the friends you have here?”

“If that’s what it takes to get away from you.”

For the first time, you hurt him; you really hurt him. You see it ripple across his face like cold, swirling ocean waves. “Please don’t leave.”

“I’ve already decided, Roger.”

“Come on, baby, please, we can work this out—”

“I’m not interested.” You zip the suitcase closed, heave it off the bed, and drag it towards the door.

“So even if we can’t work it out,” Roger erupts, bolting to the doorway, to stand between you and whatever a life after him looks like. “Don’t leave the band. Leave me, just me, but not the band. I know you don’t want to leave them. I know they’ll be devastated if you disappear, not to mention they might legitimately murder me over it. Bri can be a twat, sure, but he’s convinced you saved his life. You and I might be the only people on the whole fucking planet who can see how brilliant John is, who understand him. Freddie’s convinced you’re some kind of good luck charm, you know how superstitious he is, he’ll start having those meltdowns again where he insists he can’t sing five minutes before a show and that the band is doomed, the tour will be a complete disaster. We need you. And I want you to keep the job you love, the travel, the mansion, the money, I want you to have all of it. You’ve earned it. You shouldn’t lose it because of me.”

And as you clutch the handle of your suitcase, your mind dashing from one logistical step to the next—grab my passport and some cash out of the safe, collect all of John’s sketches, call a cab to take me to Heathrow—you start remembering things. But you don’t see them like flashes, like misty reveries, no; you feel them like heat from a roaring fireplace, like Mediterranean pebbles digging into the wrinkled soles of your feet, like the deafening screams of crowds filling the Rainbow Theater, the Hammersmith Odeon, the Apollo, the Budokan, Madison Square Garden. Memories of excavating shards of glass from John’s hand in a New Orleans mansion crawling with fantasies and nightmares, of toasting pink champagne in the lobby of the Chelsea Register Office, of museums and parks and beaches and apartments filled with threadbare couches and extravagant dreams, of Christmases and New Year’s Eves, of Roger convincing you to come to London with Queen on a June morning in 1974, cradling your face in his rough hands, promising you everything you’ve ever wanted: ‘Love...Accept. The fucking. Offer.’ And you could run to the other side of the world, sure; but you’re never going to be able to carve those memories out of your bones.

You let go of the suitcase, and Roger’s smile lights up his face like the sun.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Careful...careful, love...” Roger contorts himself to keep the umbrella over you and the Boston cream pie you’re carrying as rain pours out of a sinister grey sky. You both hurry beneath the roof that covers the front porch and ring the doorbell. Freddie answers wearing a tight green shirt, jeans, and an enormous toothy grin.

“Oh, for me?” he squeals, eyeing the pie.

You step inside as Roger stays out on the porch to shake off the umbrella and finish his cigarette; Chrissie hates people smoking in her house, and one should get what they want on their birthday. “Obviously, it’s for Chris. But I suspect she’ll share.”

Chrissie appears in a blue dress, her wide-set pale eyes alight as she gazes at the pie. “At last! I finally get to try one of these! And yes, Freddie, I’m only going to have the teeniest tiniest piece, so there will be more than enough to go around.” She embraces you and takes the pie. “Is this homemade?! It is, isn’t it?”

“Happy birthday, Chrissie,” you announce with a tired smile. Queen leaves for the News Of The World Tour in two days. You’re leaving with them, to everyone’s palpable relief; Freddie and Brian have never mentioned the headline to you, but they know about it of course. Everybody knows. It’s an elephant in every room, an ancient beast that quakes the floor when it walks.

“I’m going to miss you like crazy,” Chrissie tells you. “I always do.” But she’s a little thankful, too; because spending months away on tour is undoubtedly preferable to a permanent absence, a visibly missing piece like a chip in a tooth.

“I know. I’ll call.”

Roger steps inside the massive Chelsea home. “Happy birthday, Chris!”

She promptly spins away, ignoring him, and ferries the pie off to the kitchen. Freddie wraps an arm around Roger’s shoulder and steers him into the living room where Mary, John, a perpetually pregnant Veronica, and a host of assorted Mullens and Mays are passing the twins around like footballs and chatting over appetizers and tea and cookies. Biscuits, you correct yourself. And the shrimp cocktail are called prawns.

“What did you say your name was?” a middle-aged, rotund, bearded man asks John disinterestedly. “Josh? James?”

“John, actually. I’m the bassist.”

The man frowns as he gobbles down a shrimp. “Oh, how odd, I’ve never even heard of you.”

“Yeah?” Roger pipes as he sails over and claps the man aggressively on the shoulder. “Well let me introduce you. This is John Richard Deacon and he wrote You’re My Best Friend, you’ve heard of that one, right? He learned the electric piano to compose it. Yes, he doesn’t just play bass, he has all sorts of gifts. He’s massively talented. He builds amps and manages finances and can sketch pictures that look like freaking photographs...”

You wander into the kitchen where Chrissie is slicing herself a miniscule portion of Boston cream pie. “Oh fuck it, it’s my birthday. I’m having a proper piece of pie, thighs be damned.” She goes in for a second attempt. “You want any?”

“No, I’m alright. I haven’t been feeling well.”

Her brows knit together in concern. “Not compulsively consuming your own weight in snacks to avoid socializing with strangers? That’s unlike you.”

Well, since you asked, I was feeling even more piggish than usual until I found out my husband was fucking somebody else, and also that the entire country knows about it. “Yeah, weird.”

Brian enters the kitchen. “Oh, pie!”

“You want a piece?” Chrissie asks cheerfully. So they’ve made up somehow. Like they always do, like they always will.

“Yes, absolutely, but I’ll get it myself, love. You go enjoy yourself. It’s your day.”

She beams up at him and journeys out to the living room. You are in no rush to join her. Watching Roger charm the crowd, allowing him to dazzle you, to lull you back into his orbit like the subsidiary moon of a vast, ringed planet...no, you have no stomach for that at all. You pour yourself a glass of red wine and try to swallow without tasting it.

Brian’s doting demeanor evaporates like he’s taken off a mask. He sighs, mixes himself a Vesper, sips it as he leans against the kitchen counter and studies you warily. “How are things?”

“Paradisiacal.” Each night you sleep in the guest room with the blue-grey walls and the seahorse-patterned blankets. Roger tried to give you the main bedroom, still sleeps in a spare room in case you ever decide you want it; but you like that the blue room is smaller, more humble, that it smells like John’s brand of cigarettes, that there is no gaping emptiness where Roger usually is. Roger doesn’t try to talk to you about Dominique. He is attentive, optimistic, easygoing, affectionate; he lights the fireplace in the living room and brings you hot chocolate, he wears the red hat you once knit him every time he leaves the house. But he left the paperwork showing he’d sold the apartment—the ‘London Love Nest,’ isn’t that what the headline called it?—out on the kitchen table where you would see it. You know he’s waiting for you to forgive him, as if that’s an inevitability. And every once in a while you feel a guttural stab of fear that he might be right. Someone puts Hotel California on the record player out in the living room. “Every time I hear this goddamn song I get acid trip flashbacks. I start thinking of sharks for some reason.”

“It reminds me of...” Brian’s gaze goes murky. “Well, of a girl from New Orleans.”

The one from the hot tub. The one with a peach tattooed on her shoulder blade.

“We have a stop there,” you say. “You know, on the tour. We’ll be there for a few nights.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.”

No, perhaps that’s all he’s been thinking about.

“How are you these days, Bri? Two beautiful children, adoring wife, We Will Rock You becoming a fantastically successful single...your world must seem pretty golden.”

“You’d think so.” He peers out the window where raindrops are clinging to fogged glass and the November skies are illuminated with episodic flashes of lightning like Morse code. At last he says, very softly: “I think I married the wrong person.”

“I think I did too.”

Bri raises his eyebrows and clinks his Vesper against your wine glass. “So we were both right. Fantastic. Cheers.”

You gulp down the rest of your wine, feeling your stomach roil in protest. You pour another glass. Brian drains his Vesper.

“You want me to escort you out there?” Brian asks, gesturing towards the living room. “I’ll happily redirect everyone’s attention towards the twins if you’d like. They’re very convenient conversation starters.”

“No, thanks Bri. You go ahead.”

“Alright. If you insist.” A smile ghosts his lips. “I’m really glad you’re coming with us, love. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision. And I’m sure things won’t feel easy for a long time. But Queen wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get out there before I punch you in your fragile liver.”

Brian laughs, sets his glass in the sink, and disappears into the living room. You stall in the kitchen by yourself. You sip wine, browse through the family photos displayed on the refrigerator, listen to the polite chatter of the guests from a distance. Eventually you venture towards the living room before losing your nerve and veering down the hallway towards the back porch. Outside the rain is falling torrentially, the sky rumbling with thunder. John is sitting on a wooden bench under the roof and smoking as he gazes out into the storm.

“Hey,” he says, sliding over to make room for you on the bench.

You sit down beside him and hold out your hand. He stares at you for a moment, puzzled, before passing you his cigarette. You take one long drag and give it back to him. John blinks at you, stunned.

“That’s extremely bad for you,” he teases.

“So is getting hammered and driving into cop cars.”

He clutches his chest. “Ouch. I felt that in my soul.”

You shove him, chuckling. He points down at your boots. You swing your feet up to rest in his lap, and he lays his left hand on them while he smokes with his right.

“Go ahead,” he says. “I know you might not want to talk about it. That’s fine. But if there’s any baggage you’d like to unburden yourself of, I’m listening.”

I’ve got baggage, all right. I’ve got enough to fill a Boeing 747. “Everyone warned me. Everyone told me it was a terrible idea to fall in love with him. Everyone except you, John. Why is that?”

He’s slow and deliberate when he answers. “I never wanted you to be with someone because...you know...because you thought you should be with them. Because they were the ‘smart’ choice or the ‘safe’ choice or whatever. I wanted you to make your own decisions, whatever those were. I wanted you to be with someone...whoever that was...only because you wanted to be. Because you loved them.”

You nod. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

“I told you once that it didn’t mean anything to someone like Roger when he...you know. When he does what he does. I was telling the truth then, and I’m telling the truth now. I don’t think it meant anything to him. And I don’t know if that kills any of the pain I know you’re feeling, but I hope it does. Because you being in pain is the absolute last thing I’ve ever wanted. Are you angry with me for not trying to change your mind?”

“No,” you say immediately, and you mean it. “Not at all.”

“Good. Because they took away my driver’s license for a year and I’m probably going to need a lot of rides from you.”

You laugh, a brash authentic laugh, and John grins over at you.

Chrissie hauls the sliding glass door open and steps out onto the porch with a frustrated huff. “I know this party is technically for me, but when you’re the mother of infant twins sometimes all you really want is a smoke, a nap, and a bottle of vodka.” She lights a cigarette and plops down into a chair facing the bench.

“How are you, Chris?” What you mean is: Have you screamed much at your husband lately?

“I’m doing pretty well today, actually.”

“Is that because you’re genuinely happy or because you’ve trained yourself not to be sad?”

Chrissie smirks. “You’ll find those feel like the same thing after a while.”

“No, I won’t find out. Because I’m not staying with him.”

“Love...” Chrissie begins.

“I’ll stay in London. I’ll even stay with the band. But I’m not going to stay married to him.”

“Y/N, please, maybe you should think about this,” Chrissie presses. “I know you love him. And I know he makes you wonderfully happy when times are good. Maybe that’s all we can ask for, you know? Wives in our predicament. Maybe we can learn to cherish them when they’re with us, bottle up the magic, store it on a shelf to tide us over until they come back home. No one else is going to light you up the way he does. There’s only one Roger Taylor. Withdrawal from that is going to be hell.”

You glower out into the wind and rain and say nothing.

“And that woman, Dominique Beyrand? I’ve asked around about her, she’s got some husband back in France that she goes home to when she’s not working here. It’s just a fling for her too, it’s nothing serious. I don’t think there was any chance he would have ever considered actually leaving you for her.”

“He bought her an apartment, Chris.”  

“Men do stupid things that don’t mean anything all the time. Isn’t that right, John?”

“Sure,” he offers ungenerously.

You stop yourself before the words tumble recklessly from your lips: Maybe you’re trying to convince yourself more than me, Chrissie. “I’m divorcing him,” you vow quietly.

“Okay,” Chrissie capitulates. “Okay. I’m sorry, love, please forgive me. I only got two hours of sleep, Teddy was crying all night.” She puffs on her cigarette and sighs mournfully. “I hate to say it, and I don’t mean to be insensitive, but I guess it was sort of lucky you never got pregnant. Can you imagine trying to split up when you have children together? Working out custody and finances and holidays, having to pretend like you don’t want to disembowel each other all the bloody time...it would be torture.”

John glares at her, his left hand still on your boots.

“Yeah,” you respond; but now you’re distracted, because you remember the reason why you had been so determined to ignore the phone when Chrissie called to warn you about the News Of The World headline. Because the kitchen phone was right next to the calendar, and the calendar would report in no uncertain terms that your period was due.

When was that? A week ago?

You can’t be late. You’ve never been late.

“Oh god,” you breathe.

“What?” John asks, concerned.

In reply, you lurch off the bench, stumble to the edge of the porch, and vomit red wine into the wet grass like a gush of blood. Chrissie soars to you and rubs your back as you retch into her lawn. “Oh no, you poor thing!”

“John, go away,” you choke out as he approaches. “I’m humiliated, I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“You saw me in a jail cell. I’m staying.”

You turn to look up at them. They read the raw horror and shock in your eyes. John’s jaw falls open and he shakes his head, firmly in denial. You could relate.

Chrissie gasps. “Oh, bloody hell.”

“No fucking way,” you wheeze. “After all this time, after all those months of nothing...”

“You better take a test,” Chrissie says. “Come on, I have a kit upstairs.”

She pulls you to your feet and leads you to her bathroom, deftly avoiding the increasingly intoxicated crowd downstairs. John waits just outside the door as Chrissie rummages around in the closet for the test kit. It’s a contraption that looks like a chemistry set, with a dropper and a test tube and a stand with a mirror. You piss into a paper cup—successfully although not with flying colors—and wash your trembling hands in the sink with a piece of pink soap shaped like a seashell. Then you lay on the cold linoleum floor with a folded towel for a pillow and a bucket within reach. Chrissie trickles a few droplets of urine into the test tube, mixes in the contents of a small plastic vial, and places the test tube in the holder that suspends it above the mirror.

Chrissie explains to John: “If she’s pregnant, the chemicals will form a brown ring in the tube. If there’s no ring, we’re in the clear.”

“How fitting,” you chuckle from the floor, dazedly, cynically. “That would be the only ring I’ve ever gotten.”

It takes two hours. The three of you loiter in the bathroom, Chrissie and John perched on the rim of the enormous garden tub, fidgeting and chitchatting anxiously. They alternate popping downstairs, mingling just long enough to not arouse suspicions, bringing back biscuits and bits of toast that they futility try to coerce you into eating. Chrissie doesn’t like the smell of cigarettes in the house, she never has; but now both she and John are chain smoking as they wait and periodically get up to check the test tube.

“This isn’t real,” you whimper. “This can’t be real, right? There’s no way the universe has this ironic a sense of humor.”

“Wait, something’s happening.” John waves Chrissie over to the test kit. She examines it.

“Love...” Chrissie begins, her voice tentative, her eyes glossy.

“No,” you insist. “No way, no fucking way, I don’t believe this...”

Chrissie turns the kit so you can view it, so you can see what she does reflected in the tiny mirror: a single dark ring that informs you you’re carrying Roger’s child.

[micheswife]

media belongs to the rightful owners.

It is good to have you back.

Warnings: fluff, angst, chpt 139 spoilers, romantic????

Ship: Levi x civilian OC.

Summary: Mira has managed to stick by Levi's side ever since he got out of the underground. Now, they finally meet.

Times were simpler back then. Back when the Eldians were unaware of what laid beyond the walls, when salt was a luxury and oceans only appeared in fiction. Mira was just nineteen year old civilian with an ordinary life. She woke up, cooked, cleaned, studied and sewed, enjoying everything life had to offer.

This was until her eyes caught the sight of a certain soldier, he looked rather cold, little did she know she would come to read the smallest changes in his expressions in a few months. The scouts had been returning from an expedition the first time she saw him, he looked devasted and she knew why. She had felt sorry for him, for them all. She so desperately had wanted to do something for them, but alas, she lacked the guts to stand up to the crowd jeering at the soldiers. Nor did she have the funds to donate, nor the courage to join them in the battle. She had been sad when she returned home that day, and her brother's portrait made it worse. He had lost his life outside the walls five years ago, on his first expedition. She ran a thumb over the wooden frame of the drawing, before writing a letter that would be the start of the painful journey that had left her with a heavy heart today.

It was a long expression of her support towards the survey corps, her sorrow towards her own lack of strength and everything in between.

"This is pathetic." She had exclaimed after having gone through the letter, ultimately tearing it apart and discarding it in the fire. The soldiers didn't need to hear her sob story.

The next month, she had rushed to the gates upon hearing the bells, a warm meal and a little note packed in her piece of rag. She secured it with her pink ribbon, tying it in an overly elaborate knot to indicate that it was present. She cringed as she recollected asking a kid to deliver the package. Having a crush does make people desperate afterall.

It was a particularly noisy group of kids she had approached, they were enamoured with the soldiers, but she was certain they were no longer alive today.

"Hey kids, I need you to deliver something." She had crouched down.

"Um...what?".

"You see captain Levi there? This is his lunch, could you please give it to him for me."

The kids were more than happy to have an excuse to interact with their hero, so the box was grabbed immediately. The innocent children never once wondered why the perfectly healthy lady couldn’t deliver that lunch herself.

"That girl wants to give you your lunch! Captain!" Mira heard one of the excited children as she scurried away into the dark alley, rushing home as fast as she could. She was terrified of having any sort of attention on her, more so when there was the possibility of rejection involved. She tucked her feelings in the back of her mind, assuming that the captain had indeed rejected her present. Mira was a pessimist like that.

But she had been wrong, because Levi was more than grateful to have received a warm meal. Even though it had resulted in a lot of annoying comments for the rest of his career, some soldiers had even claimed to have seen the mystery woman. It didn't help that the kids had described her as a thin, brown-haired woman. That was all they remembered, too excited to have spoken with Levi.

He had opened the package to find a note inside. His hopes were shattered when it revealed nothing about the sender, except for her shabby handwriting.

"Tch, could have written it neatly."

He muttered as he kept the note aside and opened the container, food still warm inside. He couldn't help but smile when he tasted the soup, there were tiny bits of meat inside. The vegetables and the freshly baked bread had fixed him for the day. He had washed the container when nobody was looking, but not before folding the note and securing it in his wallet. It was rare for people to address such gratefulness towards him, even after everything he had done.

He'd cherish those words forever, "thank you, captain Levi." Fortunately, people became more grateful after wall Maria had been reclaimed. But by that point, Mira's little notes were the only thing that comforted him. He had a friend who stayed. He would write to her after every expedition, pouring his grief, sadness and anger in it, making sure to leave out the any confidential details. In exchange, she gave him an invisible shoulder to lean on, hoping that the narration of her mundane days would somehow provide comfort. And it did, he liked knowing about the next embroidery she planned to make, he always waited for the next meal to fill his stomach, her next letter to fill his heart. She had a slightly different personality than him in that she smiled a little more, she had more innocence, but they both were equally distant, burying their need for companionship into oblivion.

They used to talk about their days, about their hobbies, but never about their relationship. They never acknowledged their type of relationship they had, but a few feelings would slip out.

Levi had stopped telling her about Hange after he felt a tinge of bitterness in her next letter, he wanted to let her know that him and Hange shared a deep but platonic love. He avoided it, however, not wanting to make things worse. It was at that moment, Levi had made a decision. If him and this mystery girl ever survived their cruel destiny, then he would pursue her. He would ask her name, and invite her over to the same place she kept his lunch box every week. Under a lone tree not far from the headquarters.

"Don't forget the dessert this time, and keep it under that tree with yellow flowers, it is behind the headquarters." He had placed his note in the clean box, and shoved it back into the hands of the same starry-eyed kid.

"Give it to her next time you see her." He wondered what happened to the little boy after their little arrangement was made. He had taken a leap of faith that day and it had worked, the girl had come back next month, she had been looking for another group of enthusiastic kids but the little boy from last month had approached her.

"The captain told me to give you this."

She had to convince him to not go up to Levi and cause and commotion. Little did she know, Levi had already seen her bribing the kid with some homemade candy which was meant for him instead. Over the next few months, Levi would try his hardest to remember her face, contemplating the decision to ask Moblit for a sketch. But he knew that Mira wound not agree, she, just like him was scared of getting too comfortable. Perhaps that fear had been the reason why they both had established such a weird dynamic. They had soon fallen into a routine of exchanging letters, and preserving them. Levi soon found comfort in the increasing familiarity, Mira's behaviour becoming more and more predictable. They both had their own set of circumstances that had prevented them from meeting in person, including the fear that it would ruin the sacred relation they had built. They could not afford to lose each other, Mira had deliberately approached him, and he had actively seeked her out in return, going as far as dealing with a noisy little brat to see the girl for once. They were not meant to cross paths, they were not soulmates, they were hardworkers. Levi barely had the time to sleep, and it took a lot of courage to talk about his feelings, get, he made himself vulnerable in those letters, grateful that someone was willing to listen.

Mira, on the other hand, had to sneak around to deliver the meals. She was poor, a mere house-helper for some rich families, but she worked extra hours to buy those fancy ingredients. Hiding letters from her parents required a lot of tact, so did rejecting each and every man her father introduced her to. All with the awareness that Levi did not and would not love her, ever. She had forced herself to find comfort in her loneliness, unlike Levi, she never poured out her emotions. She only wrote about the things she did, the funny little dreams she saw, but her feelings were a taboo topic. To top the emotional labour, the fall of wall Maria had driven her faraway from the new headquarters, so Levi would sometimes slip in some money to help her out. It felt good to provide for her, to take care of her, especially after she had lost her parents.

The relationship had went on for years, until Levi had finally expressed feeling fearful about his impending death.

"I may never come back, also, do not reply to this letter... I will have gone to Marley by the time this reaches you. Please live a long life." A tear dropped onto the letter, smudging the ink. Levi had been to Marley several times, but this was final. He needed to save the world, not just Paradis. She had cried until her lungs gave out, until she felt lightheaded, but not because Levi would possibly not return. She was scared about the pain he might experience in his final moments. Would it be a titan? A bullet? An explosion?

"God, please let there be someone to save him." she had prayed, and her prayers had been answered. The woman Mira would get jealous of had found Levi in a horrible condition. She had lost her cheer, no longer wanting the responsibility of her position. She had even suggested running away together to the Captain, and honestly Mira would have preferred for him to do that too, afterall, Hange knew him better and longer than her. But the Captain had a promise to fulfill, and he would never just give up.

Mira never knew any of it, she refused to look at the newspapers, too scared of facing the new world of extremists. The walls were gone, some scouts had returned, but she did not see the Captain. Her pessimistic mind assumed the worst, and soon enough, a little plant was dancing on her window in honour of a soldier she had presumed dead.

It had been a long time since the last letter was sent, and Levi was now in a wheel chair. He wondered about the girl, he had never bothered to ask her name, instead he had start calling her Lily, since she always wore one of those in her wavy hair.

He remembered his decision, if they survived the titans, then he would pursue her. This was his last mission life, little did he know, Mira had started pushing him out of her mind. She had been struggling with a phase, she would write long letters addressed to him and keep them tucked away to cope with her thoughts. The cold, lonely nights had been harsh on her, and she was losing her appetite. It was going to be okay though, Levi was already on a ship to Paradis, ready with a ring in his coat. For now, he would go over his speech for the first peace summit in Paradis, and then straight to Mira. He was sure he could find her.

[canonismybitch]

Little Ducklings

By @canonismybitch​ for @just-the-daydreamer​

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange​

Rating: Not rated

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Academic Decathlon Team, Bruce Banner & Roger Harrington

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds, FRIDAY, Academic Decathlon Team

Summary: Peter Parker was sick, and he would not let that keep him from going to his Field Trip. It also gave Tony a reason to take over the tour.

Hey Beca! Surprise!!!! I’m your off-holidays secret santa! I really hope you enjoy the fic!

Peter Parker-Stark was not having a good day.

But that wasn’t unusual, was it?

No, his luck had never been the best to begin with, so bad days were something he had grown used to (as sad as that was).

But his bad days were usually because of the villain of the week, or a study session for Decathlon he had forgotten about (but MJ hadn’t, because she never forgot stuff like that). Sometimes it was gym class and having to pretend that he was weak and couldn’t do the exercises like his classmates; some others because he had to leave Ned and MJ staying up for him to watch a movie that would have to wait because people apparently forgot that kidnapping was illegal.

All in all, bad days were even more common than good days, so it wasn’t at all surprising.

What was surprising was that Peter woke up sick.

Sure, he had been a very sickly kid all his childhood (and part of teenagehood, even if the word sounded weird), but after his run-in with a certain radioactive spider, Peter had had nothing else but perfect health. Ever since that horrible night when we spent an uncountable amount of time puking his guts out and fever-dreaming, he had not been sick. Nothing. Nada.

For four years.

So why the hell did he feel like dying?

Peter hadn’t felt more nauseous in his life. Well… except for that time when the spider bit him and his stomach had felt as if it was fighting a war with food (and losing), but that time he had actually thrown up.

Today he had woken up feeling as if all his dinner (and midnight snack) would be coming back up, except they hadn’t, and Peter had felt miserable all morning, especially when he had to bend over to pick his clothes even though his dad always told him to leave your clothes somewhere where I can’t step on them, Pete.

[He’d listen to his dad from now on. Maybe.]

His dad had left him a note on the kitchen next to a plate of pancakes that, if it were any other day, would’ve smelled heavenly. As it was, Peter just grabbed the note and ran (power walked, really) out of the kitchen so he could read it in peace.

Hey kiddo! See you in a few hours ;) Pls eat breakfast. It’s chilly out so grab something comfy, I don’t want a repeat of last Xmas. Love you! Dad

Peter sighed, if it were for him, he’d have stayed in bed all day, but nooooooo. Today had to be his Decathlon team’s field trip to the Tower and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to miss it. He didn’t even want to miss it. Sure, most of his class didn’t believe him, but he really wanted to show his home to Ned and MJ, since they could never visit because your dad is Iron Man! Danger! Authorized personnel only!

Besides, he would even get to show the team that the internship was real, maybe that way they’d stop calling him a liar behind his back; as if their whispers were subtle. Peter bet that he would be able to hear them even without his super hearing.

“Peter, Mr. Hogan is waiting for you in the garage. I would advise you to eat your breakfast while it’s still hot.”

Peter hurriedly grabbed a hoodie that someone (probably him) had left draped over the sofa and ran to the elevator. An unhappy Happy was not someone anyone ever wanted to encounter.

(Sometimes he wondered if the Happy from Snow White could ever be unhappy like his Happy. Not that he ever told anyone.)

::

People at school were staring at him for longer than usual. Peter thought it had something to do with the fact that his skin was most definitely green and that it looked as if he would make a dash for the bathroom at any second. Belatedly, he thought about the bus ride to the Tower and prayed to Loki (because Uncle Thor never really answered) that he wouldn’t have to ride at the back.

“Well, someone's feeling bold today. What gives, eight legs?”

Peter jumped a little when he heard MJ appear behind him and grab the sleeves of his hoodie. Ned wasn’t far behind her.

“What do you mean, MJ?” Peter turned around to look at her, “Bold?”

MJ let his sleeve go, an are you serious, Parker? look in her eyes that he knew too well.

“Dude! That is so cool! Tony lets you use his clothes? I thought they’d fit better but that hoodie is super baggy, where did you get it? Did you raid a cardboard box with other cool stuff? Did you find any science trophies-?”

Peter was pretty sure his face was the epitome of confusion, and MJ was merciful enough to put him out of his misery.

“The hoodie, loser. It says ‘Stark’ on the back.”

Oh.

Oh.

Peter must’ve grabbed his father’s hoodie from his MIT days. Tony had a habit of leaving it in the living room for Peter to use when they had a movie night. Clint had called it proof of the Dadvengers being an actual thing, but his dad had thrown the bowl of popcorn to the archer’s face and that had been that.

[That had not been that, and Tony was now the (questionably) proud owner of a pair of Crocs that had big plastic letters with the word DADVENGER on the front. Not that Peter knew that.]

It made sense though, Peter always went to that hoodie for comfort, and today had been especially shitty.

MJ threw an eraser to his forehead, counting on Peter to catch it and snap out of whatever it was that he was thinking.

“It looks good on you, nerd. Now hurry up, because I am not sitting at the back of the bus and I’m dragging you two dorks with me.”

And with that, MJ turned around and started walking towards their bus, expecting Ned and Peter to follow.

Of course they followed. They were best friends with the scary lady, they knew that nothing good would happen if they didn’t. It wasn’t until they had already taken their seats that Peter remembered MJ liked to ride on the back and sketch people’s faces.

Awwww, so she did love him.

::

Flash made sure to kick his leg as he made his way towards the back of the bus.

“Good thing I’m not going to be anywhere near you, Penis. You look like you’re gonna toss your cookies at any moment-” Wait, was Flash worried about him? Did he really look that sick? “-I’ll make sure to film it though, maybe show it to every single employee we find, what do you think? They’ll see how pathetic the guy posing as an intern actually is.”

Or, Peter thought, maybe he’s just making fun of me.

::

When the bus rumbled to life, and Peter felt the engine and its little tremors on his whole body, he had to hug his stomach and bend until his head was practically hidden between his legs. Because of that, he didn’t get to see Ned and MJ exchange looks that practically screamed this idiot is actually going to toss his cookies, isn’t he?

Knowing Peter as well as they did, they figured out pretty quickly that he probably had decided to come on the trip just for them. And, yeah, they loved the adorable dork, but the second he was feeling better MJ wouldn’t hesitate to punch him for being an idiot.

Though, judging by the way Peter groaned and buried himself in his hoodie, they guessed the nausea (and the migraine that the spiderling felt coming) was enough punishment for now.

Ned shuffled on his seat until he managed to get his jacket off and proceeded to drape it like a blanket on top of Peter, who hadn’t even noticed that he was shivering until he felt the very warm and very comfy fabric on top of him. It smelled like Ned and his lavender cologne, strong enough to comfort him but light enough to not make him puke.

Peter still groaned when he felt the bus do a particularly nasty jump that left his stomach rolling and his head bouncing, which did not help his headache at all. The sound of a pencil over paper told him that MJ was having way too much fun with his misery. Flash’s snickering wasn’t really welcome either.

Mr. Harrington? Well, at this point he and Ned were the only people he would tolerate, so he wasn’t too angry when his science teacher knelt beside him.

“Peter? Are you feeling okay? I brought some Benadryl you can take if you’re feeling bus sick, maybe even some gum?”

He knew that his teacher meant well, but the thought of the peppermint gum his teacher was sure to be carrying made his nausea worse. Shaking his head was also out of the question when he felt his headache spiking into there’s a hammer on my skull levels.

Thankfully, he had the best friend in the whole world, and he spoke sick Peter (though he was a bit rusty in the language, the spiderling hadn’t been sick for a long time, though you didn’t hear Ned complaining about that).

“Uh, Mr. Harrington? Peter’s fine. Just, don’t mention the bus sickness? Or the gum?”

Their teacher –bless him– just gave them a look before going back to his place at the front of the bus.

When Peter’s head bounced again after their driver decided that he wanted to play a game of how to drive through the lanes with the most bumps, MJ sighed and threw her sweater at the vigilante. The smell of her fabric softener and the soft wool made for the perfect pillow, and he was out like a light for the rest of the ride.

::

You know how sometimes you feel sick, and you take a nap to make yourself feel better? But it actually does the opposite and you wake up feeling like shit?

Yeah.

If it weren’t for Ned, Peter thought he might not have been able to sit up from the (very uncomfortable) bus seat. As it was, he faithfully followed his best friends like a baby duckling until they were standing with the whole team in front of Stark Tower.

The oohs and aahs weren’t helping his headache any. Even though everyone from the Decathlon team lived in New York, they stared at the Tower as if it was a view they didn’t see every day.

Even Mr. Harrington looked excited, and he never looked like that unless he was explaining a particularly interesting chemical reaction. Peter wondered if that’s the face he would make when the class gave him the set of new beakers everyone had gotten him for Teacher’s Day.

Memo to me, he thought, remind me to ask MJ to sketch his face that day.

Before he knew anything, they were going inside the Tower.

Right into his home.

::

Peter’s head felt like it was made of cotton.

His nausea had returned tenfold, and now his muscles felt heavy, stiff. As if he had been gone out on patrol for far too long and his super healing had yet to kick in. Every movement costed him as if there were weights strapped to his limbs.

He knew that he wasn't the only one that noticed.

Still, he took a deep breath, straightened up as much as his rolling stomach let him, and let the glare of the sun right on his eyes and into what was becoming the worst headache of his life.

If anyone at the Tower figured out that he was sick, his dad would worry. Peter didn’t want that.

::

Surprisingly, Mr. Harrington managed to herd them into a line of students that could have been called straight, except for the fact that Ned and MJ had decided to be his personal bodyguards (how they were going to guard him from the worst case of flu he had ever experienced, Peter didn’t know) and stand at his sides in case he decided to take a little tumble. Still, since they were at the end of the line no one really seemed to mind.

They got Eloise as their tour guide. Peter liked to give tours of the Tower masquerading as an intern, and Eloise almost always ended up with him as her shadow. They had bonded over their sixth (seventh for Peter) sense that warned them of people trying to touch stuff they specifically told them not to touch. As much as Peter was relieved that their guide was someone he knew (not that he didn’t know everyone in the Tower), the second Eloise laid her eyes on him she’d know that he was sick. And if she knew, it wouldn’t be long before Tony did.

Sure enough, her eyes lingered a bit longer on his form before she clapped her hands animatedly and addressed his team.

“Well hello, Midtown! It’s a pleasure to have the winners of the National Academic Decathlon competition here at Stark Industries! I’m sure your teacher has gone over the rules with you, but you’ll have to bear with me,” his classmates were too busy being excited to really care about having to wait a few seconds longer to go inside, even MJ seemed especially attentive. “Our most important rule here at Stark Industries is that we do not condone harassment. If we see you harassing any of your classmates or any of our employees you will all be required to step out of the building. I know that it’s not fair for those of you that are sweet and innocent angels, but you have to be accompanied by your teacher at all times, and if one person has to step out, all of you have to follow. There are no warnings, no third strike, you’re out. You harass anyone, you’re out.”

Unsurprisingly, everyone subtly (and not so subtly) looked at Flash, promising him hell with their glares if he got them kicked out of the coolest building in the world. And –as if they had rehearsed it– all the team nodded at the same time.

Eloise smiled at them.

“Great! Now, rule number two is very simple: you do not touch anything unless you have permission. You will not believe how many times this rule is broken in our tours, but I’m counting on you to be a good group and keep your grabby hands to yourselves.”

That said, she clapped her hands together and motioned for the team to follow her through the metal scanner that doubled as an entrance to the public. Everyone followed Eloise through it without a second thought, probably ignoring the fact that their faces were being scanned as they walked right through. It wasn’t until Peter made his way to his teammates that FRIDAY spoke up, effectively scaring everyone into jumping a couple of feet in the air (even MJ, and that gave him bragging rights for months).

“Hello, Peter. It’s odd to see you back so soon, is everything alright?”

By force of habit, Peter answered the AI before he even realized that said AI had no right to be familiar with him.

“Hey, FRI! I’m on a field trip, not that you didn’t know that.”

“Your sassiness has been noted, Peter.”

He smiled at the ceiling as he often did when talking to FRIDAY, but someone clearing their throat brought him back to the very real fact that his Decathlon team was staring at him as if he had grown a second head, or those extra arms Ned liked to talk about.

“Stop stealing the attention of my tour group, puppy eyes. We have a schedule to follow.”

Eloise winked at him, purposefully using the nickname Clint and Nat had made for Peter. The vigilante mock-glared at their guide, but dutifully acted like a duckling and following her to the elevator.

His team kept staring at him.

Maybe he had grown an extra set of arms after all.

::

“Boss, Peter is in the building and he is looking remarkably under the weather.”

Tony looked up from his cup of coffee, half a cookie in his mouth.

“Run that by me again, FRI?”

“Peter appears to be exhibiting symptoms consistent with the flu, sir. Very noticeable nausea, very slow walking, and possible headache.”

Tony rubbed at his forehead, exasperated. His kid was going to be the death of him, and it wasn’t even 10 AM.

“Did he even eat breakfast, FRI? Like I told him to?”

“Negative, Boss. His pancakes are on a lunch box in his backpack. By my calculations, they are already cold and possibly unappetizing.”

This time, Tony let his head drop to the kitchen counter with a quiet thud. His teeth catching on the uneaten remains of the cookie.

“This kid…”

::

Riding on the elevator had been a Bad Idea. With capital letters and everything.

The moment they had started moving upwards to what Peter could see was floor 47, his nausea started up again, worse than ever. Dizziness had also decided to make an appearance, and for a good 12 floors, he had to lean on Ned to avoid dropping like a sack of potatoes on top of Cyndi and Charles.

MJ made sure to take a picture of his face so she could draw it later.

She also kept one of her hands hovering behind his back in case he decided to topple over Mr. Harrington instead.

When the elevator doors opened after what seemed like an eternity, Peter was one of the first people out, vowing to himself to never go inside an elevator again.

(He knew he’d have to break his vow the minute the team had to go to lunch, but he ignored that for now.)

“Well, Midtown, we’re on floor 47. This is one of the more advanced sections of the Tower, and tour groups aren’t usually allowed up here, but Mr. Stark made an exception for you guys. You can thank puppy eyes over there, Peter’s his personal intern and probably the reason you’ll get to meet some Avengers today–” everyone erupted into squeals of excitement, most of the team looking at Peter as if they were seeing him for the first time in their lives.

“Wait, so you do have an internship here, man?”

“And you’re Tony Stark’s personal intern?”

“Think you can give us a tour of the super-secret stuff, Parker?”

Oh, Thor. His team was staring at him as if they wanted to eat him alive.

“I’m afraid Peter can’t show you any classified stuff, or he’d risk being fired. However, we can continue on with the tour and I’ll show you to the super cool lab that’s right behind you.”

And with that, everyone turned to look at the glass walls that separated them from what Peter knew to be the prosthetics lab. From what he could see, Bruce was working down here today.

Apparently, his classmates made the same discovery promptly after Peter did and had started to whisper animatedly about Bruce Banner being right in front of them oh God they should have brought a picture of him so he could sign it.

If his team had been a bunch of puppies, they would have all been wagging their tails.

It was kind of cute, actually.

::

“Boss, Peter and his team are down on the prosthetic lab on floor 47. Dr. Banner is also working there at the moment.”

Tony grinned, grabbing his third cup of coffee and making his way to the elevator.

He had a kid to take care of, and two best friends he needed to meet.

::

The moment they stepped inside the lab, one of the interns –Mark?– grabbed Peter by the arm and dragged him to one of the tables at the center of the room. (And– yep, there was the headache again.)

“Uh, excuse me– I can’t allow you to take a student from the group–”

“Roger? Roger Harrington?”

Every single person in the room simultaneously turned to look at Dr. Banner and Mr. Harrington in what would have been a very comic reenactment of a tennis match if it wasn’t for the fact that Bruce Banner apparently knew Mr. Harrington and he hadn’t thought to tell them.

“Dr. Banner, ah… I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

Bruce came up to their teacher and hugged him.

Honest to Thor hugged him.

“Of course I would! Peter likes to talk about his science classes and your name comes up once in a while. He’s one of our best engineers, by the way, you’ll have to excuse us for trying to steal your student; we don’t usually get him to come down and help with this lab, even if it was his idea in the first place.”

The tour group had turned to look back at Peter, who by that time had made use of one of the stools in the lab and had sat down to examine what looked to be a prosthetic hand.

(Well, the tour group minus Mr. Harrington, who looked ecstatic about one of his students telling Dr. Banner about his science class, that he enjoyed.)

Queens’ vigilante was valiantly ignoring the looks his classmates were giving him, opting to test the mobility on the prosthetic arm he was working on. That didn’t stop him from listening to Flash’s sputtering, and Peter cracked a smile at the finger his bully was pointing at him.

“I did tell you I had an internship…”

“But you didn’t tell me that you had a Field Trip today, kiddo. Shouldn’t I have signed something?”

::

So this is how Peter died. The flu wouldn’t kill him, oh no. The flu was there to make him feel even more miserable while he watched his dad making his way to his table, Spider-Man mug in hand and sunglasses on, walking in like he owned the place (which, he did…).

“Uh… I had my Aunt sign it, sir?”

His dad set the mug down next to Peter’s tools on the table, before making grabby hands at his handiwork and examining, turning it every which way.

The room was eerily quiet.

And then–

“You’re Tony Stark!”

Tony turned to look at the tour group before him.

“And you all have elbows,” at the sight of the kids’ stunned faces, the billionaire shrugged, “What? I thought we were pointing out the obvious.”

He turned to look at back at his son and took note of the hoodie under a large jacket that could’ve only belonged to Ned. He smirked.

“Isn’t that my hoodie?”

Peter grinned back at his father, taking the prosthetic from his dad and carefully placing it back in its case.

“Hoodie? What hoodie?”

Tony just laughed, ruffling his kid’s curls and taking note of the way he winced when his head moved a little too much for his liking.

“Just for that, I’m stealing your hoodie next time I see it laying around in the lab.”

The mechanic’s eyes scanned the gaggle of stunned teenagers and one starry-eyed teacher before he spotted the two people he had been looking for. They were unmistakable, even if he had never met them personally –the walls in his son’s room were filled to the brim with pictures of these two. He pointed at them.

“Ted and Melissa, right?”

Peter hid his head on his hands. Of course Tony was picking today of all days to be a dad.

Ned didn’t look nearly as affected as Peter.

“Yes, sir! Well, kinda…”

His father huh-ed, and then looked at their tour guide.

“Eloise, was it? You’re free to go back to your project. I’ve got the little ducklings.”

She nodded quickly, saying goodbye to the team while Dr. Banner and Mr. Harrington swapped numbers.

Then, Tony led them to the elevator.

Ned and MJ were right there for him to lean on while they made their way to the training rooms. So was his dad, but by this point, he was pretty sure that FRIDAY had told him something was definitely not fine, and he wasn’t about to worry him even more. That didn’t make the elevator ride any less hellish, especially when Flash kept glaring daggers at him.

This time, the elevator stopped at the Avengers’ personal gym.

His class stayed inside the elevator, Tony the only one to actually step out and greet his team. Even though they had known that they’d see their heroes, everyone appeared to be too excited to move.

It wasn’t until FRIDAY had started closing the elevator doors that they all stepped out as fast as they could and gathered around Tony like the ducklings the billionaire liked to compare them to.

“Well! I’m pretty sure you know who they are, you’re free to pester them with questions! And don’t worry, they don’t bite,” he dramatically scratched his chin, “wait, Natasha does bite, but you’re safe with the others!”

His classmates made their way to the Avengers, slowly at first. Then, Clint made a joke and that was all it took before the heroes found themselves answering questions left and right.

Peter stayed by his dad.

Tony hugged him with one arm, both for affection and to ensure that he wouldn’t go say hi to the floor.

“FRIDAY said you were sick, buddy. Why didn’t you stay in bed?”

The spiderling shook his head, before wincing as his headache just got worse.

“I wanted to come. They didn’t believe in my internship, and I really wanted to show Ned and MJ around. Besides, I felt fine yesterday…”

“You should have at least eaten breakfast. You know your spidey metabolism needs fuel.”

Peter made a face.

“I… couldn’t really stomach anything. I mean, I haven’t thrown up yet, but that’s turning out to be a very real possibility.”

His dad frowned.

“When your team goes home I’m taking you down to the medbay, you haven’t been sick since the spider bite and a little stomach bug should’ve been nothing for your healing.”

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but someone yelling his name took his attention elsewhere.

“Pete! We’re gonna do a quick demonstration. Wanna spar?”

Uh, no thanks. He would definitely pass out if he did that.

Thankfully, his dad knew that too.

“Not today, Legolas! Gotta take the ducklings to lunch. Be a responsible tour guide and all that.  Midtown! Follow me to the cafeteria, please!”

His classmates waved at the Avengers, taking some last-minute selfies and shaking their hands.

Peter resigned himself to another ride in the elevator.

::

Peter loved the cafeteria. Almost every day, he’d come down here for a quick snack on his way to help in whatever lab crossed him first, and Martha –the nice lady that sold ice cream– always saved him a scoop or four for when he got out of training. The vendors were really nice, and it was a common floor for all the scientists to have a good time (and a good meal).

But today? Today the mix of different smells and the chatter that could be heard through the whole floor made him want to run to his room and hide under the covers.

“Well, I’ll be checking some stuff on the upper floors while you get something in your stomachs. I trust your teacher to take care of you, but there’s still an AI watching over you at all times. Something happens, you tell her or someone from the staff, capiche?”

Everyone nodded, eagerly looking around the cafeteria and planning their meal.

“Good! Then I’ll leave you be, see you in 45 minutes, kiddies!”

And with that, he was gone, swallowed by the elevator.

The team pushed some tables together and decided that they’d be eating together. It wasn’t different from their breakfasts at the hotel they stayed at for the duration of the Nationals. In fact, it was oddly familiar.

But Peter wasn’t paying much attention.

He was definitely feeling worse after a day of running around in the Tower. The dizziness had definitely gotten worse, as had his nausea. It was horrible.

His headache was no better. The lights hanging from the ceiling were blinding to his sight, and fireworks danced behind his eyelids whenever he blinked. It had extended from the back of his head to his temples, and now even his ears hurt.

So Peter took to leaning on Ned while MJ let him borrow her sweater again, using it as a pillow (again) and draping one of the sleeves over his eyes in hopes of drowning out the light.

Mr. Harrington was definitely worried by now, as was the rest of his team. Not even Flash had made a comment. A quick peek under the sweater’s sleeve told him it was because his bully was not at the table.

It wasn’t until they all started to bring out their lunches that hell broke loose. Someone (probably Jason) had brought hard-boiled eggs, and the second the smell hit Peter’s nose, he jumped out of his chair and made a run to the bathroom, just in time to toss his cookies in one of the vacant stalls.

His stomach rolled and Peter felt oddly reminiscent of the time he had been stabbed on the abdomen last month. The pain certainly was familiar.

It felt as if an eternity passed before he was finally done, even though he hadn’t even had breakfast to begin with.

Someone knocked on his stall.

“Hey, Parker! You okay in there?”

Peter kicked the door open as best as he could when he recognized Flash’s voice. It wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t think that he’d be able to stand up on his own.

His bully grasped him by the shoulders, flushing the toilet as an afterthought, and helped him off the floor slowly.

“Answer the question, Penis. You okay?”

Awww, would you look at that? He did care.

“Just peachy.” He said, before a wave of dizziness made itself known and he promptly passed out.

“Parker? Hey, Parker! Who gave you the right to pass out?!”

Flash was freaking out, but he knew that Peter needed help, even if he was the worst when it came to actually doing something for Penis Parker.

He carefully adjusted his grip on the smaller boy, and prepared to lift him princess-style so that they could get out of that bathroom as soon as possible. He was expecting his classmate to be a little heavy, what with the muscle he had suddenly grown over the summer four years ago.

He wasn’t expecting him to be as light as a feather.

“Mr. Harrington! Mr. Harrington!” Flash yelled as he came out of the bathroom holding onto Peter.

“Flash what did you do?” Ned asked, as he hovered over his best friend, who was slowly waking up.

“He didn’ do nothin’. Hel’ed me…”

Mr. Harrington took Peter from Flash and helped him sit in one of the benches where they had been having lunch.

“Peter? What happened? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Just as Peter was about to answer (and he was seeing 7 fingers in only one hand, so that probably wasn’t good), his father stepped out of the elevator and ran to where the team was.

“Pete! What happened?!”

Peter groaned, making grabby hands at MJ’s sweater to block out the light and the sound of people talking all at once.

“M’fineee. Just lost a battle with some eggs…”

Tony laughed, if only to reign in his panic.

“Nope, that’s it. We’re making a trip to the medbay. C’mon Midtown, you’re getting to know where all the Avengers get patched up when they do something stupid.”

He went to pick his son up, and frowned.

Peter made it a habit to fall asleep on movie night, and Tony often had to carry him back to bed. So yeah, he knew that Peter was pretty heavy with all the muscle he packed.

He wasn’t used to carrying his son as easily as he had done when Peter was a kid.

::

Peter had been four years old when he first came to live with Tony.

The inventor had learned pretty quickly that his son was not what most physicians would call “healthy”.  His little boy carried an inhaler around as if it was a necklace, and he knew exactly what medicine Tony should give him when he had a cough.

Peter would frown at the food Tony would give him if it had any kind of seafood or citrus until his dad learned all his food allergies.

His chubby hands would play with LEGOs in the living room, and the baseball and the glove Tony had bought were left forgotten in the back of a closet.

Still, the mechanic had learned to play with Peter and his LEGOs, with his coloring books and with his chemistry set. He learned that Peter didn’t like airplanes, and preferred his food to come to his mouth via a choo choo train.

He also learned that when Peter was sick, reading him stories about Tesla and Einstein would put him right to sleep. That the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling had to be blue and not green, because green gave his kid headaches. That Peter’s Captain America onesie was his favorite and he only wore it after a particularly rough night when his coughing fits wouldn’t let him sleep.

He learned never to watch Bambi or the Lion King when they had a movie night, and that Mulan would put his kid right to sleep.

Still, none of those had worked the night Peter turned five years old.

He remembered it clearly. That night, Rhodey had come to visit his nephew for his birthday, and they had had chocolate cake and a strawberry milkshake for dinner. His kid hadn’t been feeling well that week, so Tony and Rhodes had thought it was for the best to distract him with cake and toy trains and a Disney movie. They had even let him wear his Captain America onesie and have dinner on the couch.

But that night, Peter had woken up his daddy, asking JARVIS to bring him to his room because he wasn’t feeling well. Tony had run to his baby’s room and there he was, tears staining his face and a sweaty forehead that could only mean a fever.

He had gotten Peter out of his onesie, and let him hug the platypus plushie Rhodey had given him for his birthday while he went looking in the medicine cabinet for anything that would help with his fever.

Peter had ended up going back to sleep clutching his plushie in one hand and his dad’s shirt on the other.

It hadn’t lasted through the night, and he had woken up again crying about how his head hurt, and to make it stop, daddy! Hurt bad!

His fever wasn’t going down, and Peter wasn’t keeping down any medicine. His coughs had gotten worse and at one point he had needed to use his inhaler.

That night, Tony panicked.

He couldn’t take his kid to urgent care, or he’d risk paparazzi knowing that he had a son the minute they stepped inside a hospital.

But his baby was crying, and no amount of stories about the theory of relativity were making him feel better.

So Tony held his baby in his arms (and he was so so light) and sat down on the rocking chair Rhodey had given him as a joke. And he sang to his son. He sang every single lullaby in Italian he could remember from when he was a kid himself; and when he ran out of lullabies, he sang Disney songs until Peter finally went to sleep.

“You’re going to be fine, tesoro, you’re going to be just fine. Daddy’s here.”

::

Peter was not happy at being carried princess-style, and he frowned at his father all the way to the medbay. But Tony didn’t seem to notice, too far gone inside his mind.

Bruce was waiting for them when they got to the medbay, and helped Peter sit down on the table Dr. Cho used to examine him whenever he did something dumb on patrol.

Ned and MJ (and surprisingly, Flash) were right by his side while Bruce went through a routine examination on his nephew. MJ was showing him the sketches she had made of him during the day, and even Peter had to laugh at some of the faces he made when he was sick.

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark-” Mr. Harrington said, wringing his hands nervously, “-I’m required to send Peter to the hospital, or at the very least back home where a guardian can be informed…”

Tony waved him off, though not unkindly.

“It’s fine, teach. Peter’s home, and I’m his dad. You don’t have to worry about school policies.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

Then, Peter groaned, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you actually told them.”

::

At Tony’s request, the Avengers had come down to the medbay to –according to Tony– entertain their guests until it was time to go home. He bet that the fact that their new tour guides were the Avengers would give those teenagers and their teacher bragging rights for years to come.

Bruce and Tony stayed with Peter while they ran some tests, and Tony had been right in his assumptions. This was no stomach bug.

Someone had actually tried to poison his son.

And he still wasn’t out of the woods.

That evening, after his team had left the Tower and had made him promise that he’d keep them updated in the group chat, Tony went to lay down next to his kid.

Peter had been on and off, waking up from his naps feeling worse and worse until he eventually had to toss his cookies again, before going right back to sleep.

He didn’t wake up until the next morning.

And when he opened his eyes, he saw his dad right beside him, playing with his curls and watching Mulan on his phone.

Peter smiled at him, too out of it to really worry about the fact that he was still sick and that his very scary aunt and uncles were hunting down the guy that had poisoned him two days ago on patrol.

He was, however, very preoccupied by the sight of a familiar hoodie folded neatly at his feet. It smelled like fabric softener and soap, very different from the cologne and motor oil that Peter associated with his dad.

It occurred to him that they had probably needed to wash his hoodie.

So he nudged his dad’s shoulder with his head, and adjusted himself so he could watch Mulan for as long as he could stay awake (which wasn’t very long seeing that his dad was still playing with his hair).

Finally, seconds before he went into dreamland, he murmured into his father’s neck.

“Hey, dad? ‘m sorry ‘bout your hoodie…”

He fell asleep to captain Lee Shang singing I’ll Make a Man Out of You; his dad’s laughter echoing on his ears.

[sloppy-butcher]

I saw your requests were open,if not I’m sorry :,). But can I get some hcs with Frank,Dwight (Jake and/or Quentin) with a s/o who’s a short curvier artist and is just insecure about themselves and their work? I’m just in sad boy hours rn lmao

please don’t ever feel sorry about sending in an ask

Sorry, it took as long, I can’t help with how much I write. Hopefully, this will help alleviate some of them sad boy hours. I’m going to assume that by “artist” you mean drawing and not like music soooo also im going to assume its a survivor S/O

i love you anon, thank you for the ask and sorry again for the wait

sad boy hours is offically declared OVER

HeadCanons with a short, insecure Artist S/O

The Legion (Frank Morrison)

Frank, in all honesty, doesn’t give a flying crap about how you look. To him, if you can make him laugh or you amuse him in the slightest, he already likes you. The only looks or appearances he does care about are his own, he’s gotta look badass 24/7, no exceptions. But he does like that you are shorter than him (not a lot of people are so you are a rarity). He likes to tease you and put his elbow on your shoulder or head.

“I need my walking stick.” His eyes would trail over to you. Cue you trying to walk around with the boy hanging onto you, grumbling like an old man. You contrasted him exactly to the T

Frank is absolutely fascinated by your artistic abilities. You have a real talent and he enjoys both watching your process and seeing the finished project. Talent like yours was hard to come by, he sort of envied you for it. If only he had that kind of something that made him special that would have made those foster parents interested in him. But that time for developing uniqueness has passed and now, all he has is you.

You shared your talent with him and he felt extremely special when you would ask him what to sketch next. Frank would pull Suzie over and set her up in a position he imagines to be cool. He would pause, inspect Suzie’s bad form then huff and begin to rearrange her limbs until she was just right. “That's nice.” He’d comment over your shoulder. You’d tell him you didn't like being watched like that while you work and he’d sigh and reluctantly shuffle away. Not even 5 minutes later he would be back standing over you. You would just have to deal with him. He wasn’t judging you or your skills rather he just wanted to watch and marvel at how easy you made it look.

“Okay, now give her a huge dick.” Both Suzie and you would gasp. “Frank! No! That's too disgusting.” A moment of silence. “How big?”

Frank noticed right away when you would start to feel insecure. When you would flatly refuse to take out your sketchbook regardless of what ridiculous poses Suzie would make for you. You were quiet, eyes downwards and shoulder slumping as if you were trying to make yourself somehow smaller than you already were. Frank’s by no means an emotional guy but seeing you so downtrodden, so determined to sink into the background really tore at his heartstrings. He would pull you aside, taking you far away from the others until you two were alone. You wouldn’t look at him, your arms wrapped around yourself. “It’s not just the art.” He was guessing but already he knew he was right. You wouldn’t even offer him a nod afraid that by doing so you would be labeled as someone digging for feigned sympathy.

This was so difficult for Frank. He didn’t know how to comfort you or how to make you feel better. He also didn’t understand where this sudden insecurity came from. To him you perfect and talented and such a good person. You had a kind heart which you would share with those around you and that's all he really cared about. You were good to him. He couldn’t think of anything to say so instead he walked closer to you and slowly placed your hand between his. You momentarily looked up at him and you saw his eyes flicker behind his mask. He squeezed your hand, his words failing but his contact and pressure making up for it. He was trying to be reassuring and you appreciated it. He’d only ever hold your hand and that was something to be gratefully for.

In that time alone he asked you to take out your sketchbook. You did and he steps away, releasing one hand from yours. He reaches up and hesitantly takes off his mask. “Draw me.” You were stuck, in awe of his face and the significance of this moment. Frank never takes his mask off, not completely anyway. This must really mean something to him, YOU must really mean something. A wave of unsureness washed over you and you lost all confidence in your skill. He saw you slip away again and he squeezed his hand. “Hey.” He makes you look at him, his face gentle and his attention focused solely on you. “I believe in you. You are good. You got this.” And that's all you needed to hear. You got the feeling that he was talking about more than just your drawing skills. If he believed in you then everything was okay. You were alright. “Besides. It can’t be worse than the original.”

Dwight Fairfield

Like Frank, Dwight doesn't really care about your outward appearances. Well, it's not that he doesn't care it’s more that he just in a constant state of shock that anyone at all is interested in him. He’s always amazed when you sit next to him specifically or when you want to talk to him and actually listen to what he says. No one has ever really given him that kind of attention before and now you’re here beside him eagerly wanting to hear how his day was or what he was feeling. Dwight was just grateful to have someone as kind and loving as you were to even notice him.

He was beyond blown away by your artistic talents. You can sketch killers from memory and Dwight always finds himself in awe of how detailed and accurate the drawing was. You were so creative and special, the thing he was never. He looked to you and saw everything he could never be or never was. But you didn’t shove your achievements in his face, you didn't flaunt your talents like some egotistical morons would. You were humble and his compliments never went straight to your head. You looked so good when you were kind and modest. He liked how ordinary you were regardless of how awesome you appeared to him.

You’d often ask to draw him and he would blush and look away. Why would you want to draw him? The most boring of all the other survivors. But you were insistent and eventually, he’d cave. If only you had a red pencil because his cheeks were always hot and flushed. He could never make eye contact with you while you worked on him so expect a lot of side profiles or closed eye portraits.

In trials together his heart would all but break at the sight of you getting hurt. Whenever he’d hear your cries as you’d be slammed onto a meat hook he would gasp and practically feel something inside him cry out along with you. You were too good for this. He was a nobody, a weak, pathetic nobody who deserved to be in this purgatory because he was too scared to try and live a normal life. This was his punishment for being so forgettable. But you... he just couldn’t understand it.

Once he had jumped between you and your pursuer taking the hit and aggression while you ran off to go heal. For once in his life he felt happy, he felt as if he had finally done something meaningful and good. He had saved you. He would have died for you as well but you never let that happen. He watched in utter shock and disbelief as, against all odds, you went back for him. You pulled the man off his hook and with shaking hands you pressed his head into yours. Both your foreheads with touching and you had your hand at the back of his head.

“Don’t ever do that again.” He felt you waver and suddenly he realized that you were scared for him. He felt your urgency and terror and it was all directed towards him and his safety. He could have cried.

Dwights not the brightest bulb in the pack so forgive him but it will take a while for him to realize that you were insecure. He just assumed that when you started isolating yourself from him that it was because you had found someone much better than him. But he noticed that your hands still shook whenever you’d see him in pain and you would always be by his side the moment he needed help. You still cared for him deeply and he could feel it through your desperate actions and your desolate expression.

He walked over to your spot at the campfire. No one was near you, all were chased away by your depressing aura. You were dark and dying, everything around you was heavy with despair and sorrow yet he pushed through it all. He clawed away that thick fog and finally came to rest by your side. You didn't even look at him as he approached.

“Y-You don’t draw anymore.” No response. He hesitated unsure of how best to comfort you. He looked over and saw your hands. They were so small and gentle yet they produced such amazing things. He missed seeing you alive as you worked, the happiest you had ever been. He reached out and took your hands in his. This was the most forward he had ever been with you and it caught you by surprise. You turned to face him and you saw pain in his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry.” he paused and looked away, ashamed. “I’m sorry I took so long to notice.”

Dwight really did feel sorry. He felt like he had abandoned you, leaving you vulnerable and alone with the true killer; yourself. This time you felt his hands shake.

Dwight wasn’t much but he was yours and he loves you. And he loved you so much to maybe even make up for your own lack of self-love. You sighed and rested your head on his shoulder. He was enough.

“Please draw me again. I-I promise I won’t look away this time.” How could you refuse him?

Jake Park

Jake’s a simple man. He knows the silence of the world and prefers it to the company of people. So when you start to hang out with him or show interest in his life he is pretty unresponsive. He expected you to eventually lose curiosity in him and leave him alone with the woods. But you didn’t.

You’d follow him around, asking questions and receiving minimal answers. You would ask him what to draw and when you were done he would just glance at the sketch then nod or huff. He was certainly a very difficult and cold man.

You would draw many things for him, be it crows or plants or sometimes even killers. And he would always show an extreme lack of interest in them. So you decide to stop showing him. The two of you would sit in a quiet spot in the woods, you sketching and him wondering why you were still trying so hard to be friends with him.

You were working on a portrait when you were, without warning, whisked off into a trial. You quickly shoved your art into your pocket and set to work trying to escape. Jake was in the trial with you and you gladly worked on gen with him. Minutes later everyone was dying and only 2 generators had been lit. It wasn’t looking so good but the only thing you were worried about was your precious item in your pocket. It was something that you were really proud of and, to be dead honest, it was one of the best pieces of art you had made in a long time. You were afraid to die and lose it. But... it really didn’t look like you were getting out of this one.

You caught Jake in a corner, injured but not making a noise. You approached him and he reached out ready to tend to your wounds. You shook your head and crouched next to him trying to catch your breath. Your hand went into your pocket and pulled out your folded artwork. he eyed it unsure.

“I know you don’t care about my bad drawings but,” you held it out for him to take. “please, this one’s for you.” You quickly ran off, too embarrassed to be there when he opened it.

He was frozen for a moment, confused as to what just happened. He did care about your drawings. You were talented and he really enjoyed when you included him. Why would you think that he wouldn’t like them? He turned his attention back to the paper. With a bloody hand, he carefully unfolded it and was shocked to find a portrait of him. It was so beautiful, delicate lines used to define his face and his far-off expression and for a second he couldn’t believe it was him. It was so well done. How could you be ashamed of showing him this? He loved it. He looked up and saw you run off and his heart run with you. He was suddenly hit with his suppressed love for you. You were patient and kind and your small stature always made him wonder how anyone could hurt something so cute. He escaped that trial along with your picture. He, unfortunately, couldn’t save you.

Later at your spot in the woods, he approached you. He presented your art and you gasped. “How’d you get that!?” You reached out to take it back. “I’m sorry! It’s...” your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He must think you are such a creep, drawing bad pictures of him without his knowledge.  You clutched the paper to your chest and felt a wave of hot insecurity flood over you. But Jake never let you drown.

“It’s really good,” Jake said, his voice the most emotional and vibrant it had ever been. “I’m sorry if I never expressed my appreciation of it.” He put a hand on your shoulder. “You’re really good... to me. And,” he paused letting go for a moment and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. Thank you for sticking around.” It wasn’t much but it was the best he could do. There was a deep-rooted honestly in his confession and it pulled at your heart.

It wasn’t enough to make you feel better but it was a start. With Jake, it is a journey of recovery, not a once-off end-all fix. But he was good at consistency and was always there the moment your fears reared their ugly heads. He was warm and solid, grounding both himself and you in the world.

[ashley-jones]

The Kings Mate

Chapter 12

Why Do You Draw Me?

Pencil trailing across the page of Luna’s sketch book, her back leaned against the well while the mysterious male laid not too far from her sight. She had gone back to the well because Kagome had gone off with Keade somewhere and she really didn’t feel like being stuck with Inuyasha. The scenery before her had inspired her inner artist, as the trees and sunlight just bloomed with beauty; and the male added to the beautiful scene. “Why do you sit there so close to this Sesshomaru?” the male questioned. The female looked away from her drawing and towards the male. “The scenery, and I'm staying away from Inuyasha.. He has a loud mouth..” she stated. Her voice was soft and peaceful not wanting to disturb some of the animals she was sketching. She could fell Sesshomaru’s eyes on her but she didn’t look up as she continued sketching. Her pencil creating a satisfyingly through the air mixing with the birds. The sound actually calmed the male, and let him know that he wasn’t alone’ but her scent is what really attracted him. It wasn’t what he first sensed on her but something sweeter. “What are you wearing that smells so sweet?” he questioned. He heard the female hum, and watched as she lower her book and pencil reaching into her bag pulling out a pink bottle. “Vanilla and cherry blossom perfume..” she stated softly. She lightly sprayed the perfume in the air, allowing the male to get a whiff of the sweet scented perfume. It was famine and made his beast growl in delight. She smiled setting the bottle down and picked her items back up and went back to drawing, now paying more attention to the male; but she stopped, slowly turning the page. “May I ask you a question..?” she asked softly. “What is it?” he stated showing interest in what the female could ask him. She slowly stood up and walked over kneeling down and turned the sketch book, showing the drawing of a male that looked identical to the male she was now kneeling beside. “Who is he..?” she asked softly. He sat up more placing his right arm over his knee, and used his other hand to take the book from her. His eyes widened when he saw the picture. “Where have you seen this man?” he asked her. “Sometimes he just flashes through my head. And sometimes he’s in my dreams. My grandfather says its just random images. But then I saw you last night and thought of how similar his features where to yours..” she explained softly. He could hear the confusion in her voice. Why does this girl see his father flash through her mind? “When did these images start?” he questioned her. She turned her head slightly thinking to herself. “When I turned 14.. So 2 years ago..” She said softly. “Who is he..?” she asked. He met her eyes, gold mixing with brown. “The great dog demon, Toga.. Is what people called him. He was the lord of the western lands. He ruled beside the princess of the Northern Lands. He died hundreds of years ago, trying to save a human woman. He died in a battle against a human, having already suffered wounds. He left his eldest son and mate behind to save a woman and a half breed.” he explained. The female listened closely showing full interest in the story. “What happened to the eldest son and the mate..? Are they still alive..?” she asked. “Your looking at the son.” he stated. Her eyes widened slightly before looking down feeling like an idiot. “I'm sorry..” she said softly. “What for..? I could care less about my pathetic excuse of a father. And my mother was no better. Though she was heartbroken after the death of her mate.” he stated. He left out the fact that he had killed his own mother, but he had allowed her to reunite with her mate allowing her soul drift on with Toga. He turned the page of the sketch book in which she didn’t seem to mind. “Why do your draw me?” he questioned looking at the drawing of himself. “You make a perfect canvas..” she said softly. A beautiful smile caressing her features watching as he looked through her drawings. 

She looked down and leaned back and rested against the tree beside the male, in which he didn’t seem to mind that her shoulder was touching his, or the way her legs where folded touching his kimono. He actually enjoyed the females company, she was gentle and kind with the way she spoke; and knew to speak in quiet voice so she wouldn’t disturb him in any way. And her perfume seem to calm his beast which no one has ever been able to do. He then stopped at a page where it was just filled with a written response type. He began reading through it as the female didn’t seem to mind.  ‘My name is Luna Higurashi, it is 4/16/2018; I'm 14 years old.. I just discovered that I have ice abilities, my grandfather says its normal; but my siblings think it abnormal. The man in my dreams says its a blessing placed on a human girl, and that I’m special. I can stand the cold, and create ice with any part of my body. But it’s dangerous. It counters on my emotions. If I’m angry the ice will come out showing my anger, through sadness it will freeze everything around me creating an extremely cold environment, and when I’m happy it creates beautiful designs.’ he stopped reading and looked towards the girl, who was looking up calmly. “Show me these ice abilities.” he ordered in a stern but calm voice. Luna quickly looked at him with a surprised look before looking away slowly pushing herself up. He stood up himself shutting the sketch book and walked with her to a pond. He stood back and watched as the female kneeled down, her hand moved into the water and her eyes turned a dull deep blue. She lifted her hand up and the lake turned to ice, her breath coming out as the temperature lowered. 

“I can’t control it..meaning I can only do certain things..” she simply said. Her breath showing standing up and looking back at the male. Glossed over blue eyes meeting his golden ones. “Just need practice. I’m sure your not able to in your time. But here you have plenty of places to train, mostly in the north. Travel with me to the north, find a demon that has abilities like you.” He stated. She was surprised by his gesture of traveling with him. What would her sister think? She then smiled and nodded. “I just have to get my things from the village.” She said softly looking at him. He nodded and turned around keeping her sketch book and walking off back to the tree the two had been leaning on previously.

[medea10]

My Review of Grand Blue

How did I get into this anime? Well, I heard there were some good reviews about this particular title. It was one of those animes I probably should have watched in summer 2018, but more than likely I was watching some sequel no one remembers.

Iori Kitahara just moved to an ocean-front town to live with his uncle since he lives near Izu University (a school Iori was accepted into). His uncle owns a scuba diving shop that serves as a local hangout for members of the school’s diving club. Little does Iori know that this is a local hangout to get FUCKING SHIT-FACED!!!

I am not making this up. These members drink like it’s going out of business. And usually these drinking binges end up with blackouts and public nudity. In Iori’s case, he got so black-out drunk that he woke up in front of his new university’s courtyard…on the first day of school…only wearing his boxers! I’m beginning to see why Amazon put out an advisory at the beginning of each episode about drinking responsibly. But aside from drinking with a bunch of meat-head senpais, there’s also diving. Yeah, club activity is actually diving into the ocean.

So let’s dive into this college-leveled, binge-drinking club as we meet some interesting characters like, a raging otaku (Kouhei), Iori’s cousin with “Permanent Resting Bitch-face Syndrome” (Chisa), a girl who should get a makeup tutorial on Youtube (Aina), two meat-head senpais (Bukki and Tokki), Drinky McStripsItAll (Azusa), and Chisa’s “loving” older sister (Nanaka).

BETWEEN THE SUB AND THE DUB: So this is an Anime Prime exclusive, so I doubt I’d be hearing a dub to this any time soon. The sub has quite the line-up of seiyuus including that upcomer I’ve been raving about all 2019, Yuuma Uchida. But a lot of well-known folks like Kana Asumi and Hiroki Yasumoto (who can literally play anything at this point) shine in this anime. Here’s what you might recognize these folks from.

*Iori is played by Yuuma Uchida (Kyo on Fruits Basket 2019, Uenoyama on Given, Chika on Kono Oto Tomare, Sun on Oresuki, Ash on Banana Fish, and Shirazu on Tokyo Ghoul :re)

*Kouhei is played by Ryouhei Kimura (known for Hinata on Angel Beats, Hachiken on Silver Spoon, Takizawa on Eden of the East, Judar on Magi, Taishi on Tokyo Ghoul, and Hiyori on Free!)

*Chisa is played by Chika Anzai (known for Mina on Attack on Titan)

*Aina is played by Kana Asumi (known for Taneshima on Working!!, Ran on Shugo Chara, Kazakiri on Index, Yuno on Hidamari Sketch, Nagisa on Madoka Magica: Rebellion, and Tachibana on Nisekoi)

FAVORITE CHARACTER: I’m gonna say that after watching all 12 episodes; Aina (a.k.a. Cakey) grew on me. Horrible caked-on make-up aside, let’s be real here.

I think it’s because of the development we see with her ever since she was introduced early in the series. We see a girl trying her damndest to fit in with the tennis club only for it to blow up in her face (literally when we’re talking about all that makeup that’s “caked” on her face). Yeah, these guys treated Aina like garbage! But after joining the diving club, we see her be herself and slowly trust those around her. I think it’s more of this character resonating with me in some sad aspect, but I too feel the pain of trying to fit in or not wanting to let anyone down. Anyways, Cakey is my girl!

Poor dear, I feel your pain.

SHIPPING: So Iori is now a college lad and getting smashed eight ways from Sunday. And I’m sure he’s going to have his own picks of the ladies when he isn’t drinking with an otaku and a bunch of meat-heads.

…Or he can get freaky with his blood cousin!

*eyeball twitch*

ANYWAYS, Chisa has made her point clear with the disgusted face she makes whenever she’s around Iori. But in anime terms, we know that she has that classic tsundere syndrome. So when someone like Aina comes into the picture and Iori sticks up for her, jealousy arrives like a fucking A-bomb! Despite Chisa announcing to a wide, public setting that Iori was her boyfriend (while he was passed-out drunk), nothing too scandalous happened with this. It was just so she could keep creepy boys away. Honestly, I really have no problem if Chisa and Iori hook up. It’s actually better than Chisa being with someone who has an unhealthy obsession with her.

I don’t want to say Nanaka has a thing for her baby sister, but this is getting too borderline Yuru Yuri that I have to say something about it.

I’m pretty sure Aina might be a contender after all Iori has done for her throughout the series. It’s just that she can’t stand all that binge-drinking and getting buck-naked at any moment.

And then there’s wild card Azusa! She’s a flirt! What else can I say about her? She teases Iori every chance she gets. Hell, near the finale she tantalized Iori in sex. Wasn’t sure if she was kidding or if she really meant it! However she did shove a leek up Iori’s ass, but that’s because he was sick.

I swear this is normal behavior.

By the end of the series, we really didn’t get much in terms of full-on hookups. Many misunderstandings have occurred involving word-play. Iori, Kouhei, and their band of geeky friends are still virgins (though one of them came very close to sealing the deal). One of the meat-heads has a girlfriend (did not see that one coming). But on a positive note, Chisa and Iori’s friendship has been pretty steady. I wonder how long that’ll last!

ANIMATION: I gotta say it, the facial expressions on these characters were a laugh-riot. It wasn’t like this was pathetically sad that I have to laugh at it. But more of how expressive these characters got when they have to express hatred or disgust! This is more for comical expense and I happened to like it. It’s like with the anime Prison School, all the facial expressions worked in their favor. This, while out of place some of the time, never fails to make me laugh.

ANIME REFERENCE: While shopping for gear for an upcoming diving expedition, Kouhei came across two suits that would make any old-school otaku squeal.

The suits of Rei Ayanami and Asuka Langley Soryu from Neon Genesis Evangelion in diving suit form. And Kouhei got Chisa and Aina to try them on!

ENDING: At the end of episode 9, the diving club is heading to Okinawa for a special trip that is promised we will never forget. They made sure of that when the anime gives us a two-minute preview of what to look forward to in these final three episodes. Just be warned a lot of things mentioned really didn’t happen. It almost felt like one of those gag previews Gintama is notorious for.

Well Iori, Kouhei, and Aina are going to attempt at getting their divers license so that they can go even further down the ocean. It seemed like all three were doing pretty well when it came to the basics of diving underwater. However, it was quickly noticed by Nanaka that Iori was having trouble keeping water out of his goggles and that could result in immediate failure. So Iori practices all night (with help from Chisa and Aina). However, Iori ended up in some trouble when a patrolling policeman comes upon him in the pool. And Iori spent the rest of the night in the water because he was naked.

Because I’d be concerned if he wasn’t naked!

Well, the next morning, he caught a cold. Then dumbass thinks it’s a good idea to get rid of a cold by drinking vodka.

Because I’d be concerned if he wasn’t drinking!

And as a result he ended up missing his chance for obtaining his diving license. Kouhei and Aina were able to get their licenses. So the big diving expedition of Okinawa is about to commence and Iori has to sit this one out. But he remains hopeful to one day dive with his friends in Okinawa. After all that, the group travels to another spot and get fucking hammered. You all see the theme to this series, right?

But the last few episodes gave us a few moments involving Kouhei and Aina. Kouhei ended up stumbling into this group on accident (much like Iori), but discovered how much fun he had (aside from getting drunk as a skunk night after night). As for Aina, she learned that despite the diving club being full of a bunch of drunken meat-heads, these people care about her (unlike the previous club she belonged to).

So it was a memorable trip.

This was absolutely NOT what I expected when I picked up this anime. I notice Grand Blue being taken place in a cute ocean town and thought it would be just as cute as Tsuritama. But it turned out to be the anime equivelant of Animal House. I can easily tell you that my college years were NOTHING LIKE THIS.

Despite going to school in a state where the drunk-driving rate is sky-high, I did not witness any strange anomalies like arriving on campus and seeing a bunch of drunk, naked lads sprawled across the courtyard.

Now then, I do feel like this series could have focused a little more on diving and oceanography. It felt like the majority of the series involved characters binge-drinking, meat-heads fighting with tennis club members, more binge-drinking, sad geeks never getting laid, studying for a German test where you only get 20%, and drinking more than Sterling Archer. Not so much on the ocean like I would have hoped. And even though Iori gets the short-end of the stick in almost every episode, I do feel bad that he couldn’t join the rest of the club under water in the finale. That felt a little disheartening, but that’s just me. Short answer, I like this anime! If you’re in for a good laugh and are not turned off by all the drinking and nudity, I say go for it.

For what it’s worth, it’s a silly adventure I can see myself rewatching one or two more times. And if you’re interested in watching, Amazon Prime has all 12 episodes available for streaming.

Okay, this was quite the trip! Let’s pick our next Amazon/Netflix/Crunchyroll exclusive anime!

Think Zootopia, but set in high school.

Beastars!

Great choice as I even heard good things from celebrities who don’t normally watch anime.

[frederator-studios]

Graham McTavish: The Frederator Interview

At the moment, Graham McTavish is in Malta getting his head torn off by a Werewolf. Jack Bauer once rammed a fire poker through his chest then slit his throat. He’s been set on fire, drowned, strangled, stabbed, speared, knifed, shot - not to mention, kneed in the balls, punched in the face, even slammed over the back with a log by an over-eager young performer. All in a day’s work for the Scottish actor, who’s played the baddest of baddies on a slew of excellent dramas-with-a-twist, from Preacher to Outlander, 24 to Castlevania. But Graham himself doesn’t view his characters as ‘villains’ - just passionate, complex people, of which Dracula (though he’d resent to be called “human”) is the embodiment. Read on for Graham’s take on playing one of literature’s most iconic, dangerous anti-heroes—from the relative safety of a recording studio.

Are you in LA long?

I’m flying out tonight actually, back to New Zealand. My kids are there, so I split my time. I’m doing Lucifer at the moment for Netflix as well as Castlevania, so I had to come back for a day, yesterday - I flew back just for that. (wow whaaa?) Yeah. I do a lot of traveling, but even for me that’s insane! It’s also unusual for the scheduling to work out perfectly, which it does the next few months. I have an episode gap now, then in October, I do a film in Malta, and the day that wraps, come back to LA to finish Lucifer, and the day after that, fly to Canada to do a film with Willem Dafoe about the Iditarod. I’ve got to learn how to mush a dog sled.

That’s awesome. It’s like getting sponsored to learn a cool obscure skill.

It’s definitely a nice side effect of being an actor. What other job would allow you to learn how to mush a dog sled, unless you were actually becoming a professional dog sled musher? It’ll be great.

How is it for you to switch between characters, with so little time between roles sometimes?

It really depends on your approach to acting. I approach from the point of view of a child. I have two young children, and the great thing about being that age, is they can switch from one thing to another in an instant. Very fluid. I think because I’ve never trained as an actor, I can see work as play. Some actors live as a cobbler for 5 years to play a cobbler, and that’s what works for them. Personally, I pretend. When I'm mushing dogs, I will give the illusion that I really know what I'm doing. That’s what acting is: an illusion that the audience willingly participates in. And everybody is complicit.

You didn’t have professional training?

No. I used to write comic sketches at school with a friend of mine, and we didn't trust anybody else to perform them, so we did. The Drama teacher at school asked me on many occasions to be in a play, but I always said no. Then on one occasion, he asked me to step into a play called “The Rivals” by Sheridan, filling in for an actor who’d fallen ill three days before the production was due to be performed. I said yes. To this day, I have no idea why I agreed. But I did the play, and was of course bitten by the acting bug.

After that, a local Dramatics company asked me to join them, so I did amateur theatre for a year. Then I attended Queen Mary College London University and majored in English literature. I was lucky enough to have a professor who loved Shakespeare and Jacobean drama, and he cast me in all of those plays. As an English Lit major, I was doing two or three Shakespeare plays a year, performing roles that I never would have been given if I'd been at Drama School. I'm not against it, but I don't think it's for everyone. I got my union card in Britain after doing a Beckett play, and then just started working professionally. I also did a lot of Repertory Theatre in the UK, which I think is a great training ground for actors. So it was all slightly accidental, the case with a lot of people.

How did you choose to play Dracula? What about that part compelled you?

I played him onstage once, a great experience. Dracula is the sort of character people love guiltily. If you get the opportunity to play that, it's a no-brainer. Just reading Bram Stoker’s book, your sympathy is with Dracula, in many ways. You live the story through him. It's such a wonderful ride to be playing a man whose been alive for hundreds and hundreds of years. Dracula plays to our secret desires, our secret fears. I think in all of us, there is a fascination with the idea of living forever. Fear of living forever, and fear of death; the Dracula myth plays on that edge. It’s so powerful because it takes something that we all have to face one day and says, what if you didn’t? But in gaining immortality, you lose something very important. Dracula is very enviable in some ways, but is also deeply sad and tragic.

How is it, playing tragic characters?

Among the few advantages of getting older is you have more life experience, including with tragedy. It’s inevitable. And you can draw on those memories. But you can also draw on your fears as well. I did a scene in Outlander, toward the end, where my brother is dying. I thought of my own father, and all the things I never said to him. Those emotions definitely informed that scene. When tragedy and death and loss touch your life, you carry those feelings into your future.

Are you an animation fan?

I love animation, I grew up with it. Along with books, it was my first experience of storytelling. Cartoons, as we called them; they fired my childhood imagination. It’s like how we were talking earlier, about children, and the profundity of animation to them. The first film I saw in a theatre was Walt Disney’s Peter Pan. I was five and had no question that those characters were real. To such an extent that when they took the posters down at the cinema, I got upset. I was like, “But where’s Peter? Where’s he gone?” Because I thought Peter lived in the cinema. I still get absorbed into great pieces of animation, when the artistry is powerful, and it’s part of my attraction to doing animated work. And this show, Castlevania, is particularly beautiful.

How were you introduced to the project, and did you have expectations going in?

I knew it was going to be great. I was recording Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles when the Voice and Casting Director, Meredith Layne, pulled me aside. She said she was on a project and couldn’t tell me much, but she thought I’d be a fit, and would I like to be considered? Meredith has great taste, so I said “Of course” and sent in a tape. And when I heard that Warren Ellis was the writer, that was a huge attraction. I love his comic book work, and fiction as well. The Crooked Little Vein is one of my favorite books. Really, it couldn’t not be great, and the more I learned of the creative team behind it, the more sure I was. Everything put into the show - the casting, directing, producing, animation - elevates it so hugely above anything comparable. I love that it occupies this unique space.

What do you feel Castlevania’s Dracula uniquely brings to the character?

It’s his being human that makes it so interesting. When I portrayed Dracula onstage, there was no suggestion that that version of him felt love, or experienced empathy. But in this production, a woman, Lisa, takes him by surprise. She makes him feel, and turns his life around. I love that, because everybody can relate. You think your life is one way, then you meet someone who changes everything, opens your life up, makes you think about it differently - and makes it more enjoyable to be alive. And since Dracula is essentially dead, that irony is very clever.

Do you have a favorite representation of vampires in Media?

I'm a little biased, but I love the portrayal of Cassidy by Joe Gilgun in Preacher. It’s so unconventional. Herzog’s Nosferatu springs to mind, just incredible. Gary Oldman’s Dracula is wonderful. And I loved Let the Right One In, the original Swedish version. It’s genius. It took something familiar as a vampire story and gave it a whole new spin.

You work so much in the fantasy genre - is that purposeful?

Oh yeah. I love the variety. I've been a Viking, a Roman - twice - after always dreaming of playing one, I got to be one for a whole year. Growing up in the UK, you never imagine yourself getting to be a cowboy. On the first season of Preacher, there was a scene I rode into a western town: the whole duster coat with the Stetson guns, surrounded by horses and wagon trains, all the paraphernalia. I had to look cool and unbothered. I wanted to jump up and down in excitement. I was so, pathetically excited. I did a season of 24, and I’d been a huge fan. Every day I’d go up to the producers telling them I was a huge fan. After a while, they’d say, “Yeah, great, we get it. You like the show. You’re in it now, so if you could just be the character that’d be great.”

And I still get a pathetically childish enjoyment out of playing Dracula. What kid doesn’t want to play Dracula?! I once talked to Lance Henriksen, and he said one of the reasons he went into acting was to be thousands of people. You get to be a cowboy and a vampire and a dog musher and a Highlander in the 18th century and a dwarf in Middle Earth. I'd definitely rather do any of that than put on a suit and do a courtroom scene. Not that I wouldn’t! I’ve just never been asked. No one’s ever looked at me and said, “Let’s cast him as The Dad.”

Have you ever played a “Castlevania” game?

I am a terrible game player.

But, but - your voice is in like every game of the past decade!

Yes, I have done loads of video games. I did a franchise called “Uncharted”. Award-winning; incredibly popular. Never played them. I played one game years ago with my friend, called “Gears of War”. I was so bad at it. I'm the guy that shoots in a circle around his feet. I’m useless at them.

Your character's bad-assery makes up for it. Anything to say to fans of the show, in advance of season two?

I just really hope you enjoy it and get carried along with the story and and want to see more. That’s always the greatest thing, if you can get the fans to clamor for more ❀

Follow Graham on Twitter and Instagram

Thank you for the interview Graham! Without a doubt, you’re the kindest chronic bad guy I’ve come across. 

- Cooper ❀

(Craving another CV interview? Read Richard Armitage’s here.)

[angelynrostrand]

Chapter 6

Summary:  To the outside world, nothing should connect shy girl Angel Monroe and popular boy Xavier Hazelwood. But that isn't entirely true. They both hold secrets. Behind both of them lie 2 separate wolf packs. Xavier is well on his way to Alpha status and running the pack. Angel is not a wolf but instead the last healer in the world. When the realization comes forward that they are connected by destiny, will they decide to fulfill it? Is their connection predetermined by fate or will they choose their hearts? Lives and packs cross and mingle while romance and conflict brews. The story of 2 opposite souls on a collision path. Will destiny win out? Even the most innocent face, has the darkest secrets.

Word Count: 2,460

Warnings: None for now

https://weheartit.com/entry/272829059

I pick my nails from anxiety, not sure what to say next. We both stay silent and stand in the middle of the hallway with people walking around us. I notice Rebecca and her friends looking over at us. I just remember her threat and the bathroom assault. Why does she make me nervous? Xavier also notices Rebecca, then connects the dots.

"Did Rebecca say something to you?" His loud voice catches the attention of everyone in the hallway. "Is she the one who gave you those scars and bruises?"

"Xavier, please lower your voice." His anger is new to me. I have become so used to his kind and sunny personality.

"No Angel. Tell me. That's why you didn't tell me."

A part of me wants to tell him and throw her under the bus. But what would it do? What would he do? I just nodded to agree. I'm tired of lying to him and this is the only secret I can reveal. A little, small secret to distract from the big one hidden in me.

Xavier took a big sigh and rolled his head back. "Is that why you don't want me? Because of her?"

"Xavier no, please." I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence because of the loud bell to notify all the students to go to class.

"We are not finished with this conversation." Before I can disagree or add a comment, he rushes to his class.

Towards the end of English class, my teacher let us work in groups to start on our homework. I normally work alone, but Rebecca and her friends turn around to face me. I sit up straighter from her quick movement.

She wastes no time going after me. "I thought I made myself clear last time." Her tone is harsh to scare me, but low enough for the teacher not to notice. "Do I have to beat your ass to get the message? Stay away from Xavier. We are on a break for now but will be together again before Prom."

"I don't think..." I couldn't finish with her next sentence. I didn't realize I was sinking in my seat and looking more pathetic. I bet to her I look like an easy target to destroy.

"I don't care. He's just interested in you because he is trying to get my attention. He has it now. So ignore him and we won't have a problem. Continue to be around him and things will get serious." The bell rings to release us. She gets up and before leaving with her group of friends, says, "Don't worry, he will stop talking to you the moment we have sex again. We always get back together." She changed her voice and sweetly said: "Have a good day."

While I collect my stuff, I look out the window. The rainy weather had seemed to change. The sun is coming out from the puffy clouds. It's starting to be a sunny day from the sad and gray weather from this morning. The total opposite of my mood. I want it to stay rainy and cloudy.

At my tutoring job. I handed them back their papers. Today the class had a sub and normally I would take the lead to give the sub a break but not today. The teacher left them to do any makeup work. Including their final paper or their independent reading project. I just stayed at my desk thinking about what Rebecca said. They had sex together. Do I even have a right to be angry or jealous? He isn't my boyfriend. Yes, we are bonded by birth to be mates but I knew he had a reputation of being...what's the word for it? In a kind way, I guess he... is... experienced. Still, the thought of them both together in a private moment like that makes me want to throw up.

In art class, there was a note on the door telling the students to meet up at the football field.

"Why are we meeting at the field?" A sweet girl says, reading my mind. She is also in my English class. She is always kind to me. I give her a friendly smile and shrug my shoulders. At the end of the note, it said to bring our sketch pads. The whole class meets up at the entrance of the stadium. Our teacher is waiting for our arrival with her clipboard and a bright smile. Well at least someone is having a better day than I am.

"Good afternoon everyone. Since it is a beautiful day, I want to be outside rather than inside. And since I am in charge, I say class will be outside and I don't care what you guys think." Her comment made some people laugh. I also smiled. "For today's assignment, I want you guys to sketch out anything outside. I am trusting you guys to roam around campus. I will be walking around and also I will be doing the same assignment. But before class ends, I want you guys to hand in your guy's sketch pad. Just drop it off in the classroom. It doesn't matter if you didn't finish, I just want proof that you did it." The whole class nods. "Ok go. Be free."

Everyone spreads out to find their inspiration. It is a beautiful day. Maybe having time outside and sketching will give me time to think, but also calm myself. I plug in my music and pull out my pad. Unlike my classmates, I stay on the field. On the top of the bleachers, you can see the mountains and the forest, freshly cleaned from the rain. I wipe the seat of the rainwater and sit down. I look back and forth from the scene to the white paper. I continue to sketch peacefully with Ed Sheeran in my ear. I definitely need this. While looking back up for reference I notice a gym class walking on the track. They looked like they are taking a running test or something. My peaceful moment is ruined when Xavier separates himself from the group. To make it clear that it was him I guess. Shoot. I try to focus on my artwork. The quicker I finish the quicker I can leave. I don't want to finish our conversation. Xavier and his class run a couple of laps and of course, he finished early compared to the regular humans. His teacher seemed to let them have a free day outside too. He finally notices me on top of the bleachers. I pretend to not focus on him, but he is walking up the bleachers.

We just looked at each other. I finally unplugged my music and looked up at him. "Hey."

"Hi." Simple and basic. I am not sure what to do.

"Can we...like...talk?" I just nodded and he sat down next to me. "I talked with Rebecca..."

"You what?" She is going to kill me.

"She won't bother you anymore or her friends. No one will ever hurt you. Again."

"What did you do?"

"I just talked to her. She realized we are not getting back together and ...."

"Maybe you guys should get back together." He stops talking. "No one wants us to be together. Not my father, not my Alpha, and not Rebecca." The weather starts to get windy and gray again. My anger seems to be affecting the weather again.

"I want us together. I want us to be together. Why can't that be enough?" His words did hurt. I started to walk down and away from him. "Please don't leave me." He followed me to the floor. "I can talk to your Alpha and your father. Maybe we can..."

"No." Why can't he understand? The clouds covered the sky and looked like it was about to pour rain again.

"Tell me the real reason why we can never be together. You’re not even going to try to explain?

"Because..." I'm going to regret this. "Because I'm not going to be with someone who had sex with a person who isn't their mate." The rain came down fast and hard. Dang, it. Control yourself, Angel. He grabbed my hand and we ran to safety. All his classmates did the same. He chose more a private spot to continue the conversation.

He took a big sigh and said, "What did you say?"

"You heard me." I whimpered. I tried to calm myself for everyone's safety. No more lighting or thunder, but still rain.

"Who told you that?"

"Who do you think? Rebecca." I looked down with a soft voice.

"Angel, we never did anything. We never had sex. I am still...I have been waiting on my mate too." He sounded kind of embarrassed. But he was  being honest. Great, we have been together for less than a week and we are already talking about sex. He places his hand under my chin to look up at him. "I won't do that to you. Rebecca lied to you and yeah I have been to parties but most things you hear are just rumors. You have to believe me. My mom would tell me stories about mates and how wonderful it would be. The feeling being whole and at peace. When I saw you riding your bike and singing along to your music, it made sense. Everything my mom said was true. Your floral scent drives me crazy, and you looked so beautiful at the party. I love how your eyes light up when you laugh. They turn a light yellowish-brown and how..."

I did the bravest thing in my life. I kissed him. Full of heart and soul. I'm not sure if I get caught in the moment or just teenage hormones but I do not regret it. I pull away to see his reaction.

"No, I'm not done." He whispered against my lips and pulled me back in. I smile and gladly kissed him back. When we finish, the rain stops and we just stay quiet to enjoy the moment. I stay in his arms. Plus I'm cold from the rain and he naturally runs warm. He finally asked, "Why were you outside today?"

My eyes widen and I release my arms from around him to rush to my sketch pad. I guess I dropped it when I kissed Xavier. "Please don't be ruined," I repeat over and over again.

"What's wrong?" Xavier asked. I open the book and see the pages are wet. It had a lot of my sketches. I handed him the book while I run my hands through my hair and closed my eyes. "Well, maybe we can save it?"

"No. That's why I was outside. My teacher let us be outside to sketch for an assignment. Now they are all ruined."

"No their not. They are still good. Man, I forgot how good you are." He flips through each page.

"Thanks, but I have been working on it all semester."

"Awe come on. Don't pout." I didn't realize I was until he pointed it out. He opens his arms for me to enter them. Which I do, only because I'm cold. “Let’s hang out after school.” I let go of his warm embrace.

“I can’t. I have a job.” We walk back to class.

“Where at? Maybe I can drop you off. If you want a ride?

“At my house. I am helping our pack’s doctor.” He looks shocked for a moment. “And I can never decline a free ride.” I smile.

“Alright let me change back into my normal clothes and I’ll meet you at my car.”

“Okay. I have to turn in my sad and tragic artworks to my teacher anyways. Take your time.” We both walk our separate ways. When I made it to the art building, I see Xavier running back to me. “What's wrong?” He was slightly out of breath.

“I forgot something.”

“What?” I looked at my hands thinking I was holding something for him.

“This.” He held me once again and kisses me for good measure.

“Xavier!” I smiled and pressed my fingertips against my lips. He just ran away again with a cheeky smile.

 After waiting for Xavier for 10 minutes by his car, he arrived with wet hair. Did he shower? He unlocked his car and opened the passenger door for me. “What a gentleman,” I tease.

“Only for you.” During the drive, I start to think. What am I going to tell my family? What are we exactly? Should I tell Xavier about me? I have so much I want to tell him. “What are thinking about in that pretty head of yours?”

“Oh. Do you also have a half schedule? Oh my god did you ditch? Oh my god, I helped!” I am freaking out. Why would he do that? Just to be with me. “Graduation is coming up you can’t do that. Your education is much more important than me.” He started to laugh. “Why are you laughing?” I’m having a little nerd heart attack.

“Angel Angel calm down. I do have a half schedule like you.” He continued to laugh in between sentences. “And I would totally ditch class for you.” I take a deep sigh. “Aren’t you cute when you are worried about me?” He places his hand over mine on top of my lap. He leans in for a kiss but I stop him with my hand on his chest.

“Xavier pay attention to the road.” I laugh but I want to stop him. I need to ask “What are we? I mean I know we are mates but…”

“I want us to be official. Let me take you on a date. And not like a study date. A real one.” He parks in front of my house

“I do too but let me...just let me talk to my father and my alpha. Okay?” I don’t want to give him false hopes, but I know my family will disagree with my decision.

“I understand.” We both lean into each other.

“Xavier we shouldn’t. There are cameras everywhere.”

He nodded. “Text me how it goes okay.” I smile and jump out of his fancy black car.

I want to take it slow. I know it is fun in the beginning but I know I won’t be able to be with him forever. I guess with every kiss we have together, the more I know deep down we can’t stay together. It won’t work out if I continue to lie to him. I will just make things worse. I have too much baggage and he is a good man who needs a good and truthful mate.

[kellanved-ammanas]

Artistic Chapter Four of Four: Talk

The door to Scout’s room swung open as Sniper knocked it, it must’ve not been latched properly. A quick peek inside revealed that the room was empty, Scout wasn’t there. Meaning if Sniper wanted to corner Scout in his room as Spy suggested, he’d have to come back later.

So he stepped in to grab the door handle. Before he could close it though he caught sight of Scout’s sketchbook lying on his desk. The page it was open to was torn, the copious amounts of eraser shavings led to the conclusion that that had been caused by a too vigorous attempt at erasing whatever had been drawn there.

Curious now, Sniper peeked out to check the hallway. The coast was clear so he stepped inside fully and pulled the door mostly closed behind him. As if not latching the door could somehow make what he was doing any better. But he was curious and Scout was acting weird, maybe this was a clue about why that was. Or Sniper was just being a nosy asshole making excuses for himself.

It was impossible to tell what the drawing had been. None of it remained and the tears in the paper made the faint traces of it left nigh on impossible to decipher. So after one more look over his shoulder, Sniper picked it up and flipped to the front.

On the first page was a picture of Miss Pauling. The careful and loving detail Scout had drawn her with made it clear it was back when he was still big into her. The next couple of pages were just sketches of stuff around the base or various random things and/or their teammates. That pattern kept up for a while, lots of pics of Pauling – all lovingly drawn – and various things in between.

All of it was quite good, Sniper was impressed. Scout didn’t show his drawings to many people unless they were jokes. Maybe Sniper would start asking him about them more often, assuming they got past whatever was making Scout avoid him.

He was just about to put the sketchbook down when he came across a drawing of himself. It wasn’t like the occasional quick sketch of himself that he’d come across before but a lovingly drawn and detailed picture. And there were more after it, several more.

One in particular was fantastic, it was of him aiming with his rifle, the vague background details pointing towards it taking place in the shooting range. So… Scout had drawn a lot more than just his gun.

It was… weird looking at all these lovingly drawn pictures of himself, especially this one, like he was looking at something personal and private. It made feel warm too though, he hadn’t known Scout looked at him like that. Whatever ‘that’ was.

After that though was when the frustrated scribblings and erasing started. It quickly led to the final torn page, suggesting Scout hadn’t even attempted to draw much since that last really nice picture. Why though? What had Sniper down to upset him so much?

“Hey!”

Sniper almost dropped the sketchbook as he snapped around to see that Scout had returned. He was standing in the open doorway, understandably, he didn’t look pleased. Whoops, Sniper had no one but himself to blame though for being a nosy bastard.

“Uh, hey mate, how’s it going?” He cringed at his own words. It was impossible for this to get any more awkward. If a hole in the ground opened up beneath him to swallow him whole, he’d almost welcome it.

“What are you doing in my…” Scout cut off, his eyes latching onto his sketchbook still in Sniper’s hands. “Were you looking at my drawings?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“How much did you see?”

“Uh… a lot, I uh… kind of flipped through the whole thing. I’m…”

“Shit, fuck,” Scout cut him off. “It’s not what it looks like... or well it is what it looks like but… it doesn’t… matter. It’s whatever you know? I’m sorry, super sorry, it’s awkward and shit I know but like… just pretend you don’t know please.” He was blushing hard and squirming nervously, looking like he wanted to run away from this conversation about as much as Sniper did. What was he talking about though? He should be berating Sniper for invading his privacy not apologizing to him.

“Sorry.” Sniper awkwardly closed the book and placed it back on the desk again. At this point he’d have leave except Scout was between him in the door, blocking the way, Sniper wasn’t going to push past him or ask him to move. “I shouldn’t’ve done that.” He should’ve just closed the door and left. “But uh… why are you apologizing?”

Groaning, Scout pressed his hands to either side of his face and started pacing, making it even hard to get past him to the exit. “Because you know now and it’s awkward and awful and weird.”

Sniper was missing something, his lack of people skills never failed him. Should he ask about it? Maybe it’d be best to just find a way out of this situation, say ‘excuse me’ and then just leave and hope this never came up again. “Know what?” Or not.

Scout paused, turning his head to look at Sniper again. “You mean… you looked at the all those pictures I drew of you in the past however many weeks and you haven’t figured it out?”

“Uh… no?” He shouldn’t have asked, he should’ve bailed. Too late now though. “They were nice though, you’re uh… really good at drawing.” Now probably wasn’t the time to compliment his art skills, was it?

“Oh my god, I’m such a fucking idiot. Why am I so fucking dumb? Just shoot me now please, put me out of my misery.”

“You’re not dumb.” Sniper wasn’t going to stand by and let Scout berate himself like that no matter how uncomfortable the circumstances of this conversation were.

“I am though.” Scout started pacing again, not looking at Sniper and making frustrated gestures with his hands as he spoke. “You somehow didn’t figure it out so I shouldn’t’ve said anything and now I basically have to tell you since you’ll think this conversation through later and figure it out then so I might as well just cut to the chase and get this shit over with since we’re both here and everything is awkward and ruined and horrible already.” He paused again, taking a deep breath and crossing his arms, keeping his head turned away from Sniper. “I’m like totally into you in a… romantic way.”

“Oh,” was all that came out of Sniper’s mouth. It was the dumbest thing he could’ve said but it was also the only thing he was capable of saying right now. He hadn’t even known Scout as into guys.

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Scout’s shoulders slumped as he sat on the edge of his bed. “I’m a pathetic idiot who keeps falling for people just because they’re nice to me even though they’re always way out of my league. It happened all throughout high school and then with Miss Pauling and now you. Every time I made a move I always get turned down because I can never fall for anyone who even has a small chance of being interested in me like that. That’s not surprising though considering apparently all it takes for me to fall for someone is them being nice to me, fucking pathetic I know. So I decided to not even bother this time so you don’t have to worry about it, just pretend we didn’t have this conversation.” He made vague gesture with his hand. “See you around, I guess.”

Sniper could easily leave now but… didn’t want to anymore. He couldn’t leave Scout like this. “What… what if… I am interested?” It was a question for both himself and Scout. He hadn’t considered before because he’d always assumed Scout didn’t ‘roll that way’ as he’d put it. But he’d admired Scout’s energy, confidence, and sociability from day one. Since then he’d only grown to admire him more and care for him a lot. He’d be lying if he tried to tell himself he didn’t find Scout attractive too. So… he was interested in Scout like that and better yet apparently Scout felt the same way. And better, better yet, Sniper hadn’t consciously realized this before now so he didn’t have to worry and stress about how Scout might feel about him.

Scout visibly tensed before turning his head to finally look at Sniper again. “Why would you be?”

Now it was Sniper’s turn to blush and shift awkwardly. “Because… I am.” What else could he say? He’d fallen for Scout, he hadn’t realized because he was bad with people and relationships but he had.

Scout looked at him speechless for a few seconds before replying. “I’m stupid, I can’t read properly, I mix the letters up a lot because I’m too dumb not to.” He sounded like he genuinely believed that and… that was sad. “Still want anything to do with me knowing that?” Did he expect that to alter Sniper’s feelings for him?

“You’re not dumb or stupid.” Sniper was bad at this type of thing but he had to do his best because Scout deserved to be happy and not feel so bad about himself. “Being book smart isn’t the only kind of smart and I ain’t too a good a reader either.” He didn’t need to be, reading wasn’t a preferred hobby of his. “And even if you were stupid, that’d be okay and I wouldn’t care and uh… it wouldn’t change anything.”

“You… you really mean that?” Scout’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. If he started crying Sniper would have no idea how to handle that so hopefully, he wouldn’t. “You still like me even though I’m dumb?”

“Yep, I really mean that. But you’re not…”

Scout shot up and hugged him. He was shocked but found himself returning it before giving it any real thought. It was nice and the way Scout clung to him as if he needed him made him feel warm inside.

Eventually they broke apart so Scout could wipe his tears away with the heel of his hand. He was smiling though, looking happier than Sniper had seen him in a while which in turn made Sniper happy too. “Thanks,” he said. “But uh… are you really like me like that, for reals?”

“Yeah, I uh do.” Any doubts he might’ve had had been dispelled by how nice that hug had been and the look on Scout’s face now. He wanted Scout to be happy and the thought of Scout being happy in his arms was more than a little appealing.

“I guess this means we’re like… dating or something now, right?”

“Yeah, I guess it does, huh? I’ve never had a boyfriend before though so… sorry if I’m like awkward and stuff.” It was best to get that out of the way now in case Scout expected him to know anything about romantic relationships. Pretty much everything he did know was gotten from books and movies and he didn’t tend to consume media that focused on romance so his knowledge on it was limited.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend before either. I had a girlfriend once back in high school but it turns out that she only agreed to go out with me because her friends dared her to.”

“Oh, sorry mate, that sucks.”

“Eh, it was a long time ago and she was a bitch anyway. I’m happy now though, thanks. Sorry for being a mess and avoiding you and stuff. I just… didn’t want to be rejected again.”

“I understand.” That was reasonable, he would’ve preferred it if Scout had just talked to him like an adult instead of letting him worry and think he’d done something wrong for so long. Though… if Sniper had realized how hard he’d fallen before now he probably also wouldn’t have said anything so he couldn’t judge much. Happily, things had somehow worked out though. And they were like… a thing now, that was good. So…

Before Sniper could second-guess himself or hesitate to the point of inaction, he leaned in to kiss Scout on the cheek. Brief and chaste it lasted no more than a second. He was almost shocked he’d done it and it made his face burn.

“Whoa hey,” Scout said, grabbing the front of Sniper’s shirt as he tried to retreat. “You’re not going to get away with doing that and then running away.” Standing on his toes, it was now his turn to kiss Sniper… on the mouth.

Shocked once more, it took Sniper a few seconds before he could reciprocate. He was bad at kissing but that was okay, Scout wasn’t too great either. They both made up for it with earnestness. It was nice and felt good and proper, he liked it.

“If you two are going to make out the least you could do is close the damn door.”

They flinched apart to look towards the door – Sniper had forgotten it was still open from when Scout had come in. Spy was standing in the doorway, looking at them with a glare. Of all people to walk by and see them Spy was probably the worst one. How would he react to this? Would he disapprove? Approve? Would he even care? … Wait, he’d already known, this was why he’d told – more like ordered – Sniper to talk to Scout, right?

“Hey Dad,” Scout said like it was no big deal as he turned to face him, putting an arm around Sniper’s shoulders as he did so. “Me and Sniper are dating now, isn’t that cool?”

“Good for you. I don’t want to see it though so keep your damn door closed.” He stepped in, grabbed the door handle and stepped out, pulling the door closed with a soft thud.

“Well at least we know my dad approves,” Scout said with grin as he stepped back.

“I guess.” It hadn’t looked like approval but his advice – if it could be called that – had ultimately led to Sniper coming here which had led to this so he at the very least didn’t disapprove.

“Yeah, if he didn’t approve, he’d have threatened to gut you.” Probably true. “But speaking of that uh… do we want to tell the rest of the team or keep it a secret?”

“Uh… how ‘bout we just let them figure it out on their own.” Sniper didn’t want to go through the social interactions involved in telling everyone but he also didn’t want to keep it a secret.

“Works for me,” Scout said. “Thanks though for everything, really, you’re wonderful.”

And now Sniper was blushing again. How was he supposed to respond to that? “You too.”

“Let’s go get something to eat, we can figure out what we want to do for a first date later.”

“Sure.” Sniper would probably find a way to fuck up their first date but he could worry about that later. For now, he let Scout take his hand and lead him out. Sniper had never held someone’s hand like this before. It was nice, he could get use to it.

Previous

[kirachama]

weird day

notes: it’s finally @saeranchoiweek time! /o/  tbh, i had a hard time with this prompt (and a bunch of other prompts so i might not stick to the list LOL). i really wanted to write that mean Saeran from Ray’s route because I personally think he’s just a big tsundere and this is the result? anyway, please enjoy!

prompt:  Seasons || Art

>> read it on ao3 <<

Today has been a weird day.

To start things off, Saeran appears to be in a good mood. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just… weird. You’d been nervous when he showed up at your door sometime before noon. Normally, when he comes by it’s during the late afternoon or early evening, but for some reason or another he hasn’t come by the past couple days. The unexplained absence coupled with the untimely visit seemed foreboding of a very bad day with a very angry Saeran, but so far he’s been more amicable that he’s been in a long while. You could almost say that he seems happy to see you… or perhaps he’s happy because he didn’t have to see you. Whatever the reason though, a happy Saeran is far better than an angry one.

When he brings you to his workroom, you immediately begin tidying up. According to him, it is one of the few things you’re good for. Backhanded compliment aside, you find that you don’t really mind cleaning his trash. When most of your time is spent locked in your room doing nothing, you’re glad to be given something to do.

As you go, you wonder if, during the time you hadn’t seen him, he’d been in here working. It’s far messier than you remember it being the last time you were here. It’s a complete mystery to you how someone who spends almost their entire time at a computer desk can make a mess of the rest of the room.

Amidst the empty candy wrappers strewn all across the floor, you find something that seems a little out of place: a notebook. You pick it up and a loose sheet of paper slips out and flutters to the ground. Automatically, you bend down to pick it up, but it almost tumbles from your grasp when you catch sight of what’s on it.

It’s a picture, a drawing really, of someone sleeping peacefully. Just looking at it gives you a sense for how much the artist cares for the subject. Each line looks so clean, but still you can see little smudges on the page, evidence that the person had drawn over and over in an attempt to achieve perfection. But what gets you isn’t the amount of effort and devotion the artist put into the picture, but the identity of the subject.

It’s you.

Dumbfounded, you stare at your image on the paper. Did Saeran draw this? You didn’t know he could draw. Maybe someone else drew this. But if that’s the case, then who? You shake your head. No. It had to be Saeran. The notebook wouldn’t be here if it was anyone else. But if Saeran really did draw this then why? Why would he draw you?

Your eyes shift to the notebook in your other hand. The paper came from this book. Could it be possible that there are more drawings like it hidden within? Curiosity eats at you as you stare at the notebook. If it really is Saeran’s sketchbook, you really shouldn’t look inside, especially since there could be unpleasant repercussions for doing so.

You glance over at Saeran, who appears to be totally engrossed in whatever he’s doing at the computer. His lack of attention strengthens your curiosity enough to surpass the fear of what might happen to you if he sees. One quick peek is all you need. Quietly, you crack open the book, and flip through the pages. Just as you suspected, it’s filled various drawings and each and every one of them is of you. There are a few sketches of you doing various things like eating and sleeping, but a lot of them are of you sitting somewhere with a sad, vacant look on your face. The sight of those pictures makes your chest feel tight. Is this really how you look to Saeran? Pathetic and lonely?

There are other drawings where it looks like you’re smiling, but nearly all of them are crossed out and scribbled over. The thought that even drawings of your smiling face manage to disgust Saeran makes your heart drop. However, when you look more closely, it doesn’t seem like they’re scratched over out of hatred, but because he was dissatisfied with the way the image came out. A little voice in your head whispers in your head. Maybe he drew these because he wanted to see your smile. Maybe he couldn’t get it right, but didn’t want to erase his failed attempts. Maybe he couldn’t do it because it was you.

You bite your lip to bring yourself back to reality. You shouldn’t hope. It’s dangerous to hope in this situation. But it’s also the only thing keeping you sane.

Finally, you reach the end of the sketchbook where you find an image different from all the rest. Like the others, it is a picture of you. But it’s not just you; Saeran is in the picture too. The both of you are holding one another, gazing into each other’s eyes with soft, loving expressions. Looking at this one picture perplexes you more than every other image you’ve seen so far. Every other picture is something Saeran could have seen at some point or another, but this… The scene in this picture could only have been produced by Saeran’s own imagination. Why does this picture exist? Why did he draw it?

Your heart races as that little voice in your head grasps desperately for an explanation. He drew it because he wanted to see it. He wants to hold you. He wants to-

“What are you doing?!” A loud, angry voice rips you from your thoughts. You look up in its direction to see a livid looking Saeran stalking toward you. He must have turned around while you were preoccupied.

“I…” You clutch the notebook to your chest and back away from him. All too soon your back hits the wall and he corners you like a beast ready to pounce.

“Did you see?!” he demands in a thunderous roar.

There’s no denying it at this point so all you can do is just timidly nod your head. Oh, you’re in for it now. You brace yourself for the punishment you’re undoubtedly about to receive. Most of the verbal lashings you receive from Saeran are underserved in your opinion, but this time, you do think that he has the right: you did look in his sketchbook without permission.

“You uncivilized piece of shit!” Saeran screeches. “How dare you go through my things!”

“I’m sorry!” you say as soon as he takes a breath. “I… I couldn’t help it…”

“Who gave you permission to talk?” Saeran howls as he towers menacingly over you.

You hang your head in apology, “...I’m so sorry… Please don’t yell… I was wrong… I was an idiot. I never should have looked inside...”

Saeran doesn’t respond. Slowly, you peek up at him and he still looks mildly displeased, but also seems oddly satisfied with this much of an apology. He yanks the sketch book out of your grasp before whirling around to head back to his desk. It must be a really weird day. Normally doing something of this magnitude would elicit a far more enraged response from him. As he walks away, you mutter to yourself, “...were those drawings… really of me?”

Saeran stops short and you freeze. Oh crap. Did he hear you? He spins around to face you, his face contorted in frustration as he grounds out, “What. Did. You. Just. Say?”

“Ah…” You turn your head away as he rushes back toward you.

“Say it again.” When you don’t, he repeats, in a much louder tone. “Say it!”

“...those pictures… are they really of me…?” you whisper softly.

“Do you not have eyes!?” Saeran yells. “Of cour-!!”

He suddenly goes silent. Hesitantly, you look back at him, and nearly gasp at the sight before you. For the first time, Saeran doesn’t really look red with anger but with… embarrassment. His gaze is averted as the red in his cheeks grows brighter and brighter.

At this point it’s obvious, despite his attempt to stop himself, that the images are of you. Before you can think to stop yourself, you ask, “Why?”

Saeran suddenly looks back at you. His mouth opens and closes as if he’s trying to answer, but the words he wants to say won’t come out the way he wants them to, “You… you…”

You stare, waiting for him to answer.

“You’re a fucking idiot!” he screams, throwing the sketch book in your direction. It whacks you in the chest and falls to the ground as he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

You stare at the door, then back at the book at your feet.

Today is a very weird day indeed.