#also i had to take up these trousers anyway but they’re so baggy that if i just cut them to how they’re supposed to be they’d just drown me

[lazylittledragon]

i call this outfit “golfcore”

#ramble #alleged 10 year old boy is actually 22 this year #if you didn’t know. i’m 5ft nothing #also i had to take up these trousers anyway but they’re so baggy that if i just cut them to how they’re supposed to be they’d just drown me #so i turned them into This #i will be getting brogues and long argyle socks and a flat cap to complete it

[raziroo]

Cotton Candy

Pairing: Lotor x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Saying "Shit" twice

Word count: 2,076 (yay) (also, I edited this, I still need to update the word count)

Author’s Note: I'm crap at writing dialogues, and this is my first time writing for a gay couple. I'm so sorry if it seems forced or unnatural or shitty. Don't be afraid to call me out.

Story Moodboard!

It’s with a grunt of effort that I manage to lift the carton containing the cotton-candy-maker.

‘Here, dad,’ I say as my dad takes the box from my hands. ‘That’s all?’

‘Yep, that’s all of it. We’ll conquer this carnival with our delicious cotton candy,’ I nod, doing jazz hands while saying the last part. Dad chuckles. I grin.

‘Hey, Honey!’ I turn back, squinting to spot where my other dad is in the crowd of bustling people. Where, where…? Yep, there he is – in his embarrassingly brilliant sunshine yellow and bottle green striped shirt and hot pink trousers, a sharp contrast to his natural bright red hair. Don’t say that it can’t look that bright; you’ll never know just how blindingly bright bottle green can really be until you see the shirt my dad’s wearing. And trust me, he usually dresses in simpler tones; such bland tones that you’d be surprised to know he was capable of wearing colourful hues as well. It’s only that he’s very passionate about his job, and so whenever we set up a booth in fetes such as the current one, he never misses to match the shop logo.

‘Hul-lo, father dearest, how seems to go your day?’

‘Oh, quite lovely, if I do say so.’

‘Well, that’s simply charming –’

‘Alright, enough,’ my other, not redhead dad snaps with an exasperated sort of smile on his visage. You see, my not redhead, a.k.a. brown-haired dad happens to be British. And that means that me and dad would rather paint our teeth blue than to not tease him. ‘You both need to shut it and start helping me with the decorations, now. You know I’m trash at all that.’

‘Aw, now don’t get discouraged,’ I say, patting dad on the back. ‘After all, not everyone can be as blessed as me, can they?’

‘Hey, why don’t you go look around for a bit? You’ve been helping out since before I have.’

‘Yeah, he’s right, pet. You should.’

I huff, rubbing my palms on the fabric of my jeans. ‘You guys sure? I’m not tired, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘We’re not worried, we’re just saying you should also get a look, you know? There’s a lot of surprising booths this time around. I mean, there are aliens participating too, so…’

‘Hmm,’ I play with my bottom lip a little, then, ‘yeah, okay. I’ll be back in like, an hour? Forty five minutes? Sound okay?’

‘Sounds great.’

‘Bye, then.’ And with that, I turn on the heels of my Converse, wandering about the pretty stalls and eager children and kissy couples and aliens with curious features.

It really feels bizarre, just how astonishingly fast mankind has accepted the existence of aliens. It seems simultaneously ages and just a day before when conspiracy theorists raged all around the world, presenting baseless theories and concepts as to why and how the three-man squad on the Kerberos mission disappeared. Then came the Galra, bringing along with them global terror – because alien life, intelligent alien life existed and humanity remained oblivious all these millennia, and now they were actually attacking us. It could’ve been, perhaps even was, in some other dimension, the end of Earth. But then a defender appeared; Voltron appeared in all its glory, bringing along with it proof that however much these purple aliens claim that humans are scum of the universe, humans were, in the grand scheme of things, the ones that saved the universe too.

It feels even more puzzling to actually be on a first-name basis with the leader of Voltron; that’s right, I’m personally acquainted with Keith Kogane. It was around six months after him leaving the Garrison did I come across him. He’d been loitering around the neighbourhood, had ended up in a fistfight with some other kids, and along with that a split lip and bruised cheek. I’d been watching. When the fight ended, I (somehow) persuaded him to come along so that I could at the very least provide him with a band-aid.

Long story short, we’d bonded over how our moms were no-shows and how dads were the best and we became surprisingly close friends; the only difference was that after the death of his old man, he lived alone. I’d been adopted by my two current fathers. I told him about how when they’d initially adopted me, I was excruciatingly shy. I wouldn’t even come out of my room except meals. It was only when I came to know that they knew how to make candy floss had I timidly approached them if I could have some, because previously I’d always been grossed out at the thought of having to eat that. I’d overheard this group of kids saying that cotton candy was actually just dyed granny hair, so that’s where that came from.

I love cotton candy now. So much so, that even at the age of twenty-six, I will pout if someone takes some of mine without my permission. As if I’d ever allow them to.

Speaking of Keith, I haven’t seen him in years. We lost all contact when he turned eighteen, and then he went off into space, and even when he came back, I didn’t get a chance to meet him. I bear no ill will, though. He must have formed some close relationships. Our past friendship is comparatively much more trivial.

I spot a booth selling grilled corn. I instantly head there.

As I’m about join the crowd of humans and aliens who also want corn, a familiar call of my name leads me to pull a three sixty.

Lo and behold. Keith Kogane.

Despite him having obviously grown a lot, the face was still the same. I’m sure that, if he gets a split lip and bruise on his cheek right now, he won’t look all that different.

There’s a questioning hesitance on his features; he’s probably wondering if he’s got the right person. My pleasantly surprised smile and raised eyebrows assure him. As I step away from the grilled corn stall, I notice a motley crowd behind him; some are purple, some are holding Voltron plushies, and some look way too curious to be in a carnival. The introduction is going to be fun.

‘Keith! You're gonna live a hundred years - I was just thinking about you. But anyways, it’s – it’s great to see you,’ I say with a little giggle. ‘Though I am kind of surprised you actually approached me. The sixteen-year-old you would never.’

He smiles awkwardly in return. ‘Y – yeah… I, just… oh God, this is – I’m sorry,’ he says, his inner turmoil evident.

‘It’s all good. I know you’re shit at small talk, so… like, introduce me? Maybe?’

He nods rapidly, brows furrowed. ‘Yeah, um,’ he turns to the people behind him, telling them my name, how we met, the whole affair. I give them a wave. Most of them greet me back.

‘And, this is Shiro and Curtis,’ he points to the tall, white-haired yet young man, holding hands with a tanner guy, ‘Lance, Pidge and Hunk,’ he points to a lanky, bright-smiled guy, a buffer, kind-seeming person, and a short chestnut-haired woman who, despite wearing baggy jeans and a baggier tee, looks somehow better dressed than me. ‘Then that’s Allura, Coran, and Romelle, they’re Alteans,’ a woman with enchanting beauty and a regal aura surrounding her, a redhead who’s significantly older than the rest with an impressive moustache, and a youthful appearing girl with a big grin, ‘and Lotor, he’s Galran. The Galran Emperor, in fact.’ Lotor is a tall, lilac-skinned man with aristocratic features who shares the same cheek markings as the Alteans. Oh, and he’s unfairly gorgeous, his hair a luscious mane of white which I just know will be soft. It’s hard not to stare. You remember how I said Allura looked like royalty? Yeah, the way this man carries himself, he has the aura and visage of a God. Even in a white tee-shirt and jeans he looks way better than should be legal.

I rip my eyes away.

‘So…are Noah and Oliver here too? I’d love to see them. I mean, I never did get to thank them to permit a possible criminal to sleep in their house.’

I laugh. ‘Never mind that, but we actually sit up a stall here. I could, you know, maybe even get you guys something to eat.’

‘Free? Please don’t.’

‘It’s nothing, really, just… I don’t know, accept it as a small thank you present for not letting the planet go to shit.’

A bit of thinking. Even after a nod from Shiro, it was Lance who said yes. Good ol’ Keith.

When we reach the stall, my British dad is the only one we find there. He looks up, about to say something to me, when he notices Keith.

‘Dad. You remember Keith?’

‘Your possible criminal friend who turned out to be the saviour of the universe Keith?’

‘That Keith. He wanted to see you.’

‘Oh? Well then,’ he dusts his hands, stands up, and greets Keith. Both of them engage in a conversation.

‘You guys wanna try something?’

‘What do you got?’ asks Pidge.

‘What do we got? Um, we got chocolates, candy, marshmallows, jellybeans, tortilla chips, ice cream, popcorn – butter, cheese, caramel, peri peri – Lays, like, a lot of Lays, and the good old cotton candy. What d’you want?’

So, after providing the humans with two Cream n’ Onion Lays, a pack of tortilla chips, a double scoop of butterscotch and chocolate, a small tub of popcorn, and three cotton candy sticks, I turned to the aliens.

‘I’m assuming you guys aren’t familiar with a lot of this stuff, so you could either pick whatever looks to be good, ask your friends, or I could recommend something. What’ll it be?’

Romelle was the one who asked, ‘What’s ice cream like?’

‘It’s sweet. It’s cold. And it’s like… heaven in mouth.’

‘Ooh. I want an ice cream. The… pink one?’

‘That’s strawberry. You can eat it in a cone, or in a cup.

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Well, the cup you can’t eat. The cone is like a crispy biscuit,’ judging by her face, she didn’t know what biscuit was. ‘I’ll just give you a cone. It’s all on the house, so no worries if you don’t like it.’

I watched eagerly as she licked the ice cream. An unreadable look crossed her face. Then – ‘This is almost as good as Hunk’s cookies!’

‘Really?’ Coran asked, twirling his moustache. ‘Well, then…’ he squinted to read the names of the various flavours. ‘I would like “cookies and cream”. Yes.’ A cone of cookies n’ cream was served.

‘Allura?’

‘Do you have something that isn’t sweet?’ That was a plot twist. I’d have taken her as someone who appreciated sweeter foods.

‘We do. You want spicy?’

‘…Sure.’ Peri Peri popcorn was given and enjoyed.

And last… ‘Lotor. What would you like to have?’

It takes me a lot of will to not laugh at Lotor’s way too analytical expression. ‘What would you recommend?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Out of all this stuff, candy floss is my favourite.’

‘Candy floss… the item that looks simultaneously like a cloud and an old woman’s hair?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I would like a helping of candy floss, then.’

As I hand Lotor a stick of cotton candy, I wait with anticipation for his reaction.

‘How am I supposed to eat this?’

It takes me a moment to process that. ‘Uh, you just… pinch a little of the stuff in between your fingers, then eat it. Or you could just, um, go in directly, which I’m thinking isn’t really your style.’

He narrows his eyes, but follows my instructions nonetheless. Only a second after putting the stuff in his mouth, Lotor purrs.

Everyone around him, being me, Coran and Romelle (Allura’s off telling Lance how great Earth food is), looks with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Lotor appears as if he’s just died inside. The berry-shaded blush on his face is adorable, though.

'I didn't, like, poison you or something, right?'

'No. It's that... I would never in my lifetimes have expected something so tooth-rottingly sweet to be this delicious.'

'So you're okay?'

‘Yes. In fact, I quite like… this cotton candy.’

I grin.

#lotor x reader #prince lotor #vld #voltron legendary defender #raziroo #cotton candy #keith kogane #takashi shirogane #shiro #pidge gunderson #katie holt #lance mcclain #hunk garrett #galra #altea #romelle #coran #honerva #zarkon #haggar #lotor in a t shirt tho #huff puff

[nct-lian]

her style (seven categories)

— daily wear (casual wear)

lian’s entire wardrobe is the definition of ulzzang fashion. she loves loves loves the korean style !! lian can get cold really easily, and so she tries to incorporate some sort of long sleeve into all her outfits.

it works out perfectly as well because when i tell you she’s obsessed with cardigans and jeans- lian owns SO MANY JEANS like half her closet is just jeans and it’s scary :0

she doesn’t normally gravitate towards layering clothing, but i promise that when she does, it looks so so good.

she has no problem layering a simple sweater vest or putting on a thick sweater over something thin, but she’s expressed how she finds it to be uncomfortable if she layers a bunch of thick clothing on top of each other.

lian also really loves skirts !! her legs have never really been the target of cold weather, so wearing skirts in the fall (or even winter at times) has thankfully never been a problem for her. she particularly loves mini skirts with a solid colour or a plaid design.

her colour scheme consists of neutral colours, black and whites and occasional pops of pastel!

— formal wear (meetings, company dinners, etc.)

there’s a rule in sm that states: the idols aren’t to wear anything denim or “lazy looking” while attending important events within the company or meeting new people in public because it’ll set a good first impression.

lian makes sure not to go overboard when dressing formally, but she’d get scolded if she were to underdress. and so that leaves her with a limited amount of options when choosing what to wear.

she tends to go with the simple blouse paired with a mini skirt, or if she doesn’t have the energy to try, she’ll throw on a pair of trousers with a solid coloured top and call it a day.

whereas if she were to be attending a company gathering with her seniors, she’ll wear a pretty dress or expand her “blouse + mini skirt” outfit into something a little more extravagant!

again, her formal colour scheme sticks to a neutral palette with black and whites. it’s rare to see any sort of colour if she hadn’t decided to wear something plaid.

— comfy wear (lounging, hanging out at home, etc.)

as much as lian wishes she could just stay in her pyjamas all day long when they’re off schedules, she knows that’ll do her no good. forcing herself to get up every morning and change also gives her the motivation to brush her teeth and wash her face like she needs to.

that being said, if she has to change so early in the morning, then she’s sticking with something incredibly comfortable.

tons of oversized shirts and baggy pants—the shirts normally belonging to the boys. no joke, johnny has lost over fifteen sweaters to lian, and they’re definitely not going back to him.

like his shirts basically go all the way down to her knees and so there’s no need for pants to keep her legs warm. a random pair of shorts and she’s good to go!

all of her comfy clothes are super soft and fluffy and perfect for sitting around to do nothing! she practically swims in all of these clothing items, but that’s part of the fun :D

she doesn’t really care about the colour, but she does have to match the pants with the shirt because if she doesn’t, then that’s just wrong, guys.

— sleep wear (pyjamas)

the fifth floor’s heating system has been broken for like the past three months and nobody has fixed it yet, so the dorm is constantly cold.

but lian does this thing where she freezes herself before she goes to bed because “it’ll feel nice when i sleep.”

the boys always tell her to go put on a sweater or change into a longer pair of pants because her sleep wear is literally the thinnest material ever—and not to mention, she’s wearing short sleeves most of the time!

lian seriously despises going to sleep in long pants because they make her overheat and it’s all uncomfortable when she’s under her thick ass duvet, so her pyjamas are normally short.

again, lian doesn’t really care about the colour because they normally come in sets and everything matches anyway. she definitely prefers to have a thin and soft material!

— award show wear (first row: while performing, second row: red carpets)

okay say it with me: LIAN PRETTIEST GIRL !! the stylists absolutely love love love lian, and they make sure to show it when putting her outfits together. whenever lian is performing on stage, she’s always decked out in a glitter filled outfit so that she shines even brighter than she already does—especially if she’s with the boys.

it’s no secret that lian is rather ... vertically challenged, and the stylists want to make sure she’s not completely enveloped into them to the point where she can’t be seen. they make sure her outfits a little more sparkly so she’s able to be seen well, but they always have to match with what the rest of of them are wearing.

if she doesn’t match, she’ll looks like a random girl just following them everywhere they go, and that’s something nobody wants!

while walking the red carpet, lian literally looks a million dollars. all her outfits are personally made just for her so they fit perfectly! unless it comes from a designer brand, of course.

she’s obviously had a little bit of malfunctions because the “too short for their body type dress” has happened once or twice despite having all her outfits custom made. make that make sense tbh ??

the colour scheme is super colourful and diverse! like stated before, the stylists love to have her stand out and shine, so they love to take risks while creating her outfits :)

— jewelry (necklaces, rings, earrings, etc.)

lian loves her jewelry! she’s always seen wearing pretty necklaces, shiny bracelets and gorgeous, dangly earrings :) but she has a very strong love-hate relationship with rings.

there are only certain rings she’s able to wear because bulky and chunky ones make her very uncomfortable. she leans more towards the dainty and thin style.

for earrings, she really goes all out with them. her earrings are always dangly and shiny, and super extravagant! she has a lot of piercings as well so she’s able to wear several earrings at a time.

her necklace preference is fairly basic; just the simple dainty chain with a diamond on the end or a trail of pearls.

— head wear (hats, headbands, hair clips, etc.)

lian honestly doesn’t care for hats that much. she prefers having her hair flow nicely with a couple of hair pins to keep it in place, but it’s necessary to have a hat on while dancing because her hair will go EVERYWHERE everywhere if it’s not secured in some way.

she only likes bucket hats and baseball caps because she believes that the other ones are ugly. no offence to beanie wearers, it’s just not her style!

headbands aren’t something she’s too into either, she’ll only wear them if she believes that it’ll go well with her outfit. she’ll also wear them if she has to keep the front pieces of hair out of her face for the day.

lian’s hair clips are like her children. she’s always wearing some sort of pin and they’re literally so beautiful and match her outfits so well!

not only does lian absolutely love the way her hair clips look on herself, but she likes how the boys look with them in their hair as well. when yuta still had his long hair, she would constantly be styling it for him.

he would be adorned in golden bobby pins and sparkly clips basically 24/7 :D

majority of lian’s clothing sticks to a neutral colour palette, so she buys hair accessories that match well!

#lian: get to know her! #nct addition #nct female member #kim chungha #nct 127 #nct #nct dream #wayv #lianna bae #nct 127 added member #nct 127 female member #nct dream female member #nct dream added member #nct 22nd member #nct 24th member

[marmalodi]

John Lennon and Yoko Ono Interview: St. Regis Hotel, 9/5/1971

When we turned up at the St. Regis for our first interview, John and Yoko were still in bed. It was nearly afternoon and there was a flurry of activity in the adjacent rooms. May Pang was much in evidence, bustling about, her long black hair swirling around her. (This was a year or two before her affair with John.) She told us that our interview would have to be interrupted by a fitting for Yoko, which turned out to be to our advantage, because in Yoko's absence John was prepared to go back into the past and talk about Hamburg and the role of Brian Epstein.

We were served tea on a silver tray. John chain-smoked Gauloises, and the interview proceeded. It was obvious from the start that he was still angry at Paul, but when I played the tapes back later, I noticed he did not say anything negative about Paul's music. He attacked Paul for being bossy, arrogant, chauvinistic, etc, but in the next breath he would be telling us about Hamburg and about Paul having to be onstage for an hour and a half playing 'What'd I Say,' and you could hear the affection in his voice.

I have listened to these tapes many times, and I have always been struck by the contradictions within John Lennon. He tended to see the world in terms of black and white, and people were either on his good list or his hit list, and often subject to being switched from one to the other, according to which way the conversation turned. He was always outspoken, yet the charm of John's outspokenness was not only his way with words, but also that he was as critical and candid about himself as others. In the end it was this that made him endearing. He bared his soul about everything -- his insecurities, his mistakes -- and when he did so, even when he appeared ridiculous, he was a breath of fresh air in the entertainment world.

One moment I remember during the interview was when John and Yoko were leaning toward the microphone, each jostling the other to tell the story of how they met and fell in love. No one could have been in their presence for those minutes and not have been affected by it.

Neil Aspinal, the Beatles' longtime friend, said, 'The Beatles' world was an unreal world... a war zone.' It surely was. In a way I think Yoko brought John home. He found comfort, love, and understanding with her. He had a son by her and devoted himself to his child. I have no doubt he was a happier man in 1980 than he was in 1967 when he walked into that London art Gallery. - Peter McCabe (1984)

Q: "Let's talk about the Beatles' breakup, and the falling out between you and Paul. A lot of people think it had to do with the women in your lives. Is that why the Beatles split up?"

JOHN: "Not really. The split was over who would manage us -- Allen Klein or the Eastmans -- and nothing else really, although the split had been coming from Pepper onward."

Q: "Why, specifically?"

JOHN: "Paul was always upset about the White Album. He never liked it because on that one I did my music, he did his, and George did his. And first, he didn't like George having so many tracks. He wanted it to be more a group thing, which really means more Paul. So he never liked that album, and I always preferred it to all the other albums, including Pepper, because I thought the music was better. The Pepper myth is bigger, but the music on the White Album is far superior, I think."

Q: "That's your favorite, of all the Beatle albums?"

JOHN: "Yeah, because I wrote a lot of good shit on that. I like all the stuff I did on that, and the other stuff as well. I like the whole album. But if you're talking about the split, the split was over Allen and Eastman."

Q: "You didn't like Lee Eastman (Linda's father), nor John (Linda's brother), and the Eastmans didn't like Allen Klein..."

JOHN: "The Eastmans hated Allen from way back. They're from the class of family... like all classes, I suppose, they vote like Daddy does. They're the kind of kids who just think what their fathers told them."

Q: "But for a while you didn't get along with Linda."

JOHN: "We all got along well with Linda."

Q: "When did you first meet her?"

JOHN: "The first time was after that Apple press conference in America. We were going back to the airport and she was in the car with us. I didn't think she was particularly attractive. A bit too tweedy, you know. But she sat in the car and took photographs and that was it. And the next minute she's married him."

YOKO: "There was a nice quality about her. As a woman she doesn't offend you because she doesn't come on like a coquettish bird, you know? So she was alright, and we were on very good terms until Allen came into the picture. And then she said, 'Why the hell do you have to bring Allen into it?' She said very nasty things about Allen."

Q: "Yoko, you weren't with John the first time he met her?"

YOKO: "No. The first time I met her was when she came to the EMI studio. And you know, when Beatles are recording, there's very few people around, especially no women. If a young woman comes into the room, everybody just sort of looks at her. So I was there, and the first thing Linda made clear to me -- almost unnecessarily -- was the fact that she was interested in Paul, and not John, you know? She was sort of presupposing that I would be nervous. She just said, 'Oh, I'm with Paul.' Something to that effect. I think she was eager to be with me and John, in the sense that Paul and John are close, we should be close too. And couple to couple we were going to be good friends."

Q: "What was Paul's attitude to you as things progressed?"

YOKO: "Paul began complaining that I was sitting too close to them when they were recording, and that I should be in the background."

JOHN: "Paul was always gently coming up to Yoko and saying, 'Why don't you keep in the background a bit more?' I didn't know what was going on. It was going on behind my back."

Q: "So did that contribute to the split?"

JOHN: "Well, Paul rang me up. He didn't actually tell me he'd split, he said he was putting out an album. He said, 'I'm now doing what you and Yoko were doing last year. I understand what you were doing.' All that shit. So I said, 'Good luck to yer.'"

Q: "So, John. You and Paul were probably the greatest songwriting team in a generation. And you had this huge falling out. Were there always huge differences between you and Paul, or was there a time when you had a lot in common?"

JOHN: "Well, Paul always wanted the home life, you see. He liked it with daddy and the brother... and obviously missed his mother. And his dad was the whole thing. Just simple things. He wouldn't go against his dad and wear drainpipe trousers. And his dad was always trying to get me out of the group behind me back, I found out later. He'd say to George, 'Why don't you get rid of John, he's just a lot of trouble. Cut your hair nice and wear baggy trousers,' like I was the bad influence because I was the eldest. So Paul was always like that. And I was always saying, 'Face up to your dad, tell him to fuck off. He can't hit you. You can kill him (laughs) he's an old man.' I used to say, 'Don't take that shit.' But Paul would always give in to his dad. His dad told him to get a job, he dropped the group and started working on the fucking lorries, saying, 'I need a steady career.' We couldn't believe it. Once he rang up and said he'd got this job and couldn't come to the group. So I told him on the phone, 'Either come or you're out.' So he had to make a decision between me and his dad then, and in the end he chose me. But it was a long trip."

Q: "So you think with Linda he's found what he wanted?"

JOHN: "I guess so. I guess so. I just don't understand. I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted something intelligent or something arty. But you don't really know what you want until you find it. So anyway, I was very surprised with Linda. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd married Jane because it had been going on for a long time and they went through a whole ordinary love scene. But with Linda it was just like -- boom! She was in and that was the end of it."

Q: "So if the falling out was essentially with Paul, what made you decide not to participate in the Bangladesh concert with George?"

JOHN: "I told George about a week before it that I wouldn't be doing it. I just didn't feel like it. I just didn't want to be fucking rehearsing and doing a big show-biz trip. We were in the Virgin Islands, and I certainly wasn't going to be rehearsing in New York, then going back to the Virgin Islands, then coming back up to New York and singing. And anyway, they couldn't have got any more people in, if I'd been there or not. I got enough money off records and I don't feel like doing two shows a night."

Q: "Do you have any regrets about not doing it?"

JOHN: "Well, at first I thought, 'Oh, I wish I'd been there,' you know, with Dylan and Leon... they needed a rocker. Everybody was telling me 'You should have been there, John,' but I'm glad I didn't do it in a way because I didn't want to go on as 'The Beatles.' And with George and Ringo there it would have had that connotation of Beatles -- Now let's hear Ringo sing 'It Don't Come Easy.' That's why I left it all. I don't want to play 'My Sweet Lord.' I'd as soon go out and do exactly what I want."

Q: "John, you said you 'get enough off records,' but you used to say you weren't as rich as people thought you were. Are you rich enough finally?"

JOHN: "Well, I do have money for the first time ever, really. I do feel slightly secure about it, secure enough to say I'll go on the road for free. The reason I got rich is because I'm so insecure. I couldn't give it all away, even in my most holy, Christian, God-fearing, Hare Krishna period. I need it because I'm so insecure. Yoko doesn't need it. She always had it. I have to have it. I'm not secure enough to give it all up, because I need it to protect me from whatever I'm frightened of."

YOKO: "He's very vulnerable."

JOHN: "But now I think that Allen Klein has made me secure enough, it's his fault that I'll go out for free."

Q: "You mean tour for free?"

JOHN: "Well, I thought I can't really go on the road and take a lot more money. What am I going to do with it? I've got all the fucking bread I need. If I go broke, well, I'd go on the road for money then. But now I just couldn't face saying, 'Well, I cost a million when I sing.'"

YOKO: "It's criminal."

JOHN: "It's bullshit, because I want to sing. So I'm going out on the road because I want to this time. I want to do something political, and radicalize people, and all that jazz. I feel like going out with Yoko, and taking a really far-out show on the road, a mobile, political, rock and roll show."

YOKO: "With clowns as well."

JOHN: "You know what I was thinking -- when Paul's going out on the road, I'd like to be playing in the same town for free next door! And he's charging about a million. That would be funny."

YOKO: "Our position is -- I come from the East, he comes from the West -- a meeting of East and West, and all that. And to communicate with people is almost a responsibility. We actually are living proof of East and West getting along together. High water falls low, you know. And if our cup is full, it's going to flow. It's natural for us to give because we have a lot. If we don't give, it's criminal, in the sense that it's going against the law of nature. In order to go against the law of nature you have to use tremendous energy."

Q: "Let's talk about Allen Klein. He has a reputation as a tough wheeler-dealer in the music business. What made you decide to have him as your manager?"

JOHN: "Well, Allen's human, whereas Eastman and all them other people are automatons. And one of the early things that impressed me about Allen -- and obviously it was a kind of flattery as well -- was that he really knew which stuff I'd written. Not many people knew which was my song and which was Paul's, but he'd say, 'Well, McCartney didn't write that line, did he?' I thought, anybody who knows me this well, just by listening to records, is pretty perceptive. I'm not the easiest guy to read, although I'm fairly naive and open in some ways, and I can be conned easily. But in other ways I'm quite complicated, and it's not easy to get through all the defenses and see what I'm like. Allen knew to come to me and not to go to Paul, whereas somebody like Lew Grade or Eastman would have gone to Paul."

Q: "Did Klein hope to get Paul back into the group?"

JOHN: (laughs) "He came up with this plan. He said, "Just ring Paul and say, 'We're recording next Friday, are you coming?' So it nearly happened. Then Paul would have forfeited his right to split by joining us again. But Paul would never, never do it, for anything, and now I would never do it."

Q: "There was a lot of negative publicity about Klein. Didn't that bother you?"

JOHN: "Well, he's a businessman. He's probably cut many peoples' throats. So have I. I made it too. I mean, I can't remember anybody I literally cut, but I've certainly trod on a few feet on the way up. And I'm sure Allen did also."

Q: "How does Klein compare with Brian Epstein as a manager?"

JOHN: "Well, Brian couldn't delegate, and neither can Allen. But I understand that. When I try and delegate it never gets done properly. Like with my albums and Yoko's, each time I have to go through the same process -- Get the printing size right. I want it clear and simple. I have to go through the same jazz all the time. It's never a lesson learned."

Q: "Let's get back to something we were talking about earlier. The attitude of the other Beatles toward Yoko."

JOHN: "They don't listen to women. Women are chicks to them."

Q: "What about George?"

JOHN: "George always has a point of view about that wide (he holds his hands close together), you know? You can't tell him anything."

YOKO: "George is sophisticated, fashionwise..."

JOHN: "He's very trendy, and he has the right clothes on, and all of that."

YOKO: "But he's not sophisticated, intellectually."

JOHN: "No. He's very narrow-minded. One time in the Apple office I was saying something, and he said, 'I'm as intelligent as you, you know.' This must have been resentment. Of course he's got an inferiority complex from working with Paul and me."

Q: "John, what did you think of Yoko's work when you first saw it?"

JOHN: "Well, her gallery show was a bit of an eye-opener. I wasn't sure what it was all about. I knew there was some sort of con game going on. She calls herself a concept artist, but with the 'cept' left off, it's con artist. I saw that side of it and that was interesting. And then we met."

Q: "Was it love at first sight?"

JOHN: "Well, I always had this dream of meeting an artist woman I would fall in love with. Even from art school. And when we met and were talking I just realized that she knew everything I knew -- and more probably. And it was coming out of a woman's head. It just sort of bowled me over. It was like finding gold or something. To have exactly the same relationship with any male you'd ever had, but also you could go to bed with it, and it could stroke your head when you felt tired or sick or depressed. Could also be Mother. And if the intellect is there... well, it's just like winning the pools. So that's why when people ask me for a precis of my story, I put, 'born, lived, met Yoko.' because that's what it's been about.

"As she was talking to me I would get high, and the discussion would get to such a level that I would be going higher and higher. And when she'd leave, I'd go back into this sort of suburbia. Then I'd meet her again and my head would go off like I was on an acid trip. I'd be going over what she'd said and it was incredible, some of the ideas and the was she was saying them, And then once I got a sniff of it I was hooked. Then I couldn't leave her alone. We couldn't be apart for a minute from then on."

YOKO: "He has this nature, and I'm thankful for it. Most men are so narrow-minded. Somebody once told me, 'You don't make small talk, and that's why men hate you.' I mean, I have so many male enemies who try to stifle me. What the hell."

JOHN: "I did the same, of course. I found myself being a chauvinist pig with her. Then I started thinking, 'Well, if I said that to Paul, or asked Paul to do that, or George, or Ringo, they'd tell me to fuck off.' And then you realize -- you just have this attitude to women that is just insane! It's beyond belief , the way we're brought up to think of women. And I had to keep saying, 'Well, would I tell a guy to do that? Would I say that to a guy? Would a guy take that?' Then I started to get nervous. I thought, 'Fuck, I better treat her right or she's going to go. No friend's going to stick around for this treatment."

Q: Did you know anything about rock music, Yoko, when you first met John?"

YOKO: "I didn't know anything about rock music, or anything like it. I thought of rock songs as something a bit lower than poetry. It was like reading poetry that had a definite rhythm to it."

JOHN: "She used to say, "Why are you doing the same beat all the time?' I used to get very irritated."

Q: "What were your feelings about art and the art world at that time?"

JOHN: "Well, I went to art school and I thought that was the art world, virtually. And they're all such pretentious hypocrites. There was no artist I admired, except for maybe Dali or someone from the past. And when I read the art reviews... I couldn't understand why I wasn't being reviewed for my art, because I always felt like an artist.

"So I went to her show. I was thinking, 'Fucking artist shit. It's all bullshit.' But then there were so many good jokes in it, real good eye-openers."

YOKO: "That's another thing, most artists don't have a sense of humor."

JOHN: "And there was a sense of humor in her work, you know? It was funny. Her work really made me laugh, some of it. So that's when I got interested in art again, just through her work."

YOKO: "All the men I met, I felt they were more pretentious than me, hypocritical, narrower than me, and not genuine. And I'm talented. Because I can compose, I can paint, I can be in many fields. Most men that I met were bragging about their professionalism in one field."

JOHN: "They get one idea and flog it to death, and become famous on one idea."

YOKO: "And fucking conservative, you know? And they talk about women not having a sense of humor. I used to despise every man that I met. I was thinking, 'There's something wrong with me, because everybody hated me for it.' And then I met this man, and for the first time I got the fright of my life because here was a man who was just as genuine, maybe more genuine than me. He's very genuine. And he can do anything I can do, which is very unusual. And I got surprised. And that happened at the first meeting."

JOHN: "It took me a long time to get used to it. Any woman I could shout down. Most of my arguments used to be a question of who could shout the loudest. Normally I could win, whether I was right or wrong, especially if the argument was with a woman -- they'd just give in. But she didn't. She'd go on and on and on, until I understood it. Then I had to treat her with respect."

Q: "Yoko, did you have any idea of what the Beatles' life had been like, on tours for example?"

JOHN: "She was really shocked. I thought the art world was loose, you know? And when I started telling her about what our life was like, she couldn't believe it."

YOKO: "I came from a different generation. I mean, my friends didn't want me to know they smoked pot, you know? So I thought 'Oh, he's an artist. He's probably had two or three affairs.' Then I heard the whole story and I thought, 'My God!'"

JOHN: "She was just like this silly Eastern nun wandering about, thinking it was all spiritual."

YOKO: "He once said to me, 'Well, were you a groupie in the art world?' I said, 'What's a groupie?'"

JOHN: "So I said, 'Just tell me. I don't want to go 'round and fucking Picasso or someone comes up and says, 'Yes, I've had her.'"

YOKO: "And I really didn't know the word 'groupie.'"

JOHN: "So anyway, I'd been dying to tell her about the 'raving' on tour. I just wanted her to know what a scene it was. I thought it was silly not to say it. And of course the people with us were living like fucking emperors when we were locked in our rooms. That's why they cling so much to the past."

Q: "Talking of your entourage, do you resent it that so many people take credit for their contributions to the Beatles?"

JOHN: "Well, there was an article on George Martin in Melody Maker -- he's telling all these stories. He says, well, I showed them how to play feedback, or put tape loops together, or some arbitrary little technical thing... Where is the great talent of George Martin and Derek Taylor, and the legacy of Brian Epstein? Where is their talent?"

YOKO: "It's like my ex-husband saying that he sacrificed his talent for me, or something."

JOHN: "Well, I never had anything against George Martin. I just didn't like all the rumors that he actually was the brains behind the Beatles. I can't stand that."

Q: "Let's talk about Brian Epstein, your first manager. What did you think of him?"

JOHN: " I liked Brian. I had a very close relationship with him for years, like I have with Allen, because I'm not going to have some stranger running the scene, that's all. I was close with Brian, as close as you can get with someone who lives sort of the fag life, and you don't really know what they're doing on the side. But in the group I was closest to him. He had great qualities and was good fun.

"He was a theatrical man rather than a businessman, and with us he was a bit like that. He literally fucking cleaned us up. And there were great fights between him and me, over years and years, of me not wanting to dress up. He and Paul had some kind of collusion... to keep me straight. Because I kept spoiling the image, like the time I beat up a guy at Paul's twenty-first. I nearly killed him, because he insinuated that me and Brian had an affair in Spain. I was out of me mind.

What I think about the Beatles is that even if there had been Paul and John and two other people, we'd never have been the Beatles. It had to take that combination of Paul, John, George and Ringo to make the Beatles. There's no such thing as 'Well, John and Paul wrote all the songs, therefore they contributed more.' because if it hadn't been us we would have got songs from somewhere else. And Brian contributed as much as us in the early days, although we were the talent and he was the hustler."

Q: "So after Brian died you made 'Magical Mystery Tour.' You said Paul was acting as if he were going to take charge of everything?"

JOHN: "Well, I still felt, every now and then, that Brian would come in and say, 'It's time to record,' or 'Time to do this.' And then Paul started doing that -- 'Now we're going to make a movie,' or 'Now we're going to make a record.' And he assumed that if he didn't call us, nobody would ever make a record. Well, it's since shown that we managed quite well to make records on time. I don't have any schedule, I just think, 'Now I'll make it.' But in those days, Paul would say that now he felt like it. And suddenly I'd have to whip out 20 songs. He'd come in with about 20 good songs and say 'We're recording.' And I had to suddenly write a fucking stack of songs. Pepper was like that. Magical Mystery Tour was another. So I hastily did my bits for it and we went out on the road. And Paul did the thing for his album -- the big-timer, auditioning directors."

Q: Let's go back for a minute and talk about all the early influences on the Beatles. What would you say had the greatest effect on the group? Was it Liverpool? The Cavern? Hamburg? Did Hamburg really improve the playing?"

JOHN: "Oh, amazingly. Because before that we'd only been playing bits and pieces, but in Hamburg we had to play for hours and hours on end. Every song lasted 20 minutes and had 20 solos in it. We'd be playing eight or ten hours a night. And that's what improved the playing. Also, the Germans like heavy rock, so you have to keep rocking all the time, and that's how we got stomping. That's how it developed. That made the sound. Because we developed a sound by playing hours and hours and hours together."

Q: "You all must have found yourself playing in some unbelievably bad conditions."

JOHN: "Yeah, but it was still rather thrilling when you went onstage. A little frightening because it wasn't a dancehall, and all these people were sitting down, expecting something. And then they would tell us to 'mak show'. After the first night they said, 'You were terrible. You have to make a show -- Mak show!' So I put my guitar down and I did Gene Vincent all night. You know -- banging and lying on the floor and throwing the mic about and pretending I had a bad leg. They're all doing it now -- lying on the floor and banging the guitar and kicking things and just doing all that jazz.

"Then they moved us to another club, which was larger and where they danced. Paul would be doing 'What'd I Say' for an hour and a half. And these gangsters would come in -- the local mafia. They'd send a crate of champagne onstage... this imitation German champagne, and we had to drink it or they'd kill us. They'd say, 'Drink it and then do What'd I Say.' We'd have to do this other show, whatever time of night. If they came in at five in the morning and we'd been playing for seven hours, they'd give us a crate of champagne and we were supposed to carry on. We'd get pills off the waiters then, to keep awake. That's how all that started.

"I used to be so pissed I'd be lying on the floor behind the piano, drunk, while the rest of the group was playing. I'd just be onstage fast asleep. Some of the shows, I went on just in me underpants. I'd go on in underpants with a toilet seat 'round me neck, and all sorts of gear on. Out of me fucking mind!"

Q: When did you get into acid? Did Paul time his LSD announcement to coincide with the release of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band?"

JOHN: "No. We'd had acid on Revolver. Everyone is under this illusion... even George Martin saying 'Pepper was their acid album,' but we'd had acid, including Paul, by the time Revolver was finished."

Q: "So why did he make that big announcement?"

JOHN: "Because the press had cornered him. I don't know how they found out about him taking it. But that was a year after we'd all taken it. Rubber Soul was our pot album, and Revolver was acid. I mean, we weren't all stoned making Rubber Soul because in those days we couldn't work on pot. We never recorded under acid or anything like that. It's like saying, 'Did Dylan Thomas write Under Milk Wood on beer?' What the fuck does that have to do with it? The beer is to prevent the rest of the world from crowding in on him. The drugs are to prevent the rest of the world from crowding in on you. They don't make you write better. I never wrote any better stuff because I was on acid or not on acid."

Q: "Did the fact that Sergeant Pepper inspired so many people to try LSD surprise you?"

JOHN: "Well, I never felt that Haight-Ashbury was a direct result. It always seemed to me that all sorts of things were happening at once. The acid thing in America was going on long before Pepper. Leary was going around saying, 'Take it, take it, take it.' We followed his instruction. I did it just like he said in the Book Of The Dead, and then I wrote Tomorrow Never Knows,' which is on Revolver, and which was almost the first acid song -- 'Lay down all thought, surrender to the void' -- and all that shit. Do you remember if Paul's statement on acid came out after Sergeant Pepper?"

Q: "Just as it was released."

JOHN: "I see. He always times his big announcements right on the letter, doesn't he. Like leaving the Beatles. Maybe it's instinctive. It probably is. Anyway, 'Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds' is not about LSD. And Henry the Horse is not about smack on Sergeant Pepper, because I'd never even seen it when we made Sergeant Pepper. But those kinds of stories evolved from it -- people thought if you listened to it backwards it said 'Paul is dead.' All that shit is just gobbledygook."

Q: "Still, many who got into acid might never have followed Timothy Leary but did follow the Beatles."

JOHN: "Well, blame it on Dylan. He turned us onto pot."

Q: "Having written so much with Paul, do you think it's possible for there to be some type of settlement, outside of business?"

JOHN: "Well, there's no way for it to be settled 'outside business,' because it all gets down to who owns a bit of what. It's a house we own together, and there's no way of settling it, unless we all decide to live in it together. It has to be sold."

Q: "Have you missed writing songs with him?"

JOHN: "No I haven't. I wrote alone in the early days. We used to write separately. He used to write songs before I even started writing songs. I think he did. And we'd written separately for years. I wrote 'Help.' I wrote 'A Hard Day's Night.' He wrote 'Yesterday.' They'd been separate for years.

"In the early days we'd write together for fun, and later on for convenience to get so many numbers out for an album. But our best songs were always written alone. And things like 'A Day In The Life' was just my song and his song stuck together. I mean we used to sit down and finish off each other's songs. You know, you could have three quarters of a song finished and we'd just sit together, bring ten songs each, and finish off the tail ends, and put middle eights in ones that you couldn't be bothered fixing, because they weren't all that good anyway.

"We usually got together on songs that were less interesting. Now and then we'd write together from scratch. 'I Want To Hold Your Hand,' things like that were done like that. But we'd been working apart ever since we were working together. It was only news to the public that a lot of Lennon-McCartney songs weren't Lennon-McCartney. That was something we'd agreed on years ago."

Q: "Do you think it was a mistake in retrospect to have named everything Lennon-McCartney?"

JOHN: "No, I don't, because it worked very well and it was useful. Then it was useful, so it was quite good fun. I've nothing against it."

Q: "If you got, I don't know what the right phrase is... 'back together' now, what would be the nature of it?"

JOHN: "Well, it's like saying, if you were back in your mother's womb... I don't fucking know. What can I answer? It will never happen, so there's no use contemplating it. Even if I became friends with Paul again, I'd never write with him again. There's no point. I write with Yoko because she's in the same room with me."

YOKO: "And we're living together."

JOHN: "So it's natural. I was living with Paul then, so I wrote with him. It's whoever you're living with. He writes with Linda. He's living with her. It's just natural."

Source: Transcribed by www.beatlesinterviews.org from original magazine issue

#john: where is the great legacy of brian epstein? where is their talent? #john two minutes later: brian contributed as much as us in the early days #i've seen a lot of quotes from this interview going around on tumblr but not the whole thing #tw f slur #john lennon #yoko ono #the beatles #shanty’s posts

[totempestsfromwhispers]

To Tempests, From Whispers

[Prologue: Arrival]

It was early in the morning in Lumiose City as the sun hasn't risen up and a grey cloudy sky loomed over the airport. A Lucario in flannel and baggy pants looks toward the horizon then back at a Meowstic wearing a simple buttoned-up shirt underneath a bright blue hoodie and trousers, they're both smiling as an announcement is heard from the lobby that the flight will start shortly.

"Looks like you gotta go. Are you sure you're gonna be fine, Cipher?" The Lucario asks, addressing the Meowstic in a cheerful fatherly tone.

"I'm gonna be fine, dad. I'll call as soon as I get settled in, alright?" Cipher answers back holding his luggage with his right hand as he looks toward the plane bound for Sinnoh. "I'll remember our training too and- …"

He was interrupted mid-sentence as the Lucario hugged him tightly, holding back tears. "Have a safe trip, son. Promise me you'll do your best?"

Cipher just hugged him back as his voice breaks just a little. "Sure, dad … I gotta go now. Wish me luck." He wiped a little tear from his eye and proceeded to take his flight, as he turned back he saw his father waving back.

"Go get 'em, hero."

~~~

"Hello, Jubilife! Today … a hero will be born."

I breathed a sigh of relief as I went outside of the plane, greeted by the bright sunny day of Jubilife. The flight surprisingly took a few hours from my hometown of Lumiose but I guess they're just doing their jobs as usual.

I had my suitcase in tow as I made my way towards solid ground, it was a large wheeled suitcase that I had a bit of trouble carrying by myself which I didn't really mind. After all, I didn't really come here for just a vacation … I came here to apply to my dream school, the ever prestigious Stella Academy, a place that has honed the skills of the best heroes to have ever lived, from what I've seen at least.

It really took me a while to choose what academy I wanna go to. I could have just attended a simple hero academy back at Kalos but my father insisted I go here, he did graduate here after all and now he is one of the well-known heroes of Kalos. I still remembered what he said to me during one of our training sessions.

"If an aura tells you something, you best be listening to it. It never lies."

I took a measly stroll around the city just to see what I can expect here. After some time, I decided I should probably find an apartment somewhere to settle into. This luggage of mine is already putting a bit of weight on me considering I just been on a plane and I'm still feeling a bit of jetlag. Now that I've mentioned it, I was told there would be someone who's gonna help me settle in here and I have yet to find this 'mon.

Having nothing else to rest on, I just sat on a nearby bench putting my luggage next to me as I figured out where I should be heading next. Of course, I can't just run around the entire city just to find a single 'mon, not to mention this is the first time I've been here.

While I seemed to space out for a bit, I felt someone tap my shoulder. Turning around, I see a Lucario wearing a pastel-colored tank top and a black skirt who seemed to be inspecting me up and down. "Umm … can I help you?" I asked as she responded with a smirk.

"Are you, Cipher by any chance?"

"I … I am. Why do you ask?"

"Ah! Yes, yes … I was expecting someone to arrive here in Jubilife and was tasked to accommodate them." She extended her hand towards me and gave a hearty laugh. "Lucia Ferros. Hope we'll get along quite well!"

I instinctively shook her hand and smiled back, a bit confused and dumbfounded as to why she was here. But I can't really complain … at least I can finally settle down. I let go and stood up from my seat, clutching my luggage with me.

"Pleased to meet you, miss. Now … where to?"

"Ohh right, follow me and we should get started settling you in."

"Okay …" I just followed her as we walked along some apartment buildings and alleyways. I don't see any standalone houses and bungalows which were the type of housing I was used to so living in an apartment would be something new for me.

While we walked, I saw her looking around the buildings and taking a sharp turn as we seemed to come across the entrance to an apartment. She seemed to be leading me towards the backyard when she suddenly stopped walking with her back turned away from me.

"Think fast!"

I was going to question where and why did she take me here when she suddenly threw something at me, what looked like a Bone Club on fire heading straight towards me. Her eyes were glowing blue as her body was now covered in aura. Panicking a bit, I let go of my luggage and readied an attack.

Uh … umm … come on, Cipher … think!

"Energy Shockwave!"

I can feel my ears activate as I let out a pulse of Grass and Psychic energy while I closed my eyes. After seeing whether the attack hit her or not, she suddenly wasn't there in my line of sight. I can, however, sense her presence and it was too late for me to react as I turned around and got knocked back almost instantly.

"Aura Blitz!"

Dammit! Why is she so fast …

"Come on, give me your best shot! We aren't gonna be here all day …" She exclaimed back at me as I was standing my ground and not letting myself get knocked over. I attempted the same attack when she grasped my right arm and raised an eyebrow. "Too predictable … surely you had something else on your sleeve ..."

The grip was surprisingly tight, so tight that I can't even move my arm. This whole ordeal was happening way too fast for me to keep up and I needed a way to counterattack. Luckily, I still have my other arm as I sneakily readied an arm behind my back. Combining my Thunder Wave and Energy Ball, I managed to barely materialize the attack from my hand and sent it out.

"Paralyzing Shock Ball!"

Luckily, Lucia seemed to be taken by surprise as she shuffled back and let go of my arm. "Not bad, not bad … now can you handle this?" She was smirking rather than being annoyed that I hit her with my attack as she activated her aura again but this time her paws seemed to be on fire now.

I just braced myself as I am starting to get a little fatigued from having to manage two attacks while still feeling a bit of jetlag. I opened my ears again as I activated my aura as she dashed toward me still with quite an impressive speed, maintaining my form and getting ready to counter any of her attacks.

"Pyro-Combat Strike!"

I just managed to barely dodge it as the flames grazed through my right cheek, leaving a small burn mark as I grabbed her arm and used a weaker version of my Paralyzing Shock Ball with my free hand. "Still had it charged this whole time …" With that, I brought her down to one knee and I stood back to see if she's gonna attempt another attack again.

"Looks like I've seen enough … we're done! Impromptu training is over for now." She smiled as she strained a little while getting up to her feet. "Sorry about that, I just needed to make sure you were the one trained by Dominus himself."

"Well yeah … I'm his father after all …" I scratched my head and chuckled nervously. Father was a hero back in Kalos but I didn't know his legacy would also be known as far as Jubilife of all places.

Her eyes seemed to light up as I said that and immediately held both of my shoulders in awe. "Wait a minute … you are his father? What an honor! Now I feel really bad that I made you do all that … Ok how about this after we get brunch after I get you settled in? Just to make it up to you …"

I just stood there, blinking in disbelief and a bit dumbfounded. Who knew being the son of a well-known hero would be a big deal? I just came here already and I am already having some adoration. "Please … you don't have to do that …"

"I insist! It's all on me anyways and hey, I want to get to know you a bit more and have a little chat if that's alright with you."

"Alright, if you say so …"

"One more thing … Welcome to Jubilife, I'm sure you're gonna love it here!"

"I sure hope so. Still a little nervous about all of this you know …" I immediately grabbed my luggage which surprisingly wasn't damaged and was just a bit dusty from the battle earlier. "Should we head to an apartment now?"

"Yes, yes of course! I'll lead the way. Come on, let's get you finally settled in."

"Right behind you …"

~~~

"Cipher! Glad to see you've finally settled in over there! I hope Lucia wasn't too much for you…" It seems dad had immediately called back just as I rang his phone. I was just on my living room couch when I decided to call him and it was already afternoon by the time I had just finished setting all of my stuff here.

"No worries about it, dad! She was pretty dynamic but she's alright for the most part." I had just learned from her that she used to do some hero training under dad too to prepare herself in studying at Stella Academy. She is now in her third year and is one of the top students already, no wonder she was darn fast with her attacks…

"I'm glad. I just want to make sure you're in good hands … okay, I should be doing my work. I'm currently en route towards a flash fire and I don't want to slow myself down. Goodbye for now, son!"

He immediately turned off the call just after he said that as I stared blankly at my phone screen just to reign in all of what had just happened today. Entrance exams for the academy are tomorrow and I want to make sure I'm in my best shape for that so I'm going to do some training for the big day ahead.

"Don't you worry, dad. I'll make sure mom's gonna be proud of me too from up above. I’ll promise that…" I left him a voicemail just as Lucia was waving at me by the window to start my training.

#totempestsfromwhispers #pokemon au story #cipher meowstic #lucia lucario

[philicheesecake]

(U.L.) The Last Hunt

Synopsis: Three hunters seek out the trace of an unknown monster, only for the hunt to take a dangerous turn.

Warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS FATAL VORE. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE FATAL VORE, TURN BACK NOW. 

((Phili’s note: Though Wendigos are mentioned in this story, the adaption mentioned here are not the ones from folklore. The Unseen Legion discovered creatures with similar appearance and behavior that resembles the wendigo folklore and nicknamed these creatures after them, not having a better name for them)) ((Also sorry it took forever to get this posted! I was super nervous about posting fatal, but y’all have been warned anyways, so hopefully it should be fine))

---

There was a click as the magazine slid into place. The trunk of the big red van slammed shut. Footsteps tracked away from the gravel earth. A wind bristled through the canopy above, shifting the flecks of warm evening light that fell across the untrodden trail. Branches and dead foliage crunched over the three pairs of boots as the small hunting party began to search. 

The mid-autumn air was crisp and chilly in contrast with the sun’s dull warm glow, and the fiery colors of the foliage that shifted at the change of season. The three figures were equipped with boots and jackets, and the tallest held a pack full of spare hunting gear to make sure all approaches to some unknown threat were covered. 

“They’re more active at dawn and dusk, so we’ll have to watch our backs more as the sun sets,” the oldest of them, Josiah spoke to his trainee. He had dark baggy eyes and salt and pepper hair. While his features were much older and weathered, she was much shorter and younger, barely out of high school, with curly black hair pulled back into a big ponytail. 

“How many wendigos have you killed?” The girl, Ruth pondered. 

“Gah, lost count. Maybe seven?” The older man shrugged. “What about you, Rubin?” He glanced at the other hunter joining them. He was short for her age, but had a good build and curly brown hair and a goatee. 

“Haven’t met one yet. This one would be my first. I tend to stick around the rowdy moon puppies mostly,” Rubin responded. 

“I’ve always wanted to hunt a werewolf, I just have too unsteady hands to pierce their heart,” Ruth said. “I’m just sticking to the bigger targets until I can get a better skill with my gun handling.”

“Good idea. I don’t think it would be fun to come back from a hunt with puppy ears,” Rubin chuckled. “I bet werewolf bites don’t tickle.”

“I’ll bet,” Ruth said with a grin. 

“Hey, wait here,” Josiah stopped ahead, holding out a hand as he crouched down to the forest floor, seeming to inspect a mark on the earth. The soil was unruly, but a faint mark could be made out. A footprint? But it was too large, even for a wendigo. Even then, it was difficult to make out whether it actually was a footprint, and not just some uneven ground. 

“What do you think, Rubin?” Josiah glanced at the tracking expert of the hunting party. 

Rubin bent down near the print, taking a good look at it as he took in a deep breath. “Don’t recognize what it came from, but it couldn’t have been here more than a day ago. This ain’t like anything I’ve seen before.”

Ruth glanced at her father pensively, taking a few steps ahead to try to see more tracks. Sure enough, about six or seven feet apart from the other print was another. “Guys, over here. There’s more.” 

Josiah paced over to where she stood, glancing down at the new track. He could see it a bit more clearly. A left footprint. It was strikingly similar to a human’s own footprint, though there were indentations at the front of the toes that tore up the ground, distorting the front of the footprint by the disturbed earth. It was nearly a meter long from heel to toe. 

“Rubin, is the one over there a right foot?”

Rubin glanced up from the track after a moment, nodding. “Yuuup.”

Josiah shook his head in awe. “Two meter strides. Damn. This thing must be huge.”

“Do you think we should head back?” Ruth asked. “If we don’t know what it is, it might be dangerous.”

Josiah frowned, picking at a mole on the back of his neck as he always did when he was deep in thought. Maybe nervous. Calculating their odds. 

“We’ve been following these hunting patterns like a wendigo. Been twelve years since the last round of victims in this town, and three towns over, staggered at similar intervals. If we lose this chance, it might hibernate again and our chance will be lost. Chances are if it isn’t a wendigo, it’s still a close relative, and we can still kill it. We can follow the prints to at least learn about it, and if we get in over our heads, you can retreat.”

“Probably shouldn’t be relying on horror movies to predict the outcome for this, but...” Ruth looked at her father cautiously. “Going in over our heads is probably what’s going to happen if we don’t know what this is.”

The three hunters continued through the woods, finding the messy footprints leading in a rough direction deeper into the forest. The sun was beginning to set, overshadowed by the looming mountain range before them. On the mountainside, there were rocky cliffs and crevices looking over a small frothy stream that flowed noisily throughout the forest like a winding white serpent. The stream was shallow enough to wade through easily, though the mountain water must be very chilly. With a careful footing, one could cross by hopping from the slippery stones. 

“I can check out the cave first and call you over if the coast is clear. Watch out for each other, ‘aight?” Josiah dug through Ruth’s backpack briefly before drawing out the flame thrower. He began to wade through the stream, shivering as the cold water soaked through his trousers and chilled him to the bone.

“Be careful, dad,” Ruth said in a low voice. 

Josiah crossed over onto the opposing bank and stepped past the underbrush, making his way along the rocky wall against the bank. He passed further along towards the cave. At first, there seemed to be no trace of anything there. He began to move deeper into the dark crevice of stone, holding out his flame thrower warily. His boot bumped across a large leather sack, at first thinking it was a boulder. It was as big as he was. It had a long leather strap and leather buckles. It was weathered and looked as though it had been patched together over a dozen times. 

He looked down at it, frowning slightly in thought. He crouched down to get a better look. 

WHOOSH-

A massive hunched figure dashed out of the darkness. A clawed hand swept over, smothering his face to suppress the hunter’s shout of surprise. The flame thrower clattered to the ground and was quickly crunched beyond usage by an unseen force. It was completely silent and instantaneous. Josiah was dragged backward into the darkness by the cruel grip. He struggled, slipping his knife off of his belt and tried to jab it at the thing that held him. Large clawed fingers pinned his arms to his sides, rendering his attempts useless. His knife was quickly snatched and tossed aside. 

He tried to shout for the others, but the pressure over his face silenced him, rendering it difficult to even breathe. A warm breath puffed on the back of his neck, making his hairs stand up. The wendigo. He felt something hot and slimy drip onto his shoulders and shuddered. What was that? He struggled harder to slip free from the grip. just hoping he could get free before this thing killed him or stored him in some dark tunnel to snack on later. 

The warm air grew closer until he grew aware of a glistening thread of liquid drip down from in front of him. Something began to descend across his vision. Fangs. He choked in a startled gasp as the pressure loosened around his face, only allowing him to make a brief shout before his head was enveloped into the dark maw. 

Drool soaked through his skin as the tongue roughly rubbed against his face and hair. The grip shifted around him, holding him firmly as it pushed him in deeper combined with a strong gulp. Josiah felt dread settle into his chest. This creature was going to swallow him whole?! He tried to shout for Ruth and Rubin, but that only got that disgusting slime into his mouth. The smothering tight walls of the throat made it impossible to even breathe! He felt more and more of him dragged within the suffocating passage as he heard the creature begin to gulp and swallow him the rest of the way down. The creature’s head tilted back, changing gravity to a disorienting angle as Josiah was completely upside down. He distantly felt his shoes being yanked off and let out a muffled yelp of pain, being some heavy duty hiking boots that couldn’t really be removed easily. He thought the creature must have broken his feet or something, because he definitely felt something snap in there. 

His head soon pressed through a crushingly tight ring of muscle and passed into a slightly more open space. He immediately gasped for air, but the air burned his lungs immediately from the intense heat. He choked and coughed, feeling like he could never really catch his breath with how much each one hurt, and how the throat crushed his rib cage too tightly to really draw a full breath. 

The rest of him soon followed into the tight chamber. At first, it seemed too tight, almost impossible for him to fit entirely, though it somehow stretched and groaned as it managed to engulf him entirely with relative ease. As soon as he was down, he could hear his captor’s loud breaths from its cleared airway. He gasped, kicking against the tight confines. He reached for his knife, only to remember the beast had taken it from him. He was trapped.

The air was so hot in here. It was difficult to even breathe. It was so tight and slimy. The puddle of fluids that would soon be his demise was already a few inches deep in the pit of the stomach. He could feel a strange numb sensation from mere contact. He sucked in nervous gasps. “Ruth! Rubi--” his voice was muted as the walls seemed to clench tighter around him, additionally with a foreign pressure from the outside that pressed down harshly over him. It was impossible to shout, or even breathe! He struggled to try to fight the walls off of him just enough to battle for weak gasps of air. 

***

Ruth sighed anxiously as she looked down, checking the area while keeping her gun close. Her dad wasn’t gone for long, and she trusted his level of experience, though a part of her was still nervous about how unusually large this wendigo was perceived to be. 

Rubin was sitting against one of the logs, messing around with their supplies and making sure everything was ready in case of emergency. He suddenly stood up with an alert expression. “Your dad. Something happened.”

Ruth gave him a confused expression. “What? I didn’t hear any—”

“Stay here. I’ll go ahead. If I’m not back in ten, get the dickens outta here.”

Ruth’s brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to protest, but the older hunter was already heading across the stream and towards the cave. She waited behind, holding her shotgun at the ready. Although she was more of a cautious person when it came to hunting, there was no way she was leaving here without her dad and Rubin. 

Rubin approached the mouth of the cave with his gun in hand. He listened out carefully. Josiah’s voice was gone, but he could hear breathing. 

There was a sudden dash of movement from the side and a huge hand rammed into him, pinning him against the cave wall. The wind was knocked out of him and he gasped, looking up at the monster. It looked almost human with its features, though something was off about it. The dark markings around the eyes, slit pupils, long, pointed ears, sharp fangs and claws. It towered at easily forteen feet tall. What the hell was this thing?!

Rubin snapped out of his stupor, struggling against the grip. Until now, his eyes had been focused on the thing’s face, then he glanced down for a moment and his blood froze. There was a squirming bulge in its gut. It just ate somew--

Josiah’s voice. Josiah’s voice was coming from in there--

The hunter’s eyes widened in dread. The creature’s snarling lips were drawn back to bare its teeth as drool hungrily poured over its lips, dripping onto his face. Rubin panted and grimaced. His heart raced as the creature brought him closer… He could feel his friend past the wall of flesh, squirming for his life… trapped. “J-Josiah--” Rubin stammered. The creature bent down, opening its jaws wide and its gross slimy tongue dragged across the hunter’s face, getting a good taste. Rubin shuddered, gritting his teeth. He had to get out of here. He had to get that machete and cut his friend out of this. Things were going far too south far too quickly, and he didn’t even know how long Josiah would last in there. The thought made him nauseous with dread.

“Do you miss your friend?” The giant’s voice rumbled, vibrating to its core. It could talk? Well-- it looked human enough… “Let him go, Goliath! S-seriously, mate--” “No thanks. I have a better way of reuniting you.” The giant’s jaws opened wider, beginning to descend over Rubin’s line of sight. His breaths hissed frantically through his throat and he struggled harder. 

BANG!

A deafening gunshot cracked through the echoing chamber of the cave, skittering off the rocky walls. Ruth appeared at the cave entrance with her shotgun. Her fearful eyes were narrowed, trying to mask the emotion with confidence, but there was a shakiness in her figure. She had missed. 

In a swift motion, the giant’s grip readjusted around Rubin. He was now practically pinned against the squirming bulge of his friend, and a claw was held at his throat, barely pricking the skin. He froze.

“L-let them go.” Ruth stammered threateningly.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, little treat. I think my claw might slip before you pull the trigger.” The giant’s voice was unphased by her threat. She seemed too afraid to pull the trigger with Rubin that close anyways. He was practically a meat shield. “Put the gun down and we can chat about this over lunch. Deal?” 

Ruth grit her teeth, her face paling. She was shaking badly. She probably couldn’t hit the giant if she tried. 

“Ruth, j-just get out of here.” Rubin pleaded. “I’m not leaving my dad.”

“I’m not giving you many options. Unless you want to join him.” The giant grinned through his fangs. “Be my guest.”

Rubin clenched his jaw nervously, watching Ruth’s expression as she glanced around the environment, trying to find some other way or loophole, or trick she could use to get them all out of there. For a split second, her vision was directed away just long enough for Rubin to act. 

It went by in a blur, but suddenly the giant’s fingers were bleeding, he was free from the giant’s grip, and he was running straight towards Ruth. Ruth gasped, lowering her shotgun to the side for a moment before his hand grabbed hers and he tried to get her to run. “No!” She jerked back, firing the shotgun. The giant leaped after them, tackling her to the floor and snapped the shotgun clean in half. The squirming bulge of her father could be seen in clear view, practically above where she was pinned. Rubin gasped, ramming himself against the giant’s arm to shove him out of the way. He drew out a knife and jammed it into the giant’s shoulder, just missing the throat. He didn’t waste another moment before grabbing Ruth’s arm again and took off running. He didn’t realize until and that she was bleeding from her head. The impact must have concussed her. 

The giant roared in pain, grabbing the knife out of his shoulder and pressed his hand against the wound. He could only glare daggers at them as they fled. He didn’t need to pursue them. He already had his meal. 

Ruth was out of it, swimming in and out of consciousness as she was vaguely aware of a sizzling sound in her head. Trees passed over her blackening vision. The darkened sky. Then the back seat of the car. The low rumble of the engine was lulling to her foggy mind. Tears bit at the corners of her vision. She was too tired to think though… Must sleep…

***

Josiah was faintly aware of what was going on during the fight. Feeling Rubin’s form pressed against where he was captive. It was impossible to breath. The goopy, slimy fluids that smothered him threatened to suffocate him with each pulsating clench of the living chamber. He curled up tighter, feeling a heaviness in his chest. At least Ruth had escaped. 

The heat was incredible. Every bit of the harsh environment was sapping him of his energy. He couldn’t keep fighting. He had stopped struggling after the first half hour. It was too exhausting to go on. The deep puddle of fluids wasn’t stinging at least. It was numbing at most. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He didn’t even know if they were still there. He didn’t want to know. 

His body fell limp against the rhythmic pulsing of the walls as the puddle grew deeper. His breaths were heavy. The burning air felt like it weighed a ton on his lungs. His consciousness grew further and further away. The loud gurgles, breathing, and heartbeat of the monster were the last sounds that met his ears before they became muffled. His head sank beneath the pool. A final breath choked out, gagging on the fluids that invaded his lungs before life fled his twitching limbs. 

***

Ruth opened her eyes. Her head hurt. She could see the plain white ceiling above her. She closed her eyes again. She just wanted to sleep. 

“Ruth,”

There was movement next to her. The ground she was on shifted slightly. It was a couch. Someone just sat down next to her. 

“Dad…” Her voice came out quietly. She didn’t want any of that to be real. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

She sniffled. Her eyes opened again. Rubin was sitting next to her. He was disheveled. Blood was on his fingertips. His scarf was lopsided, barely concealing an old scar on the side of his neck. She sat up. The small movement gave her a headache. Whatever the giant did to her had really hit her bad. She could feel bandages wrapped around her head. 

“N-no. We… we can still save-“

An arm wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. She froze. Her voice choked off. She stared numbly ahead, not knowing how to believe it. 

He let her take a while to process this and go through the emotions while offering what comfort he could give. “Your dad told us to watch out for each other, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

She leaned her head into his shoulder and sobbed.

----------------------

Link to the rest of the series can be found here.

#-UL series- #unseen legion #rubin husk #ruth cynders #josiah cynders #gt vore #fatal vore #tw fatal vore

[charlottemadison42]

Timepiece

A new short story on AO3, 2.3k words, rated G, dedicated to the very dear @musegnome!

----

Crowley got a new watch at least once a year.

He liked them sharp and cutting-edge, bespoke and exclusive and expensive. By the time anyone else heard of the craftsman or the brand, he was ready to cast it off and find something better. From the first decorative clunkers of the early 1500's to the quartz revolution, he was always up to speed on the best of the best. Connoisseurs in Geneva and Tokyo and Dubai kept a lookout on his behalf these days. When they called, doubtless raving about a new mechanism or a new maker, he always picked up.

He didn't think about why he liked watches. If anyone had ever asked Crowley (nobody did) he'd have shrugged. His corvid instinct to collect shiny status markers was reason enough.

(And if every skip of the second hand offered proof of his progress away from the fourteenth century -- one step farther from Golgotha, farther from the flood, farther from the Fall -- that thought was seldom admitted entry to the fortress of his mind. Crowley looked forward, not back.)

Aziraphale had owned a total of four watches in his life thus far.

He liked the kind of timepiece that required winding by hand, with a little key, although he often forgot to. Luckily when he needed to know the exact time, his watch obliged him anyway.

It was conceivable that Aziraphale enjoyed the sensation of suddenly remembering, "Oh! I forgot to wind my pocketwatch!" because he delighted in having some small duty to do, a simple task at which he could not fail, a way he could help the world tick along.

For -- what was a mechanical pocketwatch, if not an elegant dynamic sculpture of the universe as humans experienced it? Aziraphale waxed philosophical about such things in the comfort of his favorite reading chair, while he smoothed the shiny etched surface with his thumb til he knew every groove. He meditated often and fondly about his watch as a Metaphor for Things.

(But the angel never asked where it might be leading him. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at history with a loving melancholy sigh, watchfully guarding over the sum of human experience. But he did not look ahead. He hated endings.)

+++

Warlock Dowling went through an especially rambunctious phase at age six. He was old enough that his parents' neglect was starting to emerge from the background of his young reality into a Phenomenon that he Noticed. And the more Warlock Noticed it, the more he Did Not Like it, and he took it out on everyone within reach.

Nanny Ashtoreth's attempts to dress him resulted in arching and kicking and flailing fists. Brother Francis's nature walks ended with tantrums in the dirt. Warlock began to enjoy ruining things when he learned that he could: tearing up his own drawings, ripping leaves off the tulips and ferns, pouring grape juice on white linens, breaking toys. It made him feel powerful.

"Hell could learn a thing or two from this one," Crowley muttered.

"I expect they're going to, since he'll be running the show if we fail to do something about this," Aziraphale snapped in reply.

Neither angel nor demon had been prepared for the inexhaustible physical frenzy of an outraged six-year-old Antichrist.

But when Warlock finally smashed Aziraphale's pocketwatch on a paving stone in a fit of rage, the poor child broke through something else, too.

Warlock stared at the pieces of glass and the crushed face on the ground, at the minute hand all bent out of shape. He looked up at Brother Francis. He looked at Nanny, running across the lawn toward them.

And he started bawling. ...

[Click through to read more or finish on AO3]

Warlock knew that watch was special. He knew it was very old and delicate. In fact, the watch was the reason he'd learned the definitions of "fragile" and "breakable" and "irreplaceable." Once he had command of those words, he'd been allowed to hold it while seated on Brother Francis's lap. He'd even learned how to wind it, awestruck by the action and the shine. He always included the watch when he drew pictures of Brother Francis, attached by a chain of lumpy circles to the pocket of his baggy trousers.

Now the fragile breakable irreplaceable thing lay in pieces on the garden path.

Aziraphale was terrible at hiding his feelings. He was shocked and saddened, and it showed all over his face, though he did his best to suppress it. Every time Warlock looked up at him, the child cried harder.

Aziraphale was rapidly realizing that if he miracled his watch back together, even discreetly, Warlock was old enough that he would notice its reappearance. Warlock noticed everything. So the watch would have to stay at home, unworn, for several years at least -- perhaps until the end of the world. It had survived the Blitz, the trenches, the Seven Years' War, the Crimean War, and a number of unfortunate dining mishaps (though it was perhaps helped along by a few frivolous miracles). Aziraphale had not gone without it since he purchased it from the watchmaker himself back in 1689, in a dim workshop on the outskirts of Zürich. The angel felt some epoch ending. Endings made him sad. Especially these days, when they reminded him of The End.

But Crowley was there; of course Crowley was there. She scooped Warlock up in her arms even though he was getting big for that. She held him tight as he sobbed.

"Here's a how-de-do," she groaned, assessing the situation.

Aziraphale had been crouched over the ruined watch for so long now that his knees were stiff. He stood up and sighed heavily. "I suppose it's...it's only a watch," he said, dispirited. "I shouldn't grow so attached to worldly goods. ...And it's an opportunity to teach compassion, model forgiveness, and discuss respect for others' things, as well." He was letting the accent slip in his sadness, but Warlock was as far from paying attention as he could be.

"He's six! He can't track all that!" huffed Crowley.

"Well he's certainly tracking the bit about crushing the world under his heel!"

"Nnnnnrrrrrrgh," Crowley snarled in frustration. She was caught between her mandate to teach Warlock to be fantastically evil and her fear that succeeding would bring about the end of the world.

In the end, though, Warlock surprised them both by doing something entirely human, entirely his own. He cried himself out for several minutes on the lawn, and once he could speak again, he asked Aziraphale:

"Brother Francis, why did I do that?"

Then he looked to his Nanny, silently repeating the question to her with his bleary eyes.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at one another, blinking.

"Um," said Crowley.

"...Why d'you think ye did, me lad?" asked Aziraphale, retreating from his hurt feelings into his ridiculous bucktoothed persona.

Warlock sniffed. "I don't know. I din't think it would feel like that." He squatted and poked the exposed paper of the clock face.

Crowley knelt down next to him. "Can you put it back together?" she asked.

"No."

"So what do you think you should do now?"

"Nnnno!"

"That's not even...nngh." Crowley looked helplessly to the angel. But they were both at a loss.

"Can we go inside?" Warlock finally pleaded.

And so they did. As Nanny and Warlock walked away, Crowley restored the pocketwatch with a snap of her fingers without even looking back. It was good as new once again.

But Aziraphale knew that its time had come. He picked it up, enjoying the way it fit just so in his palm -- the comfort of a handful of crystallized time -- and then he clicked it shut and sent it back home to the bookshop, where it would have to stay for now.

That evening, just before supper, Warlock showed up on the porch of the greenhouse with Nanny in tow. His little face was wrinkled up in concern and contrition and other Very Grown-Up Feelings as he presented Brother Francis with a card. It featured a colored pencil drawing of all three of them holding hands, and yellow triangles on the ground to represent the afternoon's event. The unsteady lettering inside read "soRRY for yuor wAtch From wARLock."

"I made you this," said Warlock, and he handed over the most awkward little handcrafted project. It was roughly disc-shaped, and it featured play-doh, pipe cleaners, and glitter glue. The face was sharpied directly onto the half-dried crumbling clay, and the chain was made of taped rings of construction paper.

It plucked every heartstring the angel had. He melted on the spot.

Crowley rolled her eyes as Aziraphale poured out fond words of thanks for his new watch and forgiveness for the old one, embracing Warlock between tearful phrases. But Crowley also had her least cruel smirk on, the one that was very nearly affectionate.

Before they left, Crowley also noted in a low voice that there had been no more trouble with kicking and screaming and tearing up houseplants today. Warlock had been upset twice, but had managed to calm himself down without help both times.

After she took Warlock away, Aziraphale tried to miracle protection over his new handmade treasure so that the play-doh wouldn't crumble and the paper wouldn't crush -- only to find that Crowley had already done so.

+++

Two nights later, on a crosstown bus bound for Soho, Aziraphale noticed that the lanky redheaded passenger in front of him happened to leave behind a small shopping bag when he disembarked. Aziraphale folded up his newspaper and slipped into the empty seat to take a closer look. Inside was a wooden box wrapped in plain black paper. It was marked "AZ" in black ink that was only detectable by its slightly more reflective shine.

Aziraphale opened it right there, and of course, of course it was a new pocketwatch. From Crowley. Crowley knew watches. And Crowley knew Aziraphale.

It was hard to date this one exactly, but he estimated the 1820's, and English-made; it was thin and modern and elegant, much lighter than the other. It was in excellent condition, although pleasantly worn with time. He spent the rest of the bus ride home admiring it, listening to it, growing familiar with the new face, wondering who it might have belonged to before. When he reached his stop, he slipped it into the waistcoat pocket meant for the purpose, and he felt like a new angel.

Gifts. How strange. A gift from Warlock, and a gift from Crowley. Gifts of time, restored.

Perhaps there was still time enough before the end of the world. Perhaps there might be time, after.

Aziraphale set the new pocketwatch down on his desk back at the bookshop, right next to his old favorite of several hundred years and his handcrafted masterpiece from Warlock. He had never thought to own more than one pocketwatch at a time. Now he had three.

He picked up the telephone to call the responsible party and offer sincerest thanks, but after some dithering, he decided not to. Crowley hated thanks. Crowley could even be endangered by thanks, if the two of them weren't careful.

Perhaps, instead, Brother Francis could show the new timepiece to Warlock and Nanny in the morning. He could explain how precious this watch was, since it was a gift from a friend. He could say that breaking something irreplaceable was sad, but it was not the end, not as long as the world spun on. He could talk about the way new things follow old ones -- and though the new things might be different, they could be lovely too. New things were worth holding out hope for, and worth learning to treasure, given time.

And after explaining all of that to Warlock, he could give Crowley a wink.

Which would communicate his thanks for the gift far better than any phone call.

+++

Over the next few years, Crowley found himself browsing for new wristwatches more and more often in his spare time. He bought them at a faster clip, too -- three in the year Warlock turned seven, six the year after that. Each was sturdier than the last, made to withstand impacts and temperatures and pressure that no watch was likely to encounter in the wild. But Crowley could feel the world running down, he could see the future he looked forward to contracting into nothing, and he burned with protective instincts as everything in him rebelled.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale spent more and more time with his books, especially history and memoirs. As he looked back over the story of humanity that he loved, the story he'd spent so much time recording and remembering, he felt it all spinning up to something awful indeed: The End. When Warlock turned nine, Aziraphale turned to his books of prophecy, feeling no small amount of distress. Looking ahead was painful for him, especially now. The future was unsafe, it was wild, it was ineffable, and unfortunately it looked to be very very short. Aziraphale did not forget to wind his pocketwatch anymore. It was a tool now more than a treasure, as The End drew near. It seemed important to remember what time it was, these days.

+++

As it happened, Aziraphale almost didn't notice when his fourth watch joined the collection.

In his defense, it was rather a busy day.

And since the new pocketwatch was identical to the one that Crowley had given him, down to the last molecule, it was unsurprising that making the connection took the angel a little time.

But some weeks after the End of All Things didn’t quite, Aziraphale realized that the watch in his waistcoat pocket was a gift as well. And this time it wasn't from Crowley.

When the thought occurred to him, sitting in his favorite chair in his restored bookshop, Aziraphale gasped faintly and set aside his well-worn copy of Now We Are Six. He had been revisiting children's literature lately for some reason. The Just William books had set him on a roll.

"Crowley, dear," he said.

"Nnnnghm?" Crowley hummed from the couch, where he sprawled limbless and relaxed as a squashed spider might if it were sort of into being squashed.

"We really ought to go and visit Tadfield sometime soon, don't you think?"

"Ngk."

"I have a great deal to thank Adam for, after all. And we should check in on everyone."

"Mmf."

Aziraphale palmed the fourth watch he had ever owned and ran his thumb over the back. "Do you think a wristwatch would be an appropriate belated birthday gift for someone Adam's age?" he asked absently.

Crowley windmilled himself up off the couch and sauntered over to give Aziraphale a peck on the cheek. "Hell if I know. Prob'ly. Maybe. More tea?"

"Yes, it's about that time, isn't it? Thank you, darling. Ever so."

#good omens #promptposal #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale #crowley #fanfic #ao3 #crowley's ridiculous deep sea diving watch was one of many #warlock #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis #good omens anniversary

[rvmmm21]

. you know who i am? .

k, so i didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand. also, my first time writing in present tense? idk how to feel about it, but i guess it’s different. it felt so different writing for like actual humans lol. my first ‘normal’ fic, this is!

please for the sake of this making sense can we all pretend jennie, joy and irene are around the same age? also look who had fun with brand names. moi.

anyways this is [badgirl/bully!joohyun ‘persuading’ clumsy freshman!seungwan to be her assignment buddy] 

...

University culture is grating.

It’s overwhelming and it suffocates her. She has no time to prepare herself for the apparent runway the halls have become, what with the stupid-rich kids treating every day like it’s a fashion show; Seungwan can barely blink from one person to the next without being smacked across the face with fur coats from Chanel, Louis Vuitton sunglasses hidden under Prada nylon bucket hats and Off-White tracksuits tucked into Balenciaga socks. She hadn’t considered a future in law enforcement, but had she done so, anyone who tucked their trousers into their socks mid-calf would find themselves behind bars with the rest of the criminal scum. End of.

Just as she dusts her hands of that smug little sentiment, Seungwan finds herself with a face full of hair, and an even bigger nose full of what smells like laundry detergent. She lets out an embarrassing squeal, and the girl turns round to face her. A ghost of a scowl brushes across her face before she fixes her with an indiscernible gaze.

That scowl is an awful colour on a face as pretty as yours, she impulsively thinks.

Seungwan knows no more about the history of art and the intricacies of sculpture than the average Joe, but she’s sure Michelangelo missed the mark with David. She inwardly laughs at the thought of the man dedicating his entire being to crafting his flimsy idea of ‘perfection’ when she’d just bumped into it; the real thing. Of course, if that was defined by forming new constellations from faded freckles on flawless skin, or vantablack tresses framing sharp features like a painting, then yes; she was, by very definition, ‘the perfect (wo)man’. Easily outdoing anyone within a 50-metre radius.

Heck, make that 500.

The girl glares intimidation and Seungwan manages to save herself the humiliation of drooling in front of the white-hot beauty and her friends with a quick gulp, already feeling crimson seeping into her cheeks.

Perfect; now that she’s watched whatever new potential friendship this was blow up in her face, all she has to do is avoid her at all costs from here on out.

She mouths a haphazard apology and zooms past before anything can come of it, keeping her head down even after she’s well out of sight. Seulgi, Seulgi, Seulgi, save me, she brisk walks and begs all the way to class.

~~~~~~~~~~

A small commotion rings through the lecture hall of keyboard clicks and lethargic shuffles, calling to attention the girl who’s just spilt her drink down her front, now frantically digging around in her backpack for anything she can use to soak it up. A few jeering giggles are stifled, meanwhile students close by donate tissues and sympathetic looks. They are gratefully accepted with rapid-fire bows and machine-gun stuttered apologies.

“That freshman’s just ruined her rep, huh?” Jennie chuckles, “blindly walking into people… can’t even keep liquid in the cup. Give her a dog collar and a sign and she’s good to go.”

“Eh, I thought it was cute.”

Jennie’s retort comes quick.

“Sooyoung, you think anything in a skirt is cute.”

“What,” the girl says, ignoring the implication, “Haetnimie doesn’t wear skirts. And she’s not even wearing one right now. Plus, I didn’t say ‘she’s cute’, I said ‘it’s cute’. Learn the difference, idiot… it’s not like I wanna have at her or anything…”

Jennie shoots her an incredulous look and Sooyoung relents the banter. They both turn their attention to the girl sitting next to them, completely un-present in the moment. Sooyoung notices who she’s looking at and leans in to nudge her.

“Joohyun,” she whispers, poking her in the ribs when it’s obvious their friend is well on her way to signing a contract with NASA with how apparently well accustomed to space she is, “what do you think of her? Or are you still mad she walked into you?”

“Nah, forget it,” Jennie waves her off before she’s even had a chance to respond, “she’s not interested. I had to literally pay her money to go on a stupid double date with me in high school. I washed five cars for her to not even hold his hand once during the movie.”

Instead of participating, Joohyun sighs, casting the girl in question a seemingly uninterested stare. Unbothered eyes take in the sight she’s presented with: frustrated brows knitted together under a wispy caramel fringe and a blot of taro milk tea the size of Canada staining her baby blue jumper.

“I want her.”

The words are so simple her friends almost miss them entirely.

Sooyoung and Jennie battle for first place in an impromptu competition of ‘who’s-the-most-shocked’.

“You’re joking! Yah, you’re so annoying seriously, now?! You couldn’t have ‘wanted’ Min-seok in year nine?! I paid good, hard cash for that stupid boy!”

Joohyun looks at her, smug as a cat.

“I did it for you, Jennie. I didn’t even remember his name was Min-ho.”

“Min-seok.”

“Yeah, right.”

Sooyoung, wide-eyed and on the verge of passing out, grabs Joohyun by the shoulders, ignoring the glare she receives for it. “Joohyun, seriously? You’re serious. You want her like want her? Or want her like you wanted that cookbook after that trial week of Food Tech during summer break?”

Joohyun regards her, absolutely blasé. “I don’t follow recipes.”

“Exactly. Are you play-”

Sooyoung’s statement dies down with the rest of the class as the lecturer walks in. Furious clicking, hurricane scribbles and flipping pages are all that remain as the lesson kicks off, Jennie and Sooyoung casually scrolling through Instagram while the professor speaks. Joohyun leans forward, elbows on desk and chin resting on interlocked fingers. Her full attention is on the poor girl on the other side of the hall, intermittently peeling the cold, damp fabric away from her body, face flushed and avoiding all eye contact. Joohyun snickers at how uncomfortable it must be to have to sit through class in a wet jumper, how awkward and squeamish she looks.

Strawberry-tinted lips curl into the faintest smirk.

Hello cutie.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Yah! Kang Seul-Gi!” Seungwan calls out to chocolate-swirly space buns and baggy gym clothes hurtling towards her from across campus grounds, “where the heck were you?!”

“Sorry sorry! Overslept!”

“What!? Your class starts at noon! … and this is like… day 1!”

The girl looks like she’s barely had the chance to screw her head on the right way as she joins Seungwan on the steps of the university entrance.

Seungwan’s sweating buckets; physically and metaphorically, both from the waves of humidity and her all-exclusive one-idiot circus show this morning in class. That little muck up makes it to the tippy top of the endless list of embarrassing things Seungwan has stored in her long-term memory.

“You okay?”

Seungwan palms rosy cheeks as she takes another mouthful of her rainbow sherbet cone.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me.”

Seulgi chortles as her best friend recounts her ordeal, trying to subdue the sea of smart alec remarks bubbling under her skin.

“So that was great, too. And now I’m a laughing stock. A meme. They’re probably editing my stupid face as I speak…”

Seulgi reverts back to the first incident. Of course she would.

“Sooo… not like in the dramas then?”

Seungwan hangs her head, “not at all… she looked like she wanted to kill me.”

Seulgi lets out a snort before prodding her with more curious questions. The cogs in Seungwan’s brain churn and stutter as she tries to filter as many redundant adjectives as possible, only using ones she deems absolutely necessary to describe the most beautifully terrifying girl she’s ever seen.

Just then, as if Seungwan had meant to conjure hell itself, the three girls make an appearance from round the corner, chatting amongst themselves and taking Seungwan and Seulgi by surprise. The latter glances down where steely fingers are squeezing her wrist, as if that’d activate some magical cloak of invisibility. Seungwan’s as good as swallowed her tongue, shakily motioning to the girl in the middle of the black velvet storm with her eyes and a few nose twitches.

“H-her…” she stutters, finally getting her brain into gear after they leave, “… her.”

Innocent eyes double in size at the realisation.

“Wha-wait no, her?! You bumped into… her?! Her, Bae Joohyun leader of killer senior pack Bae Joohyun?”

Seungwan’s heart only thumps faster at the panic in Seulgi’s voice, but her words still mean nothing. The other girl swipes the dangling question marks off the top of her friend’s clueless head.

“Yo Wan-ah, you have to lay low. I mean why would you even – oh geez wow you really messed up. Can’t you look where you’re – I can’t even begin to – why would you – oh my gosh!”

Seulgi’s disjointed sentences allow enlightenment to trickle in and Seungwan slaps a hand over her forehead, mortified.

Oh god no. That’s the Bae Joohyun?

She’d heard the rumours. Many, rumours. Bae Joohyun who makes her juniors cry. Bae Joohyun; precious daughter of the most elusive mafia gang leader in all of Korea. Bae Joohyun; ice queen senior, sole roost-ruler of Hanyang University and the biggest bully you’ll ever meet.

Positively preposterous, empty claims with no evidence whatsoever to back them up… she hopes.

“Pft yeah okay she’s… mean, but she’s not like… jesus or anything she can’t… like… part the Red Sea or, turn water into vodka I don’t know,” Seungwan tries and fails at consoling herself, receiving nothing but an apologetic pat on the back from the girl beside her.

“Yeah well… she’s not the messiah but everyone treats her like it. And for the sake of your own neck, you’d better start too. Watch out, Wan-ah.”

Seungwan hadn’t paid any mind to those wet-eared freshmen whom she’d overheard during orientation gossiping about Joohyun and her charming little posse; but perhaps she should have.

She gulps, too afraid to think of anything else.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seungwan often fantasizes at work. There has to be some way to pass the time, after all.

Deep down she’s a sucker for romance, she knows it far too well; she envisions herself ten years down the line, letting whoever she has on the other end of the phone know that she’ll be home soon, that work has just been extra grueling today, and that she cannot wait to give them a cuddle. She’ll stir the dinner pot while she tells them stories, pausing in between to remind her lover how beautiful they are. Perhaps one day, the honour will be hers, to see her soulmate walking down the aisle.

But as the tinkling of the doorbell rings through her café, Seungwan files those cloudy fantasies for later and greets her first customers with a smile.

She hasn’t been sleeping very well, worrying her mind with ridiculous thoughts and impossible scenarios. All involving Joohyun as a tick-tocky alligator and herself as none other than Captain ‘I’m-actually-innocent-why-are-you-still-trying-to-eat-me’ Hook.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s five minutes to closing time. Seungwan suppresses the yawn in her chest and blinks away the moisture in her eyes. Just zero to sixty, five times in your head. You got this, Seungwan. Gosh, there’s no one in the café and hardly anyone outside. She briefly contemplates closing early.

“Small iced Americano.”

“Coming r – aii!! Ai…!”

Seungwan’s adrenaline spikes so high she could serve it ice cold in a coffee cup right now. Caught completely off guard, she begins stammering nonsense behind the till, crinkling the leather of her dark brown work apron and then using the hem of her polo shirt to wring clammy palms none the drier. All the while her customer stands there, brow quirked and card held out between slender fingers. Her expression, although slightly amused, threatens her to take her money, or else.

Before she can open her mouth, a buttery voice snaps her out of her trance.

“Hello, Seung – wan… hey, don’t we have Korean Literature together?”

Seungwan tries not to spontaneously combust on the job as she instinctively slaps a hand over her name tag. It’s useless though, it is now known. Known to her, of all people. The notorious Bae Joohyun; dressed in Acne jeans and an over-sized midnight Balenciaga cardigan, she looks like any other young, caffeine-dependent university student. But Seungwan knows a lot better.

Oh god save me… what the hell is she doing here!? This has to be a set up. She’s here for me. I’m going to die tonight. Mummy, daddy I love you.

“J-J-Juh…”

She can’t say it. All the years of schooling; learning the alphabet and how to enunciate your words drain out through the holes in her ears. She gawks dumbly, moving her head in what could be considered to be a nod.

“Ah, I thought I recognised you,” she doesn’t even bother trying to sound surprised, “I’m Joohyun.”

Don’t I know.

All Seungwan can do is nod again, hating herself for even breathing right now.

Joohyun clicks her tongue and fiddles with the card in her hand, impatient, “soooo… is this Americano free, or…?”

Yes, yes it’s free, please just take it and go! I’ll upgrade it to an extra-large if you want, on me! If it means I’m spared for the rest of my student life, take it all! Jesus, how did you even find me?!

“Ah, yes. Sorry! Uh, yes that’ll be um two fif – two… two thirty.”

There’s a shaky exchange of a debit card and a forgotten peace treaty iced Americano before Seungwan takes an unconscious shuffle back from the register, eyes glued to the smudge on the toe of her right sneaker, unable to meet Joohyun’s piercing gaze for too long.

“Thank you, Seungwan.”

The way she lingers on the ‘S’ whispers shivers down the girl’s spine. She glances up at the worst possible time, too, nearly jumping out of her mismatched Muji socks when she sees Joohyun’s hibiscus-tinted lips bloom into a coy smirk.

“I’ll see you around.”

And with what a shivering Seungwan could’ve sworn was a terrible attempt at a wink, Joohyun is gone. Clutching at her chest, she tries to slow her accelerated heartrate, praying she doesn’t need heart surgery after what she’s just been through.

Seulgi’s so hearing about this.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Daebak,” Sooyoung scoffs, side-eyeing Joohyun as she twiddles her pen.

“What else did you say?” Jennie presses, taking a sip of her chai latte.

Joohyun merely hums, disclosing no further details of her little cafe incident. She misses Jennie’s disbelieving grin when the walking, talking definition of awkward bumbles into the lecture hall, just on time, armful of texts and messy cinnamon locks matted to her face.

Sooyoung can’t resist a jest. “Joohyun, look. It’s idiocy on legs.”

Joohyun bites back a snort as her eyes follow the girl stumbling and murmuring apologies all the way to her seat. She slumps into the chair with burning cheeks, brushing her hair back with her fingers and fiddling with her gingerbread fringe. Too cute, Joohyun thinks, gritting her teeth.

It happens about mid-way in the class. The mention of pair work triggers the uniform eye-roll, groan and grumble combo, more so from the seniors, who sure as hell don’t want to be paired with icky, snot-nosed first-years who can barely lift their spoons to their mouths. The grumbling evaporates when it is stated that, although compulsory, it is not a fixed-paired assignment.

Seungwan breathes a sigh of relief along with a few others, content to set up camp in the aisles of the library, perfectly undisturbed. But she suddenly feels paler than chalk; flashbacks of heeled boots, midnight cardigans and heart surgery flooding into her veins once more when she catches a pair of stealthy pupils regarding her from across the room. A deceptively sweet smile sparkling on those dreaded lips, breath-taking and utterly petrifying all at once. Even from the other side of a bloody lecture theatre, Bae Joohyun has Seungwan sweating bullets and unconsciously fidgeting at her collar to release steam no one else can see.

About a minute away from hurling herself out the nearest window, Seungwan diverts her attention to her notebook at the last second. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Seungwan stabs her chopstick into the egg yolk, watching it dribble all over her rice. She’s jealous of her own best friend who doesn’t have to live every waking hour with a red sniper laser dot on her back.

Should’ve majored in art too, goddamnit, she curses, poking her lunch in a dazed stupor.

“Wan-ah!”

She scoffs at the familiarity, but Seulgi’s crescent moon grin makes Seungwan momentarily forget.

~~~~~~~~~~

The black cursive of Han Kang’s literature stares up at her as she tries to digest what she’s reading, but she swears her brain allocates the worst times for that sneaky Bae Joohyun to pop up like an unwanted advertisement. Seems like now, she’s going to have to sit through an entire trilogy.

Despite the crippling dread, Seungwan can’t help but wonder. They’re so silly, but she wonders them anyway. She feels free to let her mind wander in the safety of the university library.

Bae Joohyun; Seungwan’s mind is unchanged; she’s the most beautiful girl she’s laid eyes on. It’s a unique kind of beauty; mysteriously edgy, knife-like and femme fatale. The grin Joohyun gave her in class this morning, she knows she should be running from it, but it doesn’t stop the fact that it’s been playing in her head on repeat ever since.

Seungwan unintentionally imagines what it would be like to kiss that sunset-infused smirk right off her face.

Too bad she’s a mean one, she sighs.

She doesn’t get much further with the actual task at hand when her blood-pressure plummets; she watches leader of the killer senior pack, Bae Joohyun, artlessly sit down in the chair next to her. It’s like the world stops spinning for the second it takes their eyes to meet, and Seungwan quivers in her seat, thoughts of literature fleeing out the back of her brain.

Trying to be polite, she gives her a courteous nod and returns to her reading. But Joohyun just sits there, staring, peppering her body with smoking bullet holes – it frightens her in the weirdest way. She can’t help the tiny bubble of… excitement? At the fact that Hanyang’s notorious Bae Joohyun is sitting next to her. Probably to get close enough to kill her, of course, but she’d count her blessings, no matter how terrifying. The thread finally snaps, and Seungwan is able to channel her inner stone statue no more, wordlessly excusing herself and stumbling to the bathroom.

It’s empty and silent; exactly what she needs. She flicks some cool water over the burning in her cheeks and dabs at the heat welled in the corners of her eyes.

But just as she’s about to leave, Joohyun’s standing in the doorway; cloaked in all her intimidating aura and eclipsing her only exit.

“Bathroom break so soon?” Joohyun’s voice drips into her ears like melted honey as she observes a wry smile crawl onto her face, “we’ve barely gotten started. Let’s get back to work… partner.”

It’s kicking in only now what Joohyun is saying. And it takes everything Seungwan has to formulate a pathetic response.

“Oh right, a-about that,” she nervously chuckles, averting her gaze and scratching the back of her neck, “uh, I-I was just um… I don’t wanna drag anyone down with – you know because you’re a senior and all – was m-maybe thinking –”

She doesn’t get very far when Joohyun begins advancing, walking towards her with such sure, dominating strides Seungwan has no choice but to back away, the piercing squeaks of Adidas sneakers easily drowning out the clicking of Louboutin heeled boots. Joohyun sports that coy smirk the whole time she’s cornering poor Seungwan, further and further back, until…

A tiny yelp is torn from her as her back hits the wall. Seungwan strains up to meet her eyes, 5 inch boots are a very useful intimidation tool. Her heart feels about as fragile as sugar glass, and she thinks it would do her good to invest in those styrofoam packing peanuts and a roll of caution tape.  

Joohyun observes the little caramel-haired mouse girl she’s caught; pressed against the cool, beige tile, both hands out in front of her, quivering like a jello pile. She quickly notes the way the top of Seungwan’s head just about grazes the bottom of the wall-mounted paper towel dispenser, and it stretches her grin even further. She looks irresistible, those doe eyes the colour of warm cocoa. Who knew she had a thing for sweet faces, well-intentions and weak-hearts?

Realising her hands aren’t doing anything to keep the other girl at bay, Seungwan drops them like a tonne of bricks - she’s never felt so small and helpless in her life. The rich scent of vanilla and mint tickles her nose; Joohyun’s too close, and she really needs those fragile stickers to go over the thumping in her chest. But she also wants to nuzzle in closer to that intoxicating shampoo smell.

“P-please… I-I didn’t mean to…”

Her voice sounds so tiny and fragile, it tugs on Joohyun’s heartstrings.

“You know who I am?” she demands in somewhat of a growl, caging the smaller girl in with both arms pressed on either side of her head, causing her to gasp out, “you’ve heard?”

Seungwan shrinks a little more, petunias searing onto her milky cheeks at the proximity, but terror-stricken nonetheless. It’s burning, and it’s too much.

A small ‘mm’ and a teary nod is all she can offer.

Joohyun shoots her a challenging smirk, a kaleidoscope of obsidian pebbles flicker in her darkened eyes as she brings a single finger under the girl’s chin, tilting her so she’s forced to look up.

“And you still think you have a choice?”

Seungwan wishes she could rear up at the challenge, hammer some humility into that smug attitude in front of her; put Bae Joohyun in her place. But who is she to change the way the world works? Girls like Joohyun toy with what they want, and get what they toy with; the natural order of things Seungwan has no hope of re-routing. Her resolve, her dignity and everything she’s built up in her 20 years on earth crumbles at her feet; she doesn’t bother picking up the pieces.

With that, she looks up at the girl who still has her locked in with her eyes alone, and meekly shakes her head.

Seungwan can finally breathe when Joohyun detaches herself from the wall and runs both hands down the front of her blouse. She hears a chuckle and before she knows it, there’s an arm around her waist, moving them in tandem.

She doesn’t see the triumphant smile etched into Joohyun’s rosebud lips, like she’s swallowed a coat hanger. All she knows is that they’re now bound by this assignment, and that Joohyun is leaving with exactly what she came for.

Seungwan hides a shy grin of her own.

#wenrene #university au #bully irene #red velvet #i got carried away #seungwan the cafe worker #seungwan doesn't mind #red velvet scenarios #red velvet imagines #kpop scenarios #girl group scenarios

[redbootsthetimetraveller]

I wanted to request the “OC dressed by other OC” things but you’ve got so many!!! And they’re all so cool!! Would you mind saying what some of your favourite ones’ styles are (i.e. mod, psychedelic, hippie, glam, etc.)?

Love your art❤️

oh I am always up to talk about my characters and thank you for sending this!! I appreciate these sorta things because it’s a nice message AND I get to talk about my characters which helps me actually figure them out lmao

and I know you’re asking for my favourites but that is subject to change and I want to talk about all of them. and I’m not entirely sure exactly what styles of dress they each come under but I’ll use the terms where I see fit, and I’ll just. ramble about their individual dress styles. that’s the same thing right!

this is gonna be long (spoiler alert: IT IS) so to keep things short for those who don’t want to scroll through a mile long post, I’ll put it under the cut

so I’m gonna start with the starstrucks because they ARE my like. main characters. I am planning something with them which is in its very early stages of development but I’m hoping that when things around me settle down I can work on it a bit better than what I have (but I procrastinate the things I WANT to do so we’ll see. feel free to nag me about it though)

roger claire: considering he’s like. the main-main character (not intended, that was meant to be snowy but HERE WE ARE) his outfits and style of dress changes a lot but also it’s not that creative for a lot of it. at the start he wears more mod clothing, but he’s not that daring since he is pretty cautious. he had a strict family. anyway around 1965 he starts getting a lot more daring and he’s definitely not an extravagant dresser he does know how to dress sharply despite that so you get things like his peacoat that I DEFINITELY didn’t copy directly from micky dolenz on the cover of more of the monkees, and that really heavily decorated overcoat that’s 18th-century inspired but also Groovy, y’know? that sorta thing carries over into the seventies where he pretty much wears shirts with the sleeves rolled up, light coloured trousers, and a few t-shirts because Variety™. haven’t really thought about beyond that but he’d probably dress like a cool dad

pete sutton: he’s got sensory issues so he’s even MORE cautious in dress style than roger. main thing is turtlenecks though. and a lot of purple. there’s a quote about ray davies being the kink most likely to wear a tie offstage and I think pete’s the starstrucks’ equivalent

snowy smith: he’s got the most defined wardrobe out of the lot of them! black-and-blue striped jumper, a black peacoat, blue jeans, blue-green shirts, his leather jacket (which has blue-violet stripes on it so it’s unique from the million other jackets I draw) since he’s definitely on the rocker side of things and cuban-heeled beatle boots he doesn’t need since he’s already 6′1

charlie morris: REALLY mod. at the start of the story he has a collarless jacket with pink trimmings. his colours are yellow and green but I also always end up drawing him in red

davey peacock: mod, but the mod that your parents approve of. does get a bit more adventurous when his uncle, the manager, gets fired, and I gave him a union jack jacket like pete townshend had at some point lol. he also gives hippie clothing a shot around 1968 and in the eighties he has a mullet and not a good one

rory locking: SO MUCH ORANGE. aviator sunglasses, collared shirts with the first two buttons undone, his kinda short jacket that’s plasticky leather with a fluffy lining (those style jackets have a particular name don’t they? I can’t remember it) but like. there’s so much orange. why did I do that my markers are dying

mick lily: light was denim. that’s about it.

next we have the midnight delusions

jimmy jade: scarves. he has a gold embroidered black suit that I’ve drawn a couple of times and ALWAYS regret it because OW, pink, and a lot of black

teddy van alst: he has a leather jacket. wears interesting trousers and really plain shirts typically. he’s the one with the cool glam makeup even though it’s 1966 and glam isn’t exactly a thing yet. he’s a rocker though

arthur floyd: has a leather jacket like his bf teddy! it has roses embroidered on it. he has a rose sorta aesthetic going on, along with the blue-and-gold star outfit that I drew him in a couple of times. he’s sort of a carnaby street mod if that’s a thing lol

lucky littleproud: gonna be real with you he’s boring he wears colourful shirts and trousers that’s about it. I haven’t worked on him much :(

peter morrison: between hippie and mod. definitely more on the hippie side compared to his sibling

stevie maple (counting him here even though he kinda isn’t a Member): textured shirts, he’s more of an american mod. considering he IS american (unfortunately)

all of those side characters I have absolutely no idea how to group but are part of the same story as those two bands:

sylvia chase: mod, but she also doesn’t put much effort into her appearance. that’s the best way to describe her style

holly keys: she’s a model so literally whatever is the ‘hottest’ trend

james cassidy-bell: he dresses like brian jones in the early-mid sixties

katherine robinson: mod, and then the most avant-garde things she can find if she’s going in public. and a lot of red lipstick (that’s her Thing)

morgan morrison: MOD but also like that sorta soft aesthetic thing that was popular in like. 2017. because why not am I right

christopher goldstein: he is also a model but I draw him in really dandy-ish stuff a lot. him and jimmy sorta have a prep/goth dynamic going on

and that’s about it for the characters who really are gonna appear often enough to bother describing their dress styles! moving on now

keith neptune: band tshirts and anything with patches on it.

nico (haven’t come up with his surname yet, if y’all have suggestions I’ll take it): baggy jeans, sneakers, baggy tshirts, and has a denim vest with patches on it but Different types of patches to keith. if keith has the sorta etsy partches nico has ‘I pickpocketed these from a bikey who hasn’t showered in a month from a servo in the middle of nowhere’ patches

grey: they have a brow leather jacket that I think was inspired by jim morrison, a stamp out the beatles jumper, and a really big and motheaten black woolen jumper which they wear with beatle-boots, a white collared shirt, and like. not black jeans but very desaturated blue jeans that happen to be very dark

jude anne sutton (yes I know she and pete have the same surname they’re not related they’re in different universes): mod. enough said

rene shannon: mod but boring. he’s Repressed y’know

leslie (I’m gonna change her surname lol): honestly mainly shift dresses and that one really simple black-and-white dress, and their ripoff black watch tartan jacket, and tall boots.

danny: honestly? he dresses like a mod but at heart he’s a rocker. he’s a rocker who washes

that One character I won’t name: it’s complicated. he goes from trying to be a teddy boy with the rest of his friends and then it goes a little wrong and they fight about it and then they discover early rocker culture and he sticks with that for a while and then starts dabbling in more mod stuff and then DEFINITELY his style changes into the dandy stuff of the middle of the sixties. you know the stuff I’m talking about. and then he’s a hippie for about two seconds and goes back to dandy stuff but throws a few of his old rocker pieces back in. THEN he has a breakdown and fucks off to america for three years (returning home like twice for two days before fucking off again) where he’s got a peacoat, his old leather jacket, a turtleneck, a few shirts, and two pairs of jeans. that’s it. for three years. and workboots obviously because he’s trainhopping. I have that part very worked out as you can tell!

harper (character I have sketched exactly Once but have his style very sorted out): he starts off pretending to be a teddy boy in the way that a fifteen-year-old with a highly overprotective and lowkey horrible mother would probably be. he is also kinda Broke for that exact reason. and then he and the above character get into more rocker stuff and that’s probably where the two drift apart and where rene/jude/leslie/whoever else I may come up with would come in

anyway!!! I think that’s every character I have a defined style for. some of it’s a little hard to explain but I hope this cleared things up. I have also had a migraine for most of today so my ability to use words is extra impaired lmao!

and I’m so sorry for just. rambling. but I do have a lot of characters and I love them all so much and I’m so happy you like them too!!!

#ocs #oc band #ask/ #text/ #I warn you. it's a Lot #and thank you I needed the excuse to just TALK about them and ik it's not what you asked for exactly but it's something right???? #but like. I dunno if I know things well enough to say definitively 'that character is a mod and that one's a rocker' and if they even FIT s #because as you can tell if you're reading this some of them have less of a neat square box of fashion they fit in and more a colour or a pa #particular article of clothing #this post made my browser crash. oops

[organabanana]

Four things Esti kept secret, and one she couldn’t | Ronit/Esti

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Disobedience (2017) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Underage Relationships: Ronit Krushka/Esti Kuperman, Ronit Krushka & Esti Kuperman Characters: Ronit Krushka, Esti Kuperman Additional Tags: Femslash February, Femslash February 2020, Pre-Canon, baby gays doing baby gay things Series: Part 3 of Femslash February 2020 Summary:

Just like it says in the tin: five little snippets of Esti and Ronit's relationship before Ronit left.

[ao3 link]

"What do you think?"

Ronit walked out of the bathroom stall and stuck her hands in the pockets of her trousers.

Her trousers.

Where had Ronit even found a pair of trousers, anyway? Esti looked around as if she was expecting one of their parents to suddenly pop up from behind a column and start screaming at them.

"Esti," Ronit said in that tone she used that sometimes felt like a very heavy blanket had been draped over Esti to make her feel calm and safe, "nobody knows us here."

And Esti knew Ronit was right, of course. They were far away from home, in one of their Underground Adventures (Ronit's idea, always) where they moved from one line to the next at random until they felt free. Until they could breathe.

"So?" Ronit tried again, and this time she turned around so Esti could take a proper look. "What do you think?"

The trousers were a bit big for Ronit. They were baggy and a little long even if she'd rolled them up at the ankles to keep them from dragging on the floor. They didn't fit right at all. And yet...

"They suit you," Esti finally declared, voice thoughtful and head tilted as she considered the picture in front of her, "even if they're not quite your size."

Ronit beamed at her best friend, clearly delighted with her assessment, and Esti wondered if maybe Ronit hadn't been asking just about the trousers after all.

"Dovid gave them to me. Well- he doesn't know I'm wearing them, of course, he thinks I've donated them." Ronit looked moderately guilty for the lie, but after a second of silent consideration she shrugged it off. "I suppose in a way I have donated them. Just... to myself."

Esti let out a quiet chuckle, even if she shook her head out of some kind of need to let it be known she didn't exactly approve of this whole thing. And yet...

"Let me see again," she heard herself say, cheeks tingling with what she knew was the beginning of a blush, "stick your hands in your pockets like before."

Because there had been something about that pose. And when Ronit smirked and stood like before, slouching slightly like taking off her heavy long skirt had relaxed every muscle in her body, Esti couldn't look away.

Suddenly the trousers looked like they'd been made for Ronit. Or maybe Ronit had been made for trousers instead. Ronit had always been beautiful, but now she was... was she handsome? Esti licked her lips, unable to find a word to pin to the feeling warming her up from the inside out.

"Do you really like them?"

Esti nodded, even if the more she looked, the more she realized she didn't like the trousers after all. She liked how they looked on Ronit. Not because they fit perfectly, like the ones Dovid or Aaron or any other boy wore day in and day out. She liked that they didn't fit quite right, because Ronit wasn't Dovid or Aaron or any other boy. She was Ronit, and she was a girl.

That was what she liked.

But Esti never said that out loud.

***

"Look what I've found."

They were sitting on Esti's bed, even if they should've been asleep already. Their parents didn't mind sleepovers. Esti knew they loved that she was so close with the Rav's daughter. Of course, her parents didn't know Ronit's sleeping bag had never been used, because the girls much preferred to share Esti's bed. Esti didn't know exactly why they'd have a problem with that, really - there was nothing inappropriate about two girl friends sharing a bed - but something told her they would very much oppose it if they knew.

There was something that felt a bit like danger lurking right under the surface every time Esti climbed into bed next to Ronit and felt her best friend's warm body beside her.

And that same sense of danger - or maybe it was excitement? - tingled up her spine as she looked at the object Ronit was currently showing her.

Esti knew what it was. A CD player, small and round, with its earphones dangling on the end of a long black wire. She'd seen plenty of them during their Underground Adventures, but she'd never used one.

Obviously. Why would she? Music like that was forbidden, after all.

"You've found it?" Esti asked with a hint of doubt in her voice. The same doubt showing in the way she cocked one of her eyebrows. "Really?"

Ronit shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Esti supposed it didn't. It was forbidden either way.

And maybe that's why she hesitated before reaching for it and placing a single fingertip on its smooth metallic surface. She was almost surprised when no lightning came from above to smite her right then and there.

"Has it got a CD inside?"

Ronit nodded, white teeth catching her bottom lip as if she was struggling to contain an excited grin. And truth be told, she likely was doing just that.

When she held one of the earphones out for her to take, Esti shook her head. It was one thing to see it and allow it to be in her room. But to actually use it...

"What are you afraid of?"

Ronit's question was simple enough, and yet Esti found herself unable to find a decent answer. What was she afraid of?

She didn't know. So she figured there was no reason for her to say no, after all.

"Ready?" Ronit could barely hide her excitement once they were each wearing one headphone and she pressed play.

It was a slow melody. Unsurprisingly, Esti didn't know it at all. But after a few seconds, she decided she liked it. It was nice. Warm, somehow. It made her want to...

"Dance with me," Ronit said, jolting Esti out of her thoughts like that lightning that didn't strike when she broke the rules earlier. By the time Esti fully processed what her best friend had just said, Ronit was already on her feet, one hand extended towards Esti as she kicked her sleeping bag out of the way.

"I don't know how to dance, Ronit. You don't know how to dance."

"I've seen people dance,"  Ronit said, holding Esti's hand and tugging lightly until she was also on her feet, "we can figure it out."

It was very hard to argue with Ronit Krushka when she had made up her mind about something. And clearly, she'd made up her mind about this.

"I'll be the man," she said, and Esti could've sworn Ronit's voice sounded a little lower than normal, "so you just have to follow my lead. Okay?"

Esti nodded, feeling a little like she'd lost all her words somewhere between the moment when she stood up and the second she felt Ronit's hand pressing against the small of her back.

"A bit closer," Ronit's voice was barely above a whisper, so quiet Esti was surprised she could hear it over the beating of her heart. She let Ronit's hand guide her closer and closer, until there was only a sliver of hair between their bodies. And then, even though Ronit didn't tell her to, she took another step forward.

She could feel the warmth of Ronit's skin even through their nightshirts.

"Ready?" Another whisper, and Esti nodded once again. Ronit led them as they swayed slowly to the beat of whatever song they were listening to. Esti didn't care. All she cared about was Ronit, and her warmth, and how solid she felt against her. How her breathing seemed to be a bit shallower than normal, and what it felt like when Ronit's blunt fingernails gently scratched against her back.

They'd been dancing for three and a half songs when she felt Ronit's hand move in a different way. Softly, almost hesitantly. Ronit never hesitated, but she did right then, for just a second, before her fingertip slowly traced a heart on the small of Esti's back.

She never told Ronit she'd noticed what she'd drawn.

***

Ronit was leaning against their tree, eyes closed as the sun hit her face and made her look like something out of a painting. It was early Spring, still chilly enough outside for both of them to be wearing coats over their sensible dresses. Lighter coats, though. Not quite the heavy affairs from mid-winter that made Esti feel like she was lugging an entire bed spread around.

Esti loved that early Spring sunshine in an almost protective sort of way. It felt so fragile and small, never quite strong enough to actually warm you up properly, but still there. Bright in a very different way from the warm sunlight from later on in the year.

"I thought you wanted to go over your notes before the test," Ronit said without opening her eyes, voice a little lazy like it always was in their early morning walks to school. She'd never been a morning person, but she still woke up a half hour earlier than she had to just to walk with Esti. Esti thought about that quite a lot.

"I did. I do. I have them right here," Esti waved the cards in the air, as if that would somehow make the many History facts written on them fall off and enter her brain.

"And yet you're staring at me like a little creep."

Esti felt her cheeks flush. She'd been caught, hadn't she? She just didn't know how, when Ronit's eyes had been closed the whole time. Still, there was really no need to call her a creep.

"You're so unpleasant in the morning. I should stop talking to you before lunch time."

"You could never. You'd miss me far too much."

Deep down, Esti knew Ronit was right. Just the thought of going a day without seeing Ronit was enough to make something twist uncomfortably in her chest, to the point where she simply refused to even entertain the idea at all. It'd never happen, anyway. She wouldn't allow it.

"I'm sorry I called you a little creep," Ronit said after a few moments in silence, and when Esti looked at her she saw her friend's eyes were no longer closed, "I didn't sleep well last night."

Esti no longer cared about her exam, or the facts in the cards. All she cared about was the hint of something very close to sadness she swore she saw in Ronit's eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, I swear!" Ronit reached for Esti's hand and gave it a squeeze, as if that would make Esti believe her. "I was just up thinking until late, that's all."

Ronit didn't let go of her hand, and Esti didn't pull away. Instead, she found herself taking a slow step forward, as if Ronit in that early Spring light was a star she couldn't help but gravitate towards.

They'd had this conversation before, with some very minor variations. Ronit would say she'd been worried or preoccupied or thinking about something, and Esti would read the rest right there in hazel eyes. Because it was obvious, wasn't it, the thing that was keeping Ronit up at night. The very same thing that wouldn't let Esti look her mother in the eye after spending time with Ronit, even if nothing happened. And nothing ever happened. They made sure of that by never discussing it out loud.

Esti and Ronit could have entire conversations in complete silence. They'd speak in class and at Temple and right in front of their parents without saying a word. Who needed those? It was all right there in looks and slight brushes of hands and even in the empty spaces between the words they did say.

And that was enough. That was safe. Like a wall of bulletproof glass between and around them.

"What were you thinking about?"

Esti's voice was so quiet it may as well have been a whisper, and yet she could've sworn the sound of that safety glass shattering was loud enough to be heard all the way back in her house.

And Ronit heard it, too. Her eyes rounded and she straightened her back, no longer leaning against their tree.

"What?"

"Last night, when you couldn't sleep," Esti let the pad of her thumb brush over Ronit's knuckles, "what were you thinking about?"

Ronit looked down at their hands for a moment before she met Esti's eyes again.

"You."

Esti felt the air in her lungs disappear as if her heart needed the extra room in her chest. It wasn't beating. Not quite. It was throwing itself against her rib cage like it needed to be set free.

And maybe it did.

Ronit was waiting for an answer. A comment, a reaction, something. And Esti had so many things she could say to free up even more space for her heart.

She could've said she thought of Ronit at night, too, and the way she felt kept her up for hours past her bedtime.

She could've said the reason she couldn't look her mother in the eye were the things she wished would happen, even if they never do.

Never did.

Because Esti didn't say any of those things out loud. Instead, she held on to Ronit's hand a little tighter and leaned in until her lips brushed against her best friend's.

The only reason Esti was sure it wasn't all a dream was that in her dreams, it was always Ronit kissing her. But once that first step was taken, who did what and in what order seemed to stop mattering altogether.

Esti had never kissed anyone before, and she didn't need to to know Ronit was the only person she ever wanted to kiss. Ronit's hands were the only ones she wanted in her hair, Ronit's body was the only one she wanted to feel pressed against her own, and Ronit's teeth were the only ones she wanted nipping at her bottom lip.

She decided, right then and there, that she didn't ever want to have another first kiss.

She just never said it out loud.

***

They hadn't even bothered pulling Ronit's sleeping bag out of its case.

It would have felt silly at that point.

And Esti knew they had been right. The Rav, the scriptures, her parents, the well-meaning elders who sometimes handed out free advice for young women just like Esti. They had all been right, because now Esti knew it was true: the first sin was the hardest.

After that - once that line had been crossed - nothing ever felt the same. What had seemed unthinkable was suddenly not quite that big a deal after all. A mountain became a step. And the scariest part of it all was Esti wasn't sure where it had all started.

What had been that first sin? The one that started the snowball effect that had landed her on her back in her bed, nightshirt up around her waist and a hand pressed over her mouth to keep herself quiet while Ronit moved between her thighs?

She didn't know.

She didn't care.

What she felt for Ronit was wrong, but true. Ending up right there in that moment, feeling Ronit's fingers inside her while Ronit's taste still lingered on her lips and tongue felt inevitable. Of course they'd end up like that, as together as two people could possibly be. There had never really been any other options. Not really.

Ronit's fingers hooked inside her, and Esti's back arched off the mattress, the quietest hint of a whine just barely making it past the hand against her mouth.

"Shhh," Ronit whispered, muffling a giggle against Esti's inner thigh, "you'll get us caught."

"Don't stop."

"Never."

And Esti let her eyes flutter closed, as hearing that was a relief and not just further proof that she was going to keep sinning. Over and over again. Straying further and further away from what was right.

But Esti didn't care.

Not when Ronit's mouth joined her fingers between Esti's thighs and Esti felt the first waves of pleasure crashing against her. Not when her fingers fisted in Ronit's hair to keep her right there as Esti struggled to keep herself quiet and her lungs breathing through it all. Not when she was absolutely sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that that was Heaven, right there.

And as long as she had that, she didn't need the one everyone else kept talking about.

But she never would've dared say that out loud.

***

Ronit looked pale as a ghost, hazel eyes wide in a panicked look Esti had never seen in her life. Her cheeks were flushed from the effort of running from her own house to Esti's, her chest heaving with the effort of trying to catch her breath.

Esti was so shocked she couldn't even ask what was happening. All she could do was stare.

"They know."

"What? Who?"

"They know, Esti."

She took a step back, one of her hands feeling around for something to hold on to just to give her a sense of reality after the world had been knocked off-center. Her fingers gripped the edge of a nearby table as if it was the only thing keeping her feet on the floor.

Ronit was still talking. About someone seeing them and telling the Rav. About her parents being at Ronit’s house right then, and the three of them talking about how to fix it. Fix them. She talked about running away. About savings, and cameras that could be sold. About plane tickets.

"Together?"

Esti heard the word as if it'd come from someone else instead of out of her own lips. It was small, just like Esti felt. A little desperate. A lot scared.

"Of course," Ronit looked like the mere question was unthinkable, like there had never been any other option, "always."

Esti felt herself nod.

"Hey," Ronit said, stepping close enough to hold Esti's hand in her own, and then close enough to press a lingering kiss to her temple. She didn't say anything, but it was all right there in her eyes for Esti to see when she pulled back. They'd never really needed many words.

The silence stretched for a few moments, just enough for all those unspoken things to wrap around Esti's heart and get it beating properly once again.

"Pack a bag," Ronit finally said, taking a step back and popping the bubble she'd created around them just seconds before, "we'll meet at our tree in fifteen minutes."

"Okay," she felt like she was slowly regaining control of herself. Like she could think again, finally. Like she could wrap her head around what was happening.

They weren't a secret anymore. And they were running away.

Together.

"Okay," she repeated, a little more solid this time. They were going to be okay. And Ronit nodded, because she didn't need Esti to say it out loud to know exactly what she meant.

But as she watched Ronit walk towards the door, Esti suddenly felt like they'd left enough things unsaid.

Some things just had to be said out loud.

"Ronit," she called out, and the look in Ronit's eyes made her feel like she'd never been more right in her life, "I love you."

Out loud.

Ronit nodded just once, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She was too scared for anything more, Esti knew.

"Fifteen minutes," Ronit finally said right before she left, and Esti knew she meant she loved her, too.

And after tonight, they wouldn't have to keep anything secret anymore.

#disobedience #resti #ronit x esti #fic #femslashfeb2020 #fanfic

[escapismprison]

stutter- c.b.

a.n.- hey y’all, i wrote this a little while ago and i thought i might as well post it. there’s nowhere near enough friends fics, especially for chandler so. i listened to stutter by maroon 5 while writing it so if you wanna get the vibe, listen to that. this is set around season 1 of friends bc that’s the best chandler look tbh. also i would die for mondler. enjoy ✨

the first time you opened the door to central perk you noticed two things:

one, the smell of your saviour, your messiah, your own personal jesus (although depeche mode was never really your thing). coffee.

two, a group of six twenty-somethings, making slightly too much noise, hanging around a collection of comfy-looking sofas and chairs near the centre of the café.

now fairly obnoxious groups of friends wasn’t something you weren’t used to, often being a member of said groups meant you were surrounded by them in clubs, work etc. however, this particular group caught your eye. seating yourself at the bar and sneakily inspecting them further, it’s instantly evident there are six very different personalities within the collection.

you see one girl with short-ish blonde hair (who’s conventionally attractive looks pen her to be the princess) playfully poking a cute, cheerful, mixed-raced guy who appears to be enjoying the attention. the player, you assume. next, you cast your eyes over to the worn sofa and see a woman with black bobbed hair and sharp cheekbones, sat with her hands placed carefully in her lap, listening intently to her wildly gesticulating other-blonde-friend. the mom friend and the weirdo, of course.

finally, the last pair in the bunch contains a dopey-eyed, tall guy- the brainiac- who is trying to get the attention of his floppy-haired, attractive- very attractive actually- friend; who just so happens to be glued to his spot on the chair, staring at you with wide-eyes and mouth agape.

his brain seems to catch up with the rest of him, however, as he jerks himself out of his trance, meets your inquisitive gaze, and realises his current predicament. you watch with amusement while he desperately attempts to hide his ever-worsening blush with his hands, leaning on one with his elbow on the arm of his chair, then frantically switching to sitting upright and covering his mouth with the other.

quietly conversing with his friend, he covers the side of his face with one hand, acting as a shield to protect his cheeks from the burning sensation your stare has inflicted on them. despite his concerns, the gesture is pointless as, regardless of his make-shift barricade, the racket from the remainder of the shop would prevent you from hearing his impromptu confessional anyway.

you quickly note you haven’t thought of the role this man has in his friendship group and bring your gaze down to survey his fashion choices. these, unfortunately, don’t reveal a lot to you as baggy clothes and untucked shirts are typical current fashion. a trend follower maybe? though he hasn’t quite mastered the cool and collected persona of many men you had met before. (admittedly, these men had an 100% chance of ending up being dull as dish water.) but curiously, he didn’t seem to be a ‘many men’ kind of guy.

in your reverie you hadn’t noticed the man, as discreetly as possible, (so not very), pump himself up to approach the mysterious woman who had been observing him so carefully. you panic a little as this handsome figure hastily finishes his conversation with his, presumably, wingman companion. he has also managed to achieve the support of the group surrounding him, who award him with not-so-subtle thumbs ups and pats on the back. you clock a few evaluative glances thrown your way. turning your head to avoid their inspection, you manage to fumble into your handbag and pull out your round pocket-mirror, for a rushed last-minute appearance check. the mirror being an item that has been heralded as a life-saver many times in previous desperate situations.

by the time you have closed the mirror, placed it back in your bag and zipped it up again, the man is half-way to your stool at the bar. his friends watch his movements eagerly, waiting for the outcome of his brave decision.

you scan him as he nears you and re-affirm that he is definitely very attractive. a stab of nerves materialises in your stomach.

‘hi,’ he says ‘c-chandler is, my name.’ horror washes over his features while he visibly attempts to pull himself together. his hand twitches and hurriedly runs itself through his hair. you internally scream at this gesture because, amazingly, he has managed to make himself ten times more attractive with a single action.

you were fucked.

chuckling lightly at his apprehension and as a result of your own nerves, you reply with ‘hey chandler my name is (y/n)’ in an slightly incomprehensible mumble.

you all but giggled at your equally embarrassing anxious state. the childish sound made your cheeks heat up instantly and you meet the eyes of the man standing in front of you.

he seems to have somewhat regained his confidence as he gently laughs in relief at the realisation that his target is just as unsure as himself.

‘that wasn’t a great start was it?’ he sighs.

‘maybe not,’ you respond, smiling brightly at him, ‘but it was a start at least.’

a cheeky smile adorns his face that you’re pretty sure gave you heart palpitations for the few seconds proceeding it.

after a moment of eye-contact, chandler snaps himself out of his second trance of the day.

‘mind if i sit there?’ he asks, anxiety still lingering in his words while gesturing towards the empty seat to your right. you curse yourself for forgetting basic manners.

‘yeah of course.’

pleasant silence, with a twinge of awkwardness, settles over your end of the bar. you play with your hands and don’t quite notice the fascinated look chandler has. eyes fixated on your hands as they dance around each other in uncertainty.

‘so, hey.’

you gently break the quiet and hope to restore some momentum into your encounter.

‘oh, yeah sorry, hey.’ chandler gives you a lop-sided grin and adds ‘not really on my game today.’

you laugh.

‘so, uh i was just wondering if, yknow, possibly, maybe s- sometime? going out? would be nice?’ he bites his lip and reckless-you wants to jump into his lap, wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard.

but you don’t do this, much to reckless-you’s disappointment.

instead, your eyes widen slightly, the sudden request taking you by surprise, but the warm feeling from his adorable vulnerability and openness overpowers any shock.

‘yeah, sure.’ you give a kind smile.

‘oh, i’ll give you my number.’ he briskly pats his trousers and recognises his lack of phone.

‘shit, sorry don’t have it. i’ll go check over there.’ he gets up to leave and you reach for his wrist.

‘no it’s fine’ you assure, tugging him back to his seat gently.

quickly grabbing a notepad from your bag, you scribble your number with a stray pen lurking at the bottom of the bag.

‘a lady that’s prepared huh?’

you shake your head playfully as you attempt to rip the paper in a straight-ish fashion. you’re suddenly aware you’re under scrutiny of the man in front of you and your heightened nerves cause you to tear haphazardly and make a huge mess of it. tiny scraps of paper fall from your hands as you sigh at yourself.

he chuckles and you meet his eyes. ‘god they’re right about blue eyes’ you think. as the saying goes, you found yourself drowning in them.

you jump slightly when he clears his throat and it’s your turn to feel embarrassed about being entranced. he’s wearing a smirk that you’re not sure if you should hit him or kiss him for.

‘here,’ he says, holding out his hand, palm faced-down onto the table in front.

‘you could write your number on there?’

‘yeah. good idea.’ you hold out your dominant hand and place the tip of the pen on the back of his sacrificial hand. you shakily inscribe your number and it’s a miracle you could remember it in the melt-down state you’ve found yourself in.

‘there.’ you pat your handiwork and fleetingly admire the natural art of chandler’s hands. you decide his faintly protruding veins and bones make for a particularly pretty exhibition.

‘thanks.’ he says.

‘no problem’ you reply.

sharing equally sheepish smiles, flushed cheeks and all, you look at each other. you look down at your watch and realise with regret you need to get to your job interview.

‘shit. i gotta go, job interview.’

‘oh wow. good luck, you’ll do great.’ he smiles kindly. ‘way too cute.’ you think.

he leaves his seat and you stand up next to him, putting your jacket on.

‘until next time?’ he proposes.

‘yeah of course.’ you gesture towards his hand containing your details. ‘call me.’

‘definitely.’ he grins at you and you grin back.

‘see you.’ you say, not really wanting this to end, but deciding that you’d like to have means to pay rent.

‘mhm.’ he replies, not seeming to be paying much attention, eyes casting over you as if he was trying to burn you into his memory. in a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, you get on your tip toes and kiss him gently on the cheek.

he blushes at this and gives you the biggest smile yet.

‘bye chandler.’ you squeeze his hand and make your way to the door you entered through, when you were completely unaware of the adorable guy sitting in the group of six obnoxious twenty-somethings. when walking out the door and past the windows of central perk, you don’t notice chandler sinking to the floor and clutching his heart. and you also didn’t know that this was a telltale sign that he had, literally and figuratively, fallen for you.

#friends #phoebe buffay #chandler bing #monica geller #ross geller #joey tribbiani #rachel green #x reader #chandler bing x reader #fluff #chandler bing x reader fluff #centralperk #season 1 chandler #matthew perry #courtney cox #matt le blanc #lisa kudrow #david schwimmer #jennifer aniston #friends imagine

[contradictionaddiction]

We talk a lot about the women in the Castles series, particularly how individual and independent each of them are. This is especially true of the Hatter family, with each of the sisters taking control of their own fate in rejection of expected norms, but, rereading Howl’s Moving Castle again the other day made me realise... there is another sister whose story is very different.

Megan Parry is generally seen as another antagonist in the story - from the constant nagging of Howl that we see in HMC to Sophie saying that she doesn't get on with her later on in CitA. She's presented as controlling, judgemental, disapproving and, ultimately, disappointed in the choices her brother has made, and this manifests as anger and frustration and an incessant criticism that causes Howl to slither away so hard he ends up in another world.

A throwaway line from a sick, half-asleep Howl got me thinking, however... "Megan's full of envy because she's respectable and I'm not."

Now, that's odd. If Megan was so disapproving and frustrated, why would she be full of envy? Howl seems to suggest that actually, this frustration lies not in disappointment, but in jealousy. What if the reason Megan is so upset by her younger brother's lifestyle is not because she disapproves, but because she resents it - because she was unable to do the same.

When we look more closely at Megan's criticisms of Howl when they go to Wales, this becomes a lot clearer.

"You're a disgrace to me and Gareth" This is how her tirade starts, and it’s the theme that she returns to at the end. As Howl highlights later, Megan is very focused on respectability and how her family is perceived by others. It's very much about keeping up appearances, showing to their neighbours that they are proper contributing members of society. Which means that the problem here isn't actually Howl and his lifestyle - it's how he impacts on the way she is perceived by others. 

"Lounging about in those clothes instead of buying a proper suit..." This is interesting, because this is Megan's perception of Howl - a perception that the reader - and Sophie and Michael - know to be untrue. Howl is notoriously fixated on his appearance and clothes, and is actually a very hard worker when it comes down to it. In fact, we frequently see Howl working exceedingly hard whilst dressed up in finery - tying back his sleeves, kneeling in mud, and then getting frustrated when a sleeve gets snagged on a nail, despite being able to fix it easily. So which is the true Howl, the lazy slob or the dedicated dandy? He's consciously chosen to present himself in Wales one way, and Ingary the complete opposite. Why? "...and looking respectable for once" Howl is Obsessed with how appearances affect outcome - the fancy clothes he buys for Sophie and Michael for their visit to Mrs. Pentsetemmon and the King, and his instance that they wear them later in the flower shop as it will be good for business. His refusal to do the same in Wales suggests to me that the baggy trousers and rugby jacket are a conscious decision to reject this notion of propriety in appearances improving status, and is an act of rebellion against... who? "Taking up with riff-raff and layabouts, bringing them to this house!" 'This House' - a respectable house, one I assume Megan has worked hard for and works hard to maintain. I say she - the unseen but ever-mentioned Gareth is the one who is out at work currently. How big is his role in Megan's characterisation? Remember how she greeted Howl with a pointed comment that he wasn't home yet, to which Howl quickly responds with "What a pity! We can't stay," and a fake smile. Howl and Gareth clearly Do Not get on, and Gareth's influence is unavoidable in the house he shares with his wife. "Are you trying to bring me down to your level?" As we've now established, Megan, like her brother, is obsessed with how people perceive her and, unlike her brother, she's very worried about losing the status she now has. Keeping it depends on making sure it is authentic - or at least, that it appears that way. Any blip of inconsistency or deviation from the norm - such as an unpredictable and unkempt younger brother - could bring it all crashing down. Megan knows that this lifestyle is a shallow one. "You've had all that education, and you don't even get a decent job," Now this is where I think it gets interesting, because it's now that Megan brings up Howl's known intelligence and the higher education that DWJ spoke about. Megan, at least, views this education as a route to getting a good job, the implication of which is upwards social mobility - something she clearly places high importance on in line with how the family is perceived. "Wasting all that time at college, wasting all those sacrifices other people made, wasting your money..." It's at this point I think Megan begins to get a bit... stuck, and I think it's to do with the central line here. "Sacrifices other people made" - which other people? It has to be someone close to them else she wouldn't be so emotional about it. It could be their family or parents, however neither of them are mentioned, so what if the person who made the sacrifices was... Megan. She also talks about college - or wasting time at it, at least. She doesn't necessarily think that college itself is a waste of time - but simply what Howl does there. She has an idea of what college should be used for - and it's getting that education to get a job and... improving your situation. "Never doing an honest day's work, never getting a job I can be proud of" I mentioned that I think Megan gets stuck - because now she's back to repeating earlier criticisms, simpler ones. The important one, the one she's really hung up about has been said. Again, there's the theme of Howl's shining dishonesty that is approached and disproved elsewhere in the book, but that’s not the bit that attracts me here. Notice, it's not a job Howl can be proud of - it's one that Megan can be proud of. It's almost as if her relationship with her brother is based in pride of his skills and achievements, something she can show off to her Proper Members of Society friends. "Look at Howell, look at what our family can do." "Shame on me and Gareth" All the time Howl is failing to be something she can show off, he is bringing shame on her and her husband. At this point, she's failing to see her brother as very little more than a status-asset, and he's not bringing in the revenue that was expected. "Coming here and spoiling Mari rotten," And then finally, this is how we end before Sophie manages to interrupt. Because Howl loves his family, his sister and his nephew and niece. They're the weak flank that he knew would spur him into action if the need arose - and he's prepared to rugby-tackle the witch and chase her over garden fences when it does. The door to Wales has to stay when the Castle moves house, because despite slithering out Howl doesn't actually want to leave forever. Megan knows he loves them, and he shows that love through his treatment of the children - but this isn't what Megan feels he should be providing for them.

Once we've looked at it more closely, we can see that Megan's problem with Howl isn't his lifestyle or choices - it's how they impact on her lifestyle and choices as a Respectable member of Society. More than that, her perceptions of Howl differ greatly from the knowledge the reader has of his lifestyle in Ingary. Howl's decision to reject the expectations of Wales and his sister is then overshadowed by his undeniable love for them and inability to completely walk away.

Once the gang leave Megan's house, the only acknowledgement we get of her rant is that... we're going to ignore it. "Howl said nothing about Megan" tells us that he is apparently immune to anything that she may say about him - or at least wants it to appear that way. He knows what she thinks and has heard it all before, and her (wrong, constructed) perception of him is not going to impact on his True lifestyle and choices.

But why would Howl - obsessed with image Howl - go out of his way to construct this fake image and make his sister angry?

We already know the answer to this, because he does the same in Ingary - destroying his reputation and blackening his name in order to try and slither out of proper society and expectation. However, in Wales he's not slithering out of becoming Royal Wizard, he's simply refusing to do what was expected of him by not getting a good job and settling down with a nice partner in a nice house with 2.5 children and a front gate... just like Megan has done.

Megan, who is full of envy for Howl because she's done this, and he didn't.

The very short description we get of Megan when they first arrive in Wales describes her as clearly Howl's older sister, disapproving in manner but with eyes "full of anxieties". Simply, anxiousness and jealousy do not make for a happy housewife. Furthermore, the only time we do see Megan expressing any vaguely positive form of emotion is when she talks about the missing homework, where she appears (to me anyway) to sound interested in the found spell. This suggests that she doesn't actually disapprove of Howl, and is actually quite interested in the work that he's done. Perhaps, in another life, she too could have pursued this curiosity, gone to college, researched spells...

Megan Jenkins is a mirror of Sophie. As elder sister, she dutifully accepted the role of inheritor of the family, fulfilling the expectations placed on her while allowing her younger brother to go and seek his fortune. Sadly, Megan didn't have a witch put a spell on her, indirectly allowing her to reject those expectations and forge her own fate. Her anxieties and disapproval match Sophie's helplessness and jealousy at the start of the book. Her anger and criticisms match Sophie's crankiness as an old woman, as expression of frustration at a situation out of your control.

Megan was the one who made the sacrifices. Megan wanted to go to college, get all that education, buy nice professional clothes and get a decent job. Instead, as traditionally expected of a young woman, she got married and had her 2.5 children, and has to work extremely hard to maintain that image. Meanwhile, she watched her brother throw away the chances that to her represented freedom, as he rejected what is traditionally expected of a young man.

Howl knows this, which is why he let's her yell - why he refuses to abandon her, rugby tackles witches, and spoils her children. I'd even maybe guess that it's why he leaves her with all his books - it's a subtle invitation to read them and be able to join him. Megan, of course, with her jealousy-distorted perception, only sees this as arrogance and selfishness.

I'm going to briefly move away from explicit textual evidence slightly now, and bring in some personal headcanon. I've written before about how I think Howl's interest in magic can be traced back to media we all have access too - and that he's really a Lord of the Rings, Led Zeppelin Fanboy at heart (lol) - but then I realised. Megan's house is called Rivendell. As in, the beautiful realm of the elves, manifestation of idyllic fantasy and a haven for reflection and knowledge. She and Howl had the same upbringing, and I'd guess read the same books - there's absolutely no reason that she wouldn't have had the same response as her brother. She was just unable to act on it.

Megan is an antagonist, but she's not a bad person and it's not her fault. HMC is a book about perception, and Megan is by no means outside of that theme. From her perception of her brother, to Sophie and Michael's perception of her, this face value should never be trusted. Howl - as with Sophie's curse - is the only one to see through his sister's facade.

#hmc #hmc book #howl's moving castle #howl's moving castle book #diana wynne jones #meta #hmc meta #howl's moving castle meta #christ i've never written meta like this before #it was an accident but NOW #i have so many fic ideas to slot into this

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

WARNING : Not Beta Read. Sorry if there’s a mistake.

Click link to read on AO3. Click Keep Reading to read on tumblr~~

Chapter 1 2 3 5

Chapter 4

Word count : 3.4 k

That was the worst nightmare Jason had ever had. Worse than the dreams he had of his parents. Instinctively, he stars to look for water when he felt his throat hurts.

It hurts too when he gets up, he sees his hand on the edge of a bed that’s not his, and see an IV needle on the back of his hand. His eyes dart around the room and see a stained white ceiling, grimy white walls, and things that are definitely not things from his room.

There’re three other beds beside him. One is occupied with an old man, one is a kid that’s sleeping, and the other one is empty. It smells barely sterile in this room, and he remembered this smell.

It’s a hospital.

Jason looks down to his body that wears a hospital gown. Only one leg is sticking out of the gown. He pulls his gown up and sees his stub of a right leg... What sinks in for Jason is not that he lost his leg, but that his dream is real. He killed the Joker, and Tim died in his arms... Did he?

Did Tim die?

No.

Chills running down his spine and dread seeps into his bone.

Jason quickly sits up and takes off his infusion. Carefully, he puts his one leg on the floor and hops to the door. From the hectic hallways, he knew this is a public hospital, he used to drag his mom’s unconscious body here a lot of times before.

No one is going to bat an eye seeing him limps away. He hops back inside his room and found the clothes that are folded on the desk between the beds. It’s the rental shirt and trousers, brownish and stiff from dried blood. He ditches his clothes and sticks to his hospital gown instead.

“Sonny,” the old man called, “You won’t go anywhere far with one leg, and they’ll stop you if you go outside wearing gowns” His voice shakes and weak.

“Sorry gramps, I’m still going.”

“Then take my crutch, I also got some clothes,” he points on one leaning on his bed, and he opens the drawers from his desk and pulls out a pair of clothes.

“I’m not so low to steal crutches.”

“M’ giving it to ya... Don’t worry, I can ask for another.” The old man gave him a sympathetic smile, and hands over his clothes, “Go on, I know you need to be somewhere important.”

Taking his clothes and crutches, Jason gave him a simple but genuine gratitude to the old man. He peels his gown off and puts on the old man’s clothes, which is way too big for him since the old man is on a chubby side. He tightens the belt, though it’s a 90’s baggy fit, he nods gratefully at the old man and limps as fast as he can from the hospital.

There only one place he can think of that can give him an answer. He takes the bus, and stop on a station as near as he can, then limps under the rarely bright sun to Wayne Manor. It’s a lot of work to walk with one crutch and one leg, but he hops anyway until he’s arrived at the familiar gate.

It feels like yesterday that Jason presses the bell beside the gates desperately. Maybe it really was yesterday. Jason doesn’t know how many days had passed since then.

“Mister Todd?” a familiar British accent came from the speaker before Jason had a chance to spam the bell.

“Hi, Mr. Pennyworth, you know why I’m here. Where is he?”

There a long pause from the other end of the line.

“Mr. Pennyworth?”

“Hold on a second sir,” he said, and Jason can hear a lot of bickering on the background before the speaker went completely silent.

Jason sits down on the polished concrete ground, more like he fell than just sitting. The adrenaline in his body finally spent out and now he’s feeling pain all over his body. Mostly his right leg, it’s throbbing in pain. He should’ve stolen a few painkillers before he walks out of the hospital, it didn’t cross his mind at all.

The sun is right at the top of his head, it’s glaring down mercilessly with heat and brightness. His hands feel cold and his vision has dark splotches. He tries mindful breathing, trying to get his senses to stay alert.

He can’t pass out until he knows.

“Mr. Todd? Why are you on the ground?” the speaker said, there must’ve been cameras, Jason never noticed.

“I’m fine, just tell me please.”

“Master Timothy is... in critical condition sir, he has head trauma and right now is still in a coma.”

Jason blinks, he doesn’t know what to feel about that.

“But he’s alive, right?”

“Yes, but there’s no telling when he’ll wake up.”

And that’s it for Jason. The rest of his body hits the hot ground, completely lying there, and Jason tried desperately to support himself on his elbows. Wet drops fall on the concrete, it’s both his tears and his cold sweat, and Jason bites his lips to prevent his sobs.

“Are you alright sir?”

“Ahaha, who knows...” Jason croaks weakly with a tremble in his voice. “Ca-can I see him?” Jason looks up to the speaker, but it’s double in his vision and so, so bright.

There’s another pregnant pause from Pennyworth, then another ruckus starts again in the background.

“I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to excuse me again.”

Before Jason can respond, Alfred is away, but this time the line isn’t cut. Jason can hear the noise of a lot of people talking. Somehow he can hear faintly, but he can’t make up the words. Someone screams, then it was still. It sounds like Alfred is talking. There are more talking, and talking until it’s a storm again. Then there’s a loud clap, that even Jason is surprised.

So, Jason waits. He’s sitting back up at least, leaning his back against the carved concrete gate column. His vision is still all spinny and hazy. His leg is killing him, the pain makes his lips and hands shake. It felt like it just got another round with the clown.

Jason breathes again while covering his eyes from the sun with his palm.

He doesn’t know how long time has passed, or if he passed out between his consciousness. The gate opens, a wheelchair came into view, and then the butler bends down to his level.

“Hold on to me sir, let’s get you into the wheelchair.”

Jason sits on the wheelchair in one swift movement, and he doesn’t even have the energy left to be surprised that the old butler just carried him easily. He’s inside the manor the next time he blinks.

It’s cool and a bit dimmer inside, his vision isn’t as blurry anymore. The butler hands him a tall glass of water and puts it near his lips.

“Wha-”

“You’re dehydrated sir, please drink,”

Jason leans a little while Alfred tips the glass gradually and finishes the water in a few gulps, then Pennyworth put the empty glass on an aluminum tray on top of a marble table beside the door. He already feels a bit better. A pair of gloved hands hold onto a syringe and Jason’s senses go full alert.

“What’s that?”

“Pain killer, do you not want it?”

His leg acted up as if begging him to say yes, giving Jason an excruciating pain, “Yes please.”

Pennyworth rubs the back of Jason’s elbow with a damp cotton swab, and sinks the needle in and push the liquid in slowly. After he’s done, Pennyworth put the syringe and his gloves on the table, that Jason realized has a bottle of rubbing alcohol, another glass of water and a vase.

“Drink more sir, can you hold it?” Pennyworth hands Jason another glass full of water.

Jason looks down to his hand, clench and unclenches them.

“Yeah,” Jason’s hand still trembles because of the pain, the medicine hasn’t kicked in yet, but he has the strength to hold onto the glass himself.

“Thank you,” Jason hands the empty glass back to Pennyworth.

“Alright, shall we?” Pennyworth gets behind him, and when Jason nods, the butler pushes him.

They pass the room with the big painting and other pictures. The walk down the hall is awfully quiet, through many rooms like the kitchen and the living room and something feels off.

“I thought I heard other people talking when you told me to wait, where are they?”

“I put them in their room.”

Jason blinks, “Like, on time out?”

“Yes, they’re being disrespectful and difficult.”

Jason has a feeling that their argument involves him, but he doesn’t care about that for now.

“I can’t believe you just put a group of vigilantes on time out,” Jason scoffed, “How?”

“I threatened them.”

“You? Threatening them?”

“Yes,” Pennyworth says firmly, and Jason feels his heart stops a beat.

“Ok, alright, cool.”

They arrive at a library and Jason is mesmerized by how many books there for a while until Alfred walks to the grandfather clock and starts to screw around the clock hands. Then... the grandfather just scoots over, revealing a path inside.

“Wait... is that-”

“The bat cave, yes.”

Jason only heard it from Tim’s stories, but never in his life, he thought he gets to be in it for a real.

“I... are you sure Batman allows me in there?”

“He has no say in this, I do,” Pennyworth then pushes him forward, and surprisingly, there's a ramp beside the stairs on the way down.

It’s overwhelming, the bat cave. A big ass computer, a big ass fucking Joker card, a big ass coin, a big ass jet plane and for some reason, a big ass dinosaur. Rows of different batmobile that three of them Jason had stolen the tires from. The ceiling is mostly rock in stalactite form, and there are literal bats up there. Then the most mind-boggling of all, a fucking cow just chilling there in the middle of the room.

Alfred pushes him to a deeper part of the cave, towards a room with glass walls. Inside, is a lot of machines and a big bed where Tim lays down. Jason can’t see Tim’s face too clearly when his eyes dart almost immediately to the person sitting on the bed next to Tim.

It’s Superboy. The superhero had the most broken expression on his face, his red-rimmed eyes with blue pupils look down to Tim. Strong big hands gently brush the pale skin, careful not to touch the bandages. Then it pushes the strands of hair from Tim’s sleeping face. His mouth is moving, talking fondly with a grim smile like he’s about to cry. Jason can’t hear anything from outside of the room, but even he felt like he’s intruding them of an intimate moment.

There's a heartbeat monitor spiking consistently. Jason feels a wash of relieve knowing that Tim’s alive, but a sobering feeling when he sees Superboy there.

The two of them looks like they’re in their own world and Jason is out here on the other side of the glass door, just looking inside.

“He’s alive,” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Yes, he is, thanks to you, sir,” Pennyworth looks down on him and it was the first time that Jason seen the butler smiles warmly.

“Just Jason please, I feel weird being called sir.”

“Then you may call me Alfred.”

Jason nods.

“You performed quite a strong CPR, you broke more ribs, but he’s alive because of it.”

Jason felt his heart thump, whether is relieve or confusion. He remembered not feeling any pulse from Tim, but he never felt so good to be wrong.

“What happened, Alfred?”

“Oracle heard you call from 911, and Nightwing is the one that found you. You fainted beside Master Timothy.”

“I meant what happened that got him there in the first place.”

“I can’t tell you that, Jason.”

Jason huffed frustratingly, “Of course, none of my business and all, I’m no cape-wearing meddlers after all,” he bitterly admitted, and Alfred doesn’t say anything about that.

“How long has it been since then?” Jason realizes he hasn’t checked on that either.

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” Jason echoed in disbelieve, then he cringed. The hospital bills are going to be a pain in the neck, and he’ll have to beg Mrs. Knope for forgiveness for being absent for two weeks.

“You can come in if you’d like.”

Jason snaps his face towards Alfred, and looks back into the room, seeing Superboy caressing Tim’s cheek and looks at Tim’s face like it’s his whole world.

“I don’t think I should,” Jason says dejectedly.

“You came a long way limping with your still wet stitches to meet him, Superboy won’t mind, in fact, he’s been waiting for you.”

Before Jason can protest, the butler puts his hand on a screen next to the glass door, and then it slides open. Superboy snaps his face right towards Jason in utter surprise. Not even a second passed, he dashes across the room and stands right in front of Jason.

It stunned Jason at the show of super speed, but what baffles Jason the most is that the stranger just falls down on his knees and wrap Jason in a hug.

“Thank you!” he says, holding Jason tight with his bodybuilder like body, “Thank you thank you thank you!” and he tightens the hold with his super strength, and Jason can’t breathe.

Superboy lets go immediately, and Jason takes a deep breath.

“Sorry oh my god I’m so sorry,” he flustered and nervously fidgets.

“It’s cool,” Jason said.

“I can’t believe I finally meet you, man! I wish I did, in better circumstances you know?” Superboy’s face fell, rubbing his own arms, “Thank you, for finding him, I... oh god I just...” he covered his handsome and tired face with both his palms.

Jason is speechless himself, being bombarded by the super’s personality. Even though Jason is sitting in a wheelchair, he knew Superboy is taller than him. Before he covered his face, Jason sees that he has a pair of round and honest eyes, sharp jawlines, and charming features on his face that just shines better when he smiled, even though exhaustion dims it.

From the edge of Superboy’s crew neck shirt, the tip of the diamond silhouette peeks through it. A soul mark identical to Tim’s.

“I owe you a favor.” Superboy suddenly says, finally showing his face.

Jason raises an eyebrow, “Why?”

“You saved my soulmate, and I want to return the favor. I failed to protect him and I...” Then Superboy looks down on his one leg.

That’s when Jason felt a twinge of irritation. He knows Superboy means well in saying that but it just makes Jason feels angry.

“I’m not doing it for you,” Jason said curtly, and the Superhero’s face finally mellowed, “Tim is my... best friend. I didn’t save him for anyone but Tim, and...” himself, Jason can’t continue.

He had predicted Superboy will have an unpleasant expression or maybe just a sneer, but he didn’t. Still with that pained smile that seems so honest and comes from his heart.

“Alright man,” Superboy put his hand on Jason’s shoulder, “but seriously, I’m grateful he’s alive, and you’re the reason why, so... thank you.”

His smile is genuine and soft, eyes sparkle with tears and Jason can feel that Superboy is a really good, a bit of a goof, but fun to be with, that’s what Tim said, and Jason can see that now.

“Your welcome.”

The gentle giant gave him a gentle pat and stands up, “I’m going home now Alfred.”

“Not staying for dinner?” The butler’s voice reminded Jason he’s still behind him.

“No, I’ve been here for a week, besides, bru- I mean Batman is being scary,” Superboy changed the name when realizing Jason is there, completely forgetting that the Batcave is in Wayne Manor. Jason chuckled internally.

Then Superboy walks out, and Jason takes a deep sigh, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’s been holding.

Alfred pushes him to face Tim’s right side. Either the bed is too big, or Tim is too small, but it looks like Tim is sleeping on a big comfy cloud.

“I’ll leave you to your own devices, will two hours be enough?”

Too short honestly, Jason wished he can stay until Tim opens his eyes.

“Yes, it will.”

“I’ll bring lunch for you in a few minutes.”

“Oh, no it’s okay.”

“You haven’t eaten solids in two weeks, Jason, I will not hear any more about the matter. You will eat,” Alfred says with a sharp and firm voice. Now, Jason understands Alfred’s power.

“Okay, I’ll eat, thank you,” Jason submits.

Only then, Alfred’s face melts into a friendly expression, “Very well.” Then the butler promptly leaves the room.

Jason then darts to Tim’s face almost immediately. Tim is wearing a hospital gown, there are bandage wraps on a side of his face and his hands, and the waist down in covered under the blanket. His left arm wraps in a thick cast, Jason didn’t even know it was broken then.

His body is so still, and the fear came back to Jason. To the warehouse, dark, and damp. Where Tim lies in a pool of his blood, unmoving and cold.

His arms can still remember the weight of Tim’s limp body, the coldness of his skin, and how completely still his body is.

Before the memory haunts him again, he grabs Tim’s hand gently, mindful of the IV needle at the back of his hand. Immediately, Jason felt the warmth from Tim’s lean hand. He lets out a shuddering breath and cracks a weak smile.

“Your hand... it’s warm, warmer than mine...” Jason squeezed just a bit tighter, and the slight pulse makes his eyes burns.

He’s alive. He was not dead when Jason held him for what he thought would be the last time he could’ve held him. There’re no visible gashes on his body, no pool of blood, they’re not there anymore. Tim is safe, Tim is alive, Tim is here, with him.

Jason takes in a deep breath that still shakes. He’s relieved, scared, regretful, and so many others at once.

“If I had stopped you from becoming Robin back then, you wouldn’t be here. If I had said anything, maybe you’ll... You’ll think it over and maybe you’d-” his sob choked him from continuing. His smile never falters.

“Heh, then you wouldn’t have met your Superboy. Guess you’re destined to be a hero too...” Jason got choked up by the words he wanted to say and decides to never say it again.

So, he just holds onto Tim’s hand, feeling his palm, noting how rough and calloused it is. Tim really worked hard, just too hard.

Jason’s eyes take in every detail of Tim’s being. The skin that finally regains its color, the blue peeking from the bandages, the dried-up cuts, slight tint of red on his cheeks, and finally, his soul mark.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve known, the diamond silhouette is actually the silhouette of the super’s symbol.

A bitter smile creeps onto his face, “He seems nice, Tim. I can see that you two are perfect together.”

His hand tightens his grip on Tim’s, feeling cozy from the warmth, hoping it’ll distract him from the digging ache in his chest.

Though they only met for a short time, witnessing the way Superboy looks at Tim, that look of pain, guilt, self-blame, but most of all, completely in love. It makes Jason understands.

“He really is destined for you.”

There are more words threatening to spill, but his fear doesn’t let the words go.

So, Jason just stays there without another word. Just holding Tim’s hand while gazing at his peaceful sleeping face and paying close attention to the rise and fall of his chest. Feeling the hand’s warmth that gradually transfers to Jason’s, feeling the light pulse against Jason’s fingers, hearing the sound of the heart monitor beeping consistently, smelling the scent of the familiar baby powder.

Jason cracks a smile. He lets his tears fall in wallow and in pity for himself, just letting it be and admits to himself shamelessly. He promises himself that this will be the last time he cries for that reason.

That he’ll never let go the man in his hand, no matter what fate says.

++++++++

#jaytimweek #jaytimbingo #emocel's #jaytim fanfic

[imagine-wannaone]

Kim Jaehwan Royal AU

I love writing these Royal Au’s.

• You’d grown up within the city, a prodigy, • Your parents where royal guards,  bodyguards and protectors of the king, queen and their sons, • To which, oh boy, there’s quite a few, • So seeing as you grew up with your parents as your role models, you became the counties youngest royal guard, well prepared for whatever the job held, • Because your parents where often working, a lot of the time they bought you as well because you where quite and sensible even from a young age, • If your parents had to chase someone away, you simply sat down where you where and pulled out a book to enjoy some alone time, • In the middle of a palace, • So, naturally, you became very familiar with all of the guards, and even the royal family, • All of the guards knew you by their own little nicknames, and if they found you alone they’d happily read you a passage out of your book, pop you on their shoulders and continue with their patrol, • To which, as a child, was an exciting adventure, • And if the royals where roaming and saw you, the king would greet you kindly, the queen stopping to play with you a little, finding your quite innocence a refreshing break from all of her boys, • 11 boys, aka a riot™ • ( Any gathering of 9 children is a riot tbh not just because they’re boys), • And whenever any of the boys toddled past, accompanied or (less likely) not, they’d always bump to a stop and almost interrogate you with questions, or giggle with you about things only kids can giggle about, • If they’d done something troublesome they’d run to you to help hide them or ask for advice, • Yeah, even at that age you could think yourself out of any situation, • Pure skill right there, • Before engulfing you in a hug and toddling away again, • And when you got to your teen years, the guards would still call you their cute nicknames and if you weren’t chasing after the criminal with your parents, • Because apparently teen you had no fear of criminals or barriers, • They’d stop to make easy conversation and the general ‘wow you’re growing up so fast’ • They where your family, • You didn’t go to school like all of the other kids, your parents tutored you, so the guards where some of your closest friends as well, • Some people thought it was risky for a kid so close to the palace to go to school, in case you where stupid and let something slip, • Really, who did they think you where? 

• Incredibly insulted, that’s who, • So you just didn’t, • The King would still greet you with a kind, if slightly more wrinkled smile, • The queen would still stop to have a quick chat as if she was your mother herself, • That is if she wasn’t chasing after one of her boys, trying to find one in the vastness of the palace,

• Because that damn place was huge as heck, you’d grown up there and you’re still sure there must be some secret passageways you don’t know- Jisung sometimes just seemed to just disappear when you asked him for help on your maths,

• Understandable, • Or the queen would be running to a new urgent meeting or to greet a guest or to organise something or to go over a new speech or to run-through of an event, • Being king and queen seemed incredibly stressful, • But then there where the boys, • You pondered how the princes where all so different really, • But overall, • Some of the older ones seemed to be busy already, but would always greet you, • The younger ones would come and chat to you like an old friend before trotting off to cause some sort of trouble, • Note- just because they’re royalty and act well in the public eye does not mean they aren’t mischievous, • Some of them would joke with you, • For anyone outside of the regal palace it’d be hard to comprehend the royals in a way that you saw them, real and goofy, • But the princes also understood you because they didn’t go to school either, they where tutored inside the palace, so to some level, you both had an understanding of each other, that the princes where some of your only friends, and vice versa, • So when you got the job of a royal guard, it really wasn’t that surprising, • It was just like normal but with a uniform? • So you didn’t really have a crash course either, you just sorta knew what to do, and you where already close with the rest of the guards, • Twas a smooth transition, • But one thing changed, • With being the guard, there’s many different jobs, • Some where to stand outside of the palace as protection, • Or patrol certain parts of the palace, • Or when they royals went out, the king and queen had two guards each, the princes had one each, • Just in case, • Because even in the most peaceful communities violence can raise, • And while your country was relatively peaceful, there where a few dangerous people, • Too real, • The top guards where usually assigned one of the royals to to accompany, • And it was extremely suspicious when you where straight away assigned to Prince Jaehwan, • E x t r e m e l y suspicious, • So whilst you did your general guarding duties, you where also at the call of Prince Jaehwan, • At first you hadn’t been to phased, Jaehwan had been goofy since birth, although a compulsive liar when he was younger,  • (I see you jaehwan) • He’d always been kind and jokey and had been the one to always, no matter what, drag you into a hug and suffocate you, • You’d always been more reserved and quite so bone crushing hugs weren’t your Forte, but they where certainly Jaehwan’s, • So you endured because okay, they weren’t so bad when they where from Jaehwan, • But now, you where seeing him in a new light, • He teased you constantly, • “You’ve always had such a straight face, Y/N, would you smile, just for me?” • “Y/NNN~ How did you become a guard, I remember I used to beat you in all the races we had cross the halls,” • “Y/N, Remember the time when we where kids and I broke the vase and you said you’d take the blame? Did you have a crush on me? Even when we where tiny?” • Your cheeks heat slightly but you stay quite because that’s what your good at, • You can’t tell him that yeah, maybe you did, • Because you always had this inner urge to protect Jaehwan, even if he was the most troublesome, but then again don’t we all have that urge?

• And maybe that’s why you’re such a brilliant guard for him, because you’d really put your life on the line for him, • He was mischievous as hell, • If ever there was any parades, or he needed to be escorted by you in front of the public, • Which happened about once a month, • And while some people laughed at the fact, that prince Jaehwan, an extremely important royal, was escorted by the youngest guard there was, no one questioned your abilities, • But he liked to play games with you,

• He’d tap your shoulder or waist or neck or whenever to make you jump, which was kinda dangerous, • But yanno Prince Jaehwan had no shame, • And you had to learn not to jump and stay calm and ignore him in front of the crowds, • And he always found times to do it when no one was looking - sneaky, he walked a tightrope,

• Just an  e d g y  dude, • The only ones to notice where his brothers, who also teased you when they could, bur never to Jaehwan’s level, • Or he’d whisper into your ear, things to try to make you crack and laugh, show any emotion when you’re supposed to be straight faced, • Like pointing out funny scenes in the crowds, he was also incredibly observant,

• Or he’s do a dramatic retelling of the meme he saw that morning, • He never won, but he also didn’t know how close he’d gotten you to cackling, • Because although your outside personal was quite, inside you where bubbling to laugh with Jaehwan, • Whenever he didn’t have duties, he’d walk on patrols with you, which made you tense because what if someone got in, • Honestly, he didn’t seem to understand, • But neither did you, • Because you craved time with Prince Jaehwan, how he made your heart warm although your face didn’t give any hint away, how you had a strong sense to protect him completely, but he gave you anxiety and constantly made life more difficult for you, • Although he really didn’t mean to, or know so, • He called you all too often and you raced towards his room in case it was something serious,

• But then he was always just sat in his ridiculously big bed in a hoodie and baggy trousers and wanted to rant about one of his brothers or duties or how he hated being watched by the public constantly, • Because apparently he seemed to have no one else, • So you endured and listened to himself and quietly offered him advice like you always had, • This happened more than once a week, • While you didn’t mind spending time with Jaehwan, you felt honoured he chose you to confide in, • And maybe the sight of him in baggy jumpers instead of how the public always saw him in suits made your heart flutter, • But the ranting sessions always took a huge chunk out of your schedule and you had to run around the rest of the night to complete the rest to your nightly tasks, • Although you knew not to fall for a prince, they where much higher than you, they had duties and a stressful life and where fated to married other royals, not guards, • But you go out of your way for him anyway, • Because Despite how irritating he can be, he treats you so nicely when you’re only a guard, • When he’s not teasing you, he sends compliments and smiles and a warm heart and friendship, • :’) • Honestly though it’s not healthy for your heart, • He mentions in conversation that he misses home cooked food, • (Because his chef’s food is good but it’s not the same), • You come in the next day with some Tteokbokki you’d tried to make, • You bring little gifts you spot when you go for a break and walk around the cities market, ��� You know he’s a prince and you know he could have anything he wanted to but you also know he’s a prince and he may not have many personal gifts, • You offer him quite compliments from a controlled looking face, although you’re screaming inside, because you know he may not get many personal ones, • You contemplate quitting once, because your heart flutters uncontrollably in front of Jaehwan and you have no idea how to control it- a feeling you’re not used to, • But you’ve dedicated you whole life to becoming a guard, and you won’t let a crush ruin it, so you soldier on and endure™ • But one day you where sat cross legged opposite Jaehwan, • “Okay but then Seongwoo threw the pie into the shed and Guanlin did the back flip and then-” • He stops right in the middle of his quick-fire speech about skipping a royal meeting to sit silently, • Which isn’t normal and your about to jump up and call a doctor because??? Is he dying??? He’s not talking???? • “Y/N,” • You usually sit to attention, a habit since childhood, but at this you sit straighter, raise taller, unsure of what the hell could pour out of Jaehwans mouth next, • “Why do you act so quietly kind without expecting anything back?” • The question surprises you and in reality, • You’re shook™ • But you’re dust if you cannot hide your true emotions, • “Prince, It’s my job to protect you,” • The sentence is truthful, although as an answer it’s fake, a lie, • You see something change in his face at the way you address him, the formal manner and it strikes you, • Maybe you’re not the only one that’s good at hiding their feelings, • “Y/N, you forget we also grew up together. You protected me way before you could call yourself a guard, you never used to call me Prince,” • You break the eye contact at that, dropping them to the expensive bed sheets, you don’t want to guess how much they cost, • You also don’t know how to reply, so you let your facade drop for once, to create a small crack in your exterior, • “I guess you’re right, Jae,” • The old nickname makes a small smile rise to break your surface and you lift you eyes a little, admitting defeat, letting Jaehwan know he's finally won, • Your heart is having a hard time, • Jaehwans’ whole face cracks in half at that, his huge smile splitting his face and his cute cheeks glowing with life, the old nickname making his head spin and the rare smile you’re showing to him? • He tries to imprint it into his memory, • Once he thinks he has, he nods lightly and your head is spinning to what he could be thinking, • And you know what? • It only stops spinning when Jaehwan leans foreword to land his lips on yours, • Ha, yeah right, it spins even more ferociously at the contact that you just have to have to grip his shoulders, • For balance, of course, it’s not because you you want to make sure this is real, that Jaehwan is actually there, • Totally not ,haha… • But boy is there, right in front of you, warm and real and totally soft and fluffy, • And then you’re in for it totally, • Your heart captured, • (Jihoon what u doing here smh) • While you’re still a guard, someone that takes their duties very seriously, whenever you have spare time you’re with Jaehwan, and he slowly gains the ability to soften you up, • You smile more and become more comfortable and when Jaehwan hears you laugh, after so long, he nearly cries, • And you can confirm that Jaehwan is definitely soft™ • And while he looks stunning in his suits during public services or in those military suits, you still prefer him in hoodie and jogging bottoms, • Because it’s a side of Jaehwans’ that’s secret, that many people don’t see, • And you know what you’re getting into, • That life as a royal is hard, that there’s responsibility and there’s pressure and there’s the eyes of the country, half the world on you, • But with Jaehwan? • It’s really not so daunting, • (You’re not going to be queen Anyway Jaewhan isn’t the oldest so probably won’t reach the crown, but even if he does you know you’ll be there to support him), • You where Hella nervous about the king and queen finding out, • Because let’s be real, who wouldn’t be, • But Jaehwan says he’ll handle it, and he does, • The king and queen know you, so they know you’re not just in it to be Royalty, • And you know all the princes, so it’s not awkward, • And while it’s traditional for royalty to marry someone who’s upper class, the king and queen don’t really care, • I mean they have lots of sons and a country to run, it’s the least of their problems, • So the two of you go on lots of walks into the gardens  because you’re shamelessly basic and you can protect yourself and jaehwan easily? • And once jaehwan warms you up your as goofy as him, • Many inside jokes and you team up with the other princes as well for #PrAnKWarS • Smh how childish… • Also many days are spent just rolling around is those expensive as hell bed sheets because if they’re that pricey they might as well be used? • And if Jaehwan breaks a vase? You’d definitely still take the blame,

#kim jaehwan #jaehwan #wanna one #w1 #fanfic #fanfiction #imagines #oneshot #scenario #headcanons #royalty au #prince #fluff #kpop #og admin

[hunstarfire]

Shoto Todoroki ~ Scars

Fluff ☁️

Lime 💚

You stood outside of classroom 1-A. The orange rays of sun leaked through the large glass windows, lighting up your surroundings. The halls were bustling as students rushed past. It was 3:15pm. You sighed, glancing at your watch. Mr Aizawa was probably keeping the class in again. He usually did that.

You were hoping to hug and kiss your boyfriend and wish him ‘Happy Valentines’ as soon as he walked out of the door. You smiled, remembering what his warm touch felt like. He was in the hero course but you weren’t. Your quirk allowed you to create mist by using your natural body heat, which is something you never thought would be powerful in crime fighting. He on the other hand, was very powerful - half ice and half fire. Your daydreaming session was interrupted as the classroom door slid open.

Bakugo stepped out alone. He looked at you and slid his hands into the pockets of his baggy trousers.

“You waiting for that half bastard again, Y/N?” He asked in a husky voice.

You didn’t reply. Bakugo stood in the doorway and stared at you, waiting for a reply. He snapped out of his daze and frowned, walking around you.

As he walked past, you saw him quickly glance at you again. “I don’t even know why you agreed to go out with that loser. You could do so much better,” he grumbled, looking away.

He made his way down the hall.

“Oh yeah? Like who?” You called after Bakugo.

“SHUT UP EXTRA!” He yelled out, his face flushing bright red.

Momo and Uraraka walked out next, greeting you with a friendly wave. You waved back and laughed. A few more of the students walked out. As you watched them walk past, you suddenly felt a pair of arms slide around your waist and pull you closer.

It was Shoto. “Hey,” he whispered into your ear.

The warmth of his breath sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. You giggled and turned around to face him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you leaned in for a kiss.

“Oh my God - get a room!” Kaminari shouted, walking past.

Kirishima laughed. “Leave them alone,” he said, playfully punching Kaminari in the arm.

Shoto stared at them with a blunt expression. You laughed. As the boys disappeared around the corner, you turned back to Shoto. You both looked deep into each other’s eyes and smiled.

Both of you leaned in again to kiss.

“That’s inappropriate for school grounds.” Came a blunt voice from behind Shoto.

It was Mr Aizawa. You and Shoto stepped away from each other and sheepishly looked at the ground. He stared at you with his usual dark, tired expression. Could you not get a moments peace to kiss your boyfriend?!

“I just kept my class in, and I would have no problem keeping you two in for a detention...” he grumbled, massaging his temples with his fingers. “but I’ve had it for today. So I’ll let you off with a warning.”

“Thank you, sensei,” you said, bowing your head.

“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” he replied, closing the door and locking it. “If you kids are going to...kiss, then at least be off campus. Everyone has been doing it today, and I feel my eyes may bleed if it see it again.”

“It won’t happen again, Mr Aizawa,” Shoto apologised.

“I hope not,” Mr Aizawa replied, walking around the corner.

There was an awkward silence.

“Is he always like that?” You asked.

Shoto nodded. “But he’s a good teacher,”

You nodded and gripped your bag strap.

“Come on, let’s go,” Shoto said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close.

You turned around and walked past the lockers together.

“Anyways, Happy Valentines Day,” You chimed, looking up at him.

Shoto let out a quiet chuckle. “You too, Y/N,” he replied, kissing you on the forehead.

******

The gathering area in the dorms was filled with cheers as Kirishima slammed Midoriya’s arm into the table. You sat with Shoto on the couch away from the boy’s arm wrestling competition.

Shoto rested his arm on the top of the couch, and the other was lovingly wrapped around your shoulder. You were both quite happy sitting there enjoying each other’s company.

“YES! I’M THE MAN!” Kirishima shouted, jumping up and flinging his arms into the air victoriously.

Class 1-A were throwing a special Valentines Day party, and invited you, since you were Shoto’s girlfriend.

“You should’ve gone in that,” You said, looking at your boyfriend.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head and looking at you. “I’d rather sit here with you.”

Smiling, you shifted closer and rested your head on his shoulder, feeling blessed by his compliment.

“I think you would’ve won,” You said.

Shoto laughed, looking up at the heart shaped balloons taped to the couch. There was something he still had to do. Something special.

And he wanted to be alone with you when he did.

*******

It was 10:30pm, and the party was dying down. Kaminari was passed out on the floor under the table clutching a pink bear. Mina was stuffing her face with chocolates in the corner. Midoriya sat with Uraraka on another couch, and Iida was cleaning up the mess from the party. You and Shoto sat on the couch quietly talking.

“Goodnight!” Called Midoriya and Uraraka in unison.

“Goodnight!” You, Shoto and Iida replied.

They both rose from the couch and hugged, before walking off and separating at the different wings.

Shoto looked at you and smiled. “You tired yet, Y/N?” He asked.

You laughed. “No. I feel really energetic actually,”

You looked at him, and Shoto grinned. He quickly rose from the couch and turned to face you.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he replied, grabbing your hands and lifting you up. “because I’ve got something for you that I think you’ll love!”

He took your hand and led you away from the couches.

Iida turned around and noticed you and Shoto leaving hand in hand. “I hope you’re not thinking on going into a dorm together!” He called.

You and Shoto laughed and began jogging down the large hallway towards the boy’s dorms.

“Hey!” Iida shouted again.

Sighing, he stood in silence and went back to picking up cups.

Still hand in hand, you arrived at Shoto’s dorm. He looked at you and smiled. “It took me a while to find it, so I hope you like your gift, Y/N,” he said.

“Should I even be going into your room? What if a teacher catches us?” You asked, slightly flustered.

“These are the student dorms - there aren’t any teachers around, and you won’t be in here for long. I’ll walk you back to your building when we’re done,” he replied, typing his pin into the keyboard beside the door.

Your heart was racing with excitement. He opened the door and led you into his room. He closed the door, but left it open slightly, so the light of the hallway leaked in. You gasped in awe and stared at the amazing traditional Japanese design. He had a massive straw mat hanging on the wall, decorated with small vines and black ribbons. Bonsai trees littered the shelf above his massive bed. He even had a small fountain next to a table covered with candles and incense.

“Just wait here,” he said, letting his hand slip out of yours.

You stood silently and watched him as he walked over to a shelf and collected a small box and a bundle of roses. He walked over to you with a kind smile, his eyes twinkling in the orange glow of the room. You smiled and blushed as he paused in front of you.

“Happy Valentines Day, Y/N,” he said, staring at you with those beautiful, kind eyes.

“Oh, Shoto, they’re beautiful!” You gasped, as he handed you the roses.

“I wanted to wait until after the party, so that there wasn’t an audience,” he replied.

You lifted the roses to your nose and deeply inhaled, taking in their strong perfume. You looked up at him and smiled.

“I-I-I also got you this,” He stammered, giving a nervous smile. “I know how much you love stars...”

He slowly opened the small box, and folded aside the delicate tissue paper. You gasped and your smile spread from ear to ear. It was a beautiful silver necklace with a glittering, navy star pendant. You continued to smile and carefully lifted it up from the box. It dangled in front of your face and sparkled. Shoto smiled with satisfaction; glad that you loved your gifts.

“Can you put the necklace on for me?” You asked.

Shoto nodded and put the box down on the ground beside his feet. You handed him the necklace and lifted up Y/C hair, exposing your bare neck. He managed to unclip the necklace, and leaned around to see what he was doing.

“But, I didn’t get you anything,” You said, glancing at the ceiling sheepishly.

“You are my gift, Y/N,” he replied, with a warm tone.

You blushed and smiled. Shoto continued to fiddle with the clip and stepped closer to get a better look. You both suddenly blushed when his groin accidentally pressed against your abdomen. With red faces, you both turned and looked into each other’s eyes. He clipped the necklace on and looked down at the ground.

“Sorry,” Shoto apologised, stepping away.

For what?

That actually...felt okay.

You continued to look at him, holding up your hair. He blushed an even deeper shade when he saw Y/C eyes staring at him lustfully. Your lips parted slightly and you lifted your chin. His heart was pounding in his chest. The poor boy was struggling to keep his cool as you looked at him like that. His gaze slowly travelled to your lips, then down at your body, then back to your eyes. He swallowed hard and edged closer. The space between your bodies closed. You let your hair gently cascade over your shoulder. Leaning in, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your lips slowly locked. You had kissed Shoto before, but this was something different. You both drew away, but before you could breathe, his lips were back against yours. This kiss was more passionate. He cupped your face with his hands and pulled you closer. Smiling, you melted into his touch. You both slowly stepped back towards the door. You quickly drew away, and placed the roses down on a shelf and looked back at him. Shoto smiled and leaned in again. This kiss was a little more rough. He gently pressed you against the door, pushing it shut. He was really struggling not to let his body take control. You kissed him for a few more seconds before he pulled away. You looked at him, puzzled, missing the feeling of his lips against yours.

“Maybe...we should go to bed now,” he said, in a low, husky voice.

“What?” You said, looking at him, flustered by his request.

His eyes widened, realising how it sounded to you. “N-no, I-I meant I take you back to your building and then I come back here - like I said before-” Shoto panicked.

You leaned in and kissed him again. “It’s fine - I’ll stay.”

Your finger tips lightly ran down to his chest. He quickly drew away so you could both breathe. With a smile, he lustfully pressed his lips against yours once more. You smiled back into the kiss.

This is what you wanted.

You were fuelling a fire in him that he had never felt before. Shoto really cared for you, and didn’t want to take advantage of the situation, but your touch was making him go wild. He pulled away again and looked into your eyes. He just had to ask again. “Y/N...you don’t have to stay,”

But he was hoping you would.

This is what you had dreamt of - just to be alone with Shoto. He was handsome, kind, smart and he made you feel safe. You wanted to be with him. You wanted to connect with your boyfriend emotionally and physically more than anything right now. After all, it was the day for love.

“If you’re okay with it...yes,” You stated again.

He stared at you and looked back at the bed. His heart skipped a beat. “Are you sure? If you do, I don’t think I would able to control-” He began.

You smiled. “I want to stay with you tonight...I want you, Sho.”

He blushed, looking back at you. Blinking, you looked at him, waiting for a response.

Shoto hesitated for a moment, then tenderly kissed you. His hands glided down your back to your butt and began to lift you up.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he picked you up. Still kissing you, he slowly walked over to the bed and gently laid you down. He climbed on top of you, and rested his hands on either side of your body. Pulling away, Shoto stared down at you. He was still slightly worried.

“Are you absolutely sure, Y/N? I don’t wanna feel like I’m pressuring you or anything,” he said.

“I’m sure.” You responded, giving him a warm smile.

He blushed again. “Okay, then...but if I do anything wrong, just tell me, and I’ll stop right

away.”

You nodded, and pulled him down for another passionate kiss. One of his hands cradled your neck while the other gently held your side. You could feel his hands shaking. In fact, his whole body was trembling like a leaf. He was extremely nervous - and so were you. This was his first time as well. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders reassuringly. After a few moments of kissing, he stopped trembling. His kisses became more heated and they travelled along your jawline, down to your neck. Shoto’s body pressed down against yours. You were trapped - but in a good way. His heavy, warm breaths against your skin sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t resist smiling. A small giggle escaped your lips and you fidgeted under Shoto as he quickly found your sweet spot. He smiled, continuing to kiss and suck there. Shoto stopped when he noticed a hickey was forming. He locked eyes with you. Realising that he didn’t want to leave an obvious mark, you smiled back.

He leaned down and kissed your sweet spot one last time. Shoto’s kisses trailed further down your neck and onto your collarbone. You hummed in delight as each of his passionate kisses landed on your skin. He pulled away and sat up. You couldn’t help but blush as you noticed the tent forming in his pants. Propping yourself onto your elbows, you waited in anticipation for his next move.

He reached up and slowly took off his shirt, revealing his toned, muscular upper body. Your jaw dropped at the sight. You knew there was muscle under there...but not... that good. Shoto threw his shirt across the room and leaned down again. He sensually pressed his forehead against yours, and pushed you back down against his pillow. Shoto tilted his head to the side and kissed you affectionately on the lips. His hands trailed upwards, running over your sides; feeling your curves, and came to rest on the bed. Once again, his kisses trailed down your neck.

You stopped him, and sat up. You unzipped your F/C jacket and dropped it on the floor, leaving you in a revealing crop top. His gaze immediately travelled to your cleavage. Shoto blushed. He was gallantly holding back the urge to just rip off your clothes and take you right there and then, as any boy would want to do. You laid down against the bed and waited for him. He leaned down, and planted a few kisses along your exposed stomach. They travelled upwards, and eventually arrived on the exposed parts of your chest. Shoto wanted to please you, and hear you moan his name, but he was going slowly, at the pace he thought you would be comfortable with - like a true gentleman. Shoto moved up your body and planted another passionate kiss on your lips. Shoto’s left hand held your face, and his thumb lightly ran over your cheek. Your breathing hitched and you flinched as you felt his right hand run over you breast and gently grip it. He thought your flinch was a sign of disapproval, and immediately drew his hand away.

“No, keep doing that,” You panted.

He happily obliged and his hand slid upwards again.

Shoto kissed along your collarbone, sucking lightly. Your sudden heavy, warm breaths against the side of his neck motivated him to take things a step further. Shoto’s hips acted as though they had a mind of their own and slowly rocked against yours.

You were turning him on so much. You tensed, lacing your fingers into his soft locks. A quiet moan escaped your lips.

“I-I-is this okay?” He asked in between kisses, slightly afraid he was taking things to fast for you.

“Yeah, Shoto, this feels really nice,” you replied, relishing the feeling of him tenderly rocking against your body.

He smiled at the fact you were loving his every action. Shoto couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander; if you loved this, what would you be like when he actually had sex with you?

The thought excited him. His hands trailed down, skimming over your breasts, and softly gripped your waist. Shoto buried his head in the crook of your neck and sucked gently. He rolled his hips against yours again. His movements were romantic and spellbinding. He seemed to know what you liked - even though you hadn’t really had a heated make-out session before.

The most you two had done previously was kiss and cuddle on the couch. Your mind started to wander as you thought about all of the happy moments you’ve shared together. Still breathing heavily, you looked around the room. The orange glow and musky smell made this experience even more romantic. You snapped back into reality when Shoto rolled his hips forward slowly, applying more pressure, and making sure his hard member rubbed up against you through your jeans.

Then, to your own surprise, you moaned out his name. Shoto’s breathing hitched, and you felt him twitch. Gasping, you covered your mouth with your hand, still embarrassed by your loud moan. Oh, God - what was that noise?!

Shoto’s movement’s paused.

Then he pulled away and kindly smiled at you. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed, Y/N - I thought...it was pretty...hot.” He chucked, blushing.

He was definitely more confident.

Both of your hands came to rest on his muscular shoulders. You returned a mellow smile. Both of your faces were beet red. You slowly reached up and brushed aside his crimson coloured hair, revealing his scar. You had no idea what it was from, but you liked it.

“You’ve never told me how you got this,” you said, running your thumb in a circle on the scar.

His eyes widened slightly and his smile slowly faded.

You knew instantly that you’d said something wrong. You suddenly looked at him with a worried expression. There was silence. Glancing away, he pulled away from your hand and rolled off you, sitting on the side of the bed. He stared solemnly down at the floor.

You quickly sat up. “Oh, God, Shoto. I didn’t mean to-” You stammered.

“It’s fine.” He replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just something I don’t like to talk about.”

He brushed his hair back over his face to cover the scar up.

You swung your legs around and shuffled to the edge of the bed next to Shoto. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Sho. Y-you shouldn’t hide it...it’s a part of you, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed for people to see it.”

He slowly got up from the bed and opened the curtains. “I’m fine with the scar being there...it’s just how it got there - that’s the painful memory.”

He slid open the door, letting the cold night air flow into the room. Mentally screaming, you gritted your teeth. No, no, no - you and he were only just getting started, and now you’d ruined it. Gulping, you slid off the bed and walked up behind him.

“Would you like to talk about it?” You asked, still panicking inside.

There was no reply. You thought you had really done it now. He stepped outside onto the balcony and leaned against the railing, trying to collect himself. You followed Shoto and paused beside him.

“Shoto...you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” You comforted him. “I’m your girlfriend. I won’t judge you, and I won’t tell anyone else - it will be just between me and you,”

Shoto looked at you, his hair catching in the gentle breeze. “Promise?”

His eyes were sincere, but you could tell he was still hot and bothered from the heated make-out session before.

You smiled and nodded. “Of course. I promise,”

Looking into your eyes, he gave you a small, kind smile. He always appreciated how kind and trustworthy you were. Shoto leaned against the railing and stared out into the night sky. “You know that Endeavour is my father, right?” He began.

You nodded.

Shoto sighed. “Endeavour always wanted to be the best, but he wanted me to be better. To him, I was just a kid with a powerful quirk. He didn’t even care about me. I was just a weapon. The reason I was born was just so he could train me to better than All Might. For Endeavour, I was just born out of spite. From an extremely young age, he intensely trained me each day. I wasn’t allowed to play with my siblings, and I never had much free time. He said fun was below me - which is why I can sometimes be awkward around people. I just get nervous really easily...which is kinda what happened back there,” he awkwardly laughed.

You returned a weak smile.

“Everyday, I would train for hours on end, to the point where I would vomit or collapse from the exhaustion. Most training sessions would end with him yelling or beating me for not doing good enough,”

You furrowed your brow and looked at him in horror.

“As I got older, it gradually became worse. Not to mention, he would beat Mum for intervening. I hated seeing her suffer like that - I hated not being able to do anything. I hated my Father. I have two quirks, but I used my fire power back then, because my father forced me to. He would scold me if I used my ice powers too much because the ice wasn’t his power. When I used my flames, it reminded mother of my father. Mother also hated Endeavour, but she started to hate me for it too...” He said.

You stepped closer, placing a hand lovingly on his shoulder. Shoto sniffled, shifting uncomfortably. You could tell his next words were going to be painful.

“...Dad’s beatings towards her and myself eventually pushed Mum over the edge.” He said. “One day, I walked into the kitchen after overhearing mother on the phone - I was only six or seven at the time - and looked at her. She hung up and slowly faced me - the look of insanity in her eyes. I remember it so clearly - like it was yesterday. God...she looked like an entirely different person. Then, she poured a kettle of boiling water over my left side and told me it was unbearable to look at.”

You moved closer again, sliding your hand down his arm and interlocking your fingers with his. He gripped your hand tightly.

“After I screamed, my father came into the kitchen and saw me in my state. He immediately beat her up - worse than any times before. I sat there screaming - not just because I was in pain, but because I was confused, and had to sit there and watch my father beat the life out of my mother. He literally put her in a hospital. He then had her transferred to a home for the mentally ill. It’s my fault she was beaten up, and eventually lost her mind.” Shoto continued, his voice shaky from struggling to hold back tears.

You knew he didn’t want to cry in front of you.

You stared at him with a mixture of horror and sympathy. How could a boy as quiet and as gentlemanly as Shoto come from such a bad life at home?

“I hated my father so much for what he did to her, and so I stopped using my fire power. I tried to forget my fire... but I began using it again after the sports festival. Deku told me the fire was my quirk - not Endeavour’s,” he said, staring down at his left hand. “It feels great to use my flames, but in the back of my mind, I always see my father. I hated not being able to stand up to Endeavour, and not being able to live a normal childhood.”

“Shoto, I...” You paused. You really didn’t know what to say. “...I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

Shoto gently smiled, appreciating your sympathy.

“I think that’s so brave. I wouldn’t be able to go through that,” You said. “I respect that you might not like your scar, and you don’t have to love it either, but you shouldn’t feel as though you need to hide anything from me - including this. I’m not judging you, Shoto, because it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

He looked at you, his smile fading again. You could tell he was on the verge of tears. This was a very sensitive topic for him. Especially the fact you were telling him it wasn’t his fault.

He always believed it was.

“It’s not your fault, okay? You were only a young boy. That scar was put there by someone else. It’s a part of who you are now - like mine.” You said, slowly rolling up the bottom of your shirt to reveal a large scar on your side.

“How...how did you get that, Y/N?” He hesitantly asked.

You smiled at the question, but at the same time it was bringing back some traumatic memories. “When I was younger, some boys in my class beat me up. They hated people with quirks. They pushed me down into a well and laughed. On the way down, I cut myself on a rock, and broke a few ribs from the impact.” You said. “I was stuck down in that well broken and crying for hours before anyone found me.”

Shoto stared at you, horrified.

“But I’ve leaned to accept it, because it’s a part of me now.” You said, rolling your shirt back down. “Scars show how much you’ve grown as a person. They show your struggles and your pain, but they also show your strength...”

Shoto turned to face you. He held your other hand in his and looked at you with those kind eyes.

“...you’ve been broken, but you’re healed now. No matter how bad the past was, just know I’m here for you now, Shoto - always.” You said. “I’ll always be yours and you’ll be mine...and besides, I think your scar makes you look tough.”

He drew you in closer and smiled. “You really have a way with words,” he said.

You smiled back.

“I feel...so enlightened after telling you all that, Y/N,” he said.

“Me too, Shoto.” You replied.

He released his grip on your hands and embraced you. “Y/N, I promise I’m not like Endeavour. I promise I will never insult you, or hurt you like he did my mother. I’ll treat you right and I promise to be the best boyfriend,”

He gently and sensually locked lips with you. You felt that rush of excitement race down your spine.

He pulled away, smiling. “I’ll respect your every wish for as long as we’re together, I’ll accept your flaws, and appreciate every inch of you, and I’ll love you with all of me...”

You hummed into his embrace and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You gazed into each other’s eyes.

“You’ll love me with all of you?” You said, smirking.

He chuckled and kissed you passionately. His hands slid down your back and arrived at your hips, pulling you closer.

It felt so good to be real with him.

That little talk had made you both respect the other even more. Your love for Shoto had grown tremendously in those few, short minutes. For another few moments, you continued to kiss on the balcony. A cold gust of wind blew, making you shiver and press onto his bare chest to keep warm. He pulled away just as the kissing became more heated.

You stared into his eyes, and slowly lifted your hand up to his left cheek. You ran your fingers through his hair, brushing it aside to reveal the scar. This time, he wasn’t fazed at all. His different coloured eyes sparkled like gems, staring straight into yours.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” Shoto hummed, nuzzling his check into your hand and kissing it.

“I love you too, Shoto,” You replied, lightly running your thumb down his cheek.

He pulled you in again and kissed you. This kiss was long and tender. It was loving. He wrapped his arms around your back and tightly but kindly embraced you. There was no stuttering or apologising this time as he pressed your abdomen against his groin. He was comfortable, and so were you.

His hands slid down to your waist, then glided down your arms and his fingers laced in between yours.

Pulling away, you both blushed and smiled. He rested his forehead against yours.

“Do you still want me to continue?” He asked softly.

“Yes Shoto, I want you.” You replied.

Shoto smiled. He slowly leaned down and kissed your neck. You hummed at Shoto’s action. His hands gripped yours firmly. He looked up at you, running his thumbs along the back of your hands.

“Come on,” he whispered kindly into your ear.

Shoto lifted his head up and kissed your lips. Without breaking contact, he carefully picked you up in his arms and held you against his muscular chest. You smiled into the kiss, letting your hand slide down and rest on one of his pecks. He smiled into the kiss as well, and began to carry you inside. The stars looked down on you and twinkled, as though they were smiling.

You were going to waste the night away with Shoto Todoroki.

[ibelily]

The Horsemen

I don’t even know what this is, but it’s been in my head so it needs to get out ! I might make it a multi-chaptered thing, with a chapter for each side if y’all like that idea. Also I’m tagging @demerite​, @lana--22​ and @taki-random​ because you all sencouraged me to write this so it’s really all your fault ... <3

Highschool AU, OC’s Point Of View 

Pairing: none

TW: mentions of suicide, of death, of physical fights (i think that’s it, pls tell me if i missed something)

Length: 2.1k yeaaaah buddy

Also, i apologise if I got any of the biblical references wrong, Wiki was my main ressource

Urgh, I hate firsts. Firsts are always awkward, and ultimately disappointing. At top of the list is definitely the first day of school, especially when your first day happens to be in the middle of the school year. I had just managed to figure out how my locker worked and had turned to walk to my class when I was pulled out of the way just before being bulldozed by a mammoth of a teenager, who walked past as if nothing had even happened. 

I turned to my savior to see someone even shorter than myself, wearing a baggy yellow hoodie and black skinny jeans, with white Converse. They had short, bright red hair that clashed beautifully with their hoodie, and a simple grey backpack was slung casually over one shoulder.

“Sorry about that” they said, letting go of my sleeve. “You were about to get trampled”

“Yeah I noticed” I said as I dusted myself off.

“Haven’t seen you around. You new?” They asked.

“Yeah, first day.”

”That’ll explain it. You’re lucky Famine didn’t flatten you. Usually everyone gets out of his way quickly so he wouldn’t have stopped.”

“Yeah I was worried there for a sec- Hang on did you just say Famine?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a long story. Tell you what, I’ll tell you at lunch, every newbie deserves to know the story.” They stuck out a hand for me to shake, smiling widely. I took it in mine and gave my best firm handshake, surprised at the upfront friendliness.

“I’m Chris, by the way” they said just as the bell rang “... and I’m late for AP History. Meet you here at noon? We’ll go get lunch” I nodded dumbly as they took off in the direction of their classroom. Not bad I thought, I’ve already made a friend. I shrugged my backpack further up onto my shoulder and went to find my own class.

*****

Midday soon came around, and I found myself in the cafeteria with Chris, looking at a surprisingly good school lunch.

“They’re called the Horsemen” Chris started without preamble as we put down our trays and sat in the hard plastic seats.

“The horsemen?” I repeated.

“Named after the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Oh. I’m not a christian, I’ve never heard that story before” I explained.

“Well in the New Testament, in the Book of Revelation, there’s a chapter that talks about a scroll that is sealed with seven seals. The Lamb of God -which is just another name for Jesus- opens four of the seals which brings down the Horsemen, the harbingers of the Apocalypse and of the Judgement Day.”

“Sounds morbid” I joke.

“Well, that’s the Bible for you” They chuckled. We chatted for a while about other things: where I was before, how I was liking the town so far, the usual mundane things. I found I really liked Chris, they had an uplifting personality and I quickly felt relaxed around them, something that didn’t happen often for me.

“Here they come” Chris announced, and I felt the room grow quieter as the door swung open. In walked a gang of five men -they definitely weren’t boys- who ambled their way over to the line to get some food, talking quietly amongst themselves. The other people in the queue tensed at the new additions, but carried on with whatever they were doing. The men didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t seem to care of their intimidating presence.

“That first one is Conquest.” Chris pointed at the first man, beginning their explanation “His real name is Roman, but no one calls him that anymore. He is what is commonly referred to as a man-whore. He’ll have sex with anything with a heartbeat. No ties, obviously. It’s just ‘Wham, Bam, thank you whoever’.”

I watched as Roman collected his food. He wore a white and red t-shirt, very form-fitting jeans and stylish sneakers. His hair was impeccably quiffed, and there was no denying his good looks. He shot a charming smirk at the lady serving him, and she turned bright red and giggled.

“He looks good, but I don't see how he’s so terrible” I defended.

“There's just something about him. Everyone knows how he operates and yet people fall under his charm and they're goners. They fall in love with him, and he knows it. He uses them for whatever he wants: information, tasks he doesn’t want to do, you name it. Once he's slept with someone, they become one of The Conquered. Half the school has been conquered by him so far, students and teachers alike.”

“Have you been... Conquered?” I asked tentatively. They chuckled in response.

“No, we asexuals are immune to his powers, a fact that annoys him greatly”

Conquest sat down at an empty table, casually ignoring all the loving eyes that followed him across the room. I turned back to the line as Chris continued.

“The next one is War. Real name: Logan. Don’t be fooled by the shirt and tie, he’s definitely the scariest of the four.”

Looking at Logan, I found that hard to believe. He was the very definition of ‘White & Nerdy’. He wore thick rimmed glasses, a crisp black shirt with every button done up, a bright blue tie fastened securely around his neck, and pressed trousers with smart black lace-ups. He had a neutral expression on his face, almost like a robot.

“How could he possibly be scary?” I asked incredulously. As I spoke, a freshman who wasn’t looking ahead of him walked straight into the man they called War. War turned his head rigidly to stare at the younger boy, who stuttered out a faint apology before running away, tripping over his own feet. War stared at the retreating figure, then returned to what he was previously doing, choosing his dessert.

“War has anger issues. He seems all monotonous, but don’t cross him, whatever you do. He will destroy you, quite literally. The last guy who pissed him off ended up in hospital for 2 months.” 

“What did he do to anger him?” I gawked.

“No one knows. The stories go from having sex with his sister to tripping him up accidentally in the hallway. He’s also very protective of the others, so crossing them is crossing him.” Chris shuddered slightly and I found myself doing the same. The more I looked at War, the more he creeped me out; He was so robotic in his actions, his face devoid of all emotion. He joined Conquest at the table, sitting down mechanically opposite him.

“I suppose you’re already acquainted with Famine.” Chris joked, and I turned my head back to where Famine was filling his plate with everything in front of him.

“The name’s kind of ironic; He’s on the wrestling team so he eats a lot.” In contrast with the others, Famine seemed massive. Although he was of similar height, he was at least twice as wide. His blue shirt strained against his biceps and upper back as he leaned forward to grab even more food for his piled up plate. Everything about him was big.

“He doesn’t say much, but when he does speak you listen. If he tells you to do something, you do it. He’s got this authoritative tone in his voice that makes you feel like you have to obey. I reckon it’s the whole being a father thing” Chris shrugged.

“He’s a father?! He’s still in highschool!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah, he’s got two kids. Twins. Not many people know about them though. I only found out because I overheard a conversation between the four of them a while back. They’ve taken to calling him ‘Dad’ as a joke. His real name is Patton I think, but like all the others his name isn’t really used anymore”

As Famine sat down with the others, his plastic seat squeaked as he put all his weight on it. Without saying a word the other two gave him things off their plates to add to his mountain of food, Conquest holding out the kiwi in his hand with a disgusted look on his face.

Then the man that I assumed was the fourth Horseman stepped up to pay. He was slightly shorter and skinnier than the others, wearing a large black hoodie with black jeans and black sneakers. As he turned his head I noticed large purple bags underneath his eyes; It looked like he never slept.

“Who is he then?” I asked curiously.

“That’s Death.”

“Death?”

“Yup. I don’t know his real name, in fact I don’t think anyone does. He doesn’t like it so he makes the teachers and everyone call him either Death, and sometimes Anxiety.”

“That’s…weird”

“He gets called Anx most of the time anyway. He’s probably the least intimidating of the four, he’s actually quite nice, if a bit quiet. I had Art class with him last semester and we actually got on pretty well.” They explained. I watched as he took a seat with the others, jumping in and joining in on the conversation already taking place between them. He made a quick remark at Conquest, making Famine guffaw loudly and put his arm around his shoulders, ruffling his hair. Looking at them interact, it was hard to imagine that any of them could be as horrid as Chris made them out to be.

“So why is he a Horseman?”

“Because of his reputation. There’s apparently a curse on him that means that anyone who gets close to him dies”

My eyes widened and I whipped my head around to stare at Chris.

“Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately. His parents died in a car accident when he was young, and he didn’t have any living relatives so he got shuffled around the care system for years. Apparently most of his foster parents died not long after taking him in, and others just dumped him back in the system. When he first came here he made friends with a girl. Her name was Emmy. She committed suicide three months later.”

“Oh my God, that’s heartbreaking.” I took another glance at him, and he had retreated slightly from the group, eating his lunch in silence.

“Anx sort of shut himself away after that, refusing to talk to anyone, not that he did much talking to begin with. It wasn’t until the gang decided to take him under their collective wings that he started to talk again. Now he’s the one that calms them down when they go a bit too overboard.”

I got a perfect example of that as a small commotion erupted from their table, making everyone’s heads turn to watch. War was standing up and leaning over the table, staring down angrily at Famine, who was staring back just as menacingly. I don’t know what had happened, but War’s face was getting increasingly red, and a vein had popped up on his forehead. Calmly, Anxiety got up and placed a gentle hand on Logan’s shoulder. The other snapped out of his staring contest to look at Anxiety. No words were exchanged, but Logan nodded at Anxiety and the pair sat back down. War extended a hand out to Famine who slapped his own against it, then they bumped fits and carried on the conversation they’d previously been having. For his part, Conquest hadn’t flinched at the interaction, he’d carried on eating his burrito as if it were a common occurrence. The whole scenario was bizarre, to say the least.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I turned back to the food line and remembered the fifth member of the group. He’d also paused at the interaction, but he’d quickly turned back to pick out his food.

“So who’s the fifth one? I thought there were only four horsemen” I asked.

“There are. That’s Thomas. He’s sort of like their ringleader. He’s the worst one of all”

I took a moment to watch him, and was surprised when he smiled and thanked the server for his food before picking up his tray and making his way to the table.

“He looks nice enough to me”

“Everyone thinks that at first. But you’ll learn, eventually. He’s like all four of the other rolled into one deceivingly sweet package.”

“So what do you call him then, if he’s not a Horseman?”

“What do you think? Who sent the Horsemen in the first place?”

I look at Chris blankly, confused. They lean in towards me, lowering their voice to a whisper. I leant in also, feeling the tension build in the air.

“He’s God, who else?”

#A sandersides fic #Anxiety sanders #roman sanders #Prince sanders #logan sanders #logic sanders #morality sanders #patton sanders #what even is this fic #i have no idea