#fun fact kid me i liked to collect paper. mostly so i could write but yeah. fun fact i also was known as the jacket kid in like idk 6th | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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Eunoia - Harry Styles

a/n: i’ve been meaning to write a piece filled with just fluffy, domestic moments through a relationship, and that’s when i created Flora in my mind. wrote it with an OC bc i had very specific traits and stuff in my mind about her and it didn’t feel right to write it with y/n but feel free to read however you’d like it! but i think Flora is a delightful girl, she is a teacher and a free spirit, i think you’ll like her!

pairing: Harry x OC (Floortje ‘Flora’ Hoven)

word count: 9.5k

masterlist

Eunoia (n.) Beautiful thinking: a well mind.

Harry is always looking forward to times when his days aren’t filled from morning to midnight, traveling all around the world, meeting dozens of new people at various new meetings. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the buzz his life comes with, but one can drive this lifestyle only for a while before getting tired. He now appreciates his calm periods, when he is not living out of his suitcase, he has the time to drop by a café and enjoy his morning coffee sitting down instead of grabbing it in a go-to cup and chugging it down in his car. When he can just take a walk when the weather is nice enough and his favorite is when he has the time to just look at things without a rush and appreciate them.

He has built up a habit of going to the same coffee place since he got off tour and jumped right into his well-deserved months off filled with meditation, resting and focusing on himself after giving so much for the world. It’s just two corners down his place, falling perfectly into his way to the gym and now he even has a favorite table in the corner, because it gives him a great view of the place but the vines hanging from the ceiling masks his presence enough that people don’t often notice him there, providing some privacy for his morning coffee.

It was his third day here when he first noticed her. She was sitting at the table by the window, near the door, deep in a book, another pile waiting for her on the free seat next to her as she intensely made notes of her reading. She had her wild, curly hair in a puffy bun on the top of her head, clearly just thrown into it haphazardly when she started working. Her ivory frame glasses kept sliding down the bridge of her nose and thy seemed a bit too big for her face, but they overall fit perfectly with her knitted sweater and dungarees. And Harry couldn’t look over the fact that she had little sunflowers painted on her nails. That instantly made him smile as he adorned her from afar.

As the days passed and Harry spent almost all his morning at the same spot, he started seeing or more like noticing her more often. She always sat at the same table and Harry figured it was because of the natural lighting coming through the windows that came in handy, because she was always either reading and making notes, or doing something crafty, mostly origami, he noticed. She often had her laptop open with tutorials on different origami works that she was trying to make herself, not always succeeding, but she got it right most of the time, a triumphant smile plastering across her face every time she finished a piece, her dimples digging deep into her round cheeks. Harry couldn’t stop herself from smiling whenever she held up the finished work and adorned what she just created. He often wondered what happened to the little creations afterwards, but she just usually shoved them into her backpack before leaving.

By the fifth or sixth time he has seen her, he already knew her order. Vanilla latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. Large sized, of course, so she has something to sip on while she typed away on her laptop or finished reading another book.

Harry caught himself looking for her on mornings when he didn’t see her, which were usually Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, but one Wednesday, when he had an early meeting for a change with his team, he arrived before 8 am into the place and for his biggest surprise, there she was, sitting at her usual table, drinking the same drink as always. Later, Harry found himself coming earlier on those days just to find her there yet again and he figured her work schedule must start earlier on those days.

As the days went by Harry started to play with the thought of walking up to her. He wondered if she has noticed him as well, but it seemed like even if she did, his presence didn’t impress or bother her at all which just irked his curiosity about her even more. But every time he thought about finally talking to her, he decided against it, feeling like he would just be an intruder in her morning sessions. Until one day, the chance was handed to him on a silver plate.

She is doing origami once again on this particular day, making little cranes, one after the other, using different colored papers to make them form out a mess rainbow on her table. It’s a quiet morning, only a few more people sitting around at place. It’s been quite windy the past couple of days and today seems to be the worst, the trees are being tossed around by the howling winds outside, but it just makes it even cozier to sit inside in the warmth, enjoying a nice hot drink.

Harry finds himself watching her intently as her delicate fingers work on the paper, one crane following the other, she is starting to have a whole army of them.

An older man walks into the café and as he opens the door wide, the wind is quick to run into the place, knocking over everything that’s not heavy enough to stay still and the paper cranes are the first ones to start flying off the table.

“No! Darn it!” she gasps, her hands grabbing after them, saving just a few, but most end up on the floor, somersaulting away from her table. Harry is quick to jump to his feet and come to her rescue, lending her a pair of helping hands as she gathers her creations. “Oh, thank you!” she breathes out softly, her eyes meeting his and for his biggest surprise… she doesn’t seem to be stunned or even surprised by him, as if she doesn’t know who he is.

Maybe she doesn’t, it’s a possibility, he tells himself, smiling at her as he collects the cranes from the floor.

“Guess they wanted to be free,” he jokes, setting them on the table with the rest.

“It wasn’t my brightest idea to do it on such a windy day near the door,” she chuckles, looking over the bunch she’s been working on for the past thirty minutes.

“May I ask why you need so many paper cranes?” Harry inquires, leaving out the part that he’s been watching her do her origami for weeks now.

“Oh, I want to make decorations out of them, hang them up in my classroom. I’m a teacher,” she adds smiling.

That’s the most fitting job he could ever imagine for her, she is definitely the cool and adored teacher every kid is obsessed with.

“Wow, and how many do you need?” he asks, the stack of paper at the edge of the table looks quite a lot and he wonders if she wants to use them all for the cranes.

“Well, as many as I can make before my fingers fall off,” she jokes. Harry notices her freckles from up close that have been hidden behind her glasses until now. Her hair is in two space buns today and she is wearing a striped shirt with light-washed jeans and colorful sneakers. The sunflowers are gone from her nails, replaced by tiny daisies, but Harry likes them just as much as the previous flowers. They fit her well.

“Do you… I would love to help, if you want,” he finds himself offering, not even thinking about the question before it slips his mouth.

“You sure?” she asks, seemingly surprised but she definitely doesn’t find it weird that he just offered to help her.

“Yeah. Looks really calming and I haven’t made one in so long. Want to see if I still remember the steps,” he smiles.

“Take a seat then,” she nods, returning his smile. Harry goes back to his table to grab his stuff and join her.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he introduces himself as he takes the empty chair at her table, holding out his hand for her that she gladly takes.

“Floortje, but everyone just calls me Flora,” she smiles.

“Never heard that name, what’s the origin of it?”

“It’s Dutch. My dad is Dutch, he came up with the name as well and my mother liked it. It means little flower, nothing grandiose,” she chuckles, reaching for another paper to start her next crane.

“Do you have a Dutch last name as well?” he asks, but then realizes she might not feel comfortable sharing her full name just yet. “You don’t have to tell me your last name though, if you don’t want to.”

“It’s alright,” she chuckles. “It’s Hoven, which is Dutch, but you pronounce it pretty much the same as you’d if it was a simple English word, just with a softer V in the middle,” she explains, her fingers working easily and fast on the thin paper, the crane is already starting to form. Harry reaches for a paper himself and tries to recollect his memory of the steps.

“Were you born in the Netherlands too?”

“Yes, I was born in Eindhoven, but we moved here when I was five. But my Dutch is still just fine, luckily. My dad refused to talk to me in English when we moved, he said he won’t have his daughter forget her mother tongue just because he is getting paid more here,” she explains with a soft chuckle as she finishes up the crane, putting it to the pile.

“I always envied bilingual people. Must be great to speak two languages that easily,” Harry wonders, eyes fixed on the paper as he is trying his best with the crane. It’s slowly coming together, though it’s not as pretty as Flora’s.

“It’s not that fun when I suddenly forget a word in one of the languages and then spend twenty minutes trying to remember when I know for a fact I know the words, it’s just stuck on my tongue.”

Harry laughs, finishing up his creation, holding it up and Flora looks at it as well. It’s a little crooked and one of its wings is longer than the other, but overall, it’s a decent first one.

“You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” he chuckles, putting it to the others.

“What are you talking about? It looks great!” she smiles, taking it into her hand, looking at it from all angles, smiling widely as she places it back to its peers. “It’s a nice one, and after all, it’s not your job to make cranes, so you’re fine,” she jokes.

Harry reaches for another paper as he thinks about if she knows him. Does she know what his job really is? Not that he expects everyone to know him, but she seems his age and it’s been quite impossible for him to meet someone close in age to him and not know a thing about him.

“Yeah, origami is definitely not my job,” he hums and then adds: “You… know what my job is?”

Flora glances up at him, a small smile tugging on her lips.

“Is this your way of trying to find out if I know you or not?” she smirks, tilting her head to the side, and it’s already a giveaway that she is very much aware of who she is sitting at a table with.

“I know, it was lame,” he huffs awkwardly.

“No, it was alright. And to answer your question, I do know what your job is, Harry Styles,” she replies.

“Sorry for asking around about it, you just seemed so casual and unbothered when you saw me, I thought you have no idea who I am.”

“I’m a teacher, my job is to treat everyone the same, I take equality very seriously. I don’t want my kids to think I put any of them above the rest, but I do the same outside of school too. Or do you want me to gasp and stutter now that you are sitting here?” she teases him making him laugh.

“That’s not needed at all.”

They work on their cranes in a comfortable silence and just as Harry thought, it’s quite relaxing, his thoughts slowly clear out, only focusing on the little birds he is creating. Then he glances up at Flora and suddenly his thoughts are filled with her once again. Now is his chance with her, he doesn’t want to leave this café without at least asking for her number even when he knows that he will surely see her around, just like always.

“Can I ask you something?” he speaks up as they both keep folding the colorful papers.

“Of course.”

“I hope I won’t sound creepy or something, but I’ve seen you around a lot and noticed how much you read. Is that just your hobby or…?”

“First of all it’s not creepy that you have noticed me, it’s flattering, because I have noticed you as well,” she smiles, paying him a quick glance.

“Really? I had a feeling you haven’t even seen me.”

“I did, but I thought you come here for the same reason as I do; to have some peace for yourself.”

“Ah, I see,” Harry nods.

“But to answer your question, I’m working on my second degree.”

“Oh, what’s that about?”

“Special education, speech therapy to be exact,” she tells him and Harry is even more stunned by her. Education is already a field not many can handle and then there is Flora, who didn’t just take up on it, she jumped right into it, pursuing a second degree in special education, a hard and challenging part of this job.

“Any particular reason why you chose it?”

“I have a younger brother, he is ten years younger than me, so he was already born here, but he was taught Dutch too. However, it wasn’t as easy for him as it was for me to speak two languages at the same time and he has developed some speech errors. Nothing major, but it was enough for him to be bullied in school. I saw his face every day when he came home and lied to our parents that everything is fine but then he cried to me in my room when they weren’t around. I don’t want any other kids to go through that, I’d love to be the one to not just help them come over their speech errors but also make sure they are treated the same way as everyone else.”

Harry hasn’t even noticed that he stopped working on his crane, he is now staring at her in awe, completely stunned by her. The more he learns about her the more he thinks she is a literal angel sent from above and that he can’t let her slip from his hands.

Flora looks up at him and finds him staring, a blush appearing on her full cheeks.

“Sorry for staring, but I just… this is so beautiful. Your passion about education is just one of a kind, truly. And the way how you made it your whole career and everything, I’m just… blown away,” he admits.

“Well, you made a career out of your passion too, didn’t you?” she chuckles softly.

“I did, but your story is just a little more touching,” he smirks. “Flora, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve been meaning to come up to you for a while and now that we officially met, I just—I would love to take you out on a date and get to know you better.”

She blushes again and Harry notes how well the pinky shade fits her even if she probably wishes she could control it more.

“That would be lovely,” she smiles shyly and grabbing a crane from her pile she grabs a pen from her bag and writes her number to the wing of it before handing it over to Harry.

He loves that she could have easily just typed it into his phone, yet she chose to do it this way. He smiles down at the crane and puts it into his bag, securing it as if it was his biggest treasure.

When Flora opens her door for Harry she is still wearing her apron that’s filled with tulips, a pair of simple jeans underneath it with a bright yellow shirt. Harry smiles as he leans down and greets her with a soft kiss. Ever since their first kiss he has been obsessed with stealing one whenever he has the chance. Their first one was nothing grandiose, such a simple and mundane moment but for him, it was perfect. They were visiting a gallery, he chose the exhibition hoping she’ll be a fan of it since the theme was botany, all paintings connected to flowers, gardens and plants and he was right. Flora was stunned, fascinated by each painting as they stopped at one after the other, taking their time to adore the works. They were looking at a painted garden filled with colorful wildflowers around a small cottage in the distance. Flora’s eyes wandered over all the tiny details as Harry stood close to her. She then leaned closer to point out her favorite flower and once they realized just how close their faces were, he just easily closed the gap and kissed her softly, surrounded with art, but he was convinced she was his favorite masterpiece he has ever seen.

“Hi, sorry, I’m a little late, dinner is not ready yet,” she huffs letting him inside. “Had to stay at the school a little longer than expected.”

“Don’t worry. Can I help with anything?” he asks following her into the kitchen, putting the bottle of wine he brought into the fridge to keep it cool until dinner.

“No, it’s fine. I just need about fifteen minutes to finish up the veggies,” she smiles at him and tiptoeing she steals a quick kiss. Harry hasn’t been the only one obsessed with kisses. “Make yourself home.”

Harry leaves to use the bathroom quickly and on his way back he finds himself wandering into her bedroom. He has been in her home just a few times before, only spending short minutes here when he was picking her up but now he has time to actually look around, hoping she won’t mind him snooping around.

Her whole place is just as colorful as she is always, each piece of furniture a different style and color, yet fitting so well when you see it as a whole. The quilted patchwork blanket over her bed is definitely homemade, each patch has a different flower on it while the left lower corner has Floortje embroidered into it. Harry wonders if it was made by a friend or family member, either way, it’s surely a special piece.

Her dresser is cluttered with rings, perfumes and endless amount of hair ties. She has complained before that her hair stretches her elastics out so fast, she keeps buying new ones every month. The little armchair in the corner is covered with a few of her used clothes, ones she’ll wear once more before putting them into the laundry basket.

As he walks over to her nightstand that’s filled with books, at least seven piled on each other, his eyes stop over something that makes his heart flutter.

A crooked little paper crane is sitting on the edge of the nightstand, the one he made the first time they talked, to be exact. Harry takes the bird and looks at it in awe, surprised that she kept it to herself. However he doesn’t find it odd, not even a little bit, since he has also kept the one she wrote her phone number onto, it’s sitting on his desk in his study.

“Found something interesting?” Flora walks in and Harry’s head whips towards her, feeling like he was just caught. But the warm smile on her lips is a telltale sign that she doesn’t mind him looking around.

“You kept it,” he states matter-of-factly, holding up the paper bird.

“Of course I did,” she nods, walking closer. “It’s a special one.”

“Thought you treat everyone and everything the same,” he teases smiling as he puts the crane back, his hands finding her waist.

“I guess there are a few exceptions,” she smirks slyly, her hands running up on his arms until they reach the base of his neck.

“Am I an exception?” The corners of his mouth curl up as he places the bird back on her nightstand and circle his arms around her waist.

“Did I say that?” she teases him. “I think I called your work a special one.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, pretending to be hurt at her words, but he can’t push the growing smile back from his lips. They’ve been seeing each other for only over a month, but it was enough time to make him completely hooked on her. He is amazed by her in every possible way, feeling like he could never get enough of the ray of sunshine that Flora is. His favorite thing is that she makes him feel so normal, just an average guy dating a girl he met at a café. Not once did she treat him any different because of what he is and it’s just the feeling Harry has been looking for for such a long time.

“Come on, dinner is ready,” she smiles, pecking his lips before peeling his arms off of her frame, taking his hand as she pulls him out of the bedroom, however they surely end up in there again sometime after dinner, but with way less clothes on.

Harry watches as Flora plays with the bubbles in front of her, picking some foam up into her hair, watching it move around on her wet palm before blowing on it gently, her delicate fingers poking at the small bubbles that escaped from it. His hands are caressing her sides under the warm water that was once hot when they first got into it about an hour ago.

It’s been a lazy Sunday, Flora arrived early in the morning and went plant shopping. Her home has always been filled with plants and Harry has grown a liking to all the greenery, wanted some more in his house as well and Flora was more than happy to help him pick out the ones that are the easiest to take care of. Then they cooked lunch together, watched a movie and cleaned up the mess they made in the kitchen before running the bath. Harry has been loving these domestic days, lounging around his or her home, wearing comfy clothes and not caring about much of the outside words, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Remind me to buy peanut butter the next time I’m going grocery shopping,” she speaks up, leaning further back against his chest while Harry rests his chin on her shoulder, his arms tightening around her waist under the layer of bubbles.

“What do you need it for?” he hums, nudging her hair with his nose, her curls ticking his face, but he doesn’t mint it.

“I want to make cupcakes for the kids next week.”

“What for? Is there gonna be a special occasion?”

“No, they’ve just been super nice lately, we set up some new rules in the classroom and they’ve been really good following them.” Harry hums, loving how she is so eager to treat her students, he is convinced she is easily the best teacher he has ever came across.

“So peanut butter, huh? I think I need some too. Been dying to eat a good burger with some peanut butter.”

“I cannot believe you put peanut butter into your burgers,” she chuckles, peeking at him over her shoulder.

“Don’t bash it when you haven’t even tried!” he defends himself, kissing her cheek softly.

“The Aztecs would be so disappointed,” she sighs turning back forward, so she doesn’t see the puzzled look on Harry’s face.

“The Aztecs?”

“Yeah, they technically invented peanut butter,” she nods, as if it was common knowledge.

“Do I want to know why you know this about the history of peanut butter?” he chuckles softly.

“Well I had this kid last year who was obsessed with it and I started looking up fun facts for him for mornings when he looked a little moody. Then the others started enjoying it too so it became our morning thing that I told them a fun fact about anything.”

“Oh really? Tell me one then!” he asks smirking, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Okay, um…” she thinks to herself. “Do you know what the Olympic rings stand for?”

“I do not,” he shakes his head.

“The five rings stand for the five inhabited continents of the world, united by Olympism.”

“Sounds logical,” Harry nods. “Tell me another one,” he asks.

“Are you going to make me tell you all my fun facts?” she chuckles, turning a little so she can look into his beautiful green eyes.

“Maybe. I like it when you talk like this,” he smirks playfully.

“Like what?”

“Like… smart. I love how you know all these little things about the world and teach it to not just the kids but to me as well.”

“You don’t think I’m a smartass?”

“Why would I?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed.

“I used to be picked on in middle school because I liked to learn, more than what was required.”

“That doesn’t make you a smartass, baby. You don’t go around, correcting every tiny mistake around you. You use your knowledge to educate, like you should.”

Flora smiles softly at him, his words bringing the sense of reassurance she’s been seeking for so long. She pecks his lips shortly before turning back forward.

“Do you know how many days a billion seconds make up?” she asks, smiling to herself.

“I don’t.”

“11 574 days. That’s a little over 31 years.”

“So I haven’t lived a billion seconds in my life just yet,” Harry states, doing the quick math.

“No, you haven’t,” she smiles, mostly at the fact that he didn’t just listen to her little fun fact, but also thought about it a bit deeper.

They stay in the bath until the water gets cold and Harry keeps asking for fun facts and Flora gladly tells him whatever comes to her mind.

Harry finishes up the fresh salad, filled with Flora’s favorites: cherry tomatoes, feta cheese and corn with some kale, baby spinach and garlic dressing. He even sprinkled some sesame seeds on top, now he is pretty proud of his work, it looks like something influencers would snap in an aesthetic photo to their Instagram feed.

His bare feet tap against the hardwood floor as he makes his way to Flora’s bedroom where she is still curled up on her chair in front of her computer, her hair in a mess on top of her head, glasses perched up on the bridge of her nose. She hasn’t moved much from the spot in hours, intensely working on her thesis that should be finalized within the next two weeks. She has been gradually working on it over the last few months, in no mean she is behind, but she’s been extra nervous about making it as good as she wanted it when she started and Harry has been nothing but supporting about it, knowing how much it means to her. So he’s been her moral support, making sure she eats, gets some rest and doesn’t get herself too worked up about her research. She appreciates his efforts and though she often feels bad for neglecting him lately, he made sure to assure her, he’ll be right here when she is finally done with it.

Harry walks around the mountain of books on the floor she has piled up from the library these past two weeks as he walks up behind her while her fingers type away on her computer so fast he can barely believe she even understands what she’s typing.

“Hey,” he softly calls out, leaning down he kisses her cheek, holding the bowl of salad in front of her, drabbing her attention, making her gaze move from the screen to the food in front of her.

“Oh, hey! Is this for me?” she asks with a soft smile, lifting her head so she can look at him. Even with the circles under her eyes, the messy hair and worn out t-shirt that she’s wearing, he thinks she is the most wonderful creature he has ever seen.

“Yeah. Come take a break, yea?”

She doesn’t protest, just saves the file before moving away from the desk to the bed along with Harry. She props herself up against the headboard, a tired moan escaping her lips as her spine rests against the pillows under her back. Harry hands her the salad and she digs right into it, only just now realizing that she’s been feeling hungry for the past two hours, but ignored it entirely.

“How much do you have left?” Harry asks nodding towards the computer.

“I’m finishing up the last part, then I just have to write the abstract and then…” she explains, popping a tomato in her mouth. “It’s just gonna be the formatting. I think I’ll be done by Wednesday.”

“That’s great,” he smiles proudly. He has always admired how hardworking she’s been when it came to school and her profession. He could never imagine himself do the same, especially because he didn’t even finish high school. He used to feel a little self-conscious about it when they first started dating, afraid that she might think less of him because he didn’t finish his education properly, even though it was never something that bothered him. But Flora assured him that it makes absolutely no difference in her opinion about him.

“It’s not about the papers or how many schools you’ve finished. It’s about how you see the world and if you are willing to learn when it changes around you. And I think you are perfect in that department, your curiosity and openness makes you an excellent learner,” she told him without even thinking about it.

Harry lies on his side next to her, one hand propping his head up while the other one wanders to her thigh, massaging it gently. She hums to herself, enjoying the food he made and he can’t help the smile that creeps on his face. He loves taking care of her, especially because most of the times it’s her that takes care of him. Cooking for him after a long day at the studio, putting his laundry away while he is in an online meeting or writing him a list for when he goes grocery shopping, Flora has been watching out for him through these little things, but now it’s finally his turn to give it all back.

He’s been thinking about asking her to move in with him for a few weeks now, he just hasn’t been brave enough to bring it up, thinking that she might find it too early for such a big step, seeing that the two of them have been dating for a little over nine months. He’s been playing with the thought of coming home to her every single day, waking up next to her in the mornings, watch her form his home more to her liking, creating a space for the both of them, making it a home not just for him but her as well.

As she finishes up her salad, completely oblivious to what Harry is thinking about, he decides to bring it up once she is done with her thesis, not wanting to bother her in any possible way until she is finished.

“Mm, this was lifesaving, thank you,” she sighs, leaning over she kisses him softly as her appreciation for the sweet gesture. “I’ll finish up this one paragraph I’m in the middle of and then we could watch a movie. But strictly without subs, because I’m done with words for today,” she jokes, making him laugh as he takes the empty bowl from her hands.

“Sounds good,” he nods. “I’ll clean up in the kitchen and find something to watch while you finish.”

“Thank you.” As they both get up from the bed, she pulls him down for another kiss, Harry’s free hand finding the small of her back right away. “I love you,” she whispers against his lips, his heart fluttering in his chest at the words he has heard before, but it never fails to stun him.

“I love you too. Now go, finish it so we can cuddle,” he smiles, smacking her bum gently before they let go of each other.

“Ja, pappa. Dat klinkt fantastisch. Ik zal het hem vragen. Ja.” Yes, dad. That sounds fantastic. I’ll ask him. Yes.

Harry listens to Flora talk to her father on the phone as she applies her lip balm, the one she uses every night before going to bed. He loves it when she talks in Dutch, many tend to criticize the language, but not Harry. Or maybe it’s just because he only hears Flora talk it and he loves everything she does.

“Ja, dat is goed. Dank je. Tot ziens, pappa, ik hou van je!” Yes, that’s great. Thank you. See you soon, dad, love you!

She ends the call and switches the light off in the bathroom that’s been not just Harry’s but hers since she officially moved in with him just last week. Harry finally built up the courage to ask her opinion about the possibility of living together in the near future once she was free from the worries of her research and thesis. For his biggest surprise, she was on the exact same page as him, definitely a fan of the idea. So three weeks later they started slowly moving all her stuff over to his until her apartment completely emptied out. Now all her belongings are splattered across Harry’s home, they haven’t found the perfect place for everything just yet, but it’s slowly starting to feel like home for the both of them.

“Dad called, asked if we would go over for dinner this weekend,” she tells him, moving around the bedroom as she takes her little hoop earrings off, placing them in the shell she uses as a jewelry holder on top of the dresser. She is wearing a pair of yellow sweatpants with one of Harry’s shirts, nothing underneath them, just how Harry loves it.

“It’s cute how you always tell me it was your dad, but he is the only one you speak Dutch with,” he chuckles lowly as she climbs to bed, pulling the covers over the both of them.

“It comes so naturally, I don’t even realize I’m switching languages,” she admits smiling.

“Dinner sounds lovely,” he nods, getting back to what she was talking about before.

“Arnold is bringing his girlfriend too,” she smirks, her eyes sparkling from excitement.

“Your brother has a girlfriend now?” he hums, eyebrows rising at the new information.

“It’s the girl I saw him with at his basketball game last month. They made it official like two weeks ago.”

“And he is already bringing her home? He is not beating around the bush,” he chuckles. “Is it going to be the first time the girl meets your parents?”

“Yeah, so it’s gonna be exciting,” she nods, cuddling to his side.

Flora is playing with the little cross pendant on Harry’s chest and he is watching her delicate fingers flipping it over, her fingertips tickling his chest a little in the process.

“When we have kids, will you also teach them Dutch?” he suddenly questions, the words just blurting out of his mouth. Flora lifts her head, resting her chin on his chest as she looks into his curious eyes. She stays silent, but a small smile is tugging on her lips for sure.

“What?” he asks, feeling a little nervous. It’s the first time he is bringing having kids up, but he definitely has been thinking about it, especially since she has moved in. They haven’t been dating for that long, but Harry is one hundred percent sure he is in the long run with her.

“I just… love how you said when and not if.”

“Well, it’s a question of when for me. What about you?”

“Same goes for me,” she smiles warmly. “And yes, I do want my children to speak Dutch. It’s important to my family and me as well. How does that sit with you?”

“Totally fine. In fact, I always envied kids growing up who were taught another language so early in their childhood. Would love that for my kids as well.”

“Dan is het geregeld,” she smiles widely at him.

“What’s that mean?” He furrows his eyebrows.

“I said that, then it’s settled. We’ll have some cute, bilingual babies,” she chuckles, half jokingly, half seriously.

Today has just been one of those days that were doomed from the moment Harry opened his eyes. He has been overwhelmed with stress lately, working on new music, but his studio sessions haven’t been as successful as he wanted them. He is also flying out to LA for two weeks in just a couple of days and he has to miss Flora’s mom’s birthday this weekend, which has been torturing him with guilt ever since he found out he can’t push his trip back.

This morning it felt like the universe just plotted against him. He slipped in the shower, broke a glass in the kitchen and successfully ripped one of his favorite jeans when he was getting dressed. He had a one way ticket cranky city, turning Harry into a moody little child. It didn’t take him long until he started a fight with Flora over the smallest, most ridiculous thing. It started with how Flora misplaced a bowl in the cabinet and took him two moments longer to find it than usual, then they ended up disputing about every little thing about each other they’ve been finding annoying, but neither of them voiced their feelings about them.

Flora, on the other hand, was not in the mood to argue with Harry so early on a Tuesday morning and she chose to just walk away and let him stew in his own anger. Harry knew the moment he heard the front door shut that she was mad at him: she didn’t kiss him goodbye like she does every day before she leaves.

He took a cold shower to cool him down and clear his head, get his thoughts straight so he can apologize like she deserves. Getting into his car he drives to the florist he usually goes to when he needs flowers for whatever occasions. The old lady greets him with a warm smile and upon describing what he envisioned, she immediately knows what to create for him this time. The result is a giant, colorful bouquet that reminds him of Flora in every possible means.

Driving down to her school he is met with an extreme amount of nostalgia even though it’s not even the school he went to as a kid, but it still brings back some memories.

The security guard immediately stops him when he walks into the building, but once he has explained him the situation, the old guy gladly tells him which classroom is hers so he can go and surprise her. His footsteps echo in the empty hallways as it is the middle of the second period, all students are locked up in their classrooms, lucky for Harry, because he surely can’t deal with teenage girls recognizing him right now. Holding the flowers in one hand he stops when he finds room 414 and he can hear Flora’s voice coming from inside, enthusiastically explaining something about penguins and it makes Harry smile.

Even with such a horrible morning behind her, she is still giving one hundred for her students. He brings up his hand and softly knocks on the door, interrupting her speech.

“Come in!” she calls out and Harry opens the door, popping his head inside first, then holding up the bouquet of flowers, making the kids start chattering in excitement at his arrival while Flora is staring at him shocked.

“Miss Hoven, do you have a moment for me, please?” he asks with a shy but charming smile. She quickly gains back control over her features before turning to her class.

“Please start working on task two and five, I’ll be right back,” she orders, but the chatter doesn’t die down so she raises her voice at them. “This is not how we act when we have guests, guys!”

The kids are quick to quiet themselves, eyes curiously switching between their teacher and the intruder at the door.

“Miss Hoven, is this your husband?” one of the kids, a little blond boy asks.

“No, Michael, he is not. Harry is my boyfriend,” she answers calmly, heading towards the door.

“Wait, I know him!” a girl exclaims gasping. “He sings the watermelon song!”

“Lilian, no discussion now. Do the tasks!” Flora tells her before walking out, but keeping the door open so she can hear what’s happening inside. Her cheeks are flushed and eyes wide when she finally looks at Harry again. “What’s—What’s this?”

“These are for you,” he clears his throat, handing her the bouquet. “And I came here to apologize for being such an arsehole this morning. It wasn’t your fault, I’ve just been crankier lately and I took it all out on you. I’m very sorry.”

Flora’s eyes soften on him as she takes one of his hands with her free one, giving it a squeeze.

“I said some nasty stuff too, so I guess I’m sorry too,” she sighs, her anger and frustration from earlier now long gone.

“I brought that out of you, so I’ll take the blame,” Harry chuckles softly. “But the point is that I’m sorry.”

“Well, you are forgiven. You were even before you came here,” she assures him smiling warmly. “Why don’t we order something tonight and just get lazy on the couch?”

“You said you have some tests to go through.”

“That can wait. You’re leaving in two days so I want to spend time with you.”

“So we won’t get our tests back tomorrow?” they both hear a muffled voice coming from inside and Flora chuckles shaking her head as she opens the door wider and steps inside. A small group of kids run back to their seats, but not fast enough to not get caught.

“Lilian, would you mind telling me why you left your seat without permission?” Flora questions the girl who just rolls her lips into her mouth, pretending like she hasn’t even moved all along. Flora sighs stepping outside once again. “I gotta go now, but thank you for this. They look beautiful,” she tells Harry.

“I love you,” he murmurs and leaning down he kisses her quickly, feeling like he is breaking rules even though he is not a student or a teacher here.

“I love you too,” she smiles back before walking back inside and shutting the door. Harry stays for a minute, just out of curiosity to hear if the kids ask her some more questions about him.

“Miss Hoven?” a girl calls out and Harry bets it’s the same nosy girl who recognized him.

“Yes, Lilian?”

“You have a nice boyfriend,” she exclaims, earning a soft chuckle from Flora.

“Well thank you, Lilian, but let’s get back to our new unit. Let’s see the tasks you had to solve!”

The splashing sound of vomit arriving to the toilet hits Harry’s ears once again as he is rushing up the stairs with a glass of water and the Emetrol his hands that he dug the kitchen cabinets through for. Arriving to the master bathroom he finds Flora just where he left a few minutes ago, kneeling in front of the toilet, arms on the rim as she is taking a deep breath, hoping to calm her stomach and stop throwing up finally.

“Oh baby, here. Found you some Emetrol, this should help,” he coos gently, sitting down to the marble floor next to her he places the water beside him as he pours some of the liquid medicine into the cap for her. She lifts her head, skin pale as the wall, the dark circles under her eyes make his stomach churn, he hates to see her in this condition and wishes he could just help her.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, her shaking hand takes the cup and she downs the medicine before taking a few sips from the water. “Harry, I’m so sorry for ruining our date,” she sighs in defeat.

“Oh shush. Don’t you dare apologize for being sick,” he shakes his head, putting the Emetrol aside before he towers above her to redo her hair so it doesn’t fall to her face. Today marks their one year anniversary and though they only planned to go out for a nice dinner, nothing extra, Flora still feels bad they had to cancel on their reservation when she started throwing up this afternoon. She’s been feeling nauseous ever since she ate that leftover casserole for lunch. She had a feeling she should have just gotten rid of it, but she hated wasting food so ate it. Big mistake.

Harry’s fingers delicately work on her curls, piling them on the top of her heat before he secures the bun with professional movements using the elastic he tends to wear on his wrists, just because Flora always loses hers. He likes to keep one on him as well. His long haired days trained him well, her hair is neatly kept out of her face as she frowns, feeling her stomach churning again.

“Can I do anything else for you, baby?” he gently asks, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead to make sure she doesn’t have a fever, but she feels alright. She probably just has to get rid of the bad food.

“Can you please get me a wet washcloth?” she asks faintly. Sitting to her butt she leans against the wall beside her with her eyes closed.

Harry nods and he is on his feet in a blink of an eye, grabbing a washcloth from the cabinet and wetting it in some cool water. He kneels in front of her and starts gently tapping it against her cheeks, forehead and neck, wiping off the thin layer of sweat.

“This is not how I planned to spend our anniversary,” she groans with a frown, making him chuckle.

“We agreed, the anniversary is postponed. Don’t even think about it.”

“But I wanted to look nice for you, even bought a new dress.” She pouts her lips at him, eyes opening narrowly, glistening from the tears that watered them while she was throwing up.

“You always look nice, baby,” he softly tells her, letting her take the washcloth before she places it over her forehead.

“Even now? After you saw me throw up four times? We have very different versions for the word nice, H,” she jokes with a soft chuckle and Harry is thankful to see her smile, even if it’s still very faint and tired.

“Even now, baby,” he nods smirking and he is not lying. Though the situation is saddening, Harry still enjoys taking care of her, being the one she can rely on even on her worst days.

They sit on the bathroom floor as the medicine slowly works and she finally gets rid of the urge to throw up. Then Harry scoops her up and undressing the both of them, he helps her take a nice shower before dressing her in clean clothes, tossing their dirty ones into the laundry basket, noting to do them sometime in the morning.

When Flora is settled under the cover, head comfortably sinking into the pillow, she immediately feels her eyes closing, the strenuous afternoon has successfully sucked all her energy right out of her body. Harry brings her another big glass of water for the night and just to be sure, puts a trashcan next to her side, if things go south again. When he gets under the covers she is already half asleep, but she hums when his fingertips dance down the side of her face.

He allows himself to shamelessly admire her as she finally falls completely asleep, her lips parted as she slightly snores, but she looks so peaceful, the painful frown he saw on her face all afternoon is now gone from her beautiful face. He hasn’t fully wrapped his mind around how an entire year has passed with such a wonderful creature by his side. As their anniversary was coming up, he caught himself thinking about what the future is holding for them more often. There were so many things they needed to experience together, so much to see and do as partners and Harry couldn’t wait for it all to come.

As he lies in the bed next to her, a smile tugs on his pink lips at the thought of the possibility of spending the rest of his life with Flora. His future has never seemed brighter than in that moment.

“This is harder than I thought,” Flora admits, focusing on the instrument on her lap, trying to figure out if she is holding down the accords the right way, but a moment later Harry’s hand covers hers on the neck of the guitar and he fixes her fingers on the strings until they are in the right position.

“Like this. Try it now,” he murmurs, his chin resting on her shoulders as she is standing between his legs, back leant against his chest. Flora has been begging him to teach him a few accords on the guitar and today finally brought the moment Harry would turn into her master.

The two of them are sitting on the bed, Harry only in his underwear while Flora is in one of his hoodies with only her panties covering the lower parts of her body. Harry came back from a week-long trip to New York and they haven’t left the bed too much since he set his feet inside the house, only emerging from the bedroom to fulfill their other physical needs.

Flora’s fingers strum against the strings and the instrument comes to life, giving her a clear accord finally, bringing a triumphant smile to her lips.

“You are a natural talent, baby,” he smirks, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before kissing into her neck.

“Don’t tease me, I’m trying!” she warns her playfully, playing the chord again, loving how she can create such a beautiful sound with the instrument.

“Mm, you’re coming for my career?”

“Oh, surely. I think I would make an excellent rockstar,” she nods confidently, making him laugh.

“You are so not the rockstar type. More like the chill indie singer who dances barefoot on stage.”

“Yeah, but I could spice it up a little and make it rockstar-y,” she explains and glances back at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you think I would look hot in one of your stage costumes? Sparkly suit and all?”

“Oh I know you’d look amazing,” he nods eagerly. He has spent quite some time imagining her girl in one of his suits and he quite liked the thought. Flora chuckles as he puts the guitar aside before she turns around and straddles him, her knees on each of his sides.

“Yeah? I would need a better name, mine is not too fitting for a star,” she explains. “Easy for you, your name is basically the most perfect name for a rockstar.”

“You think so?” he cocks an eyebrow at her, his palms coming to cup her bum as he tilts his head backwards since this position makes her the taller one for a change.

“Harry Styles? Oh please, it’s like Anne knew she would give birth to a legend,” she scoffs making him laugh.

“I’ve been told it’s a nice one,” he shrugs smugly. “I think it’s the surname.”

“It’s pretty cool, yeah.”

“What if you had the same? Flora Styles? Sounds pretty badass,” he suggests and at first, she doesn’t even realize the hidden meaning behind his words, tasting the name so obliviously.

“Flora Styles? You might be right, the surname sounds very cool,” she agrees and it amazes him how easily it went over her head.

“You like it?”

“Mhm,” she nods, her hand reaching for the guitar once again, but Harry stops her, taking it between his as he blindly finds her ring finger that is now ringless.

“Do you like it enough to actually take it?” he questions, hoping she would get the hint now where this is heading. She blinks at him a little puzzled but it’s until she realizes that his fingers are fidgeting with her ring finger, more specifically where a ring would sit on it, his fingertips gently caressing the skin around it.

“Harry?” she gasps with wide eyes as she just watches his grin grow wider. “This is not… Are you--?”

“What?” he chuckles, feeling entertained how she lost all her smug confidence all of a sudden. “What’s it that you’re trying to say?”

“No, what is it that you are trying to say?!” she snaps back, still in shock about what he just implied. “Was this your sneaky way of… proposing?” she asks, whispering the last word as if it was a curse word.

“Why do you act like we have a forbidden love and marriage cannot be even mentioned?” he chuckles at her.

“Because I was shocked! Not that bad now though, you haven’t pulled out a ring so I guess it was just a cruel joke.” She narrows her eyes at him, kissing his smug grin shortly, but Harry is definitely not done with her just yet.

“I wouldn’t be that sure about it, baby,” he warns her before gently pushing her off her lap to get off the bed. Flora’s eyes widen as she follows him walk to his suitcase that’s still lying on the floor next to his dresser, waiting to be unpacked. He digs under his clothes before pulling out a small velvety box, making her gasp immediately. Harry gets back on bed as he holds out the box in front of her on his palm, not opening it just yet.

“Did you buy that in New York just this week?” she asks with her mouth hung open.

“I didn’t. I’ve had it for about a month, I just took it with myself because I was afraid you’d find it,” he chuckles as he plays around with it between his fingers. “Have been planning on it for a while, but I couldn’t come up with anything so then I just decided to wait for the right moment and go with the flow,” he explains.

“And this is the right moment?” she questions, her heart beating in her throat as her gaze is switching between Harry’s green eyes and the box in his hand.

“Felt like it, yeah,” he nods, the corners of his mouth curling up.

Silence settles between them as they both just wrap their heads around the weight of the moment. Harry’s heart flutters in his chest, a little afraid it’s too early. They’ve been dating a little over two years now, marriages have been tied way earlier in a relationship before, but Harry feared Flora would feel it too rushed just yet, however the question is out there now. Or is it?

“Well, are you gonna ask it?” she questions and as Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet her gaze, he is met with that playful challenge in them that he adores so much.

“I just asked,” he mutters.

“No, you asked if I would take your name. That’s not a proposal,” she reminds him and he realizes she is right. He never actually asked the big question.

So he finally pops the lid open revealing the vintage diamond ring he bought a month ago when he was just out and about. The moment his eyes laid on the jewelry, he knew it’s the one he’d like to see on your finger and bought it right away.

“Floortje Hoven, will you marry me?” he simply asks, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks as he smiles widely at his lover.

“I will,” she nods, her heart hammering in her chest as she watches him take the ring out of the box and carefully put it on her once empty ring finger. Still holding her hand, he brings it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the ring before leaning in he connects his lips with hers.

Thank you for reading! Please like and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot

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shoichee · 3 years

Note

okok hc or fic: reader was teiko’s “head” manager(?) and her talent was being a medic (if someone gets injured they’re back on the court in under a minute type thing) and training plans. suddenly momoi’s talent blooms, she starts working w/ everyone in the team (+ reader’s crush akashi) and people think she’s a better manager than reader. because of this, she overworks + collapses in front of her best friends kuroko + kise (don’t let akashi know yet i have plans for that 👀)

HELLO? YES OFFICER? I JUST FOUND A BANGER REQUEST RIGHT HERE? YOUR BRAIN IS SO BIG AND SEXY IVE BEEN DYING TO WRITE THIS🏃🏻‍♀️💨 part 2 here and part 3 here AND update: part 4 here

Akashi x Reader

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

you had a knack of being a natural chiropractor in loosening up tense muscles instantly (for more fluid play) or easily putting in back dislocated joints

basically you have crackhands

in your free time as a hobby and a job as the “head manager” (that Akashi announced to the team himself), you’d often bury yourself in anatomy studies and gym plans on the internet and databases to review over Akashi’s team training routines to see if they were effective and safe; oftentimes, you’d return back with improved plans, and as time went on, Akashi entrusted you with creating the plans yourself completely

you took on the job so eagerly to impress the Teiko captain, if you were being honest to yourself

your enthusiasm even inspires Momoi, Teiko’s other manager, to work harder

no one in Teiko knows physiology better than you, and as expected, it was also your best subject along with health

Kise often looks at you in horror and respect at how you don’t cringe/flinch at the loud cracks resonating across the room or court when players come to you for instant relief (the origin story of how he came to call you (y/n)-cchi was the very fact that you manage to put back his dislocated shoulder in 3 seconds flat one game)

when Kuroko first joined the 1st-string, he was a walking magnet for injuries, and you ended up being there for him every single time… nosebleeds? check. sprained ankle? check. nausea from over exhaustion? check.

both you and Kuroko relish in the fact that everyone in the team can never understand how the both of you do some incredible things with your hands

both of you being quite dexterous, you both often teach each other your specialties for fun; it’s almost shocking to see Kuroko effortlessly loosening up a stress knot and you pulling off a well-done palm pass

you admit, you do juggle a lot of responsibilities… from being a makeshift nurse, to a chiropractor, to a budget gym coach, and even to being moral support

Momoi often reminds you to take breaks being the caring person that she is

you often showed her the ropes and tricks of being a manager, on top of your duties, and you find it really endearing that she’s so earnest in learning from you

even if you enjoyed doing what you do, part of the massive workload is to try to get into Akashi’s good graces

talking to him about basketball duties is easier to achieve than talking to him outside of the extracurricular

you might be a tad bit insecure about it; after all, what middle schooler is already so accomplished in academics, sports, and everything you could think of? wasn’t he also studying to take over his father’s company??

to you, who only starred as Teiko’s humble manager, it felt hard trying to establish common ground for conversation outside of basketball

so you stuck to working hard at your position, hoping that your work ethic would get his attention one day; you were a firm believer of actions over words, so you hoped your actions would come off as genuine

picture you and Momoi running across campus with stacks of papers for the team… it makes most of the teammates’ hearts melt at the sight

your work certainly got you praises from other teammates, but out of all players, Kise was the one who figured out your motive

you felt absolutely morbid; to think that Kise, of all people, would figure you out like the back of his hand

Kise being sweet as he is, offers to help you get with the captain but you merely prompted to threaten to break his arm if he spilled your crush to anyone else

“(y/n)-cchi… I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, Kise?”

“It’s really cool that you’re working so tirelessly for the team, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why you work so hard.”

“O-Of course I do! I want to see you guys all succeed!”

“Then I’m curious as to why you always look at Akashicchi—o-ow, ow, ow!! (y/n)-cchi, I’m sorry! So can you please let go of my—ow!”

“H-How did you know?!”

“I-It was as obvious as day, (y/n)-cchi! I’m pretty sure even Kurokocchi found out about this before I did!”

“N-No way!!”

“Tell you what, I’m super duper knowledgeable in this stuff! You can count on me for this sort of advice—OW!”

spoiler alert: Kise was right in that Kuroko definitely noticed your attraction to Akashi before anyone else… he just never brought it up to you

one day, Kuroko comes up to you to whisper:

“(y/n)-san, have you realized that Akashi-kun has been observing you recently during practice?”

“W-Wait! Is he looking over here right now?”

“Not that I think. He’s occupied with the coach right now.”

“D-Do you think this is a good sign?”

Kuroko gives you a small smile before he replies, “I would like to think so. Keep working hard, (y/n)-san.”

and you do, you’re constantly on top of your game for the next season until Momoi suddenly gets more recognition for her “precognitive defense” skills

her newfound talent was extraordinary and never-before-seen, and her ability became more critical to Teiko’s victories than your own skills

you were happy and proud for her, because after all, her achievements were extremely deserving to be praised

it’s only when some 1st-string players started making offhand comments about how you weren’t really needed in the 1st-string and was more suited to the lower strings that placed seeds of doubt into you

these people would often compare you to Momoi in how she improved much more despite you being in the team for longer

there’s also talk about how your skills are more useful for 2nd-string and 3rd-string players because Momoi’s ability is already sufficient enough for Teiko’s starters

after all, how would a player even be injured if they can predict their opponents’ moves to avoid such incidents?

there’s also the fact that Akashi has been calling Momoi more frequently to research on upcoming teams for analytical data because her talent has become very useful to ensuring victory

the same peers and adults who gave you praise were the same people who began to ignore you or dismiss you; that being said, the collective change in attitude is definitely subtle enough that it would fly under most people’s radars

Kuroko was the first to notice and defend you against a small group of players who were bold enough to badmouth you in the gym

Kise would find out a little later about the somewhat unpleasant gossip about you and would pull the “no you” reverse card, returning back with MEANER underhanded comments that would send these shit talkers CRYING HOME (manga Kise strikes here unexpectedly eh?)

Murasakibara is someone who would be slightly uncomfortable with the gossip about you, especially since you’ve always been so helpful and kind to the team and himself; he’d either leave the room himself or easily scare them away with his looming height and presence without saying a single word when he enters the room “minding his own business”

Midorima is a bystander judging from how he’s reacted to the Teiko dynamic changes in the actual show // he, of course, wouldn’t like the nasty talk about you but would actually mind his own business, choosing to focus on himself and what he has to do to contribute to his team; he assumes that you would work hard the same way he is and let your contributions do the talking

now Akashi surprisingly wouldn’t hear much of the gossip, since his presence alone SHUTS them up and commit to their practices like normal; after all, it’s very clear that Akashi doesn’t tolerate this type of behavior in the team (example: Haizaki), and it’s more apparent that he wouldn’t hesitate to drop kick them out especially since he has a soft spot for you (which Kise never fails to bring this up to you, but you think he’s reaching too much into it) // TLDR; the teammates mostly have the common sense to not utter anything bad about you… maybe one kid would slip out and get punished for “bad sportsmanship,” but Akashi merely assumes that it’s just one bad apple and not necessarily… the many others as well

Aomine???? bro he ain’t even at practice wdym (HELPPP LMAOO) // jokes aside, if he catches wind of players shit-talking outside of the gym… say at the convenience store or when he’s walking home or something, well… they wouldn’t have a good time…

Momoi simply chastises the gossipers when they try to talk shit on you to make Momoi herself look good, and it leaves? such? a? horrible? taste? like, she wants to believe that they’re just really poor jokes and not what they really believe in, and the teammates merely reassure her that they’re just bad jokes and that they “wouldn’t do it again;” poor Momoi wholeheartedly believes them

the weird talks about Momoi being “the better manager” just signalled to you that you haven’t contributed enough to the team yet, and it motivated you to work even harder

oddly, you weren’t jealous of the fact that Momoi was receiving more positive attention than you

you were more afraid of the fact that you were going to get left behind, and this fear only tightened its hold on you when more teammates (who used to talk to you a lot) have changed their tunes when they speak with you now, compared to them talking to Momoi

and you felt that the Generation of Miracles would do the same too… including Akashi

it wasn’t an irrational fear for you because he’s already been calling Momoi a lot more frequently for help than you recently

so you even offered to mop the gym floors after practice, offered to stay later than usual to be the one to lock up the gym for anyone (cough, Kuroko) who wanted to practice whenever they wanted

at one point, you even tried to do what Momoi does: researching on upcoming teams and making your own predictions (that didn’t really work, and that cost you a few nights’ worth of sleep every single time)

not to mention that you still had regular school like any other student? you were the epitome of a mess

Kuroko was with you in the empty gym, you putting away the extra basketballs in the storage closet while he practiced his dribbling, until he heard a crash in there and a few basketballs rolled out the door

you collapsed right when you rolled in the basketball cart

POOR KUROKO HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO // he just tries to give you a piggyback ride as he abandons his plans of practice and tries to jog to the nearest local clinic

that’s where he bumped into Kise, who was heading home after an evening shoot when he saw the two of you

chaos ensue as Kise freaks out and Kuroko had to calm him down himself after answering the never-ending questions

at least the doctor there gave relieving news that you only collapsed from over-exhaustion and that the bruises from the fall were very faint

Kise makes a joke to Kuroko about, “What’s with you and (y/n)-cchi falling to the floor and fainting? You guys can’t be that alike.”

when you shortly regain consciousness, you were met with a… very stern Kuroko and Kise, who were both ready to hear your explanation and to scold you to oblivion

to your surprise, they were understanding; Kuroko understands the feeling of not being enough and working hard to meet other people’s expectations, and Kise understands the struggle of juggling multiple things in his schedule (come on, student, athlete, and model?)

they still scolded your ears off:

“(y/n)-san, you idiot. Why didn’t you ask anyone to help out?”

“That’s…”

“(y/n)-cchi, do you think we’re undependable?!”

“Er, no, that’s…”

you were still dizzy from the fall and the lack of proper sleep (and maybe nutrition if we’re being honest), and you were just a ball of stress

you kind of begged your best friends not to tell a SOUL to anyone about this incident, especially to Akashi… you didn’t want to look even more incapable in his eyes than you already were

they do agree on one condition: for you to take AT LEAST a day or two off school to completely recover and rest up (you reluctantly agree; besides how were you going to explain the bruises that can’t be covered to your peers?)

HELP WHY ARE KISE AND KUROKO THE BEST LIARS TOGETHER ON CAMPUS LITERALLY NO ONE SUSPECTS A THING… except Akashi, the ever sharp captain, felt something was amiss

especially since some Teiko players emanated a feeling of relief at the news of you not being here that day, or the next

Akashi would play detective sleuth and find out what’s really going on sooner or later

End Note: gonna cut this off here b/c I KNOW this anon got a juicy part two i FEEL IT

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now-im-a-belieber · 3 years

Note

Hii❤️ can j please request "i love you so much that it terrifies me" with Bill? Thank you❤️

prompt: "i love you so much that it terrifies me"

bill guarnere x female!reader

a/n: annnnd im back to writing angst! don't worry the ending is mostly happy and i kind of have an idea for a part 2?! but here's this for now, i'm kinda proud o' this one!

taglist: @capsparkyspeirs @wecomrades @tvserie-s-world @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant

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Your enlistment was nothing short of a miracle.

It happened during the last attempt you'd given yourself out of about a dozen other times. The officer, who'd become used to you storming up to his desk every other day, sighed upon noticing your return this time. Until then, he'd only ever glance your way and then back down at whatever work lay upon his desk. But this time, he sighed.

Hell, so what if you'd worn him down more so than convinced him you were fit to fight? He'd finally agreed to let you sign your name on the dotted line.

"Fine." The officer said. "You wanna prove something so badly, go on, prove it." And he went on to ramble about how he wouldn't be surprised to find you back home in a week's time after failing to meet any requirements at Toccoa.

"War is no place for women." He huffed, finally.

"Then I'd better hurry and get out there. Since anyone who shares your ideals clearly has no fight left in them on the behalf of people like me."

You brushed off his discouragement and marched home to the beat of your ever quickening heart. Bill was certainly going to have a lot to say about this. But so were you...

He was packing when you arrived. There were no more days left until Bill was due at the training camp. Just one night's rest. The last night you'd planned to spend together for only God knew how long.

But before any goodbyes could begin, you hovered in the bedroom doorway with news to share. Better to get this out in the open and out of the way...

"I got in." You breathed, stood with the confirmation papers in your vice grip, like if you let go of them they'd cease being tangible.

"You got in?" Bill repeated in monotone. You weren't expecting a fight. You'd actually thought Bill would burst at the seams with pride and joy, like he said he would when you first wondered aloud, if your joining up was wise.

But then he repeated the same sentence in some kind of realization. And there was a smile affecting his tone as he spoke in the charming draw you'd always adored. He abandoned his poorly packed bags and swept across the room to stand before you, with a gleam in his eye. And then came his rambles of praise and excitement. Telling you he knew you'd make it. Telling you he'd be right behind you every step, ready to give hell to anyone who might try and break you down along the way.

You let your man fawn and flatter you, but knew this night couldn't end without making yourself perfectly clear.

"That's the thing though." You revealed with a shaky breath. You hadn't thought much about how to say this. But you knew you had too.

"Your help.... I don't think it would help. Bill, I have to do this on my own. The officer's right. I *do* have something to prove. And I don't want anyone thinking I made it to where I'm headed because my boyfriend knocked enough barriers out of my way."

You didn't wanna fight. You desperately didn't want this to be a fight. But this was something you were sure of. So you braced yourself at the sight of your man's jaw clenching.

And there was no hiding the flash of sadness in Bill's eye's, though sadness for what, you couldn't be exactly sure. As you held your breath, you watched as Bill slowly relaxed his shoulders. And through the pregnant silence that had settled, he reached out to you and said, "Alright, doll."

"Alright?" You wondered in suspicion. That was almost too easy.

"I know you ain't gonna change your mind about somethin' this important to ya." Bill pointed.

So then it was decided. You'd be headed to the same place with the same goal with the person you'd loved longer than you had fingers to count on. But you wouldn't let on that you'd known Bill long before stepping foot onto the camp grounds. After a while longer of your making your aspirations clear, Bill promised he understood. And you hoped your selfish determination wouldn't be misconstrued.

And still, your man went on another monolog about how proud of you he was.

"But if ya think I won't be around every corner waitin' up to steal you away, you'd better think again." Bill kissed your head and coaxed you to bed, reminding you this was the last of night's like these.

So you stayed entirely swept up in Bill's orbit. Talk of what things would be like quickly washed away by your appreciation for the moment Bill implored you to stay focused on. This was the last of night's like these indeed...

///

He'd been at Toccoa for a week already. You realized entirely, that your late joining would affect you just as negatively as every other aspect of your joining at all.

But this only made you want it worse than ever. Not just to prove yourself. Not just to prove others wrong. But you felt the desire to be a part of this for reasons much more profound than you'd ever had the means to understand for yourself, let alone explain to anyone.

So you followed every rule like it was do or die. From which path to walk to find your barracks- to the drills you were sent to practice before you'd so much as stepped out of the cab ride here.

And to your surprise, you seemed to blend into the background of things. There were no gasps or whispers traded as you found your place among the men.

It was hard to tell if they could care less about your presence, or if they collectively, subconsciously, decided to freeze you out; finding it the easiest way to focus on reigning supreme themselves.

And it was just as you'd gotten used to the silence you'd been receiving, when you saw him. Your man. Your Bill, yakin' with some fellas who reminded you of the kids you'd hung around the school yard with, back home.

And at the sight of the man you'd loved for so long, after a fortnight gone from his side, you were inclined to run into his loving arms- despite your fuss made about keeping a distance.

And then he saw you, too. And the bunch he was with had begun walking off. Bill seemed to turn, to follow along, in a moment that sent your heart to plummet. But over his shoulder Bill shot you a wink and a sly smile.

And something about the smile he gave you beyond the space he respected made your heart rise back up and melt all the while. And you realized he was completely on your side. How did you get so lucky?

Things went on like that for a couple weeks. Most of the company would pay you no mind. This meant your accomplishments seemed invisible and the times you might've been bold enough to ask for a helping hand fell on deaf ears.

But some started to pester you, unable to hold back their snide remarks any longer. An odd pride swelled within you, when your existence started becoming meaningful enough to irk them. And eventually, a few of the sweeter souls seemed to recognize that you were, in fact, a human, just as eager to be a part of the great big fight as they were.

So with the few friends you'd made, you'd found occasional moments of respite side by side. But of course, there was one soldier who managed to hold your attention everyday- though you were damn good at pretending this wasn't so.

Bill, on the other hand, couldn't be stopped from shouting encouragement across obstacle courses and casting longing stares across the dining hall. And some of the guys you'd started getting on with kept cracking jokes about how Bill must've had some secret crush on you. In a way, they weren't wrong. And the whole act was almost a little bit fun.

Bill went as far as introducing himself to you, acting a bigger flirt than you'd ever recalled him acting when he was very first pursuing you- which was really saying something.

And when the pair of you managed to sneak off on those weekends you were set free, it was almost as if you'd never been parted at all. Bill would trace patterns across your skin and laugh with you about nothing into the night, like always.

And every one of those rare opportunities ended by you asking if he was still alright with this whole strange arrangement you'd created. And Bill assured he was fine to sit back and watch you out run easy company's fastest sprinters, and give Shifty's near perfect shooting record a little competition. Bill knew you were on a personal mission to accomplish all the things you knew you could, without any implications. But you *were* starting to miss him.

Because those days and nights where you got to steal a moment of Bill's time were becoming sparse. And your rough plans together were almost always thwarted- by surprise drills and punishments.

And it came as a shock to no one that you'd most often get the worst of it from Sobel. His unhinged language somehow sunk lower when aimed at you. You knew his demeaning of your gender was intended to break you down. But you didn't let it. His discipline was often set up for you to fail, and make a fool of yourself. But you powered through the worst of it, and shot the bastard a grin each time you managed to come out on top of each ridiculous task. If you hadn't been motivated to push yourself before, you'd become mad to gain power by now.

Trouble was, on the few nights Bill made a point to sneak into your bunk, there was just no time for much besides dutifully listening to him drone on about how he missed you.

You'd been made to double your workload when everyone else got the rare chance to take it easy. And during then, Bill sought you out, like he once promised he would. And though you couldn't help but appreciate the nights he offered to stay up with you; to help finish some nightmarish task made to drive you to throwing in the towel- you sent him away. Bill would argue that any fight you had to face was his fight too. And you argued back that you thought he'd promised he understood that you were dead set on coming through this on your own.

Some mornings he'd let his hand squeeze your own below the table in the dining hall; while the others were busy fighting over desserts. But you eventually started shooting down Bill's attempts to display even the smallest affection- feeling strangely endangered by and entirely undeserving of his kind attention, at least until you earned your wings.

Those moments were already so few. And eventually they ceased all together, and the weeks started to fly by. Before you knew it, the time that had passed almost seemed to push the two of you further apart. Bill would be sent on one exercise while you were banished elsewhere. And on and on, until d-day.

As you slipped into your gear, a pit grew in your gut. Not for fear of what might be to come, but because you couldn't find Bill. And you *needed*to find him before thing's got even more complicated.

The sight of the man boarding a separate plane only brought you a blink of relief. But hardly so, it was no goodbye. Only confirmation that he was headed toward the same fate as you.

You were pushed onto your own flight, and the worry within you increased ten fold.

As the plane idled, some men chattered to ease their nerves. Their conversation had passed through one of your ears and out of the other, until you heard Bill's name repeated a couple of times.

"What's his problem? Seems to be more of a bitch than usual." One of them griped, wondering about the state of your man. It made you sick to realize you hadn't been near enough to him to realize he'd been in a strange mood, for a while.

"Yeah, well you'd be a bitch too if you found out your brother died, just before your flight out to hell." Johnny Martin pipped up. His tone more defensive than usual. You couldn't help but gawk at the peevish soldier who'd often, perplexingly, been kind to you. Had he really just said what you thought he said?

"Bill's brother?" You begged to know, trying quickly to hide the way your face fell.

"Yeah. He was killed in Italy, somewhere." Martin informed, keeping a quizzical eye on you.

"I see." You played, shoving all the terror and hurt deep deep down. There simply was no time to feel such things, and certainly not enough time for an explanation, should you start to lose it a little.

Before you knew it you were rocketing toward the ground and scrambling through tall grass to find a familiar face. Smoke and flames led your way, and one day and night passed before you saw your man again- two days that seemed to pass slower than years and decades.

And when you did spot Bill, he was relaxing with some of the others on the steps of a blown up building; and some horrid resistance within you grew stronger than the usual natural instinct to run into his embrace. The mixed emotions caused a cry to lodge itself in your throat, but you wouldn't let it out of course.

And by then Bill had made his way close enough to you to notice the sheen of tears you were reluctant to let fall.

"Still blerry eye'd from that shit storm we dived into, huh?" He nudged your side with his elbow and the smile he wore was gentle and encouraging despite the mayhem that had shadowed your senses, and his no doubt, for days now.

"You didn't tell me about your brother." You spoke in a whisper that came out in more of a hiss, unintentionally.

"Yeah, well you didn't tell me goodbye. But who's countin'?" Bill shot back, not speaking in anger so much as dejection. The two of you stood holding each others gaze for the first time in longer than just the two days you'd been separated.

"So what are we gonna do?" Bill wondered. But the ending of his statement was drowned out by the officers shouting for your company to fall out.

And for weeks that was as good as it got. The looks you shared across rooms were scant. And if there was ever time you might've had to find each other and sort things, you didn't take it- too terribly afraid he'd tell you how horribly you'd been treating him and break your heart in the middle of this already loveless bedlam.

It was all your fault, creating this chasm between the two of you and having no clue how to close it up. You'd walked around it many a time and met on the edge but the space was only growing.

The distance you insisted upon at first was never supposed to last this long but it seemed to have found a permanent place between you.

And what was worse, were the instances Bill found himself at your side- sharing silence on patrols and long rides from one place to another.

He was right in your reach. Just like he promised to always be. But that only made the storm of emotion within you seem to rage even wilder.

By the time your company had reached Belgium, you'd convinced yourself that everything you'd once shared with Bill was long gone. For all the times you failed to reach out to him, Bill seemed to pass up reaching out to you all the same.

Until one night. You were headed back from viewing some old film with a few of the guys who'd become used to your presence. There were still a few troopers who grimaced at the sight of you mixed in battle near them. But there were more who'd been proud to fight beside you, and invited you to take in a film on one lucky night off.

Bill was among them, listening to their banter while you lagged behind the bunch. You'd been certain that he'd finally crossed over to the side if the men who'd found it easier to turn a blind eye your way. But then

your crew rounded the corner of some weather worn barn. And Bill broke away from the group and stopped you from walking on- grabbing you by the elbow and gently holding you to stall.

"Bill, I don't think-" you began, croaking past the ever present lump in your throat. Worried that the others would hear should you start to bicker. You didn't care what they knew, anymore. Only hoped to prevent any further upset. There was already so much sorrow you're lot had to carry and sort through. And selfishly, you couldn't dream of stirring up any more upset.

"Shaddup. This ain't how it's gonna be no more." Bill returned, his voice full and insistent. He still held one of your arms and brought his other hand to follow suit.

You were too stunned by his insistence and his closeness after so much confusion that you keep your mouth shut.

"I miss you, damn it."

Your brow furrowed at his gentle confession and your mouth hovered open. Too many words jammed in your throat but you manage to stammer out the one's that reign truest.

"I miss you too."

Bill's worry seemed to fade into relief. His eyes shut as he brought his lips to your head, like he always used to do. And you let him.

"Well, we can't have that." You closed your eyes then, as he spoke against your temple and ran his hand up to your shoulders, bringing his fingers to hold your face. You let Bill lean in for a real kiss, feather light and sweet as ever. And you didn't try and stop as he followed behind on your decided way back toward your billet.

But as you turned the corner at last, a drunken member of your company stopped you from walking further.

Cobb stood in the middle of the rest of the path, sipping from a foreign bottle. He never liked you much. Before you could shove past the guy, he spoke up.

"Who the fuck do you two think you are?" Cobb spat, eyeing Bill past your shoulder. "What makes either of you think you deserve happiness, let alone love? In the palm of your hand in the middle of all this? It's audacious. You disgust me." Perhaps Cobb had seen the way Bill had only just so tenderly held you. Or perhaps he was just on another senseless bender.

Either way, you let your eye's roll and breezed on by, leaving the drunken fool behind. He didn't let Bill pass so easily, though, slurring something about your character in the face of the man who'd so far unconditionally loved you.

"Get fucked, Cobb. Maybe that stick up your ass'll come lose, then." Bill pushed past the soldier who'd been insulted enough to shut his mouth. But his alcohol fueled barb rang in your ears the rest of the walk to the place you were headed.

The walk was quiet. And you debated over speaking your mind even as you crept into the room. It had to be done, you realized. The room was empty of listening ear, and equipped with a door to shut the world out. You and Bill hadn't had many chances like this in a year or so. And you knew fate had designed this opportunity, a chance to finally say everything that you hadn't been able to.

"Bill." You stared, turning to face your man after you'd turned the lock on the door. He stood with his arms crossed as if to brace for impact.

"Maybe Roy wasn't wrong."

Bill shook his head as you spoke and met you in the middle of the room where you'd stood.

"I just got you back. You're nuts if ya think I'm gonna let you slip away from me again."

"But I didn't slip away!" You corrected with urgency. "I pushed you away. More than a couple of times!"

"Maybe, but you had a good reason." Bill assured, his eyes going wide under his strong furrowed brow.

"No, I had a selfish reason. And Cobb might be a drunk asshole but he's right! I don't deserve you, not now!"

"Fuck that guy. He gets a say in what happens to us? Don't fuckin' think so. You're not walkin' away from me after all this time just cause some pessimistic asshole-"

As Bill shouted, you lost all the strength you'd been enforcing to keep from falling apart over this. Your throat burned as a pathetic sob escaped and hot tears ran down your face.

What had started as some mechanism you'd used to get through training turned into something bigger and uglier. This was war. This was what it turned you into. Some selfish monster greeded for more credit when you'd already earned your place.

You'd pushed Bill away time and again and you knew he had to be near his breaking point. He proved so tonight, by grabbing you close and demanding you not stray so far again, like you'd ever really come back from doing so.

And what was worse than the realization that you'd pushed him away, was the realization that Bill might not always come back. And what if you couldn't change? What if, on your road back to being less selfish, he'd finally realize you weren't worth the chase?

"I fucked up." You admitted, heaving the realization through sobs. "Oh God, Bill, please don't leave me."

"Hello? You heard a thing I've been sayin'?" Bill rang, reaching out to you much like he did not even an hour ago. One set of fingers came to lovingly brush the tears still rolling from your eyes. And then he held your head in his hands so you'd look at him as he spoke up.

"It's always gonna be you. That's what I'm put here fightin' for. Even when you get all determined and leave me in the dust. Hell, I'm so in love with you it terrifies me, doll. Scares me that one day you'll get too good at bein' on your own, and leave me, all alone, still be fightin'." Bill poured forth, searching your gaze as he spoke.

"Point is, I'll always be on your team. You just gotta let me stay cheerin' you on, damn it."

You nodded and tried to swallow your emotions to no avail. And finally just let yourself cry again as you repeated to Bill how sorry you were. He wrapped you in his embrace and let you lose it.

"I'll do better." You swore, meeting his eyes.

"Just feel better, for now, huh? That'll make me a happy man."

You didn't deserve Bill. But damn it, if he'd still have you, you'd be right there ready to cherish his very existence with each set and rise of the sun. You both agreed that there was no way either of you could make it through the rest of this hell without one another close by.

And you figured some of the guys had already pieced together that there was something between you and the man with an unforgiving nickname. And, apparently, Bill had entrusted Babe Heffron with his entire life story by now. That explained the curious glances the replacement had now and again thrown your way.

To hell with what anyone might've made of the two of you. To hell with any future or past where Bill wasn't in step with you.

The next night your company was hauled off toward the forest without a coat to trade between the lot of you. Teeth chattered and breath fogged the freezing air. But Bill clasped his hand in yours, and an incomparable warmth spread across everything that made you whole.

Some new kid was the subject of the company's pestering tonight, but it hardly lasted. Spirit's settled and someone near the front of the ride seemed to rhetorically wonder about home, and what it would be like to get back.

Some men answered, voicing hopes and dreams of the future. You only turned to look right at Bill, who already had his sights set on you. And then you realized, nothing much had really changed. You'd always been lucky with Bill at your side. God how you'd be glad to let it last...

#bill guarnere #bill guarnere x reader #bill guarnere imagine #band of brothers

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starsofatlantis · 3 years

Text

Rivals

@sophitz-week day 1: academic rivals

Notes: this was a lot of fun to write and I enjoyed being able to play around with Sophie and Fitz’s dynamic! it ended up a lot longer than I expected but I’m pretty proud of it! hope you enjoy!

Relationships: platonic sophitz, pre-romantic sophitz, platonic sophex, platonic marella x sophie, platonic marella x dex, platonic, keefe x fitz

Word Count: 1986

Warnings: none!

_________________

"I just don't understand the issue," Dex said for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning.

Sophie scoffed. "The issue Dex, is that I am being forced to work with my sworn enemy."

"Sworn enemy's a little much," Dex replied, holding onto his backpack as he gave Sophie an amused look.

"Sworn enemy is perfect!" Marella exclaimed from Sophie's left. "It'll make it even more romantic when they finally confess their undying love to each other!"

Sophie deadpanned. "I can't tell if you're teasing me or just really really blind. There is no way I will ever fall in love with Fitz Vacker."

Dex laughed as Marella looked unconvinced.

"Please Soph, you both have been obsessed with each other since you first came to school in the sixth grade and beat him in the middle school spelling bee. You're like a modern day Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe."

Sophie gasped and held a hand to her heart. "Don't you dare insult my favorite fictional man by relating him to Fitz Vacker of all people."

"Favorite fictional man?" Dex questioned, quirking an eyebrow. "Whatever happened to Fred Weasley?"

Sophie glared at him. "So what if I simp for multiple fictional men? Who are you to judge Mr. 'I would lay down my life for Natasha Romanoff'?”

Dex chuckled. "Touché."

Marella grinned. "Ignoring the part where I said you two were obsessed with each other, huh?"

Sophie sniffed. "I'm not ignoring it. I'm choosing not to reply to something so ridiculous."

"Mhm."

"You're also ignoring the fact you had a crush on him when you first met," Dex pointed out.

"Dexter, my man! Always backing me up!" Marella exclaimed, and the two high-fived.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "A lack in judgment on sixth grade Sophie's part, I promise it will never happen again."

Dex snorted. "Whatever you say."

Marella gasped excitedly.

"Sophie's supposed sworn enemy 11 o'clock," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

Sophie's head shot towards the boy in question as Dex just shook his head.

Fitz Vacker was tall and had broad shoulders from all the training he needed for football. His hair was dark and never seemed to fall out of place. He was kind and tutored the younger kids when he had free time. He volunteered with student council (his sister was the president) and as popular as he was, he didn't act like it.

Sophie hated his guts.

He gave her a small smile.

Subdued, she thought. She knew how bright his smile really was and she could only think he was holding himself back, which was odd. Fitz Vacker was anything but unconfident.

She stared back as he passed and out of the corner of her eye she saw his blond friend slap him on the back while chuckling.

"I love a good rivals to lovers romance," Marella gushed as they made their way into biology.

_________________

"You've got it bad, man," Keefe laughed.

"Shut up," Fitz grumbled, shrugging off Keefe's hand.

Keefe held his hands up. "Sorry, but it's way too obvious to not make fun of."

"Thanks Keefe, so grateful for your support," Fitz said, still thinking about the minor interaction he'd had with the girl he'd been crushing on for years.

"I am supportive bro," Keefe defended, "But there's only so much support I can give before the overwhelming need to make fun of you becomes too much."

"I can't stand you," Fitz said turning into his class.

"Aww how sweet," Keefe called as he walked down the hall to who knows where. "Too bad Sophie Foster thinks the same thing about you."

__________________

"Seriously, Marella, drop it. The only reason I'm going over to his house is to finish this stupid project," Sophie complained, pulling her keys out of the ignition.

She stared at the mansion the Vacker's called home, trying to work up to courage to walk to the front door.

"Ok, ok fine, just answer one thing," Marella said through Sophie's phone.

Sophie rubbed her temples as she got out of her car, already knowing this wasn't going to end well.

She grabbed the tray of mallowmelt out of the backseat, holding her cellphone between her shoulder and her head. "What is it?"

"Admit you think Fitz Vacker is the hottest man to walk the planet."

Sophie choked.

"Please, Sophie, be honest with me. I know you can't stand him for whatever reason, but you aren't blind and he's like, the blueprint of your type."

Sophie huffed as she walked up the grand walkway. She thought about his sparkling eyes and how they had always radiated comfort and safety to her, even when they were in middle school.

"I guess he's alright," she grumbled.

“AHA!” Marella cheered, and Sophie could practically hear her throwing a fist in the air. "I'll take it!"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I've gotta go, talk to you later."

"Ok! Have fun, love ya," Marella said and made a kissy sound before hanging up the phone.

Sophie shook her head exasperatedly, stuffing her phone in her back pocket as she reached the double front doors.

She raised her hand to knock but before she could, the door opened, revealing a slightly flustered Fitz Vacker.

"H-hey," he stuttered.

"Hi," Sophie said plainly before holding out the tray of sweets. "This is mallowmelt from Edaline."

"Oh thanks!" he said excitedly. "My dad will really appreciate this!"

He laughed slightly and Sophie cracked a smile. Fitz's father had been the one to find Sophie her adoptive family when her own family had passed away in a car accident. Her adoptive father and Alden worked together so he'd asked him and his wife to take Sophie in, and they adopted her a few months later.

The two stood awkwardly in the doorway before Fitz started suddenly.

"I- y-you can come in," he said, moving out of the way to let her in.

"Thanks," Sophie replied, clutching her school bag as she walked into the gorgeous house.

Fitz mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'stupid', but Sophie didn't comment on it.

"My room's upstairs and to the left, I'm just gonna go put this in the fridge," Fitz said, gesturing to the tray.

Sophie nodded. "No problem."

She walked up the marble staircase, marveling and somewhat grumbling at the grandeur of Fitz's house.

To say Fitz's room wasn't what she was expecting and was also exactly what she was expecting was an understatement.

He obviously liked the color blue, as his bedspread was navy blue and so was the rug. The walls were white and most of his things were made out of dark wood. Tall bookshelves lined the walls and Sophie found herself jealous of his collection. A glass case on the wall held all his sports trophies, but mostly held photos of his teammates or friends winning something, and Sophie almost laughed at the way they were proudly displayed. It was honestly kinda cute how adorably proud of his friends he was that he hung up photos of their accomplishments in his room. He was like a mother hen.

"Ok so we have to pick a book we're required to read by the school district and analyze whether we think it's an educational read and why we think the book is required. I know you haven't read all of the same books as me cause we're in different grades so I thought we could make a list of all the ones we have read and go from there," Fitz said as he walked into his room.

Sophie was a little taken aback by the sudden proposition but nodded anyway. "Sounds good."

She was a little mad he was right about the books though. Sophie was only a sophomore while Fitz was a senior, so he'd been through more english classes than she had.

She went to pull out a sheet of paper when something stopped her.

"I-is that your second place ribbon from the spelling bee?" she asked and he looked up from his own paper.

Fitz scratched the back of his neck, following Sophie's line of sight in the direction of a blue ribbon hanging from his glass case with the worded '2ND PLACE' written distinctly on the front.

"Uh—," he chuckled nervously, "Y-yeah it is."

Sophie turned to him, confusion etched across her face. "Why would you keep that?"

She for one, would never keep anything that reminded her she had lost to someone.

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Guess it just reminds me of something."

"Of what?"

Briefly, it occurred to her this was the longest conversation she'd had with him since he beat her in the relay race at the end of sixth grade.

"Um, I- uh, I'm not sure."

Sophie looked unconvinced and Fitz blushed.

Sophie gave him another strange look before turning back to her bag.

"Why do we not talk anymore?" Fitz blurted out, and immediately had to resist the urge to slap his hand over his mouth and launch himself out the nearest window.

"What?" Sophie asked slowly, turning to fully face him.

Good going, Fitz, he thought. Now she's going to hate you even more and will probably end up starting a petition to send you to Timbuktu so that she never has to see you again.

"Um," he said smartly.

She raised an eyebrow and he sighed.

"Why don't we talk anymore? We used to be friends when we were in middle school."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know. We're rivals, and last I checked you aren't supposed to fraternize with your competition."

"Huh?" Fitz said, his turn to be confused. "Since when were we rivals?"

Sophie me jaw dropped. "Seriously? We've always been rivals."

"Uh no we haven't?"

Sophie looked incredulous and Fitz had the feeling he said something wrong. "Yes we have! You were the one who started it in the first place!"

"What?" Fitz exclaimed. "When did I do that?"

"In middle school? When you were always competing with me?"

"I- I wasn't doing that cause I thought of you as a rival! I was doing that cause I thought of you as my friend!"

Sophie's confusion and slight anger calmed down for a second. "What?"

"Yeah! I never had someone who could match me at everything I did and then some, so I thought it was fun to push myself to beat you. You made everything a challenge cause you were— are! —so good at everything!"

"Trust me, if I knew you'd stop talking to me for four years just cause I beat you in a lame race, I would have lost every single competition we ever competed in against each other."

They stared at each other as a blush formed on both of their faces. Sophie being confused on everything Fitz Vacker and feeling bashful over all he'd just said, and Fitz frustrated at himself for letting Sophie get that ridiculous idea that he didn't want to be friends with her in her head and feeling bashful over all he'd just said.

Sophie took in a quiet breath. "I- I just thought you wanted to beat me because you didn't like me."

"No!" Fitz exclaimed frantically, waving his hands, as if trying to ward her words away from the air around him. "Not at all!"

Sophie laughed slightly, and Fitz reveled in the sound of it.

"I want us to be," he stumbled, "…f-friends. I've always wanted that."

Sophie looked into his eyes, saw the pure sincerity there, and felt herself melt a little bit.

"I think I'd like that too," she said quietly. "Friends."

Fitz smiled brightly and it felt like the morning sun after a long night.

She paused.

"I'm still gonna try to beat you in everything we do though."

Fitz laughed loudly and it echoed around the room.

Sophie never thought she'd be glad he didn't subdue his smile.

#awkward fitz should be canon #kotlc sophie #sophitz #kotlc fandom #sophitz week #sophie foster #stan fitz vacker or perish #fitz vacker #fanfic

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joon-ipersgirl · 4 years

Text

“inked heart” - jjk oneshot

genre: friends to lovers!au, fluff, a teensy dash of angst

pairing: tattoo artist!guk x tattoo artist!reader (f)

summary: jeon jungkook, a rising star in the tattoing world, is looking to take home best large black and white piece at the 25th annual milano tattoo convention. already one to watch from his previous wins as a young artist, pressures rise when his model for the competition cancels half an hour before the show.

always there when he needs you, you offer to be his model but jungkook is reluctant, especially when the piece is in a more... intimate place. and the fact that he’s been in love with you for the better part of two years. jungkook isn’t too sure how he’s going to survive the next three hours, not when you ask him if he thinks you’re attractive.

caught between a rock and a hard place, does he lie to you and himself when the prize is on the line? it’s go big or go home...

word count: 5.9k

warnings: some guk pining, cursing, mentions of heartbreaker jimin, the smallest dash of angst about not winning, tattoo artist yoongi

a/n: my first guk piece! thank you guys so much for the love on the preview, especially your comments. they honestly make my day. i hope this lives up to your expectations and you enjoy it just as much. this was a random idea i had and i love tattooed guk so here we are. i tried my best to make sure all the tattoo things were accurate so if they aren’t sorry in advance 😭 this was a lot of fun to write and i’m actually debating on writing some other things for this couple (especially for guk’s birthday), but i’m not sure yet. let me know if y’all are interested though and i’ll see what i can come up with. as always, thank you vi for supporting my shenanigans and reading this like four times lmao. feedback is always welcomed and highly appreciated. enjoy everyone!

full masterlist // drabbles

Jungkook’s body buzzed with excitement as he squeezed past the bustling bodies at the 25th annual Milano Tattoo Convention. His fourth year at the world’s largest tattooing competition with a chance to take home the prize for “Best Large Black & White” piece against four hundred incredible artists had Jungkook amped up and ready to go. Some of his inspirations - legends in the game - were mere feet away from him as he browsed the almost endless stations filled with merchandise, displays of new tattoo designs, and occupied benches with models. There was almost nothing he enjoyed more than being around the sound of buzzing guns and filling sheets of half-filled paper with sketches his brain had no issues conjuring up but sometimes struggled to complete. Well, except food. And video games. And you. Not really the point though.

He’d been tattooing for almost six years now, from the moment he’d been able to convince Yoongi to let him be his apprentice. Jungkook had wasted no time in starting his own personal tattoo collection, quickly filling in a full sleeve on his right arm going across his right pectoral and another upper half sleeve on his left. Now, he was making his own name in the art world, commissioning pieces solely off his ability to execute various styles well with very little practice. Jungkook was a jack of all trades and very nearly a master of all. He was a risk-taker and it had paid off for him during his time at Milano, taking home “Best Small Black & White” his second year at the ripe age of twenty, and then “Best Medium Black & White” the following year. Yoongi could barely believe it when the judges called his name and announced him the winner but Jungkook knew his mentor’s chest was swollen with pride. This time, though, there were bigger fish to fry - “Best Large Black & White” in a style Jungkook had just begun feeling comfortable with: fine line tattoos.

He paused at the Killer Ink booth where Hori Kashi was working on a beautiful traditional koi fish upper half sleeve design as his phone buzzed. An Instagram notification.

_petuniablooms: hey jungkook! im so sorry this is last minute but i won’t be able to make the convention to be your model. I got a bad case of food poisoning from dinner last night. i hope this doesn’t cost you the comp. but when you’re back in the country, maybe i can schedule an appt? sorry again!

Jungkook blinked slowly. She couldn’t make it? This was not part of his plan. She was supposed to be here in the next half an hour so he would have enough time to complete his piece for judging in four hours. As one of the younger artists at the convention and with immense amounts of talent, people wondered how long Jungkook would be able to sustain his efforts, especially after taking home prizes in one of the major categories two years in a row. Most of them thought he would burn out after his second year or third year, but here he was. Competitive by nature, Jungkook wanted to prove them wrong - that he really did have what it took to be one of the best in the game. A legend in his own right. He shoved his phone back into his black cargo pants pocket and tugged on his curling brown locks. What was he going to do now?

“Guk! Hey, Guk!” He could barely make out your petite frame as you shoved and elbowed your way through the throngs of folk gathered around booths. You were set on getting to him though, your smaller form not holding you back from covering the distance, your brow set in determination whenever he did get glimpses of your face in the crowd.

That was something Jungkook admired about you: your no-nonsense-get-it-done attitude. Friends for almost three years now, he’d seen the way you’d taken charge of almost every opportunity that came your way. You didn’t take no as the final answer and if you couldn’t find a way to make it happen, you created your own. Either way, you got it done. As the first lead female tattoo artist at your shop, Sin City, you’d also made a name for yourself in the tattooing world as a specialist in black and white shading. Your signature though was the three-color-combination color style you developed for your color tattoos. That’s how the two of you had met - the year he’d won “Best Small Black & White”, you’d taken home “Best Medium Color” - and the two of you hadn’t looked back since.

“Gosh, there’s so many people here. It was so hard to find you. I knew I should have checked the Kashi booth first,” you said after finding a pocket of space next to him and hugging his torso.

“Y/N, it’s a convention. Of course there’s going to be a lot of people here,” he replied, wrapping his arms around you, subconsciously looking for comfort in your touch.

Though the two of you mostly had conflicting schedules due to the demand for your work, you did your best to make time for one another. Jungkook had grown accustomed to seeing you every few weeks for lunch or on Friday nights with beer and chicken for Marvel movie marathon weekends. He didn’t dwell on it too much - how ridiculously domestic a lot of your traditions were - not wanting to shake the table and send the precariously perched house of cards pyramid the two of you had created crashing to the ground, upsetting the balance of your friendship. No, Jungkook would leave those thoughts right where they were.

He more felt than saw you roll your eyes as you said, “Yes, Guk. Conventions have lots of people. This just seems like a health and safety hazard though.” Jungkook squeezed you as you pressed closer to him, slightly uncomfortable as more people gathered in the area.

“Alright, let’s go,” he replied, reminding himself to search for the finished koi design afterward as the two of you walked away. “How’d your piece go?”

“So fucking good!” you beamed and turned your face towards him. He couldn’t help but smile back. “Though I don’t know if it’ll win this year, the guy seemed to be really pleased and that’s all that matters. Plus, t-shirt sales have gone up. Like way up! Speaking of which, you should buy one. My t-shirt design on your body?” you did the chef’s kiss, “Impeccable!” you exclaimed and grinned.

Your smile was another thing Jungkook admired about you. The faintest dimples appeared when you did and there was almost never a moment when he couldn’t not smile with you. It was a smile that reached your twinkling eyes and illuminated your face with a glow. Like right now, as you’re striking poses and modeling your black and white cityscape background covered with your shop’s name in a candy red color, a tattoo gun positioned to finish the last line of the last letter on the white tee in the middle of the crowded aisle in some of the shortest shorts he’s ever seen you wear in public. When did you get those?

“You know what would look good on my body?” you asked as the pair of you carried on walking. Me, he thought, but knew where this conversation was really going. “One of your tattoo designs!”

Jungkook sighed. “Y/N, we’ve already talked about this -”

“I know, Guk, but you literally have no reason to not tattoo me,” you whined. “You’ve tattooed every single one of your other friends! Hell, even Yoongi has a tattoo by you.”

“Yoongi has what?” the older man asked as he bumped into you two as you passed the registration booth.

“A tattoo by Jungkook,” you pouted, arms crossed.

It wasn’t that Jungkook didn’t want to tattoo you. He just didn’t want to fuck up a design that would be permanently etched into your skin for the rest of your life. He wanted to create something that was beautiful for you, something that really conveyed the importance of your presence in his life, but every time he sat down to do so, nothing seemed good enough. You’d been seriously begging him for the better part of a year to do something - anything - but he’d refused saying that he didn’t have the time. Secretly, he just didn’t want to fail and let you down.

“Ah, that age-old debate. It’ll happen one day, kid,” Yoongi said as he patted your shoulder gently. “What time are you setting up, Jeon? Your model’s supposed to be here soon, right?” Yoongi asked.

“Fuck!” Jungkook shouted, tugging on his hair and startling a few people around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I don’t have one. She can’t make it. I have to find someone else,” he yelled as he took off, no destination really in mind.

“Wait! Guk -” you called after him but he didn’t stop.

Sometimes, being around you was dangerous as Jungkook could quite literally forget what it was he needed to be doing. There was just something about you that made him lose focus, just a little bit. He couldn’t have that right now. Jungkook needed to be on his A-game, scouting a model that would give him consent in - he checked his phone - twelve minutes.

The one time Jungkook needed someone to be interested in his work, there wasn’t a single soul around. Where had all the people who were begging him to schedule them in for a quick session disappeared to? None of the people passing by were interested in getting a random, floral design done by Jeon Jungkook today, unfortunately. It was as though the devil of the tattoo underworld had cursed him the one time he could have used some luck for the sole purpose of being entertained. Circling back to the D-Town Tattoos booth, Jungkook was running out of options. Shit.

“There you are!” you wheezed as you came to a halt and rested your hands on the table in front of you. “Fuck, I forgot how fast you are.”

“Y/N, I don’t have time. I have to find a model -”

“Why don’t you just use Y/N?” Yoongi asked as he calmly took a seat next to his bench, a tall young man following behind him.

“I couldn’t -” Jungkook spluttered, eyes wide.

“Like you said, Jeon, you don’t have time,” Yoongi reminded him, setting up his work station for his client.

Jungkook looked over at you, still slightly hunched over and trying to catch your breath. This was not how he’d wanted to do this. “Are you sure, Y/N? I don’t know if -”

“Fuck yeah, dude!” you said interrupting him. “100%. Let’s do this!”

Jungkook watched as you made yourself comfortable on his workbench, waiting for him to get started. The fact that you weren’t nervous only added to his apprehension, the fear of potentially disappointing you resurfacing and rising in his gut. It felt like he was taking a risk with stakes much higher than he was willing to bet on, but the trust you had in him had him saying, “Okay. Fill out the consent forms and I’ll pull up the design.”

“What are we working with?” you asked curiously, handing the clipboard back over to him, not really reading it and only signing your name in the designated spots.

“Thigh piece,” he murmured, concentrating on finding the correct sketch on his iPad.

“Sounds fun. I know it’s going to be amazing, Guk. Don’t worry,” you reassured him. He smiled warily as you gave his shoulder a tender squeeze.

Nodding more to himself than you, he showed you the design. @_petuninablooms, like her name suggested, loved flowers. So much so, she’d wanted a full piece dedicated to that specific flower as well as whatever other floral arrangements she thought Jungkook could make look pretty against her skin. She’d won his Instagram contest to be his model for free at the convention because of her sentimental design and background as a botanist, something that piqued Jungkook’s interest. Though he was proud of the design, it didn’t seem to fit you.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know if it’ll fit your style,” he said, gesturing to your upper half sleeve. The three faces of Frida Khalo, Nefertiti, and Tomoe Gozen were beautifully designed and organized by you as a symbol of feminine unity - embodying passion, leadership, and grace. A much edgier piece than what currently sat on the screen of his iPad designed for his winner, he wasn’t sure how you’d feel about the softer image.

“I told you, Guk. You could tattoo anything on me and I’d be happy. Maybe even more happy than if you’d let me tattoo you. I just want to have something of yours on me - support your craft, you know? Besides,” you said zooming in on the flowers, your gold rings shining in the light, “I like petunias.” Jungkook wasn’t sure if you were only saying this to make him feel better, but he was grateful for your encouragement anyway.

“Uh, I’m going to need you to take your shorts off,” he said hesitantly. “Yoongi, this isn’t against the rules, right? Like having another artist sit for you?” Jungkook asked, turning to give you some privacy though anyone walking past would be able to see you shimmy out of them as there was no curtain or door to shield you.

“Nope. Not that I’ve read,” Yoongi replied, concentrating on his design. Jungkook nodded, steeling himself to focus and get the job done. What he wasn’t expecting was to see you adjusting the band of some very high-waisted, very skimpy, black panties. He nearly choked.

“Does this need to be further up? If not, I can take them off for you. I don’t -”

“No!” Jungkook cried out as he tore his eyes away from the curve of your ass. “I can just move the stencil. It’ll be fine,” he continued after clearing his throat.

“Okay,” you said awkwardly. Jungkook apologized for his outburst as he wheeled himself over to sit in front of you on his little stool. He was making a much bigger deal of this entire situation that it needed to be. He’d seen you in a bikini before, but something about seeing you in your underwear sitting before him was different.

“Relax, Jeon. It’s only a thigh!” Yoongi teased, his head down but his shit-eating grin very much present as he worked on the shading on his client’s forearm. Though Yoongi would never say anything to you out of respect for Jungkook, Jungkook knew Yoongi enjoyed putting him through the wringer whenever you were around.

“Not just a thigh! It belongs to me. My thigh is prime real estate, Min Yoongi. There’s a lot of artists that have been wanting to get in on this,” you joked. Jungkook laughed as he prepped your skin for placing the stencil with rubbing alcohol, hating the fact that he couldn’t feel your skin through the latex gloves but also grateful for the sensory blocker. He knew you were right though - lots of artists did want to work on you and have you walk around with their work as free endorsement of their skill. Honestly, this was a prime opportunity and he should make the most of it.

“Would you be okay with me changing this larger petunia into a mandala? I know you like those,” Jungkook suggested.

“Guk, this is your piece. I told you, I’m good with whatever,” you said cheerfully.

“Keep talking like that I’ll tattoo my name on your ass,” he quipped as he adjusted the design before placing it.

“Make it your face and we just may have a deal,” you shot back and Yoongi gagged from his corner. Jungkook did not want to think about the potential implication of those words.

He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to survive the next three and a half hours with you making suggestive comments while standing in your barely-there underwear, but he was going to have to. Of course, as friends, you’d always had the occasional flirty banter but the “Best Large Black & White” prize was calling his name and God did he want to win. He double-checked the placement of the design as it stretched from just above your hip bone to finish in the middle of your thigh. His adjustments were so precise, it covered the expanse of your thigh damn near perfectly. Jungkook grinned.

“Ready?” he asked, holding up a mirror as you checked out the placement, twisting from side to side.

“Yeah, looks great. How do you want me?”

Jungkook paused as he set up his rolling tray filled with his ink caps and laid out his sterilized needles. There were more than a few ways he could answer that but he settled on, “However you’re most comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”

You laughed and climbed onto the bench, giving Jungkook a perfect view of your ass, before you settled against the leather on your left side. Jungkook adjusted the height of his seat so he could position on your thigh with your bent knee resting against the bench and angled towards him. Confirming you were indeed comfortable, Jungkook gently rubbed the A&D ointment across the first section of the design, taking slightly longer than necessary, and got to work. There was a little over three hours to get it done.

He worked diligently as he traced the fine lines of the flower petals, slipping into his professional mode. A small crowd had gathered around the booth, intrigued to see him work on you. Most of the folks there knew about your friendship from social media and mutual community-work settings, how the two of you had bonded over your shared love of tattoos, but seeing the two of you together like this was a real treat. He didn’t feel any pressure as the cameras fought to get a glimpse of him working though. Jungkook did well under pressure but there was a lot riding on this one piece. For him and for you. He wouldn’t disappoint you though. He couldn’t. Not when you looked so peaceful as he worked on the tattoo. Jungkook would win and make you proud.

“Guk, I have a question.”

“What’s up?”

“Would you fuck me?” Jungkook was thankful he’d removed the needle from your skin to wipe off the extra ointment as there was no doubt in his mind he would have fucked up had it been there.

“What?” he asked, slightly breathless.

“Okay, maybe that was a bit vulgar. I guess what I mean is do you think I’m attractive? Like -” you tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, “- a woman you’d spend the night with. Date long-term. That sort of thing,” you finished. Jungkook swallowed before he spoke.

“Uh, yeah. You’re an attractive person.” Jungkook replied, avoiding eye contact with you as he went back to tracing the lines and tried not to think of you under him, around him, on top of - “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship - since anyone has even asked me on a date. Seokjin never called me back after we went for drinks that one time and Jimin - nevermind actually,” you sighed and Jungkook re-lived the memory of Park Jimin with you - the second man to break your heart in a matter of months. His face soured as he remembered how inconsolable you were the first few months after the breakup and how badly he’d wanted to take a baseball bat to Jimin’s very nice, very expensive car. “Maybe I’m unapproachable. Yoongi, am I unapproachable?” you called over to him.

“Yes,” he said dryly, not bothering to look at you. You scoffed in response.

“You’re never the best person to ask, you old man! People barely talk to you,” you murmured.

“Y/N, you’re great,” Jungkook said in response. “You’re more than great actually, but maybe now isn’t the time to get into a relationship?”

“Why not? I have a stable job, I’m cool -”

“Barely!” Yoongi called over. Jungkook watched you shoot Yoongi the finger before you began speaking again.

“- and I’m charming. It would be nice if someone could appreciate that too, someone that wasn’t only me.”

“Hey! I appreciate you!” Jungkook blurted out, slightly offended.

“Yeah, like a friend. Guk, you know you don’t -”

“Don’t say it. Don’t tell me I don’t count, Y/N.”

“But Jungkook -”

Jungkook paused and set his gun down. “No. No ‘but Guk’, Y/N. I appreciate you, more than you know or understand. I get that we’re friends and I know you value our friendship, but you don’t get to tell me I don’t count because you think you know how I feel about you. Please don’t let your perception of my words and actions let you label them “friendly” when they’re something else.” Jungkook picked his gun back up, avoiding your gaze again, slightly alarmed by his unplanned confession.

“What? What do you mean ‘something different’?” you asked, confused. “Was I supposed to read this any differently after you said -”

“You weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed to find out - not like this at least,” he muttered. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Just don’t count me out okay, Y/N? Not this time. Can we talk about this later though? I just -”

Before he could finish, Jungkook’s alarm went off, signaling only an hour and a half left before he needed to be taking you for judgement. “Okay, Guk. I won’t count you out. Finish,” you said softly as you nodded to your tattoo and chewed your lip in thought.

With time against him, you and Jungkook no longer conversed, though the conversation rattled in his brain like loose change in a tin can. He would need much more than a penny for his thoughts if he wanted to get out of this situation. The hasty confession had Jungkook wondering if he’s said too much too soon. Had he finally sent the house of cards tumbling down? It’s not that he hadn’t wanted to say anything, but the fear of you not meaning what you’d said frightened him. Memories of the two of you curled up on his aging leather sofa flickered across his mind’s eye and he wondered if this fuck up was worse than the time he’d quickly denied having any romantic feelings for you the morning after a drunk confession and you’d reciprocated the feelings. It had taken a few months for things to return back to any type of normal, an uneasy tension having over you both whenever you’d met up. Every few seconds his eyes flitted to your face, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever you were thinking sprawled across your forehead in your big, looping handwriting but your eyes were closed and your face fairly serene as you let him work in silence.

And work he did, shoving the thoughts to the back of his mind, finishing the last lines of the final petunia and filling in the mandala with various degrees of shading. He admired the delicacy of his work against your smooth skin, deciding it did suit you, much more than he could have hoped. Jungkook was actually slightly disappointed he was close to finishing, already missing the intimacy of working on you, but also eager to get you on stage so people could see his work. He’d gotten lost in the act like he usually did, concentration never breaking as the rest of the Milano Convention continued in full effect around him. Why had he waited so long to do this? You were a dream to work on, never flinching even as he finished up the minute shading of your tattoo, the worst part for many people. A true tattoo veteran with a hell of a pain tolerance. Roughly ten minutes left in the session, Jungkook wrapped up the piece.

“All done,” he said softly, wiping away the excess ointment and admiring his work briefly.

He heard you gasp as you propped yourself up to get a better view of it. “Holy fuck, Jungkook! It’s perfect. I love it!” you whispered in amazement and Jungkook smiled, relieved to not have disappointed you.

“Let me get some pictures, yeah?” You nodded and Jungkook snapped a few shots, promising to send them to you after the convention ended.

“Looks good, Jeon. And you got it done in time. You learned well,” Yoongi chuckled as Jungkook weakly punched his shoulder. “Are you happy, Y/N?” Yoongi asked as he packed up his spare equipment while his client waited patiently to be escorted to judging.

“Happy?” you scoffed, checking the tattoo out again in the mirror. “How about fucking ecstatic? I’m absolutely in love. Seriously Guk, thank you,” you beamed and launched yourself at him for a hug. Jungkook made eye contact with Yoongi as he held you tight in his arms, the older man relaying a silent message to his younger apprentice through raised eyebrows and crossed arms.

“Alright, alright. You can stare at it more later. We have to get to the judges and make it through all these people so,” Jungkook trailed off, letting you go while simultaneously ushering you out of their designated little space. Agreeing, you grabbed your teeny shorts and shoved your feet back into your sneakers. Jungkook stayed close behind you in an effort to cover your very visible, very exposed ass from peering eyes as you moved through the crowd. As much as he hated to admit it, he was really protective of you.

The trek to the judging station wasn’t as official as the name made it sound. It was really just a small stage raised a few inches above the ground with a table and enough chairs to seat the three judges as artists and their models were scored based on design, complexity, and overall execution. This year’s judges were Jung Hoseok of J’s Tailored Tattoos, Kim Namjoon of Mono & Moon, and Kim Taehyung of Vintage Vante. The three of them were rightfully deemed the gods of the tattoo world and Jungkook looked up to them immensely, each of them having numerous titles on the world stage in countries like Brasil, the United Kingdom, and Australia. Nerves rolled in Jungkook’s belly as he waited in the crowd with you for the host to call his name. A win with these guys as the judges would really put some of those naysayers in their place and Jungkook shuffled in place behind you, antsy.

“What’s wrong, Guk?’ you whispered to him as another artist and model headed on stage.

“What if they don’t like it?” he murmured anxiously.

“Do you like it?” Jungkook nodded. “Then that’s all that really matters. You’re insanely talented and I know they’re some of your role models, but they’re fucked if they don’t see how incredible you are. You’ve got this, Guk,” you said in a hushed tone as Yoongi took the stage with his model from earlier. Jungkook smiled into the back of your head as you stood in front of him and gave his hand a squeeze. Jungkook could always count on you.

It was now his turn. Standing with one hand tucked into his pocket and the other firmly gripping your shorts, Jungkook watched as the judges made their notes on their scoring sheets. You turned graciously to give all three of them the best view of the tattoo. And while he knows that there are probably a few people who’d be overjoyed at the challenges he faced to get to this moment, Jungkook didn’t care. Not when your uplifting words still wrapped around him, affirming his skill and talents. He was proud of what he’d accomplished today and while winning was the ultimate goal, he was also at ease because he’d succeeded in fulfilling one of your wishes and you were happy. Jungkook could only smile as you showered him with praise and tried to convince him to tattoo you again as the judging continued.

The two of you stood with Yoongi, chatting as the judges tallied up the scores. He tried to stay still as he watched the host organize the names of the winning artists, losing interest in the conversation as the judges confirmed the final results. One by one, the host read the categories and its corresponding champion. “For Best Medium Color,” the host paused for dramatic effect, “Min Yoongi!” Jungkook cheered loudly with you as his mentor took the stage with his model showing off the antique pocket watch and a royal flush poker hand on top of a wispy background.

Jungkook’s heart hammered in his chest, the sensation almost worse than his first year at the convention as Best Large Black & White was read out. Though he wanted to look calm and collected on the outside, Jungkook was sure he looked anything but. The audience created their own drumroll as the anticipation built - “Jeon Jungkook!”

Your squeal kickstarted Jungkook’s brain as he processed his win. He’d really done it? A few people around him clapped him on the shoulders in congratulations as he was pushed towards the stage to collect his prize and take his place beside the host. “Congratulations, Jungkook! One of the few artists to take home all three wins in one category,” the host announced. If only they knew what it took to get there. Jungkook felt like he was on cloud nine as he shook hands with the judges and took his picture with you and them, prize in hand. He knew he was positively glowing with pride.

“Guk, you did it! I told you that you could!” you cheered as you bounced up and down in happiness and excitement as they moved onto Best Large Color. He smiled down at you and unable to help himself any longer, he scooped you up into his arms, burying his face in your neck.

“Thank you, Y/N!” He repeated the phrase earnestly as if saying it over and over again would finally let you understand just how grateful he was but all it really did was make you giggle as his breath tickled your skin. “Seriously, I really couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I know,” you joked and flipped your hair. You both laughed and you pulled him in for another hug as you said, “Of course, Guk. I’m always here for you. Always,” you punctuated with a squeeze and a smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed. “You are always here for me,” he said vaguely as he stared down at you in his arms.

“Guk?” you queried as he stared off into the distance.

“This isn’t happening because I won. I don’t want you to think that I only do things like this when I’m any sort of intoxicated, okay?” Jungkook clarified as his confidence grew.

“Things like what?”

“Like confess and kiss you,” he stated.

“Kiss me? You’ve never-”

“Yes, I know I’ve never kissed you. But I want to. Is that okay?” Jungkook asked seriously.

“Yes. More than okay,” you whispered.

It was all Jungkook needed to hear. He was finally kissing you. A soft kiss that grew the longer you stood pressed together in the middle of the convention floor. Jungkook had had his fair share of first kisses, but yours was the one he’d remember for the rest of his life. Maybe because it was you. Maybe that’s why it would always be his favorite. He’d always refrained from putting himself in any situation where he’d be even the slightest bit tempted but now, after having you, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let you go. The overwhelming sensation that it was actually happening was quickly quelled by the insurmountable joy he felt as you kissed because it was actually happening.

Jungkook may have ascended into another plane as your fingers curled into the hair at the base of his neck and you pulled him further into you. Though he really didn’t want you to think he was only doing this because he’d won, the courage it gave him really did help. The feeling of winning nearly paled in comparison from the brief, sweet taste that was you. Even if he’d never won tonight, he would have considered himself a winner regardless from the kiss alone. Jungkook sighed into you as he savored the moment. Through the pounding of blood in his ears, he could vaguely make out the hoots and hollers of passerbyers as he held you close. Lost in you once again, Jungkook forced himself to remember your earlier conversation.

“Did you really mean it though?” he asked, one arm still wrapped tightly around your waist and the other holding onto his golden plaque.

“Mean what?”

“Not counting me out.”

“Did you mean what you said?” you countered. “Even if I wasn’t supposed to find out this way.”

“Yes, and all the times before then,” he answered truthfully. “So, does this mean you’ll have me?”

“Absolutely. Totally. With my entire hea-” He pressed repeated kisses against your mouth, your teeth clashing as you both smiled, neither of you willing to break apart until a familiar voice cleared its throat.

“I leave for five minutes and this is how I find you. Took you long enough though. Be that as it may, are you done?” Yoongi asked, expression wry and his own prize peeking out of his duffle bag. “I could use some food before we head back to the hotel and Y/N is going to need that tattoo bandaged.”

“Right, right,” Jungkook answered and let you go albeit reluctantly. “We’ll meet you at the car?” Yoongi nodded.

“Don’t take forever. I will leave you. Both of you,” Yoongi warned as he headed off to the exit without any further questions.

Back at the booth, Jungkook applied a generous amount of ointment to the piece before securing it with a bandage and double-checking the tape. Helping you step into your shorts, he smiled at the tattoo. Not only would it be a great reminder of a great win, it would also signify the milestone in your friendship - relationship? - was taking. “Told you that you should’ve tattooed me sooner,” you quipped as you gingerly pulled up your shorts.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he asked, playing along as he quickly packed up his things.

“You would have won much sooner,” you murmured, standing before him.

“Really? What would have been my prize instead? Because that plaque is pretty great.” Jungkook sat his bag on the ground and rested his hands on your hips.

“Better than me?” you grinned and he pressed his lips to yours again.

“Looks like I’ll have to come up with another design then,” he hummed.

“Or you can let me and I can tattoo you,” you suggested with a devilish grin.

“And what do you propose?”

“My name. Right here,” you pointed to the empty space on the left side of his chest.

“Only if you let me tattoo my face on your ass,” he joked and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Deal,” you laughed.

Jungkook said nothing further, only smiled as he laced his fingers between yours and tugged you in the direction of the exit. “Great. I’ll have everything arranged,” he replied. Laughing with you in these moments meant so much to him and while he wasn’t sure what would happen between you after you left the convention and headed home, he would take pleasure in these moments for as long as you’d let him. As the two of you exited the building and hustled across the busy street to the parking garage so Yoongi wouldn’t have an excuse to leave you, Jungkook wondered if you’d known that your name had been inked over his heart a long, long time ago.

full masterlist // drabbles

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook #bts fanfction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #jjk #bts fanfic #fic: inked heart

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davidmann95 · 3 years

Note

So... Crossover #1: any thoughts?

Anonymous said: You seemed not to think much of Crossover #1 on Twitter. Your full thoughts?

wcwit said: So Cates' Crossover #1, best bad comic of the year or just regular pretentious trash?

An incidental note upfront: What you’re seeing there is the apparently SUPER-RARE SECRET VARIANT COVER I unwittingly picked up at the store - at first glance indistinguishable from the standard cover, the kid getting four-color-fucked by mysterious comic book rays is in fact themselves reading a variant cover of the book, rather than the main cover again in an infinite painting-within-a-painting sort of deal that’s the standard.

So I wasn’t gonna get this: my initial post on the comic and what an obviously awful idea it was back when we only knew half the premise and it was known as Pray The Capes Away actually got some out-of-nowhere traction recently, and I’ve grown rapidly tired of Cates’ Marvel work. Even learning that it was going to be Image’s biggest debut in decades - Jesus fuck, how and why - mostly just made me wish it was Commanders in Crisis getting those kinds of numbers. But Sean Dillon/@deathchrist2000 and Ritesh Babu both got early looks at it and assured me that I, specifically, needed to see the last page, so in I dove. I’ll be posting my reaction to the last page below because I recorded it for their amusement, and below that I’ll talk about said last page. It may surprise you, however, that that wasn’t my main takeaway from the issue.

Let’s accentuate the positive first! This book is gorgeous. Geoff Shaw was terrific back with Thanos Wins, but this is an incredible stylistic level-up aided and abetted by Dee Cunniffe’s colors: it’s rote as hell to say “They mix the elevated and the mundane so well!”, but even beyond the obvious ben-day dots stuff there’s such a tangible sense that the comic book beings don’t belong here, that they’re of higher, misty, platonic stuff and we squishy non-paper-people inevitably crumble and break and bleed in their wake, communicating that big idea so much more powerfully than the actual loads of text on the subject. And if we’re talking good things, I’ll concede it’s possible that there could be subtleties that play out in more interesting ways as it goes on, and that not everything is meant to be taken at face value: a smart friend who actually did like it mentioned being interested in it as clumsy but potentially effective exploration of ‘what if the fun hobby you had inadvertently became contaminated and stigmatized by forces beyond your control?’ In a post-Comicsgate world where we recently ended up inches away from the Superman logo almost certainly becoming a fascist propaganda symbol ala the Punisher skull for at least a generation, that’s a defensible lens to view this book through.

For all Donny Cates’ legitimate talents however, I don’t think an expectation of subtlety is gonna work out with this one.

Okay first off getting into the rest of it the main characters’ name is Ellipsis because “Those three little dots...they can become anything”, so there’s that. More importantly, in the world of this story where comic fans face social oppression after superpeople materialize and fuck up Colorado, they face EVERY KIND OF OPPRESSION: there are clear parallels drawn in here to the violence and harassment faced by people persecuted for their religion, people seeking abortions, queer people, and people of color; this motherfucker even drops a “hates and fears” to let us know comic collecting basically makes you one of the goddamn X-Men. Which in theory could be a purely misjudged allegory rather than stemming from actual, obscenely inflated to the point of disgusting fears of ‘nerd oppression’, except that the book literally opens with a quote from Wertham. If Cates didn’t want to make the message “Hating comics? That’s bad. Like, racism bad”, he utterly, grotesquely failed by inextricably intermingling imagery of real-world bigotry with systemic, deluded fanboy paranoia, at least as of this first issue that’s supposed to meaningfully convey the premise. As a queer dude I think I’m somewhat in my lane to say it’s too blunt and broad and dopey to be particularly offensive, but the co-opting of oppression is what this is rooted in.

The idea of ‘comics good no matter what people think, ain’t it?’ extends to the last traditional local comic store standing in this world: much as superheroes are the primary cause of suffering in this world but the point of the story is still supposed to reveal the beauty in them, part of this is that the comics community isn’t perfect but it sure is great. Which is expressed here via Ellie’s boss Otto, a loveable asshole who yells at people coming in trying to sell the wrong kind of comics to fuck off, but at heart is we’re supposed to understand a good enough dude that the shop he runs is “the only home a lot of (the benighted nerds) have left” (because I guess in this alternate universe the physical stores are still the main hub through which comics fans talk with one another?).

So here’s a story of my very own! That’s me in 2013, it must’ve been some kind of special day because I’m wearing a shirt with a button. I’d at that point only frequented one of what would be my thus far four regular comic shops. The first was a great place, and while to say I had a sense of community there would be overstating it a bit, I was on really good terms with the owner and we regularly chatted when we had the time. When I left for college my store there wasn’t as well-stocked, and for some damn reason all variant covers were double-price, but I got along really well with the owner there too. The third I wasn’t so lucky; the guy regularly behind the desk was never overtly hostile, but clearly wanted to wring my neck every time I asked when a missing comic might get in or if I could update my pull list, and given I’m in the ‘ideal’ demographic for being a comic book store regular and was dropping a solid lump of money there every week, I wonder how others were treated there (the store nearly went under, was saved on the last day of operation by another store that wanted to incorporate it as part of its franchise, then shortly afterwards DID go under and is now I believe a beef jerky place). My current store is fine, I didn’t chat much with the folks behind the counter even before we all had medical incentive to get in and out of places fairly quickly but it almost always has what I’m looking for.

Just because those were my regular stores of course doesn’t mean those are the only ones I’ve ever gone to. About a year before that picture was taken - it’s the closest I could find - when I was 17 my store didn’t have something or another I was looking for, so I head across town to see if another place I had looked up had it. This other place didn’t have what I was looking for either, though I distinctly remember picking up a few issues of Hickman’s FF while I was there since I had foolishly fallen off, hence my remembering the year. I bought a couple issues, but hung around for a bit looking to see if I might grab something else out of a dollar box, setting my comics down. Without realizing it, I’d set my books down on top of another issue, and when I decided I wasn’t getting anything else, I just picked that up along with the rest of the pile and was about to walk out before the owner stopped me. He explained what I had done though assumed it had been deliberate, and because I was a good-hearted little geek I even recall thinking “Well, he’s gonna chew me out, but I guess I deserve it. I’ll try and take this to heart as a learning experience.”

Then he pulled up his shirt a little to show me the gun on his belt. He pointed at the security camera monitors at his desk, and explained to me that if I ever did something like that again, he would have it on tape, and he would pull that gun on me and hold me there while he called the cops.

As it turned out, the comic was free.

The whole thing was so sudden and bizarre and unexpected I didn’t actually freak out until the drive home. It wasn’t until weeks or maybe months later that I managed to tell my dad about the experience, because I *had* nearly stolen a (free) comic and my guilt was mixed in with my nerves and I guess I was somehow too close to register just how disproportionate his response was. It wasn’t until now, nearly a decade later and thinking about it for the first time in a long time as I write this, that I wondered if that might have gone differently - especially living in the midwest - if I hadn’t been a white, squeaky-voiced 17-year-old.

So, minor spoiler, when our cantankerous but well-meaning LCS owner yells to call the cops and grabs and yells at a small kid for pocketing a comic (and later displays fantasy racism towards said kid), I am not filled with nostalgic love for the brotherly safe space that is comic book stores, where this guy while not meant to be seen as perfect is still framed in part as a charming, witty representation of Why We Love These Places, And This Community, And This Genre, And This Medium. Cates is clearly drawing on real time at his local stores, but he equally clearly has a very different takeaway from those experiences than me. And I am, again, in a demographic - white, cis-male, abled, bi but more interested in women, disposable income, a lifelong collector - that the industry and a lot of the guys who sell it to us contort themselves around catering to, even if I had a single very negative experience and later an ongoing low-key uncomfortable one to help disabuse me of any notions of the purity of the dork community. In the world of Crossover as of #1, toxicity is intertwined, deliberately or not on the part of the creators, with what we love on the cosmic and small business scales alike, but at least in the latter case it’s the whole picture that’s beautiful, not any single kernel that needs to be worked on to be dug up.

So underneath is my video reaction to the last page of Crossover #1. Very minor spoilers because I mutter the last two words of the comic to myself, but under the video I discuss said final page and some other scattered thoughts. Whether you read that or not, my takeaway is this: I’m fascinated with wherever the hell this thing is going, I’m glad my dad liked it well enough to want to keep getting it because now I’ll get to see where it heads, but my first impression is that this is at heart meant as cheapass Oscar-bait for people who only read Batman. It’s big and high-concept but also small and intimate! It’s meta and about how great you, the reader are for your consumption, especially the consumption of this! It’s going to be in large part about a forbidden love between a couple divided across impermeable social lines (a couple where they’re a seemingly straight white man and woman, but one likes comics)! Maybe it’ll become Not That, and I’m sure it’ll do at least something interesting along the way because Cates has done good stuff before and there are some inherently interesting big ideas for him to play with here, but for the love of god if you’re thinking about getting this buy Commanders in Crisis too or instead, it’s another new book out of Image about superheroes dealing with the collapse of the multiverse but that one is really fucking good.

So the final page splash reveal is that when the comic book child discovered in here got out of Colorado, which has had an impenetrable energy shield erected around it by one of the heroes for years, she and others were ferried out of there...by Superman, as the narration declares that “This is a story...about hope.” They don’t say the word, but she sketches her savior, Ellie and Otto freak out and go “Is that---” when they see it, and on that last page we see that while a crude drawing it isn’t a rough analogue character, it’s a guy with a cape and trunks with an S on his chest. Surprisingly, I don’t have much to say: it’s just another blunt signifier that superheroes rule and are the best, paired with the most utterly devalued notion as of late of what makes Superman special in ‘hope’. I mean, I’m perversely excited to see whether this is building the entire series on a hook it can never deliver on, or if Cates actually has talked DC into an intercompany crossover; believable given they’ve done a bunch of those over the last several years, and why else would Mark Waid be supervising as ‘story editor’ on this? I guess it’ll shake out one way or another with #6 given Cates has said it “has one of the more epic and — I would argue historic — sequences in comic book history in it.” But I’m far less convinced this is gonna truly go into the meaty question of “What does Superman mean and what makes him unique in this world where superheroes in general are indisputably either failures or monstrous bastards given the scale of destruction their presence has brought about, and he himself failed to stop that?” than as some kind of holy grail of how great superheroes are despite how dang violent they’ve gotten these days for the crew to chase after, whatever additional twist will surely be placed upon it. At least he’s kinda helping an immigrant kid get over a wall, if that’s deliberate?

Random final thoughts:

* If I wrote the opening essay and turned it in in a college course, I would be expelled for plagiarizing Grant Morrison. This is not a joke.

* If mainstream American superhero comics ended January 2017 in this universe, its own last ‘crossover’ was Civil War II, which is hilarious.

* God, please tell me if it takes the dive after all that this isn’t somehow tied into whatever Waid’s Superman project is.

* I wouldn’t normally crap on issues with the finer details of worldbuilding, but A. This is rooted in a nominally ‘real’ world playing by recognizable rules, B. I’m ragging on this anyway so what’s the harm, and C. It’s really obvious. So: Why is one of the racists against the superheroes the guy who loves superheroes so much he’s the last holdout in the entire world still selling comic books about them? How does this modestly-sized shop exist long-term with apparently a significant regular customer base if there are no new comics or even reprints to restock with, ever? Who’s buying the serialized cop/cowboy comics that the U.S. government apparently created pretty much overnight (nobody, it’s just another Wertham dig)?

* The solicit for issue #3 proclaims “Don't miss this one, folks. If you do, it just might drive you...mad.”, so now I fear some kind of Ultra Comics riff.

* “Kids love chains” is the most metal-ass quote of all time and I hate that it’s being wasted as an arc title on this book.

#Donny Cates #Geoff Shaw #Dee Cunniffe #John J. Hill #Mark Waid #Me #Superman #Opinion

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leupagus · 4 years

Text

My Stationery Box, or: The Douche Chest, or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Being A Terrible Parody Of Myself

So I really love to write letters, and have since i was a kid — when i cleaned out my grandparents’ house I found a few I’d written in grade school, and my parents’ files are chocablock full of the weird collage type things I sent to them in college.

I’ve also been a huge insufferable fucking snob about stationery since way too young (yes I did have a fountain pen phase, no it did not go well) and have been collecting fancy paper and cute cards and assorted weird writing paraphernalia forever. Up until recently, things were just kind of haphazardly stuffed in various drawers and shelves and I could never actually find any said fancy shit when I wanted it; but a couple of months ago I discovered an adorable little chest of my late mom’s that had previously housed, I think, her knitting and has mostly just been collecting dust since. And voila: The Douche Chest was born:

(Pictured with my elderly laptop and coffee with my coffee warmer, which I STRONGLY ENCOURAGE everyone to buy one day when we’re not under worldwide quarantine, seriously it will change your life.)

Keep Reading for some top tier stationerdery

First off, the stuff that helps me write! I still use my family address book, which was purchased sometime in the early 80s and has the name and address of everyone my parents ever cared enough about to want their name and address, which is actually not that many people. I keep it updated and have added a few people, but mostly rely on my phone’s address book. Mostly I like it because it’s got a lot of my mom’s handwriting.

My planner, which has a whole correspondence section where I keep a record of who I write to regularly, when I write to them, and what kind of stationery they usually get (because there are different types and you don’t want to give a correspondence an inconsistent letter-reading experience! Yes I know, I can’t believe I’m like this either) indicated by the m, s, x, l, b notations. That will be relevant later. Also yes the planner is where I scribble down both story ideas and my gratitude journal. This is what I’m saying in re: yikes.

At my own house, I have a whole huge box of letters I’ve gotten over the years, mostly organized by sender and date. Since I’m at my aunt’s house for quarantine, my correspondence is all being kept in my dad’s old... I dunno what to call it, basically it’s a trapper-keeper type thing that I literally never saw him go to work without. (A running theme of this tour is that a whole lot of this stuff is inherited from/given to me by my parents and grandparents.) Inside is also various labels that have come in handy when addressing packages etc, as well as our local neighborhood directory.

Next up is my pen bag, which is — I mean, it has my pens. I prefer writing with a black .5 tip rollerball type pen, and by “prefer” I mean “I cannot abide writing letters with anything else and will go to Staples and buy a new box rather than use a ballpoint pen except obv not right now, which makes the bag real important for keeping track of all my special pens.” Also pictured: my grandpa’s ancient letter opener that I’m pretty sure he stabbed multiple people with, and my blue Le Pen which I use to annotate my letters when I’m reading them through before sending. I KNOW.

This is my assorted letter-writing stuff storage box (no we’re not even at the cards yet this is TERRIBLE); please note that I sort of jerryrigged this box together myself, which will be another running theme of this tour. Glue, roller whiteout thingies, washi tape (which I don’t really use but people keep sending me?) post-its and my address stamp because no matter what I do, the fuckin’ Audubon Society refuses to send me a single donation request with cute stickers showing my address even though they’ve sent my deceased dad like three THIS YEAR. Anyway. Also please note the incredibly awesome initial stamp thing — I came up with the rough design in college and use it in place of my name a lot, but I went to leoniebunch and they transformed it into this super professional and lovely design that I want to use for the rest of my life. Not pictured: the fucking wax seal I also had made with that design, because yes, I’m like this.

WE’RE STILL NOT DONE WITH THE PARAPHERNALIA: here’s the other misc. stuff that I use on the regular. Cup with sponge because we’re not really licking envelopes these days: tons of weird stickers that I’ve collected, YET MORE PENS, including rainbow ones because one of these days I’m going to write to one of my friends with alternating rainbow colors and they’ll have to murder me. Also pictured: the letter opener which I forgot to put back in the pen bag, as well as my dog’s nail clippers and brush because that’s a handy place to keep them. Also also pictured: my dog, who does not help in any way with letter writing.

OKAY FINALLY ONTO THE STATIONERY, Jesus just writing this all out is making me both proud and ashamed.

I’m sure you noticed in the first pic how everything is meticulously, not to say monomaniacally, labeled. Some stuff might require a little bit of explanation; some stuff is pretty wysiwyg though. For example, BEAR CARDS, which:

(These are sent exclusively to my nephews, who go absolutely apeshit over them every time. Come to think of it, I have a LOT of cards/letter stock/etc that is just for one person or one set of people, which maybe I should talk to my therapist about.)

PUN CARDS are likewise exactly what you think they are; they’re the most recent addition to my hoard, having found them at Powells when I went to Portland in February. They are extremely My Kind Of Thing.

Then you’ve got things like BIRTHDAY CARDS, THANKS, POSTCARDS which like — guess what:

(Please note that of these birthday cards, all but two were actually inherited from my grandmother who passed away in 1986. See if you can guess which two are my purchases.) (Also I’m running out of thank-you cards but to be fair I am rarely grateful so this should last me another few years at least.) (Also shit, I didn’t take a picture of the postcards I don’t think? Whatever, they’re postcards that I’ve either inherited from my parents or collected over the years. There’s also a very odd collection of wolf-themed cards that SOMEONE in my family collected, and that I have been using exclusively for allighater because she’s the only one who could ever appreciate them enough.)

Then there’s the BLANK CARDS and BLANK AND WRITTEN CARDS WITH/WITHOUT ENVELOPES, because sometimes I just need to know what I’m getting into before opening the boxes. I’d say a good 50% of these were inherited from my folks, with the cutsier ones being my own purchases. The cards that these boxes originally contained are looooooooong since used up but they’re nice boxes and that meme about adulthood being an endless debate over whether or not you should keep a box because it’s a really good box is accurate as all hell.

(There are a lot of cards in here that I bought when I was like, in college — those square ones, for example, were purchased at Faces in Northampton when I was in college and I’m probably never going to actually send them which is kind of ridiculous but see: this entire post.)

And finally, the actual letter-letter stationery! Which I also have an embarrassing amount of! First up is what’s labelled MADOC TREE CARD/LETTER because I honestly had no idea how else to describe it; it was inherited from my grandma who everyone called MaDoc (on account of her being both a ma and a doctor, go figure) and it’s really lovely. I doubt it’s the original intention, but I like to unfold the paper and use both sides of it, because I always have a lot to say. These are used only for family members on MaDoc’s side, and of those, only the ones I really like, which accounts for there still being a lot left.

Then there’s the X-LARGE paper, which isn’t actually that large — it’s just normal computer-sized — but in context is the biggest stuff I’ve got. All of this paper is from my mom, who loved using cute themed paper, and I use this stuff mostly for the friends of hers I keep in touch with (which is actually kind of a lot).

Then there’s the letterhead I use for — okay, so like, we know by now that I’m deeply weird, but this is probably just DEEPLY WEIRD, but whatever, you came this far. So I found a metric shitton of 6 3/4 envelopes in amongst my parents’ office supplies — I have literally zero idea why they had about 5 100-count boxes of these envelopes but I’m one of those people who can never, ever throw shit out, so! I gathered together all the letterhead that they’d also collected over the years from the various universities and hospitals they worked at, cut said letterhead down so that it a) didn’t have University of Tacoma or whatever still on it and b) perfectly fit a 6 3/4 envelope if folded three times. The resulting shape is a little... odd, I’ll admit, but it pleases me greatly and that’s the important thing. In fact this has been my go-to correspondence choice for a couple of months now.

(Also pictured: the cover for this hinky-ass box I made out of a Beekman 1802 box from when we went to their store for their Rose Apothecary popup shop. Zero regrets. Not pictured: the really cute pad of paper I also use for these envelopes that’s a more normal size and shape because where’s the fun in showing you normal stuff?)

And finally, my pride and joy, my Crane Stationery, some of which I have had since I was in high school and my mom bought me a box of it for my birthday (I told you, running theme). It comes in small, medium, and big; yes, I absolutely have rules as to who gets what size of these, too. The medium box kind of fell apart a few years ago so I cobbled a new one together; Crane stationery is notable for not being as exciting as that cover might imply. I’m also kind of pleased that I still have the airmail stationery that I got in college that apparently isn’t sold anymore, which I find baffling because what the fuck is the point of international correspondence if you don’t have to use special stationery? Anyway:

(In re: the lined sheets — I actually have them for every size, because I loathe lined paper but also loathe writing crooked, hence these guides that I put under each sheet as I write. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

So that’s the complete guided tour! If you aspire to have a collection as viscerally unnerving as mine, feel free to send any questions my way. You’re welcome/I’m sorry.

#'you're welcome/I'm sorry' is ALSO a running theme #anyway a whole three people on twitter wanted this so tadaaaa #stationery station

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rheawritessometimes · 3 years

Note

Ooh matchups!! I am here lol 👀

May I get a romantic matchup w one of the adult male characters?

Personality:

I come off as very friendly and sociable bc I'm too socially awkward to gracefully turn down a chat lmao. Don't get me wrong I do like talking with people but bc I'm too anxious to interrupt people when I have my own thoughts I often end up listening to the other person go on and on and it feels like they're just talking at me :/ I would very much appreciate someone who realizes this and actually pauses to ask for my opinion to make me feel included in the conversation

On the other hand, if the other person is willing to listen, I will ramble for hours about my own interests (and also go on like five tangents before I inevitably lose my original point lmao). I'm a biologist so point out any living thing to me and I'd probably have several fun facts ready to share

I almost always have a smile on my face when I'm out in public or anywhere I'd see another person. I just really don't want to come across as rude so I smile at everybody lol

This unfortunately has the side effect of making me hide my negative feelings from my friends. It's not that I'm actively trying to — if they caught me in the moment I'd at least be honest about my feelings — but I tend to push all the negativity to the back of my mind whenever I'm out with friends and only really address it when I'm alone at night. I also have a hard time showing any sort of weakness to anyone, despite my philosophy of "always talk to your friends about your problems." It's just that I'm supposed to be the one who has it together, so I feel like I have no one to go to when I need help. I'm trying to change this habit but it's been difficult lol

Likes/Dislikes:

Communication is so important to me. As someone who's very nonconfrontational I try to do all I can to avoid an argument. And honestly, being honest with each other will solve like 99% of the misunderstandings that people regularly have anyway

I love pretty much all creatures (tho my favorites are cats and also dragons even though they're not real) prob bc as a biologist, I have an appreciation for all living things and the roles they play in the world. I'm the type of person to trap the spider and bring it outside. These little critters are just trying to live like the rest of us!!

As for dislikes, I'm not a fan of jealousy in a partner. I guess some people find it hot when your s/o gets possessive of you but I'd rather just trust my partner and have them trust me? And when you do feel jealous like,, talk to your partner about what's making you uncomfortable?? Idk maybe it's just me lol

Hobbies:

I love drawing, writing, and piano!

I also love learning new things. Idk if it's really a hobby but I do enjoy adding to my collection of random trivia

Extras:

My love language is quality time and physical touch

I tend not to pay attention to my day to day life so I end up forgetting a lot of details about what happened the past few days. If someone brings it up I'd be like oh yeah that happened!! But if they were to ask me what I did last week I'd draw a blank lmao

I'm pretty sure all the tall boys in Genshin are a good head taller than me so do w that what you will lol

I absolutely make kissy faces and baby talk at cats and dogs

I tend to be pretty awkward with kids bc I don't know how to communicate with them. I can't even talk to adults who can articulate their thoughts you think I'm gonna understand children??

Dskgjsjd okay this was,, very long I'm sorry ;; but I hope it gave you a lot to work with haha!! Thank you in advance :D

I match you with...

Diluc!

Diluc is the type to regularly ask for your input and opinions when talking with you. He’s very aware of the fact that if it’s just him talking, it’s not a conversation. Even with other people, if he feels like you’ve been ignored he’ll divert the conversation to you as smoothly as possible.

Listening to you is a way to get to know you better, he’s keen to store details about your interests in his mind. Will he write them down in a hidden journal to make sure he doesn’t forget the most important parts? Maybe.

If you’re just looking to ramble about your interests to someone, he’s happy to listen to you talk while he’s doing paperwork and similar activities. His full attention may not be on you but he retains some of the details and will perk up and comment on anything that he finds particularly interesting.

The juxtaposition between smiling you and broody Diluc as you walk down the street together is *chef’s kiss*. It’s not that he’s necessarily unhappy, it’s just kind of become his neutral look over time.

I’m gonna be honest, it takes this man a while to figure out that you tend to hide your feelings. But! Once he does figure it out he regularly asks you how you feel. He just wants to check up on you and if he can help you with something that’s bothering you, he absolutely will. He doesn’t think you should rely on each other, but you should absolutely support each other.

Diluc is a very honest man, but sometimes he can be a bit blunt in expressing himself. He doesn’t mean to come across as rude or anything, but he’s not always the most delicate when using his words. Diluc would say “This is bland.” rather than, “I think we can improve this by adding some spices. :)” He usually means well, though.

Entirely indifferent to animals but if it makes you happy he will move spiders outside instead of squashing them. Even when you’re not around.

Diluc isn’t exactly the jealous type when it comes to other people giving you attention but he does absolutely take notice and is paying extra close attention if someone starts flirting with you. He gets a little more annoyed if you’re actively interacting with him when it happens, but when you’re more on your own he can’t really blame anyone for taking interest in you. Diluc won’t do anything about it and will let you handle it yourself however you see fit unless the person starts getting pushy. Mostly just concerned for your comfort and safety.

This man absolutely knows how to play the piano. If you’ll let him, he wants to listen to you play and if you play the piano with him? Makes his heart so happy, his smile will be so soft. Absolutely thinks about proposing when you play together.

Something about being in the same room as you when you’re writing or drawing and he’s reading or doing work feels so right to him. Even if you’re not interacting, peacefully spending time together while being productive is time well spent, he thinks.

You being smaller than him isn’t something he really pays much attention to. It doesn’t make much of a difference. His thoughts on it are pretty much just, Well, it does make it easier to pull you out of danger. That’s good.

Diluc feels conflicted when you’re babying animals. On one hand, he finds it very adorable. But, it is one of the only times he feels moderately jealous over the fact a cat is getting your attention and not him. He doesn’t get jealous when you spend time with other people or even when you interact with animals in any way other than this. Why does he feel like this? Nobody knows. But it’s true, I feel it in my bones.

Equally awkward if not more so with children. Luckily for him, he’s ‘weird and grumpy’ so kids don’t really seek him out much. It might even keep kids away from you when you’re with him, unless they really like you.

It wasn’t often Diluc wore a pink shirt, actually, you were pretty sure he had never worn one. You don’t recall ever seeing one on him and it was hard to imagine him going out and making the purchase. The sight was unusual enough that when you saw him wearing the pale pink button-up while looking over a few papers in his study, you couldn’t help but ask about it.

“I didn’t know you owned any pink shirts. Is it new?”

Crimson eyes flicked up from the papers in his hand to you. He placed the papers down, leaning back in his chair. You could see his cheeks turning a bit pink, too. The pause he took and his flushed face made you think he was embarrassed about it.

“One of… There was a mixup and one of your red items got mixed in with my white clothes. I don’t have any other clean button-ups at the moment,” he told you bashfully. The bit of color was different from his usual black attire, but you didn’t think it was anything for him to be quite so embarrassed about.

“It looks good,” you assured him, “Maybe you should wear pink more often.”

#.rhea mail #genshin impact #genshin #gi #genshin impact diluc #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin matchups #matchups #there was so much to work with #i love it #the blurb is unrelated to anything #but i couldn't think of anything else #sorry

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captainenjolras · 4 years

Text

ThorBruce fic! Mostly fluff, maybe a little angst.

Summary: Thor throws Bruce an actual birthday party!

⚠️Slight TW for mentions of child abuse (barely tho but just in case)⚠️

“What’s that?”

Bruce looked over to where Thor was pointing. In a neighbors yard, he could see a bounce house, children running and about five boxes of pizza.

“Oh, it’s a birthday party.”

The scientist continued walking, unaware that his boyfriend was still watching.

“Thor,” asked a puzzled Bruce once he noticed that Thor’s hand wasn’t in his, “what’s up?”

“I’ve never seen a birthday party like that,” beamed the god. “Is that what they do here on Midgard?”

“Oh, yeah; you’ve seriously never seen one?”

“Well, I’ve had birthday parties back on Asgard, but they were never like this!”

“What were they like?”

“A bit more formal.”

“Ah; yeah here it’s just kinda a fun, casual day.”

“Did you ever have a birthday party,” asked Thor once they started walking again.

“Hmm? Oh, not really.”

“How come?”

Bruce tensed up a little when Thor asked him that. The god instantly remembered the reason and tried to change the subject.

“Anything interesting happen at work lately?”

“Umm, not really.”

The scientist tried to had the sadness in his voice, but it wasn’t really working. Still, Thor tried to cheer him up.

“One time on Asgard, Fandral and I were hunting and we thought we saw a bear! But guess what? It wasn’t! It was just a really hairy man!”

Bruce tried his best to give a genuine laugh, but he felt like he just couldn’t. Guilt washed over Thor as he watched his boyfriend put on a fake smile.

“Bruce,” he started, once they reached the crosswalk, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to bring...that...up. I should’ve realized. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bruce assured him sorrowfully. “You didn’t know.”

“Hey, your birthday is in a week. I’m gonna make sure you have the best birthday of your life.”

“You don’t have to do that,” chuckled the scientist sadly. Thor places a gentle and caring hand to the mans cheek before speaking again.

“I know. But I want to. You deserve it. Bruce, you deserve the world. I love you.”

“...Thanks, Thor, but you don’t need to waste your time to celebrate just another day.”

“But it’s your birthday!”

“Birthdays happen everyday; why waste your time on mine? It’s fine, I just wanna...can we maybe head home now?”

Thor scanned the shorter mans anxious and sad face before nodding and taking his hand.

“I love you, Bruce.”

“I love you too, Thor.”

——————————————————————————

“Stark!”

Tony jumped at the sound of Thor’s booming voice.

“Jesus- I told you not to do that.”

“Many apologies; I need your help with something!”

“What’s up?”

The mechanic turned away from his work to see Thor standing a few feet away, notebook and pen in hand.

“...Is this an interview?”

“No, I just need to ask you a few questions.”

“That’s an interview, big guy.”

“Oh.”

“...So what do you need to know?”

“Do you know what Bruce might want for his birthday?”

Tony smirked before turning back to his work.

“He’s your boyfriend, Pointbreak. I hoped you’d know what he liked.”

“Oh, I do! I just didn’t know if he maybe told you anything that he wouldn’t mention to me, cause you’re bestrfriends and all.”

“He wants a ring on his finger,” mumbled Tony jokingly.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing; he never really mentioned anything. Maybe Nat would know? They’re real close.”

Thor thought for a minute before giving the mechanic a smile.

“Thank you, Anthony! Enjoy your work!”

——————————————————————————

“So you want us to help you come up with ideas for a gift for Bruce?”

“If you wouldn’t mind!”

Clint and Nat looked at each other before shrugging and turning back to Thor.

“Sure,” said Clint. “What were you thinking of?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure; that’s why I came to you guys!”

“Well,” started Natasha, taking the book and pen from Thor’s hands and drawing out columns, “let’s start by making a list of gifts that are “go” and “definitely not.””

“Good idea!”

“What’s some stuff he likes?”

“Well,” beamed the god, “he really likes The Office! He also really likes yoga and reading! Oh, and animals! And science, obviously! There’s also space, Disney, Broadway, the color purple, that one movie with the five kids in detention, flowers, the little house plants that Stephen has a lot of, old books, baking-“

“Let’s start with The Office.”

“Ok!”

“You could get him some merch, like a mug or hat.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” added Clint, taking the notebook and writing something down.

“And for yoga and reading,” said Nat, “you cold get him some books and a yoga mat.”

“That could work!”

“Any other ideas?”

“Well, Tony said something about a ring.”

“I-“

“Does Bruce like children, Thor?”

Nat slapped the man up the back of the head before turning back to Thor.

“You could get him a promise ring.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a ring couples get each other sometimes, kinda like to show the other that they love them.”

“I like that idea!”

“So you think you’re gonna settle with that?”

“Yes! Thank you, Natasha! Thank you, Barton!”

——————————————————————————

“You want me to help you bake a cake?”

“If you will.”

Loki thought for a minute before looking up at his brother from his spot in the couch.

“If I give you the instructions, would I still have to help you?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I could handle it from there!”

“...Alright. Give me a piece of paper and a pen.”

Thor handed Loki his notebook. The other god looked down at the writting in confusion.

“Why do you need a mug, a mat, a book, a ring and children?”

“I don’t need children, Barton wrote that.”

“...What is this for?”

“Bruce’s birthday is soon!”

“Wait, you want ME to help YOU make a birthday cake?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Thor, I’m a trickster. You really trust me to help you make a cake for your boyfriend?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my brother!”

“...Trickster g- never mind. Just give me a pen.”

——————————————————————————

“Good morning, love.”

Bruce smiled as Thor pressed a kiss to his curls.

“Morning, Thor.”

“Happy birthday!”

“...That’s today?”

“Yes, silly!”

“Oh.”

“Here, let’s go to the living room; I have something I think you’ll like.”

Thor led his still sleepy boyfriend into their living room, covering his eyes as to not spoil the surprise. Once they reached the couch and sat down, Thor began to speak.

“Before I remove my hands, I need you to close your eyes. Now, I know you said I didn’t have to do anything for you today, but...that didn’t feel right. Over the week I had help from our friends to find something I’d think you’d like, and I came up with this. Ok, I’m removing my hands now, but PLEASE keep your eyes shut.”

Bruce nodded and closed his eyes as Thor’s gentle hands left his face. He heard the god walk away and quickly come back, standing between him and the coffee table.

“Open your eyes, love.”

The scientist slowly opened his eyes to see Thor holding a bunch of gifts. He couldn’t help but gasp a little at the action and let a small smile spread across his lips.

“You...you got this for me?”

“Of course! Would you like to see what I got?”

“Y-yes!”

Thor handed him one gift, which was wrapped tightly in paper. Bruce tore open the wrapping and admired his new books.

“Oh my god! Thor, thank you!”

“Would you like to see the other gifts?”

“Duh! You got more?”

“Of course! Here, I think you’ll like this one!”

The god handed the shorter man a bag, still balancing all the other stuff in his large arms. Bruce removed the tissue paper and pulled out a “worlds best boss” mug. What really made him smile though was the fact that Thor has crossed out “boss” and wrote “boyfriend.”

“Oh my god...”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” smiled Bruce, I little chocked up. “I love it.”

After the mug came a new yoga mat, a purple hoodie, a few succulents, a Disney movie collection, a Breakfast Club T-shirt, and a pack of glow-in-the-dark stars. Bruce was smiling wider than ever as Thor finally took a seat next to him.

“Thank you so much, Thor! I’m literally about to cry, I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the universe, Bruce...and there’s one more gift.”

Bruce shook his head with a laugh as he looked at his already many gifts. When he turned back to meet Thor’s eyes, the god was holding a small box.

“...What’s that?”

“It’s a promise ring,” smiled Thor as he opened the box. “Natasha told me that here on Midgard, couples get this for each other to show that they love each other. And I love you, Bruce. I love you more than anything.”

The scientist stared down at the small silver ring that his boyfriend held before looking back up with tears in his eyes.

“...Thank you, Thor. I-I love you, too. Oh god, I-“

Bruce wrapped Thor in a hug, resting his chin on his shoulder. The god placed a hand on the back of the scientist’s head and held him close.

“I love you so much, Bruce.”

“I love you too, Thor. Thank you so, so much. This is the best birthday ever.”

“It’s still not over. Also, there’s cake in the fridge.”

Bruce let out a small, genuine laugh before closing his eyes and melting into Thor’s hug.

#thorbruce #thunderscience #gammahammer #thundersmach #thorhulk #thruce #thulk #thunderhulk #bruce x thor #thor x bruce #thorbruce fic #my second fic hope yall like it #doctorthunder #brucethor #hulkthor

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eat0crow · 4 years

Note

Jasonette Prompt! Mari and Jason first meeting but it’s after a bunch of thugs tried to jump her (she beat them uppp). anyways they’re both in civilian form and she’s validly untrusting and he calms her down.

Bullies count as thugs, right?

116%

Partly by accident, mostly by self-preservation, Jason figures out that, in order to get everyone to stop looking at him like the poor-orphan-charity-case Bruce Wayne had taken in, he needs to instead get them to write him off entirely.

It’s a genius plan. Gotham Academy is nothing if not judgemental. All he has to do is wear his uniform loose, his tie undone, tell everyone exactly how little he thinks of their petty power plays, and get into a screaming match with his xenophobic history teacher about how people working minimum wage, “Absolutely should be making a living wage. Screw you, you bootlicking capitalist fuck!” within the first month of school. Honestly, he’s surprised he lasted that long.

So maybe he’s a little out of line, it’s not like he’s wrong. And it’s all worth it just to see the look on Bruce’s face when he walks into the principal's office. The man’s eyebrows are practically up to his hairline by the time he hears that Jason, in the face of his teacher's warning, had the audacity to ask, “What are you going to do? Expel me? unfucking likely.”

“It’s not like I’m actually going to be expelled,” Jason says. “Half the school’s annual budget comes from the money you donate. If I’m expelled I’ll have to go somewhere else. You’re not going to invest in a school I’m not attending and they’re not going to those funds.”

With unmasked glee, Jason watches the growing horror spread over his principles face-he’s a smart brown-nosing man after all. He knows exactly what kind of trap he’s walking into. It doesn’t matter that Jason’s history teacher is glaring the man down, looking like he's’ just bitten a lemon. Nope, Jason is not going to be expelled.

“Jason,” Bruce, simply sighs, looking far more put out than he has any right to be.

They settle for him being suspended for the rest of the week with detentions taking place after school on Mondays and Wednesdays for the next two months.

As all interesting gossip tends to, the rumor makes its way through the school before the day is even over-rich kids have way too much time on their hands-by the time Jason comes back the following Monday everyone seems to have decided that he’s a troublemaker unhinged just enough to be dangerous.

It marks the end of people trying to suck up to him, they all seem to have collectively decided that if they mind their own business and leave him out of it, he’ll do the same.

The thing about Jason Todd- fourteen-year-old high school freshman- is that he’s really bad at minding his own business. Like Dick’s Discowling suit levels of bad at it. He's a Robin, after all, you couldn’t be a Robin if you were actually able to keep your nose out of where it shouldn't be. It's practically a rule.

Never once has Jason ever had any fondness for bullies, it doesn’t matter if they were school kids or criminals or one percenters-looking at you Jeff Bezos, looking at you. He’s seen enough of them growing up in the Narrows, and maybe, it’s because his dad, the utter asshole, had been a bully. Maybe he just spends too much time fighting against people who think they can get away with pushing their weight around. It doesn’t matter.

Jason Todd could not bring himself to turn a blind eye, which is why by the beginning of his second semester he’s gained the title of actual-punk-you-know-the-kind-who-fight-the-man with his biweekly detentions being upgraded to triweekly and extended indefinitely. The number of fights he’s gotten into in the last couple of months has easily erased whatever Golden Boy standing Dick had established. Jason is confident that the only reason he’s yet to be kicked out is the fact that Bruce had almost doubled his donations.

So really, when he hears raised voices and the distinct sound of someone being thrown against a wall just as he’s leaving detention for the third time this week, he has to investigate.

Disgust is the first thing Jason can register when he turns the corner because there’s a ring of five students- two girls, three guys- all crowded around the new girl from France. Jason’s pretty sure he shares a class or two with her, maybe. She's easy to miss, small as all hell and stick thin.

This, this isn’t a fair fight. Or a fight she even has a chance of winning. Jason has a bad feeling about this.

But-

But Jason takes a closer look. Her back is pressed against the side of the building, yes. Her bag has been thrown to the ground and she’s shaking but that stance, it definitely doesn’t belong to someone who doesn’t know how to defend themselves. Sure these idiots have her backed into a corner, one point them, but her feet are firmly planted on the ground, her back is straight. She’s not going to run, at least, not before she throws a punch and, judging from the way she’s holding herself, a good one too.

Jason doesn’t really know how to approach this. This girl looks like a deer caught in headlights who will spook the second she hears a loud sound. Getting a teacher would be the most sensible thing to do. It would also require leaving, Jason isn’t confident enough in the situation to do that.

He’s almost talked himself into it, sure it might be a little off-brand for him but this seems slightly out of his depth, when Idiot Number Three, the smirking brunette addition, makes a move toward Marinette-Jason only just remembers her name-and Marinette lashes out.

Dead silence overtakes the yard as the girl goes down, her body crumpling to the ground like a wet paper towel. Marinette’s fist is still curled, her arm still outstretched. She looks like she can’t believe what she just did. Everyone stands frozen for one disbelieving moment before one of the guy's snarls, lunging to grab Marinette’s jacket.

If she was a deer in headlights before, Jason isn’t quite sure what to call her now. She looks like she’s on the cusp of a panic attack, frantically babbling a mishmash of jumbled up words. Jason sees what she’s going to do a second before the bully does, but by then it’s too late.

Marinette, with way more force than someone her size should have, brings her knee up and kicks her would-be attacker in the balls. Jason does not want to feel sympathy pains. He doesn’t, but still, if the way Idiot Number Five falls to his knees is any indication...well.

Idiots Numbered One, Two and Four run off without much fanfare taking their downed Idiot Number Three with them. Jason has a distinct impression they’re going to snitch and Marinette, who was only defending herself and is in no way capable of explaining her side of the story right now, is going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble.

Nope, not on Jason’s watch. He makes his way over. Closing the distance in three precise non-threatening strides. “So I’m thinking, this isn’t exactly what you had planned,” he says lightly.

“Fuck you, Todd.” Eloquent as ever Idiot Number Five.

“No thanks. You seem like you’re having enough fun clutching your balls for the both of us,” he says cooly, crouching down just enough to make eye contact. “Between you and me, I would run if I were you. Before she decides to come and knock your teeth in.”

“Like she would,” the bully scoffs.

“We both know she could and you know I would let her. Hell, I would help her if it kept your mouth fucking shut.” Jason cracks his knuckles, casually pressing his elbow further into the prick's collar bone. “Fuck, I kinda want to do it too. You really piss me off.”

At least he has the good sense to take Jason seriously. Jason can’t help the satisfaction that comes from watching him get to his feet and limp off. Some things really are poetic. Serves the bastard right, even if he promises that, “I’ll get you back for this, Todd.”

Jason snorts, as if he’d worry about what some schoolyard bully was going to do. Have you seen half the lunatics he fights on a monthly basis? “You good?”

“I-no!” Marinette cries, sinking to her knees in shock. “I am so going to be expelled. God, I’m going to be deported. I’ve only been in Gotham for a month! One whole month and already I’ve

messed this up. Momma is never going to let me out of the house. That’s if they don’t send me to jail. Oh, they’re going to send me to jail, aren't they? I can’t go to jail, orange is a terrible color!”

That's ... a lot to unpack. Jason feels something flutter in his chest. He has the strongest desire to comfort her. So, he does the only thing he can think of, he reaches out, wraps his arms around her waist, and promptly gets punched in the face. Hard.

He staggers back, clutching his eye, Jason barely registers Marinette’s steady stream of. “I’m sorry, so sorry I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Self-consciously Jason shrugs, he’s had far worse. The only thing in danger is his ego. “It was my fault. You were literally being threatened a minute ago, I shouldn’t have touched you. Sorry about that.”

“I’m panicking a bit,” Marinette says, pulling at the end of one of her pigtails. “I’m not usually...I just-I don’t want to be expelled.”

“You're not going to be expelled, Hermione,” Jason says dryly. “Yeah, those bastards are going to snitch but you were just defending yourself. They got what they deserved.”

“Do you think anyone’s going to believe that?”

Jason takes a moment to look Marinette over. There is so much earnest hope on her face that Jason...he feels really bad but... “Of course not. You kicked Pattrick Thomson in the balls, his dad’s on the school board. There is no fucking way any one of these teachers is going to believe that he actually got what was coming to him. No matter how much of a prick he is.”

“I’m doomed,” Marinette cries.

“You’re not doomed.” Jason catches Marinette’s look of pure utter disbelief and continues, “You’re not going to be expelled because you’re not the one who is going to be taking the fall for this.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” Jason says scooting down to sit next to Marinette. He makes sure to leave a good foot between them. One black eye is enough, thank you. “Unlike you, I won’t get expelled, trust me this isn’t anywhere close to my first fight. If they could have axed me, they would have like a month in. The good news is that this is the one corner of the school security cameras can’t see. So as long as we make our story sound believable, no one is going to question it.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re all going to find it sketchy when no one can agree on who threw the punch.”

“See you would think that but, no offense, you’re a literal wafer cookie. A strong breeze could blow you over. No one is going to believe you took down those idiots. Not when it’s so much easier to blame the one who’s admitting it.”

“I did take them down,” Marinette says, narrowing her eyes.

“And it was badass, but for this to work, we need to milk as many of their sexist assumptions as possible. So,” Jason starts, pressing his hand a little further against his eye, there’s a bit of blood slipping onto his fingers. Marinette got him good. “This is what we’re going to say. We’re going to keep it simple. Tell them that those guys were picking on you and I came over to see what was happening. Things got heated, Thomson punched me in the eye and I bumped into what’s-her-face. You were panicking and didn’t really pay attention until you saw me knee him in the balls. Short, sweet, and believable.”

“What are we going to say when they ask about why everyone is blaming me and not you?”

“Well, why were they bothering you in the first place.” Jason shrugs reaching out to grab some of the stray papers that had fallen from Marinette’s bag. “Just use that. Trust me, Thomson’s going to jump at the chance to save face. Once he changes his story the rest will follow.”

Marinette grimaces. “It feels wrong.”

“Please,” Jason snorts. “They’re rich, they’re cheating at life. They’d get away with murder if they dropped their wallets. You could tell them all exactly what happened word for word and the teachers would still only hear their side of the story.”

“That’s awful.”

“That’s Gotham.”

Marinette falters, as if she wants to dispute the inherent corruption of this city. She stares at Jason, who would probably be blushing if it wasn’t for the excruciating pain coming from his right eye.

“You’re sure.” Marinette bites her lip, nervously picking at her nails. “You’re absolute, one hundred and twelve percent sure you won’t be expelled.”

“I’m one hundred and sixteen percent sure,” Jason says and then Marinette smiles.

It’s a nice smile, Jason doesn’t think he’s ever experienced the full force of someone's relief before.

“Thank you.” Sincerity is dripping off every word, so much so it almost aches. “I-you’re really nice Jason.”

Marinette knows his name. That’s-not necessarily surprising given the act that yeah they do share classes, probably. It’s just this is the first time they’ve talked.

“It’s cool,” Jason says leaning further back into the wall. He can hear people coming, it won’t be long before they have teachers to deal with. Jason might as well get comfortable. “You’re Marinette, right? I think we have English….Math..something together.”

Marinette nods, scooting closer to him. ��Yeah, I’m Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I sit three rows over in Math and two seats up in English.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marinette. Officially.” Jason takes the hand off of his eye and holds it out to her. “Jason Todd.”

Slowly, Marinette’s smile slowly morphs into a look of pure horror. “You’re eye!”

#maribat #crow writes #jasonette #prompt fills #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng

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corvixa · 4 years

Text

I have this thing, that when an idea gets in my head, I either get it out on paper or it will create a traffic jam in my head and bugger up everything. So, not including my ongoing Fics, which includes the Gold Universe as part 4 is still nearly finished, I just need that last push on it. These are Ideas that can have anything from a few scenes, an idea, plots, or several chapters.

So I call this -

Winteriron WIP

(because what else 😅, I have a problem.)

In Fire & Flames - In this universe, Phoenixes and Humans live together, if one species dies then the other will too. When a Phoenix does for good, lots of natural disasters happen, starts with Tony'parents dying and then Rhodey, who is also a Phoenix, finds Tony. Who is now familyless and dying as lone phoenixes tend to die. There are several different kinds, and they come in pairs general. Golden and Ice, for example, Golden are high in magic, Ice tends to protect, especially the rare Golden, it's more tribes than individuals, there is no requirement for who likes who. It's surprising how much making a few other Avengers phoenixes tweaks things here and there, this actually goes up to the fight in Siberia and is one of the bigger WIP's. (26k)

Flash of Gold - Avengers are shifters or humans with magic, and they think they know what Tony is. They believe he is a human with magic, but they notice that he has some shifter traits, which is odd as shifters can't have magic in this AU. Only in very old stories and myth. Tony, however, is a dragon, which are myth. Instead of being like most shifters a, a human that shifts to something, he is the reverse. It only has a few scenes. Full shebang, team as Family. Steve is even a good guy. James is brought to the tower after being found and slowly integrated into the group and is wondering wtf Tony is. (13k)

The Operative Program - Howard was never meant to be a father; he was a weaponsmith. So he took the red room and the wolf spider programs and decided to create himself an Operative that he hoped would be the darker side to help Steve when he found him. Two sides of the same coin, one for the light and one to work in the shadows, Tony would be under Steve's control, he would be a weapon for the man who only picked up a shield. (Also assassin Tony is just fun.) Tony in this is a mash-up really, Tony traits, like Gold but different as he has been trained his entire life, the only reason he has developed a sense of self is Rhodey and the fact his parents died at 17. Rhodey got there first after the car crash, getting to Tony before anyone else who knew what he was could potentially claim him. Tony definitely collects people. Yinsen and Vanko for example. Chapters from Ironman up to Avengers (not complete). But enjoyed myself rewriting some out of sequence chapters, so there is a nice big scene in Siberia. (15k)

Another Persons Wish - Now this was based on a post I saw going around. Person A is married to Person B. Person A is looking back at their life and wondering if they should have married B, etc. So, A is offered a wish. Poof. Goodbye Marriage. Person A is Steve, and the story is from Tony, person B's POV. It goes from Tony planning his anniversary(because I was apparently extremely angsty when I started this!) to waking up in the past, alone and wondering what the fuck has happened. 6 chapters entirely written. Chapter 7 is in a different file and in progress when I dabble on it. (30k)

Tarnished Gold - This is an AU from my AU AU XD. Basically similar set up to the Gold Universe, Tony escapes Hydra Captivity but is brought in by Rhodey instead of spending 2 years on his own cleaning up Hydra. He only spends about 7 months before Rhodey convinces him to come in. Few other tweaks here and there but that is just side. Rhodey and James are pals too. The plot here is Howard and Maria are brought back from the Dead and Rhodey is trying to work out how to tell them what has happened and that he can't just bring them to Tony, because he doesn't know if Tony will remember them yet. Tony is a little less 'give me orders, and I'll gut you, and more 'orders made things easier'. I basically flipped his and James reactions from the original Gold universe. Tony is more in need of a hug. It's very loosely put together. I wanted something where Howard was a good dad to offset the fact I kind of made him Hydra in the next piece, and I wanted a good family man Howard with the bringing the parents back because I love reading fics that bring Howard and Maria back. (9k)

Sins of The Father - Arno has just buried his father. His mother is in a coma, he is 20 and mourning his life now he's expected to take on the business when a visitor flips his work upside down worse than the phone call about the crash. His Father? Part of a program that summoned a creature known as a Void Walker. (A creature from the Void Loki fell into, the only native species to that area, most others can't survive the void, so Loki will read as Void Touched and is 'To Be Protected' because I think that could shake up the Avengers section nicely.) Oh and he has Howards DNA. So Arno is freaked that he has a brother, that someone released and sent to him and Arno is 100% sure he is not meant to deal with severe traumatised half-human assassins that could be his kid brother. That is how Arno meets Tony and becomes very invested and turns up big brother protective instinct to 13. When summoned they're tired to a person and has to obey orders, that person was chosen as The Asset under the idea he can't disobey, which obviously fails as Winter does everything to protect Tony, including freeing him and sending him to Arno. His last order is that Tony is not allowed to go looking for or rescue Winter, which I think will be some nice drama when Bucky gets brought in (I really like this one) It has mostly set up but 2 scenes for in the future, Tony finding Coulson threatening Arno in IM2 and the data dump. (21k) (in this S/S Helped is Yelped, I'd fix it, but I've been working on this post forreeever)

Blood and an Arc - This came about from reading the Tony is a vampire fic and noticing that when he gets turned, generally Tony hates being a vampire. There aren't many where he comes back from Afghanistan a vampire and goes, huh... Well. This could be interesting. Loosely based on Vamp the Masquerade but I've tweaked it because my brain takes ideas and then runs off madly into the sunset. It is however utterly all over the place, some from Ironman and then random out of sequence chapters that I'm unsure about as I hadn't slept in a very long time on writing them and Tony went kind of Spike-ish calling James 'Pet'. I do like the idea of Tony fully embracing his changes. Yinsen never intended Tony to live, so he did something extra whilst turning him, so he is not an ordinary baby vampire and is convinced (justifiably so) that if he meets any other vamps, they'll try to kill him. In notes have Sam considering being a werewolf who works out Tony is a vamp and freaks out, because Vampires vs Werewolves and Tony is utterly confused and tells Sam he smells of mint (seriously, insomnia) Sam is baffled to find out the centuries of hatred that is claimed to be instinctual is actually taught. Sam gets kind happy he has a Vamp friend. (20k)

The Original Plan - This sets up around the end of the Mandarin (because honestly, I prefer working with Tony that has powered, especially because James has the serum and I personally think it would expand life span more than shown in Endgame. So I like evening things out and powered Tony is my jam) Tony has a bunch of plans, and they go awry. He doesn't see why and has zero clue what's going on. It's because no matter how well he plans this out, he's caught up in other people's plans. Steve is a little more "End goal justify the anything and everything." In other words, getting Bucky back is his plan and everyone are just pawns in said plan. I've taken that tactical genius title and also pushed him a little darker. After Ultron, he brings Wanda on for 3 reasons. 1 Precedence. 2 Fixing Bucky. 3 Making sure Tony doesn't find out about his parents and making sure he is on the team and available to fix Bucky's arm. That last bit changes things as instead of pulling away from the Avengers, Tony fully moves into the compound(just after AOU, it's not good). There will be no accords and Steve will find Bucky and just move him in and general plans on telling no one about the Winter Soldier. I summed up a chunk of AOU in this format, and I liked it (in an angst and pain fashion.) But it's quite long for a screenshot, so here's a chunk. Bucky is being brought in soon, but as it is, Tony is not having a good time, there might be Wanda conditions in his mind that Steve can use to convince Tony to do things... Also, because he is living there, I couldn't justify Sam not noticing there is something very wrong, so he is asking questions he didn't in canon as Tony's PTSD is more in his face living together you know? (16k)

#writing #tony stark/bucky barnes #winteriron #WIP #Some of these are more detailed than others!#easily excitable autistic woman

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catsafarithewriter · 4 years

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“Listen, I didn’t do anything this time, I was just there when things started to fall apart.” with Muta, if you'd please, that just screams him haha. i love your writing!

A/N: The idea for this prompt was inspired by this post. It’s just a bit of fun, with harmless Muta and Haru hijinks and extreme prejudice against polka-dots :) Enjoy!

(No real bowties were harmed in the making of this ficlet)

Haru didn’t even mean to lose the first bowtie.

Even if it was fugly.

(“What,” she had demanded upon walking into the Bureau, “is that?”)

(”It’s a bowtie,” Baron had answered, as if he wasn’t wearing a blue polka-dotted monstrosity around his neck. He had righted it with some pride above the yellow waistcoat it empirically did not match. “It’s one of my old suits; I’ve decided to take it out for a spin. What do you think?”)

(And he had looked so proud of himself that Haru hadn’t had the heart to reply honestly, which had mostly comprised of the genuine question of whether Baron was colour-blind.)

And so Baron, fugly bowtie and all, had accompanied them on the case, and only Baron had returned.

Purely accidentally, naturally.

And it honestly had been. There had been a costume change (Baron’s decision, obviously) and then a hurried exit (as usual) and by the time they had all escaped with only a minor dent to their dignity, Haru realised she had forgotten to grab Baron’s bowtie when she had swept everything else up.

The second bowtie’s loss, however, might have been slightly intentional.

It had been a week after the previous case, and all thoughts of polka dots and fashion monstrosities had been replaced with things like groceries and laundry and trying not to get eaten by ogres. Regular things.

And then it reappeared.

Haru swung into the Bureau, already tying her hair back and securing her back over one shoulder when she stopped dead.

“I came as fast as I got your message - we really need to find a better communication system than Toto dropping envelopes from above - just about anyone could pick it up, and it’s hardly subtle, but then again I guess those kinds of dramatics are right up your -- oh my god, it’s back.”

Baron turned to her, straightening out the tie beneath his collar. “What was that, Miss Haru?”

“The polka dots,” Haru said. “They’re back.”

“Ah yes, Well, as they say, you can’t keep good fashion down.”

“However much they may try,” Haru muttered. Then, “And the waistcoat, I see, is back in full force.”

“I believe yellow is my colour.”

Haru raised an eyebrow, but declined to comment.

So when they needed something to tie the door-handles together to hinder their pursuers while they made a run for it with the giant’s golden goose, Haru suggested the bowtie with only the barest smidgen of guilt. It was either that or her belt, and she liked that belt. It had flowers decorated on it.

And so fugly bowtie number two kicked the bucket when the door was kicked in.

The third bowtie was when Haru began to get suspicious.

After all, she could have believed that the first time, he’d somehow retrieved it without mentioning it to Haru, but there was no way that was the same tie. She’d seen it tear in half beyond repair, get trampled on, and possibly get eaten by one of the giant’s goats, for goodness sake.

“Eh, maybe it’s a backup, Chicky,” Muta suggested when Haru brought it up mid-case. “Or maybe he grabbed it before it got damaged. You gotta admit, we weren’t exactly taking inventory while we were running for our lives last time.”

“We’ll see about that.”

So, to Haru’s shame - but not enough to reconsider her actions - she may have stolen the horrifying bowtie when (once again) they donned on disguises, and fed it to one of the pond koi.

A week later, it reappeared.

“It’s a conspiracy, I’m telling you,” Haru hissed to Muta at the Crossroads. She passed across a tuna sandwich to him. “Every time I think it’s been irreparably lost or damaged, there it is! One back-up tie I can believe - but two?”

“Maybe it’s a Creation thing,” Muta suggested around a mouthful of fish. “Like he can summon it back to him cause it’s something that was made alongside him.”

“Summon it?” Haru echoed. “Like in Harry Potter?” She had the fleeting, but no less amusing, image of bowties flying through the air like silken bats. She grinned, and then refocused on the mystery at hand. “We’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”

Muta yawn. “Have ya tried asking him?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Come on, this is a mystery, Muta.”

“You’ve already asked him, haven’t you?” he translated.

Haru deflated. “Yeah. He said that a gentleman never reveals his secrets.”

“Typical Baron.”

“Yeah.”

“So what do you need from me?”

Haru grinned. “We need to see how many lives that tie has.”

It was frankly, Haru considered, quite amazing how many different ways one could destroy a bowtie if one got inventive enough. And, given the variety of worlds they visited, they had plenty chance to get creative.

Bowtie number six bit the dust when it found its way - somehow - into the belly of an active volcano.

Bowtie number nine got eaten by a plant.

Bowtie thirteen grew wings and flapped off into the sunset after a wayward wizard’s spell went rogue.

And yet they kept reappearing.

“Do you think he knows?”

Muta looked up from the newspaper he was flicking through. “Who knows what?”

“Baron,” Haru said. “About the bowties?”

Muta considered this, then folded down his paper to fix Haru with a solid stare. “Do I think,” he asked, “that Baron knows we’re systematically destroying his terrible polka dot tie after the kraken incident?”

Haru winced. “Good point.”

“I mean, I ain’t gonna tell you how to scheme, but maybe tackling Baron in the middle of a sea monster attack and trying to fend it off with a tie.”

Haru nodded, lips pursed as she came to the inevitable conclusion. “So he’s toying with us.”

“Yep.”

She continued to nod. “That explains why he looks so smug whenever he reappears with it.”

“Oh. So you finally noticed.”

“Well we can be sure it’s not accio-ing its way back to him,” Haru said. “After all, it’d be incinerated after the chimera incident. He has to have multiple bowties.”

“Maybe he’s ordering them in,” Muta offered.

“Maybe, but...” Haru frowned. “That implies he has a tailor.”

“We’d have heard about that.”

“Yeah.” She considered. “He’d have strong-armed his tailor into making him a cape or cloak by now. Maybe he orders them wholesale from an online company.”

Muta snorted. “With his technology prowess?”

“...True.”

There was a long pause.

“Of course,” Muta said slowly, “there’s always the possibility that he has a whole wardrobe of them. Like you see in the movies. Just hundreds of polka-dot monstrosities carefully folded in a drawer.”

Haru and Muta exchanged glances.

“We really shouldn’t nosy...” Haru said, but without conviction.

“We shouldn’t...”

“But we’re gonna to, aren’t we?”

Muta grinned. “I knew there was a reason I got on with you, Chicky.”

Haru looked around the Bureau’s interior in despair, and then to Muta for help. “You know, I never thought about this, but there aren’t any wardrobes in here.”

“Where did he get the bowtie from in the first place?”

“He... You know, I don’t have the foggiest? He was already wearing it when I first saw it.”

“Eh.”

“Yeah, I know. Helpful.” Haru ran her hands through her hair. “I’ll look through the desk drawers, you check the books for... I don’t know, a hidden door or something.”

“Really?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“What about up there?” And Muta pointed to a series of boxes carefully stacked on the top of the bookshelves.

Haru looked up. And then up. And then some. “Pass me the ladder.”

“Are ya sure--”

“We’re getting to the bottom of this, Muta!”

He shrugged and collected up the ladder leaning against the corner, pulling it open and holding it in place. “Up yer go.”

“You know, this is all very weird,” Haru said as she scaled the steps. She glanced down at Muta. Or over at him, since the few steps granted her on eye-level with him. “I mean, there really aren’t any wardrobes in here, and Baron...”

“Face it, Chicky; how often have you seen him switch up his clothes?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No, I mean... no, he must change sometime...”

“Creations are weird, kid. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it. I want answers. I want -- I want...” She stuttered as she tried to pull the boxes loose, but they jammed. She tugged at them, and the shelf wobbled. “Come -- on -- out-- you -- stupid -- box --got it!” She gave a cry of triumph as she heaved one box away. “Hah! Oh.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Hm, well it’s not bowties.”

There was a creak, and before Muta could ask anything more, the bookshelf began to lean precariously away from the wall. Haru squeaked, Muta yowled, and both dropped everything to grab the shelves before gravity could take over.

The creaking stopped.

Haru exhaled. “Well, that was a close call--”

The next bookshelf over toppled forward.

And then the one on the other side went.

When the dust finally cleared, there was an audible sigh from both.

“Okay, so that was--”

“Not another word to tempt fate, Chicky.”

“I was only going to say--”

“No.”

“But--”

“Nada.”

Haru pouted. “You say that like you’ve never made a mess in your life.”

“What in the world is going on here?”

Haru and Muta both spun on their heels to see Baron standing in the doorway, and as their grip slipped, the middle bookcase finally gave way. Haru squealed and leapt out of the way before she could be squashed beneath it.

Muta raised his paws defensively. “Listen, I didn’t do anything this time, I was just there when things started to fall apart.”

“Baron. Baron, Baron, Baron.” Haru skidded over the chaos, stumbling against the desk that had narrowly avoided becoming a casualty, and reached Baron. “How do your bowties keep reappearing? I need to know!”

Baron gently set his top hat to one side, returning to old habits to deal with the fact that the Bureau had looked better when a tornado spirit had invaded the building. “That is what this is all about?”

“...Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so silly...”

“Just tell them, Baron,” Toto called from the internal balcony. He had arrived when Baron had, and the smile on his beak implied he had known the mystery that had plagued Muta and Haru and had taken great joy in watching the drama unfold. “Before they decide to blow up my column looking for your secret bowtie stash.”

Baron nodded. “Very well. Please watch.” He reclaimed his hat and carefully exhaled, sparks of magic flowing up and over him as he reverted to his inanimate form.

“Is this his way of running from the answer?” Muta stage-whispered.

“Keep watching, pudding-brain.”

Sparks flew up again as Baron returned to his flesh and blood form, but as he did so, subtle changes took place. The classy red waistcoat shifted colour, like someone dragging a swatch through a colour wheel until it rested on yellow, and the royal-blue bowtie became blotchy, making way for white polka dots that had drawn Haru’s attention so strongly in the first place.

By the time Baron was blinking the gemstone glaze from his eyes, Haru’s jaw had dropped.

“You can shapeshift?”

“Not exactly.” Baron righted his tie, as if it hadn’t been perfectly straight before. “All Creations have a default appearance that we can subtly alter as our personalities and style shift. I can not grow wings or a second tail, but I can nudge the set pattern of my waistcoat or - in this case - bowtie to fit my liking.”

Toto cackled. “You should have seen his experimental stage. He had grey fur for a decade before he went back to ginger.”

“Yes, thank you, Toto,” Baron said curtly. “We all go through phases.”

“Louise laughed until she cried,” Toto informed them. “She said that they looked like they were cosplaying as yin and yang if they stood together.”

“Thank you, Toto.”

“Please tell me there are photos somewhere,” Haru begged.

“There are,” Baron said. “In there.” And he pointed to the pile of books smothered beneath the toppled shelves. He raised an eyebrow at Muta and Haru.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, kinda forgot about that...”

Muta trundled over to the mess, but Haru lingered a moment longer with Baron. She leant in. “Just for the record, I think you look great, regardless of your fashion sense.”

He grinned knowingly. “Even with the polka dots?”

She kissed his cheek. “Don’t push your luck.”

#Anon #replies #cat writes #the cat returns #the cat queues #I finished this at like half midnight?#which may explain a few things XD #I do kinda have a headcanon that creations can change their default appearance over time #minor changes are just like this #but larger changes are slower and gradual and are linked to identity #so yeah you'll get creations that differ from the species or the #gender that they were originally created as #because the magic is tied to how they perceive themselves and their identity #basically #one more down!#many more to go

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collapsingintojupiter · 4 years

Note

Patton being sick and Logan having to do all his normal duties - laundry, cooking, homework help - but, needless to say, he doesn't really have a lot of experience with it. Remus and Roman as their kids, of course.

Heh, this was a fun one to write. I kept the original prompt but I’ll be honest I did tweak a few of the details, mostly because of how I personally envision this specific Logicality situation would go.

Characters: Patton, Logan, Roman, Remus

Relationships: Logicality

Warnings: There is some chaotic 7-year old Remus content. Nothing graphic or nasty though. If you want something added here please let me know.

_____

“Patton, please sit down.” Logan sighed, exasperated, as Patton stubbornly tried to get up off the couch again. “Dear, you’re sick.”

“But the kids! They need breakfast! I need to make them breakfast!” Patton gasped, his face hot and flushed with the mere effort of sitting up.

“Patton, dearest, I can make them breakfast. Don’t strain yourself.” Logan returned to his husband’s side with a glass of water, which he set down on the coffee table before helping Patton lay down again. “Now don’t get up again,” he said sternly. “Let me handle things.”

“Papa, what’s going on?” Logan turned as Roman and Remus ran into the living room, eyes going wide when they saw Patton down on the sofa, meekly sipping at his water with a straw. Logan could tell; he was too weak to argue with him any more on the matter.

Which left only the matter of taking care of their 7-year old twin sons.

“Roman Remus, go sit down at the table. I will be making breakfast this morning,” he told them.

“What’s wrong with Dad?” Remus asked.

“He is merely sick, Remus.”

“Will he get better?”

“Of course. But he needs to rest for now. In the meantime, I will be taking care of you two.”

“What about your work, Papa?” Roman asked, having already seated himself at the table. Logan smiled ever-so slightly as he led Remus to join him.

“Don’t worry about that, Roman. I’ve already called in to let them know.”

“So we get to play with you today?” Remus asked excitedly.

“Perhaps. But first, you have school, don’t you?” Logan chuckled a little at the two boys’ groans as he went to the cupboard, pulling out a box of Cocoa Puffs and getting the milk from the fridge.

“Logan, are the boys--”

“You’re supposed to be resting Patton, not worrying,” Logan called. “They are simply disgruntled because they have to go to school.”

“What’s disgruntled mean?” Roman asked.

“It means that you are dissatisfied with--”

“It means you aren’t happy that you have to go to school,” Patton interrupted.

“Patton!”

“Sorry, dear!” Logan could hear his husband laughing on the couch. “It’s just, the boys can’t always understand your big words.”

“I’m disgruntled!” Remus proclaimed. “Can I stay home with Dad?”

“Not a chance, sport,” Patton called. “You need your education.”

“Patton, am I going to have to take you back to your room?”

“You’re gonna put Papa in timeout?” Remus asked. Logan sighed, setting the bowls, milk, and cereal on the table in front of the boys.

“Eat your breakfast,” he ordered, “I don’t want you two to be late.”

Once the food was in front of them it wasn’t hard to keep the twins busy, and Logan set to work collecting their backpacks and homework.

“Did you get their math books?” Patton asked as he made his way back towards the kitchen.

“Yes, Patton.”

“And their spelling books?”

“Yes, Patton.”

“And their--”

“Patton.”

“Yes?”

“I have their homework. I have all of their homework.” Logan set the two backpacks down in the front entryway, then went to refill Patton’s water for him. His husband smiled at him when he returned.

“Sorry dear,” he said. “It’s just I worry about--”

“I know, Patton.” Logan pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then stood up again. “But let me worry about things today, okay? The boys will be fine.” Patton smiled again.

“You’re doing a wonderful job,” he said.

“I try.” Logan went back to the kitchen and saw that the twins had put their dishes in the sink, but they hadn’t put away the milk again. He sighed and did so, before going to the entryway where his sons were busy pulling on their shoes and coats.

Well, Roman was.

Remus was trying to make a paper airplane out of the math homework from his bag.

“I’m gonna throw it at Mrs. Johnson today!” he told Logan when he saw him.

“And why is that?” Logan asked with a frown.

“She’s mean!” Remus said, and Roman nodded his agreement.

“She always yells at us when we get math problems wrong, and she called Remus stupid once!”

“She did?”

“Yeah! I hate her!” Remus growled. “So I’m gonna throw this at her!” Logan was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded, and held out his hand.

“Can I see that?” he asked. Remus hesitantly gave it to him, and Logan quickly set to work modifying the design. “Here,” he said after a moment, handing back the paper plane. “With the wings shaped like this, your plane will fly further and be more accurate.”

“Whoahhhhh,” Remus said in amazement, taking the plane back from Logan. “Thanks Papa!”

“Logan, what are you boys--”

“Nothing, dear.” Logan smiled at Remus and held a finger to his lips, then stood up and helped him put on his coat and backpack.

“Patton? I’ll be back in about half an hour, okay? I’ll see what I can find for you at the store.”

“I love you Logan!”

“I love you too, dear.” Logan herded the twins out the door and into the car, where he spent the next ten minutes listening to Remus recite gross science facts to him and Roman ramble excitedly about dragons. When they got to the school parking lot the two raced each other inside, shrieking at each other the whole way.

Logan sat there in the car for a moment after they’d gone, shaking his head slowly.

“Where do they get all that energy?” he asked himself.

He stopped at the grocery store on the way home, picking up ginger ale, more bread, bananas, and some medicine that would help Patton feel better. Logan hoped that he hadn’t been gone for too long when he got back--and sure enough, Patton was still sitting on the couch, watching the doorway he’d just come through.

“Dear, I do hope that you’re resting and not stressing yourself out more,” Logan mused as he set the groceries down on the counter. He filled a glass with ice and ginger ale, bringing it to Patton’s side and sitting down next to him. Patton took a sip and smiled.

“The boys behave in the car?”

“They were the epitome of obedience and discipline,” Logan replied. Patton chuckled at that, then leaned against Logan’s chest and snuggled against him.

“You’re nice and warm,” he said.

“You have a fever, Patton.”

“Shhh, let me hug you.” Logan smiled fondly at his husband, then wrapped an arm around him as he absentmindedly picked up the remote to turn the TV on. It wasn’t long before Patton was fast asleep, not even halfway through the Disney movie Logan had put on for him. He watched for a little while, but before long he too was asleep.

…

“Logan! Logan!” Logan jolted awake to find Patton shaking him, his curly hair a mess and his glasses askew.

“Patton, what is the matter?” he asked, trying to compose himself as he sat up.

“Logan, the principal just called me!” Patton yelped. “Remus is in trouble for something, and I--” Logan’s eyes widened, and he abruptly stood.

“I’ll be back soon hun!” he shouted, bolting for the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this! I love you!”

Logan didn’t wait for Patton to answer as he raced out the door and slammed it shut behind him, banishing the grogginess from his mind as he jumped into the car and started it. He gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove back towards the school; he had no idea how he hadn’t heard the phone ringing, but what did know was exactly why Remus was in trouble. He was also pretty sure that Roman would be joining him shortly. The two hated to be apart.

Moreover, Logan wasn’t exactly sure how he planned on explaining this to Patton when he got back. And when he was supposed to be resting too, not worrying about his sons!

Such an idiot, Logan thought with a sigh. Course, Remus wouldn’t be in trouble with him, and he’d certainly have some words for the principal when he got there, and….oh, why did such rotten people get to be in charge of children like his? This was ridiculous. Logan let out a huff as he pulled into the parking lot, shutting the car door rather hard behind him as he marched inside.

He made his way to the principal’s office, where he found a tired, balding man sitting behind a desk beyond the window of the secretary’s office. Remus pouted in the chair in front of him, and as Logan had predicted, Roman was sitting next to him. Those two really did do everything together.

“Are you Mr. Sanders?” asked a voice, and Logan turned to see a small, red-haired woman sitting at another desk on his right.

“I am,” he replied.

“The principal’s waiting for you.”

“So I noticed.” Logan opened the door and stepped into the principal’s office, looking down at the older man with an unreadable expression.

“Ah...you are not who I was expecting…” he started to say, but Logan held his hand up.

“My husband is sick. Is there a problem?” The principal turned red.

“N-No, of course not. Well, I mean...I-I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Charles Lawrey, the boys’ principal.”

“I can read,” Logan answered. “Why is my son in trouble?”

“W-Well you see, Mr. Sanders, your son Remus threw a paper airplane at his math teacher--”

“Is this the one that called him stupid?” Logan interrupted. He saw Remus’ eyes light up at that; he gave the boy a stern look and he quickly went back to pouting.

“I-I...what, sir?”

“I asked, is this the teacher that called my son stupid?” Logan repeated, crossing his arms and gazing sternly down at the principal.

“I-I don’t know sir, but you see, it’s--”

“Remus, did that woman call you stupid?” Remus nodded. “Hmmm. So, Mr. Lawrey, you’re telling me that you have wasted half an hour of my time, woken up my sick husband, and disrupted the education of my children because they grew tired of having to deal with such inappropriate behavior from an adult, and not only that but from a teacher at your school?”

“Sir!” The principal spluttered. “Your children disrupted the education of the other students!”

“Then consider a more competent teacher to put in charge of my boys.” Logan turned. “Roman, Remus, let’s go.” The twins got up without a word and followed Logan out of the office, out of the school, and back to the car.

Once they were driving again, Remus was the first to speak. He was always the first to speak.

“I never seen anybody get mad at the principal like that before,” he said. Logan sighed.

“I’m sorry you boys have had to put up with all of this,” he said.

“Are we going home?” Roman asked.

“Nope. We’re going to get ice cream.” Logan smiled at the twins’ cheers.

He took the two into the nearest ice cream shop and let them get whatever they wanted. Remus chose a scoop of peanut butter-chocolate ice cream with lots of gummy worms on top, and Roman got strawberry with a heaping of chocolate fudge. The ice cream was enough to keep them quiet for the rest of the drive back, which Logan discovered he was more than grateful for.

The moment the trio stepped inside the house, Patton’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Logan, honey? Are you guys home?” The twins looked at Logan, and he motioned to the kitchen table.

“You two get started on your homework and I’ll talk to Dad, okay?” The boys nodded.

“Thanks Papa!” Roman said. Remus echoed him as they took their backpacks to the kitchen table, and Logan went to join his husband by the couch. Patton raised an eyebrow as he sat down, and Logan glanced aside.

“You son was in trouble for throwing a paper airplane at his math teacher,” he explained.

“And what did Roman do?” Patton asked.

“I went pbththbthbhbhrbhbt at her when she tried to take him away!” Roman yelled from the kitchen table, along with a long raspberry noise for extra emphasis.

“I see.” Patton looked at Logan. “And what did you think of Mr. Lawrey?”

“A despicable character,” Logan grumbled, crinkling his nose in disgust. “Incompetent.”

“Papa, what does despicable---”

“Remus, please let your Papa and Dad talk. I’ll be over there in a minute.”

The boys quieted down, and Patton grinned a little at Logan. “I didn’t like him either,” he said. “But hon, we can’t have the boys getting pulled out all the time. I know Mrs. Johnson is...not a pleasant person, but we can’t protect the twins from everything. They have to learn to work with other people...even the less friendly ones.” Logan frowned.

“I know, dear, but…” he glanced back at the kitchen table. “I am also happy that our boys will stand up for themselves if they are mistreated. And as for being pulled out...one missed day won’t hurt them.”

Patton thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Help me stand?” he asked.

“But Patton--”

“I want to talk to our boys! No buts!” Patton held out an arm with a look of determination--Logan knew that look, and he knew his husband wasn’t going to change his mind. He took Patton’s arm and helped him up, and the two made their way to the kitchen table.

“Remus?” Patton said.

“Yeah Dad?” a little bit of nervousness flashed over the boy’s face, but then Patton grinned at him.

“Did you at least hit your target?” At this, Remus beamed at him.

“Hit her right in the nose!” he said. Patton laughed.

“That’s my boy!” he glanced at him, then Roman. “How much homework do you two have?”

“Not much,” Roman said. “We got kicked out before the lesson was over.”

“Alright well, how about you two finish that, and then we’ll have a movie night. That sound good?”

“Yeah!” The twins nodded eagerly, and in a flash they were in a race to finish their homework. Logan helped Patton back to the couch, got him another glass of ginger ale, and went back to help the boys with their Spelling homework. Roman was right, they didn’t have much, and once that was complete the boys darted off to change into their pajamas in preparation for movie night.

“What are we watching tonight Papa?” Remus asked, coming back rather quickly in his octopus-themed pajamas, which were backwards, and a matching blanket. Roman was quick to follow, his knight pajamas quite the contrast to his twins--and also put on properly.

“Let’s watch Frozen!” he yelped.

“Oooh, Frozen!” Remus agreed. “I like the snow monster!”

“I like Olaf!” Roman shouted. He and Remus plopped themselves into Logan’s lap--he wouldn’t let them sit on Patton while he was sick--and Patton put on the movie for them to watch.

“Logan?”

“Yes dear?” Logan glanced at his husband, who smiled and kissed him softly on the cheek.

“You did a wonderful job.”

Logan smiled.

“Thank you dear.”

#logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #remus sanders #roman sanders #creativititwins #fanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction

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whirlybirbs · 5 years

Text

☄ ----- MOONRISE RADIO.

summary: you’re hawkins high’s new science teacher, faculty advisor for the newly reinstated hawkins av club, and crazy townie who overhears a russian comminucae on a broken ham radio. chief jim hopper is into it. joyce is a good wing-woman and the kids just want to listen the the buggles. pairing: jim hopper x reader, murphy as a placeholder surname. rating: t, some swears. word count: 3.8k a/n: this is a season three au! here’s the set up for all the drabbles i am going to end up writing for hopper bc he literally owns my whole ass, thanks, enjoy ;)

Hawkins, Indiana is a small town.

For this exact reason, Chief of Police Jim Hopper knows everyone.

... Seriously.

Everyone.

Hawkins is kind of like Saturn: try to leave its orbit and you’ll get caught in the rings -- literally. Y’know, high school sweethearts marry one another, settling down, and boom! Hopper winds up at their end-of-the-cul-de-sacs on domestic dispute calls and reunites with that shithead co-captain of Hawkins basketball team who keyed his car Sophomore year.

Life in Hawkins is a never-ending cycle of existence that renders everyone in the small town a familiar face. Everyone knows everyone’s business. Everyone knows everyone.

And everyone certainly knows Jim Hopper.

So, imagine his surprise when after her first day of high school, over a ravoli dinner, El nudges a crumbled pink piece of paper his way with an excited look on her face. The paper is well-loved paper and home to her new class schedule, a point of interest -- she’s marked what classes she has with the boys and Max.

“I like science,” she says with a full mouth, “Fun.”

El points to her sixth period.

Imagine Chief of Police Jim Hopper’s surprise when he sees an unfamiliar name. Someone he doesn’t know.

And she teaches science.

Summer fades with a wave of heat and full moons.

The last week of August creeps up on you and before you even realize it, you’re moving into the cleared out room of a retired Mrs. Gomez and hanging your own name up on the door along with three planetary mobiles, a periodic table and a big exo terra tank for the freshmen class pet on the back windowsill.

One period turns into six, and a week turns into three.

Your life begins again, Hawkins style.

“Miss Murphy!”

You’re wiping down the chalkboard, smearing drawings of ionic bonds into dust when the stampede begins.

Typical Friday.

You like Mike and Will and Lucas and Dustin and El and Maxine. The little squadron of hellions had managed to win you over easily within the first three weeks of school -- between the abundant D&D references and constant “curiosity voyages”, you’d seemingly become their go-to with questions, gossip, and over-all mentor-ship.

The whole bunch of them sat together in your sixth period class, and the whole bunch of them were really the only ones excited about Dash, that aforementioned freshmen class pet that you’d scooped up behind the school and saved from being roadkill.

El immediately wanders to the tank and makes sure the heat lamp is on.

You can’t help but smile. These are good students. You like them. They like you.

Maybe it’s because when you were younger, you were just like them.

It’s like a sixth sense. They just... know.

“We have a question.”

“Is it about reptiles again?” you chirp, wiping your hands, “I don’t know, like, anything about komodo dragons, Dustin, I told you --”

“No!” Dustin waves his hands, hopping up onto the edge of your desk, “No, this is about the AV Club.”

“AV Club?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “The AV Club!”

You blink. All six of them are looking at you expectantly. You deadpan.

“You lost me.”

“She’s new here, guys,” Will sighs, gently nudging Lucas who makes an O with his mouth, “Remember?”

“Right, right, right,” Dustin sighs, waving his hands with a charismatic no-front-teeth smile, “Sorry, Murph, my excitement precedes me --”

You shoot Dustin a look. No nicknames. He knows the rule.

“Make it quick,” you groan, waving an apologetic Dustin off your desk as you begin to collect papers from the previous period, “I have the open house tonight and I gotta get some grading done before -- you’ve got fifteen to catch me up on this AV Club thing.”

Lucas claps his hands. They all settle into the desks in-front of you.

You narrow your eyes.

Mike begins.

“So, there’s all this old radio station equipment in the top of the gym...”

You wring your hands.

You fiddle with the hem of your dress.

This is nerve-wracking.

For the first time in a while, you curse the fact you’ve got mostly freshmen in your classes -- with every new round of bright blue visitors stickers, parents are eager to pick your bones when you begin talking about your curriculum, expectations and the like. I mean, it’s good, you guess, that there’s parents who are engaged but... as a new teach at Hawkins, you can’t help but feel like you’re missing a part of the bit.

It’s nearing the end of the night now and you’ve noticed the parents don’t greet you like they do the other teachers. Like... like friends.

Maybe it’s because you’re new.

New to the town, too. Not just teaching high school science, you mean.

You wonder if all the news stories pouring out of that Hawkins Lab have anything to do with how cheap rent is in the area. The multi-family unit you’ve settled into is in a nicer suburb in town -- green lawns, a playground, neighborhood BBQs... You’d moved on the pretense of your hiring, excited at the chance to get out of the city for a while and live a quieter life.

You jump six feet in the air when someone knocks on the door-frame of your classroom.

“Oh my god --”

Your hand flies to your chest.

“Uh, sorry -- Sorry, is this... is this Miss Murphy’s room?”

The first thing you notice is the badge. It glints in the florescence.

The next thing you notice is... him. I mean, he’s tall -- tall and broad and intimidating but... soft. His eyes are tired and his voice is quiet and you’re staring, Jesus Christ, you’re staring --

Chief of Police Jim Hopper has never felt smaller.

You’re new -- definitely new. Hopper knows, in that moment, that you must be, He would remember someone like you. I mean, how could he not?

(Everyone knows he’s got a soft spot for beautiful women, but he’s damn near mush right now. Pudding. His knees are pudding. He is an idiot and his knees are pudding.)

He makes the doorway look tiny.

You sputter. “Y-yes! Yes, it is. Hi, I’m, uh, Miss Murphy.”

“I figured,” he chirps, lips quirking under his mustache. He waves the piece of paper in his hands, “Kinda... kinda said so on the schedule, y’know?”

“Jim!”

Immediately, someone shoulders his backside.

Right in the damn kidney.

“Christ, Joyce, ow --”

“Be nice!” she cries with a laugh, stepping around him.

The woman is comically smaller than the police officer before you. Joyce has a kind smile and sweet doe eyes and she excitedly rushes to shake both your hands in her own.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she gushes, “Will has said so many great things about you --”

Your eyes widen. “You’re Will’s mother? Will Byers?”

“Yes!” she nods, “Yes, and, uh, this is Hopper --”

Joyce nearly snorts when Jim just blinks. She elbows him. He jumps.

He was staring.

“Jim Hopper,” he clears his throat, trying to regain any semblance of composure. This really knocked him off his game -- you really knocked him off his game. He was fully expecting some nasty old widow to be teaching, not a young, brightly dressed woman who’s smiling at him, Christ almighty, smiling, “Chief of Police.”

He offers his hand. You shake it and your lips quirk. “Are you... here to investigate me, or...?”

“Oh!” his eyes widen, “No, no, uh -- El is my daughter. Adopted.”

“Ah, right. Miss El. Got it,” you laugh a little, nodding, “Groovy.”

“Groovy.”

(Joyce narrows her eyes, grinning between yourself and Hopper. Groovy indeed.)

“She was nice.”

Jim’s cigarette glows red in the evening September air. Joyce, beside him, has this horrible, conniving look on her face -- the same look she gave him when she convinced him to ask Jenny Gonzalez out Junior year -- and Jim immediately goes on the defense.

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Miss Murphy,” Joyce grins, “I saw you staring.”

“I was not.”

“C’mon, Jim,” she chirps, “She’s pretty --”

“Yeah, a pretty bad idea.”

Joyce rolls her eyes so hard Hopper can feel it.

“Listen,” Jim says, flicking his cigarette into the pavement, “With everything goin’ on, I don’t have time for something like that.”

“Jim, stuff like that doesn’t care if you’ve got time.”

Joyce watches him climb into his truck. He slams the door shut,

“If it’s meant to be, it happens anyways!”

He narrows his eyes.

Then, cranks the window down and raises one finger.

“Not on my watch.”

Famous last words, Jim Hopper. Famous last words.

Happy Monday.

“I’m joining AV Club.”

“...What?”

“AV Club. Science. Fun.”

Hopper just takes a looooooong sip from his morning coffee. Eleven stabs her eggos. She forks a hunk into her mouth and chews.

Hopper takes another sip.

“AV Club.”

“Yes. Radios.”

“Radios.”

“Yes.”

You’re sweating.

The storage space of Hawkins High’s gym is ninety degrees at least -- and here you are, brandishing a flashlight in the dark as the Mighty Hellions dig through the space and pull box after box from the makeshift sauna.

“Think this stuff still works, Murph?” Maxine asks.

You ignore the informal nickname and pull open a box to eye a bundle of cables. They’re in good shape. The mic, at the bottom, is too if not a little grimy.

“I don’t see why not.”

After a grueling hour and a half, they finally set up shop in the closet across the hall from your classroom. It’s usually where they keep glassware and Bunsen burners but... with a little begging and a dejected look from Dustin, you grant them their plea and help them set up the impromptu radio station with relative ease.

The desk in the center of the room -- Mrs. Gomez’s old one -- is a little wobbly, but it works.

“And now,” says Mike, “The moment of truth.”

El flicks the switch.

And nothing happens.

Not so Happy Monday.

"How was AV Club?”

“Sad.”

Hopper’s mouth is full.

“Sad...?”

“Radio is broken.”

“Oh,” Hop hums, “M’ sorry, kid.”

“It’s okay,” El says slowly, looking out the window on the ride home, “Miss Murphy buying us new wires.”

Hopper blinks. “Miss Murphy?”

“Yes. Nice.”

Very.

Joyce rings you out the next evening at Melvald’s.

“I’m surprised you didn’t try Starcourt.”

You laugh a little. “What, that super mall?”

“I heard they’ve got everything,” Joyce chirps, “Will and the kids go there nearly every weekend. Ice cream, movies... you name it. A great place for a date, I bet.”

You laugh and pull out your wallet. “Oh to be young and in love.”

“No kidding,” she grins, taking the cash, “Speaking of... are you...?”

“Young?” you laugh, propping your elbows up on the counter, “Or in love?”

“Either.”

You like Joyce. She’s funny.

“No,” you sigh, “Nope. No, not right now. Neither. I spend my Tuesday nights with wine and a TV dinner.”

“Y’know,” Joyce hums, a knowing look in her eye as she bags the radio supplies, “I know someone who does the same exact thing.”

It’s Miller High Life, actually. And Tostitos.

That’s besides the point, though, because while Joyce is still very much on his case about the new science teacher, Jim is very much focused on the fact none of the stations god damn radios are working.

He could really go for a beer right now.

Something is jamming the signal.

Actually, to clarify -- the same fucking song on repeat is jamming the signal.

For the last two hours, it’s just been Video Killed the Radio Star by The Buggles over and over and over and over again. And then again, just for good measure. On the fourth round of the song, Jim had unceremoniously lobbed his walkie across the station. On the tenth, he’d yanked the chord for the radio out of the wall.

If Hopper hears that fuckin’ oh oh sound one more time, he’s going to lose it.

Callahan just shrugs when, finally, the music stops and the booming voice of Dustin Henderson comes over every walkie in the room.

“GOOOOOOOOOOD EVENING, HAWKINS INDIANA!”

Hopper peels into the high school parking lot.

Long strides carry him through halls that he knows way too damn well -- halls that wind and turn and lead him right to room 305. Your name is scrawled across the door alongside a picture of a constellation and a beaker.

But, the classroom is empty.

And then he hears it.

“-- OH OH! VIDEO KILLED THE RADIO STAR! --”

“I am so sorry, Chief Hopper -- I had no idea that was the PD’s frequency.”

You’re wringing your hands but you’re also two beats from laughing and Hopper is really trying to keep it together because... I mean, it’s funny.

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels bad. He... well, he probably shouldn’t have slapped the broadcasting mic out of Dustin’s hands. He’s got a short wire now-a-days, blame the whole Hawkins Lab incident and the fact he’s essentially harboring a fugitive and allowing aforementioned fugitive to go to high school and jam radio channels with Today’s Top 40 in her free time.

“No, no -- I... It’s fine. It’s fine, really, just...”

Hopper drops his hand. You’re trying your best to hide a smile that’s threatening to sweep across your whole face.

“Do not let Dustin play any more of The Buggles, okay?”

You chew your lip and lean closer, whispering. “... Did it really play for two hours straight?”

Hopper’s nostrils flare. He nods weakly. You note the missing walkie from his belt.

And then you burst into laughter.

You buy more cassettes at Melvald’s the next week.

“Oh,” Joyce grins, holding up a Madonna album before scanning it across check-out with a beep, “Nice stuff -- is this for AV Club?”

You laugh. “Let me guess, Chief Hopper told you about ‘The Incident’?”

Joyce's lips quirk and she tilts her head, eyeing you carefully as you bite back a smile and muscle out your wallet from your bag. “... No, he did not.”

“The kids were on the wrong frequency,” you gesture, a bit sheepish, “And, I mean, I had no idea until Chief Hopper had to come to the high school and let us know that he’d been listening to Video Killed the Radio Star for two hours straight.”

“Oh god.”

“Yeah,” you raise your brows, pull a face and mimic the catchy hook, “Oh oh god.”

Joyce snorts.

��It’s not working!”

“Boys,” you sigh heavily, “Just... Just let me look at it.”

There’s a scramble and the sea of bodies part. Max and El are posted by the door, watching with a dejected sort of disappointment. Your knees hit the floor and you ignore the fact your jeans are going to be covered in nasty dust from the underside of Mrs. Gomez desk. Your necklace jingles and you sigh, settling on your back and waving for Dustin to pass you the flashlight.

“Did Hopper break it?” it’s Mike, “If Hopper broke it, I swear to shit --”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

You squint, pushing apart the mess of wires and sighing loudly when you find the problem.

It’s... weird. Like... Like some of the wires have been chewed clean through.

“Looks like one of the wires is frayed.”

“Frayed?!”

You take the main component home with you.

It’s sitting on your passenger side seat when you pull into Melvald’s.

In the spot in-front of the store sits a Hawkins Police Dept. truck with a CHIEF decal on the side.

“She’s funny and smart and came in here and talked about you --”

“Talked about me?” Jim’s leaned against the counter, coke in his hands, “Hold on, what? You didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah,” Joyce’s voice lilts, “She, uh, was telling me about The Buggles incident.”

Jim groans.

“Oh, yeah, when I nearly drove my fist through the kids’ new hobby?”

“-- Funny, she left that part out --”

“I made an ass of myself, Joyce.”

“Hey,” Joyce coos, throwing her hands, “Maybe she likes that about you... y’know... your uncanny ability to be a... uh, an ass?”

“Nice.”

“I’m kidding.”

The shop door dings and Chief of Police Jim Hopper chokes on his diet coke.

You stop short in the doorway.

The store is mostly empty -- it’s almost closing time, anyways -- and you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding on Hopper and Joyce’s conversation, especially when Hopper is cursing and wiping at the soda spilled down the front of him.

Overhead, Movin’ Out by Billy Joel plays.

“-- Workin’ too hard can give you a heart attack-ack-ack-ack-ack --”

“Miss Murphy!” Joyce grins, “Hi there!”

“Hi Joyce,” you smile, nearing the counter. You can’t help but hide a smirk as Hopper sighs and stands. He drops his hands to his side and you get a full view of the coke down the front of his uniform, “Chief.”

(A little part of him dies inside then.)

(Joyce sees it.)

“Evening, Miss Murphy.”

“Rough night?”

“Little bit,” he heaves, downing the rest of his soda and crushing the can. He lobs it into the trash can beside the register with ease, “Well, duty calls, ladies.”

“Duty calls?” Joyce asks, crossing her arms. Suspicion paints her features.

She’s trying to get him to stay -- trying to goad him into a conversation with you, just like she always does, but the problem is that Joyce is a great wing-woman and honestly?

That kind of terrifies him.

It’s been a minute and a half since he’s considered anything more than a one-night stand with someone. He’s been busy, y’know, saving this dimension and keeping a top-secret government facility secret.

“Yeah,” he deadpans, not feeding into it, “Duty.”

“Duty.”

You blink between them both.

Jim’s out the door with the tinker of the overhead bell.

Ouch. You turn to Joyce.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Famous last words.

“Testing, one, two, three --”

You groan, switch frequencies one more time, and throw your hands.

Maybe the whole Hawkins High Radio Station idea was never meant to come to fruition. It hurts to admit it and you know the kids are going to be so damn upset, but no amount of soldering and wire replacements seems to be getting this hunk of junk to give out any sort of signal.

You take a long drink from your glass of wine and collapse back onto the couch.

Then, you hear it.

"I’ll be sure to let Chief Hopper know, Miss Murphy.”

“Listen, I... Is he here? I’m kinda in a rush and this is sort of important --”

You’re pushing past Florence, the nice secretary, before you even realize it.

You��d known Hawkins was a weird town. That much was pretty clear from the odd disappearances, government labs and toxic leaks. But this... this is more than just weird. This is borderline panic inducing.

Hopper has a cigarette between his lips and his hat on his desk when you barge in.

He jumps six feet in the air and spills his coffee.

“Jesus --”

“Listen, Chief, I know you’re a real busy guy, but --”

“I am so sorry, Jim,” it’s Florence, moving to put herself between you and the Chief, “Miss Murphy, please, if you can take a seat, Chief Hopper would love to hear all about your top secret Russian communicae when he’s done his coffee --”

When Jim’s eyes widen a mile, you realize he knows something you don’t.

Jim feels small in your living room.

It’s a nice place -- furnished with plants and art and your TV has a stack of sci-fi movies atop of it. In the middle of your rug, though, sits the ham radio surrounded by a winding mess of wires. It’s off, and when you near it, you wring your hands. You’re nervous, he can tell. You can hardly stand still.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

Hopper blinks. He clears his throat. “What?”

“This... Hopper, I swear, I heard Russian --”

“No, I... I believe you,” he says slowly, narrowing his eyes, “Hawkins is a...”

“Weird town?”

“Weird town.”

You nod slowly then, crank the on switch, and the radio hums alive in a language neither of you know.

Hopper just sighs.

“... What do you know about radios?”

“It’s close,” you say finally, blinking up from the manual, “It has to be -- I mean, this specefic model only broadcasts and receives up to fifteen miles. That’s... what? Like, all of Hawkins?”

“Just about,” Jim hums, hands on his chin, “and what about the channels?”

“I mean, it’s messy -- I hijacked your frequency. On accident.”

Hopper smothers a smirk with a drag of his cigarette. You grin. His office back at Hawkins PD falls quiet for a moment and you catch yourself staring again. Across from him, you squirm a bit in your seat and turn your attention back to the Olympia Radio booklet.

“There’s no way of tracking the channels,” you sigh, “I... I dunno. I’m kinda out of my element here.”

“What is your element?”

“Chemistry,” you chirp, “And biology. And some physics.”

“Chemistry, huh?”

“Speaking of which, I know you don’t like me much but,” you rush, blinking up at him, “Thanks for believing me.”

The moment would have been sweet if Hopper hadn’t reeled backwards, like he’s been punched. His face screws up in confusion and he waves, cigarette smoke halo-ing around his head as his mustache twitches.

“Wait... hold on --”

“It’s okay,” you console, “Seriously, I... I’m new around here, I... I get it a lot. Folks don’t really trust the new girl next door. Especially with everything that’s been going on.”

“I... I never said --”

You serve him a look.

“Duty?”

“... I panicked.”

“Panicked?”

Hopper sighs. “You’re just as bad as Joyce.”

Your brows raise. “Are you and her...?”

“No!” he cries, “No, no, I... I am single, I am very single, and I am very busy, but despite that, I still would like to ask you out to dinner, and that is terrifying, okay --”

You blink. “You... what?”

Jim’s about to try and dig himself out of his metaphorical grave when the radio flares up again.

You scramble to grab the recorder and Jim turns the volume up -- quickly, you record the repetitive sentence and when the line finally goes silent again, you spare Hopper a look.

“How about dinner and Russian For Dummies?”

#stranger things imagine #jim hopper x reader #chief hopper x reader #hopper x reader #jim hopper imagine #moonrise radio #stranger things headcanon #stranger things reader insert #jim hopper headcanon

1K notes · View notes

thecrimsonvalley · 4 years

Text

RDR Secret Cupid - “Love isn’t real”

Happy valentine’s @jelloandclawsart! Here’s my fic for the @rdrsecretcupid2020 I was so delighted writing this fic because there is nothing that brings me more happiness than these two dorks trying to work out their feelings (+ fun camp interactions, I adore fun camp interactions.). Please enjoy and have an awsome day! ~~~

Hosea was angry. Arthur could recall that he had seen this generally mild mannered and well versed man a tad miffed before, even thumbing onto slightly upset but this was different. He was fuming to the degree in which even Susan kept her distance, instead choosing to rushing about pestering John with a heap of scoldings for trying to sneak into the food preserves once more.

Sitting over by the camp fire, Arthur threw a little glance towards one of the men that had helped in much of his raising. Only Hosea's back was visible but it seemed he was absorbed in whatever task he had taken up, loud mutters and mumbles rising from him in irregular intervals.

While scratching the back of his neck, Arthur rose to his feet, making sure to pour two mugs of coffee. In his mind he had been debating if he should even approach, perhaps it would be better to allow this storm to blow over on its own. It was the more sympathetic thoughts that had won. Hosea was clearly agitated out of his mind to the point where it seemed to bring him a good bit of dismay. How many times had the older man not been there for him when he had been in a similar state. It was just some overdue return of the same kindness.

Taking a few steps closer he caught sight of Susan observing him. She had just about caught onto the collar of young John's shirt and was halfway through the gesture of tugging him over towards the washing bin. Their eyes did meet for a split second and Arthur thought he could detect that small warmth in them, the one that indicated to him of how thankful she was for him intervening.

As he got closer, he could finally make out a few words that were uttered on such a low and rumbling tone it almost drowned out towards the surface of the table over which Hosea remained hunched. Sentences such as “I'll show you, you bloody bastard” and “you complete moron” seemed to be just a few which were actually completely audible. Clearing his throat, Arthur took the last steps, raising the mugs as an almost timid gesture of peace.

He watched as Hosea raised his glance, studying him for a few seconds before grunting out a “sit down”. Doing as he was told, Arthur curiously peeked at what the other man was so deeply entranced by. It did little to clear the situation.

Spread out between Hosea's arms were several pencils, some of them of the fancy ink variety, along with papers in various shades of red and pink. The entire scene was nothing but peculiar. Whatever it was that was keeping his father figure so occupied, it was a job that the older man didn't take too lightly on.

“You... doin' a little craft project there?” Arthur asked, trying to add his general sideways grin.

The reception of his attempt at encouragement was lukewarm, Hosea just moving his hand out to grab the extra cup of coffee and down half of it in a matter of seconds.

“It's a gift” the older man then answered as he started to rather furiously cut out delicate flower patterns out of an especially deep crimson red paper “a gift for this camp's greatest idiot!”

A small moment of enlightenment finally came over Arthur as he could not suppress another smile, finding relief in the fact that Hosea was too upset to even notice it. A squabble. That was what got the most collected man of their small gang so up in arms. It hadn't really been a first and he was certain it wouldn't be the last but there were no stopping his own amusement at how a man Hosea's age could get so incredibly worked up because of something Dutch had said.

Realizing that the word exchange had done little but fuel his mentor's anger further, Arthur cleared his throat, turning his mug between his fingers. Acting as a bringer of peace wasn't really something he had perfected, neither did he expect to ever have to but he knew for a fact that Susan wasn't going to step in between this. More than once she had been the one scolding the two older men for acting like a bunch of scorned teenage lovers.

“You know Dutch” Arthur said with the best honey voice he could summon “he says more than he means, it's just his fancy words, Hosea.”

“Oh I'll show him just where he can shove his fancy words!”

With vigour, Hosea slammed the flowers down onto a small patch of glue, the card before him coming together little by little. Biting the inside of his cheek, Arthur was about to try his second attempt when his eyes settled onto the figure of Dutch, approaching them with the same casual and careless expression as always. In a small act of desperation, he tried to seek the man's gaze only to feel his guts twist in frustration as there only came a cheerful smile onto Dutch's lips.

“What's this now? Still teaching him how to read?”

As Dutch's hand made contact with Hosea's shoulder, Arthur could feel how he instinctively moved just a few inches back. He felt certain that he could almost feel Hosea emitting heat, his eyes looking so furious as he rose from his chair. The movement was so quick that the chair he had been seated onto fell over, causing Dutch, despite all his confidence, to take a quick step back.

“Here!” Hosea hissed out as he shoved the card into Dutch's chest “you moron!”

Before anyone in camp could get their bearings, Hosea had stormed off, still cursing as he disappeared out of their views. Arthur soon moved his eyes from looking after him and instead back towards Dutch who stood as if frozen, mouth gaping and hands meekly holding onto the card.

“Well, you gonna open it or not?” Arthur said with a sigh as he rose to his feet.

He wasn't even certain that Dutch had fully heard him but still obeyed. Finally able to take a gander at this marvellous craft project, Arthur first and foremost took note of what amount of time had been put into it. There were cut out flowers as well as delicately inked birds and hearts. In the middle of it it all, in a cursive handwriting that would have made the highest of noblemen jealous were the words “Love isn't real – Dutch van der Linde”.

It was as if he could hear the cogs in Dutch's head turn. The older man looked down at the letter, then out into thin air, then back onto the letter: repeating the gesture a good couple of times. When something finally seemed to sink in, the only thing he uttered was a low curse.

“You told him that?”

Arthur gave a disapproving look towards the man before him. He wasn't well versed in his mentor's love business but even he could figure out that this wasn't a sentiment that would give any romantic sparks.

Swooping in by their side came Susan who nimbly tugged the card out of Dutch's hands. Reading the words she soon came to give just as much a judgemental look as Arthur himself had. Somewhere he was certain that, had John mastered his reading abilities, even the little half feral kid would have been disappointed.

“Now listen here” came Dutch's defence “he took it out of context, I was just...”

“You were just doing what you always do, using your honey words without thinking” Susan huffed.

For a short moment, it seemed like the older man was about to derail into a speech of defence as if he had been a man in court but the realisation of more dire matters at hand seemed to catch up with him.

“Yeah, I agree with Miss Grimshaw” Arthur said with a shrug of his shoulders “you really went and screwed yourself over there.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence son.”

Dutch's eyes were staring intently straight ahead, towards the point where Hosea had disappeared. They seemed filled with a regret that made Arthur himself have a small bit of pity for his mentor.

“Well don't just stand there!' Susan hissed “he's going to be unbearable to be around so you better figure something out to make this up to him.”

“Like what?” Dutch muttered.

“You'll come up with something Dutch, you're real good at doing that.”

Arthur felt unable to repress a snigger at the comment. This granted him a death glare from the other man and a mutter of “Get the horses ready... and not a word”.

~~~

The ride had not been as giving as Dutch had hoped. His original plan had only involved grabbing Arthur for some damned directions around the place but of course Susan had insisted on them bringing John too: something about how she would not be held responsible for her actions if she were left alone to take care of both the camp and a feral child. This had meant a lot of whining from the child once they were in town, mostly of why he was not allowed to devour the hand picked sweets.

With their ride starting to come towards its end, he sighed. Had he not grown older and wiser? How badly had he formulated that speech to have Hosea all worked up like that. It was thoughts he kept tightly to himself, of course. Arthur already had enough snark material on his own, there were no need to feed them further.

Arriving back at the camp site, he made sure to tell Arthur to keep John away from his tent, though it seemed his words were taken with a pinch of salt as of now. Hurrying over towards the washing bin, Dutch knew that he would never get to live this down. He wasn't so sure yet if he deserved to live it down or not but that was a matter for another day. For now, all he could wrap his mind around was to fix this, no matter what it would take.

Tugging his fingers through his hair, he made sure to at least glance at himself in the mirror before grasping the gifts, all quite cliché in nature yet the best he could muster with such a short notice. Taking off down the small trampled paths, he was struck by the thought that this was the first time that he had bought a bouquet of flowers for Hosea. Before that there had been hand picked things but nothing as extravagant as this. It had put a deep dent in his pocket and yet it felt worth it.

He decided to follow the stream. He had learnt one thing through their years together and that was that whenever Hosea was upset or needed a breather it seemed that water was where he would take off to. Moving slowly along the larger stream, Dutch tried to rehearse in his head. It needed to be a good apology this time, that he felt in his bones.

Stepping into a light clearing, he soon caught sight of Hosea seated on a large rock right by the bank. It appeared that his companion had taken to throwing small twigs into the rushing waters and observing them being carried off. Clearing his throat a tad, he took notice of the other man turning his head barely an inch before turning it back towards the waters.

“Can we speak?”

“Oh you do that” came Hosea's answer, his tone dripping with as much anger as hurt “you're real good at that!”

The line cut deep and Dutch allowed it to do so. A little nudge at the ego builds character. Those had been kinder words from this man whom he had such adoration for yet couldn't always wrap his head around. For most of his life, he was used to having a charismatic power over others but with Hosea it was the opposite. He was quite certain that the other man had no idea just how strong that hold was.

“It wasn't a good line” Dutch answered as he slowly approached “real clumsy.”

Hosea just huffed, throwing another stick into the waters. Dutch counted it a small victory that the stick had not been aimed at his face. Gently he put the basket down from his arm as he moved the last few inches between them.

“I'm sorry, I truly am.”

“You're good at being sorry...”

Another score was won for Hosea's side and Dutch felt he could do little more than nod in agreement. No matter how he tried, his position as leader of their strange little family of misfits meant many missteps along the road.

Deciding to rather go out bold and brash than to stand about with his nerves in a bunch, he kneeled down by Hosea's side. Glancing at the other man's eyes he felt his heart pinch, seeing the faint traces of tears upon his cheeks. Softly he reached forward, happy to see his companion not tugging back from his fingers drying what remained of them.

“I'm sorry” Dutch murmured “think you can forgive me for that?”

“I don't know where you get those ideas from” Hosea answered on a sigh “you never think further than your own nose length.”

Silence fell between them, only the sound of the stream keeping them company before the man by his side decided to speak up once more.

“If love isn't real, then what are we?”

Hosea's words came to feel like a bullet piercing his skin and without a moment of hesitation, Dutch rose to his feet, grasping the other man's face in his hands before pushing their lips together. Hearing a surprised yet muffled sound from Hosea, he tugged back, showering the other man's cheeks and forehead with kisses, ignoring the light laughter and half hearted beg to “Stop acting like a fool!”.

“This is not love” Dutch murmured with his fingers gently cupping Hosea's chin “this is so much more, this can't be put into words, this is greater than any love song or poetry ever printed in the time of man.”

He watched how Hosea's eyes seemed to widen in amazement, at first carrying that same glossy nature but then there came a loud laughter out of the man's lips. Within a few seconds he was engulfed in his companion's warm embrace and, seizing the opportunity, he held on tight, spinning him around in a half circle before letting him down once more.

“What am I to do with you?” Hosea murmured, his fingers sliding along Dutch's cheek “how can I stay mad when you use your viper words like that?”

“You think that I am persuasive now” Dutch said, making a sweeping gesture towards the basket “just you wait.”

With pride he watched how the other man moved over towards it, uttering a “Dutch this is worth a fortune!” yet not protesting any of the gifts further than that. His mind seemed to finally come back from the thousand miles trail of thoughts it had been derailing off into. Hosea was smiling again and that was all that mattered. The coin would come but he would never find company quite as this ever gain, of that he felt certain.

“Dutch?”

“Yes love?”

“Is there any particular reason why you've brought me an empty box of chocolates?”

The question caught him completely off guard and, his mouth slightly open, he turned towards Hosea who stood there, gently waving the expensive heart shaped box about to show its content had been mercilessly ripped out.

“John Marston!” Dutch shouted towards the camp's general direction, words that, despite their velocity were almost drowned out in the loud laughter of Hosea.

~~~ *I wish to add that back in camp: John is desperately shoving chocolates into a surprised Arthur’s mouth in an attempt to hide the evidence*

#Rdrsecretcupid2020 #fanfiction #rdr2 #Hosea Matthews #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #John Marston #Susan Grimshaw #vandermatthews #dutch doesn't have a plan der linde #I adore these two I can't even #they are just.. I... I have so much feels right now!#also super fun to get to write casual interactions in camp it gives me life :D #I really hope you enjoy!#it was a delight to write it!

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