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kuromantic · 3 years

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Tales of Zombish: Haikyuu Light Novel Translation

*This is my translation of the Zombie Knight Zombish snippets from the light novel. It’s split into 5 parts, and inserted between each chapter of the light novel. Don’t copy this to another site. The translation is under the cut!

Zombie Knight Zombish

1: Zombish is Born!!

Nightfall. A lone swordsman wakes up. A swordsman that does not know of true death, because of experiencing a false death.

“...Wait, it’s still evening, you stupid crow!”

The man yells at the small crow beside him, having just woken up by a thin bush. The man’s body was wrapped up in an old, tattered cloth—which must have been a cloak some time ago—which covered his entire body.

“I could have gotten burned by the setting sun…” The man blocks out the sunlight with the tattered cloth, and the crow caws apologetically.

“Well, it’s okay. I don’t even have a body that can be burned.”

The man laughs, and the crow flaps its black wings, flying ahead up into the sky. The man follows it with his gaze, squinting at the brightness. He stands up.

“Oh, well. Guess I’ll go.”

The man starts to walk. His frame was thin and delicate, which could be seen even when it was covered with the tattered cloth. And on his back, was a sword.

The sword, which is large enough to not be recognized as one at first glance, does not suit the lean man.

“Man, I wonder if a car will pass by… Eh, I guess no sane person would have gasoline now.”

There’s no road where the man looks ahead.

In the dead world where smokey, dried up wastelands stretch out for seemingly forever, the man continues to walk alone today.

“Yeah, isn’t this good? Isn’t this good? It sounds like the story’s just begun, right?”

The rookie mangaka, Udai Tenma, stands up with an excited face and gets another drink from the self-service fountains. He returns to his table with a glass of cola in his hand. He continues working on his storyboard.

The only equipment on the table is a notebook, a pencil and an eraser. On the open page, there are scribbles that nobody else could decipher. It’s the storyboard Udai made with all his effort.

I wanna try and make a manga. I like it. With that, Udai had drawn a manga during his college years. And it had won an honourable mention in the rookie awards. He had gotten an editor and debuted as a mangaka. But the reality was, he wasn’t quite reaching serialization.

But now, “Zombie Knight Zombish”, is being created in the restaurant. And there’s a confidence that hasn’t been there before.

“‘Everything but death is nothing but a scratch’? He needs to get over himself… No, maybe ‘Mortal bodies, they make me jealous.’...”

Udai mumbles dialogues to himself, changing his expressions to suit the main character’s. The other customers at the restaurant glance at him.

But he can’t afford to care about those gazes.

Zombish needs to help the heroine attacked by the enemy, in an extremely cool and overdramatic manner.

And the enemy has to be a fated opponent that Zombish has known before turning into a zombie. The heroine needs to be a key person, for Zombish to return from zombie to human. And of course, she needs to be cute, a little strong-willed, who tries to join in on the fighting sometimes. But also a girl who you just want to protect…

A flash.

The girl’s eyes can only capture the white hand, emerging from the tattered cloth and gripping the sword on his back.

She feels wind brush past her cheeks, and closes her eyes. She opens them again, and the bandits have already collapsed onto the dry ground.

“Huh? What…?”

As the girl struggles to comprehend what had happened, Zombish is already starting to walk away.

“Hey, don’t leave me behind!”

She grabs the knight. At that moment, the tattered cloth on him rips and falls to the ground.

What appears is not the handsome knight she expected. Nor a fighter that’s big and well-muscled. It’s a skeleton.

“...Wait, bone?! Why bone! Bone? Wait, do bones even talk?!”

“Yeah, I’m bone! So sorry I’m bone, sue me!”

The knight picks up the truly tattered piece of rag, and hides his body. It truly looks like a skeletal model. He turns his back to the girl.

“Anyway, I’m bone. So I can’t go with you. Protect yourself, you’re on your own.”

The “bone”, that had slain a crowd of bandits instantly, tries to walk away from one single girl, as if to escape from her.

Staring at Zombish’s lanky, weak-looking back and the huge sword on it, the girl shouts over at him.

“Hey, bone! Can you eat?”

Zombish turns around, lifts the tattered cloth, and points around his stomach with a laugh.

“You wanna see me eat? It’s hilarious.”

“If you don’t eat… That means I don’t have to share my food or water with you, right?”

“Huh?”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re bone or not, if you can defeat these guys. You’re pretty strong.” The girl points to the iron-clad, muscular bandit with a mohawk. “And I should sew that cloth I ripped back together…”

Zombish laughs, his hard skull distorting a little. “I’m not strong. Those guys are just small fries. But I guess I’ll have you fix this cloth for me.”

At those words, the girl runs up to him.

In the dried-up world of death, two footsteps mark their paths. Up above in the sky, a crow flies around in circles. As if to watch over them.

Zombish’s journey has just started!!

“I wonder what my editor will say…”

The man, once the “Little Giant”, leaves the restaurant and returns home. And without changing his clothes, collapses into his futon for the first time in a while.

2. VS Editor A!!

“Zombies aren’t usually skeletons, right?” Akaashi Keiji opens his heavy mouth, holding his coffee in one hand. It makes Akaashi heavy-hearted to meddle with a work an author brought to him.

Kanda, Chiyoda City, Tokyo.

In the editorial department of Weekly Shonen Vie, there’s an extreme lack of people in the afternoon.

The rookie mangaka, Udai Tenma, freezes momentarily in the meeting space. And he attempts to brush it off with a laugh.

“Yeah, I thought, ‘Is a skeleton okay?’ for a bit. But maybe a Japanese-style zombie would be new, and I thought I could pull it off. We all get cremated in Japan, too. Hahaha.”

“I see.”

Akaashi looks at the copy of “Zombie Knight Zombish” on the table, and Udai laughing in front of him. And he says one more time, with force behind his words. That this is the last time he’ll say this, and he won’t say the same thing again.

“Zombies aren’t usually skeletons, right.”

The question mark had disappeared.

It’s not a question, but a confirmation of fact.

“...Yeah.” Udai replies weakly. He drops his shoulders, and bites the straw of his cola.

It’s tough.

It had been his best work. He had a confidence in it, that he hadn’t before with his other works. But his concept had been fundamentally criticized.

The editor continues talking to the crestfallen Udai.

“And one more thing.”

“...What is it?”

Udai hunches his shoulders, looking up at Akaashi like a scolded child. Akaashi sips his coffee, adjusts his glasses and lets out a breath. He opens his mouth slowly.

“We’ve established that a skeleton is not a zombie. But I think this skeleton’s design is a little lacking, in the first place. It’s no different to any old skeleton. For the main character, I want a quirk that will tell you it’s Zombish with just one look.”

“Any old skeleton?” Udai says, and draws a normal-looking skeleton into his notebook.

“Yes. For example, he could be wearing glasses, or he could have a large scar. I want a unique design. Even if you draw him simply, you would know it’s him. If I were to ask for more, I’d even say make his silhouette recognizable. That’s how strong his design should be.”

Udai adds a scar to his skeleton, and mumbles, “I guess it can’t be a scar, if his silhouette has to be recognizable.”

“The scar is just one example.”

“I’m sorry…”

Udai slurps the cola at the bottom of the glass, which is pretty much melted ice. He laughs disappointedly.

“I thought the skeleton was fine, since he was cremated. Like a Japanese-style zombie. Well, there’s no zombie-ness, I guess…”

At those words, Akaashi’s glasses shine.

“Then… How about you make Zombish look more Japanese? It could link with his sword, too.”

“What?”

“Well, this is just one what-if scenario.”

“...No, I think it could work. I’ll think about it! Then maybe he can look different from any old zombie!” Udai grabs his pen, and draws a Japanese-style zombie in his notebook. “If it’s Japanese clothes and a sword, he’d just be a samurai… How do I give him the zombie knight feeling…”

Watching the pen move busily and create many versions of Zombish, Akaashi feels a weight lift from his heart.

It makes him heavy-hearted to meddle with other people’s works. But sometimes, his words make the author take a step in a good direction. That must be why he can continue with this job.

“So now, please brush up on the work. And, depending on the edited manuscript, I may bring it up during the serialization meeting.”

Udai’s pen stops moving. “Wait, why?! You’ve been talking about my work so harshly and tearing into it this whole time!”

“...I haven’t been tearing into it. It’s entertaining, so I just want to make the story even more entertaining.”

Udai’s face crumples, as he looks up at Akaashi. “Akaashi-san, you weren’t just an unpleasant person, after all!”

“I’m an unpleasant person…?”

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean it that way! I meant it in an um, good way!”

Akaashi doesn’t ask what exactly he means by that, and organizes the manuscript. “Zombish is very entertaining, compared to the works you have brought me so far. I think you have a chance.”

“Thank you!”

“Oh, and lastly…”

“There’s… still more?” Udai tenses.

Akaashi chuckles, before talking. “I’ve been thinking for a while, but this bit on the edge of the page, saying ‘Zombish’s journey has only just begun!’. You don’t need to write that. It’s the editor’s job.”

“...!!”

4. Get Serialized!!

It’s just past noon. Noticing that the phone is ringing, Udai reaches out from under the futon. He checks, and realizes it’s Akaashi. He gets out of the futon in a hurry, and answers.

“You were asleep.” Akaashi says, in the same straightforward tone.

“...I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry too. I’m going to get into it. Your one-shot is well-received.”

At those words, Udai’s hand begins to sweat. He had been told to make a one-shot for the extra issue, and had made “Zombie Knight Zombish” with everything he’d got.

He had changed Zombish’s design into a young man with patchwork skin, after Akaashi’s critique. He likes the way the bandages show around his collar. It can’t have been a skeleton, he thinks. It’s hard to relate to a skeleton.

The “recognizable by silhouette” task had been cleared with the axe on his head. The zombie knight element was incorporated, by making him detach his left arm to wield his sword. Maybe they’ll make a movable figure out of the character.

Above all, it was a work he’d been confident in. If it had still been absolutely hopeless, Udai wouldn’t have been able to recover from it.

“Thank god…” Udai feels the tension drain out of him, and Akaashi continues.

“And now, I would like to brush up Zombish to prepare for serialization.”

“Of course! With pleasure!” Udai answers with gusto, almost like an izakaya employee.

“Firstly, your heroine.”

“Yes!”

I should probably fix up the heroine a bit more, Udai thinks. Make her cuter, better… But Akaashi doesn’t steer the conversation in that direction.

“In the one-shot, Zombish saves her, and they decide to go on a journey together, and it ends there.”

“Huh? Oh, yes.”

“If the one-shot will be chapter one, are they going to be travelling together in chapter two and beyond?”

It’s not anything fun, like about making the heroine have a good figure or about how revealing her clothes should be.

And really, Udai hadn’t been thinking what would happen once it got serialized. Well, he supposes it would be like what Akaashi just said.

“Wouldn’t the readers grow bored of that?” As if to read Udai’s mind, Akaashi says.

“What?”

“The main character and the heroine go on a journey together the whole time, an enemy appears, he saves her, he defeats the enemy, and then moves on. And they continue like that until the final boss.”

“Yeah…”

“Wouldn’t that bore people?”

Wait, am I getting given out to?

No, he’d only been thinking of the one-shot as a base, so he hadn’t set anything beyond that in stone. He had only thought that leaving the readers hoping for more would be enough.

“...Um, if it’s possible, I’d like to talk about this in person.” Udai says, wiping the sweat off his palms with his t-shirt.

“All right. When are you free?”

And so, in the editorial department the day after, the brainstorming session in the meeting space had continued for more than two hours.

“So then, instead of a heroine that just keeps getting saved…”

“She’d be like a buddy that also gives witty comebacks.”

Udai draws a bunch of expressions for the female character. Flustered, angry, glaring… He stops his pen, and looks at Akaashi.

“Then maybe Zombish will have a goofy side, instead of just being cool?”

“But please don’t make it into a gag manga. Looking at the survey results, there are a lot of people saying that the manga is interesting because Zombish is cool.” Akaashi answers, looking at the survey chart.

“I see… Balancing it out is hard.” Udai draws out a bunch of Zombish’s expressions in his notebook, and laughs. “But it’s fun. It feels like I’m making a manga.”

“It’s good to hear that.” Akaashi smiles for a moment, and continues. “And also, about the enemy. Instead of them being a group of bandits in the harsh world, making them an organization would add depth to the story.”

“Oh, maybe they’re the reason Zombish turned into a zombie?”

“Sounds good.”

Udai’s mood lifts from Akaashi’s acknowledgement, and opens up a page earlier on in his notebook.

“Look here! The final boss is a fated opponent from before Zombish turned into a zombie. And the heroine is a key person for Zombish to turn back into a human. So I thought right now, maybe the heroine is the daughter of the final boss.”

In contrast to the excited Udai, Akaashi lets out a low groan of uncertainty.

“...So what, exactly, is Zombish fighting for?”

“You always ask questions that can make the whole thing fall apart, Akaashi-san.”

“Well, isn’t that the most important part?”

Expanding ideas simple-mindedly is fun. The more he expands, picking up the pieces and making the story coherent will be hell, though. But knowing that, talking about final bosses and rivals is genuinely fun.

“Secret hideouts are great, aren’t they?”

“If they’ve taken over this world, isn’t there no need to keep it a secret? Something that would display their power…”

“A castle!”

7. Secret Technique: Bolster Up!

Just after serialization, the response had been very good. It had been. Udai had been in a good mood, asking “This will definitely be turned into an anime, right?”

But now, it had gotten to a point where they couldn’t let it get any lower on the survey rankings.

“........”

“Are you okay?” Akaashi’s senior sees him with his head in his hands, and speaks to him.

“...Oh, yes.”

“It’s about Zombish, right? You should bolster it up with something. Like, with a pretty girl or a handsome guy,” the senior says. “Well, I don’t know.” He returns to his seat, after saying his part.

“Bolster it up…”

Akaashi’s brows knit together.

Would that be enough? Could such a hasty, superficial solution entertain the readers? Well, the current results point to the fact that they’re not entertained. But even so, shouldn’t they be charming the audience with the protagonist’s appeal, or how interesting the story is?

“The protagonist’s appeal, huh…”

But what are the features of a protagonist that will be loved?

What kind of story makes the readers want to come back for more?

“.....”

It would be the anticipation the readers have for the main character. What will happen next week? What will he show us next? Expectations as such. There must have been a lack of absolute protagonist strength, if he thinks about it.

But that was the result of trying to create a dark fantasy, painting a delicate picture of emotions. Precisely because it was an absurd world with a zombie knight appearing in it. Was that what they had done wrong? Was it impossible for his literature department-aspiring self to make an entertaining manga, after all…?

After pondering for a long time, Akaashi lifts his head with a start.

“....!”

Wait a minute.

Am I making the same mistake again?

Am I thinking I could control the author and the readers?

“...No. Pour your spirit into each ball, pour your spirit into each ball…”

Yes. Focus on the next point, the next ball. Focus on this week’s story, the obstacle the protagonist must overcome.

His desk becomes messier each day, as if to reflect inside his heart. Akaashi closes his eyes, and focuses his mental state.

“Don’t think about what’s easy, think about what’s fun. What’s fun…”

The survey rankings going down, getting discontinued isn’t fun. Then what is he meant to do…?

“Give feedback… Connect it to the next step… The next…”

The seniors look at Akaashi worriedly, in front of the printer.

“Akaashi is muttering to himself again, is he okay? He won’t quit, will he?”

“He always comes back to life afterwards, you can leave him alone.”

“Yep.”

“I want an absolute, strong main character.” Akaashi says to Udai, during their meeting.

“Absolute?”

“Yes. Like a star that hits any ball with his utmost ability.”

“Am I going to get discontinued?!”

Udai stands up with a clatter, face growing pale. Akaashi shakes his head quietly.

“...Please calm down. It’s not getting discontinued, yet.”

“...Yet…” Udai shrinks, and sits back down.

“It’s a tough situation, but let’s turn things around.”

They’re burning their bridges behind them.

On the walls around the meeting space, there are many posters of works that had been turned into anime and movies. And the cardboard boxes blocking the corridor are packed with samples of goods.

They have to join the ranks of those popular works, at all cost…!

Akaashi brings his gaze back to Udai, and starts to summarize the things he had thought about for the past week.

“The main character… Zombish is a ‘star’. The readers have expectations for the star. What will he do next? What awesome moves will he show us? What kind of crazy risks will he take?

“We want the main character to amaze us with unexpected, yet charming actions. Whether Zombish sinks or swims will depend on how he overcomes next week’s desperate situation.”

Akaashi lifts the paper bag on the floor. “And there’s a favour I want to ask from you.”

“What’s this? I was wondering about it for a while.” The paper bag handed to him is unexpectedly heavy. Udai glances inside. “A blu-ray?”

“Yes. I picked out swashbuckler films of all types, that have useful scenes for composition and pose references. At this point, we should take in anything cool and flashy.”

“Thank you!”

“Also, it will be hard for you to watch it all, so I wrote the times for scenes I want you to watch.” Akaashi gives him a note.

“I’ll definitely watch it! I’ll use them as references!”

“I’ll do anything I can as well. Let’s both try our best.”

There’s no way Akaashi can control what story the author will bring to him, what the other works will be like, how the readers will react.

So, he should think about what he can do, what he should do.

Avoiding discontinuation— it’s hard, but it shouldn’t be impossible.

10. Our fight has only just begun!

“Zombish is getting discontinued… You have seven chapters left…”

After getting the phone call informing him of the discontinuation, Udai had gone outside. Staying in his room felt too painful. But why, and how he’d come to the editing department, he doesn’t remember.

Akaashi had been taken aback, after Udai had come without contacting him. But one look at his face, and he knew he couldn’t leave him by himself. And so he had taken him to a nearby coffee shop to talk to him. It was just his luck that he hadn’t gone outside the company.

“Please order anything you like.”

Akaashi gives the menu to Udai sitting opposite to him, but Udai drops it onto the table, not having enough energy to hold it.

Akaashi pulls the menu closer to himself, trying not to show his shock. “Is coffee all right, then?”

“........”

There’s no answer, but Akaashi asks for two cups of coffee from the waiter. He chooses his words carefully, and begins to speak.

“We had unfortunate results this time, but…” Akaashi continues, to the dejected Udai. “And as a suggestion from me…”

“........”

“I would like to get a fresh start with a new work. We should solidify the concept more for your next work, and compete with a work only you can make.”

“Next…?” Udai raises his head at last, only to slam it back into the table. “There’s nothing! There’s no such thing that only I can make!” He lifts his crumpled face, and yells.

“That’s not true. There must be something…”

“It is too! There’s nothing!”

Akaashi can only bite his lip, while his assigned author descends into total panic.

What should he do…

He can’t just say “Bye, then,” and leave him feeling downcast. He had wanted to part ways with him in a positive manner, connecting him to the next step. That might just be his own ego talking, though.

“...I’m sure there’s a good theme for you. Is there anything you liked as a child, or something you put your heart into?”

“I’m just a jack-of-all-trades, average guy. I’ve just gotten by in regards to study, sports, art and music…”

When Udai had been in good form, he had preened about it, saying “I can do pretty much anything!”, but now he’s totally dejected. Well, that can’t be helped. He’s getting discontinued, after all.

The only thing Akaashi can do, is to tell him his completely honest thoughts.

“I don’t think a serialized author is just a jack-of-all-trades, average person.”

“I’m not a serialized author anymore, I’m a discontinued author…”

At that moment, the waiter arrives. He shows a slightly intrigued face at Udai’s words, but immediately puts on his professional face and turns on his heels.

Akaashi takes the cup, and inhales the aroma of coffee to calm himself down. He thinks. Maybe he should make some small talk, and change the mood.

What should he talk about? Not about his work, or about what lays ahead. Then, about Udai himself? He wonders what he had talked about with him recently. What club had he joined in college? Where was he from?

And he remembers.

“Udai-san, you told me before that you’re from Tohoku. Were there any unusual traditions there? That you can write a manga about.”

“...Yeah, I’m from Miyagi. But I lived in a normal estate, it was all pretty normal.”

Udai says with a hoarse voice, and absentmindedly puts sugar cubes into his coffee. Many, many sugar cubes. Akaashi thinks he’s adding a bit too much, but there’s an atmosphere around them that makes him unable to say that.

“Well, maybe where I live is in the middle of nowhere in the countryside, to you. You’re from Tokyo, after all.”

“That’s not…”

Akaashi thinks that Udai is getting a little too dejected with him, but he can’t be blamed. “Zombie Knight Zombish” is Udai’s first serialization, and his first discontinuation.

Food, sleep… Udai had sacrificed such human necessities, and yet his work had not been well-received. Of course he would be dejected.

And as a new employee, “Zombie Knight Zombish” was Akaashi’s first work that he had launched from nothing. Due to being emotionally invested in it, Akaashi had felt deeply disappointed about the decision made for Zombish.

Which is exactly why he had wanted to end it on a positive note. Surely there’s something in common with them, that they can talk about…

Akaashi, feeling cornered, opens his mouth. And starts to talk about something unexpected, even to himself.

“...Actually, I have someone I know in Miyagi. It was in relation to the club I was in during high school.”

“I see.”

Udai stirs his coffee with lifeless eyes, not picking up the conversation at all. He doesn’t even drink the coffee that is surely too sweet.

“........”

Of course. Someone else’s high school years is the most irrelevant subject to Udai right now. But really, what should he do? Telling someone they’re being discontinued, and thinking of what happens afterwards, is a first for Akaashi. And it’s a big job. He isn’t sure what the correct thing to do is.

Akaashi falls silent, and Udai opens his mouth. “...What club were you in, during high school?” He asks, not sounding that interested. It feels more like he asked out of obligation, because there was a break in the conversation.

Akaashi feels regret, after realizing he’s made Udai read the room for him. But at the same time, he feels relieved that some of Udai’s energy has come back.

“Volleyball.”

“I see. I did volleyball, too.” Udai says. “During my years, we went to the Spring High nationals, too.”

At those words, Akaashi places the coffee he had lifted back onto the table.

“Oh, me… too.”

“Really?! That’s amazing, Akaashi-san!”

“No, you too.”

And with a light premonition, Akaashi asks. “...Which school did you attend in Miyagi?”

“It’s not a powerhouse, so I don’t know if you’d know…” Udai laughs, before answering. “It’s called Karasuno.”

Please look forward to Udai-sensei’s next work, “Meteo Attack”!

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu novel translation #akaashi keiji #udai tenma #zombie knight zombish

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nev3rfound · 4 years

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in his world, temporarily : s.r

brief summary: at the age of eighteen, you’re gifted two minutes a year through the eyes of your soulmate as a chance to learn who they are. but for you, when the time finally comes all you can see is darkness and the identity of your soulmate remains a mystery

word count: 1k requested: not by anyone, but a concept i’ve contemplated writing for a while! warnings: none that i’m aware of

this is going to be a 2/3 part series - if you’d like to be tagged do let me know!

P A R T O N E / P A R T T W O / P A R T T H R E E

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

masterlistin’

permanent taglist

“What was it like, the first time?” You apprehensively question as you sit opposite your parents who pass across a mug of coffee, seeing your shaking hands.

Sitting down, your Mom sighs under her breath. “It’s an odd experience, but you won’t feel afraid.” She never fully explained it to you before, no one had. It was simply something that happened to everyone once they turned eighteen. “You’re in their body, able to move around and take note of the things you see. But you cannot interact with others.” She carries on explaining the details of what you’ll experience in less than an hour.

“What if they are somewhere like, I don’t know outside?” You ask, looking to your Dad who simply shrugs his shoulders.

“Use their phone, write something on it. Just, you gotta be resourceful in those two minutes.” Your Dad tells you, watching as you nod in response.

Two minutes once a year was all you had. It would happen every year from now on until you met them, you’d be gifted two minutes through their eyes on November 16th, and they’d have the same through yours.

“Do you wanna go get ready?” Your Mom suggests with a small smile as you rise from the chair, taking the mug in hand. “We’ll be down here if you need us, honey!” She calls out as you retreat up the stairs, unaware of the worried looks your parent's exchange.

“She’ll be fine.” Your Dad rests his hand over your Mom’s. “We’ve all done this, I’m sure they’re going to be great.” He tries to comfort her, but the fear is evident in her eyes. “If I found you, she’ll find them.”

Upstairs, inside your room, all you could do was stare at your ceiling. As planned you had left a pen alongside your notepad for them to write something down in earnest of them wanting to find you. “It’s going to be fine.” You tell yourself as you glance over to your clock, seeing it’s one minute to midday and you close your eyes tightly, waiting for the moment.

The clock chimes and your alarm blares, but before you can reach out, you open your eyes to see darkness encapsulating you. All you can see is black; there’s no light, no space, just nothing. You try to move your arms, but they’re firmly held by your sides, your entire body stuck in one spot.

Opening your eyes you drop a pen to the ground, falling backwards as you’re in your own body once more. Tears stream down your cheeks as you gather your thoughts before forcing yourself to your feet.

“Honey, are you alright?” Your Dad peers through your door, seeing the distraught look across your face. “Was it okay?”

Your lips tremble as you shake your head, running over as you bury your face into his chest as sobs wrack your body. “All I saw was darkness, no light, nothing.” You force the words out, wondering if that’s all you’ll ever see.

As you cry, your Dad looks over at your desk and a sigh of relief leaves his lips. “You’ve got a note, Y/n.” He mutters, watching as you quickly pull away from his embrace and turn to your desk.

And there it is, a quick note scribbled down for you.

‘hi, it’s nice to finally know who you are. I’m sorry for what you just witnessed, my name is steve. i don’t know how long i’ll be there, but i did wonder if you were real. be careful, love, steve.’

Lifting the note up, you held it close to your chest. “He’s out there then.” You look over as your Mom leans against the doorway with a bright smile.

“Yeah,” You mutter under your breath. “I just have no idea where to begin.”

You couldn’t escape the thought process, no one could once they had that first initial contact. Where could they be in the world? You only had a first name to go by and a scribbled note. Others had received full names and a phone number at least, their contact continuing throughout the year.

To say you were disheartened would be putting it lightly, you were devasted to know he’s lost somewhere in darkness unable to find his way out.

“Hey, Y/n!” You hear the all too familiar voice of your friend, Liv quickly approaching you.

Forcing a smile, she stands beside you. “Hey, how’d it go for you?” You ask her quietly as you head through campus to the nearest cafe, Liv now tagging along as usual.

“Oh my god,” She chuckles in excitement as you enter the cafe. “it was amazing. She lives in Toronto and is so pretty, I can’t even begin to tell you.” She sighs happily as you sit down, fiddling with the menu. “How was it for you, did it go okay?”

You nod in response, but Liv is still focusing on you with a raised brow. “I erm, I don’t really wanna talk about mine.” You tell her quietly, and with that, no more questions are asked.

Throughout the year, you pay closer attention to those who talk about their soulmate. You listen to the stories of people having found them straight away, or already knew them in their lives. Part of you wishes he wasn’t a stranger, that it could’ve been your neighbour Jacob who is nice enough.

As you arrive back home, your Mom immediately walks through with a smile. “Hey, honey.” She beams as you shrug off your bag and jacket. “I, I just wanted to say if you wanted to talk about it, I’m here, me and your Dad, we’re here.” She tells you with a smaller smile, noticing the solemn expression across your face.

“Thanks, Mom.” You mutter as you force your feet up the stairs, feeling like you’ve been burdened with this tale of a lost soulmate, something you’ve never heard of before.

Lying on your bed, you reach over for the note once again, staring at his words.

“Stupid soulmate.” You scoff before tearing the note apart, letting the pieces fall around you as a stray tear falls from your eyes, dampening his name.

PART TWO

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️

@biss-stuff @psychicforest @lourightm @mywinterwolf @justsomedreaming @stanlux17 @supermoonchildbroski @xrosegoldwolfx @courtneychicken @marvelsangels @supraveng @tommy-lee-81 @fandom-princess-forevermore @sarge-barnes-sir @pleasantlysecretdream @decaffeinated–fangirl @howdyherron @kirby-boo

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stormtrprinstilettos · 5 years

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“You’re going to make this awkward, aren’t you?” - Roger x fem Reader (smut)

Summary: It’s 1983 and Queen are recording their next album at the studio where you work. Things get a little heated between you and their drummer.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

In this “episode”: Things start to get a bit more serious than Reader would like during a night alone with Roger at the studio.

Word count: ~4.8k

Warning: age gap (Reader is 21, he’s 35), language, and smut, so 18+ please

Tagging: @fixedonroger @a19103 @ginabaker1666 @thickthighsandbasicbrowneyes @culturefiendtrashqueen @imaginesandideas

(Let me know if you want to be tagged!)

[A/N: Thank you for voting! This concept was thanks to 17384 anon suggestions. 🥁 And you’ll even get a little math lesson with Brian in this one.]

One month and 3 days, you think to yourself as you sit at your desk and look through the window into the studio, watching Roger sitting at the soundboard with headphones on, deeply concentrating on whatever it is he’s listening to. Brian’s sitting next to him scribbling something and John’s fiddling around with his bass. You’re not paying them any attention. Your eyes are fixed on Roger, and you can’t turn them away, no matter how hard you try. Stop it, you fuss at yourself. Turn away right now and do the stupid bookwork before Kevin comes back tomorrow and fires you because you’re too busy daydreaming. You force yourself to turn around and focus on the task in front of you. Three months of bank statements he couldn’t be bothered to balance out, and he just threw it at you, expecting you to fix everything. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” you mumble, not realizing you had company.

“Well you didn’t sign up for that either, but you sure are doing it,” Jack laughs, making you glare up at him and seeing him point at the window. “You’ve got yourself a big distraction now, don’t you?” You keep glaring at him, wishing he would just shut up. “Usually they’re the ones distracted by you,” he laughs as he sits on your desk. “Remember when Kevin gave you those two weeks off when…”

“Shut up, Jack,” you say, completely frustrated and not wanting to recount the time that fucking creep from that band you don’t even want to think about didn’t know how to keep his hands or his filthy thoughts to himself. “I have a ton of work to do and you’re not helping.”

“Cheer up, kid,” he says as he stands up and pats you on the shoulder. “You’ll get it done.” He walks back into the studio and taps on the window to get your attention. When you look back, he’s got a big, cheesy grin on his face as he waves and closes the blinds, making sure you don’t get distracted again.

It didn’t help. Not in the slightest. Roger was in your head and he wouldn’t leave. You keep reflecting on everything that happened the past few weeks. Of course, sex happened – but it wasn’t just that anymore. You were enjoying each other’s company without the sex. He’d come over and you’d watch a movie, and you’d fall asleep on the sofa, and he’d cover you with the blanket and let you sleep, sometimes even staying there until he fell asleep too. Or you’d go to the Santa Monica Pier, just to get out and have a fun time somewhere he was able to blend. One night you stayed out on your balcony until almost 3 in the morning doing nothing more than sharing silly childhood stories. It didn’t complicate anything but your feelings, and that wasn’t supposed to happen. Feelings weren’t ever supposed to be involved, but it was hard for them not to be now. Not now that he knew your birthday, and you knew each other’s favorite colors, and you knew about things he did to cause trouble when he was 13, and he knew your sister’s name… Things casual hookups don’t know about each other. He’s picked up on your habit of pushing your hair behind your ear when you’re deep in thought, just like you picked up on his nervous habit of rubbing his hand on his shoulder to calm himself down.

You’re almost finished with half of the book balancing finally, an hour after you started, when Freddie and that creep manager of his who was like his shadow walked in. “Got tired of being gawked at all the time?” he giggled when he saw the window was closed. “Or did you get tired of doing the gawking?”

You purse your lips into a grin, trying not to giggle back, but you end up giggling anyway. “Hi, Freddie. Glad to see you could make it.”

“Not you too!” he dramatically cries out. “I don’t need another person nagging me.” You smirk and turn your attention back to your work as he walks into the studio.

“Nice to see you, Fred,” you can hear Roger yell out while the door was open. “Hey, who closed the window?” Took him long enough to notice, you grunted to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “That’s blocking my view…” you hear him say as the door closes, which gives you a little grin.

Two hours. For two hours you’ve been working on this stupid bank balance and you don’t think your brain can handle anymore. How it could get so messed up you don’t know, but you couldn’t look at another number right now or you were going to lose it. You slam your head down on the stack of paper that’s laying in front of you, wanting to cry, when the studio door opens and everyone starts walking out, laughing and talking without a care in the world. You don’t even want to look up at them. You’re enjoying your momentary zone out.

“We’re going grab lunch, kiddo,” Jack yells at you. “Wanna come?”

You look up, completely drained. “It’s only lunch time?” you ask, almost whining.

“It’s almost 3:00,” he tells you. “Want me to bring you something?”

You shake your head no and start to look back at the numbers. “I need to figure this out. I can’t get the damn thing right. I hate math.”

Brian calmly walks over and peeks at what you’re doing. You look up at him, confused, and he points at the total you have and the one you should have. “You transposed numbers somewhere when you were adding,” he tells you with a smile. “Add the numbers in this together.” He pushes you the calculator and before you finish he says “they’re all going to add up to 9.” He squats down to get even with you and talks you through it. “Add the 7 and 2 in that 72 together, and you get… 9.” You glare over at him and he’s smiling. “Now add this all up again. Carefully, this time,” he chuckles. And what do you know – it balanced. “Just a trick I leaned some time ago,” he smiled as he stood up. “Now you can come with us.”

Roger’s standing in front of you with his arms crossed, shaking his head in amusement. “Well aren’t you the fucking hero,” he sarcastically quips at Brian before looking at you. “Come,” he tells you, holding out his hand. “I insist.”

Everyone decided on the greasy diner across the street from the studio and crowded into a booth, leaving Jack to sit in a chair on the end. It was an uncomfortable arrangement, but you didn’t complain too much, since this was the most contact you had with Roger all day. He sat with his arm behind you on the seat, not even realizing that he kept rubbing your shoulder. He was watching you closely as you ate the strawberry pancakes you cheekily ordered (and yes, he found it incredibly funny), and when you were leaning over the table to be able to hear John better when he was talking to you, showing you the lyrics he had jotted down for his song they were going to be working on tomorrow.

“Do you think they flow?” he asked you. “I think this sounds stupid but I don’t know. It may work.”

You read the part he was pointing to and smiled. “I think it’s perfect. Simple, to the point, and perfect.”

The discussion you were having with John went on for a little while, just the two of you, until Roger apparently got tired of you ignoring him and cleared his throat while tapping you on your shoulder to get your attention. “You’ve a key, right? For the studio?”

“Yeah?” you say, questioning why he wants to know.

He starts to nudge you out of the booth. “Lets go. Need to get something out of my head.” You hurry and jump up and the two of you head back across the street.

When you open the door, he hurries and locks it back and keeps the shades closed on the windows, grabbing your arm and pulling you back to him. “Hey,” he says with a grin.

“Hey, you,” you grin back. “What’s in your head that you have to get out?”

“My ex,” he started. “She’s coming here. To Los Angeles. For a few days.” You look at him, wondering why he’s so fidgety when he’s telling you this, and why he’s even telling you this in the first place. “I told her she can stay at mine…” Now he’s looking at you wondering why you don’t seem to be bothered by any of this, and his brows start to furrow.

You start to giggle. “Were expecting me to start screaming at you? Become some unhinged lunatic or something?”

“A little bit, yeah,” he smiled. “But you’re too relaxed and I don’t know how to handle it.”

You pull him down by his shirt to get close to you and whisper deeply in his ear. “Does she taste as good as me?”

He leans back and looks you in the eye with an intensity that sends shockwaves through your entire body. “No one tastes as good as you.”

“Then I have nothing to worry about,” you tell him with the same intensity he’s giving you right now, as you reach down to cup his crotch. “And you said this was all mine.”

“It is,” he whispered in your ear as he chuckles deeply and moves his hand to your chest. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you later.” He started to say more, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door. You can hear everyone outside talking. You roll your eyes and start to walk away so you can open the door, but he grabs you and holds you back. “You’re all I can think about, Y/N.” You gaze up to him, your mouth slightly open with shock. There’s another knock on the door but you’re ignoring it. “You have a hold over me...” He cups your face in his hands. “I can’t…”

He’s interrupted by a louder knock on the door, followed by Jack yelling. “Open the goddamn door, Y/N! Why is it locked?”

You slide away to open the door and everyone pours in and heads directly to the recording room. “Later,” Roger comes and whispers in your ear before joining them, “we’ll finish this conversation later.”

You were internally a jumbled mess for the rest of the day. Every nerve you had seemed to puddle right there in the pit of your stomach. We’ll finish this conversation later? Your brain wasn’t helping calm you down at all. None of this was ever supposed to get to where you’d have conversations later. This was just supposed to be sex and nothing more. End it. End it, you kept telling yourself. He doesn’t mean anything he says, you try to convince yourself. He just wants to make sure I don’t… Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the recording room window.

Jack waves you over and you quietly walk in. “They’re working late and I can’t stay. Kid’s got some school thing. Can you stay to lock up?” You really didn’t want to. You’ve had such an exhausting day already, but you agree to stay.

You ended up falling asleep around 8:00, having been bored for the past hour and giving up all hope for a quiet evening at home in front of the television with a bowl of ice cream. Everyone was frustrated – them in the studio and you out in the office. Their frustration is why you stayed out of there. You weren’t in the mood to listen to any bickering. Freddie woke you up when they were leaving – well, all of them were leaving except for Roger, who was still sitting behind his drum kit trying to work out a beat. “He needs your help with the playback,” John told you. “Think you can handle that?”

“All I have to do is press buttons,” you grinned. “I think I can do that.” When they left, you quietly walked in the studio and sat down at the controls.

He didn’t notice you. He was focused on his drums, so you didn’t disturb him. You could see the annoyance in his face until he looked up and saw you sitting there. “Hey there,” he said through the mic. You smiled and gave a small wave. “Play that tape and listen to this…” And you did. Ten times, ten different cadences, and you recorded them all for him. That was about the extent of your abilities – pressing three buttons. “Come in here,” he said with a sigh.

When you walk in he turns on his stool and holds his arms out, beckoning you for a hug. You smile and go to him, and he wraps his arms around your hips and rests his head against your stomach. “Rough day?” you joke as you run your fingers through his hair. Well this is sweet, you tell yourself. You’re supposed to be ending it, dumbass.

“So frustrating,” he mumbles. “Nothing went right after we stopped for lunch.” He closed his eyes and started chuckling deep in his throat. “That feels nice.”

You lean down and kiss him on top his head. “Just relax,” you mumble. What are you doing, Y/N? you fuss yourself. He squeezes you tighter, and the two of you stay just like this for a couple of minutes before he looks up at you and smiles and puckers his lips, which you gladly lean down and give a quick peck to. You’re such an idiot, Y/N.

He lets go of his hold and pats his lap. “Sit,” he tells you, and you do, and holds your waist as he spins his stool around and grabs two drumsticks. “Ever played before?”

“Oh yeah, all the time,” you say sarcastically. “In fact, I’m so good that when Keith Moon died, The Who wanted me to be his replacement.” He poked at you with one of the sticks and started laughing. “Never even held a drumstick before.”

He hands them to you and you take them. “Well that’s going to change,” he tells you as he adjusts them in your hands. He rests his chin on your shoulder and you start to giggle. “You’re going to make this awkward, aren’t you?”

You can’t stop giggling as he holds your hands and starts moving them to hit the drum heads while he glides them around. You aren’t paying much attention. His foot stomping on the bass drum pedal is, well… creating a vibration. “I’m sorry,” you tell him, still giggling. “I’m not a very good student. My teacher is quite a distraction.”

He stops, and he’s giggling now too. “Well it’s hard to be a good teacher when my student is also a distraction.” He rubs his hands up your arms before wrapping himself around you and squeezing you gently into him. He clears his throat, his chin still resting on your shoulder. “I need you to let me all the way in, Y/N.” You turned your head quickly and looked at him, totally confused. “What are you feeling? Right now. Right this second. What are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” you whisper and you both start to giggle.

“That’s not what I mean, silly,” he says as he pokes you jokingly. “I mean, what are you feeling about… us?” You turn your head to him quickly again, looking confused again, and your mouth opens but no words are coming out. “I feel like there’s more to this.” Still, no words can come out of your mouth. “I feel like you’re scared…” You hold a hand up to his mouth, hoping he’ll stop, but instead he moves your hand away. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “because I’m scared too.” For the first time in your life, you’re completely speechless. “But I’m not willing to let that stop me.”

You look up to the ceiling, understanding everything he’s trying to tell you right now, trying to find words. You seem to have forgotten all words. “Roger,” you sigh. “Please…”

“Don’t tell me not to feel, Y/N,” he whispers. “I can’t do that.” He holds two fingers under your chin and turns you to face him. “Look at me,” he whispers, and you do. And you completely surrender. “I know you feel it. You can’t tell me you don’t.” Your heart is beating so fast you’re scared it’s going to burst. Your breathing is getting heavier and you’re still silent, wanting to tell him so bad how you feel – how you don’t want to feel – but you can’t. You can’t say anything. You’re lost in his gaze, his eyes controlling everything right now. He nudges your hips, implying he wants you to stand up, so you do, and turn to face him, still holding the drumsticks in your hands. He glances up at you and gives you that damn smile that makes you turn into putty.

He unbuttons your shirt, not taking it completely off, leaving it opened. He starts to softly kiss you on your stomach as he runs his hands over your hips and thighs, undoing your pants and slowly pulling them down. “These are new,” he tells your with a smirk, running his fingers over your panties, before reaching to grab one of the drumsticks you’re still holding from your hand, tossing it back and hitting something rather loudly. He stops caressing you and takes the other one from you, and he starts to toss it back as well, but he looks at you with somewhat of a devilish grin. He starts to rub the tip of it along your body, across your stomach, down to your pelvis, then your upper thigh. He stands up as he continues to brush your skin, bringing it to the front of your covered mound, giving you another smirk as he grazes it over you right there. “What are you doing?” you ask him with a nervous giggle.

“Playing,” he whispers with a smile as he leans in for a kiss, giggling with you. He moves the stick away, tossing it behind him like he did the other one and laughing. “Won’t be needing that,” he quips. “I can take it from here.” This isn’t lust he’s exuding right now – this is passion. Absolute passion that you’ve never experienced before. Not with him or anybody else. And you loved it, and you couldn’t stop yourself from giving him the same.

You start to unbutton his shirt – that same shirt he was wearing your first time together, and it brought back a wave of memories that washed over you. He didn’t interfere with your undressing him, opting instead to stand there and smile at you, letting you slowly move his shirt off of his shoulders before running your hands down his chest to his waist. You were slipping off your shoes and stepping out of your pants as you unbuckled his belt. He brings a hand under your chin and you look up at him, and for the first time in all of the times you were with him, you felt the need to take it slow, to drink in every single second. He was feeling it too. If he wasn’t, you’d have already been completely naked and halfway to climaxing.

He slipped out of his shoes as you finished unzipping his pants and pushed them down off of his waist, moving yourself down as you glided them completely off. It was quiet – almost eerily quiet. The only sounds were your breathing. You reach up and pull down his boxers, your mouth perfectly even with his cock. You say nothing. He says nothing. You bring your tongue to the tip of his member, slowly and softly licking him clean of the precum that has graced the head, before gliding down underneath the shaft as you hold it up. You feel him start to twitch, letting you know that you were doing everything exactly how you needed to be. When you lower your mouth to completely engulf him, he lets out a small moan and puts a hand on your head, not to guide you, but because he needed to touch you. He let you set the pace, giving up all control, something he had never done before. You start to hum quietly, sending gentle vibrations that he felt though his entire body. He didn’t want to finish – not yet. Not until he knew you were completely satisfied. But fuck, the magic you were creating with your mouth and your tongue felt so good, and you were enjoying it, too. Every twitch, every soft moan, every deep breath you heard him take was getting you more and more aroused.

He takes a small step backwards, and when you look up at him, he’s softly smirking and wiggling a finger for you to stand up and meet him. You slowly stand, and when you do, he gently holds your face in his palms, drawing you in for a soft but deep kiss. There are still no words being spoken. No words need to be spoken. Your eyes and actions are doing all of the talking right now. He finishes taking off your shirt and reaches behind, unclasping your bra, guiding it slowly off of you, just as you had done with his shirt. He bends down and takes your nipple in his mouth, his other hand gently rubbing the other, as he flicks his tongue. Your head falls back, and this time you’re the one with the quiet moans. He raises up again to meet you, and gently guides you back, leaning you on his drum kit. He kisses you deeply again before slowly kissing his way down your neck, that valley right between your breasts, down your stomach and to right above your panties that he admired earlier. He runs his fingers under the waistband and pulls them down, his breathing getting heavier as he revels at the perfection he sees before him.

You feel his breath against your thigh before he lowers his mouth to continue kissing his way to his ultimate destination. With every touch his lips make on you, you flutter. Still, no words are spoken, only actions. When his mouth finally makes its way to your lips, you inhale deeply and your body jerks, causing one of the cymbals to crash down. But you don’t care, and neither does he. His concentration on your pleasure is undisturbed. The warmth of his breath on you, the gentleness of his mouth and his tongue working it’s magic on you causes your breathing to get deeper, quicker. You run a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp with your fingertips. He moves a hand that was resting on your thighs and pulls his head back so he can watch his fingers rub up and down your wetness as he hears your gentle moans getting louder. He looks up at you, his mouth agape in complete awe of you, and he sees you looking down at him, telling him everything he needs to know without saying a word. He watches your eyes as he steadily slides two fingers in, taking great care in making sure you’re able to feel every single motion he’s creating inside of you. He turns his tongue attention back to your flower, focusing on your clit, tenderly guiding it to emphasize your pleasure, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Oh, Roger,” you whisper, finally breaking the silence that had befallen the two of you 20 minutes before. There’s so much you want to tell him – how you love the way he’s making you feel right now, how you love the way he’s lapping up your juices right now, how you love the way his fingers are moving inside you right now – but you’re rendered speechless again, your breath caught deep in your throat. He knows this is what you want. He knows without asking. He can see it on your face that you’re enjoying it. He doesn’t want to stop, not until you’re ready for him to stop. He starts to suck softly on your clit, still slowly moving his fingers in and out of you, knowing how he’s making you feel because your hand has now started to grip his hair. He can feel you tighten and start to tremble with pleasure. He sees you adjusting yourself against his drums – those drums he will never look at the same again – as you get closer to reaching your climax. His eyes never leave yours. Your moaning and breathing both increase, and he doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you until you finish. Even then, he doesn’t want to stop. He meant it when he said that he loves the way you taste, so even when you finished, he licked up your slit one more time before he stood up and held out his hands for you to grab.

He pulls you up from his drum kit and draws you in for a kiss and you can taste yourself on his lips. He holds you close to him as he turns, walking you back toward the wall. He kicks a guitar out of the way – you don’t know if it’s Brian’s or John’s, nor do you even care – because it was in the way. He leans against the wall with one hand, still kissing you, still dancing his tongue around yours in your mouth, still exuding that passion. Your hands rest against his chest as you break the kiss and look up at him. Your eyes never leave each other.

He pulls one of your legs up and wraps it around his waist, leaving your other foot on the ground before crouching down and pushing himself into you as he grabs your ass and hoists you up. You stayed there, pinned between him and the wall, as he thrust himself hard, but slowly, into you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair, staring deeply into each other’s eyes as you groaned in lockstep with each other, breathing heavy, even starting to sweat at the same time. Still, no words needed to be spoken. You felt everything – you felt his cock hitting your g-spot at the perfect angle and beat, the way his fingers dig into you with every lunge he makes. He feels everything too – every single piece of hair that your hands were grabbing, every grip your walls made around his cock, every single moan that came from your mouth.

You were ready. He was ready. And neither one of you could hold out any longer. Wave after wave of pleasure flowed through your entire bodies, and you pulled his head into yours so you could kiss him as you shared your orgasms. You feel every single drop of his cum burst inside of you. You held his kiss, you didn’t want to let it go, and he didn’t want to let you go either. But you had to let go. You couldn’t stay like this forever.

He pulled himself out of you, slowly, and lowered your leg back down. “You are breathtaking, Y/N,” he whispers. “Where have you been all my life?”

You can’t resist making a joke. You want to resist but you can’t. “Well, for almost half of it I wasn’t even born yet,” you say with a cheeky grin, making him laugh and kiss you again. “Stay with me tonight,” you tell him. It wasn’t a question.

He nods and smiles. “I’d like that,” he whispers.

As you lay in bed, your head on his chest and his arm around you, you didn’t allow yourself to overthink all of this. You didn’t want to analyze anything, you didn’t want to worry about anything. You just wanted to lay there and soak everything in and savor this while you could. You love this, but you hate it all the same, but before your brain delves too deep into the catastrophic end to this fling with Roger that you envisioned, you divert your attention to the night you just had and fall asleep in his arms.

[part 5>>]

#roger taylor #roger taylor x y/n #roger taylor smut #roger taylor x fem reader #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #1983 roger #enjoy

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shih-coulda-had-it · 4 years

Text

things you said at 1 am

From this list of prompts! More platonic than romantic, even with the bed-sharing, just so you know.

It’s pretty rare that Sorahiko gets concussed.

His spatial perception is off the charts, and his battle reflexes are nothing to sniff at. But it would be unheard of for a pro-hero to never endure a mild concussion, so Nana supposes this is Sorahiko’s due. Goodness knows she’s suffered over the years...

“Bed rest, fluids, a dose of whatever over-the-counter pain killer you buy,” the doctor prescribes, withdrawing his pen-light from Sorahiko’s morose, bruised face. It’s the midnight shift for all of them, and indeed, even the doctor isn’t happy to be here. But how were they supposed to predict that Sorahiko would bash his head against a street light? “Are you his emergency contact?”

“No,” Sorahiko lies, just as Nana says yes. He blinks at her, slow. So concussed.

“Uh, yeah,” she corrects, as the doctor quirks an eyebrow and looks at the insurance card pinned to Sorahiko’s clipboard. Just in case the doctor decides to take the invalid at his word, Nana adds, “I’m Shimura Nana. Honest. We spent like, three hours filling out NHA paperwork together.”

“Well, Shimura-san, will you be watching him for the night then?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll mail the receipt to his apartment,” the doctor says. “Feel free to take your time, and remember to sign out at the receptionist’s.” Nana bites her tongue and smiles, close-mouthed and crescent-eyed, until the doctor exits. Then her smile widens into a grin; Nana pushes off the wall she’s leaning against, and crosses over to the examination table where Sorahiko is still perched and swaying.

“Mild concussion,” Nana ribs, and waits.

“It’s not a concussion.” The denial is reflexive, and really hilarious, when said with that pouting expression. Sorahiko slides off the table gracelessly. He’s lucky his boots have such wide soles, and doubly lucky that Nana’s willing to play crutch.

“Ooh, better upgrade to an actual concussion.”

“It’s not,” he complains, clutching at her shoulder. “I’ve never - had a concussion.”

“Dummy,” she laughs, and heroically supports his staggering body as they exit the emergency clinic. Nana scribbles her civilian name at the receptionist’s desk, and cheerfully accepts the yellow lollipops offered by the dead-eyed woman. He groans something back at her, grumpy and incoherent. Maybe a get me out of here, which would explain the woman’s now-severe expression.

They get a taxi to his apartment complex. During the ride, Sorahiko refuses to let go of her hand, and Nana is obliged to squeeze into the backseat where all his thickly-layered gear takes up all the space.

He slumps against her, entirely oblivious to his seat-belt and the middle seat between them. A warm, heavy weight that Nana only knows is awake, because she can meet his slow blinking eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Dummy,” she repeats, softly, fondly.

“Sure am,” he agrees, just as quiet.

Sorahiko’s apartment complex is awful. Like, there are so many other complexes that they - newly-minted pro-heroes they might be - can afford, and yet he’s landed himself in the grungiest, smokiest properties of them all. Nana likes it for one reason: every neighbor is only ever concerned about their own business.

Nana gets them into the building, and lugs Sorahiko up the stairs. Elevator’s always out-of-order. Sorahiko usually leaves and enters through a window, like he’s some ninja, but Nana lacks any flight capabilities. It is slow-going. Every step seems to send a fresh bolt of pain to Sorahiko’s head; she can hear every hitched breath as it happens.

From the hallway, into his one-kitchen apartment.

She hits the light, and he flinches.

“I just wanna sleep,” Sorahiko tells her piteously.

Nana is merciless, and strategically avoids meeting his puppy-dog eyes. “Take a shower first.” The gloves, cape, and boots sit at the genkan (she has to help yank off his gear, suction-sealed as it is). Sorahiko staggers off to the shower. Nana goes to riffle through his drawers for comfortable nightwear; one set she sets at the closed bathroom door, and another for when it’s her turn.

By the time she’s found where he stashes his painkiller (and benadryl, and an ancient-looking inhaler), Sorahiko’s emerged, still roughly toweling dry his hair. He looks about ready to pass out. Honestly, Nana feels the same.

“Water,” she directs, tapping each in turn, “and pain relievers. I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Mmph.”

“Did you leave any hot water left?”

Sorahiko presses the chipped mug to his forehead and mumbles noncommittally, and Nana decides to risk at least a body wash.

One bracingly cold shower later, Nana is grateful that she found Sorahiko’s winter clothes. Her teeth are chattering and it doesn’t help that the apartment’s insulation is thin as hell. She finds the spare toothbrush he keeps for her, and squints at her reflection while brushing her teeth, and finally lets herself dwell on what the hell happened in their last fight.

She and Sorahiko are both close-combat fighters. Sorahiko’s just a lot more circumspect about hitting the other person, because he doesn’t believe in wrestling, grappling, and generally the concept of tangling with the enemy.

Concentrate.

Street fight. They drop down from the rooftops, Nana getting a lift because it’s like ten stories to the ground. He lets go on the descent, she tucks into the roll and comes back up swinging. Sorahiko operates best when there’s a high ceiling, and surfaces to ricochet off of. This area? Had been decent, in terms of a battleground.

She can’t figure it out. One moment, Nana’s laughing a battle cry, deftly moving past a Mutant Quirk’s enlarged fist, and the next -

Sorahiko, smacking headfirst into a street light. Dropping to the ground, and out of the corner of her eye, she had seen him dazedly roll to his knees and try to collect his bearings, an opportunistic asshole coming at his side -

Nana finishes brushing her teeth. She leaves the bathroom and pads off to the bedroom, and she finds Sorahiko sprawled face-down under the sheets, on his side of the bed. Nana doesn’t even have to knock on the doorframe; Sorahiko just grunts and flips a corner of the blanket, a clear invitation.

“Sure you don’t want me to go?” she asks, wry, even as she takes the invite. The response is mumbled into his pillow. “I mean, the window’s right there.”

He moves his head to try glaring at her. “Stay the night,” he snaps, and the bite is toothless because Sorahiko edges closer the further Nana tucks herself in. “I said I never mind when you stay the night.”

“Like I’d leave you, Sorahiko.” Nana means it as a teasing remark, and punctuates it by turning over and throwing an arm around his waist. “Like I’d leave you.”

#bnha #shimura nana #torino sorahiko #gran torino #shih.txt #d-december #this just in: nana has an ironic prophetic way with words

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stressedoutteenager · 7 years

Text

Yousana AU: whatever your soulmate writes/draws on their skin appears on your skin too

——————————————————————————————————

The first time Sana has heard about it she was 6. At least that’s the first time she remembers hearing of it.

“You need to stop scribbling your To-do list on your hands!”, she had heard her father complain about her Mamma to her Mamma. He was still laughing about it though. “That’s what notebooks are there for.”

Sana was sitting at the dinner table. Her eldest brother sitting across from her, Elias next to her. Their parents on each end of the table.

Sana remembers sitting there, confused of what her dad meant. Why would it bother him if she wrote on her hands? That’s something Sana did sometimes too. When she was drawing pictures she sometimes accidentally drew on herself and sometimes she just tried to see if she could draw flowers on her hands and arms. And other times little drawings just appeared on her skin. She didn’t think much of it because it happened often and the drawings faded and vanished not too long after they appeared.

At that time at the dinner table, being too preoccupied with fighting over the last slice of dessert with Elias, she didn’t think about it any more.

Not much time passed, in Sana’s first year of school, she heard older girls talking about their soulmates. One time, when waiting for her dad to pick her up from school, she heard two girls of the highest grade in school talk and one of them was complaining and almost crying.

“How am I supposed to find my soulmate? I don’t even understand what he’s writing on the back of his hand all the time. It looks like Russian or something.” She had held her hand up to show it to her friend. But Sana saw the untidy writing too. “I don’t know any Russian people, what if I never find my soulmate?”

That girl was hysterical but Sana didn’t understand why. She was too young to care about soulmates. Neither did she understand the concept of soulmates completely. So when her dad came to pick her up, Sana instantly asked him.

“Does everyone really have a soulmate? How do you find them? Is Mamma your soulmate? Do you always find your soulmate?”

She was fascinated by her dad’s explanation. Everyone has a soulmate. Someone they are destined to be with. Their other half. And whatever you write on your skin appears on your soulmate’s skin; whatever they write on their skin appears on your skin.

“Your Mamma and I were friends for some time and I had already fallen in love with her before we realized we were soulmates.” This story makes Sana’s heart grow every time she thinks of it. That was the first time somebody talked to her about soulmates, the first time she really understood why she had random drawings or scribblings on her arms once in a while, the first time many small conversations she overheard made sense.

Still, she was only 6 years old and didn’t realize that her dad didn’t answer all her questions. He had left Sana’s last question unanswered.

It all sounded like a fairy-tale to her. Going about your life and finding random drawings on your skin every once in a while which will tell you who your soulmate is.

Well, unfortunately this feeling didn’t last forever.

Until she turned 14 little words or tiny drawings kept appearing on Sana’s skin. But nothing out of the ordinary. Usually just reminders for homework, or other insignificant things that didn’t have a bigger meaning for Sana.

After that, for a very long time Sana didn’t see anything on her skin that she didn’t write or draw. It’s not like she looked for something new every day, that’s not what she did. Not many people do that. Usually, it just happens and you laugh about a bad drawing or the poor handwriting. Many people don’t put much significance on the fact that your soulmate indirectly paints your skin.

Unfortunately, in contradiction to what Sana believed when she was 6, not everyone finds their soulmate. Many people fall in love with someone whose drawing on their own skin doesn’t end up on their wife or husband’s skin. It’s accepted, it’s almost the norm by now. Only a small percentage of people are lucky enough to fall in love with their soulmate. Sana’s parents are one of those lucky couples.

Sana was fine with that. She might not find her soulmate because maybe, she thought, soulmates are over glorified. You probably don’t need to find them to be in a happy relationship.

So when Sana found herself looking forward to every time her brother brought his friends home, she didn’t care if that one boy with the dark, slightly curly hair who always found a way to spend a few minutes alone with her, just making small-talk, was her soulmate or not. All she cared about was Yousef smiling at her from across the room whenever Sana was in his field of vision. All she cared about was Yousef going out of his way to make Sana feel better whenever he notices something is up. All she cared about were the butterflies she felt when Yousef was near her.

Sitting at a table on the school yard now, talking to Chris, Eva, Vilde and Noora made Sana remember all of this. Vilde talks about the essay she wrote in her exams today and that she wrote about the topic of soulmates and how big the chance is that they meet.

None of the girls at the table have found their soulmate yet. No surprise here that most of them have a rather pessimistic view on finding your one and only soulmate. The older you get, the less you care about that. Because you know how small the chance of you actually meeting them and additionally falling in love with them is.

“All my soulmate ever writes on his hand are reminders on when to do stuff. But he never writes what he has to remember. Just the time.”, Chris explains and absentmindedly covers her left hand with her right hand.

“Mine doesn’t write anything at all.”, Sana mentions. She had mentioned it before, when she talked with Chris about this. But all of them discussing this topic is very unusual. It’s not something this group of friends talks much about.

Right when Eva starts talking about very immature drawings that sometimes appear on her left arm, Sana’s phone beeps three times back to back. She unlocks her phone and bites her lip to not grin too much.

She received three texts from Yousef.

“Did your exam go well?”

“Wait, no. It definitely did.”

“But how well? That’s the right question.”

Sana forgets to try to contain her smile while she answers him that it went better than she expected because it was a hard exam. And she also writes “But aren’t you supposed to be working right now?” and sends the message. Sana only looks up from her phone when the girls call her name all at the same time.

“Huh?”, is all Sana can ask. Her eyes fall down on her phone once again and she sees Yousef is typing something.

“Sana, is a handsome, tall, dark haired boy you’re in love with texting you right now?” Noora asks which makes all the other girls laugh. Even Sana laughs a little but quickly presses her lips together to make herself stop.

“It definitely is Yousef. Nobody else makes Sana smile this much.” Vilde answers instead of Sana who refused to say something to that.

But now Sana looks up at them again and explains:“ He only asked how my exam went.”, while he should be working, she thinks to herself and smiles a little. Sana’s phone beeps two times in a row but she doesn’t look what the texts are because she knows the girls are waiting for it.

She sees all four of them smiling broadly at her, their smiles almost unnervingly wide.

“O yeah. He’s only ever asking how your exam went.”, Noora says with an ironic tone.

“Or how your basketball game went.”, Chris adds.

“If he wasn’t there himself.”, Eva mentions with her eyebrows raised. Yousef barely ever misses her Basketball games. It started as him tagging along when Elias came to watch and now Yousef is almost always there, in the audience, clapping and cheering.

“Or how the Russe-van is coming along.”, Vilde adds, “Russe girls rule the world, right?”

Sana can’t help but smile widely because even when the girls just want to tease her in this moment, Sana is aware that Yousef does all that because he cares. She blushes at that thought but tries to shake it off before the girls notice.

Sana acts annoyed and says:“ I’m not telling you anything ever again.” Sometimes she regrets sharing so much with her friends because they find a way to use it to tease her. Since her and Yousef have been getting closer, the girls don’t miss a chance to do exactly that.

“Aww, Sana. Don’t be like that.”, Chris says laughingly and hugs Sana to her side for a few seconds.

“But honestly, who needs a soulmate if they have someone like Yousef already.”, Eva blurts out, not intending to do so. The girls know Sana doesn’t care about that but being reminded is still not pleasant.

Vilde leans a little forward in her seat and asks: “Sana, are you sure he’s not your soulmate? You two fit perfectly into the description of how soulmates are supposed to be.”

Sana doesn’t realize she does it but she sighs, maybe even a little disappointed. She shakes her head and answers: “There was not an instance that made it seem like it.” Her soulmate hasn’t been very creative on his skin and Sana has not seen anything she wrote on his skin. That could be because what she writes vanishes from the skin of her soulmate not long after she writes something on her own. To be honest, she didn’t look for it either. Maybe, just maybe, she feared to be disappointed.

A few minutes later Eva, Noora and Vilde need to get to their next class but Sana and Chris have the rest of the day off.

Sana finally gets the chance to look at her phone again and reads the two messages from Yousef.

“I had a five minute break. I’m never on my phone while working, you know that :) ”

“I’ll get off work in half an hour. Wanna meet me here and go eat something together?

Sana looks at the time and calculates that he’ll be done with work in 15 minutes. Just enough time to walk to the kindergarten, the place Yousef means with ‘here’. She texts him back, which he will see when he’s done.

“I’ll be there :)

Chris and Sana end up walking the same way. The kindergarten Yousef works in is on the way to Chris’ house. Sana enjoys just walking around and talking with Chris because even though she is light-hearted and funny most of the time, Chris is one of Sana’s favorite people to talk to. About anything and everything. When they arrive at the kindergarten Chris and Sana have finished discussing their exams and they hug goodbye. However, when they part from the hug and Chris wants to go past Sana to walk home, she stumbles. Sana quickly holds onto Chris’ arm. She stands up straight again and both girls start laughing because something like this always happens to them.

Chris, however, stops laughing before Sana which confuses Sana. Chris is staring down and to see what made her stop laughing Sana follows her gaze. Chris is staring at Sana’s hands.

“I thought your soulmate doesn’t ever draw?” Chris asks. The question sounds more excited than anything else. This confuses Sana and she quickly raises her left hand. A little stick figure, a small flower and something that looks like an upside-down V appear and vanish a few seconds later.

Sana doesn’t know how to feel. It’s the first time in forever that this happens but she doesn’t care because she is about to meet Yousef who is perfect for her; it doesn’t matter if it wasn’t him who drew that stupid little stick figure on his hand.

Chris just waits for Sana to say something, which she doesn’t. Sana just shrugs and smiles which Chris takes as a sign to leave then.

“I’m outside :)”, Sana texts Yousef and leans on the wall. She turns her phone in her hand a few times and gets nervous because she’ll see Yousef in a few minutes. A good type of nervous. She feels more than comfortable with him and hasn’t seen him yesterday so her excitement is even bigger than usual. She might not always show it but she is really glad that Yousef is in her life, and not only as her older brother’s best friend.

Sana’s phone beeps twice. Two messages from Elias.

“I’m getting Pizza for lunch”

“Want your usual pizza? You deserve it after your exam!”

Sana smiles to herself and texts him back.

“Thank you, Elias.”

“But I’m eating lunch with Yousef. See you later :)”

Five minutes later Yousef walks out of the building and his eyes immediately search for Sana and find her. She pushes herself off of the wall and waits for him and smiles at him. He looks a little stressed but once she smiles, he smiles.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”, they greet each other at the same time.

Yousef puts his jacket on, which he was holding in his left hand and his backpack in his right hand. Sana goes to take his backpack to hold until he puts his jacket an.

“Sorry for making you wait.”, Yousef says, looking genuinely sad about it, “But three kids drew on me while I was busy with another kid and when I pulled my hand back two of them got mad. Because drawing on someone doesn’t hurt the person being drawn on. So I had to explain why No means No even if it’s something small like that. And I tried to get the color off my hand.”

Sana stands there, engrossed in his story. She loves how passionate he is about the kids he works with and that he puts so much effort into teaching them even the smallest things.

“It’s fine, really. I didn’t wait that long anyway.”, Sana says. Yousef who was preoccupied with his backpack he took from Sana again, looks up at her and smiles broadly when he sees her smiling at him. They stand like that for a few seconds. Just smiling and looking each other into the eyes.

Finally, they snap out of their little bubble when Sana asks if he’s ready to go. Yousef nods but first points at his head but says: “There’s a bug on your hood."

Sana just raises her eyebrows and doesn’t get to say anything because Yousef asks: "Should I ..”, and motions to get the bug off of her hood. Sana nods and Yousef comes closer, takes the bug and puts it on one of the bushes close to them. Then he goes to stand in front of Sana again who says Thanks. Yousef just nods and drags his left hand through his hair. Sana’s eyes follow that movement and something catches her eye. Her heart beats even faster for a second. Sana steps closer to him and instinctively takes his left hand in hers and looks at it.

“Eh.. Sana..”, Yousef says pretty confused with the situation. He doesn’t mind it in the slightest that she’s so close but her staring at his hand is a little weird.

Sana looks up, into his eyes and tries to catch her breath. Sana sees a little smudged line right in the middle of Yousef’s back of the hand. Exactly where the upside down V appeared on Sana’s hand, on the same spot, not long ago.

“What did the kids draw on your hand?”, Sana asks. She doesn’t even know what kind of answer would make her happy. But she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Yousef furrows his eyebrows, still confused. “Well, I’m not sure. A stick figure, a flower and a girl tried to write my name but because I don’t like anything drawn on me I pulled my hand away before she could finish the Y.”

Yousef explains oblivious to Sana’s thoughts. Once Sana processes what this means she breaks into a grin and can’t contain it. Yousef, who was too confused to react first, finally understands what Sana could be thinking. Sana drops Yousef’s hand and hastily goes through her bag to get a pen out of it. She really hopes she is right. Otherwise the next thing she is going to do will be awkward as hell.

Now, Yousef understood what Sana is doing and he definitely knows what she was thinking seconds ago. Both of them hold their breath as Sana holds the pen close to the palm of her left hand. Yousef raises his own left hand and turns his hand so that his palm shows upward.

Sana and Yousef stand very close, not even one step between them. Sana looks one more time into Yousef’s eyes before she draws in the middle of her palm. She closes her eyes for a moment and hopes she was right. She never hoped she was right so much.

“Sana.”, she hears Yousef and raises her head to look at him. The biggest grin on his face, Yousef is holding his left hand up, sporting the same heart in the middle of his palm as Sana drew on her own palm.

“Aah!”, Sana shrieks without being able to control it and her pen falls out of her hand as she jumps to hug Yousef. She wraps her arms around his neck and he doesn’t hesitate to hug her back, just as closely.

Sana didn’t care if Yousef wasn’t her soulmate. She loved him anyway. But having the confirmation that he is indeed her soulmate made her happier than she thought she would be about this. Sana can’t stop smiling the whole time they hug and even when they part from the hug and look at each other. Yousef has the same big smile playing on his lips and he takes Sana’s left hand once more and turns her hand to see the heart again. Sana does the same as him; she takes his left hand and turns it to see the heart. It already started to fade but it doesn’t matter.

“We’re soulmates, I guess.”, Sana finally says.

Yousef laughs at that and nods.

“But you know, I didn’t need to see this…”, he lifts his hand once more, “… to know that you’re my soulmate!”

—————————————————————————————–

Continuation of/ addition to this AU: part 2

#skam #yousana #yousef acar #sana bakkoush #sana x yousef #soulmate au #skam fic #yousef x sana #elias bakkoush #noora sætre #vilde hellerud #chris berg #eva mohn #yousana fic

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a-writing-bear · 7 years

Text

[PruCan] Chapter 2: Soft-Spoken Calling, They Want Their Shyness Back

Ao3 Link:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11159997/chapters/24905436

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’

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Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Gilbert Beilschmidt & Matthew Williams (Prussia & Canada)

AU: College AU - Art Student Matthew and Media/Film Student Gilbert

Age Rating/Mature: Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter (Future addiction to mention themes such as addiction, rape etc.)

Finding a hook-up was never hard. Gilbert knew how to wave and woo any guy and gal (granted he needed to actually try). Night after night, a beautiful girl, a dashing lad – it didn’t matter. Putting it simply, the way the white-haired devil seduced people was effective and singular. It was not a ‘series’ of escapades; the word ‘series’ describe the concept of continuation...what Gilbert did was not continuations, not one after another (Oh he most definitely did NOT share his lays). They were separate events to him. After a tom-foolery of sorts, it would be a good morning and goodbye; a prompt push out of the door to say the least.

It was ‘fuck’ then ‘wish them luck.’

He would carry on the next day, carrying himself in such a prideful manner one could wonder how so many looked forward to being in bed with someone like that. If anyone asked Gilbert if the evenings of a stranger after stranger got boring, he would confidently shrug the question aside with ‘the philosophy of a player’. The thought of falling in love, further than a silly high school crush, was absurd. Devotion to another human being? A sudden feeling of glee towards another human being? A day when he would experience all that seemed too far to even acknowledge.

And yet here he was, locked in staring into purple irises from a boy he had only just met. Heart panging and brain whizzing without reason or sense. Breathe. Think. Breathe, why is it so hard to breathe? Think? What order was it again? It felt breathlessly confusing.

“G-Gilbert could you like let go?” a heat rose to his face and he backed away quickly and let go of a sprig of strawberry blonde hair. A soundless sigh of relief was released by Matthew, and a flustered motion of twiddling fingers accompanied the timid look the shorter boy wore. Bathing in the seemingly, weird comfortable silence that engulfed the room the taller of the two proposed to get to know each other:

“Would you like to chill here? - I mean- like if you have nothing to do. I see you like my posters and stuff.”

Gilbert watched the reaction carefully, searching for any hatred or disgust to appear, he was aware of what reputation he had.

“eh? I’ve got art coursework and I’m sorta- I’m behind on it.”

Art coursework? Considering Matthew’s brother was a mathematical prodigy and science ‘fanatic’ (Gilbert really meant ‘geek’ but that sounded rude) he found it slightly alarming to hear that the student here was in the art stream…’although that does explain his slightly dishevelled look in that paint-covered shirt’. Gilbert found himself wanting to learn more and before he could stop himself he let it slip,

“Do you want to paint in here?”

In reality, Gilbert didn’t like studying alone. As much as he enjoyed his editing and planning scenes for his media course, it was draining sitting in a room cooped up alone. Hence why he relied on loud music to occupy his fleeting thoughts. The study hall and common room had been crowded with the varsity sports teams who were watching the campus’ big play-offs this week and the noise had been maliciously distracting. The study hall bred conversations too inane for his liking; snippets of people’s personal lives too irrelevant for Gilbert to sit through. On top of that, if needing a good environment meant travelling into the student-habitat known as the library (a place of late night coffee addicts struggling to complete 4 months of work) then he would rather fail the semester.

He had noticed the unsure reaction of the artist and gulped as the boy opened his mouth to reply:

“Well- My art stuff is already setup and messy in my room…I can’t really bring it here. Would- would you like to sit in my room? I…don’t mind.”

Gilbert’s face light up with happiness (relief as well- though he wouldn’t admit to it.), he took his laptop and charger along with a portfolio that he swore weighed more than Ludwig when he was a child and followed Matthew into the neighbours’ room. Most of the people here were the first-years, a close-knit community that, 4 out of 5 times, respected and trusted each other’s personal space so they both waltzed in carelessly not looking to shut out anyone and left the door gaping out open.

Matthew motioned for Gilbert to sit down in front of his desk. Gingerly he place his laptop down and ducked down to plug in his worn out charger. As he reclined in the Canadian’s chair he witnessed a genius in the works of what Gilbert could only describe as pure emotion splayed out on a too-small-for-it’s-worth canvas.

For a few moments, the artist had pondered whether he had made another wrongful decision inviting the albino into his safe space – thinking about it more ‘I don’t usually do this huh.’ One step within his room the thoughts seemed to melt away as he looked longingly to his painting, engrossed in the pursuit to add more paint onto the canvas Matthew didn’t notice the audience-like attention his guest was giving him. Beautiful hues of red a green were doused carefully onto the illustration of springtime bliss. “eh- I would prefer something more autumn-y or…winter.” He mused to himself and mulled over the idea of painting something for his dorm after this fairly boring assignment is finished.

“Why autumn or winter?”

He was jolted out of his caged thoughts from that question, did he say that out loud?

“I-err I don’t particularly like this piece, it’s not the best. I personally like winter landscapes mor-“

A loud gasp hit Matthew’s ears and the Albino had screeched out as if utterly bewildered by the earlier comment,

“You don’t like it?! It’s really... really good- Better than what I could ever do! I’ve been trying to find someone who could draw a scene like that for ages!” The artist’s cheeks had flamed up in such overwhelming embarrassment (and a tiny smidge of smug pride) that he almost lost the latter of what Gilbert had blurted out.

Scene? Oh. Gilbert must be a media student….-actually no wonder he seems familiar...was he that guy that sometimes appeared mysteriously near Feli and his Ludwig? – On the odd chance the departments had overlapping projects it wasn’t uncommon to find media students mingling with his fellow artists. Incidentally, he recalled about a month ago, he was commissioned by that smaller Finnish fellow (“O-Oh No I’m not Swedish, Berwald just hangs around a lot.”) to help apply face paint for a strange music video in a probably-Nordic language (I wonder if Tino did get an A for that project).

“Scene for what?”

He had obviously caught those red eyes off guard, then as if a light switch had been flicked the boy’s grin grew wide.

“An Animation! Wanna see the storyboard? I’ve been looking for an animator, seeing as my drawing skills can be described as the equivalent of a…What was that saying…um...? A fish trying to climb a tree…”

It wasn’t like Matthew was trying to be rude, however, he had tuned out Gilbert after the silver haired student had turned his heavy overloaded binder of paper for show. The page was full. It looked overly detailed, annotated words scribbled over the crudely but clearly illustrated panels of what seemed to be a short story of a young boy? As he leant down closer to investigate the piece he noticed the smaller details scrawled in between the panels like ‘Screen transition – autumn’ or ‘Redo panel, reframe’. With such a thorough and comprehensive plan, any animator would know exactly what the director would want from them. ‘Honestly, if only the people who commissioned him would give him details like that – I’m looking at you Tino’

“…Actually just realised what that fish quote meant...man that’s really smart I guess, can’t believe I…”

Oh. Gilbert was still yapping. His lavender eyes scoped up and down the page and he hummed in approval of the chatterbox’s work. He was staring so close to the page that the Canadian could feel his glasses slipping off…

“…..Hey! I should hire you to be my animator!”

Matthew had glanced so quickly at Gilbert in that moment that his glasses had slanted in the movement. This is going to be a long semester.

#prucan #aph canada #aph prussia #SoftSpokenCalling #prussia x canada #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #Hetalia Fanfiction #fanfic #multific #college au #alternate universe

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