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yikesharringrove · 3 years

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Show Pony

Chapter one - Big Sky

Also on Ao3

Billy doesn’t give a fuck about the rodeo.

He doesn’t care about country music, or fancy horse riding, or the beauty queens, even the bull riders.

What he does give a fuck about it not being in his house today.

Not when his dad was obviously itching to pick a fight. Not when Max gave him such an easy out over breakfast.

“I saw a flyer for a rodeo. I think it’d be kinda neat.”

It was in town for four more weeks.

And Billy could tell the second he and Max bought tickets, he was about to be spending more time than he ever fuckin’ thought he would spend at a rodeo.

He based that on the way Max’s eyes lit up the second she stepped inside the big fairgrounds.

Not knowing that he was right. He was about to spend a lot of time at the rodeo.

But not for Max.

For himself.

And a pretty horse rider named Steve.

He didn’t see Steve that first day.

Was too busy shelling out his own hard-earned cash to buy Max sugary funnel cakes. Sitting next to her watching the poor suckers get bucked off their pissed-off bull.

But when Max was in the car she turned to him, the sun setting outside, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

And the tickets were dirt cheap. And Billy hates being at home.

So they did.

And they watched the rodeo queens.

And the team-roping.

But it wasn’t until the calf roping that Billy felt his heart sink.

Because he thinks Steve Harrington might be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Tall and broad, smiling like sunshine at his gorgeous black quarter horse, patting her strong neck and leading her to the entry point of the arena.

His name was loudly announced after the event name.

Calf roping, with our very own Steve Harrington! Steve will navigate his beautiful June into the arena, trying to rope and tie down a calf as quickly as possible!

Billy had tuned out everything but his name.

Leaning forward on his bench seat to watch him lead June up to the starting line, give her a few more pats before swinging one leg up, heaving himself up and over her back, settling into the saddle with a grace Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to describe.

Steve appeared to shake himself out, leaning forward over June’s neck to speak quietly to the sleek horse, wiggling his hips a bit in the saddle.

And then he sat back up, readying himself and waiting for the countdown.

He was off like a fucking shot.

Billy’s never seen anything fucking like it.

June kicked up dirt as she thundered through the arena behind a small herd of a few calves, Steve ducked low against her neck as he led her forward, his lips moving as he spoke quietly to her, egging her on and forward. He was clinging to her for dear life, his legs straining as he was tossed up and down in the saddle.

And then he let go of her reins, one hand reaching for the rope on his belt.

And it was the most hick shit he’s ever seen.

This flannel-wearing cowboy on his perfect fucking horse, roping a baby fucking cow.

He slipped the knot around it from his perch on the moving horse, lassoing it easily like that was a common skill, and with a fluid practiced movement, he tossed himself off the slowing horse, getting on one knee to tip over the calf and tie it up like it was second nature.

And maybe it was. Performing in a show like this.

That’s all it was, a performance. Practiced and rehearsed over and over for Steve and June.

It was over in a blink, Steve tossing his hands up to show he was finished, and the calf didn’t break its bonds.

The whistle blew and Steve’s time was read to the arena. Nine seconds. And apparently, nine seconds was a good time, judging by the way Steve’s raised his fists in the air, and patted June’s neck so gently.

He mounted back on his gorgeous horse as the calf he had roped was released by a few of the rodeo workers and the next guy took his position at the starting line.

Steve did a lap around the arena of June’s back, smiling and waving to the crowd.

And maybe Billy just has an overactive imagination.

Maybe his stupid gay brain was looking for something not there.

But he could’ve sworn he saw Steve grin just a little bit brighter in his direction.

There were a few riders after him. Competing to earn a faster score on the same track.

But Billy didn’t give a fuck about calf roping if he wasn’t watching Steve and June.

The sun was setting as Billy finally led Max out of the fairgrounds, one hand on the top of her head, steering her towards the Camaro.

“So, you think we can come back next weekend” Max was giving him a big shit-eating grin, powdered sugar all done her front from the final funnel cake Billy had shelled out to buy her.

“Don’t see why not. Get’s us outta the fuckin’ house, don’t it.”

“Plus, there are lots of good-looking cowboys, just everywhere. Did you see the guy doing the cattle roping, or whatever? He was cute .” Billy rolled his eyes. Max was just touching the age when she stopped thinking of boys as gross, saw them as cute, and whatever else she said. It also made her realize that having a gay brother apparently meant talking about nothing but boys. It made Billy wanna slam his head into the steering wheel. He grunted in response as she kept going on and on about Steve.

Like Billy didn’t see the way his thighs gripped the sides of his horse, like he didn’t watch as he hurled himself off June to tie up the fucking calf. Like he didn’t watch him take that fucking victory lap, shit-eating grin looking like home on his pretty fucking face.

“You gotta carry your own weight, you know that, right Shitbird? I’m talking, pay for your own damn fried shit.” He bets Susan would give him money for tickets if he acts real nice this week.

He can’t blow all his savings at the fucking rodeo of all things this summer. He’s got plans for the wad of cash burning a hole in the shoebox in the back of his closet.

Max huffed at him.

“What am I supposed to do? Get a job? I’m thirteen .”

“So? Babysit or some shit. Rob an ATM. Fuck if I care. Just quit stealing all ‘a my goddamn cash for your fuckin’ funnel cakes .”

“You’re just pissed off because you didn’t try one. They’re the best. You gotta have one next week.”

“I, unlike you, care about what I put in my body.”

“Yeah, because cigarettes and beer are so much better than fried dough .”

“Whatever.” The truth is, Billy’s gotta watch what he eats. Max didn’t know him when he was prepubescent and chubby. He can’t be sitting there shoving funnel cakes in his mouth and not expect it to all go to his gut. Not like her. There’s not an ounce of fucking baby fat on her. She’s positively scrawny. If anything, the funnel cake might help her out a bit.

“Yeah, whatever .” She huffed, slumping back in her passenger seat. “But can we come back?”

“Fuck, if you keep askin’ me, the answer’s no .”

She huffed again. She does that a whole lot when they talk.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I saw the way you were watching Steve race. You were practically drooling .”

Billy clenched his jaw.

“Was not .”

“Was too .”

And Max had a knack of leading Billy into moments like this, childish little arguments that made him feel kinda weird inside. Made him feel kinda warm at how sibling it was. Like they hadn’t been forced together just a few years ago.

For all his bitching, he really did like the little spit. If he didn’t, he’d be a bigger asshole than she’s always accusing him of being.

“You don’t even know what I look like when I’m really eyeing a boy, if you think that was it. Just, you know. Respected his riding.”

“ Respected his riding. Yeah ‘cause you wish he was riding-”

“Finish that sentence and I’m pushing you out of the fucking car.”

“I’m right, though.”

Billy just reached forward to turn up the radio, letting Dee Snider drown out any other awful shit Max wanted to say to him.

Which was probably showing his hand too much. No direct answer pretty much means affirmative when it comes to Billy. And yeah, Max knows that. Judging by the way she’s cackling like a goddamn gremlin over the sound of the music.

He just pressed his foot down further on the gas pedal, letting them fly down the highway.

And he thought about Steve and June, thought about how fast Steve could press that girl to go. Thought about him leaning forward, flattening himself to the horse’s neck, gripping onto the reins and urging her forward, urging her faster.

And if he thought about those strong legs wrapped around him, if he thought about what Max was about to say, Steve riding Billy like he would that fucking horse, his hips flexing as he bounces up and down, well, that’s his business.

And the next Saturday, Susan slid him a crisp twenty-dollar bill to buy Max some lunch at the rodeo.

They took it more seriously this time, bringing water bottles, and Max slathering thick white sunscreen on her freckled skin.

Billy even wore shorts, some old jeans he sacrificed to the summer gods when he wore holes in the thighs and chopped pretty much in half.

And it was kinda fun.

He knew what to expect now. Knew the barrel racing was all women, all beautiful horses winding their way along clover-shaped tracks. He knew that the bull riding was a little more fun to watch with a shot in him, and that his fake i.d. could get him an alcohol wristband from the tent at the front.

Max sneered at him when he bought himself a beer later in the day.

“Uh, you know you have to drive me home, right? Like, and not crash your stupid car on the way home.”

“Fuck off. It’s one beer.”

“And also that shot earlier, and I know you have a flask.”

“Okay, what are you, the cops? I’m just tryna enjoy myself in this blistering fucking heat. I don’t exactly get my rocks off to any of this shit.” Which is a lie. He’s totally sold on every stupid fucking event at the motherfucking rodeo.

“Fine. You wanna get stupid and drunk? Then you have to take me to the pageant. I wanna watch it.”

“Since fucking when do you give a shit about the pageant .” Max glared at him. Her nose was beginning to get red.

Maybe if Billy were less of a shithead he would tell her to put some sunscreen on. But she was really testing his patience today.

And then her eyes went huge, and her jaw went slack, and Billy was just about to tell her to close it and quit lookin’ like a dead fuckin’ fish when he heard someone cough slightly behind him.

And when he turned, he almost made the exact same stupid dead fish face as Max.

Because gorgeous cowboy Steve was standing right in front of him. In another cracker of a flannel shirt, stupid blue jeans, and fucking cowboy boots, because yeah. He’s a goddamn hick that rides a horse and ties up calves in a traveling rodeo for a fucking living.

And God save Billy, because hot damn.

Steve had an easy smile on his face, a little bit lopsided, and perfect white teeth showing between perfect pink lips.

“Hey there.”

“Howdy,” Billy responded before he could stop himself, his face burning up.

He was hoping he was already sweaty enough Steve wouldn’t notice the flush.

But thankfully, Steve’s smile went wider, and he laughed, this gorgeous bright laugh, his head tossing back, and that thick hair flowing easily.

He had gold streaks in his hair, lighter browns tussled within the darker colors. Billy wondered if they were natural, days spent out in the sun on his horse. Part of him hoped they weren’t. Part of him hoped that Steve was that intentional with himself and his goddamn hair.

He smiled at Billy.

“I’m Steve.”

“We saw you. Last weekend,” Max blurted out before Billy could kick her. She looked shocked that she had even spoken when Billy turned to give her a death glare. But Steve just laughed his gorgeous laugh again.

“And what’d you think?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about you on the way home.” And Steve was back to looking at Billy, and his eyes are so fucking big, like, who’s eyes are just. Like that. Just fuckin’. Big.

“And what about you, uh-”

“Billy. And this is Max. My sister.”

“Well, Billy,” and fuck Billy nearly creamed himself at the sound of Steve saying his name. “Did you like my display of talents ?”

“Could say so. I don’t give too many shits about all this hick farm stuff. But I can respect it.”

“Well, that’s alright then.” And Steve reached out to pat Billy once on the shoulder. “I hope I see y’all around. I gotta head off, June needs some TLC before our time.” He smiled at Max, and her already red face flushed deeper, almost blending into the roots of her flaming hair.

And then he doubled back.

“You know what, I forgot why I came over here in the first place.” He was digging through his jeans, rummaging around in his back pockets.

Billy wanted to slide his hands in there, cop a feel while he helped Steve look for whatever he was going to offer Billy.

And then Steve brought out two white wristbands.

“They’re for, uh, VIP seating and stuff. If you’re interested. Gets you closer to the arena. That way I can just see what you look like after I’m comin’ off a ride.”

Hoo boy.

This little cowboy has some fucking charm.

And he knows it too, judging by his smug little half-smile he gave Billy while he fastened the wristband around his wrist.

He helped Max with hers, doing it faster than he had Billy’s, and with a lot less eye contact, which was a good sign. He’s not perving on his twelve-year-old sister. Which is cool.

And then he was looking back at Billy, and brushing his long fingers over the tops of Billy’s shoulders, his arms out in his shirt, the arms torn off an old Aerosmith t-shirt he found at the Goodwill last year.

“You should reapply sunblock. Don’t want you burning now.” And Billy’s sure if Steve was wearing a Stetson, he woulda tipped it at them. “Enjoy the pageant.”

And he was off, and Christ, those jeans. How did Steve even successfully ride his horse in those things? They were so tight, showed off his nice peachy ass as he walked through the fairgrounds.

“Wow,” Max said. And yeah, Billy felt the same.

“In case it wasn’t clear, based on the way he was flirting with me, and also that he’s way too old for you, but, uh, dibs .”

“Billy, you can’t just call dibs on a person.” Billy just laughed.

He knows that his twelve-year-old fucking sister doesn’t have a shot in Hell with Steve. Really, he doubts he even has a shot in Hell with Steve, but he also likes to spend his time making her life as difficult as possible without actually being a shitty person. So, he just riles her up. Says shit that’ll get her going. He wouldn’t be doing his brotherly duties if he didn’t say that shit.

Max calls it even by kicking him in the shin twice and making him watch the stupid beauty pageant.

Which, like, why the fuck are there beauty pageants at the rodeo anyway?

Turns out it wasn’t pageant at all, but the four previous Miss Rodeo’s all lined up and looking far too glammed out for this fucking heat.

Max faked being disgruntled by the disappointment, but Billy knows, somewhere inside that tough bitch little soul of hers, she’s glad she didn’t have to sit through a goddamn pageant just to make Billy miserable.

Besides, Billy had whipped out his flask a few times, and he was feeling alright. Just buzzed enough that the heat had stopped making him feel quite so disgusting.

But not too drunk to miss calf roping.

And yeah, maybe it was a little bit lame to make their way over to the VIP seating earlier enough that they scored the front row. But when Steve came trotting out, leading June behind him, Billy was close enough he could pick out the cluster of moles on Steve’s left cheek.

So, lame was not in Billy’s vocabulary today.

It was pretty much the same thing as last week. Steve made everyone in the arena ooh and aah with his riding, tied up the calf in less than ten seconds once again.

But this time, when he took that jaunty little lap around the small arena, Billy knows for a fact Steve grinned at him. Knows his stupid gay brain wasn’t making up the wink he tossed effortlessly in Billy’s direction.

And they left, just like last weekend, as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon.

“Just, c’mon. Mom gave you money .” Max was whining for a corn dog, of all things. When they have perfectly good, not fried food, at home.

“Maxine, I swear to Christ, I’m fucking tired. Let’s go home so I can crash, and you can fucking drive Susan up the goddamn wall with your whining.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem too bad.” And Billy felt his insides curdling at that voice, felt himself wilting and shriveling because he would not be getting out of this day without one final, no doubt embarrassing, encounter with his gorgeous cowboy.

Steve was leaning against a booth selling chili fries, looking like a perfect picture of a Clint Eastwood movie.

Billy had never liked westerns.

But he was gonna go home and spend all night watching every one he could get his grubby little hands on.

Steve pushed off the side of the booth as Max found her words again.

“You don’t have to live with him.”

“And you don’t have to live with my folks. I’d trade you any day.”

And Billy nearly died. Right there. On the spot. Because. Holy shit. I’d trade you any day.

Billy was more than happy to follow this fucking hick around America, watch him ride his pretty horse before fucking him against the stable wall.

Or whatever. Do they have stables? Billy doesn’t know how a traveling rodeo works.

But like, they’ve gotta have stables, right?

“Nah, you’d get sick of him. He stinks.”

“Have you ever smelled horse shit? Because that’s the fragrance I wake up to every morning.”

And Max was laughing, and Steve was laughing, and Billy was trying to keep his hands as casually as possible in front of his slight chub.

“Will I get the privilege of seeing you two again?” And what a way to word it? The privilege. And then Steve was looking Billy up and down, and he was biting that perfect bottom lip and opening his mouth and “I could always give you my phone number. So we can. Meet up. Next time you’re here.”

“‘Course. You can give us the grand tour.”

And Steve was digging in those tight back pockets again, and shoving his phone into Billy’s hand, and he doesn’t have a passcode, but his home screen was a picture of him and his fucking horse which is, just about the sweetest thing Billy’s ever seen.

And Billy put himself in as Billy Hargrove , and then panicked because Steve doesn’t know his fucking last name. So he settled for Billy and then for good measure shoved San Diego after it because. Billy’s a common name, okay?

And Steve took his non-password protected fuckin’ horse girl phone, and Billy was giving him as charming a smile as he could muster with sweat on his upper lip and saying-

“You better text me, Pretty Boy. So I can save your number.” Billy shrugged, looking off to his left to try and seem. Nonchalant. “In case I wanna see you again.”

And Max was rolling her eyes, but she wasn’t stopping away. Wasn’t even whining at Billy, no doubt on her best behavior in front of hot cowboy Steve.

But Steve had a glint in his eye, and if Max wasn’t here Billy would be playing this all different, laying on the charm a lot thicker than he was.

But he can’t be a horny bastard in front of her. That’s just, like, gross.

So he settles for making a real show of licking his bottom lip, and maybe flexing his bare arms just a tiny bit.

“We should probably get goin’. Got a curfew for this one,” Billy jerked his head in Max’s direction. She huffed before she could stop herself. “See you around, Cowboy Steve.”

And Steve gave another one of his pretty ringing laughs.

“Come again soon, Billy and Max.” And again, Billy’s sure that if Steve were wearing a hat, he would’ve flicked the brim at them as he set off back into the rodeo, dodgin off the main thoroughfare.

“Wow. That was embarrassing for you.”

Billy whipped his head around to stare at Max, giving her the most disgusted look he could muster.

“The fuck you mean?”

“You were so obvious.”

“That’s the fucking point . We were flirting. It’s supposed to be obvious, you demon.” Billy shoved her once before stomping in the direction of the parking lot.

“Yeah but you were like, making these faces at him.”

“Shut the fuck up. I know what I was doing, okay? It was all very calculated . Let him know I’m down for it, and if he texts, then I’m good to go. If not, then I move on.”

And the thought of Steve not texting was kinda, disappointing. Because Billy really wanted him to text. He wanted to stay up late giggling at his phone and the dumb things Steve texts him and pretend they don’t make him flush like a fucking school girl.

He pointedly didn’t look at his notification when he reached the car, just shoved an old tape in and turned up Black Sabbath when Max wrinkled her nose at it.

They were both quiet on the drive back home. Something heavy unsaid between them.

And only as Billy was pulling into his spot in the driveway did Max suck in a big breath to actually put it out there.

“I won’t tell. About him. Not even Mom. Not even that I think he’s cool.”

“Thanks. Easier just to. Avoid at all costs.”

And if Billy were a better person, maybe he would hug her or something.

But they don’t do that. Instead he sighed and didn’t hip check her violently off the porch like his instincts were telling him. So really, he’s a fucking saint.

#yikes writes #rodeo au #show pony #steve harrington #billy harringrove #steve harringrove #thought i'd make a proper post with the story for ppl that wanted to read it here #i'm very proud of it!!#please read it!!

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star-lemonade · 3 years

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School reunion (1/3)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader

Cw: bulling, kinda angsty, Junhee is a sweet heart though

Rating: T (Series R)

Word count: 3.6 k

Summary: You hire someone to accompany you to your school reunion.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. The laptop sat on the kitchen table and the page in the browser was taunting you. You stared at the screen from your spot against the kitchen counter. The empty boxes waited for you to fill in your information. Should I really do this?

You sighed and filled some water into the kettle just to delay having to make a decision. The other thing on the kitchen table was not better. It was an invitation to your school reunion. The reunion was scheduled for the Saturday of the following week at your old school. School. Even the address on the paper brought a bad taste to your mouth.

“You’re so ugly, who would ever date you?”

“I dare you to kiss her.”

“Yak not even for money”

You shuddered. No, no, there is no way I will go there alone. You sat down at the table and began to fill in the form. Name, address, phone and age. On the next page they asked about the occasion or event and you typed: school reunion.

Time? about 3 hours. I won’t stay there for too long.

Gender preference? Hmm I don’t actually care. ‘Don’t care’ was not an option, so you chose ‘man preferred’ over the ‘man only’, ‘woman preferred’ and ‘woman only’ options.

Age preferences? 25-35. I can’t show up there with an 18 year old.

Your finger hovered over the enter button. The shadow of your school days was still haunting you and made your hand heavier until you finally clicked check out.

You had officially rented a plus one for your school reunion.

A day after you had filled out the form you received a message from an unknown number.

“Hello, this is Junhee. I will accompany you to your school reunion next week. Would it be okay if I asked some questions so I can prepare?”

“Hi, Junhee. What do you want to know?”

“How should I introduce myself?”

You chewed on your lip. As you typed the next message your face felt warm.

“As my boyfriend.”

It felt so sad to ask this of a total stranger and you prayed he would not judge you for it. Please don’t question this, please don’t question this.

“How long have we been together?”

I guess that is a valid question someone could ask. You thought about it for a moment. It should not be too short but also not too long. The fact that you did know much about each other would make it not believable that you are together for years.

“A few months maybe?”

He asked a few more questions like “where and how did we meet?” (“at work while getting coffee”) and you answered them with whatever struck your mind.

“Okay. I think this is enough for me. Thank you!”

You sighed. This was actually more complicated than you had anticipated. At least now it felt real as opposed to just a scam to get money from people. Three dots appeared on your screen again.

“One last thing. This is also in the terms of service, but we all must remind our customers about this: I am not a hooker and you did not book sexual favours.”

Your face burned when you read that. Surely no one had asked for that before, had they?

“Of cause not, I just don’t want to go alo-”

Before you really thought about it, you had accidently pressed ‘send’ instead of backspace. Oh no. OH NO.

“Shit.”

My escort knows how pathetic I am. ‘As if he did not know before’ another part of you interjected. Your phone vibrated again.

“It’s okay, I will do my best to keep you company :)”

You did not know what to answer and just send:

“Thank you.”

As the reunion neared you found yourself thinking about it more. A sort of dread had settled in your chest. After all these years you would finally face your bullies. The people who had belittled you for not been pretty enough and made you believe that you could never find anyone who loved you. The worst thing was it seemed that they were right. You were single and you even had to hire someone… no. No, you would not let them get to you. The past years had been the happiest you had ever been. You had friends, even if they were not many, and you did well at your job. There was nothing not to be proud of. Even if you were single now, that did not mean you were unlovable. It just meant that you had not met a person that fit. You would walk in there, head held high and show those petty bitches you were not afraid of them anymore.

Your mood oscillated between confident and anxious for the whole week. You did not want to give them the satisfaction of knowing you were still so affected by them, that their mere presence could make you stay away. No, you had to go. Like this you killed the time to the day of the reunion.

You had rented a dress from a rental service. It was not too fancy but you simply did not own that many dresses and the ones you had did not seem appropriate. Someone on the organizing committee had decided that nice dresses and suits were what they wanted to see. You had messaged Junhee to wear something appropriate for that dress code.

“In a few hours it’s over.”

Your mirror image was not convinced by this but it was all you could do now. Backing out last minute would make you look bad, even if you really wanted to. All of this seemed like a bad idea. What if they found out that you had hired someone to play your boyfriend? You would be the laughing stock of the whole school and this after you had not been in school for years. For a moment you considered just taking off the dress, putting on some sweaters and sitting down on the couch. Your phone made a noise. A new message had arrived.

“At 5 pm at the station, right?”

Junhee.

“Yes. See you there.”

As if it was mocking you, the sun shone from a bright blue sky. The people on the street smiled more than you had seen in some time. On the other hand it was maybe your imagination. Now that you were walking to what could be the worst night of your recent history, everyone seemed in a better state than you.

You arrived at the station.

“I’m wearing a red dress.”

Maybe the dress was a bit much. It had seemed like a good idea. Wearing red would make you stand out. Now, however, that was the opposite of what you wanted to do. Fading into the background, turning invisible and just straight up going back home was what you really wanted right now. The only thing that was that held you back was the thought of the money you had spent upfront for your plus one.

Two young women stopped next to you. One of them sat her backpack down and tried to stuff a paper bag into it.

“Should I help?”

Her friend watched her struggle with amusement. Despite her offer she did not help backpack girl but looked around instead.

You shifted your attention to your phone. Junhee had seen your message. Good. I hope he will be here soon. So we can get this over with.

“Jeez, I wish my boyfriend looked like that,” the girl said as her friend proclaimed: “I’m done. Let’s go.”

Backpack girl dragged her friend away. At least she had a boyfriend. It was not like you needed a man in your life but it would be nice sometimes. Next week I will try tinder. From past experience that was not likely but the thought alone seemed to pacify your mind for now. Getting a boyfriend was future-you’s problem. Present-you had to worry about that goddamn school reunion.

Someone said your name.

“Hmm?”

You were not sure which part shocked you the most: the crisp black suit that hugged the man’s body perfectly, the curly dark hair that looked straight out of a romcom, the beautiful lips and handsome face, the million dollar smile or the soft voice that said your name. It was hard to choose.

“Ehm?”

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Junhee.”

“ID please.”

You showed it to the sour faced student behind the supermarket counter. He nodded and you paid. Buying hard alcohol in broad daylight was highly suspicious but this situation called for it. You definitely could not do this sober. Junhee had sat down on a bench not too far from the supermarket. The black suit and white dress shirt fit him perfectly. It was as if watching a photo shoot for the next wedding catalog. Oh, this is a catastrophe. You unscrewed the bottle and took a good mouthful. The cheap alcohol burned in your mouth and all the way down. No one in their right mind would believe he is my boyfriend. It could not be more obvious that you had hired him. Junhee watched the cars go by. The sun made his hair seem more brown than black and the light breeze moved the soft locks. You took another gulp and stuffed the bottle in your handbag. Did I accidentally book a model? There had not been an option for that of course. I should have asked for a photo. You left the store and walked over to Junhee. Maybe I should just send him home and go drink at a bar.

When he saw you, Junhee stood up. His charming smile filled you with dread. This is a car crash waiting to happen.

“Did you get everything?”

You nodded. Soon the alcohol would hit your brain. Maybe then you would care less about everything. You could not bring yourself to send Junhee away. He had come here, looking sharp and you had paid money for him to be here. Your stinginess won against better judgment, so your only option was the original one: go to your old school.

It felt like there was a black cloud of doom that thickened as you got nearer. The bad experiences from the past made every step you took towards that hell hole more difficult. You wanted to run away.

“Can I take your hand?”

Junhee. You had almost forgotten about him. He had not said anything for the past ten minutes or so. Maybe he felt that now was not a good time to talk. You offered your hand. He interlaced his fingers with yours. It had been some time since you held someone’s hand and it made your heart beat faster. Or maybe it was the liquor.

You turned the corner and there it was. The building looked the same as in your memory. Whoever had the idea of starting the evening here before instead of going to a restaurant directly, did not have your gratitude. Walking through the front door stiffly, you clenched your hands. Your whole body was tense. You were ready to fight or flee at any second.

Voices were coming from the gym. Next to the open door stood a table. On it were pens and stickers. As you approached a woman came through the door and smiled at you. It was the most fake smile you had seen in some time.

“Welcome! Please make a name tag for yourself.”

She made a swiping gesture to the table. You let go of Junhee’s hand and wrote your name on a sticker. The woman watched Junhee as he made a tag for himself. You had never been the jealous type but right then wanted to claw her eyes out.

“Have fun.”

You almost felt her looking as you entered the gym. The hall was filled with bar tables groups had formed and all eyes were on you. At one of the empty tables you stopped.

“I will get something to drink. What do you want?”

You barely heard your own answer over the ringing in your ears. The ceiling had been decorated but it made the hall seem more shabby. As if the paper garlands were only there to hide the cracks in the grey concrete. You looked around.

They looked back at you from the other table, pointed and smirked at each other. Your bullies. They looked old. The ten years since graduation had carved lines into their faces but they tried to hide it by applying too much makeup.

You felt sick.

“Hey.”

A hand landed on your shoulder and you jerked. Junhee pulled back his hand. He studied your face.

“Do you want to leave?”

You looked up. Leave? Leaving meant giving up. They won if you left. No, no you were strong. Your hand strangled your purse. You would not run away from them. Junhee‘s brown eyes watched the tremor in your hand.

“Let’s go,” he whispered and took your hand. Your skin was cold and sweaty against his as Junhee dragged you out. You were so shocked, you did not even say anything until you had left through the front door.

“Stop!”

You ripped your hand free from his grasp.

“You should not stay there any longer.”

“That is not your call to make,” you snapped at him.

His face flushed.

“No, but it is the right one.”

Before you could talk back he continued in a calm tone: “You don’t care about any of those people and they don’t care about you.”

He waved his hands.

“I don't know what happened in the past but you are not here to meet some old friends.”

Your eyes burned. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s humiliating. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision blurred.

“Not here.”

Junhee grabbed your shoulder and led you away. The tears fogged your vision, so you just followed wherever he was going. Your feet moved on their own accord and you were thankful for it. Holding back an undignified sob took up all your mental capacity.

“Sit.”

You collapsed on the bench. There was nothing holding the tears back now. You looked like an idiot in front of everyone. Your bullies had seen you turn up with an escort only to run away the second they looked at you. And now you cried on a bench in front of said escort. How pathetic had your life become? You had not felt this bad since leaving school.

Get a grip. There was nothing to be done here. You did not feel better by telling yourself this, but at least one of these could be fixed. Try to stop crying.

You concentrated on a point on the ground. The concrete was cracked there and something green had started to push its way to the surface. Plants are amazing. They can even exist in these places.

Your eyes still burned and your nose was all clogged up, but you had stopped crying.

“I’m sorry, Junhee.”

You looked up. There was no one around. When did he leave? You sighed and your eyes burnt again. I guess it is just that kind of day. Going home sounded like a good idea but you could not bring yourself to get up. The weight of your sorrows kept you on the bench. You could not even blame Junhee for leaving either. Usually you were very composed and rarely had outbursts of any kind, but today was just not your day.

“Here.”

A bottle of water entered your field of view. Your gaze followed the arm that was holding it up until you met Junhee’s eyes. You took the bottle and almost cried again because he was still here. For better or worse he had not abandoned you on a bench.

The water was cold. It had clearly been in a fridge not too long ago.

“Thank you.”

Junhee sat down next to you and waited while you drank the water. This day, although it was not over, was already a train wreck. Very carefully Junhee asked: “Can we get something to eat?”

You nodded slowly. Food was not a bad idea. You had skipped lunch because you had not been hungry at the time.

“Sure.”

Junhee stood up and looked around, hands on his hips. He turned to you and asked in a hushed tone:

“Where do we have to go?”

There was nothing funny about it but you laughed anyway. Junhee looked like a lost puppy and when he saw you laughing, he pouted. Now this really was funny.

“The station is that way.”

Junhee looked at his phone. He took off his tie and pocketed it.

“Technically I’m free to go now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We just got here and ordered food and you want to go?” was what you wanted to say but swallowed it. You were still embarrassed and grateful that Junhee was there with you. He had made dumb jokes all the way to your favorite restaurant. It was almost on the other end of town but it was the only place you wanted to be right now.

“So, you wanna leave?”

“Leave? No, no!”

He waved his hands frantically.

“I … meant I’m not here because of work now.”

The soju had painted Junhee’s cheeks a rosy red. It looked good on him.

“What do you do when you don’t do this?”

You gestured vaguely at you and him sitting together in your favorite restaurant. Surely it had to be model or something like that just based on what you had seen so far. Technically you were not supposed to ask personal questions but your contract was done. Technically.

“I’m a student. I study computer science, but I will graduate soon.”

He took a sip from his drink. That rang a bell in the back of your mind. Computer science? Someone was talking to me about that not long ago. Who was it?

The waiter came and set your food on the table. He opened the lid of the barbecue that was mounted in the table.

“Have a good meal.”

“Thank you.”

When you left the restaurant, the sun had set. You felt a little awkward. It had been nice spending time with Junhee even if you had been very distressed earlier. Before you could really think about it, the words fell from your mouth.

“Thank you for spending the day with me. It was nice.”

You did not look at him. It felt unnatural but you meant it and had to say it.

“It was nice for me too.”

Junhee’s hair was not as neat as earlier. The waves had flattened and the way he always combed it left it looking disheveled. His cheeks were flushed from the food and the drinks.

You were not sure what to say. “Goodbye for ever” seemed a bit odd.

“Good luck with your studies. See you around.”

“Goodbye.”

You left Junhee at the restaurant and walked home. It was not too far so you could walk. The night air was refreshing after the stuffy restaurant. It also cleared the dryness of your eyes and nose.

Your apartment was dark and empty. You took a quick shower, put on your pyjamas and went to bed. The day had been emotionally exhausting and you were drifting into the fuzzy precursor to sleep. Your mind drifted through some memories and thoughts but nothing was clear. It hit you. You were wide awake because your brain had found the answer to the question. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. The light from the screen nearly blinded you.

John, a name he had chosen because none of his overseas clients could pronounce ‘Seungmin’, was the CTO of a company that had their offices in the same building as your company. Without thinking much about it you sent Junhee John’s number.

“He is looking for some computer science people. Maybe that’s something for you. Anyways good luck and best wishes.”

You tried not to think too much about that day. It still felt like a defeat even months later. You had run away from your bullies. They had looked at you and you had folded. It was a bitter memory. The logical part of you noted that it was not worth your time, that you should focus on the tasks at hand and live your life.

You spent time with your friends and on your hobbies. Indeed your spirits lifted slowly. The less time you spent ruminating about the past the more time you could spend on other things.

“Let’s get lunch. I’m starving.”

You agree with your colleague. You grabbed your phone and keys. Your colleague was already at the elevator and held open the door.

Two floors down the elevator stopped and the door opened.

“Hey!”

John and some of his staff entered. You waved and smiled. John was a man in late 40 or early 50s, you had never asked, but he gave off the youthful energy of someone who loved his job. A ‘ding!’ announced the closing of the doors but John jammed his leg and arm between it.

“Hurry up, newbie! We can’t have you starve on the first day!”

Steps echoed in the hallway and the newbie flew into the tight space. The young man had dark hair and wore round glasses. With the dark blue sweater and the jeans he gave off the youthful vibe of a university student. He was very handsome and your face burnt.

Junhee.

#wkcnet #noonasinnetwork #Junhee x reader #Junhee smut #A.C.E smut #a.c.e x reader #kpop x reader #a.c.e fanfic #A.C.E fics #kpop fanfic #non idol au #star writing #queue for the lemonade stand

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percontaion-points · 3 years

Text

Raven King chapter 6

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions.

Chapter 6

Nicky was bringing Jim from his improv class...

I thought Nicky had a long-term boyfriend?

Well, if he did, he probably doesn't anymore. Not with all of Nicky's jokes about cheating and him taking some rando to the big dinner.

Blackwell was slow to appear in the distance, but it didn't take long to spot the two stadiums. The football and Exy stadium were on opposite sides of the campus like massive bookends.

I'm still having a really difficult time swallowing that society completely shifted because of a sport invented some 30 years earlier.

Like I'm willing to overlook a lot for the sake of a story. But for society to just go completely and utterly apeshit over a 30 year old sport makes zero sense. AND I READ THE STORY WHERE THE LADY HAD SEX WITH THE LITERAL BULL.

Wymack pulled a bottle of vodka out of the bag and put it down beside Kevin. "You have ten seconds to inhale as much of this as you can. I'm timing you. Go."

It was alarming how much a man could drink when he needed an emotional crutch.

WOW THAT'S SUPER FUCKING HEALTHY.

Like I get that his foster-father and brother abused the shit out of him. But therapy is much better than alcoholism.

Madison was using the home locker room to change right now, so the Foxes had to go all the way around to the away side.

I really love how there's this big fancy banquet dinner where they invite all of the college exy teams, and they literally have to change in the locker room.

My high school did this band banquet, too. But we didn't have to fucking eat dinner out on the football field with our parents... We had the school cafeteria for the evening.

Out of touch author can't even think of a world where these idiots would want to rent a banquet hall. Oh no... it's got to be at the fucking stadium, for some unholy reason.

Judging by Neil's quick headcount, the Ravens hadn't brought dates. They hadn't brought any color along, either. All twenty-two of them were dressed head-to-toe in black. The twenty men wore the same shirts and slacks, and the two women wore identical dresses. They even sat the exact same way, all with their right elbows on the table, all of them with their chins in their hands. Another team might look foolish going so far, but somehow the Ravens looked imposing.

I joke about the fox characters outside of Neil, Kevin, and Andrew being cardboard cut-outs... but this ain't got nothing on those cardboard cutouts.

"I know who you are," Riko said. "Who here doesn't? You're the woman who captains a Class I team. You've done admittedly well despite your disadvantages."

CASUAL SEXISM.

The man to Riko's right stood up as soon as the Foxes were settled and walked behind the Ravens until he was across from Neil. Two fingers to the woman's shoulder got her out of her chair and she moved to the newly-emptied seat. The stranger sat across from Neil. As he did the Ravens fell out of their frozen poses, but they did so only to lean back as one in their chairs.

Did they practice this ahead of time?

The black three tattooed on his left cheekbone meant he could be no one but Jean Moreau.

Imagine getting a tattoo of a college sports number. Of which you would only get to play for a few years before being forced out.

It took him only a few seconds to realize the Ravens were coming. The entire team was crossing the court toward Kevin, walking in V formation like a flock of birds going south.

I can't with her descriptions of the Ravens. Like one team's colors are orange and white, and the other is black and red. ONE OF THEM IS GUD AND THE OTHER IS EBUL. THE RAVENS ARE EBUL, AND THEY'RE ALL HENCHMEN ROBOTS.

"We're sure it is," the Raven striker said, "seeing how you're dating a prostitute."

"Stripper," Dan corrected...

[…]

Neil tried not to stare at her. He would have dismissed the Raven's insult as an outright lie if not for Dan's easy response. Too late he remembered her telling him she'd worked an overnight job during high school to make ends meet.

THE AUTHOR DOES REALIZE THAT YOU HAVE TO BE 18 TO WORK JOBS LIKE THAT... RIGHT?! Like please tell me that the author didn't write about a 15 year old getting a job as a stripper.

This series is bad enough without needing to drag child strippers into the mix.

The others fell asleep within a few miles, but Neil spent the entire ride thinking about Riko and his father.

Chapter 6 summary: So it's time for the banquet. They do a random lottery draw where they decide which school will host the banquet this year. The school picked is only about four hours away. The banquet itself lasts for two days, in order to justify some of the travel time for those further away. However, the foxes are of the opinion “fuck that; we're not staying the entire two days”.

As they get closer to the school, Kevin starts to have a panic attack. As the others leave the bus, David gives Kevin some alcohol, and tells him to chug it. Which... yeah, that sounds fucking healthy. They have to change out in the locker room, which is fucking weird if you ask me. And then they go into the stadium, which has been turned into a banquet hall. The sight makes Neil angry, and mood. Rent a fucking banquet hall for this, assholes.

They're upset to see that the foxes are randomly supposed to be sitting across from the ravens. And the ravens are all dressed like evil henchmen, and are even randomly acting in unison. Talk about zero personality. David warned the others not to pick a fight, but obviously wasn't counting on Riko bringing his planet-sized ego with him. A rando Raven player named Jean-- who is the embodiment of every French stereotype you can think of-- starts to antagonize Neil, and calls him by a bunch of Neil's former names. He then moves on and starts insulting everybody else.

Their little pissing match goes on for a long while. But hey, it's not like anything else is going on, so this might as well happen, I guess. Finally, Riko antagonizes Neil into speaking, and Neil calls Riko out on his shit, saying that he's a whiny, entitled little brat who doesn't have anything going for him. Then, Jean and Riko start to act like they “own” Neil, which has fucking creepy slavery undertones to what they're saying.

David finally shows up to say that they're trying to move the foxes to another table. As they get up to leave, Jean can't help but name-drop Neil's father. The others rally around Kevin and Neil once they're away. Kevin is sent back to the bus to drink some more liquor, and Neil thinks about following. Not only that, but just fucking leaving. But he doesn't, because then this series would be put out of its misery.

After dinner, then they put all of the tables away and everybody starts socializing and networking. The ravens come over, act like they've never met the foxes before, but then continue to insult them. I'm really fucking over this. Riko's uncle and the raven coach comes over. The two teams awkwardly stare at one another, and the only thing this scene needs is some dramatic finger snapping. Tetsuji says that he ran fingerprint test off of a glass Neil drank out of back during that dumb morning talk show, and knows who he is. He yells at Neil about crimes that Neil's dad committed against The Family©, as if Neil himself personally did all of that. However, Neil stands his ground and refuses to be bullied by these assholes.

Matt finally drags Neil away, and threatens to tell the exy board about Riko's shit behavior and have him benched for the rest of the season. They all go back to the bus finally, and start to head home.

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shutupaboutandraste · 3 years

Note

Welcome to the DADWC! Here is a prompt for you! Restaurant AU, with the characters of your choice!

Thank you so much for the prompt! I hope the drabble is to your liking.

Word Count: 1655

Pairing: Cullen/Bull

For @dadrunkwriting

Going to restaurants was an added benefit of being friends with Vivienne. Madame De Fer’s Critiques was the formal review column that she ran, seemingly dictating the future of upper echelon restaurants. This was not one of those restaurants. A greasy hole-in-the-wall bar and grille had been Bull’s desired stop of the night. She had dragged her friend around all day from place to place all weekend. Now out of reviewable restaurants, Bull had desired food with fat and grease and everything else bad for you.

“Couldn’t have picked a place a little cleaner?” she asked, her nose turning up as she sat down at the bar with Bull.

The place was smoky with dark lighting, harsh yellow incandescent lamps hung from the ceiling and came out of the wall at each booth. The ones at the booths had a dirty stained glass look to them, mixes of the deep yellow with rich reds and blues. The cushions were worn red leather. Booze wafted around them, mixing in with the scents of mouth-watering food.

A gleeful smile crossed Bull’s face as he shook his head, “Absolutely not. You dressed me up for your fancy shit, now we get to eat where I like, Ma’am.”

Vivienne tutted, “I’m a fine dining connoisseur. This bar food won’t impress me unless it tastes like gold.”

“I hope not,” Bull told her, “I think gold food would taste pretty shitty.” Vivienne groaned.

From behind the bar, a curly-haired blond man approached, shaking a martini mixer vigorously. That certainly caught Bull’s eye. Firm fingers held the silver cups, curling at the tips to keep the glass in place. A wry smirk came over Bull’s lips as the man’s rhythm slowed before he poured the drinks before carefully sliding them to another couple of patrons. A tired, but gentle smile was turned his and Vivienne's way, reaching beneath the bar and pulling out two menus, placing them before the duo. “Welcome to Herald’s Rest,” he said, “My name’s Cullen--”

“Bull,” he interrupted with a wink.

Cullen seemed taken aback, no doubt trying to figure out if that was deliberate or a blink, but did his best customer service smile. Bull avoided cringing. Okay that was the wrong move for this guy, then.

“Nice to meet you,” Cullen said before diving into the specials for the evening as well as the unique drafts they had that night.

Vivienne actually looked almost impressed at the selection, which was probably the best this place would get from her. Both of them ordered their meals in quick succession-- a whiskey bourbon burger for Bull and a salmon salad for Vivienne. She wasn’t sure she should trust the fish here, but Cullen assured her that they always bought their fish fresh every morning. The owner would allow nothing less than perfection when it came to quality.

“I will be the judge of that, dear,” Vivienne had told him.

And, to Bull’s surprise, she judged it quite well. Much to his delight, he watched her sneak out her phone, quickly tapping away some notes in the folder that held her restaurant reviews. As Cullen made his way back over to check on them, she quickly slid it back into her purse. Her shoulders rolled back into a confident smile while Bull leaned forward on the bar.

“I hope everything is to your liking,” he said, taking away Bull’s empty glass, “And you’d like a refill?”

“Please,” replied Bull. Cullen quickly got to work mixing a cocktail for Bull. Normally, he went for straight liquor, but oh what those hands could do.

Vivienne told him that everything most certainly was. They chatted pleasantly while Bull watched, silent and studying. Their bartender was certainly well-kpet-- firm stubbled chin, a lip scar that seemed to enhance his face rather than detract, perfectly curled and styled hair, even his shirt-- a black tee that had ‘Herald’s Rest’ emblazoned on it in bold letters-- was fitted to perfection. Eventually, of course, a crack had to show. As Cullen finished pouring the drinks, he set down the shaker to clasp his fingers. To the naked eye he might have just been trying to crack his knuckles, but Bull could see that they were shaking.

“You alright, man?” he asked, with a mark of genuine concern in his voice.

A real smile crossed Cullen’s face this time as he nodded, “Yes, my apologies, I’ll have your drinks in a moment….” True to his word, Cullen was able to give them their drinks, though Bull watched as the man kept his eyes trained on his fingers, as if waiting for them to betray him. Thankfully, they lasted long enough to deliver them safely. He nodded, “Let me or Sera know if you need anything else.”

At hearing her name, the other bartender, a blond elven woman with hand-cropped hair, looked up. Cullen gave her a nod which she nodded back to before moving to handle her customers again. Bull turned to make sure his good eye watched Cullen slip into the kitchen. A small frown took over his face-- Vivienne would say he was pouting, but he didn’t pout.

Though, instead, finishing her meal, Vivienne slipped out of her chair, “Unfortunately, I need to use the powder room.”

“Have fun with that,” snickered Bull, casting her a wry glance before turning his attention back toward the door.

He stayed like that for a while before he heard someone huff. He turned to see the elven woman--Sera-- looking at him, grabbing some empty dishes and glasses from the couple next to Bull and Vivienne who had just left. Instead of speaking, he just shrugged at her.

“Don’t worry ‘bout ‘im,” she said, “Takes a bit ‘fore he can come back. Shakes and all.”

“He okay?” asked Bull.

“I jus’ said don’ worry ‘bout ‘im, right?” she told him, “Yeesh.”

True to her word, Cullen did reappear just as Sera said no more than five minutes later. Vivienne still hadn’t come back from the bathroom, which was concerning. He hoped that fish had been up to quality despite how the bar looked. Bull watched Cullen flex his hand, leaning against the wall as he looked nervously at the bar. Bull slipped out of his seat, taking Vivienne’s purse with him. Mainly, because she’d kill him if he didn’t.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked.

Cullen looked up at him like a deer in headlights, his fist curling up protectively. That was good-- the man had fighting instincts from somewhere. Layers laid beneath that pretty face. It wasn’t unusual for Bull to flirt with a bartender, but Cullen had been a fun puzzle to figure out and Bull wasn’t quite done. No… He might need a few more visits before he had completed it.

“Yes,” he replied, sighing, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you unattended.”

“You’re good,” Bull rumbled, “Ma’am’s at the bathroom anyway.”

“...You call her Ma’am?” he asked, head tilting as though he were a young Mabari and not a full grown man. Bull couldn’t help but stare openly, a smile echoing on his face.

“Friend of me,” he clarified, “She hates Viv and Vivienne is too long to say.”

Cullen actually let out a soft chuckle, “Ah, I see. Well, I hope she finds our restrooms to her liking as well. Not every day a critic walks into our bar.”

Now that had caught Bull’s attention. Vivienne made extra precautions to make sure no one discovered that there was a food critic in her midsts at any restaurant. It came with the territory of getting an honest review. Yet, her Cullen had stated her profession like it was plain as day. Bull crossed his arms.

“You figure that out on your own?” he asked.

Cullen shook his head, “No… Someone like her doesn’t normally walk into The Rest for… obvious reasons. I mentioned it to our assistant manager, Leliana. She’s the one who said she was, uh, oh… that Orlesian blog I can never remember the name of. Madame something. Made sure to treat her as anyone else. Leliana believes special treatment gets you caught once you know.” He chuckled nervous, reaching up a hand to rub the back of his neck, “I.. should get back to work.”

“Let me do the honor of escorting you,” Bull said, motioning toward the step toward the bar. That little jibe managed to get Cullen to snort a little before hurrying over back behind the bar with a quick, yet confidant gate. That was a military man’s walk. Just who was this bartender?

Bull followed, taking his seat again and resting down Vivienne’s pocket book. Behind him he heard her starting to walk up.

“Of course!” a woman with a thick Antivan accent said, “We’d love to be featured! I can get an interview with our owner, of course. I’ll call Ms. Cadash right away.” Bull and Cullen shared a knowing glance, but pretending as if Cullen was simply cleaning a glass from the dryer.

Vivienne took her seat, smiling at Cullen, “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” he said, “Thank you. Refill?” Vivienne nodded.

“A new drink, please. Fanciest you have, dear, for me and my friend,” she ordered, “I’m not sure what it will be, but surprise me. I don’t get to find such diamonds in the roughs, often.”

“Because you never go to them,” laughed Bull.

Cullen quickly got to work going through what they had until he actually managed to find a nice bottle of champagne which Vivienne said would do nicely. Vivienne toasted Bull for his find, though she admitted she was not going to be kind about the décor. Still, no matter how a place looked, good food would always be good food.

They made sure to tip Cullen handsomely. And, if he found a slip of paper with a string of digits on them, well… Bull would leave it up to him to call.

#da drunk writing circle #dadwc #prompt #da #dai #cullen rutherford #the iron bull #iron bull #ironlion

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brelione · 4 years

Text

Field Trip With A Rich Bitch ll (Rafe Cameron X Reader)

Warnings:Ward Cameron,Mentions of Arsenic Poisoning,Mentions of heavy drugs,mentions of bipolar disorder,mentions of death,Rafe being too tall for every day life

He raised his eyebrows. “Where?”He asked.You rolled your eyes,wishing you had a bottle of wine to take a swig from in that moment. “What?You scared you’re gonna get mud on your shoes?”You asked.He sighed,scratching the back of his neck. “How far away is it?”He asked. “Nevermind,rich bitch,clearly you don't want to know the truth about your father.”You went to turn around but his hand grabbed your wrist quickly. “No,no it's not like that...I just wanna know where we’re going.”He mumbled.You pulled your hand from his grasp,staring down at him. “Come on,then.”You told him,beginning your walk outside the garage.His bike was nearly done,scratches holes and dents gone.The last thing to fix was the seat which wouldn't take long at all.He grabbed his phone,sliding it in his pocket.

He followed you out of the garage,waiting with his hands in his pockets as you pulled the garage door shut,bending over to place a lock on it.You could feel him staring at you. “Stop being a perv.”You grumbled,clicking the lock shut and stood back up.You could see the red blush on his cheek,spreading down his neck and ears.He was so easy to fluster.It was hilarious.Rafe had beat the living hell out of multiple teenagers,made some children cry with a glance and came from one of the most powerful families.But here you were,bossing him around,making him blush and causing him to stutter out apologies.You had that power over most people.Some kooks called you a demon and you embraced it.Most people didn't know it but you had the word tattooed on your thigh with two devil horns hovering over it.You were manipulative,assertive and strong.

You had the charm and the looks to get people to like you without knowing you and you had the glare that made the hair on the back of people’s necks stick up straight.You hadnt always been like that,only becoming this emotionless ball of rage after Ward Cameron had destroyed everything that made your life worth living.The beautiful thing was you had Ward Cameron’s one and only son wrapped around your finger and there was nothing he could do about it.Rafe was deprived of attention.Not only was Ward a terrible person but a terrible father as well.Rafe was desperate for attention now and if you gave him the attention he wanted he was all yours.You knew that and deep down he knew it too. “We’ll take the woods,I can't risk being seen with you.”You walked around the back of the garage.It was a steep hill full of rocks and some poison ivy.You knew where not to step and Rafe did his best to step the same places you did.You were pretty far ahead of him,around ten feet.Down the hill was a narrow pavement trail,cracks and holes all over it. “Anyone ever told you that you walk slow for a tall person?”You asked.

He grinned to himself,trying not to fall while also trying not to hit his head on any branches. “How long do you think we’ll be out for?”He asked.You shrugged. “Maybe an hour.”You replied,walking along the narrow pavement.Rafe wasn't used to being in the woods,at least not this deep in the woods,he was jumping at every noise. “Do you think that was a wolf?” “No.” “Did you hear that?” “No.” “Oh my god-what if there's a dead body out here?” “Rafe.We’re going to a cemetery,if there are no dead bodies then that would be a problem.” “I hate cemeteries.” “Well that sucks for you.” As you were coming to the end of the narrow pavement into the grass Rafe jumped from the crunch of a twig,grabbing onto you and pulling you to his chest.You stood stiff,his arms tightening around your waist as he listened for more sounds. “Are you going to let go of me or will I have to drag you?”You asked.He let go of you with a huff. “Do you think we should head back?”He asked.You sighed.

This was what you got from bringing a kook into the woods. “You're such a pussy.”You sighed,continuing your walk.He kept kicking the back of your heel by accident because he was so close behind you.You two walked onto the grass,looking across the field at the gravestones,benches and statues.He had come here a few times for late night drug deals and drinking with Kelce and Topper.It was a creepy old place that always made him shiver.Beer cans and red solo cups littered the ground from his previous trips here.You sighed as you looked across the graveyard to one corner,the one furthest away.He watched as you began your walk across the field.Most of the graves were covered in pollen and dirt splotches,the grass almost as tall as the stones themselves.It was gross and unkept and smelled like weed and cheap beer from gas stations.His feet were sinking into the mud,causing him to grumble something about how annoying it would be to clean them.He dragged his feet as he followed you to one large stone with vines growing up the sides.There were muddy streaks across the names like someone had tried to wipe it clean with a dirty hand.

“Rafe,meet my parents.Mom,Dad meet the rich bitch.”You sighed,standing in front of the grave.Rafe’s eyes widened,his chest tightening.You grinned at his reaction. “What?”You asked.He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.What was he even supposed to say?Sorry your parents are dead and ended up in this shitty cemetery.Sorry I dealt cocaine by your parents grave.Sorry half those beer cans are mine. “Close your mouth Rafe,you look like a trout.”You smirked.He closed his mouth,gulping and tapping his leg nervously. “I bet you’re wondering what your dad has to do with this.”You spoke,observing his expression.He nodded,looking at the date on the grave.They had both died on the same day of 2004 which meant you were only two years old at the time. “You ever wonder how your father got all that money in the first place?Cause I can tell you it's definitely not whatever bull shit story he’s been telling everyone.”You used the sleeve of your yellow shirt to wipe the dirt off your parents’ names.He bit the inside of his cheek,waiting for you to continue.

“Your dad was a dealer.He was my parents dealer.Im not talking about weed either,I mean the heavy shit.Heroin,crack,xanax.What kind of asshole deals xanax?Anyways,he sold to my parents and when they tried to get off the stuff he convinced them to keep buying from him.When they found my ma’s body they found that same heavy shit in her system.But here’s where the story gets really interesting.Not only did they find the heroin but guess what they found.Guess.”You ordered him.He blinked,glancing between you and the grave. “I-I dont know.”He mumbled.You nodded. “Arsenic.Your shitty father poisoned the drugs he gave my parents.WHo does that?”You sighed,flicking a bug off of the grave stone.He bit his lip as he took in this new information. “And he didnt get arrested or charged or anything?”He asked.

You laughed. “What do you think?You think Sarah Cameron would exist?You think you’d live in that big house with all of that nice stuff and your fancy ass gold plated spoons?No.None of that would be possible if your father got what he deserved.You know what your father got?A nice house,millions of dollars,a handsome son and multiple yachts.Thats what he got after killing my parents.You know what I had to grow up with?A one bedroom house with three cousins and a bipolar aunt.Thats what I got.”You ranted,tears stinging in your eyes as you got louder and louder.He didn't say anything,scared that only squeaks would come out.You bit your lip to hold back to the tears,the water leaking from your eyes and down your cheeks as you laughed. “And now my aunt and my baby cousin are dead too!”You gestured to the grave next to you. “And you know what else?I've had to work for 12 years of my life and you know where I live?In a shitty house thats falling apart and all I do is work on cars and bikes every single day and I cant even feel my hands anymore and I have fucking broken toes from kneeling all day and I cant even afford to go to a fucking hospital.And the only person that I can blame is your dad.”You wiped the tears from your face with your sleeves,smearing dirt across your cheekbone.

His bottom lip quivered,fingertips going numb as he listened to you.Something compelled him to step forward,grabbing your waist gently and pulling you into a hug.You did not fight him.If it were under any other circumstances then telling him that his father had been a drug lord,killed your parents,ruined your life and caused you to work every day of your life then maybe you wouldn't have accepted the hug.You never thought you’d be hugging Rafe Cameron,or any kook for that matter. “I can um...I can bring you to the hospital to get your toes fixed.”He offered.You laughed into his chest,getting tears on his shirt. “Wow,thanks.”You whispered,laughing again.He gulped,resting his chin on your head.It seemed that you had both needed a hug.You were holding onto him so tightly,holding fistfulls of his shirt in your hands.He hadnt hugged anyone in years and it seemed that you hadnt either. “Do yourself a favor and don't turn into your father.And if you keep going down the path you’re going down now then you’ll end up just like my parents.”You sighed.He frowned.

You sounded like one of those commercials of people staring at the camera with crocodile tears running down their faces as they talked about some loved one who had died and how drugs weren't the answer.You probably didn't know though,it wasn't like you could afford cable.He just nodded,knowing you did not need his attitude right now. “(Y/N).”He mumbled.You hummed,closing your eyes.You didnt cry often and never in front of people but when you did cry it stung like hell.You couldn't exactly rub your eyes with your fingers either because they had traces of oil and chemicals. “What if we piss my father off and get him to confess to the murders?”He asked.You sniffled,looking up at him with puffy eyes. “How?”You asked.

Part Three will be up this weekend!

@gabbismith

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #jj maybank #kiara carrera #pope heyward #ward cameron #sarah cameron #john b

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chestnut-b · 4 years

Text

Himawari Chapter 11

Just like Iruka had, he stared at the dish in his hand. A firefly was resting on its edge, and its glowing reflection on the shining surface of the sake reminded him of a freezing, cloudless night on the northern coast, when he’d watched a full moon rise above the sea.

He remembered thinking; Iruka would have liked to see this.

After a silence that felt like an eternity, Kakashi heard a drip, followed by another. It wasn’t the kind produced by flowing sake, or the ones that signalled the arrival of a blessed rain after a drought.

It was a lonely, hollow sound.

Chapter 11 of a Demon Slayer AU

“Honestly, Iruka-sensei, I’m disappointed in you.”

“Hmmmm?”

Kakashi had moved through the forest with little trouble, much like Iruka had told him the first time they met. The Hashira had even bypassed the formalities at the gate, avoiding any manner of children or slayer on his way in.

He’d so looked forward to springing a surprise on the teacher, only to find him under the shade of that familiar tree, lying on his back with a book covering his face. The dappled light of the late afternoon sun that fell on his figure danced in tandem with the breeze.

“I come all the way here hoping to catch you off guard, only to find you sleeping on the job.”

“I’m technically on my break, Hashira-sama.” his voice was muffled under the book, but it did nothing to hide his amusement.

With a hand braced on the tree, Kakashi leaned over, plucking the book from where it rested.

Eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of dark eyes filled with mirth, along with lips that stretched into a wide, pleased grin.

“Welcome back, Kakashi-san.”

Without thinking, he replied.

“Ah, I’m back.”

Kakashi offered a hand to Iruka, who took it after only the shortest pause, and he was pulled to his feet. The man favoured Kakashi with a curious glance.

“Quite a bit of luggage you have there. If I didn’t know better I’d have thought you ran away from home.” He teased.

“Not quite sensei, but someone told me that might have been your kind of thing.”

Iruka looked at him with dawning realisation, but then had the sense to look a bit embarrassed about it. His cheeks, along with the tips of his ears, took on a reddish tint as he straightened the last of his uniform.

“So you did meet sensei.”

“I did.” Kakashi confirmed, beaming. He reached a hand out, fingers brushing the side of a reddening ear. He felt Iruka jolt slightly at the contact, but he quickly withdrew it, twirling a freshly plucked leaf between his fingers.

“Thank you.” the teacher murmured, flush deepening.

Well, Kakashi thought, at least he’d gotten one of the things he came for.

“You’re so lucky, sensei. Not everybody gets the chance to have a Hashira serve as courier for them.”

Iruka blinked at him.

“I come bearing gifts.” he announced, with an air of grandeur.

“Wha-”

His query was cut off by a deep, gruff bark, and the sound of delighted, squealing children.

“Senseiii! There’s a new dog come to visit!!”

Soon a hulking brown mass in a blue happi appeared, trodding its way towards them with Naruto and Lee clinging to its back.

“Wow.”

“That’s Bull, isn’t he adorable?”

Iruka nodded dumbly, a little stunned, but his expression quickly grew stern.

“Naruto, Lee, off. Right now.”

There was a petulant whine, but they did as directed. Bull looked a little relieved, and blinked at Iruka expectantly.

“Word gets around sensei. He wants to know what the fuss is about.”

Iruka laughed as he crouched, circling his arms around the dog’s neck.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Bull.” he greeted cheerfully, giving the scruff of his neck an eagerly awaited rub. The hound made a low, pleased sound.

A bell began to ring in the distance, diverting Iruka’s attention. He returned to the tree, grabbing the wooden sword that had been resting against it before directing a slight bow Kakashi’s way.

“My apologies, Kakashi-san, I would have offered you some tea, but it’s time for class. You’ll have to excuse me.”

Kakashi waved a hand. “I’ll catch you later, sensei.”

He walked up to the man, and leaned in close. He could feel Iruka’s wariness skyrocket, along with Naruto’s annoyed stare boring into his back.

With a cupped hand, he whispered into the teacher’s ear.

“Just so you know, we’re drinking tonight.”

“Eh?”

“What are you two whisperin about?!”

Kakashi turned to Naruto with a finger over his lips.

“Oh, it’s a secret between us adults, sorry!” He winked.

“Please don’t tease him like that.” Iruka sighed.

He turned to the boys.

“Quickly, or we’re going to be late.”

Lee sprinted ahead with gusto, and Iruka followed soon after, albeit at a leisurely pace by comparison. Naruto stayed just long enough to stick a tongue out at Kakashi before running to catch up with the other two.

The Hashira watched them disappear around the corner, and heard his hound, who must have been left feeling a little deprived, let out a soft whine.

“Bull, don’t get greedy.”

The hound’s only reaction was to blink at him slowly, clearly skeptical, and most definitely unimpressed.

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Dinner was just as he remembered, a rowdy affair.

Kakashi took his usual seat beside Iruka, and though he’d smelled it first, his hopes were confirmed when he found grilled mackerel, and a steaming bowl of eggplant miso soup waiting for them. Nothing extravagant or fancy, but they were his undisputed favourites.

“I may have told them to prepare a little something to welcome you back, Hashira-sama, we hope it’s to your liking.” said the voice next to him.

In between regaling the corp members with stories of the past year, or indulging them with bits of harmless gossip about the other Hashira, Kakashi, for all his dignity and restraint, couldn’t find it in him to refuse the bowl that was casually nudged in his way.

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Before they’d parted after dinner, he’d told Iruka to come by when his young charge was finally asleep. Even the assurance of a Hashira’s presence a room away wasn’t quite enough to dispel his worried expression, which he found a little odd, but eventually he gave in, nodding awkwardly.

So Kakashi waited. He’d sent Bull off earlier on another run, and now that he was alone, chose to bury his nose in a fresh manuscript that had been generously left behind for his perusal.

It was fairly late in the night when the silhouette finally appeared outside his room.

“Come on in.”

“Please excuse my intrusion.”

Iruka stepped in, sliding the door shut behind him. Kakashi was suitably amused to see his friend grimace upon spotting the orange book in his hands.

He grinned in return, and gestured to the open doors at the other end of the room. It led to what was once a lovingly tended garden, now overgrown and wild. He heard Iruka’s breath catch when he finally spotted the light of dancing fireflies among the weeds and bushes.

“Take a seat, sensei.”

“All right. But just so you know, I make for terrible drinking company.” He warned, stepping outside.

Kakashi soon settled beside him with a tray and the bundle he’d been tasked to deliver. He offered the teacher a wide, but shallow sake cup of a fine make, and Iruka’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Isn’t this Kotetsu’s?”

“I might have borrowed it…...without asking.”

Iruka shook his head, smiling. He took the small dish from his hand, the tips of their fingers brushing in passing. It was left by his hip before his attention was directed to the bottle that remained on the tray. He reached for it, intent on carrying out his serving duty.

Or at least, he’d tried to, before Kakashi grabbed his wrist in a gentle hold.

Iruka glanced at him, confused.

“I believe it’s a subordinate’s duty to pour for his superior.”

“Well, technically speaking, I’m not your superior.” he explained, releasing his arm.

The teacher placed his empty hands in his lap with a muted smile.

“Ah...I suppose that’s true.”

Kakashi felt the sudden urge to kick himself. He didn’t need to ask to know what was probably going through Iruka’s mind.

I’m not even a real member of the corp.

Even though that really wasn’t what I meant. He thought regrettably.

“I hate to disappoint, but I’ll be doing the pouring tonight. You can relax, sensei.”

Between them, there was a brief silence.

“Kakashi-san, I didn’t get to ask, but what’s the occasion?” He asked softly.

It was here that Kakashi paused. To say something like “We’re celebrating your birthday” to a man who was so keenly aware of his waning mortality seemed...inappropriate.

He hoped Sarutobi had a better idea.

Kakashi reached into his haori and fished out a sealed envelope, which he then passed to Iruka. He watched him unfold its contents, and as soon as he’d read the last of it, his lips quirked into an amused smile.

“Be sure to make good use of the time afforded to you, he says.”

Nope, the old man was not helpful, not in the least.

This is going just swimmingly isn’t it.

“How late am I?”

“Hmm, about two weeks.”

Kakashi sighed dramatically as he picked up the bottle. He could feel Iruka watching intently as he poured for the both of them. Clearly, it was not something he was used to seeing.

Iruka said his thanks before taking the cup in his hand. Kakashi nodded, taking the other one.

“To eighteen years of dodging fate.”

“That’s just depressing, sensei. How about, ‘To not dying?’”

“I suppose I could drink to that.”

They toasted and took the first drink in one go.

“Mmm, delicious.”

Iruka hummed in agreement.

For a while, they drank in companionable silence, with Kakashi pouring dutifully. But Iruka was not an experienced drinker by any means, and so took his slowly, gazing at the fireflies in the garden between sips.

“I wonder if sensei’s still mad at me.”

“He did mention something about ulcers, but no, I didn’t get that impression.”

Iruka laughed. The scar on his face was now stark against his slowly reddening cheeks. Looking over the rest of him, he realised even his signature red cord and earrings were nowhere to be seen. Tucked behind an ear, his dark hair was loose, spilling past his shoulders in gentle waves over the top of his yukata and haori.

It was still Iruka, and yet not the one he knew.

There was a stirring in his chest, a feeling that he might have labeled unease, but he wasn’t so sure. It might have just been the sake, warming his blood. Before he could come to a conclusion, Iruka’s eyes flicked, catching his, and instinctively, he looked away, with the odd feeling like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

Not long after, there was a fond sigh.

“Konohamaru’s going to be a handful.”

“Troublesome sons seem to be a running motif in the Sarutobi clan.”

“That does seem to be the trend.” he mused with a measure of self-awareness, taking a noticeably larger sip. He then turned to Kakashi and presented the empty dish, which was filled once more.

“You’ve known Asuma a long time?”

“For as long as I’ve known their family.”

“Hmm...I must say, you looked pretty cute as a kid. With that hairstyle and all.” Kakashi chuckled.

It induced a strained, throaty sound, and he turned to see Iruka rub the bridge of his nose along the scar.

“So you saw that one.”

“The Senju have their share of odd traditions, but so do many ancient bloodlines, I’m sure.” He said in consolation.

Kakashi briefly recalled what Tenzou had shared; that the Senju women generally lived longer, and were believed to be stronger. Thus, the act was seen as a prayer for health and vitality. All their descendants would be dressed as girls till the ages of seven or eight.

A tradition that Iruka’s mother carried with her, even as far away from home as she was.

“It seems Asuma hasn’t been back in a while.”

It made Iruka grow quiet, and he looked down to stare silently at his cup. It took a while before he spoke again.

“No, not since he found out about Naruto.”

“Ah.”

Then Iruka whispered something under his breath. It was so soft, that Kakashi wasn’t entirely sure if the man had meant for the words to leave his lips.

He suspected it had to do with how Asuma had acquired that knowledge.

Kakashi knew that not everyone was as open-minded as Hiruzen. He’d taken the child in, despite the fact that his wife had lost her life on the battlefield that day. She’d insisted on accompanying the Kakushi, providing aid on the sidelines.

Their squad ended up being ambushed by a Lower Moon.

“Kakashi...is he doing well?”

He might have raised an eyebrow at the lack of honorifics, but he ended up attributing that to the sake too.

Normally, he didn’t make the effort to keep up with the rest of the Hashira, and so whatever he knew, he knew from quarterly reports, or the squawkings of Gai’s occasional messenger.

“Well...Asuma’s keeping himself busy. I heard he’s taken on apprentices of his own.”

Yes, and unlike Kakashi, the Flame Pillar was very much dedicated to keeping the rank and file members on their toes, the Kakushi included. If the slayers in this outpost thought he was bad, well, they clearly hadn’t gone through one of Asuma’s training sessions.

Or Gai’s, for that matter.

“I think Sarutobi has plenty to be proud of.”

“......Thank goodness.” Iruka said quietly, with obvious relief.

Kakashi thought it a good time to bring out what the elder had saddled him with, if only to lighten the mood a little. He reached behind him, and handed the bundle over to Iruka, who put down his dish before taking it from him.

The Hashira silently hoped its contents would fare a little better than Sarutobi’s greeting had.

“Don’t keep me in suspense now.”

“Mmm.”

He watched Iruka’s fingers, just slightly clumsier than usual, undo the knot of the furoshiki. Soon, like the petals of a flower, the bundle was soon open in his lap.

Carefully packaged were some finely wrought throwing knives, a few books, a generous package of tea, and lastly, a shallow paulownia box.

The teacher removed the lid, revealing another envelope. There was not a single crease, but it had started to yellow at the very edges. Clearly, it had been written years ago, and stored with great care.

The words “To Iruka” were brushed in a graceful, elegant script.

Iruka inhaled sharply, almost as if he didn’t dare release his next breath.

Slowly, he ran his fingers down the characters almost reverently, and picked up the letter in his hands. They were trembling, If not due to the sake, then at least, from the wave of emotion that clearly overwhelmed him.

“I’m sorry…...could you?”

“Of course.”

Kakashi took the envelope from his hands, gently undoing the seal and removing the contents. He handed the folded paper to Iruka, who held it in his palms just above his lap. When he finally gathered the courage to unfold it, Kakashi felt the need to look away, and so he did.

He remembered thinking; Iruka would have liked to see this.

It was a lonely, hollow sound.

“Iruka?”

There was no reply to the call of his name. Kakashi watched as the man rose shakily from his seat and walked barefoot into the grass, the fireflies shifting to allow him passage. He gazed at the floating beads of light wordlessly, the letter in his hand hung limply at his side. But his shoulders started to shake and without warning, the teacher dropped to his knees.

Kakashi had already sprung from his seat, ignoring the spilled sake and fallen dish he’d left behind, but it was the sound of crushing, tearing paper that froze him.

The next instant, he was crouched before the man, gripping his trembling wrists with a strength he’d not fully intended, causing Iruka to drop the torn pieces in his hands. Even then, his head was bowed, eyes hidden behind a curtain of dark locks.

When he finally spoke, it was with a voice so pained, Kakashi couldn’t will away the ache that gripped his chest.

“For all the pain my family’s caused…everything I’ve done...”

“There’s no way I’ll be going to the same place as them.” He whispered mournfully.

Iruka leaned into him, resting his forehead on Kakashi’s shoulder. The Hashira released the hold on his wrists, and with some hesitation, wrapped his arms around the teacher’s back, drawing him closer. He was now keenly aware of the cheek resting close to his ear, the warmth of the body and beat of the heart against his chest.

It was the first time in living memory he’d held anyone this way.

“Even now...I’m still wanting to go back…” his voice had lost its strained edge.

A place to return to...

“So why not go then?”

“...Can’t. It’s so...incredibly far...”

Kakashi moved to gather the man in his arms, and lifted him as he stood. Iruka was so far gone, that instead of bristling or fuming like he’d done the last time, he seemed to lean into his hold.

“Maybe we can go together one day.”

There was no reply, but he seemed to feel the cheek resting against him rise in a small smile.

Kakashi wondered at the words that had just left his own lips. He wasn’t in the habit of making impossible promises, or any kind of promises for that matter, but then again, it seemed to be a night of many firsts for him. He found that the prospect of seeing the same view his father had, when he still lived, was not something he minded.

Not wanting to risk waking the man up, or worse, having to answer to Naruto, Kakashi settled for placing the man in his own futon. With the back of his hand, he cleared the bangs from Iruka’s tear-streaked face, flushed and still warm. When he reached to move Iruka’s wrist under the blanket, his hand was caught by warm, gentle fingers.

“I did...try to warn you.”

“Maa...you’re probably better at tea anyway.”

There was just the tiniest, sleepy laugh, and Kakashi smiled. He returned the touch with a gentle squeeze of his own, before lifting the covers over his shoulders.

Kakashi stood and walked to the open doors, but before he stepped back out into the garden, he turned to look over his shoulder, and whispered under his breath.

“Happy Birthday, sensei.”

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Iruka,

If you’re reading this, you must have just turned eighteen, the same age I was when I met your father.

Happy Birthday.

Up till now, you must have suffered, not just because of the karma our family has wrought, but because I’ve always known your path will not be an easy one. It will always be our greatest sorrow, to know we cannot walk beside you through it all.

The night I finally met you, a firefly landed on your cheek. If you’d been born a girl, I would have named you ‘Hotaru’, and your father would have scolded me, but he would have been happy all the same. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never smiled like he did that night. How cruel he was to have hidden that from me.

Really, the two of you will always be my most precious gifts.

Fate has dealt us a difficult card, Iruka, but you’ve been blessed with a strong body and a kind heart. We know you will use them well.

For you and I, our lives are much like the fireflies, painfully short, but beautiful all the same. Don’t be afraid of happiness. Whatever path you choose, your future is your own. Cry, smile, laugh, and live a life you can be proud of at the end of it.

But take care, not to rush to meet us, for we’ll be waiting patiently, however long it takes, for the day we see you again.

Know that we love you, and that you will always be our pride and joy.

Also, don’t give Jii-ya too much of a headache.

A small one is fine, but remember to be kind to the elderly.

Your mother,

Umino Kohari

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At the edge of his awakening consciousness, he’d registered the sounds of soft breathing at his side.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with a sight that was familiar, and yet not. Instead of a snoring, blonde child, there was instead a head of mussed light hair and a set of closed eyes. The one normally hidden by an eyepatch was bisected by a long scar that ran from the top of his eyebrow, down his cheek, and under the mask. So close, he could see the long eyelashes, dusted in silver.

Moving silently, Iruka sat up in the futon that he knew now, was obviously not his own. He rubbed at his forehead, hoping to dispel the last of the lingering headache that plagued him. The room was thankfully still dim. There was only the barest beam of light entering the room from a gap in the doors, along with a small draft of cool morning air that smelled of grass and dew.

He turned to look at the man beside him. Kakashi lay on his side, curled on the bare tatami and covered only by his haori. That he’d not stirred from his slumber the moment Iruka awoke was a testament to his exhaustion.

He didn’t realise the trip back had taken so much out of him.

Iruka gazed at the Hashira’s face for a moment longer, before the sound of shifting paper brought his attention to the low table across the room.

Shifting the blanket from his legs, he rose slowly and walked towards it on the pads of his feet, passing by the wrapped furoshiki on the way there.

His eyes traveled across the desk.

A candle that had long burnt out.

An ink well and brush, still wet.

A stack of writing paper.

An envelope, gently opened.

Lastly, torn pieces of a letter, smoothed out, and put together like a puzzle.

Iruka’s head started to pound as flashes of the night before started to play in his head.

That’s right. I’d destroyed it with my own two hands.

Reaching over, he picked a few sheets from the stack, his hands freezing as realisation dawned on him.

They were copies of his mother’s letter.

He picked up the envelope, thinking it looked strangely full with its original contents displayed on the desk.

Iruka pulled out the sheet, briefly registering another smaller piece that had dropped onto the floor, but he’d ignored it, choosing to unfold what was already in his hands.

He took in a sharp breath.

Aside from the age of the paper, every stroke and character was an exact, perfect copy.

I heard the Sharingan could copy techniques almost flawlessly, but this...

He turned to look at the man behind him, and felt a surge of fondness blossom in his chest.

What did I ever do to deserve this?

Placing the copy back into the envelope, together with the torn pieces on the table, he bent over to pick up whatever had fallen moments ago.

Familiar, frayed yellow edges of one of Sarutobi’s photographs.

He flipped it over, and immediately, his lips stretched into a smile as he ran his thumb over the face of the sleeping toddler in the picture.

You’re so lucky, sensei.

Iruka thought of Naruto, and he thought of Kakashi.

He thought of his parents, and he thought of Sarutobi.

I hate to admit it, but you win this time.

Walking back to the futon, he slipped the now sealed envelope into the furoshiki as he passed.

Iruka picked up the comforter from where it lay, and placed it gently over the sleeping Hashira. Silently, he kneeled beside him, taking in the scar, and the lines of exhaustion that ran under his eyes.

Later, he would ask himself what possessed him to do what he did.

Perhaps he’d blame it on the lingering effects of sake, or the fact that once again, he’d been gifted the chance to hear his mother’s voice, even if it was just in writing.

Iruka ran his fingertips through the silver hair that covered Kakashi’s scarred eye, and carefully, silently, leaned over.

When he’d finally stepped out into morning’s first light, he didn’t notice the hooded, mismatched gaze that followed.

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End of Chapter 11

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Author’s Notes:

Ahhhhhhh! A nice meaty chapter to chew on. (almost twice as long as usual!)

These things just end up writing themselves after a while, seriously.

If you feel like, there’s a great song that I essentially wrote this chapter to (and also essentially a theme song for the entire story), I’d implore you to check it out. It’s “Moratorium” by Omoinotake > listen here <

Enjoyed the chapter, art or the song? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Terminology & Fun facts:

‘Hotaru’ - The Japanese name for fireflies. The other fun fact is that fireflies are also called “lightning bugs” *coughLightningHashiracough*

See you in the next chapter!

#kakairu #iruka #kakashi #iruka umino #umino iruka #iruka sensei #demon slayer au

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goldenpinof · 5 years

Text

so basically here’s a script of “Basically I’m gay” by Daniel Howell, if someone needs it

link to a google doc

Hello Internet.

«Sex! Secrecy! And a whole lot of internal screaming. Starring Daniel Howell. One of the greatest mysteries of our generation. What is Dan’s sexuality?»

Spoiler alert. I’m not straight. Sex, the foundation of life and the only thing we’re really supposed to do. Everyone’s obsessed with it. You bunch of degenerates. In the list of things that identify a person, one of the most important for other people to know is their sexuality. For, if sex is the primal force propelling all of these humans forward by their hips, they have to know. Are we gonna fuck? Or like could we? Or are you, ‘cause I’m just wondering. Now, we live in a heteronormative world, which is a long scary word that makes people feel attacked for some reason. Shh it’s okay.

What it means is people are presumed to be straight. If you’re not, then at some point, you have to “come out”, which is a whole thing. Or people might just try and guess based on something you do or the way you act, because yay stereotypes. So this is something you have to be clear on, because if you’re not, how are all these other people that aren’t you going to cope? But I’m pretty sure no one that knows me thinks I’m straight. So I don’t really need to come out as much as just clarify what the hell is going on. As here I am at age 27 and my sexual preference is seemingly still a vague, debatable, confusing, impenetrable mystery. But why? And what is it? Well, those are some big questions. Are you sure you wanna know my answers?

[YES]

Okay, well, if you say so 'cause this is a complicated and sensitive issue and when it comes to me, boy, there is a lot to unpack here and it is a total clusterfuck. So strap yourselves in and let me tell you a queer little story about a boy named Dan.

Chapter 1 – The Word

♪ When I was a young boy ♪

♪ My father ♪

Didn’t have much time for me because my conception was clearly an accident and he was a narcissistic proud man suddenly inconvenienced in the prime of his life and this emotional neglect gave me lasting problems.

Sorry that’s not all relevant right now.

I was an only child for seven years and with working parents. This meant I had to make my own fun so I was imaginative and loud which is something that my teachers used to say quite a lot followed by, “However.” Here I am age five. Look at me. Cute, poised, sassy, turning out this photo shoot like sorry, Grandma, I stunted on this set. Are you seeing this? In almost every way, I literally peaked age five. I loved being the center of attention. People said I had an infectious happiness, that my beaming smile brought them hope and joy. People that know me are laughing right now. But a boy, in the '90s being happy and generally polite acting? Sounds kinda GAY if you ask me. Literally, masculinity was so fragile, people were so proud and scared and society so aggressive that a boy smiling!?.. appearing to be empathetic or in any way emoting was seen as a threat. How dare they laugh and feel comfortable? They must be soft and weak and girly and GAY. So basically thanks, Grandma, for raising me to be a nice child, you dick. Just kidding. That’s a joke and I told you not to watch this video because it would be rude so if you send me a disappointed text telling me you’re offended, I don’t know what to tell you. Although, now I think about it, you did make me go to church for 10 years, which in hindsight probably also didn’t help ♪ Hallelujah ♪ the issue here so. But then it was time for little Dan to go to school and this is when it

♪ All went wrong ♪

'Cause it turns out most children, evil pieces of shit. Doesn’t matter if you try to raise a happy innocent child, throw that kid into school, aka, a literal Mad Max Battle Royale with the feral offspring of your local community. Yeah, that crap’ll be undone in about two weeks. I was six years old running around the playground pretending to be Sonic the Hedgehog or something when two brothers come up to me aged seven and eight with an unexplained aggressive look in their eye. And the younger one pushes me to the ground, kicks me in the stomach, and just says, “GAY.”

This was the first time I ever heard that word. Well, I don’t know what the heck gay means but apparently it means people kick you on the floor so that ain’t good. I didn’t know this child or give them any cause to have an opinion on me. And, actually, I never directly interacted with them again. What epic clustershit of failed parenting and general culture brought this tiny child to get angry and attack someone, then call them gay for looking like they were having fun outside. Are you okay, 1990s? And so my relationship with sexuality began.

I wasn’t looking to define myself as a child indiscriminately playing doctors and nurses with various friends until once somebody’s mum walked into a room to find three fully naked children sat on a bed sticking sellotape to each other’s butts. Yep, which I don’t recommend. Also, Jesus Christ, the poor woman that saw that. Then you get to the magic age around 10 or 11 where everybody suddenly wants to pretend they’re totally a “cool teenager” who’s doing all the drugs and the sex and the fights, totally. Boy, gay was a really popular word back then.

[[Boy] Uh, homework is gay. [Girl] Uh, my mum’s so gay. [Boy] Uh, you touched a girl, gay.]

This one little shit who I won’t name was one of the school bullies and he loved the word gay. He had it in for me and I have no idea why. You know me, Mr. Winnie the Pooh Meets Slender Man. Well, when I was 10 just Winnie the Pooh. I didn’t do nothin’ to no one ever and yet this guy used my pacifism as a punching bag where any group situation was an excuse to single me out call me gay for some reason and then make everyone else exclude me because they were scared of him. I had a girlfriend. We dated for six whole weeks. We kissed in a game of spin the bottle once by literally sucking on each other’s faces. Then she ended dumping me over speakerphone at a birthday party that everyone in my class but me was invited to but, hey. I don’t know what I was doing wrong, but at this age, I understood one thing. Being gay, whatever that meant, was clearly the worst thing you could be. On a Darwinian level, I was being told, okay bitch, “Survival Code”. Don’t be this apparently. Evolution. Plot twist, this bully I think he was a bit gay because once he asked me to have a sleepover at his house and I thought was me finally getting socially accepted only for him in the middle of the night to come up and ask me, “So who’s going to be the boy and the girl?” I was an innocent smol bean who didn’t really understand what he meant because, to be honest, I didn’t actually understand get how babies were made yet. But needless to say I think he was disappointed. Wow, closeted child turns into homophobic bully. Thanks again society. But this whole primary school journey was really just an amuse-bouche for the full six-course tasting menu of suffering that would be secondary school.

I went to an all-boys school. It was a literal hellscape. I thought it was hard making it through a school of 200 kids with two or three bullies. Try over a thousand where a clean 800 are fully psychopathic gorillas fueled by testosterone, Red Bull, and Eminem albums. Making sure that the word f- no longer means an innocent bundle of sticks or a cigarette anymore in the British lexicon. Nope, now it was a cool homophobic slur along with gay, gaylord, gayboy, puff, pufter, ponce, batty, batty boy, bum-boy, bender. Shit, this is so long. People have a lot of words for something they don’t wanna think about. Look at me in this stupid blazer. Oh, “you’ll grow into it at some point in the next four years”. Thanks, Mum. Day one, kid in form class, some stupid hedgehog-looking motherfucker side eyes me and says, “What you lookin at, puff?” First interaction at a new school. Great! My entire existence on a daily basis then becomes navigating this school like I’m in the bloody “Maze Runner” trying to avoid aggressive pricks with chode ties. And you know being verbally abused for being a nerd or a Greebo at least felt relevant to me at the time. Greebo, definitely one of my faves there and I’m sure that Korn and Slipknot would have been proud to have 12-year-old me as a fan. I kinda knew who I was in the hierarchy at that point. I was essentially a theater kid who spent all of his free time playing Runescape on the AOL browser on his mum’s PC instead of football. I accepted it. But at least I wasn’t actually this “gay thing” people kept throwing around because by now I understood a gay is a boy who fancies other boys. And to be honest I don’t really feel like I’ve ever fancied anyone before.

Then puberty happened.

Oh yeah, this is fun, tingly feelings, I smell bad. It was quite fun dribbling on this girl’s face playing Truth or Dare, maybe later we’ll go behind that bike sheds and, there I was sat in English class, my friend next to me. I watched as he delicately removes a pencil from its case. We briefly make eye contact as he flutters his long black eyelashes with a blink before staring forward. His eyes are so bright and beautiful yet they seem so sad and deep with emotion. I wish I could just understand. Oh fuck, I think I’m a bit gay. You’re telling me this whole time I actually have been the bad thing that people keep calling me? Shit!

Chapter 2 – Feelings

Oh do you hear it that faint hum, something coming from a deep, dark place too powerful to control? It’s the self-hatred. She is here and she’s only getting started. Short version, I fall hopelessly in love with a friend of mine who doesn’t feel the same way which crushes me into a million tiny pieces and years later actually it turns out he was gay the whole time. He just really specifically didn’t like me. [Double kill.] Here I am, 13, crying to evanescence alone in my bedroom feeling like there’s no point in really being alive as I’m clearly a faulty outcast person that has no place in the world. I stopped going to church with my grandma because I felt like I wasn’t really supposed to be there. Also, by this age, the whole Christianity thing didn’t really make much sense to me. And the adult services were dry AF compared to coloring in a picture of Jesus’s face at Sunday school. So other than the free tea and biscuits they gave away after the sermon, religion didn’t really have much to offer me. Damn, there was some good biscuits though. I miss that. But wait! All is not lost yet. Do you see that? A triumphant, rallying cry of guitars, stripey hoodies, and black hair dye. Emo had arrived! I swear to God, emo is one of the best things that happened to pop culture in the last 20 years. As well as inventing eyeliner and skinny jeans, a new word hit the theater, nerd, goth, band, kid corner that would change my world forever.

Bisexual. You can be normal and gay at the same time and some people think it’s cool? Well, slap a long fingerless glove on my arm and sign me up to Myspace 'cause Mum, I’m bi. It was a good term 'cause it was a catchall for anyone who felt sexually confused or curious that didn’t want to commit to something stronger which is very me. Big commitment issues. Thanks, fam. To be clear, regardless of whatever the 2006 teenagers thoughts and feelings were, being bi is valid and should not be excused away or erased by anyone. Thank you.

From this moment, I was a loud and proud raving bi to my close friends and the strangers on the internet who saw my clearly-labeled sexual preference on my Myspace page. And the emo friends I made at this time were awesome. We just used to hang and make out with each other and listen to music and drink bottles of Smirnoff Ice until we were sick on each other with no judgment. The judgment came several years later looking back at the photos that you can’t delete. So I didn’t need to tell my family or people at school anything. But the thing is with a Myspace page, anyone with an internet connection can read it. And so the rumors started spreading through my neighborhood that Dan Howell was in fact a bisexual. I had a friend in French class who one day, totally unprompted, just turned to me and said, “Hmm, yeah, I thought so. You give off a bi-vibe.” A bi-vi-, what the fuck is a bi-vibe? Great, yeah, nothing to make a 15-year-old feel self-conscious about his behavior like being told he emanates a bisexual aura. What am I supposed to do with that? Sorry that I give off mixed signals. I’m versatile. Turns out it was actually a social upgrade from being called gay all the time 'cause bisexual was a new word that only referred to sexuality so people actually had to decide how they felt about the fact I was attracted to boys. As opposed to gay which as we all understand is synonymous with bad and also implies a general threat, plague, curse/evil force that simply must be destroyed. People at school were actually almost nice to me with curiosity about it and a few of the boys that previously loved to just generically call me gay while throwing a compasses at me or something, now started to low-key flirt with me and some stuff happened. Go figure.

But then I entered the dark ages and no I’m not talking about my hair because I was never actually cool enough to commit to dying it black. As quickly as they arrived into my life, my emo friend group vanished into the night. Like the tip of an eyeliner pencil snapping or the HTML on your intricately-crafted MySpace page falling apart when the host websites of your embedded gifs die, so, too, did my social life. One had to suddenly focus on school, another moved town, two of them just fell out with each other and started hanging out with their old friends again. Well, we don’t all have back up friend groups, Lindsey! I went all in on the emos! You’re telling me I have to go back to sitting in my kitchen playing Runescape now! Thanks a lot. So for a year I literally had no friends. And this is when the bullying at school really stepped its pussy up. The things people used to say offhand to me in a corridor were now said loudly in classrooms where everybody would laugh. People used to sing songs about me being gay on the bus while my fellow nerds sat around me just stared awkwardly out of the window not wanting to get involved. People shouted things out during GCSE exams in front of the whole school and the low key pushing became punches. People used to wait for me after school just to throw things at me. Once a guy put his hand around my throat and pushed my head against a coat peg in the locker room while everyone was watching and just slapped me for five minutes. But I never reacted. I never cried or got angry or fought back 'cause then I’d be giving them what they wanted and I refused to play along. But this way of dealing with things definitely had an impact on my relationship with emotion going into life. I became a total outcast. No one wanted to come near me out of fear that they’d get targeted, too. So no one ever stood up for me. And, you know, I don’t blame them. I just resent them even to this day. No, I’m kidding, I don’t really. I do. No, I don’t. I, hmm. Teachers at the time obviously did nothing. In fact, one of them saw this happening to me and laughed 'cause you know, boys will be boys especially the gay ones that get killed by the other ones, am I right? Ah, classic lad banter. And home. See, keeping this on the topic of sexuality and not economic class, violence, addiction, and health issues, let’s just say some shit was goin’ down. I didn’t think I could ask my family for help or share my feelings about this, mainly due to my dad. Funny guy, kind of a woke hippie who did and said a lot of things I did respect but at the same time used to walk around the house saying how he hoped someone he had a problem with at work would *clears throat* “die of bum cancer.” Yep, so picked the one area to be a bigot that would further traumatize your child. Nice! This experience coming from a childhood hearing the word gay meaninglessly thrown around as an insult at home and school, in music, on TV, to then realizing I am actually kinda gay, to then very specifically being attacked for it was traumatic. The world was clearly telling me if I ever wanted to be accepted by anyone or, in my particular environment, survive, I couldn’t be gay. I was afraid of it, literally homophobic of myself. I am talking Pavlov, sunken place, North Korea-level mind alteration that made me terrified of and repulsed by this part of me. This is called internalized oppression. It’s a real thing and it’s some real shit.

Chapter 3 – Internalized Oppression

From this moment I was no longer advertising myself as bi. No, BRB deleting that Myspace real quick, xD lemme get on that Bebo. “My Chemical Romance”? No, I’m listen to what’s this, N-Dubz? Jesus Christ. I go away for the summer break and come back to school quiet and serious and fully straight. *coughs* I needed me some new friends that were a bit higher up the social ladder, you know what I’m sayin’ for security so I go ahead and join “The Inbetweeners”. Literally this group of friends, the exact middle ground between nerds and desperately wanting to be cool. And oh how desperate we were. The great thing about these friends was they knew loads of girls. So firstly, instant cool points. Secondly, if I date a girl *scoffs* super not gay. The problem with that was it’s not like everyone just forgot everything that’s been said about me and this group of friends, casually homophobic pretty much all the time and also they hung out in places near some even more aggressive and super homophobic peeps. Just full-time Runescape would have been a better in hindsight. I find myself going through the same shit at school but now voluntarily going through it at the weekends from the people that are supposed to be my friends thinking I’m doing the right thing whilst constantly telling myself I’m now totally heterosexual. So I did what many people choose to do at that point and I got a girlfriend. But this is pretty messed up because I really liked this girl. In fact, I loved her as a friend and I was genuinely attracted to her but I was so afraid of sexuality I didn’t even wanna do anything straight in case I had some weird gay panic that I was totally frigid and I led her on. And when she got pissed at me, understandably, for being a terrible boyfriend, I just felt even worse. This was someone who I liked that I was hurting and lying to but I couldn’t leave as then I’d have no armor. Beautiful irony here is having a girlfriend didn’t in any way stop the abuse 'cause remember, gay is a great all-purpose general insult. (Call someone gay today and we’ll throw in a free set of steak knives.) And when these neighborhood teens started heavy drinking and getting into drugs, things suddenly got quite scary as people joked about setting fire to a tent as I slept in it at Reading Festival. Or saying, “You know that notoriously unstable guy? Yeah, he said he’s gonna kill you next Saturday.” Awkward.

This was definitely the lowest point in my life. I just felt totally alone, confused and I deeply hated myself. I used to ask God, in case he was there, to please, just make me straight and everyone stop. But I saw no end, no escape, no way to change the world or who I was. So one evening I thought fuck it and I attempted suicide.

I say attempted, because just before it was too late I thought

“oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit what have i done what have i done fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck?”

“what will your grandma think don’t do this to her she tried her best and she loves you”

“your family aren’t total dicks and this will fuck them up can’t you just get over it surely”

“you’re gonna get to the last year of school and give up now really what was the point”

“I heard this is one of the most painful ways to die so not a great choice if I’m being blunt”

Felt kinda bad for a few days otherwise I pretended it never happened and I didn’t tell anyone, until now, literally. Hmm, I know pretty dark right, but hey spoiler things kinda worked out. I mean still gotta lot of issues but here I am. I’m so glad I failed for so many reasons, for the people in my life, for the future I would’ve wasted. The most important being that I thought I was trapped in a situation forever when in reality, the entire world I lived in and my life changed completely. I thought it was hopeless when in reality there was so much to hope for and that’s it. Time changes everything. With the lives that we have, we can try anything we’ve dreamed of. I want anyone that’s ever felt like this to realize you are never trapped. There is always hope. You just need to believe in yourself and get to the other side. So yeah school age 6 to 18, I’m gonna give that a bad Google review. The thing is I did stand out. I’ve always been a loudmouth, class clown, annoying shit. Since graduating, it turns out half the people I knew were fuckin’ gay. That group of friends I had, all lovely people now. Five of them were gay, five gays! That is statistically irregular. Oh but they flew under the radar. All I’m saying is I wish people just hated me for being annoying and immature. Leave the gays alone!

My light at the end of the tunnel was university. I was gonna get my A levels move to a new town and ghost these bitches. But I took a gap year first to earn some money which was very boring sitting at home and working at ASDA where I was not happy to help. My shift started at 5 a.m. on a Saturday. Signed up for a Twitter account to run my mouth off and then bam. “So my name is [Dan].” My YouTube story begins, a new chapter of my life to redefine. So you know what I do? Get a Formspring because nothing gives you that attention feeling like one of those anonymous question and answer websites that are inherently toxic and no one should use. And straight out of the bat bisexual Dan returns. 'Cause hey, just like Myspace, I’m only telling a few people on the internet right now. It’s not like one day I’m gonna get so many followers that random strangers and my family might see it. Wow, I had a lot fun with many different kinds of people in 2009. Let’s just say I got a lot out of my system. Got a couple of things in my system, too. Sorry.

And this is when, through the magic of the internet, I met Phil. And obviously we were more than friends but it was more than just romantic. This is someone that genuinely liked me. I trusted them. And for the first time since I was a tiny child, I actually felt safe. And the relationship we formed at that point was something that I needed in my life. We are real best friends, companions through life, like actual soulmates, not that souls are a real thing that exist. It’s so lucky to just find someone you can be that compatible with and especially to anyone that has experienced the kind of self-hatred that I have dealt with, one person accepting you can make all the difference. And I bet so many people wanna know so much more about that which, honestly, I take as a compliment. But here’s the thing. I’m somebody that wants to keep the details of my personal life private. So is Phil. I know lots of people these days, thanks to social media, want to share and monetize every aspect of their life and then as soon as something changes suddenly it’s this huge drama because everybody got invested in the story of your life like it’s a soap opera. I don’t want that. I wanna do certain things without an audience. I wanna be spontaneous. I don’t wanna feel afraid to take risks. I want to enjoy totally fucking something up and not have to post a statement about it. And if anyone thinks people really have to share these things about their life, you need to rethink your position. And look, I understand that sex is a fun and interesting thing to talk about. I get it. I am also a disgusting pervert. But the specific minutiae of who I be fuckin’, when, why, where, how long, how, uhh, I mean? Sexuality is a general fact that it can be very useful to know about a person for several reasons, but we can’t force people to disclose that either. We don’t know this person’s life story, what they’ve been through, if they haven’t told people, if they’ll lose their job, if they’re in danger. There are so many reasons someone might not be open about it. We can preach the message that being out is good, but aggressively speculating or trying to out someone is really bad. They might not be gay, in which case we’re just harassing someone and probably stereotyping. And if they are there’s gonna be a reason why they haven’t talked about it. So I don’t wanna see any responses to me finally talking about this like no one is surprised. “Dan we been knew.” Wow, you huge galaxy brain genius. What’s it like walking around with all those brain cells in there working overtime? What, you got like three in there? Don’t lose your balance, mastermind. I haven’t exactly been subtle have I? I’m an awkward, sexually ambiguous nerd. “What the fuck even is your sexuality?” That’s not the point. I’m already dead inside so it doesn’t matter here, but to me if someone’s reaction to a person coming out is just, “yeah, I knew”, they’re showing no empathy towards the issue or that person. They’re just making it about themselves like it was a fun piece of gossip they already knew. All we have to do is listen and be accepting.

So anyway back to the tale. Whilst things were looking up for Dan aged 18, things quickly got messy again. Wow, that beats the emo streak of temporary self-acceptance by like six months, nice. There was a point around 2011 where the relationship with my audience shifted from what felt like direct communication between me and individuals that just saw me as a comedy creator to communities of people that formed to talk about me when I wasn’t there. Which is fine, but for some people it was about getting generally invested in me and my real life which I thought was a bit strange 'cause inevitably like anyone who puts themself out there, some people started to really dig into my private life to find out information about me that I wasn’t ready to share. And this was around the same time that YouTubers finally started to get mainstream recognition in the British press. We had the BBC knocking at our door trying to offer Dan and Phil a radio show. From that, Dan and Phil became this entertainment duo that we could have a creative career with. And we love working together, so when all these opportunities came for Dan and Phil, we were really excited but I was also scared as people clearly knew I wasn’t straight and I hadn’t told my family that. None of my old friends knew about this, and what me and Phil had was ours and personal and yet some people were trying to get access to it for their own satisfaction. It was no longer a few people on the internet, no big deal. So I just shut down. It felt like I was back at school again, surrounded by threatening people trying to expose me for their entertainment. Most I’m sure just wanted what was best for me and I feel such genuine sadness and am sorry that I couldn’t be closer to and more truthful with the people in my life that were just trying to be nice but I wasn’t ready to deal with it at this time so I had to do something to contain it. I definitely sent some mixed messages. Some were just joking around, others were super defensive that in my panic came across like “I’m now telling everyone I’m totally straight” when all I really meant was “please fuck off and don’t invade my privacy, you creepy stalkers, thank you”. But this experience seriously triggered some PTSD in me and I was back in the dark place. I didn’t want to just disappear from the internet to escape it and throw away this creative hobby that actually started paying rent. Thanks. So I just decided to put anything to do with my sexuality in a box to come back to later as I was still processing my past and I wanted to understand my identity on my own terms and timeline and not just have it hijacked as fuel for people’s sexual fantasies or some headline in an article. And whilst we’re not exactly living in a utopia yet here on YouTube, the general internet culture only five or six years ago was a much less wholesome, progressive place as this little bubble is now. Sure, a lot of people probably would have been supportive, but there was just as much open bigotry and general toxicity 'cause people felt less accountable and it was okay to say certain things 'cause it’s just on the internet and I couldn’t handle that at the time. And, generally, I can handle a lot. I have big hands with a very wide reach for playing piano, you fucking.. get your mind out of the gutter. We can’t ask people to just put their lives on hold to address their sexuality first. If a kid dreams of being a footballer and age 18 gets signed to a club and all their dreams come true but they’re scared to come out because of the insane homophobia in that community, they shouldn’t turn it down. Yes, it’s so important to be truthful about who you are and open and proud in front of the world but it’s our society’s fault that these people are scared to say who they are. So let’s all focus on making it a welcoming place and people will come out when they are ready. So when was I ready? Well, it’s always been on my mind that I need to talk about this at some point. I couldn’t just keep going forward in my life ignoring it, not only just so I can be authentic, which is very important for general existing, but also just letting people know what kind of sexual attention I want from the world. All of it from everyone. God I’m so thirsty. And if anything motivated me, it’s the idea that I can help someone else 'cause that’s basically my whole career, isn’t it, admitting to shit that I’ve been through so you will feel better about yourselves. There we go, you’re welcome. I have a platform and a following of millions of people, many of whom I know have been through exactly what I have. And if I tell my story as painful and flip floppy and flawed as it is, I know it will mean something to someone as every time someone speaks openly about sexuality, it saves lives. I’d never met a single out gay person until I was 18. And if I had, or even just seen better representation in the media, I wouldn’t have felt so totally alone. I wouldn’t even be saying this to you now if it wasn’t for TV shows, musicians, and public figures in the last couple years reinforcing this to me. It doesn’t matter if I was living the life privately as there was still so much confusion about my feelings and fear. But things are better now, on the internet, on TV, in my real life. It’s not perfect but it feels safe enough in this space right now for me to feel confident. So thank you, sincerely, to all the brave people that came before me and to any of you that made this world seem welcoming for me. And instead of procrastinating from this by focusing on work, which was a way for me to insure my own independence and survival in case I was rejected, or just doing things for other people to take my mind off it instead of asserting my own needs, which my therapist keeps telling me is one of my biggest problems. Here I am with a fresh void of time in front of me to fuck up however I want. Now look, we all have different experiences in life. Some of us are lucky, some of us not. It just so happened that the first 18 years of my life were horrendously shit. It failed me. But we get dealt cards from the start, too. If you look at my life, I was born into this world as an able-bodied, white, cis-man in Britain which immediately gives me so much privilege in this current world and I am fully aware of how much harder making it to today could have been for me, which is why we all need to stand up for equality and social justice even if it doesn’t apply to us. No one stood up for me when it mattered the most and that almost cost me everything. So if you see a woman being harassed, a gay being threatened, someone muttering something racist, say something, do something because if you’re still or silent, the victim will just think that you are against them, too. We all have a responsibility.

This tale was just some of the stuff relating to sexuality. We all have a whole sob story if we wanna tell it but I just wanted to explain the journey of how I got to this point and overcame the obstacles that tried to block this path. And now I’ve arrived.

Chapter 4 – Labels

Okay cool story, bro, it’s answer time. What’s your answer. Whaddayalikedafuk? Here’s the thing, you want me to talk candidly about sexuality as if it’s something that I understand? I don’t know what it is, why it is. Turns out no one knows. I’ve been sitting here for years waiting for scientists to just work it out like bleep bloop. [Oh this is why and exactly how it’s different for people. There we go.] Thinking I shouldn’t run off my mouth on the internet in case my theories and opinions on varying gayness get debunked next week. Well, I waited long enough and it didn’t happen. Science, ya fucked up, you let me down. And I fully expect to have to delete this video in two weeks when you find out all the answers suddenly. Thanks a bunch. What makes someone gay or straight or all the things in between? What the ever loving fuck is gender about? This is a mess. Yet people want you to give them a word because that’s how humans communicate with words that have meanings. Which is why our disgusting species is impatient, stupid, and obsessed with labels. And this applies to everything, sexuality, gender, political identity, what obscure genre of synthwave you listen to. People just want a label that represents something they understand so they already know how to feel about you and don’t have to bother thinking. [Oh you’re a feminist well I don’t need to know anything more. Oh you’re a leftist. Oh you’re a K-pop fan but but but but.] If people just want to find a way to disagree with you or dislike you, they can refer to the label and turn off their brains. Hey, what does my label say? Huh. The issue is, especially when we start talking about the writhing mass of confusion and suffering that is sexual and gender identity, the limits of language and specific terminology become a big problem. What does being gay mean? You never thought about a boob once? What does being a man mean? You wanna be an emotionless rock rubbing raw steaks against your biceps? It’s not like humanity is all in agreement right now. I don’t like the stereotypes and drama that come with all this terminology so I’m just not gonna use it. Thing is gender identity isn’t my issue. I feel comfortable with the identity that I’ve had my whole life. Dan, a tol boy from England. But being a man means nothing to me. I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable wearing makeup or a sickening pair of heels, though I can’t even draw in a straight line so that would be a disaster. Also is anyone really comfortable wearing heels? Hmm. Icons of masculinity aren’t really a big part of my life. Might as well call me a fucking formless blob that sounds more relatable. Shout out to all my formless blobs out there, rise up. I don’t have to do anything or be anything and I personally wouldn’t feel offended if I wasn’t referred to as a he. Well, she’s feeling hungry today. Stop fucking judging me, Susan. I’m sad and I’m gonna eat this whole damn cake whether you like it or not. But anyone that has this don’t really care attitude about their gender identity is in a way privileged 'cause some people, especially trans, care a lot about their gender identity and using the correct pronouns which other people should respect. Likewise with sexuality, whilst to me the endlessly increasing list of tribes and flags being flown is a bit daunting and confusing and personally stresses me out 'cause I almost find it constrictive, some people like it. Because if you’re feelings are confusing and then you look at a word that represents something and go, “wow, that me”, it can help you realize you’re valid and find a community and that’s great. There is so much controversy around this issue and others but if we all just calm down, respect each other’s experiences and try to just be nice, reasonable people, which is a lot to ask, let’s be real, it’s quite simple. If you wanna use language to express your honest feelings and identity, that’s great and other people should respect what you say. Likewise, if you hate labels and you just wanna be a formless blob, that’s fine, too. No one should force you. The only thing that isn’t cool is telling other people what they should or should not identify as 'cause that ain’t your problem or your business, bye. This was one of the things that held me back from talking about this for years. Shit’s confusing, man. Let’s just go back to cellular reproduction by mitosis so I don’t really have to be specific. Two people that I really look up to and respect, Harry Styles and Janelle Monae, both famously say that they don’t feel the need to label it which, to be honest, is how I feel and is perfectly okay. But I get it, for me, you want a word. Oh, that’s hard, though. I’m an annoying guy. I feel uncertain specifying my sexuality in the same way I wouldn’t say I am an atheist. Who the fuck am I to say whether God does or doesn’t exist? I don’t know shit 'bout shit and neither does anyone else. I mean I think it’s unlikely in the same way I know I like DICK. But I’m not gonna pretend to have a definite answer here. Looking at my public statements is inconsistent and confusing. Looking at my personal track record through life is super confusing. And looking at the void inside my soul threatening to crush the entire universe with the force of its event horizon of misery and melodrama, well, fuck let’s close that shit up. One thing’s for sure whatever heterosexual is, I ain’t it. Really if you ask me, I don’t think anyone’s totally straight. I think there’s a lot of social and emotional issues getting in the way of yet to be understood feelings of attraction that can be very flexible. And trust me, I’ve known a lot of straight guys until a couple of drinks, some deep conversation, and lingering eye contact, and suddenly they just start leaning in. What does that make them? And am I totally gay? No. Am I slightly more gay or is it just easier for gays to hook up with each other because of societal norms. It’s not like the signs for male and female bathrooms are what I’m attracted to. I don’t care what flesh organ you have between your legs, what your hair’s like, if you’re covered in it or a fuckin’ beluga whale. I’m gonna be honest, I’m not picky. I’m easy. So am I bi or pan or poly? Well, now we’re just in a clusterfuck of defining language and I’m confused and sad and horny. This is why I personally love the word queer. I understand that some people don’t as it is a slur but as someone that’s been the target of it several times throughout my life I’m up for some reclamation. It’s like recycling. The definition makes sense because until society is equal with all sexual and gender identifies, it is literally strange from a conventional viewpoint plus it’s better than a super long acronym, it’s inclusive of everyone and therefore great for formless blobs. There we go, an identity I feel comfortable with. A highly-strung, depressed queer praying for a giant meteor to hurry up and finally eradicate humanity. LMAO, yeet!

But to come full circle, I know that even today, deep in my heart the word gay scares me because that’s how I’ve been conditioned my whole life. So, you know what? Fuck the literal definition and the scientific definition and what everyone thinks. I finally have to just confront and accept this.

I’m gay.

Oh look, didn’t spontaneously fucking combust. Well, there we go, that was a lot of stress about nothing, wasn’t it? Bloody hell. So yup, I’m here, I’m queer, and don’t worry I’m still filled with existential fear.

WE’RE HERE, WE’RE QUEER WE’RE FILLED WITH EXISTENTIAL FEAR.

Chapter 5 – Fear

Even though I’m at this current place, there is still so much I’m afraid of and this has taken months to make because of that. Telling my family was a big fear. I have problems connecting with them emotionally because reasons. So I only came out to them this month and if it didn’t go well, as I’m now the independent adult that I fought so hard to be, I was ready to cut them off like the bottom of a sweater turning into a seasonal crop. But I didn’t have to, love you. I didn’t think they’d reject me these days but coming out is still a surprise. It changes things. And I’m a pretty awkward person generally but the idea of just dropping this in conversation in front of them all terrified me. And I tried several times this year to do it but I just couldn’t. So you know how I finally came out to my family? E-mail. Yep, I literally just sent them an e-mail saying and I quote,

“Hello gang. I’ve been meaning to talk to you all for a while, something quite important that should be disclosed at some point. I thought I would around Christmas, then Mum’s birthday, then last Easter Sunday, etc., but every time I meant to, I either felt like I would ruin the mood of the day or I just felt awkward and didn’t want to. So I decided just to email you all instead which is really inappropriate and just weird but that somehow seems appropriate for me and at least I’ll just finally say it.

Basically I’m gay.”

Yup. It was just getting ridiculous so I thought screw it and hey, it worked. Turns out my remaining family, pretty chill bunch of people. Even my Christian grandma said this,

“We love you for being you. It must be a great relief to finally acknowledge who you are. Popsie and I just want you to be happy. People are born as they are and have no say in it. I hope that now you will feel free to live your life as you want with no pretense.”

Aw.

“Don’t forget the iPad.”

Yes, I said I’d give her my old iPad. She mainly cares about that I thing. Wasn’t so sure when I was 17 but it went well now and I know that makes me lucky but, hey, it shows that times change. As for the other people in my life, obviously all the friends I have now are cool. If anyone in my life I’ve ever known isn’t cool with it then I don’t care. And sure here online there might be a few incredibly lost bigots following me or just some classic trolls who I think should get fucked. No, like literally, I think you should try it. You’ll probably enjoy it and you might learn something about yourself. Inevitably some of you watching this might have a weird reaction if you just feel like it was a shock or you feel hurt that I kept it from you. But I feel like I explained myself reasonably here and going forward I can’t have any space for that, sorry. I’ve come to terms with who I am and now you have to, too, ha. Funnily enough straight up homophobia is probably the one thing I’m not that afraid of, because I just don’t agree so it doesn’t hold much emotional power over me but you bet I’m opening myself up to all new kinds of in real life and international discrimination now which is fun. But one of the other big fears holding me back was, honestly, that I wouldn’t be accepted by the community. I know that it’s a big pride flag covering a lot of ground and even the idea of it and certainly most of it is amazing. But there is a lot of drama within it right now especially on the internet. You’ve got Grindr gays arguing about how manly gays should be, bi’s getting ignored, trans people, especially of color, not being historically appreciated, acephobia, fucking SWERFs and TERFs. No thank you. So even though they are my people, I know some of them will have problems with something. And even then, just seeing such a loud and proud, strong and opinionated group of people celebrating something just intimidates a smol introvert such as myself. And in my mind if these people don’t accept me because I’m not being definitive enough or I took too long then I almost feel like I’ll be alone all over again, and this is a fear that a lot of people have honestly. But I’m a nice guy and I’m trying my best so you better be welcoming, you bunch of fuckin’ queers. And obviously with the topic of sexuality, it doesn’t matter where we are or how far you think we’ve come, by merely mentioning it, I will be opening up a primordial box of bullshit which will include every single stupid argument and question since the dawn of time. [It’s not natural.] There’s gay animals. [Adam and Steve.] That’s based on a story and the protagonist that arrives later probably doesn’t agree with you. [Why can’t we have straight pride?] I could spend 10 hours on all the classic crap and people would still be asking the same things. This being posted on the internet, my hopes are so incredibly low, lower than my self-esteem. Wow, that is unhealthy. I need to stop doing that. This video is about internalized oppression and the problems of language. I’m not here to pontificate on every topic tangentially related to the entire concept of gayness. *ASMR voice*: Pontificate on every topic tangentially related to the concept of gayness.

There’s other humans and all the time in the world left for that. The time in the world coincidentally being not much longer. Climate change LMAO. But I had to tell my story so people would understand me and these things. Why coming out is still a big deal because queer people are often invisible and suffering until they have to do it. Some people grow up in supportive environments and it’s a positive experience. But more likely, especially around the world outside of the big cities, it isn’t. This is not a fight that is anywhere near over. Even in Britain today people are debating whether children should be taught to be accepting of sexual and gender identity in school.

Queer people exist. Choosing not to accept them is not an option.

To anyone watching this that isn’t out, it’s okay. You’re okay. You were born this way, it’s right, and anyone that has a problem with it is wrong. Based on your circumstance, you might not feel ready to tell people yet or that it’s safe and that’s fine, too. Just know that living your truth, with pride, is the way to be happy. You are valid. It gets so much better. And the future is clear. It’s pretty queer.

So there we go. Now I can proceed authentically in my life with full disclosure. Cute mutuals know to slide into the DMs. And you can all fuck off and leave me alone.

Bye.

#basically i'm gay #daniel howell #danielhowell #dan and phil #amazingphil #phil lester #yes im tagging i dont care #if there's a flaw somewhere (like a missed part or sm) dm me so i could fix it #id go through it again anyway but just in case #oh and it's literally just dan's substitles so all credits to him or whoever did that #hmm i wonder if they hired someone. interesting #have fun #the script

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we-are-the-amb · 3 years

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(This WIP has been sitting in my drafts long enough for me to know I won’t finish it. You may as well take it as it is, chaps.)

It was a slow day at Santa Carla Health Centre. Unusually so. Even when the place wasn’t bustling, an ill body would drift in on the hour, every hour. A seized joint here, a swollen belly there. Today, though, Manda was struggling to remember when the phone rang last. The stillness of the room beyond her window unsettled her, stupidly she thought. The idea of a calm before some hideous arrival nipped at the back of her mind. Her unoccupied brain offered vivid flickers of a figure, red and dripping like a man-shaped candle, hobbling through the door. An elderly lady weaving desperately from one wall to the other, under the weight of a fallen gargoyle, glaring at Manda from it’s seat in the shattered crown of the unfortunate woman’s skull. Irritated by such fancies, Manda snatched a dry biro from her pen pot and began to dig under her nails, scraping those pictures away with the grit. She glared at her gratitude to herself, for shelving that bottle of red polish the night before and leaving her nails bare and pink.

Four fingers along, a rattle at the door startled her from her excavation. Before she could even imagine another walking horror, she was peering through her window at a small child emerging into the waiting room. She judged them to be anywhere between the ages of five and seven. They had a flushed, pudgy face and knotted hair down to their waist. A woven band around their head pulled it tight and slick against their scalp. They were swallowed by a garment that was not quite a dress. A nightshirt, Manda thought at first, before the mandala elephant on the child’s front shone out at her. A kaftan, maybe. The child scrutinised the room with black, cherry pip eyes that reminded Manda of those on a bull terrier pup. They fell on Manda only for a second before they spun around and began to drag something through the door.

Manda watched as the little body heaved and snorted with mesmerising determination. The tiny feet, booted with poorly imitated sheepskin twisting as they tried to brace themselves against the flecked tiles. Just as Manda shook herself and rose to exit her glass cell, she caught sight of the rusted handle that shot through the door with a mighty yank from the young visitor that nearly jolted them to the floor. After stepping out into the waiting room, Manda saw a dark shape at the end of the handle through the frosted glass, catching painfully on the recently painted doorframe.

“Here, let me me help you.” She hurried over to open the door wider, amused curiosity a soothing balm where her gory daydreams had itched.

With a squeak and a rattle the child’s burden finally rolled in easily on the smooth tiles. A cart, built sparingly out of unpolished planks, with thick, rubber wheels, logged with sand. Later, Manda would grimace at the grimy smears it left behind, but now all she could look at was the load. She couldn’t see this second child’s face, as they had curled up deep into their dark, greasy tresses and layers of tie dyed drapery. Two knobby wrists and narrow hands with scabbed fingertips were the only skin visible, clasped over their hidden knees. Before Manda could open her mouth to greet the ball of hair and cotton, their chauffeur’s voice cut her off.

“He’s sick.” The first child had a frog in their throat, and a thick lisp that made them sound like they trying to speak around a gum ball. Manda got her first close look at them and saw the webs of matted hair clinging to their puffed, wet cheeks and throat. The fretful glint in those black eyes that were flying over her hair, her shoulders, her jewellery, everywhere but her face. She wondered how far they had brought this sick boy, and if he could possibly be sicker than they looked. “He’s sick.”

Manda bobbed down in front of them, as they remained fixated on her hair.

“Okay, Honey, alright. Are your mommy, or daddy with you?” When the child only frowned at her left earring, she licked her lips and rephrased. “Do you have a grown up with you, huh?”

They shook their oily locks and shuffled in place, awkwardly, as if she had asked them to do a silly dance for her. The movement pushed a gust of stale, sickly odour her way. She rubbed her nose to stop herself wrinkling it.

“Alright, Hon. Could ya tell me your name?”

“Edgar!” He bit out.

“Okay, Edgar. And what’s your friend’s name?”

The little boy began to rock from foot to foot, his tatty boots creaking with each shift. He rubbed his knuckles together like carding brushes.

“My friend’s name.”

“That’s ri-”

“He’s not my friend, he’s my brother!...His name is Alan.”

“Oh!” Edgar and Alan. Manda had to grin a little at that, despite the many, far more outlandish titles listed the centre’s register. Santa Carla was the breeding ground for the proud individual. “Not got any ravens on your tails, huh?”

That made Edgar still a moment, his brow pinching ever tighter. “What tails?” He began to rock once more. Manda supposed she had not expected him to get it.

“Well, Edgar, how about we make an appointment for Alan, hm?” She watched his fists unfurl and tangle together, fitfully.

“He’s sick!” He repeated. “You gotta help him!”

“He will get help, Hon.” Her fingers tingled with the instinct to reach out and hold him, but she held back. “I just have to ask a you and Alan few questions, get it sorted properly, okay?”

Edgar continued to fidget, blinking at the floor beneath his creaking feet, but said no more. Manda decided to take that as acceptance. Remembering Alan, she pivoted on her toes to face him. She found the patient nodding his heavy head, softly, as if to music. It took her a moment to realise he was nodding in time to the sound of Edgar’s boots.

“Alan?” The nodding ceased, a windup toy whirring to a stop. “Is there really a boy under all that lovely hair?”

One of the hands was raised, haltingly from it’s comfortable spot across his knees and the scabby fingers (he must chew them, she thought) flexed in a feeble wave. A pebble of warmth dropped in Manda’s chest.

“Oh, there you are.” She did not think he could see her smile, but she could not have stopped herself. “Alan, I’m going to ask you and Edgar some questions, before you see the doctor. Is that alright?”

Suddenly, Edgar appeared at Alan’s side. He put a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder, but quickly snatched it back when Alan twitched. After eyeing him a second, he realised he had leaned on his brother’s hair. He gently, but surely parted the locks at Alan’s shoulder, before resting his hand on the uncovered spot. He leaned in and whispered to Alan, louder than he likely intended; “You gonna speak to her?” Alan seemed to think, motionless for a moment, before raised his hand, again and wagged a finger at Edgar.

“Ask me the questions.” Edgar commanded, though it seemed to Manda more to himself, than to her. Manda stood up, straightening the sleeves of her blouse with playful professionalism.

“Very well, Edgar. would you both like to come a take a seat?”

#edgar #edgar frog #alan #alan frog #oc #original character #awesome monster bashers #frog brothers #the lost boys #lost boys #fanfiction #unfinished

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rainandhotchocolate · 4 years

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Dinner Party

A/N DUN DUN DUN Day 4!! Little less sad, little more fluff. In fact it is pure fluff, nothing more than literal fluffy bits of snow in writing form. Enjoy bbs

Sirius x reader - FLUFF CITY

“I don’t believe you,” Y/N sat in the front seat of Remus’ small buggy, arms crossed and staring suspiciously at him. He kept his eyes on the road, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I told you, Lily-“

“Bull. Shit.” Y/N narrowed her eyes further, trying to see if she could somehow read through Remus’ very nonchalant expression but to no avail. The problem with being best friends with a werewolf was his uncanny ability to lie without batting an eyelid. Bloody scheming bastard.

Remus had shown up at her door a little over an hour ago and told her to get her butt off the couch and change into something nice, something fancy.

“If Lily is having a dinner party, why didn’t she tell me earlier?”

“Last minute change, it was originally just parents,” Remus replied smoothly. Y/N watched his eyes carefully to see if they twitched like they did when he was nervous. Nothing. Maybe he was telling the truth. Y/N was a slightly paranoid person, as Sirius mentioned every time she double bolted the doors and windows at night before they went to bed.

“If Voldemort gets in, I’m at least going to know it wasn’t because I didn’t try to keep him out,” She retorted, trying to remain serious whilst his trademark mischievous, toothy grin grew bigger on his face. It always made her feel a little giddy.

“Why isn’t Sirius picking me up then?”

“James wanted him to help cook,” Remus turned off the main road slowly as ice had made the roads slick, snow still piling on the edge of the corner.

“Just got an answer for everything don’t you,” She huffed, leaning back into the chair, watching the windscreen for any rogue snowflakes. This was definitely her favourite time of year, when a flurry of white snow fell across the ground and pathways, blanketing the whole town in sparkling white. It made everything look prettier as if someone had wiped out all the blemishes and covered everything with the perfect concealer. There wasn’t anything more magical, in Y/N’s opinion anyway, though Sirius always seemed to like stating the obvious, that magic was technically the most magical.

Y/N didn’t like to press, but she was sure his dislike for the cold weather stemmed from Christmas with his parents and the crowds of other pureblood families he used to spend it with. There was still a tension in the air when the snow started to fall, even though he hadn’t seen his family in years. The only time he really seemed to enjoy it as much as Y/N did was as Padfoot, bounding around the garden in the deep snow-covered grass, kicking up powdered chunks at Y/N. She pretended to care, but there wasn’t anything better than having a good excuse to watch Sirius be happy and playful, even as a large, black dog.

“Ready?” Remus pulled her out of her thoughts, pulling off the road and up to the gate of Lily and James’ small cottage.

“For what?” Y/N growled at him, his smile getting wider.

“Just come on,” Remus hopped out of the car and moved around to open the door for Y/N. She had to take a second, finding it hard to move gracefully out of a car in a floor-length dress. Y/N had tried to wear something a bit more… calm, and warmer, but Remus had insisted that it was uber fancy and she had to wear the dark red dress she wore as Lily’s bridesmaid. It was tight around the waist and hips, a thigh-high slit and silk that draped across her legs and onto the floor.

“Take off your coat,” Remus instructed, standing behind her to help pull it off as they stepped through the neatly ploughed path that led to the front door. It was open, Remus getting Y/N go in first with an overtly exaggerated show of chivalry, “They said to meet out back.”

“But you just took my coat off you dag, it’s freezing,” She went to grab it back but Remus pulled it away from her and hung it up on the wooden coat rack by the door.

“I know you’re muggle-born and all, but you do remember that we are wizards? That can do magic? Like warm things up?” Remus smirked, neatly dodging Y/N swipe at his ribs, laughing a little mischievously.

“What on earth is going on, Remus,” Y/N tried to cut him off to stop him from leading her outside but with heels on he was still significantly taller than her and easily side-stepped, “You know I hate surprises.”

“I think you’ll like this one.”

“What is that supposed to mean!”

“Merlin’s beard, shush and come on,” Remus rolled his eyes, but his grin was still lighting up his whole face in a way that she hadn’t seen in a while. Not since he’d been sent to spy on the werewolves living underground. Not since Marlene.

The back door was open, and snow was covering every inch of Y/N’s view of the garden, right up to the front step. She silently thanked Remus for making her wear heeled boots to avoid destroying her dress in the snow. They walked out together, Remus letting her go first again, stepping into what Y/N expected to be bitingly cold weather, but was pleasantly surprised to feel the warmth of a fire blazing next to her. She turned her head to see a row of hovering jars with fire lighting up the garden and leading around the side of the house.

“What’s going on, Remus?” She turned to face him, her heart racing slightly at the sight of the decorative jars and the small floating snowflakes that seemed to be hanging in the air next to them.

“Follow them, I’ll be right behind you,” He looked like he couldn’t stop smiling at this point, his eyes watching her closely. Y/N gave him a confused glance but turned back around and followed the row of fire and snowflakes around the side of the garden, noticing that as she stepped snow seemed to avoid her shoes and dress, keeping her dry and warm. As she turned the corner she saw it, gasping loudly, her hand covering her mouth, heart racing faster and faster in her chest.

In front of her was Sirius, standing in the snow, rose petals forming a final pathway to where he stood. Sirius was wearing Y/N’s favourite deep navy overcoat and a suit, hands behind his back, smiling nervously at her. There were candles floating around his head twinkling against the white of the snow, and as Y/N walked forwards, her stomach beginning to do acrobatics, she saw that their flames were changing colour from a red to white as they hovered.

“Hey there,” Y/N said, giving Sirius an exceedingly nervous smile, reaching out to grab his hand.

“Hey,” He said back, laughing softly, his classic nervous tick.

“So what’s all this then?”

“Oh just a standard Friday night.”

“Yeah sure sure,” Y/N felt a giggle bubbling in her chest as she fought to keep her giddiness to an acceptable level.

“So uh, I actually wanted to tell you something,” Sirius let go of her hand, stepping backwards slightly.

“Is that so?” Y/N breathed out, watching him with wide eyes as he took a huge breath and brought forward a small black velvet box.

“Yeah,” He knelt down on one knee and Y/N felt like she might burst into tears.

“Y/N Y/L/N, you are the kindest, most irritatingly smart, stunningly beautiful person I’ve ever known,” His voice broke and he cleared his throat roughly, his deep grey eyes staring directly into her own, “I didn’t always think I’d be lucky enough to… find someone. That could be both my best friend and fantastic in bed.”

Y/N barked out a wet laugh, tears starting to form in her eyes and Sirius reached out to grab her hand.

“I don’t want to ever spend a minute without you. You always know exactly when to call me out on my shit and make me feel more loved than I thought I deserved. I just, fucking love you,” He laughed again, beaming up at Y/N, “so I guess now is the time to ask, would you do me the –”

“Yes!” Y/N cried, a little pre-emptively.

“Let me get the question out first, you prat,” Sirius laughed at her, “Will you m –”

“Yes,” Y/N said again, grinning at his mock annoyed look.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes yes yes yes yes,” Y/N pulled him up and threw her arms around his neck, letting him pull her off the ground and spin her around in his arms. He put her down carefully, leaning in to give her a soft kiss.

“I should probably put this on now, huh?” Sirius wiped his eyes, laughing still, and opened the box slowly. It was a silver ring with small diamonds glittering around the band, a black gem sitting in the middle, with a larger triangle diamond sitting above it. It looked like a miniature black crown.

“It’s fucking perfect,” Y/N put her hand over her mouth, smiling shakily as Sirius took her left hand and slid it onto her ring finger.

“Thank god, it was bloody expensive,” Sirius teased, looking at the ring sitting on her finger. They looked up at each other, silent for a moment, both beaming and red-eyed.

“Is it done can we come out now?” Y/N heard James’ voice call loudly from the back door, and Y/N turned to see Lily, Remus, James, and Peter bobbing their heads out from around the corner of the house where Y/N had originally come from.

“Yes, yes, we’re engaged!” Y/N waved them over, her voice still breaking slightly as they ran over to them, Lily immediately grabbing Y/N’s hand and looking at the ring, James, Remus and Peter bombarding Sirius with a hug that Y/N was sure would bruise a few ribs.

“So where’s this elusive dinner party huh?” Y/N wiped an eye, gripping Lily’s hand tightly.

“Well we didn’t cook a full dinner, but we do have something similarly good,” Remus pulled out two bottles of firewhiskey, grinning at the group of them. It felt like a little bubble, a moment of peace in the midst of two years of war. A moment of happiness for all of them.

“Give my fiancé some first,” Sirius winked at Y/N and kissed her on the cheek, her heart flipping over at the word, fiancé.

“Oh come on, you can do better than that,” Peter squeaked, his eyes equally red, poking Sirius in the ribs. Sirius turned back to Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eyes before he grabbed her at the waist and dipped her dramatically, kissing her deeply with a hand resting on the back of her head. James whooped at them, Peter laughing loudly, as Remus gave Lily a tissue.

“Let’s celebrate inside before your fires go out,” James ushered them towards the door, grabbing one of the bottles of firewhiskey and popping it open loudly.

Sirius placed a hand in the small of Y/N’s back, leaning in towards her ear momentarily as they stepped inside.

“I tried to make it more private, but James wasn’t having it.”

“It was more perfect than I could have imagined,” Y/N turned her head swiftly to catch him off guard, pecking him on the lips. Sirius smiled back at her, his eyes lighting up brightly. He gripped her hand tightly as they went into the kitchen where there was a large stack of brownies and treacle tart, and glasses all set up.

James flicked his wand so that the firewhiskey whisked around to each glass and filled them up, floating themselves over to each person standing around the table.

“To Y/N and Sirius, for taking far to long to settle down and have a wedding where I can get properly drunk instead of being so nervous I threw up,” James lifted a glass and Lily elbowed him. The rest of them raised their glasses as well, all smiling at Y/N and Sirius. Y/N turned to Sirius as well, who was already watching her thoughtfully.

“That’s the guy giving you a toast at the wedding,” Y/N winked at him, nodding to James.

“Not if I can help it,” Sirius put on a look of horror, turning to James who glowered at him.

“Let the nuptials begin,” Remus snorted, taking a large swig of Firewhiskey. Y/N couldn’t fucking wait.

Taglist: @averytruerayofsunshine @siriuslyjanhvi @blushingskywalker @blackpinkdolan @thebabblingbookworm @cherrie511 @imlukesnirvana @avengersassemblee @maraudersandco @sly-vixen-up2nogood @katbernoulli @sirius-lysad @evyiione @minerva26love @aikeia @gollyderek @greatwombatblaze @songforhema @your-typical-giggle @myownviperroom @hermione-is-my-queen

#rainandhotchocolate #sirius imagine #sirius x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius x y/n #sirius x you #sirius fluff #sirius proposal #literally just fluff

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7deadlycinderellas · 4 years

Text

No more math and history, ch7

Ao3 link

Second session comes to a close.

Hide and seek only takes two hours this year (Arya long ago found the best hiding place, underneath the kitchen employees snack table behind the mess hall, but Clegane rats her out this time). The Wizard of Oz goes off with no stage fright and no flubbed lines, and only one munchkin who has to run off to the latrines prematurely.

The dance comes, and Arya even wears a skirt for it.

The dance is over now, and around the campfire the lingering counselors have plundered the prize smuggled in yesterday in Loras’s truck - two whole cases of beer. There wasn’t enough to go around for anyone to really get drunk but most of them were at least nursing a bottle. If no one got in trouble, Brienne would be none the wiser.

Most of the unit counselors have left, begrudgingly. They’ll get their revenge when everyone at activities has to work tomorrow all day when the kids are gone. Meera had taken one bottle and snuck off for solitude. Ygritte had grumbled the whole dance, she was stuck on lights out patrol the last night of session. Bran left too, laughing that alcohol and wheelchairs didn’t mix.

All around the campfire, everyone’s drinking their beer, laughing and singing.

Arya and her companions are off to one side, and a couple are still fixated on the skirt.

She holds out the ends of the fabric, showing Shireen.

“I pretty much live in jeans and sweaters and hoodies up north. I haven’t worn a skirt or dress voluntarily since my junior school days when we had uniforms. Well about a year and a half ago I tore the knees out of my favorite jeans. I was going to throw them away, but Sansa fished them out, cut the inseams and patched the gaps with one of our dad’s old flannel shirts.”

They still had a whole box of Ned’s flannel shirts, waiting for them to find a use for them. Robb and Jon were both still too slim to wear them. Sometimes Arya would pull one on, letting it fall down nearly to her knees, and pretend she could still smell him. Ned had always smelled like pine and snow to her, no matter where they were.

“I loved it, because of that and because Sansa made it just for me. But I only wore it once.”

“I forgot about that,” Sansa admits.

Arya feels herself turning red, and she knows it’s not the beer, she’s only had half a bottle.

“I wish I could. I wore it to school once, one of the only days it was warm enough.”

She had always shaken her head at Sansa, who wore dresses and skirts to school all the time, with or without leggings or tights, no matter the amount of snow on the ground. She could be shivering under her winter coat and hat and boots, but still refuse to change.

“I didn’t really think anything of it, but everyone else sure seemed to. Mum fussed over me all morning and when I got to school, I kept hearing whispers and snickers. I even heard someone say ‘guess she really is a girl after all’. It was mortifying, and I never wore it again.”

Shireen frowns, even harder than she was before. She had taken exactly one drink of her beer and had winced.

“Why would people act like that just over seeing a girl in a skirt?”

Gendry snorts. He’s only been sipping his beer, and with a pang, Arya remembers that his mother had always said, that his father had just been some drunk.

“They probably thought they had wandered into some teen flick and she was having a dramatic makeover into the class beauty everyone would want.”

Arya feels herself burn, and she knows it’s not the beer talking.

“Yes, it was like they thought that just because I wore a skirt that I would stop playing sports and start hanging out at the mall and fawning over boys instead.”

Gendry starts laughing so Arya sticks her tongue out at him.

“Nope, you’re not getting any fawning, none at all. Mum was the worst actually. She always thought that one day I would wake up transformed into the proper girl she wanted me to be, like Sansa.”

“You and Mum never did see eye to eye,” Sansa admits, quietly. Her two bottles are both empty and there’s a tinge of sadness to her voice.

Arya pulls her knees up to her chest.

“She could never understand why I would rather go to the park with the dogs, or to White Harbour for a game, or beg Jon to teach me to drive on a Saturday instead of, I don’t know, getting my hair or nails done like you.”

“It wasn’t always perfect between us,” Sansa admits, “Sometimes I could be too much even for mum. You weren’t around that time I threw a tantrum because she said I couldn’t go clubbing with the rest of the cast after the Music Man closed, because it was after curfew.”

Sansa’s quiet for a long moment.

“I wonder if she would fight me again over this next year.”

Arya flops flat on her back.

“You did fine on your A-levels Sansa, and you’re hardly the first person to take a gap year to work.”

Shireen frowns off to her side.

“You’re out of school already? I thought you said you were seventeen?”

Sansa nods, then giggles.

“There was some fuss with our birthdays when we both entered school. I turn eighteen in October, Arya’s seventeen in November. I just finished my A-levels, Arya’s going into her last year.”

Sansa quiets after this. Arya knows she had agonized over this. She had done decently on exams, true, but she really did want to pursue acting. The theater scene in Winterfell, indeed, in all of the North was so very small, that her only hope was to leave and move somewhere like the Riverlands, or hopefully the Reach. And all for Sansa’s confidence, leaving home like that terrified her.

Shireen turns her attention to Arya, who suddenly feels the need to take a long swig of her beer.

“What are you taking?’

Arya grimaces, “English, maths, biology, phys ed, and Braavosi.”

She bites her lip.

“Mum would probably still say that’s not enough.”

The beer isn’t helping, her stomach feels like there’s a rock in it. Part of her wants to keep going, but is terrified of letting it out. Across the campfire, Loras has started making out with Renly Baratheon, the boys head counselor, and no one is paying any attention to the group in the little corner.

“Do you remember Ned Dayne?” she asks Gendry, eye half-closed in his direction. Gendry snorts, like a bull would, not like he’s laughing.

“I hated him.”

Arya scoffs. Ned had come to camp with them the second year, invited along as the son of a long time family friend. The rest of the Brotherhood had liked him, Gendry had not.

“You did not hate him, you were ten. Well, last year Ned came north to stay with his aunt for a few months.”

Sansa’s eyeing her oddly, trying to work out the timeline and looking wary.

“There was a beginning of term dance. I didn’t really want to go, but Ned offered to take me because he thought I was afraid to go alone, and- Gendry wipe that pout off your face-”

His pout is extremely obvious too, even Shireen’s giggling in his direction. She had never really understood why him and Ned got on each other’s nerves so easily, having always chalked it up to them just having different temperaments.

“Ned and I are just friends, we both knew it…” her voice thins and turns rough, “Mum didn’t seem to get the memo though.”

Sansa interrupts.

“Was that what-”

Arya nods.

“She couldn’t stop going on about how sweet we were together, and and, how happy Dad would have been…”

That was the part that had hurt the most, that it felt like Mum had been using Dad against her, even if that hadn’t been her intention.

“She tried to convince me to take him to this fancy charity event she was planning for the company, and I just, I got so mad…”

Tears threaten to spill out, and she wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“I told her that I wasn’t going to go to her stupid event, alone or with Ned. I told her that she was never going to understand me and that I wished…I wished that Dad was still here instead of her.”

Arya’s crying now openly, and the others are just watching her.

“Her and Bran’s accident was the next day. Mum died thinking I hated her.”

Arya’s so lost in her words, that she doesn’t even notice when Sansa roughly tipsy-tackles her.

“She did not. You had a fight over something stupid and you lost your temper and said something you didn’t mean. Arya, it’s not the first time you’ve done that. She knew you didn’t hate her.”

Off to the side, she can hear Shireen opening her mouth.

“So much for not being in a film. Is this where we all share our deepest secrets? You already know mine.”

The tone seems almost bitter for Shireen, but Arya could hug her at this moment, for taking the attention off of her confession.

“Then my turn is done, someone else take a turn.”

Sansa squeezes her one last time, whispering into her hair.

“You’re so much more lovable than you seem to believe Arya,” she spares a glance in Gendry’s direction before letting go and standing up, “Maybe you’ll come to see it yourself.”

Once Sansa leaves for the other side of the campfire, it’s quiet for a few minutes. Arya studies the stars, feels the warmth of the fire at her back and breathes in the soft scent of smoke. It’s true, she does feel a bit lighter.

After several minutes, Gendry breaks the silence.

“After we left camp the last time...the foster mother I had after molested me for most of that year.”

Arya feels her throat go dry, her mind go fuzzy. She thinks she makes some noises but none of them are words, or at least she hopes they aren’t.

“At least you’re using the word now,” Shireen comments, and Arya feels even more almost words try and get out.

“Shireen,” she starts off, “Wasn’t she the one who-”

Shireen nods, but Gendry isn’t paying attention. His voice drones on like a tape stretched out from too many plays.

“I’m not sure if Melisandre was her given or family name either. That’s just what she told me to call her. She hadn’t been living in King’s Landing long before...I should have known she was strange from day 1. I’d never even heard of the Lord of Light before, but she made me keep the little religious rituals. That wasn’t really so bad…”

He swallows roughly.

“She was really affectionate right off the bat. I didn’t think anything of that either, I’ve had some foster parents who freaked out if I so much as bumped into them and I thought this was better. It didn’t help that she was beautiful. “ “She really was,” Shireen admits, swigging her beer. Arya notes that it’s mostly gone now, as though Shireen had been using it to distract from the conversation. “Like, film star beautiful.”

“Then the weirdness started. She would stare into her little flame on her altar for hours, or spend most of the day speaking in a language I didn’t recognize. Sometimes she would corner me while in this state, and get way too close.”

Shireen’s finished her beer, and stood and set to leave. Arya doesn’t blame her. She feels well and truly drunk, her head swimming and her stomach threatening to turn itself over.

“Then it got to the point she would try and kiss me while muttering some shit about the will of R’hllorr. It would be a lie to say I didn’t enjoy this at first. That’s why some of it feels like my fault, like I should have done something earlier.”

Arya hates every inch of guilt on his face.

“You were what, fifteen then? You couldn’t have...would you have thought differently if you had been a girl, or younger?”

Gendry won’t look at her now.

“But by the time she started saying things about bloodlines and sticking her hands down my shorts I knew everything was wrong, but I didn’t know how to make her stop.”

“I’m so sorry,” Arya starts, turning on one side to face him, “That was horrible. She was supposed to be a parent, no parent should ever do anything like that.”

Gendry chuckles roughly.

“I had a decent reputation with the social workers. I wasn’t a problem case. I still led off with the religious ranting, because I still thought they might not believe me. They did though, and even leaving with another bin bag, I was ecstatic. I was in a boy’s group home for a few months until Davos took me in. Those months were when she went to Dragonstone.”

Arya’s eyes go wide.

“They let her?”

“They had to build a case. They could bar her from taking in other kids or working at a school, but until they got all my statements, they couldn’t stop her from traveling within the territory and preaching.”

“Did they-”

“It was easier after Shireen. Because of what she did to her, with witnesses, they got the order to hold her against her will within the day. She’s in an in-treatment facility now, and has been declared unfit to stand trial. Diagnosis of hallucinations and delusions, apparently they’re religiously oriented quite a lot. Until she’s not, what happened to me is just a file in a police station.”

Arya sighs deeply. Her mother had always been very religious, and while Arya had rarely shared her enthusiasm, none of it had ever frightened her.

She remembers that Gendry never really put any stock in the barely there prayers and religious songs at camp, she always thought he was in the same boat as her.

She watches Gendry’s face, his eyes half closed, his lips set straight. A horrible thought hits her suddenly.

“I didn’t- nothing I’ve done when we’re...I don’t make you remember it do I?”

Gendry sighs, and reaches out to push a bit of her hair back over the side of her face.

“No. I didn’t tell you this to make you pity me, or so you’d treat me like I was going to break.”

Arya feels her eyes water as she asks, “Then why did you tell me.”

Gendry exhales roughly.

“I guess I’m just so sick of feeling like it’s a secret. It’s not something you can just drop on people. What I said earlier this summer was true, it was much easier to focus on work and school instead of trying to date. But it’s not just that. After what she did to me, it was really hard to think of trusting a complete stranger again. It took me a long time to warm up to Davos and his wife, and even Shireen.”

Arya sighs softly, breathing in the night air.

“But you trust me?”

Gendry runs his fingers along one of her cheeks, and even though it’s gentle and simple, it makes her skin tingle.

“I do. Besides, you’re not a complete stranger. What Sansa says was right though, you’re so much more lovable than you give yourself credit for.”

Arya scoffs, though her heart swells inside her.

“You too,” she whispers. Gendry shakes his head.

“I think that’s just you, and maybe Shireen. I think your siblings only put up with me because of you. Everyone else seems to think I’m a giant prick.”

Arya pouts.

“That’s not true!”

Gendry laughs.

“It’s fine. The people who actually matter don’t.”

He flexes his arm and rolls Arya closer. She presses her nose into the side of his neck and breathes in deeply. Warm skin, hint of suncream.

They’re quiet for a time, and Arya drinks the moment in.

“If this is a big scene in a film, any other secrets you want to let out here?” she asks with a smirk.

Gendry breathes deeply for a moment.

“Lem gave me some info on an apprenticeship in King’s Landing I might go out for.”

Arya purses her lips.

“An apprenticeship? What for?”

“To be a paramedic.”

Arya’s eyes go wide. She thinks back on his uncertainty about his future.

“That’s a great idea! You already have something resembling experience too.”

Gendry smiles, though his face still looks a bit hesitant.

“I think so too, especially after what happened during the canoe races. I just- I’m tired of not knowing what I want. I want to make something of myself, show everyone I’m worthy, that I’m not just some lost kid to be pitied and looked down upon.”

Arya kisses his chin.

“Just remember you don’t need to prove anything to be worth it to me.”

Gendry breathes softly, and rolls so they’re closer together, nearly pressed nose-to-nose.

“It’s not a guarantee, it’s a hard spot to get. It’s not just recent grads, working adults can apply too.”

Arya smiles.

“After this past year with Bran, I’ve been considering physical therapy.”

“That’d be a good fit, given your background.”

“I thought so. Though apparently you’re competing with a ton of failed med school applicants. I’ll have to really buckle down this year.”

She groans deeply. The two beers she had is making her blood feel hot.

“I don’t want to think about school, it’s the summer holidays.”

So after that, they don’t talk anymore about the future.

Morning comes, with the sun, and only a few hangovers. The campers leave, and the unit counselors slack off. Out in the stables, Arya and Ygritte muck and chat. Much like her and Gendry, they don’t talk about the future.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #fic #summer camp au

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novamm66 · 4 years

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From Earth to Sky - Chapter 5

Happy Friday! I am really excited to post this chapter and that it’s Friday!

This is the first chapter were there will be references to the Red Sky in the Morning story line. I am hoping that I made it teasing enough to spark interest as well as not give any surprise twists away.

I hope you enjoy.

—

“Lady Pentaghast, may I have a private word?”

Cassandra eyed the Orlesian lord in front of her with distaste. “No.” The lord gawked at her, and she arched a brow. “You were hoping for a different word?”

“I…” the lord stammered, Cassandra walked away from him. She was tired of the propositions that her family name and title always seemed to come from the nobles she encountered.

She could have left the Winter Palace when Kiaya did after they had stopped the assassination, but Cassandra had volunteered to stay. Their plan of having two Inquisitors was working well; Evelyn was filling the role perfectly. Everyone wanted a dance or a word with the Inquisition’s hero. Any threat to Evelyn was low, but Cassandra wouldn’t feel comfortable until both women were safely away from this viper pit.

Cassandra made her way out to the gardens. Varric was holding court, basking in the attention of a large audience as he recounted the adventures of the Inquisitor, somewhat embellished. Cassandra stayed hidden behind a wall of ivy to watch and listen to his warm, rolling voice.

“With a roar, The Iron Bull slew the rage demon, and the Herald closed the rift with a thunderous clap of power. We had saved the villagers of New Crestwood and allowing the rebuilding of the old village to commence.” Varric ended with a flourish and bowed to the applause from the crowd around him. Cassandra barely caught herself before she joined in and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

Varric graciously declined the calls for another tale, and the group started to break up, with a few hangers-on.

“So, tell us Master Tethras, is the lovely Inquisitor spoken for?” The lord’s question had Cassandra rolling her eyes. It was a popular question tonight.

“My Lord, you are not the first to wonder that.” Varric was smooth as silk, and it brought a smile to Cassandra’s face.

“And what of your heart, Master Dwarf?” A lady purred, brushing her hand across Varric’s neck in a way that made Cassandra bristle.

Varric smoothly ducked away from her, bowing as he answered.

“It is indeed, my lady, and the rest belongs to my writing. Now, if you will excuse me, I am simply parched.” Varric quickly slipped away and masterfully vanished into the thinning crowd. Cassandra froze, trying to track where he had gone, only to jump when he spoke from behind her.

“I thought they would never let me stop. Can we get out of here? I am about tapped out of civility.”

“But, you manage it so well.” Cassandra was hoping the shadows were enough to hide the colour of her face.

“Even I have my limit, and I am standing on that line,” Varric said.

Cassandra was quick to agree. “Let’s go and find Josephine. This thing must be winding down soon.”

“This is Orlais. I wouldn’t count on it.”

—

Varric hadn’t been able to sleep after leaving the Winter Place. A storm was rattling the windows, and the fizzy drinks the Orlesians had plied him with was making the room was spin. The common room was warm from the fire, and Varric was ignoring the writing he had brought with him.

His job at the ball had been relatively easy, distract and entertain, and drum up support for the Inquisition. He usually would enjoy those things, but worry had proven too distracting. Varric shifted in his chair. Watching the Seeker run into danger without him had burned in Varric’s chest each time.

“I see you couldn’t sleep either.”

Varric turned to see Cassandra standing in the doorway. She was dressed for sleep in a loose shirt and trousers. Her hair was mussed, her braid hung down her shoulder. She was breathtaking. “I- No. Too many windows in this place, they rattle in the wind.” Varric swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

Cassandra nodded, and a flash of hesitation crossed her face before it disappeared. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

“Yes, I mean, no.” Varric sighed, “I would love for you to join me.”

He silently cursed his awkwardness, shifting to hide his embarrassment. Instead of sitting in the chair opposite him, Cassandra settled on the floor at his feet. She leaned forward, hugging her knees before stretching her legs out in front of the fire with a small groan.

“Are you alright?” Varric asked, his voice slightly rougher then he would like.

“Yes, just a little sore. Fighting and standing in those fancy boots were not comfortable.” Cassandra stretched her back, and Varric didn’t know where to look, “and I am drained and a little worried. It was a long night.” She was rubbing her neck, her fingers reaching down her shoulder blade, and without any thought, Varric was reaching forward to rub his knuckles along her spine.

They both stilled for a moment, Varric froze in shock at the brazenness of his hands, but Cassandra hummed quietly and then pressed herself back into his knuckles. His hands began to massage her back, without needing much input from him and Varric floundered for something to say. “What are you worried about?”

Cassandra made a noise of pleasure when his fingers found a knot, and the sound made Varric’s blood hum in his ears. He was suddenly very grateful the woman was facing away from him. It took him a moment to focus on her answer.

“Kiaya.” Cassandra sighed. “She had more control over the mark then she told us. It was disturbing to watch her use it against our enemies, not only with how deadly it was but also because of the toll it took on her.”

Varric concentrated on breathing slowly through his nose for a moment, which meant he could smell her hair, which was now very near his face. Varric swallowed thickly before answering. “Smudges has a good head on her shoulders. She is unlikely to abuse the mark's power, and it sounds like its no easy to choose using it. Maybe it was a reaction. She’s done that before with her magic.”

Varric was proud of his coherent answer when he was feeling anything but. Lavender and steel floated through his senses. He leaned back to try and clear his head, but that only succeeded in bringing his hands up to her neck and onto bare skin. Varric groaned inwardly; he was done fighting. The heat of her skin against his fingertips was intoxicating, and he leaned forward again, bending lower than before.

“Why did you stay? At the ball? After everything was done?” He asked quietly. He felt her shiver under his hands, reacting to his breathe against her neck and ear.

She swallowed a few times before answering. “I wanted to stay.” Her voice shook, “with -“

The door banged open, and the whirlwind that was Sera and Lyra burst into the room. Both were very drunk and headed straight for the bottles in the cabinet on the far wall, but Blackwall, who entered behind them, seemed less so.

Varric had snatched his hands back, and Cassandra was on her feet and out the door before the girls noticed. Varric wasn’t standing up any time soon, so he picked up his papers again and glared at Blackwall as he sat down opposite Varric. The two girls, more drinks in hand, flopped down in front of the fire.

“Wait,” Lyra looked hazily around the room, “wasn’t there someone else here?”

Blackwell coughed, a poorly disguised laugh, and Varric answered quickly. “You’re drunk, Chimes. Must be seeing things.”

Lyra pouted. “I’m not that drunk.”

“Ooooh, let's get so drunk we see things!” Sera exclaimed and immediately swallowed half the contents of the bottle in her hand. The two dissolved into laughter.

Varric shook his head and shot Blackwell a dirty look. “If you’re encouraging this, you’re cleaning up after them.”

Blackwell did laugh this time. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

Varric glared at him. “At the moment, I think you’re a smug bastard.”

—

They were close to the Shrine of Dumat. The camp was tense this evening, quiet. Everyone could feel the hum of the red lyrium on the night air. Cassandra knew that tomorrow’s battle would possibly be the worse they had seen. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Hey.” Kiaya settled on the ground next to Cassandra. Kiaya was wrapped in a blanket, her boots untied. “Not sleeping?”

“I haven’t tried yet.” Cassandra shrugged. “It’s too hot.”

“And Dorian says it’s not hot enough,” Kiaya said. “Could be worse, could be the Mire.”

“True.” Cassandra looked up at the canvas of stars shining overhead. “How is Cullen handling things?”

“Better then I feared but not great. He’s asleep for now.” Kiaya sighed. ”I am worried that I made the wrong choice of letting him come with us.”

“It means a lot to Cullen to be here. I don’t think you have made a mistake.” Cassandra answered and studied the woman beside her. Kiaya looked tired and worried, but underneath there was a peace and happiness that Casandra hadn’t seen before. “It’s good to see you both happy together. Present circumstances notwithstanding.”

Kiaya smiled softly. “It’s strange, for the longest time, I believed that I was meant to be alone. But now I feel like I have a home.” Kiaya smile turned to a grin, “and I found it in the middle of this mess.”

“How did you know it not because of this mess?” Cassandra asked. She expanded at Kiaya’s questioning look.

Kiaya chuckled. “I didn’t, still don’t. But resisting my feelings wasn’t making anything easier. And maybe it’s selfish wanting Cullen as much as I do while I suspect my days are numbered but facing Corypheus feels less daunting with Cullen to go home to.” Kiaya bumped her shoulder against Cassandra’s. “So, is it really worth denying your feelings for Varric when none of us know how many tomorrows we have?”

Cassandra sighed, looking in the direction of the Shrine. “You make it sound easy.”

“I know that it’s not that simple. Nothing is, but Varric makes you happy, doesn’t he? Is the possibility of future pain really worth not being happy now? But you are right as well. It is both a gift and a curse. Being with Cullen makes facing what I have to do easier, but I regret not listening to my heart sooner, so we could have more time, and I regret what it will do to him if I die.” Kiaya stopped talking an cocked her head. “I’m not helping anymore, am I?”

Cassandra snorted. “I’m not sure, although I appreciate the intention.”

“Well then, I will call that a win. I just want to see you two happy.” Kiaya squeezed Cassandra's shoulder and started to get up. Cass raised her arm to help her automatically to help her, it was never a smooth transition for Kiaya. “Thanks. I am going to try and sleep again, and you should too, Cass.”

Cassandra nodded, although she didn’t move to get up. “I will. Soon.”

—

#Varric x cassandra #Varric Tethras #Cassandra Pentaghast #dragon age fanfiction

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themarchrabbit · 4 years

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26. I got you a present - Mchanzo, because you love me

Hanzo is forever grateful that his brother is alive, and if not whole, than well. It is a gift he never thought to even hope for.

However, he has found that being in close quarters with Genji has reminded him of certain traits of Genji’s that the passage of time, and the feelings of guilt and grief, had caused Hanzo to forget. His constant chatter, for one. And for another, his complete and total lack of regard for Hanzo’s privacy.

“How do you keep getting in here?” he grits out, attempting to look angry enough to be intimidating, though that’s hard when one is toweling off their hair.

Genji waves his hand around his own face. “Cyborg,” he says, like Hanzo is stupid. “‘Sides that, you know there hasn’t ever been a lock I couldn’t pick.”

There’s never been much point in arguing with Genji. He’s always been a spoiled brat at best, and a defiant pain in Hanzo’s neck at worst. Knowing that has never managed to stop Hanzo from trying, but he supposes that perseverance by another name is just stubborness, and no one can make him more stubborn about something than Genji. “This is my room,” he insists. “Get out.”

“Uh-huh,” Genji says, clearly not listening as he inspects the things laid out on Hanzo’s dresser, picking up a bottle of his lotion. “Ooh, lavender-scented. Fancy.”

“Hardly,” Hanzo replies, tossing the towel in the laundry basket and sitting on the bed, so he can brush the tangles out. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Genji answers, shrugging, but his tone tells a different story. “So...what did you buy at the florist’s yesterday?”

Immediately, Hanzo feels the flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. “None of your business,” he says. “Now get out.”

“Couldn’t be this, could it?” Genji asks, doing a sharp turn on his heel and taking two steps over to the window. “Never took you for a gardener,” he muses, poking at the little succulent. “In fact, I distinctly remember you calling it a needless waste of time. And yet, here is a plant! In a very charming pot! Almost kitschy, even.”

It is. It very much is, and Hanzo kind of hates it. The little succulent is in a pot shaped like a skull. The skull of a longhorn bull. The horns are even painted gold. It’s absolutely horrid looking.

Well, to Hanzo at least.

“Now, why oh why would you have bought something like this?” Even with the stupid face mask that he knows his brother thinks is very intimidating, Hanzo can see the smirk. It’s in the tone. “Is Jesse rubbing off on you?”

Hanzo isn’t dignifying that double entendre with an answer. “Genji, get out, or Angela will be putting you back together again.”

“Geez,” Genji sighs. “Grouchy. I’m just showing an interest in your life, Hanzo -”

Hanzo isn’t above throwing his hairbrush at his stupid little brother, near-murder or not. So he does.

That gets Genji out, the little bastard cackling like a hyena the whole time. Either way, he’s out of Hanzo’s room, and Hanzo can get dressed in peace.

He tries not to think about the stupid plant, or his stupid brother, for the next hour or so, but as the minutes count down, he keeps coming back to it. It’s not much, a common enough plant he’s seen a thousand just like it in a hundred windows. Tasteless little window decoration for people’s offices, really. The pot is just senseless novelty, for people who like that sort of thing. Succulents are desert plants. Someone likely thought it would be funny, is all.

And Hanzo knows someone else who will find it funny.

They’re sitting in Jesse’s room, the winter air too cold to bother with the wall they frequent during warmer weather. Jesse’s got the window open, to let the smoke from his cigarillo out, though Athena had still rattled off a list of the dangers of smoking indoors, and smoking in general, when Jesse had lit it.

Wrapping it in the traditional paper had seemed like a bad idea to Hanzo, and more trouble than he wanted to bother with. So he had used what was left of one of his wider hair ribbons that had gotten damaged recently, knotting it at the top. It looked more like what a department store in Japan would do, which suited Hanzo’s own tastes better anyway.

“I got you a present,” he says, after they’ve passed an easy fifteen minutes or so together, Jesse relating a story about a Christmas years past, back when he had still been in his gang. Someone had given him a new hat, apparently, but not two hours later, another person had shot a hole through it. It’s funny, or at least it is the way Jesse tells it. And it provides Hanzo with a suitable opening.

Jesse taps his cigarillo against the window frame, knocking off ash, and sharpening the smell of burning for a brief moment. “You did? Why?”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I know that. But I was working under the impression you all didn’t really do Christmas in Japan. Least not the same kind.” He takes another hit, and tips his head back, blowing smoke at the ceiling instead of where it might drift into Hanzo’s face. “Didn’t get you nothing.”

Hanzo shakes his head. “I was not expecting you to. It’s only a small thing.” He hands it over, Jesse taking it. “I saw it and thought you might appreciate it, is all.”

As soon as Jesse sees it, he laughs, and Hanzo smiles. “Well don’t that just beat all?” He stretches out his legs and stands, placing it on the shelf where he has the rest of his little trinkets; glass chili peppers, a skull painted with flowers, a cactus in another tacky pot, that one a sombrero. “Thank you, kindly.” When he sits back down, it’s beside Hanzo this time. “Should I be making something of you thinking of me, sugar?”

The same flush from before rises up his neck, not helped by the whiskey he’d taken when he’d come in. It’s not enough to get him drunk, has hardly even touched his system, but he’s always turned red easily when he’s been drinking even a little.

“I thought you would like it, is all,” Hanzo says. “It seemed to fit your tastes.”

“That it does, that it does, darling,” Jesse says amiably. This close, he smells like his cigarillos and aftershave, and it’s pleasant, at least to Hanzo. He’s become very fond of it, really. “Wanna know a secret?” He doesn’t wait for Hanzo to answer, instead, turning Hanzo’s face with his hand and kissing him. It’s not unexpected. Hanzo had been very sure that’s where this would go tonight, in fact, and he kisses Jesse back, Jesse’s scruff against his own face bristling, but in a good way. “You fit my tastes to a ‘T’, too, honey.”

#hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #mchanzo #overwatch #fic prompt #fandom

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peonybane · 5 years

Text

Agape and Pragma: Chapter 3

Pairings: OT7 (BTS) x Reader

Word Count: 4.5 k

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Angst, Sci-Fi, Crack (?), Smut (eventually)

Chapter Specific Notes: Fluff, Crack (?), Suggestive, a little bit of Angst

Summary: Your entire world had be torn asunder by just one lab test. Time heals all wounds, but does it really? What will it take to feel whole again?

Hybrid Types: Peacock Jin, Serval Yoongi, Golden Retriever Hoseok, Gray Wolf Namjoon, Great Dane Taehyung, and French Lop Eared Rabbit Jungkook… with one more to come.

a/n: It’s Sunday somewhere. Anyways, this story is broken up into two different perspectives: Reader’s and Yoongi’s. I hope you all enjoy this one. One more boy to introduce and the real fun begins!

<— Previous (Chapter 2)

After your nightmare, things were… awkward. It happened all too soon. It wasn’t like you were hiding your issues— it just never really came up. So to have your issue exposed in that way, well, it made it hard to face your two new roommates. Jin didn’t really help with how he wasn’t quite sure how to act around you. If anything he tried too hard to take the attention away from you and onto himself. Which would honestly be alright… except that you would begin to feel second hand embarrassment. He always tried to make you laugh. Like when you all were talking at breakfast— you, him, and Hoseok— he’d tell stories about work from the previous night. It always got you and Hoseok howling with laughter. Every once in a while though, he’d tell a story about a child. Halfway through, he’d get self conscious and try to backtrack… which only made the awkwardness even worse.

Yoongi on the other hand went out of his way to make it seem like nothing happened. He still gave off this elusive aura that all wild cats had. It was in the smaller things that made you wonder if he was also being, well, awkward about the whole situation, but in his own way. On the days you were working at home, laptop balanced on your lap and editing your authors’ manuscripts on the couch in the living room, it wasn’t uncommon for Yoongi to leave for work then comeback several hours later, you seemingly not having moved from that spot on the couch, too in the zone to do anything else. On those days, Yoongi would bring you an extra water bottle from the kitchen or would loudly announce that he was hungry and wanted some suggestions from you on what he should eat, often pulling you out of the zone and realizing that you were indeed, starving. When you’d finally look up from your laptop screen, and your gaze fell upon Yoongi, you’d find that his posture was alert and almost… on guard at these times, as if he wasn’t sure how to broach a subject with you.

This state of utter awkwardness finally broke about a month into Jin and Yoongi staying at the house. Well, that wasn’t entirely correct, it changed to a different, much less painful awkwardness.

You had just finished getting dressed into your cocktail dress, getting ready for the quarterly work dinner. Director Bang always insisted that once a quarter, as many editors and authors as possible should all go out to dinner, to mingle, to network, and perhaps discuss potential story ideas in a semi-casual environment. Since this dinner had more RSVPs that usual, Director Bang decided to make a party of it, booking out a party room at a fancy hotel.

Giving yourself a once over in your mirror, actually quite happy with how you looked, you left your room, ready to deal with whatever was thrown your way. Well… almost.

You had just closed your bedroom door when you heard yelling. Panicking a bit, you rushed down the hall to where you heard the yelling coming from. Your steps were heavy, trying to jog in short heels. You reached one of the bathrooms. Mid stride, the door was thrown open to expose a very wet and very naked Jin. “Yah! What was taking you so lo—“

You yelped, jumping a bit. Both you and Jin froze, staring at each other. You tried desperately not to look at his body, but your gaze fell upon his shoulders, down his toned and slightly scarred arms, then the trail of iridescent blue and green hair starting at his bellybutton caught your eye. Before you could help yourself, your eyes followed that trail.

Jin reacted a bit too slowly, trying to cover up his crotch with his hands. But the damage had already been done, the words already sputtering from your lips.

“You have a penis!”

“Yes, and I’m quite attached to it, you know. We’re in separable.”

The pun was completely lost on you, your face blushed as your brain tried desperately to reboot itself. No footsteps were heard until Yoongi (the damn cat) was already practically on top of your two, with towel in hand. “Stop prancing around naked, you peacock.”

The sexually frustrated part of your brain whispered, cock instead.

Jin shot him a deadly look as he stopped trying to hide the monstrosity between his legs, to grab the towel and wrapped it around himself. Your gaze shot up to the ceiling, feeling very, very embarrassed. After all, the thing hanging between his legs was just as big as he was. And just as pretty. “It’s not my fault, Tae used the last of the clean towels.”

Yoongi sniggered, gummy smile peaking through. Jin turned his attention back on you. He teased, “Yah! What did you think I had? A cloaca?”

If it was possible, you had turned even redder, making Jin smirk. “Ahhh. I see. I just happened to be lucky enough to be born with entirely human genitalia. Unlike some of our roommates.”

This earned him a shoulder smack from Yoongi. Jin yelped and the two started arguing. Not that you heard it. Instead, your attention was grabbed by how red Yoongi had flushed. You had never seen him look so embarrassed before. Nor will you probably again. It was rather adorable actually.

Once they had both calmed down, Yoongi cleared this throat, turning his attention to you. You mused that he wanted to the avoid the subject of his penis around his female roommate. “You look very nice. Going on date?”

Looking down at yourself, you had completely forgotten that you had dressed up. “Oh!”

You looked back up at them, shaking your head. “No. This is for work. My boss does these quarterly dinners for editors and authors to mingle. I can’t get out of this one though. He’ll hound his editors if he doesn’t see you at two consecutive dinners…. Guess where I’m at?”

This got a chuckle out of them. Jin asked, “Anyone joining you? Want one of us, namely me, to come with?”

You shook you head, after you’ve picked your jaw off the floor. “No. Believe me, the only person I’d bring with is Liam. I’ve tried taking Tae and Hobi. I’ve had to pull a few of the men chasers off of Tae and the son-in-law seekers off of Hobi. Those ladies would have a fucking field day with you.”

Jin pouted while Yoongi smirked. “Well, if you need a ride home, just call me up.”

“Thank you, Yoongi. I will.”

You waved goodbye to the both of them as you made your way downstairs. You shook your head, trying to get that image of Jin out of it. At the bottom of the stairs you heard a whistle. “Damn, hot mama, who’s the date?”

Hoseok was sipping on a glass of water, his hair mussied up from his post-phone-conference nap. You giggled as you made your way over to your purse. “Not you, too.”

He looked at you as if you had insulted his child. “What? Can I not ask why my roommate is looking hotter than usual?”

You gave him a hard look as you checked that you had everything. “It’s the quarterly dinner. Bang got us a party room at a hotel that requires a dress code.”

“Ahhh. Well, have fun. I most certainly will as I will NOT be evaluated like a prized bull being put up for auction. Geez ladies, leave me and your daughters alone.”

You pouted to cover up the giggle that was threatening to escape. “Don’t wait up. Bang is probably going to try to add another author to my list. Make sure that Tae doesn’t stay too late to grade with Jimin. You know how they get this time of year.”

“Will do. They’ll probably go out to drink or something after work. Have fun, hot mama. Knock ‘em dead.”

You waved farewell as you headed out the door. Now it was time to fight rush hour traffic on the way to the hotel. Great….

^~^~^~^~^

Just standing in the hotel lobby alone made you feel like you had underdressed, despite being explicitly told by your immediate manager, Sejin, that a cocktail dress was more than formal enough. Just how much did Director Bang invest in this little soiree? After asking the concierge where the BigHIT publishing company party was, you led yourself over the elevator, waiting for it to return to ground level.

Not a moment later, a rather tall man joined you. He towered over you, looking very sharp in his suit, a tad bit overdressed. A salt and pepper bushy tail caught your attention. You glanced up at his face to see a pair of sharp black ears sat on top of salt and pepper hair. His eyes were sharp and when he noticed you looking at him, he shot you a dimpled smile.

Oh fuck, no. Not dimples. Hoseok tortured your enough with his own little ones. These ones were even more torturous, being far more prominent.

You shyly nodded, both of you acknowledging the other’s presence. When the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival, he stepped to the side, “Ladies first.”

Nodding your thanks, you entered the elevator. He soon joined you. You pressed the button for the fifth floor. He did not press any. Instead, he inquired, “The BigHIT publishing party?”

“Oh. Yes. I’m an editor there. You?”

“Author.” He offered his hand. “I’m Namjoon.”

You took his hand, shaking it as you gave him your name. His hand was warm, reminded you of Hoseok and Taehyung a bit, their temperature higher than most people’s. He cleared his throat and he let go of your hand. “It’ll be nice to know a face other than Mr. Bang’s and my current editor.”

Giggling a little, you replied, “Well, I can guarantee that you’ll get to know quite a number of people. First party I take it?”

He hummed as he nodded. Just then, the elevator dinged, letting you know that you had arrived on your floor. Namjoon held his hand out for you to go first. “Ladies first.”

You smiled and nodded your thanks before stepping out; Namjoon was close on your heels. You both made your way down the winding hallway, getting closer to the light music and chatter. Namjoon opened the door for both of you and as you went to thank him, you heard Director Bang call out your name.

Both you and Namjoon turned to see Director Bang head your way. You met him half way. The older man was like a father to everyone working under him: very gentle but also firm, his word was final. Director Bang gave you a brief hug, muttering about how much he missed you and hardly ever saw you. Finally, he turned to Namjoon taking his hand and shaking it. “And it’s so good to see you again, Namjoon. Or should I say R.M. Kim?”

Namjoon blushed as your jaw dropped. R.M. Kim? The R.M. Kim? He was sort of a legend within the company itself, no one except his manager and Director Bang having ever met him, never mind actually seeing his face. No one has. He quickly became a best seller with just his debut novel alone called, Forever Rain. His second novel called, Reflection did just as well. Despite all of his success and popularity, he refused to be on camera or be interviewed.

“It’s good to see you again, Director Bang.”

Director Bang’s smile grew. “I see you’ve already met our one and only science fiction editor. I was hoping to introduce her to you for your next book.”

You looked over at Namjoon with large eyes. “Oh? You’re looking into expanding into science fiction. Were you not enjoying slice of life?”

“I, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “actually wanted branch into something different. But also focused more on what I went to school for.”

Director Bang started leading you two towards one of the tables. Once there, the three of you sat down. Your full attention was on Namjoon now; he piqued your interest as most of your authors started out in science fiction, realized they weren’t cut out for it and switched over to something or quit writing all together. It was interesting coming across someone else who wanted to go the other way. “Mr. Kim—“

“Namjoon.”

You swallowed, continuing, “Namjoon… what did you study exactly?”

Director Bang waved over a waiter as he watched you two talk with a knowing gaze. “Medicine, actually. I specialized in Hybrid medicine. I take it you’ve read Reflection?”

How could you have not? You snuck read it after Liam had reread that book almost a half dozen times in the span of two months. Liam never told you why he loved it, almost he was embarrassed about it, but after reading it, you figured out why: it was written like a diary about a doctor traveling the world, trying to figuring out himself and what role he played in the world. It has caused a sharp rise in high schoolers pursuing Hybrid medicine degrees and people going out on missionary missions of sorts.

You simply nodded. “Yes. It was hard to read at times, it felt way too real.”

Namjoon sheepishly smiled. “Ha. Well, that’s because it was a diary. My diary to be specific.”

“Wait. You’re telling me you went through all of that?”

“Some of it is exaggerated.”

You leaned back in your chair. You both had ignored Director Bang, who proceeded to order you all drinks. When the waiter returned with the drinks, you absentmindedly took a sip. It was bitter and strong, but there was a certain sweetness to it. You grimaced. Director Bang just chuckled. “See you still can’t drink that well.”

Flushing slightly, you just made a face back at him. He laughed before standing up, drink in hand. “Well, I got to go say hello to some other. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you two.”

Just as he was about to walk off, Director Bang turned back towards you two, calling out your name. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring any of your roommates. I was hoping to verbally spar with Liam again.”

You chuckled nervously. “Well, you know why I couldn’t bring the Trio.”

Director Bang nodded, rolling his eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And, uh, well… Liam’s married and is living in India, now.”

He gawked at you. “Married? The forever bachelor?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yep. And she’s amazing.”

Blinking a moment, he cleared his throat. “Well, looks like I owe Mr. Sejin that bottle of scotch.”

You tilted your head curiously. At that he had enough shame to look guilty. “We may have had a bet about whether or not you’d end up with Liam.”

It was your turn to balk at him. Before you could stutter out a reply, Director Bang walked off, laughing to himself. As soon as your brain rebooted, you looked over at Namjoon. His ears were at full attention, his brow knit together as he muttered. You leaned in, hoping to hear him. “Liam, Liam, Liam, Liam….”

He started a bit as he looked up at you. “Arzt? Liam Arzt?”

You gasped a bit. It took you a moment, but you laughed, smiling at him. “Yes. How do you know the infamous Liam?”

Namjoon smiled back at you, dimples showing through. Those damn dimples. “Liam and I studied at school together. We went into the same program afterwards, too. For the most part, we were sent to different parts of the world. I thought I had heard something about Liam getting married.”

“That’s— that’s interesting that we never met before through Liam. I went to the same university. Though I studied Astronomy, not pre-medicine.”

Namjoon chuckled, smirking a bit as he took a drink. He muttered something but you didn’t hear it very well, sounded something like, of course he didn’t introduce us. “I’m sorry, Namjoon. Did you say something? I missed it.”

He swallowed, setting his cup down. “Nah, it was nothing important.”

The conversation flowed easily between the two of you as he explained his plans for his next book he was hoping to call Moon Child.

^~^~^~^~^

You and Namjoon has separated a few times to socialize with others. Mostly because some of your authors wanted to talk to you in person. Though, you’d often have to leave them behind as Namjoon was surrounded by a gaggle of husband chasers and son-in-law snatchers. You found yourself swooping in a few times, grabbing him under the guise of helping him with his next novel.

While Namjoon would do his best to quickly give them an apology, these ladies would send you dirty looks, sizing you up. It’s not the like this was the first time they had looked at you like this. After all, you’d been the sourpuss constantly raining on their parade when it came to them trying to devour men whole.

Liam could handle himself. While he wasn’t hideous by any means, he wasn’t drop dead gorgeous either. Which both Taehyung and Hoseok were. And unlike Taehyung and Hoseok, Liam was willing to get nasty and make sure that none of those woman would approach him again that manner (this usually took the form of him making some sort of remark regarding Sejin’s ass or inquiring whether or not they thought he’d be good in the sack). Your sweet boys on the other hand didn’t have it in them. After the failures with your two more outgoing roommates, you wisely chose never to introduce shy Jungkook to this pack of hyenas (figuratively, of course).

As a thank you, each time Namjoon would bring you over a drink. Even though you were pacing yourself, you found yourself slowly getting drunk as the night progressed, having completely forgotten that you were your own ride. You were having too much fun talking to Namjoon as he spoke excitedly about his story, about life, about everything really.

The night started winding down and it was soon only the two of you and a few stragglers. A waiter came over to you and asked you to leave the party room, the party having run well over the allotted booking time. Sheepishly, Namjoon escorted you out of the room and to the downstairs lobby where he led you over to a pair of plush seats. He left you alone for a couple of minutes, coming back with a water bottle for you. He sat down beside you as you took a sip.

“You staying anywhere nearby?”

You shook your head. “Nah. I’ll just have to call one of my roommates to come get me. But I’m having too much fun here with you.”

Namjoon smiled as you pouted. “As lovely as that would be, I think you need to go home.”

You pouted some more like a petulant child before finally pulling out your phone. You called Yoongi. A few rings later, he answered. “Finally. Taehyung has been bothering me to call you.”

You started giggling. You could hear Jungkook and Taehyung scrambling in the background to try to hear your conversation as much as possible. “Yoongs… pwease come get me. I ended up having soooooooo much fun with my new friend that I ended up dwinking too much.”

He sighed, but you could almost hear the smile behind it. “Fine. Hang tight, I’m bring Jungkook along so your car doesn’t stay over night.”

“Thank you, Yoongs.”

Right before the phone clicked off, you could hear Taehyung ask why couldn’t go. You giggled again as you pocketed your phone. Namjoon was smiling as he watched you. You blushed a little looking away. “Sounds like you got some great roommates.”

“Yeah… they’re awesome. Yoongi’s so sweet for volunteering to come get me. He’s such a grumpy cat, but really, he’s a sweetheart.”

If it was possible, Namjoon’s eyes softened even further. There was something else in his gaze that made you sober up a little. “It’s late. I don’t want to keep you up. I’ll be fine. You head home.”

Namjoon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, you see, I actually live here at this hotel. So really, it’s like you’re waiting in my home.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “You staying from out of town?”

“In a way, yes. But really it’s because I can’t seem to find a place I like. You know, I wrote most of those two books while I was traveling. In the past year, I’d been hopping around from different headquarters of W.H.H.O. (World Hybrid Health Organization). Finally, a few months ago, I resigned. Haven’t figured out where I wanted to end up quite yet.”

It was silent between the two of you for a short while. Well, except for the night concierge trying to stay awake by walking around the lobby. You broke the silence, clearing your throat. “Why don’t you stay with us?”

“What?”

“We have plenty of room. There’s plenty of space to write. There’s always something going on. I mean after all, you did mention that you like working in spaces that feel like they’re alive. Believe me, this house is ALWAYS alive. And there’s plenty land to explore since the house backs up to a greenbelt and forest. It’s perfect!”

The excited gleam in your eye startled him a bit. Just as he was about to open his mouth to reply, he was interrupted by a familiar, excited voice. “Shortstack, are you trying to add another roommate to the house?”

You couldn’t help the shameful look that colored your cheeks scarlet as you looked up at Jungkook and Yoongi. Jungkook was doing a rather fine job at looking at you like he was disappointed if it wasn’t for the fact that Yoongi stood behind him, smirking. Their usual roles somehow reversed. “But Koooookie.”

Jungkook laughed, making his way over to you. “Damn, Shortstack. It’s been a good while since you’ve been this drunk.”

You made a face at him as he helped you stand up. You stumbled a little, the quick change causing you to feel dizzy. You landed against Jungkook’s chest and he wrapped his arms around you. You couldn’t help but nuzzle him— he just smelled so good and well, you were still a little drunk. Jungkook laughed. “You are so drunk.”

“No, I’m not. You’ve seen me hammered.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but concede. He loved it when you nuzzled him like this. His attention was stolen from you as Namjoon coughed. You both looked his way. Namjoon stood and held his hand out to shake. “Hi. You must be one of her roommates. I’m Namjoon.”

Jungkook took his hand, shaking it. “Jungkook. Thanks for taking care of our drunkard over here.”

They let go. “It was no problem. In fact, she saved my ass a few times back there.”

Jungkook laughed before looking down at you. “Well then, you little drunkard. How about we get you home and into bed?”

You nodded quickly. Jungkook placed his hand on the small of your back as he turned his attention towards Yoongi. “Who do you want to ride with? Me or Yoongi?”

Before you could reply, Yoongi said, “You take her. I wanna walk around the hotel a little before heading home.”

Jungkook hesitated, but shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself. Come on.”

Jungkook started leading out the hotel. You paused a moment. “You have my number. But really, consider it. We’d love to have you, Namjoon.”

He smiled at you, his dimples poking through. “Definitely, I’ll think on it.”

You returned his smile and allowed Jungkook to lead you out the car.

**^~^~^~^~^ **

As soon as she and Jungkook were out of sight, Yoongi said, “Long time no see.”

Namjoon laughed. “No kidding. Who would’ve thought we’d run into each other like this.”

The both of them gave each other a hard look before Yoongi broke into a gummy smile, which Namjoon couldn’t help but return. Namjoon pulled Yoongi in for a bro hug. Namjoon laughed out, “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you again too.”

They pulled away from each other. Namjoon retook his seat and Yoongi took his roommate’s. “Tell me, what you been up to, kid?”

“Work, traveling, writing. The usual.”

“How long are you the country for this time?”

The smile on Namjoon’s face fell. “Permanently.”

Yoongi’s brow knit together. “Did… did something happen?”

“Yeah….But I can’t— I don’t want to remember.”

Namjoon looked at him with pleading eyes— and there was something else there that Yoongi had never seen before. Yoongi also knew him well enough from college that it wasn’t wise to press; he’d share when he was ready. Otherwise he’d just shutdown and it would get worse.“Fair enough.”

There was a pregnant pause. “You going to take her up on her offer?”

“I— I don’t know.”

Yoongi eyed him suspiciously. “Is it the fact that you smelt five male Hybrids on her?”

Namjoon stiffened. He continued. “You know there’s nothing to worry about. None of us are involved with her.”

“Bullshit. I smelt pheromones on her. Her’s and a few others’. And don’t tell me you don’t smell them. There’s no way you could’ve missed it coming from Jungkook just a moment ago.”

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck, sighing a little. “I forgot that you’re nose was the strongest. I’ll lay it out straight then for you. There is nothing going on. Just because we’re part animal doesn’t mean that we aren’t human first and foremost. We respect her and her boundaries. No matter our feelings.”

“Then what about her’s? I know female pheromones when I smell it.”

Yoongi let out a defeated laugh, leaning back in his chair. “How do I put this delicately…. Remember how Jin would run around the apartment naked?”

Namjoon nodded. “Well, try imagine being a female with something like Jin surprising you. Never mind that, from my understanding, you’ve not been intimate with anyone for something like three years. I don’t think even a Tibetan monk could resist Jin’s naked charms.”

This time, Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh. Yoongi knew he struck something within him. “Fair enough, fair enough.”

Once Namjoon had calmed down, Yoongi coolly said, “Seriously though. You’re more than welcome to move in. I know she’d love it.”

“Would she— or any of you for that matter— want someone who’s so broken?”

Yoongi dryly laughed. “You’d fit right in. More than a few of us are broken. What’s one more?”

Namjoon clenched his jaw before turning his gaze back on Yoongi. “Could I sleep on it?”

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

Next (Chapter 4) —>

BONUS!

100 Followers Drabble: The Cerberus Conundrum

Agape and Pragma Masterlist

Masterlist

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