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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Bouquet

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having come clean about being single for a very long time now and considering herself completely out of the dating scene, Y/N’s confession is taken and responded to with a ton of kindness, especially from a special someone...

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it was such a joy to write! I’m so sorry for the long wait you had to go through but the fic is finally here and I hope you enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

I roll out of bed with little to no desire to start my day. We haven’t got a scheduled stream for today and the clouds glooming in the sky seem to be promising rain so really what do I have to get up for except that it’s a rule society installed?

Just kidding, I’m basically stalling and that’s all.

So what happened was the streamer gang and I were playing Among Us last night and our conversation during the pause between rounds somehow swerved into relationship territory. I stayed quiet the majority of if not all the time because I had no valid input to offer.

If you know me you know I’m not one of the performers on the dating scene. I have never really confirmed it with my fans - well, until last night, that is - but I bet they have picked up on that fact considering I’ve been on YouTube for around a decade and have never had a partner. That being said, I’d have to also mention that I have in fact dated but someone but it was before my YouTube era started. Me choosing this career path, which back then was just a hobby, had nothing to do with the relationship ending but it still motivated me to not to actively look for a relationship while I’m still focused on my career. It’s too much work, too much stress and requires a lot of balance I most certainly either don’t have or I don’t have the energy to put in balancing my romantic and professional lives. Luckily, no one’s ever pressured me into finding a significant other, not yet at least, so no societal pressure for me!

But I gotta admit I felt real awkward admitting all this last night.

“Hey Y/N what do you think? You’ve been awfully quiet?“ Rae asks, causing me to jolt in my seat from where I’ve been reading my chat for the past five minutes, my mic muted.

I quickly unmute to reply, blushing ever so slightly, “Um, sorry I was reading my chat. What do I think about what?”

“The gesture of giving flowers to your significant other, is it romantic or a waste of money and plant murder?“ Rae explains, still managing to catch me off-guard with her question.

I ponder what my response should be for a little bit before deciding to level it to a neutral level where I almost sound indifferent, “It is in fact plant murder basically and artificial flowers would definitely be a better gift - plus they’ll last longer.”

“Mhmm yeah that’s true.“ Poki agrees with me, “But there’s still the question of whether it’s a romantic gesture or not. I personally don’t think it’s overrated or cheesy, I actually quite like it. What about you, Y/N?“

And now she’s got me in a real trap that I can’t wiggle out of without speaking my truth. I don’t know where this sudden anxiety around the subject came from but it now resides within me rent free and makes me feel self-conscious and embarrassed of the confession I’m inevitably make.

“Um, I wouldn’t know for certain, I’ve never received flowers myself...“ I say sheepishly, cringing at the sound of my own voice, “It’s not like I’ve dated plenty of people and the one guy I did date wasn’t really romantic or anything, I mean - we were teenagers, after all. But when I think about it in theory I think I’d like the gesture: it’s thoughtful, plus you get a temporary but beautiful piece of décor out of it.“

I’m gonna hope I didn’t sound too pitiful or desperate. Of course I’m not gonna check afterward on the stream cause I’d rather live in the illusion of having sounded humorous rather than be given the confirmation that I didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, did you date your last boyfriend like a decade ago?“ Corpse is now the one talking and that makes me feel even more anxious. This is not the impression one would want to give to their crush, is it? Oh well, no turning back now.

“Correct.“ I reply with a laugh that I hope didn’t sound as nervous as it was.

“And you’ve never, like in your whole life, received flowers from someone?“ He sounds astonished which sort of makes me want to shrink up in my shell like a turtle. Too bad I don’t have a shell though. I’m genuinely thinking of the option to rip the router out of the outlet right now to save me the troubles but I’m not that immature. I’m surprised I’m even reacting this way - this topic doesn’t usually bother me at all but now for some reason I’m red as a tomato and shrinking in my chair.

I know what the obvious answer is but I’d rather die than admit to it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds bad but I really don’t care.“ I make an attempt at changing the subject, swerving it back to the main topic rather than my lack of a love life, “I do, in fact, find the gesture sweet - it adds vibrancy to the relationship just like the flowers would add vibrancy and color to the space they’re put in.“

“Oh my gosh, that’s such a cool analogy!“ Rae gushes, “You’re totally right, it might be an old trick, but it’s aged like fine wine.“

Phew, God bless you Rae.

“Exactly, exactly.“ Corpse agrees as well but I don’t think he’s fully heard what Rae said since he sounds to have fallen in deep thought.

At least I got away with it with only making a SLIGHT nervous wreck of myself.

Yikes, was that horrible, though I don’t people will remember it for long. Sure, my fans have sent me thousands of lovely messages and pictures of bouquets and will maybe continue sending them for another day or two - which I highly appreciate, don’t get me wrong. I’m severely touched by this gesture of theirs and it almost makes me glad I finally ‘came clean’ about my romance-less life - however, it’ll fade overtime. I mean, who the heck cares if I’m single or not?

As I pour the milk over my cheerios which I’ve been snacking on dry for the past half hour as I rifled through the many notifications clogging up my lock screen, I hear the doorbell ring. I’m understandably puzzled by this, seeing as how I never get visitors so that doorbell rings only when I’ve ordered something, be it takeout or a random item off Amazon. However, I can’t remember ordering anything, at least not anything that should be arriving at the moment or even anytime soon - that glow-in-the dark curtain isn’t supposed to arrive until next week. I make my way to the door, unbothered by the fact I’m still in my pajamas, and take a look through the peephole.

It’s a delivery guy...and he happens to be holding a huge-ass bouquet.

“What the...“ I mutter to myself as I unlock and swing open the door in the blink of an eye, “Hi?“

“Hi there, are you Y/N L/N?“ The delivery guy, who I’ve seen many times before and who I’m on pretty friendly terms with, asks me jokingly, sending a wink my way.

“I sure am.“ I reply, my gaze fixated on the breathtaking flowers he’s holding, “But those can’t be for me, that’s for sure.“

He fishes looks at his clipboard one more time, nodding before he looks back at me, “I double and triple checked, Y/N, they’re for you. Here, have a look if you don’t believe me.” He turns the clipboard for me to see and he is actually telling the truth. I mean, I doubt he’d have any reason to lie to me but mix-ups happen all the time.

“Um, ok thanks. Sorry for the halt, it’s just...I’d hate to be the recipient of the flowers meant for another girl.” I apologize as I take the bouquet for him, still in awe of the fact I’m the one it was made and meant for and sent to.

I say a quick ‘bye’ to the delivery guy before practically running inside to inspect this bouquet for a card from the sender. I have my guesses: it has to be someone who was present during the stream last night and someone who knows my address. Hopefully it’s someone from my friend group and not a fan who watched the stream and just happens to know my address. I’d still appreciate the gesture, but I’d also install security cameras if that was the case.

Something about the color scheme of the flowers - pink and black - gives me Rae vibes since she constantly teases me about my aesthetics contradicting each other. But then again, Poki does it too so it could be her as well....

Oh...OH GOD IT’S NEITHER OF THEM

~ ~ ~

I’ve been sitting here, keeping myself a safe distance from my phone so I’m not the first one to send her a text. So I don’t ask if she got what I sent her. So I don’t ask what she thought of it, how the bouquet looks in her living room, how it smells, how it makes her feel. I have so many questions so that phone is best off at a major distance from me. I’m the one who’s better off with such a huge distance between me and the device, to be perfectly honest.

Was it a bad idea? Should I have slept on it - or just thought about it longer cause sleep and I don’t get along? Should I have at least waited a day or two? Should I-

My phone vibrates with a notification and I practically fly to it from across the room, grabbing it and unlocking it asap. My heart sinks and takes off like a rocket simultaneously when I see I’ve been tagged in Y/N’s Instagram story. I nervously tap the notification that sends me to the picture of the bouquet I sent her with some text written over it.

“Thank you, Romeo ;)“

Somehow that one sentence answers all those aforementioned questions.

Is this what people refer to as butterflies in one’s stomach? Cause it feels significantly more like a crush...oh wait.

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

conspire | 1 | scheme

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Shouto Todoroki was standing outside your workroom.

This was unusual, as in the three years you’d both been attending UA, Todoroki had hardly been spotted anywhere near the support course rooms. Class H was typically avoided by anyone who didn’t want your classmate Mei to catch wind of them -- and very few hero course students had proved willing to do so, once they’d encountered her the first time.

Todoroki was one of the smart ones.

He looked incredibly out of place and yet almost comically festive in the doorway of the studio, his red and white mop of hair matching the horrible red and white heart banner someone had tacked above the entry for Valentine’s Day. He stopped midway through the door, eyes flicking over the other offensively bright decor, including several violently pink heart balloons and heinous red streamers that hung from the ceiling like sausages curing in a deli.

A ripple of interest went through the female segment of your classmates at his arrival, and despite yourself, you perked up too.

You didn’t know much about him, but Shouto Todoroki had the most interesting quirk you had ever worked with. You’d been paired for a project earlier this year where you’d helped develop an adjustment to his temperature jacket that used pattern recognition to help it anticipate changes in his quirk, in order to begin applying temperature controls sometimes even before he’d made the switch from hot to cold or vice versa.

You hadn’t spoken much on topics outside the project, but on the subject of your work, Todoroki had proved himself smart as a whip, asking insightful and probing questions, and making sensible suggestions based on what he learned from you. He’d been so keen on your ideas and so shockingly easy to work with that you’d lamented the project’s end.

It had only lasted two weeks, unfortunately, wrapping up before you’d had the chance to really delve into his personality or the actual science behind his quirk, and you’d been dying for the opportunity to pair up again and really study him since.

Less importantly, Shouto Todoroki was also inarguably the most handsome boy in your year, maybe even at all of UA. He was tall, strapped with lean muscle, and equipped with a facial symmetry that was almost more deadly than his quirk. Even his scar did nothing to deter from his good looks, only adding a roughed up, roguish charm to his otherwise pretty features. The first few days of your project, you’d had to pinch yourself on the leg more than a few times in order to reroute your brain from his face to the actual jacket.

You’d since put effort into ignoring his appearance, but you couldn’t really help that your eyes were pulled to him like a magnet whenever he stepped into a room.

Like now.

Todoroki’s own grey and blue eyes scanned over the faces of your classmates, stopping when they landed on you.

“Y/N,” he said in greeting, and you raised a bewildered hand. Several nearby girls shot you betrayed looks, like you’d been keeping an association with him secret. You’d have shot yourself something of a questioning look, too, if you could have. What reason would Shouto Todoroki have to seek you out outside of class? It had been almost a month since the project together. What might he want with you now?

“Hi, Todoroki,” you said, wondering if you’d awoken in some parallel dimension where he thought you were friends. “Uh, what brings you here?”

“I have a personal request,” he said in his low, soft tone, stepping into the room and making his way over to your worktable. He’d shed the grey blazer of the school uniform for the crisp white dress shirt and tie, and he looked unbearably good. As he drew closer, you could see the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt.

You self-consciously pushed around the messy wires and metal framing on your worktop, trying to clear space.

A personal request. Had he come for some kind of support item? Your mind suddenly ran with possibilities, and a thrill went through you at the potential to study half hot half cold in earnest. This was the kind of extracurricular project you’d been dreaming of, maybe even something that you could scope out and build as your submission for your senior project next month!

“Sure,” you said, gesturing to the other stool at your worktop and rifling around in your bag for a pen and paper. You’d probably need to take notes.

Todoroki stared at you. “Ah, not that kind of a request,” he said, eyeing your pen and paper.

Your cheer dropped. Oh.

“I had hoped to ask you in private, actually,” he said, something like discomfort flashing across his handsome features. He looked almost nervous, and you wondered wildly what kind of support request would make one of UA’s big three this awkward. Was he having a problem with his quirk that he didn’t want to cop to?

“Okay,” you said, looking up at him, “lead the way.”

A cool hand came up to grasp your wrist, tugging you out of your chair. Your face burned at the casual touch, and you felt the curious eyes of your classmates on you as you were led from the room.

Todoroki steered you through the hall and around the corner to a small alcove out of the way of student traffic. The alcove had clearly had the same treatment as your workrooms, festooned with a banner boasting a bizarre pattern of tiny All Might silhouettes interspersed with hearts. Your eyes felt like they might catch fire if you looked at it for too long.

“How have you been since the project?” you asked Todoroki, in the interest of being companionable. “Is everything on your vest still working well?”

A smile touched the corner of his mouth as he turned to face you. “It’s incredible. It still surprises me that it can predict what I’m going to do before I even think to do it.”

You flushed at the praise. “I’m glad. It was really cool work on. Your quirk is awesome - normally there are only so many variables with pattern prediction like that but the two sides of your quirk increased the possibilities exponentially, so the algorithm was hard to code. I had to get a little extra help from an actual computer scientist,” you admitted, before slapping a hand over your mouth, realizing you were rambling.

His smile widened and your traitorous eyes caught on his mouth. “You sound exactly as you did the last time we talked.”

You winced. “Yeah, sorry.”

His eyes widened and the hand on your wrist tightened. “No, I didn’t mean--it’s nice,” he said. His fingers seemed to grow the tiniest bit colder where he held you. “I would have liked to have worked with you longer.”

You tamped down on another blush, looking away. “Yeah. It’s too bad.”

Just then, footsteps sounded in the hall, and Himari Honda came wheeling around the corner.

Himari was another student you’d been paired with for a project at one time, and she hadn’t worked nearly as well with you as Todoroki had. A general course student with a quirk that let her track anyone within up to a mile of her person, Himari’s goal after graduation was to become an actress, with a particular focus on playing the love interest of powerful hero characters. She was certainly pretty enough, with large eyes, high cheekbones, and shiny pink hair that she wore in a long plait down her back, but that’s where her appeal ended. She wasn’t horrible, but she was a little too self-interested and it had certainly shown in how she’d handled your pair project.

Himari smiled winningly at Todoroki, and it became clear to you that she’d tracked him with her quirk. You knew instantly why she’d come to find him, today of all days.

“Hi, Shouto,” she purred. His fingers tightened where he still held your wrist.

“Hello,” he said politely.

You stifled a laugh at the carefully blank look he’d suddenly adopted. You guessed he’d been fending off advances of this type all day -- you’d caught sight of his shoe cubby when you’d changed into your own uniform shoes this morning, absolutely bursting with chocolate and brightly-colored valentine's notes. He was too handsome for his own good, it appeared. Still, it was interesting that Todoroki seemed not the slightest bit interested in what someone who looked like Himari had to say.

“Maybe I should go,” you said, tugging your wrist back, but Todoroki gripped you tighter.

“I still need to talk to you,” he said. He fixed you with an intense look like he could pin you in place with his gaze.

Himari seemed to ignore you. “Shouto, I was hoping to talk to you alone.”

“I’m a little occupied at the minute,” he said, gesturing to you. You gave a little wave.

Himari shot you a betrayed look like you’d beaten her to the punch, then puffed up like she was drawing up her courage. “Don’t accept her confession! Accept mine! I like you -- please go out with me!”

Your jaw dropped. You’d definitely not been in the middle of asking Todoroki out, but damn it took balls to cut another woman off like that. You couldn’t tell if you respected her or hated her for her shamelessness.

Todoroki shifted uncomfortably next to you. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I can’t accept your feelings. You see, I was just about to ask Y/N out.”

Your mind went blank.

He what now? Is that why he’d brought you to this alcove to speak to you in private? Is that why he’d been so nervous back in the support studio, asking to talk to you alone? Shouto Todoroki had wanted to ask you out?

You wondered at that. You couldn’t understand why, when he could have his pick of any girl at UA. You were fine, sure -- reasonably smart with good grades and a neat appearance, but you weren’t anywhere near his level of mind-numbing attractiveness. More than that, you didn’t even have a quirk, and it was impossible that someone who wielded a power like half hot half cold was going to wade that far into the bleak depths of the dating pool. He had plenty of other options, so why come to you...?

Then, like a slow sunrise, it dawned on you what he was actually up to.

Todoroki was trying to get rid of all the confessions in one fell swoop. If Himari went back to her classmates and told everyone what had happened, rumors would spread very quickly that Shouto Todoroki was a dead-end bet. No one would try to ask him out anymore if his heart purportedly belonged to another.

That sneaky little fuck.

“Right,” you said, perking up and playing along gamely. “And I was just about to accept,” you announced to Himari.

Todoroki threw you a wild look like he hadn’t expected you to take this track. Shit, had you been supposed to reject him instead? You could, you supposed, but what hot-blooded woman in possession of sound mind and sound body would possibly do so? Did he also want to start the rumor that you were a complete nutjob?

“Um, I mean, I was about to respond privately,” you backpedaled. “Uh, nothing confirmed at this point.”

Himari gave you a furious look, her large eyes filling with tears, and turned on her heel, storming off. Your heart went out to her, just a little.

“You’d really accept?” Todoroki asked you as soon as she’d gone. Something unreadable glinted in his two-toned gaze.

You thought for a moment. Did he actually want to do this? It was barely a couple months until graduation, but you had nothing to lose in helping him. Maybe this was also your opportunity to study his quirk more closely, if you were going to be spending more time together to keep up appearances. You might actually be able to use him for your senior project.

“Sure,” you said, smiling up at him. “If you wanted this, I mean.”

A smile curved the edges of his mouth. “I did, yes.”

“Great,” you said, “Then you’re officially my boyfriend, Todoroki.”

His smile widened. “It’s Shouto.”

You looked at him in question.

“My name, it’s Shouto,” he said. “I’d like it if you would call me that.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest. This was all pretend but damn it was cute anyway. “Shouto,” you tested it out, liking the sound of it in your mouth.

Shouto seemed to like it too, unwinding his fingers from your wrist to slip his hand into yours. The cool of his fingers between yours was soothing, and you quite liked the way it felt.

“Are you free Saturday, then, for a first date?” he asked.

He did nothing by halves, huh? You laughed. “Yes, I’m free. Text me the time and place?”

He agreed and you traded phones, plugging in each other’s numbers. Then he walked you back to your workroom and left you with promises to see you Saturday, after sending you a characteristically straightforward this is shouto text to confirm.

You smiled as you watched him leave, pleased to be in on his little scheme.

You’d never fake dated anyone before so you didn’t really know what you were getting into, but you thought this could be fun. You were looking forward to whatever Shouto had up his sleeve.

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto

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vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

Heavenly Bodies

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Mina Ashido, Eijirou Kirishima

Additional Tags: Quirkless AU

Howdy, everyone! Today I have my story for the @ashidobigbang! I had the privilege of working with the wonderful @mallowfac, so be sure to go give her beautiful art some love!

The picturesque campus of U.A. High School was always abuzz with activity, even after the final bells rang to mark the end of the school day. As expected of the number-one high school in the district, the institution hosted a vast number of after-school sports and clubs, so much that it was almost unheard of for a student to be uninvolved in anything. Thus, even as the sun had sunk low across the sky, the halls were still packed with many students fervently discussing events and fundraising and planning, walking to and from their classrooms.

The exterior of the school was no exception; one would be hard pressed to find an empty sidewalk or field—except for today, when the American football team would be taking on the baseball team in an impromptu flag football game to determine once and for all the title of best sport. The halls and sidewalks and fields were abandoned, for the entire student body had crammed themselves within the confines of the spacious practice field nestled in the back corner of the campus. The baseball team had asserted that football was so easy that even they could do it, and the school had become divided on whether or not that was true.

“Kick their asses, Eijirou!” a particularly loud fan crowed from the top of the bleachers. He was standing tall, hands cupped around his mouth and stamping his feet as he cheered for the school’s idol and star quarterback. The bleachers sang with chants and stomps, trying desperately to smother the boos drifting from the opposite end of the field, where the baseball team’s supporters sat. Eijirou Kirishima, his grin blinding and his red hair gleaming in the spring sun, laughed nervously as praise was rained down upon him.

As Mina zeroed in on him in the lens of her binoculars, she knew she’d found her latest victim— er, recruit.

Mina Ashido was the president—and only member—of U.A.’s astronomy club. Well, it wasn’t technically a club yet since they needed two members for the administration to approve the application. An avid admirer of all things cosmological and an aspiring astronomer, Mina refused to allow her pride and joy to collapse before it had even begun. Thus, for the last few months, she’d been concocting hare-brained scheme after hare-brained scheme to recruit at least one more member and officially christen the U.A. Guild of Astronomers and Astrophysicists. All of her efforts, unfortunately, had crashed and burned brighter than a supernova.

At first, she’d just camped out in the hallways and leisure areas pitching her case and attempting to garner interest in the subject, but she’d been met with polite refusals or awkward avoidance. With so many extracurriculars available, sometimes drastic measures had to be taken to garner interest in a club— the Shakespearean drama club, for example, had performed Macbeth completely backwards in the courtyard, and their numbers had swelled immediately. Mina had cooked up a dramatic scheme of her own, which involved her running around the school screaming about a falling star and the end times. After inciting a mass school panic that led to a lockdown and police involvement, all Mina had managed to acquire was a fierce scolding, detention, and the label as a kook—not even one person expressed interest in joining her club even for the shits and giggles! No, it was clear that the inner workings of her mind were too sophisticated for humble high school students and staff, so she would have to try a more nuanced approach—manipulating the most vital high school variable: popularity.

Her first target had been gorgeous cheerleader and school sweetheart, Momo Yaoyorozu. Despite the stereotype that popular girls were great big bitches, Momo had been nothing but polite when refusing Mina, since her rigorous practice schedule would unfortunately not allow her to devote the time to the club it deserved (but they did regularly meet up for Sunday tea now!). The next one to fall into her crosshairs was the school heartthrob Shoto Todoroki. He’d entertained her for an afternoon, but he destroyed one of her very expensive telescopes while attempting a night viewing and she’d politely informed him that perhaps he wasn’t cut out for it. He didn’t seem too sad about it, though he did occasionally ask her how the recruiting was going when they met in the halls. Very sweet guy, but bless him, he was an airhead.

Thus, Mina had moved on to her next opportunity—the pride and joy of U.A.’s sports program, star American football player Eijirou Kirishima. Incredibly handsome, charismatic, and kind-hearted, Eijirou was beloved by everyone at U.A. If Mina managed to recruit him to her humble club, half the student body would be clamoring to join before it was printed in the school news the next day.

She snickered to herself as she watched him through her binoculars, hiding in the thick, leafy bushes lining the backside of the sports complex. Her cotton candy-colored hair blended well with the hydrangeas blooming amidst the emerald leaves, camouflaging her as she conducted her vital research. The redhead strode across the field with confidence, yet his sunny smile made him seem anything but arrogant. Though she couldn’t hear him, she could see his lips moving as he relayed orders to his team while they set up the play. The players seamlessly fell into an offensive stance, a testament to the faith they held in their captain—and how seriously he took their practice and performance.

A deep and bassy “huuuuup!” resounded through the field, and then the player hiked the ball. With a speed much at odds with his muscular frame, Eijirou took off down the field. Mina admittedly salivated a little as she watched his muscles ripple, his gray muscle tank displaying his biceps and triceps in mouthwatering detail. She could see the sweat shining on his skin and flicking from his hair as he whipped his head around to eye the ball that was sailing through the air toward him. The baseball team’s defense could only watch in awe as Eijirou leaped into the air over the endzone. The ball landed in his arms like it belonged there, his grip smug and sure as he landed in the touchdown zone. The supporting crowd erupted into deafening cheers, while Eijirou just smiled bashfully and gave a little wave.

Mina lowered her binoculars to compose herself, a blush dusting her cheeks. So effortless… And the crowd loves it! she thought in awe. No matter what, I have to get him to join the Astronomy Club! She snapped the binoculars back to her eyes, watching intensely. She really didn’t need to watch the entire game, but… damn, that was a mouthwatering piece of man. She had to find some way to entertain herself while she waited for the game to end and her chance to corner him to finally present itself.

Needless to say, the football team absolutely demolished the baseball team. The rival players marched back to their diamond in defeat along with their gaggle of supporters, while the crowd flooded the practice field to heft a very bemused but giddy Eijirou on their shoulders with chants of his name. They dunked the container of water over his head as soon as his feet touched the grass again, making him laugh jovially. Mina’s heart fluttered at the sound; his laugh was as sunny as the rest of him, so bright she almost felt the need to close her eyes. He was just blinding, like the most intense star.

And just like with a star, Mina gravitated toward him.

Eventually, the raucous crowd dispersed and the football team started heading to the locker rooms to change out of their sweaty gym gear. They came tromping onto the sidewalk, with Eijirou trailing in the rear dripping wet and trying to wring water out of his tank. Mina almost forgot to spring out of the bushes, too occupied with the planes of his abs being revealed each time he wrung the fabric. She remembered her mission just as he passed the hydrangea bush, and leaped out in front of him with a delighted trill.

“That was a wonderful game, Eijirou!” she squealed, throwing her arms up and hiking up one leg behind her in a cute little flourish. The redhead jumped back with a small gasp, startled by her sudden appearance and the leaves and hydrangea petals clinging to her clothes and the soft fibers of her pink hair. Once he recovered, however, he gave her a charming smile that nearly had her melting into a pile of space slush.

“Oh! Thanks. Hey, you’re, uh—” he snapped his fingers quickly as he struggled to recall her, then pointed his fingers at her in a gun-like shape once it clicked, “Mina Ashido! You have homeroom with Tsuyu from the Amphibian Care club. She talks about you when she helps run the concession stand sometimes!”

“That’s right! The one and only!” she chirped, trying to suppress the surge of anger at the fact that Tsuyu could recruit for her club about pet frogs and turtles but Mina couldn’t get one single underling. Not to worry; that will all change soon!

“This might be an odd question, but, uh… is there a reason you were hiding in the bushes?” he laughed awkwardly. Mina blushed when he leaned forward to gently brush the leaves and petals from her shoulders and hair, which made her short-circuit for a second. It was only when he looked at her inquisitively that her brain jump-started again.

“O-oh! I thought it would be fun to surprise you! Yanno, like in the movies where someone jumps out of a big ol’ birthday cake!” It was a bold-faced lie, but it wasn’t like she could tell him she was spying on him through binoculars while she schemed to reel him into her club. Trying to keep him from thinking too hard about it, she placed her hands on her hips and straightened up. “I watched your practice match with the baseball team and have decided that you’ll be a perfect fit for the Astronomy Club! So please join. <3”

Eijirou blinked owlishly at her, his bright red eyes swimming with confusion. He smiled bashfully, clearly trying not to let his utter perplexity show on his face. He rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle.

“Well, um, I’m really not sure how you made that connection watching me play…”

“The inner workings of a woman’s mind are quite an enigma~” she hummed with a waggle of her finger. Eijirou only scrunched his eyebrows in confusion and jumped when she slapped her hand down on his shoulder. “Seriously! You seem like a great fit! Please consider at least trying it out for a little while?” She batted her eyelashes demurely; if nothing else, her womanly charms could entice the burly football player to at least humor her for a while.

Sure enough, a pink blush dusted across his cheeks and a bashful smile curled onto his lips.

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt checking it out… Stars are cool…”

“Fabulous!” she squealed, making Eijirou flinch again as she clapped her hands together and jumped up and down in elation. Even if Eijirou didn’t join permanently, just the rumor of his interest in her humble little club was liable to attract attention. “I know that you’re busy with football practice, so we’ll schedule club meetings on Friday afternoons when you don’t have them, okay?”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to inconvenience any—”

“Great! So it’s settled then! I’ll see you on Friday afternoon in Room 310!” With that, she jumped back into her bush, leaving Eijirou staring at the quivering leaves in confusion. Through the gaps in the branches, she saw him open and close his mouth like he wanted to say something, look around and then up at the sky with a pensive look, and then smile with a shrug of his shoulders. Mina clutched her binoculars to her chest as a smile bloomed on her own lips, but one of satisfaction. Surely this will work! The Astronomy Club will be booming in no time! She thought with a giddy snicker.

If nothing else, she could look at Eijirou’s absolutely dreamy body and face for a few club meetings and drive his fangirls nuts.

At the end of the week, Mina paced impatiently in front of Room 310, chewing her fingernails to nubs as her eyes darted back and forth around the hall. It had only been a few minutes since the final bell had rung and the students had scattered to attend to their Friday afternoon obligations (or lack thereof), but anxiety swirled in Mina’s belly at the complete emptiness of the halls. Has he stood me up? Was I too pushy? Is he secretly a great big jerk who is nice to people’s faces but scathingly berates them behind their back to his football teammates and they all laugh evilly at the unknowing victim’s expense?

With a dramatic sob, Mina flung herself against the classroom door and hugged it, her fingers just barely curling around the wide frame. Once again, it seemed that her recruitment plan had failed miserably, and she was still the sole member of the Astronomy Club. Was she a doomed stranded astronaut, left to traverse the stars in silence awaiting a bitter end? She sank to her knees, sliding down the door with a long squeeeeeeeeak and crying bitter tears. Stars were hella cool! Why did no one at this stupid high school appreciate them?

“Mina!”

Mina’s mood did a complete one-eighty when she heard Eijirou calling her name and his footsteps pounding around the corner. She jumped to her feet, her tears drying up instantly and her pout morphing into a giddy smile. The redhead came trotting up, a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead and an apologetic smile on his face.

“Sorry!” he panted. “I didn’t get a chance to warn you that my class is all the way on the first floor. I hope you weren’t waiting long!”

“No, no! I just got here mys— yeowch!”

She had still been hugging the door, so when she tried to turn to face him, she accidentally pulled it forward and smashed her fingers in the doorjamb. She screamed as her knucklebones crunched and the skin tore; the pain rocketing up her arm sprang tears to her eyes immediately, and she released a petulant whine as she retracted her bruised and bloody fingers from between the wooden door and concrete wall.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay, Mina?” Eijirou gasped, dropping his school bag and rushing to her side. Mina cradled her throbbing hand to her chest with little sniffles, curling away from the football player when he reached for it. He gave her an encouraging, sweet smile. “I know I look big and tough, but I promise, I can be gentle too. Let me see; you may have broken something.”

Whimpering but enticed by his soothing words and demeanor, Mina obediently allowed him to pull her hand forward to inspect her fingers. They were bruising already, big blotches of purple blooming around the torn and bloody skin. Eijirou leaned over her hand, and goosebumps sprouted on her skin as his warm breath puffed over her electrified skin and aching bones. With featherlight touches, he inspected her knuckles, prodding as gently as he could to feel for any deviations in the bone.

“I know this may hurt, but can you bend them?” he asked, looking up at her through his red bangs. Mina whimpered again, hesitant to comply for fear of the pain. However, the glitter in his vermilion eyes urged her to comply. She hesitantly bent her fingers, wincing as pain skittered up her nerves— but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as she thought it would. Eijirou smiled satisfactorily. “You crunched ‘em pretty good, but I don’t think anything is broken or fractured,” he said as he straightened up.

“Thanks… I can’t believe I did that,” she sighed, using her good hand to knock on the side of her head a few times. How embarrassing, injuring herself like that in front of him! “Well, now that all that drama is over, let’s go inside so I can tell you about the club.”

Eijirou followed her inside. While she rifled through the teacher’s desk for some bandages, he looked around at the desks, which were empty aside from a build-your-own-telescope kit, Mina’s completed telescope, and astronomical charts and textbooks. As Mina wrapped bandages around her fingers, he looked at her with knitted eyebrows.

“There’s no one else here yet?”

“There’s no one else to be here,” she replied with a shrug and a wan smile. “I’m the club’s only member.” When Eijirou’s eyebrows shot up to the roots of his hair, she sadly added, “If that information makes you want to leave, go ahead and do so,” she said with a wave at the door. She then looked down at the adhesive wrapped around her knuckles. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“No, I don’t want to leave,” Eijirou said quickly. He marched up to the front of the desk, leaning against it. Mina didn’t know what to look at—his flexing muscles or his bright smile. He tilted his head slightly as he smiled charmingly at her, then said, “Tell me about your club, Mina. I want to know everything.”

Oh God, he’s hot! Mina screamed inside her head, her good hand flying to her rapidly-beating heart. It took everything within her not to absolutely swoon at the complete sweetheart of a man gracing her with his presence this Friday afternoon. Her eyes watered a little in gratitude, or maybe it was the sheer emotion at being witness to such a wonderful human being’s kindness.

Thus, Mina did as he asked. She first instructed Eijirou how to build the telescope that he would use on nights they did observations; he bungled through it a little, but remained patient and tried his best to follow the instructions. Mina had to giggle at the absolutely triumphant grin that plastered his face when he successfully assembled the telescope; he held it up over his head and pranced around—nearly giving them both a panic attack when he bumped into a desk and nearly dropped the telescope on the ground. Mina didn’t think she could handle a Shoto 2.0.

After assembling the telescope, she started him off with easy information—constellations. She unrolled her star map which had all the constellations displayed by season, explaining specifically which ones they could see at the moment. Eijirou was very excited to see them in person, so they arranged a meeting for the following week. True to form, he showed up that Friday night with his telescope and all his zeal, his smile brighter than the full moon hanging high in the sky.

“It’s hard to believe that people stared at the sky thousands of years ago and traced shapes out of ‘em!” he exclaimed as he plonked his telescope down to the ground. “And made up all these stories to go with ‘em. And all the stories and constellations are different based on what civilization was lookin’ at ‘em!”

“The stars have always been fascinating,” Mina hummed, gently setting up her telescope and adjusting the lens. “Sometimes I like to find my own constellations and make up stories about them.”

“Really? Tell me one!”

“Well, my favorite is the Alien Queen!”

“The Alien Queen?” Eijirou laughed, making Mina flush shyly. “Show me!” Not waiting for an answer, he shouldered in next to her telescope and peered into it. She flushed darker as his sturdy shoulder dug into the meat of her side, warmth blooming across her skin. With slightly trembling hands, she moved the telescope to the right section of the sky.

“Do you see that big, bright shiny star right there?” she asked, waiting until Eijirou confirmed. “Well, that’s the tip of the back of her head. If you follow them like this—” she gestated in front of the lens, tracing the star pattern— “it looks kinda like the alien from the horror movie!”

“Leave it to Mina Ashido to find the Xenomorph constellation,” Eijirou snickered, straightening up to smile at her in amusement. “No wonder you’re the club president.” Mina shyly played with the hem of her skirt, unable to control the giddy smile playing over her lips.

They spent the rest of the early evening finding the constellations and discussing the various mythologies behind each. Eijirou loved the Greek-based patterns and myths the most. Every time they pointed one out, he would flex dramatically and proclaim how much he loved the famous heroes of old—Hercules, Achilles, Odysseus, Perseus. Mina laughed at his sensational flexing and grunting each time, her giggles bouncing around the empty practice field to join the cricket song.

Monday morning, Mina was surprised to find Eijirou rushing down the hall towards her as she went to enter her classroom. His face was flushed pink and his forehead dotted with sweat, indicating that he’d sprinted all the way to her. He pin-wheeled to a stop, nearly bumping her with his broad chest, and his breath puffed in her hair as he grinned brightly down at her.

“Mina! Guess what I saw on the news this morning! The Creati comet is gonna be passing by this Wednesday, and it’ll be visible here that night!”

“Yeah, I know!” Mina cried. She’d been glued to the news program this morning as astrophysicists and space program officials discussed the once-in-a-lifetime event; it was rumored to be an absolute gorgeous comet, with a rare rosy pink-lavender tail due to its high concentrations of lithium and potassium chloride. She then blushed, warmed by the fact that Eijirou had found it so important to inform her that he’d run all the way across campus first thing in the morning.

“Yeah! We’re gonna watch it together, right?” he asked, clapping his hands on her shoulders. Mina flushed, fidgeting in place and chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“A-are you sure? I’m sure you’ll be tired after football practice.”

“Are you kidding? What kind of Astronomy Club member would I be if I didn’t see this comet?” he objected.

Mina felt her heart thrum at the statement. Does he enjoy being a member that much? She’d only recruited him as a means to an end, but was it really turning out that Eijirou liked being a member of her club? She felt her belly twist with guilt and a cold flush pulse through her body. She curled into herself a little, blood roaring in her ears and nearly drowning out what he said next.

“I know you’re planning on going to watch it, so let’s see it together, Mina!”

“Okay,” she found herself saying before she even processed it. The next two days were a similar blur of guilt and anxiety amidst preparations to view the comet Wednesday evening. All traces of excitement she would normally possess was swallowed up by the remorse poisoning her from the hard ball in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t help but obsess over the fact that she’d recruited Eijirou on false pretenses, abusing his kind heart to use his popularity for her own gain. She’d already received a flood of interest in the club once news had spread that Eijirou was seemingly an official member, but she’d evaded them with half-hearted promises that she’d contact them soon to set up a general interest meeting.

On Wednesday night she stood by the hydrangea bush, chewing on her bottom lip and tempted to hide within its emerald leaves and pink blossoms so she wouldn’t have to face Eijirou. Before she could take shelter in its branchy depths, the redhead came trotting up the sidewalk, his smile gleaming in the starlight as he called her name. His telescope flopped on his back in its canvas sheath.

“Hey, Mina!” he grinned when he came to a stop in front of her, panting slightly. Always in such a rush, she thought fondly. No wonder he’s the star quarterback. “Are you excited? I sure am!”

“Yeah,” she lied. There was no room to be excited with all the guilt filling her to the brim. Eijirou’s smile somehow managed to get brighter. Despite everything, her heart still jumped in her chest when he grabbed her hand, his thick and calloused fingers so strangely perfect around her slim ones, and pulled her onto the practice field.

“This is perfect!” he exclaimed, looking up at the starry night sky with his hands on his hips. Mina only hummed quietly, robotically unfolding a blanket and placing it over the grass. She’d arranged for the school to shut off the nighttime lights for the evening, giving them a clear view of the moon and stars. Thus, they were the only things that provided illumination as Mina and Eijirou sat down on the soft blanket together. “I didn’t know if we would want to get a better look at the comet, so I brought this!” he said excitedly, slipping the telescope off his back and setting it down between them. Mina hummed again, anxiety swirling in the pit of her belly. In the gloom, she could still see Eijirou’s bright red eyebrows scrunch.

“Mina…? What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. Mina debated lying for a moment; she nervously plucked at the loose fibers of her stockings, unable to meet his pretty vermillion eyes. The lie never got the chance to dance on her tongue. She knew she had to come clean, to tell him the truth before she toted him along even further.

“Eijirou… I have to confess something,” she admitted quietly. He shifted beside her, eyebrows raised.

“What is it?”

“I’m not as good a person as you think I am.” Her voice shook as tears flooded her eyes. She bit down on her lip as a sniffle slipped free. Eijirou looked at her in utter bewilderment, confusion swirling in those gorgeous vermillion eyes that had struck her the moment she had first seen them. He gently reached out to stroke his fingertips ever-so-lightly down her cheek; she turned away, a tear slipping down her cheek that was still tingling with his featherlight touch. “Don’t,” she begged, her voice nothing more than a strained whisper. “I don’t deserve your sympathy.”

“Mina…”

“I used you, Eijirou,” she said finally, choking the words out as her throat constricted with guilt. “I used your popularity for my own gain. I just wanted my club to be popular.”

She didn’t look at him as the silence hung heavy between them, like an anvil suspended on a slowly fraying rope. She waited with bated breath for the rope to snap and for it to plummet, for him to explode on her like he rightfully should, to tell her she was selfish and cruel and for him to storm away and never look back. She cringed when he inhaled sharply, already preparing for his raised voice.

He didn’t yell or scream or curse. Instead, his voice was heartbreakingly soft when he murmured, “That doesn’t make you a bad person. That just makes you lonely.”

Mina’s eyes fluttered as her heart swelled with hope. She didn’t resist when he cupped her cheek and gently turned her tear-stained face to look at him. Her watery eyes met his red ones, and she was so relieved to find them brimming with understanding, not hate or anger. He swept his thumb over her cheek to catch the tears still streaming over her ruddy skin.

“Mina… I knew that already,” he confessed with a small smile. She gasped in shock, while Eijirou smiled bashfully and rubbed at the back of his neck with his other hand. “As soon as you told me that you were the only member of the club, I figured that you wanted to use my popularity to recruit more people. I was a little bitter about it for a second, but… Then I saw how sad you looked.” He used both his hands to cup her cheeks and leaned forward to press his forehead to hers. “I didn’t want to see that look on your face. Even if you were using me, I wanted you to be happy.”

“Why?” she hiccuped, chest drawing tight like a balloon ready to burst. “Th-that was so horrible of me… And you still wanted to do that for me? Why?”

“Because from the moment you jumped out of that hydrangea bush, I’ve been head-over-heels for you,” he purred, mouth twitching up into a smirk. Her face flushed with a fierce, fiery blush and her mouth dropped open in shock. “And maybe I was a little hopeful that I could get you to be head-over-heels for me, too,” he added with a playful wink. Mina couldn’t help but laugh, mostly from the overwhelming relief bubbling up inside her body. She leaned into him, finding solace in how well her small body fit into his muscular one—like a lock and key, like they belonged together.

Sniffling happily, she curled her fingers into the leathery fabric of his varsity jacket and smiled joyfully.

“Well, you didn’t have to try very hard. How could I not be head-over-heels for you?”

Before they could say anything else, the sky was suddenly filled with bright light. They both turned to see that the comet had appeared among the stars. Its powdery tail streamed pinkish-blue behind the large white body, slowly traveling across the expanse of inky blue like a leisurely sailboat. Mina inhaled sharply as the pastel colors reflected in her eyes and the light danced over her skin and hair; it truly was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She was so entranced that she didn’t register Eijirou’s hand sneaking under her chin again until he turned her face back. The comet danced in his red eyes, making it a pink nebula of stars and space and beauty.

No. Those eyes of his were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

She almost didn’t want to close her own as he leaned in to kiss her, but as soon as his lips smoothed over her own, she couldn’t help it. They drifted shut as she melted against him, savoring the gentle motions of his mouth against hers. Her heart fluttered when his hand drifted up into her cotton-candy hair, twirling around the strands like he was memorizing the feel of the silky threads. He kissed her with rising passion, like an astronaut adrift in space who’d finally found the oxygen he needed.

They pulled apart slightly panting and blushing the same color as the comet streaming slowly above their heads. He stroked her face gently, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down on the blanket. She laughed when he hugged her tight, nuzzled into her hair and inhaled deeply.

“You smell like hydrangeas.”

“Eijirou, I thought we were here to watch the comet.”

“It’s pretty,” he remarked with a glance up at the sky. He then looked down at her with that dazzling smile she adored so much. “But I’ve got a heavenly body right here that I’m more interested in.”

“Oh my gosh! That’s so corny!” she howled, throwing her head back in laughter. Eijirou snickered and snuggled into the side of her face, making her laugh more at the ticklish sensation of his nose brushing her skin. He peppered butterfly kisses over every inch of skin he could find, making her squirm and giggle in his grasp.

Finally, he rolled on his side, one arm still snug around her shoulders while he watched the comet slowly make its way across the horizon. She pressed against him, warm and fuzzy and happy.

“You know, despite the circumstances, I’m still glad you asked me to join, Mina,” Eijirou said with a contented sigh. His fingers drifted up to play with the fluffy strands of her hair. Mina rested her head on his chest, smiling while she watched the comet.

“Me too, Eijirou. I can’t wait to spend the rest of the school year checking out heavenly bodies.”

Eijirou gave her a wan look as she snorted piggishly in laughter.

“You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Absolutely not. I’m already planning to sell tee shirts!”

Eijirou laughed, then rolled over to attack her with snuggles and kisses again. Mina welcomed his embrace and affections. Their laughter drifted up into the sky to join the stars and the streaming glittery trail of the comet, finding a home forever in the vastness of space…

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#kirimina #mina x kirishima #kirishima x mina #mina ashido #ashido mina #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha

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scathecraw · 3 years

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BBRae Week 2021 - Day 3: Into The Woods

“Summer camp has been so much fun, Rachel. Teether hasn’t cried once since the day after you dropped us off, and Tommy got first place in the obstacle course. You were right, we should have done a camp last year, too.” Melvin chattered excitedly on the office phone while Rachel listened patiently. “They’ve made a bunch of arts and crafts, and the woods here are so cool. They’re really old, and Gar knows so muchabout all the trees and animals and bugs.”

“And who is this Gar, Melvin? A new friendof yours?” Rachel’s emphasis was obvious, and Melvin’s blush was practically audible.

“NO! He’s a counselor. He’s really nice, but he’s really old. Like, 50 or something. You’ll meet him on parent’s day next week.”

Rachel didn’t remember anyone older than the director, a middle aged woman she had spoken to when getting them enrolled and again during drop-off. She suspected Melvin was fibbing to cover her embarrassment, but she brought it on herself by teasing the preteen. “I’m sure I will. Does this mean that you’re going to drag me out into the forest when I come? I thought it was going to be an afternoon of arts and crafts and then some campfire songs, not a forced march.”

“Duh. Arts and crafts are lame. Gar said that next year he’d show us how to whittle, which sounds better than making lanyards.” There was muffled adolescent shouting, and Melvin covered the receiver and yelled back. “I gotta go. We’re going swimming. I’ll call you on Friday. Love you, bye.” She hung up before anything could be said back, and Rachel was left with dead air while Melvin sprinted after her friends, untied shoelaces flailing behind her.

Arriving at the aforementioned “Parent’s Day”, Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The camp had at first seemed like a good way to get the three adopted children outside instead of rotting their brains, but the sheer noise of a few dozen milling, clamoring kids and groups of socializing parents made her wonder what she had subjected them, and by extension, herself, to. She was late, which probably didn’t help the situation, but she looked around the chaos in an effort to find her own three chaos engines. Instead, she was spotted.

A wild, dirty missile made a high-volume impact with her legs, nearly toppling her and babblingso fast that even Rachel’s practiced ear couldn’t discern what he was saying. She was wobbling and about to fall over when a firm hand caught her upper back and helped her regain her balance. “Teether, dude! I said you could go get her, not try to body slam her.”

Rachel finally planted her feet, acknowledged Teether with a gentle hand on his head, and looked up. And up. They both froze for an instant, but the tanned, blond man recovered first. His slack jaw snapped into a smile, and he said “Hi. You must be Rachel. I’m Gar, one of the counselors here.”

His hand was still on her back and heat radiated from it like afternoon sun. Her face had never fallen into the silly expression his had, but unconscious thought raced before she could regain her composure. ‘Definitely not fifty,’ she thought. “Hello. Yes, I’m Rachel, Teether’s mother.” She peeled Teether from her leg with practiced ease, and he sprang off of her and ran.

Gar realized that his hand still rested behind her, almost possessively, and retreated to a more respectable distance. He chuckled, nervously. “Heh. Um, Melvin and Tommy are with their friends, still, but we should probably get them. Ms. Waller asked me to show you around – she said you had just moved to the area?” It wasn’t a question, but he phrased it like it was. They began walking back towards the milling crowd of parents, children, and quite possibly enough noise to drown out a jet engine.

“Yes, it’s our first summer here. She mentioned that most of the kids made this an annual activity, but I didn’t think we’d be so strange as to warrant a personal detail.”

“Oh it’s nothing like that, it’s just that there’s not really many other summer camps around, and ‘cause we go from K-12, we get pretty much everyone. A lot of the other parents already know everybody. You’re not strange, just… new.” His eyes never left her, even as they began walking.

Back with the crowds, Melvin and a gaggle of similarly aged girls watch the two of them. One of them nodded decisively and turned to Melvin. “Okay. They’re too cute together. Look at how awkward they’re being.”

Anotherhuffed a little. “They’re just staring at each other. They should be holding hands or something, right?”

Melvin’s eyes narrowed critically. “It’s been like 10 minutes and they aren’t kissing yet. Gar’s probably too much of a nerd to do anything. We need to do something to make sure they know how perfect for each other they are.”

“Like what? They aren’t going to start making out in the middle of the crowd.”

An evil smirk crept across Melvin’s face. “Maybe not in the middle of the crowd, but what if they were all alone in the woods? Then they’d have no excuse not to!”

A look of awe crossed her companions’ faces. “That’s evil. I love it.”

But the smirk fell, half-formed plot evaporating. “But how could we get them out there alone? It can’t be anything serious, or else Rachel will ground me forever, and I bet she won’t even go unless we can trick her into it.”

“Could you just tell her you feel sick?”

“No.” Melvin shook her head slowly. “Then she’d either stay with me or just take me home early.”

One, heretofore silent, chimed in. “I think I know what we can do. But Mel, you’re going to have to make a lanyard.” She giggled at the disgusted look, and said “C’mon, we only have like 15 minutes before they start wondering where we are.”

Across the crowd and a million miles away, Garfield and Rachel were, in fact, being tremendously awkward as they watched the kids run and play. Gar fumbled his words and couldn’t decide to stare at her eyes, the curve of her neck, or decidedly anywhere except her. Rachel was the opposite. She answered in short, monosyllabic whispers and swallowed, trying to ease her desperately dry throat.

“So, uh, you said you just moved here! Do you have a job, er, of course you do, unless you don’t! That’s fine, too! Nothing wrong with… that. Yeah.” He trailed off, before gamely trying again. “So what do you do when you’re not, y’know, coming to summer camps?”

Rachel took a deep breath and centered herself. Gar started. “I’m not, like, annoying you, am I? I’m sorry, I tend to blabber -”

“No. I’m just… a little off-kilter. I’m a curator of antiquities at the museum.”

“That is so cool. Gar’s eyes were like dinner plates. “I love the museum! I always wanted to volunteer there, but I never feel like I have time between summers here and planning classes during the year.”

“Oh, you’re a teacher? Grade school or high school?”

“High school and occasionally some classes at the community college. I figured I was already teaching AP and college bio isn’t much different. I’m sure the kids get tired of me after the sixth year, though, heh.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, uncomfortably warm even for a summer afternoon.

“I suppose they wouldn’t let you teach so many years if you weren’t good at the job. Not that biology is my area of expertise.” She clarified, hearing his unspoken question. “I studied history and preservation, so a natural history museum is certainly a big change.”

“Wow, I bet. Still, nobody does what they expected to when they were in college. I got a bachelor’s in Environmental Science, but it turns out most of those jobs are just telling corporations what they want to hear.”

Rachel leveled him with a newly assessing gaze. “Believe it or not, so are quite a few jobs in archaeology. It’s what put me off of the field.”

“But hey, teaching led me to Jump and to Lake Titan Camp, so I can’t complain.”

While the two nominal adults conversed, a far more intricate conversation was happening in the craft cabin. Kole, a pink haired co-conspirator of Melvin’s, was creating a half finished lanyard in pink and purple while the rest strategized. “Okay, so I need to throw her off so she’ll agree. The pink and purple color scheme is good – pink for me, purple for her, but I need something to knock her off her game.”

“You could tell her something that surprised her, maybe. But what?”

Realization dawned. “Okay. This is a little mean, maybe, but I was planning on talking to her about it anyway. I know just what to say. Kole, how’s the lanyard coming?”

“I’ve got it to the perfect length. Just long enough that you might ‘Need a little while to finish it, pretty please.’” She held up the dangling lengths of string. “Everything ready? We’re running out of time.”

“Now or never. Let’s go.” Melvin took a deep breath and led them to the doorway.

Garfield and Rachel were deep in conversation. The initial awkwardness had faded, and while there were still sparks flying whenever they made eye contact, it was more a static buzz than the almost painful live wire sensation of their first glances. At some point they had migrated closer to where Teether and Tommy’s two groups had merged into a supercrowd of children all making noise, forcing them to stand closer to one another to be heard. They were in this huddle, all focus on each other except for both of their frequent check-in glances to the children. Rachel had dipped her toe into a hint of vulnerability to test the waters, quietly and without fanfare explaining that she had adopted all three of them from the same orphanage she had found herself aging out of.

Gar reciprocated. “That’s really incredible. I was adopted pretty young by some family friends. I know how complicated that sort of relationship can be, but it’s doing something amazing for all three of them.”

Melvin, seeing their closeness, hesitated, just a bit. She was messing with fate, a little. But she was certain it was for a good cause. And it was now or never, they were already cutting it close to “Shared Activity Time” for her age group. “Umm. Rachel.”

“Yes, Melvin?” Rachel saw that Mel was nervous. Melvin was never nervous.

“I want to finish a project for you, but won’t have time later. So, uh, I need you to find something else to do. During the Activity Time, I mean. I just want to finish making this. Please, M-mom?”

Time stopped for Rachel. She had adopted them six years ago, and there had never been a time when Melvin had consciously called her “Mom”. Forms asking for “Mother’s Name”, sure. Mother’s day celebrations, absolutely. Even a few mostly-asleep, teary pleas, but never, never while Melvin was in control of her faculties.

But while time had stopped for Rachel, it marched onward for everyone else. Melvin held her breath and waited for long, tense seconds, but Rachel didn’t seem to be coming back to her senses, so she hurriedly spat out “Okayloveyouseeyousoon,” and fled back to the safety of her friends.

Gar, too, was frozen. Not to the same degree, nor for the same reasons, but he felt like he had intruded on something intimate that he had no business being a part of. He looked around, helplessly as Rachel gaped. After several seconds of silence, he couldn’t not do something. “Uhh. Rachel? You… okay?” More frozen immobility. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Rae? You there? Do I need to get a doctor?”

She seized his hand. “Did… did she just call me “Mom”? Or did I have a stroke?”

“Yeah, ouch. She did. I’m guessing this was new?”

“I… Yes. She’s never… What… what do I do? Was she angry I didn’t answer? Where did she go?” Rachel began looking around for her.

“Whoa, slow down. She’s with her friends. She wasn’t mad, it seemed like she was nervous, but not scared. And what you do is let her come to you and talk to her like you always do, and just make sure she knows you’re okay with it. As long as you are okay with it, right?”

“Of course. I just thought...” Rachel trailed off.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about! She loves you and just told you how she feels. That’s a good thing. Let’s give her a chance to do whatever she’s doing. The rest of the kids are about to go do an activity, so we have time.”

“I think I need to get away from the crowd for a minute. I can’t believe I’m asking this, but is it alright if we just go for a walk?”

“Of course.” Gar’s grip had at some point shifted to be holding her hand back, and he led her down a dirt path towards a grove of trees. “This path is quiet and not too hard.” Her sudden harsh look had him follow up. “You’re not really wearing the shoes for hiking, Rae.”

“Hmf. And since when did I say you could call me Rae, Garfield?”

He looked stricken. “I am so sorry. I dunno what I was thinking, Ra-chel. Rachel.”

She narrowed an eye. “Rae is… acceptable, as far as diminutives go. Just don’t make a habit of it in public.”

“Cross my heart. Hey, at least being a little mad at me put your mind off of Melvin, right?”

“And now it’s right back. So very helpful,” she deadpanned.

“Easy come, easy go, right?” His smile grew a little. “I don’t wanna pry or anything, but is it really that surprising? She said you were her mom like, a dozen times during camp.”

“I suppose not. It caught me very off-guard, though. Teether and Tommy sort of switch between Rachel and Mom, but Melvin’s never really seemed like she even wanted that sort of, I don’t know, ‘Official’ title for me.”

“Listen, the whole ‘mom’ thing isn’t as scary as you’re making it out to be. You’re already giving her the kind of love a mom is supposed to, and she loves you. She talks about all the time with stars in her eyes. Being adopted doesn’t make her less your daughter. Rita Farr isn’t any less my mom for taking me in when I was eight, and Marie Logan isn’t any more or less important to me just because she’s not around.”

Rachel took a breath and sighed it out. “Thank you. That does make it easier.” They walked in silence for a short time. “Wait, Rita Farr, as in the movie star? As in, the philanthropist and art collector, married to Steve Dayton?”

He blushed a little. “Whoops, probably shouldn’ta dropped that so casually, I guess. Yeah. Steve and Rita adopted me when my parents died. It’s not always easy, but I love ‘em.” He watched her reaction carefully, hoping she wouldn’t suddenly start treating him differently for having such well-known parents.

Rachel schooled her face after having that bombshell dropped on her. “Well, if we ever meet we’ll be able to talk about some historic pieces she has that I wrote papers on.”

A beat passed, then Gar’s loud laugh broke relative silence of the forest. “Aw man, she is gonna love you.”

And just like that, the tension was broken. All the concern, the lack of balance, everything fell away, and the static buzz of easy conversation punctuated by something just a little too close to intimate for an average friendship was back.

They wandered together down the shady paths, miles away and only a few trees distant from the campground. Rachel didn’t notice the distance she had walked on the formerly dreaded forest hike, and Garfield forgot to try quite so hard with his jokes and wise cracks. They walked, hand in hand and only somewhat realizing how close they were to one another, shoulders nearly touching.

The spell was eventually broken, as they always are. They rounded a final bend, seeing in the distance the campground they had left, what, less than an hour ago? And the reality that they had left behind when they entered the sun-shafted canopies woke them up, and they found that really, their hands were quite slick. Had they been clasped together the whole time? And Rachel, especially, was starting to sweat from the heat and the walk. Garfield was suddenly nervous, after all, he never talked this much, not without making a fool of himself.

But even after emerging from that hazy dream, they held on, gently rising out of the fog and into the real world so no sudden movements could disrupt the memory, the closeness that two almost strangers that fit together like complementary puzzle pieces had shared.

It wasn’t even fully dispelled when their hands slipped apart to be wiped on cargo shorts or dark jeans, though the almost hidden flight from behind a few low-branched trees of blonde hair and untied shoelaces and quiet giggle quickly sobered them.

Garfield turned. “Was that -?”

“Melvin. Oh, that little brat, she is too damn smart for her own good. I would put money on her scheming to get us alone.” Rachel fumed and her face tightened into a mask of cold anger. “I can’t believe that she would manipulate me like this! How could she – How could she finally call me -” and the mask broke, shifting from anger to near tears in seconds.

Gar panicked. “Whoa, hold on, no. She’s not that cruel, I know it and so do you. We’re probably missing something. You just said you can’t believe she would do this – she probably didn’t. Rae I promise you, there’s got to be an explanation that makes sense.”

Rachel took a deep breath, followed by another, centering herself. “I am going to get to the bottom of this. Where would she be doing this “project” she made up?”

“The craft cabin. I’ll take you there, but I guarantee you it’s not as bad as it might sound.”

It was like the crowd parted for them without even reacting. No one looked at the worried counselor or at the steely featured parent, but nonetheless they found their path almost unimpeded. Gar held up a hand just outside the door. “Let me get you two some privacy. Please.”

“Fine. Do it.” Terse and unhappy, Rachel’s displeasure was apparent in her voice, and it made Garfield wince.

He opened the door to see five preteen girls, huddled and tittering. At least until they saw him and his serious frown. Then their eyes went wide, and they looked to Melvin in a panic. “Out, girls. Clear the room. Not you, Melvin.” He stopped her when she tried to take shelter in the middle of the pack. He turned to follow them, and glanced back almost pityingly, then shook his head and exited.

The girls all ducked their heads when they saw Rachel just outside the cabin and hurried off, racing to be the first around the corner and away from the ticking time bomb.

Garfield simply nodded, and left her to it. Rachel entered the cabin and saw Melvin almost trembling, and it broke her heart. She had worked up a head of steam on the walk and the wait, but seeing her precious daughter actually afraid stopped any real anger and left only a bitter emptiness.

Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. She settled on a vague, open armed shrug gesture. “Why, Mel? Was it just a prank? Just a way to manipulate me?”

Tears brimmed in Melvin’s eyes. “No, I just wanted to give you guys a chance to talk alone. I’m sorry I lied, I really did try on the lanyard, but I’m just bad at them so I had Kole do it. I’m sorry, I am.”

“What? What lanyard? Melvin, I don’t care if you had a friend help with a lanyard! I just can’t believe that you would call me your mom, just to trick me into talking to someone. I can’t tell you how badly that hurts me. I… I love you too much for that.”

“What!No, nononono, Mom, I promise that wasn’t a trick. I promise. I was gonna talk to you about it, but I just – I thought that if I – I thought that maybe if I just did it you’d just let me and maybe you’d talk to him and then it everything would be perfect. I promise. I love you, Mom. I do. And I was just trying to maybe make you not spend all your time watching me and talk to him. He’s really cool, and I could tell you like him, and he’s completely in love with you, and you’re perfect for each other. I was just trying to help you be happy!” She sobbed, breathless.

Rachel froze, then instinctively wrapped her daughter in her arms and let her cry. “Mel, you don’t need to worry about me. I am happy, I promise. I don’t need you to try to trick me into being happy. Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to say I’m not mad, but I get it. You don’t have to trick me into talking to, what did you call him, “really old, like 50 years old” guys? If we talk, we talk. That’s how adults work.”

“No, it’s not! I’ve never seen you go on a date, and you just ignore people when they try to talk to you. I know it was dumb, but I had to try something ‘cause otherwise you’d just give him that serious face until he ran away, and he’s perfect for you if you’d just give him a chance!”

“Mel. Mel, okay. I promise. I will give him a chance. But you don’t need to be worried about me. I don’t need a twelve year old playing matchmaker. You should be doing kid things, not bad romcom plots.”

“*SNRK*. They’re not bad. They’re sweet. And you like them, otherwise you wouldn’t have so many of them.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and glowered.

Rachel internally cursed Kori. “If you say so. Now let’s sit here for a minute, then we can go wash your face and you can go hand out with your friends. And I will have a talk with Garfield, and you will not stick your nose into my dating life. Understand?”

“Yes, mom.”

It still startled Rachel to hear that coming from Melvin, but it also warmed her heart. She hadn’t even known she wanted it until it happened, but it was like a spoken guarantee that she really was doing things right, and her little family really was working.

They sat together and Melvin showed her the lanyard that she had made via Kole. Rachel put it on the silver chain she wore around her neck and let it rest beside her heart promising mostly to herself that it would be kept safe at home. Then, when Mel had calmed down, they headed to the bathroom where Mel cleaned the tear tracks from her dirt-smudged face and rinsed her red rimmed eyes. Rachel gave her a final kiss on the forehead, and sent her off.

Gar found her standing there, staring off into space against the wall of the concrete shack. He leaned against it and slid down to sit around the corner and next to her. “So.”

“So,” she said back.

“Not saying it just to confuse you?” He glanced at her, gauging her reaction.

“No. But she wasn’t against confusing me.”

His eyebrow cocked. “Not mad?”

“Still mad. Still going to be grounded, probably. But she did it out of love.”

“Y’know, I don’t want to say I told you so, but...”

“But you totally want to say ‘I told you so,’” she finished for him.

“Yep. So what now?”

“Now, I guess I do what I was going to do before we had all this to deal with,” she said, the soul of nonchalance.

“What’s that?” he said, and when she didn’t respond, he stood up and looked around the corner. “Rae?”

“This.” with only his head around the corner, she turned and kissed him, gentle and sweet, and far too short for either of them. “I’d like to go out sometime. I want to take you to a behind the scenes at the museum, and I’ll let you choose the restaurant.”

His head spun and his eyes were out of focus. His thoughts were like molasses and he could barely get out the word “Okay.” before she was gone, a little bounce in her step.

AO3 FF.net

#bbraeweek21 #bbrae #fic

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crookedactor · 3 years

Text

DETROIT: BECOME BETTER

(Part 2: Markus)

Hello! This is my 2nd DBH plot critique: markus!! A few days ago, I did a complete reimagining of kara's character, so if you want to see that, it's a few posts down from this.

I'll be doing the same thing today, and I think it will be half plot-critique and half complete-reimagining since that was what the other post was. I'll format it the exact same as the other one, with general notes first, then the overall story afterwards.

As always, I have to put a disclaimer: this post is just what *I* would like to see from the characters in Detroit: Become Human. If you have a different opinion, that's fine!! Feel free to share it with me or others.

I also want to apologize, like last time, for the long post. I don't have the option to do a "read more" button, so you'll have to scroll if you don't want to see it.

Anyway, let's get into it!

So as you saw in my last post with kara, Markus is connected with her in terms of Jericho and RA9. Overall, his story isn't as different from the original, (since I feel like his story in general was okay) but there are certain things that I can add or take away that could make it even better.

First, I want more lore with Markus and Carl. In one ending for the confrontation with Leo, Carl dies. Markus runs over to him, throws himself onto his dying owner, and calls him dad. I can tell you right now that that line was very jarring for me, and probably others. It felt out of place, like we needed to expand on their relationship before he could see him as a father so early in the story. So, I would probably show them having a closer bond than what we saw in the game. Maybe have them banter, or have them discuss Carl's life when he was young. Just show a bond with them in general that's more than caretaker and owner.

Secondly, since this new version of Markus is NOT RA9, I would expand on that. In the game, the characters usually are consistent with their decisions and how they play out in the grand scheme of things. Kara, for example, has always wanted to help other androids - She helps alice, ralph, and luther with no hesitation. Her being RA9 would make sense in the context of her caretaker personality and her natural drive to help others in need. Connor, as another example, has always taken a backseat stance on things. He is not a natural leader, and that is reflected in the amount of time it takes for him to deviate. He, of course, wants Android freedom, but wouldn't become RA9. I feel that this is the same for Markus. In-game, his storyline doesn't match up with his character.

What DRIVES him? WHY does he want to free androids? What make a him DIFFERENT from any other deviant android, who obviously wants their people to be free? We don't see any events in-game that influence his decision to become the leader of Jericho, and I feel like this is a mistake. Therefore, I don't WANT him to become the leader of jericho, or RA9. He would definitely have enough ambition to be second-in-command, though.

I also hate the romance with North, as I assume everyone else does. Markus has no reason to be with someone like her, because they always disagree with eachother. I genuinely feel like he would be better with simon, if the player chooses to have him in a relationship at all. Simon is the only other member of jericrew who is actual friends with Markus, and they always agree. Since, in my version of DBH, Simon doesn't die, he and Markus could have an opportunity to be together.

Alright, I think we've covered mostly everything. So, what would a new and improved Markus look like in DBH?

First, I want to see the altercation that he had with the protesters in "shades of color" to affect him more than it did. And yes, I know he didn't mind it because he wasn't deviant yet, but we never see it as something that drives him when he is RA9 in-game. Casual racism against androids would definitely be something that RA9 Markus would want to fix, and that doesn't happen.

I also want Carl to put more of an emphasis on the arts with Markus; Things like music, painting, cooking, and philosophy would be fitting. I personally feel like Markus would make an amazing philosopher, and he would talk about it for hours. Markus seems very, very intelligent, and he would enjoy things that have culture. Carl would enjoy talking about the arts with him, because he only hates the people who are only interested in them for money. Markus has no bad intentions, and as an artist, Carl would be eager to share his gift.

Markus being interested in human means of pleasure would serve him well in Jericho, and having someone in tune with humanity could aid androids in getting sympathy in the revolution.

Alright! I think i covered everything i want to change or critique, so onto the story as a whole!

First, I want to start the new story from when he returns home to wake Carl. When Carl asks Markus what happened to his clothes, he doesn't respond. Maybe he avoids the question by asking what he wants for breakfast. Carl would catch this, since Markus already has breakfast prepared for him. This would also solidify their bond to the player, because Carl knows Markus too well to be persuaded by something like that. He doesn't press the subject though, because Carl is polite. Remember, Markus probably wouldn't be comfortable with casual racism. This would influence him to go to Jericho, even if he didn't know it yet.

Practically everything in his story goes to plan in-game until he meets Kara, but with subtle differences. I maybe want carl and markus to have a few lines of banter or half-hearted argument about something trivial, like what the best medium of art is, or who the best author is. Maybe they could have this conversation after Markus serves Carl breakfast and is meant to find something to do. This would show the player just how familial their bond is, if they can just argue about something as simple as that. The scene where Markus gets shot by the cops, therefore, would have a greater impact on players.

So Markus gets to the junkyard. Everything remains the same, except that he doesn't find the "kara" tech demo model singing her Japanese song, since that Kara is the Kara in this story. (For clarification, this was an Easter egg the player could find, where the Kara from the tech demo was laying abandoned in the junkyard, singing the Japanese song.)

Markus gets the transmission from the dying android about jericho, and after replacing all his parts, escapes in the same way is it was in-game. I want him to lay low for a few days before following the trail to Jericho, to make sure his new parts are working well. This is where he meets Kara, who is on the run from Connor and Hank. She quickly explains her situation, and he decides that they need to flee to Jericho immediately.

On the way, (normally on the mission where the player has to follow the graffiti to find the abandoned freighter with markus) he explains his situation, and how he deviated. Kara tells him that she has always been deviant, and he is fascinated. I feel like, since Carl taught him to be very artistic and philosophical, he would have many questions about how this affects the nature of humanity and how androids and humans aren't so different. Kara agrees with this, and says something along the lines of "I'll have to use that sometime."

When they get to Jericho, look around, and do a brief introduction, I feel like both Kara and Markus would be asked to visit Lucy separately. Markus goes first, and it goes how it does in the game. When Kara goes in, he sees Simon waiting for him just outside the door.

I want Simon to take an interest in both of them, and try to become friends. Maybe he's lonely. The only people he really had to talk to were josh and North, so he's probably excited to see new people.

He asks Markus to sit down, and he wants to do a more in-depth introduction. He's optimistic that the newcomers are friendly, and wishes to make a good impression. He's also very curious about Kara, but doesn't want to bother her with questions.

I don't know exactly what their conversation is about in detail, but I want them to be more in-depth about their origins and how they deviated. I want them to become friends. (I also really like the idea of Kara and Simon being best friends too, because I like their dynamic lol)

Over the next couple of chapters in the game, Kara and Markus work hand in hand to free androids. They stage protests, marches, and Kara accompanies them on their mission to steal supplies for the dying androids in Jericho.

When the time comes for Kara to visit kamski, Markus wants to go with her. I feel like he's taken a liking to her since they met; since they both met eachother when they were alone and scared. They were eachothers first real allies, and they want to protect eachother. Markus had heard of kamski from Carl, and from what he knew, kamski might not be able to be trusted. Kara said she wanted to go alone, and Markus warned her of this.

While she's gone, I wanted Markus to hatch a plan to stage a protest and march bigger than what they've done before. He tells the rest of jericrew his rough plans, and north is all for it. She's been wanting to take charge for a long time, but Markus doesn't like her methods. He tells her flat out that there will be no killing or hurting, even if the humans get violent. North is angry at this, but Simon is glad. Being the optimist, he wants everyone to be happy, and he conveys his gratitude to markus. Josh also tells him that he's willing to participate, and says that north will too even if she's angry about it. They both leave, and Simon stays with Markus to talk.

Again, I don't know yet what they would talk about, but I want it to increase their relationship. They definitely aren't ready to reveal their affection, or even acknowledge their attraction, but they are still friends. I do know, however, what Markus will gain from their discussion. Being the caring figure that he is, he's moved by Simon's sad story about how he deviated, and it makes him angry. Before this, he hasn't had many personal run-ins with unsavory humans, but hearing how they've treated the people he cares about makes him want to do something. After their talk, he starts planning the android march. (And, he doesn't know it yet, but he starts subconsciously planning the whole android revolution.)

Kara returns, and Markus is curious about her visit. When she brushes it off and says that she didn't really learn anything, Markus is unsure if shes telling the truth. North arrives behind him and tells him to tell Kara about their plan. He does, and she's all for it.

Later, though, a few days after maybe, Kara asks him to sit down with her and talk. She tells him that he should be the one to free the androids in the march alone. He's utterly confused; why, as leader of Jericho and RA9, would Kara want to sit this one out?

She answers his questions by saying that she has a plan to hyjack the television feed at Stratford Tower. Since its extremely tedious, she asks if she can take the rest of jericrew with her to assist. He's confused once more, and asks if she's sure. What if he needs help with the protest? What if he gets into trouble?

She reassures him. She says that she believes in him wholeheartedly, and that she knows he will be safe. I also feel like it would be comforting to markus to mention Carl in some way. Maybe it would be nice for him to see Markus, standing alone in front of and humanity and not backing down. It would be nice to see his son doing something like that.

This, I feel, is what would make Markus say yes. He misses Carl, and likes that he could instill some hope in him.

I don't quite know how the protest would go. Obviously it would go well, but I want there to be stakes. Markus has multiple opportunities to die depending on the player's ability to do the QTE's, as does every other android participating in the march.

In some way, I also want Connor in this scene. He isn't directly against the protest, but he and hank had gotten word of it and decided to attend undercover, and would hide in the crowd. Kara had previously told the jericrew what Connor and hank looked like, so markus recognized them immediately. He ends the protest shortly after seeing them, but luckily he still achieved his intended effect. He made a small speech, and increased public opinion. As he is retreating back to Jericho with several other newly recruited androids, he sees Kara's robotic face on a tv window display, live broadcasting her speech. He smiles to himself. He doesn't even have to listen to what she's saying because he knows it would have achieved it's intended effect, he just hopes that the media wouldn't take her words as a threat.

They all return to jericho to regroup. I have absolutely no idea how this would be written, but I want this to be the moment that Simon and Markus acknowledge their feelings. They both just had events that ended better than they thought, so they're feeling excited. Under any other circumstance, they wouldn't have gotten together do quickly. Maybe they interface to show eachother their feelings, or maybe they just embrace, like humans. I don't know. All I know is that they are a team; Simon is an important asset to markus when making plans, and their relationship will just make that easier.

After this is the fall of jericho. Markus and Kara are talking about plans when Connor arrives, threatening them with a gun. Both Kara and Markus try to convince Connor to deviate, but the noise of a helicopter overhead interrupts them. Connor gets away, and Markus escapes with kara. This whole scene goes as it does in the game; every character has the possibility to die.

When they recuperate afterwards, (the scene where Markus talks to connor and makes a speech) Kara is the one to talk to connor while Markus goes to talk to his people. (He says exactly what the player chooses to do in-game.) I wanted Kara to talk to (now deviant) connor because she was the one to see him on the highway. She needed closure, and Markus was happy to let her have it while he brings comfort to the other androids.

I believe after this, the next time we see Markus and jericrew in DBH is during the altercation with the police and the dirty bomb; but I want Markus to have his closure with Carl.

So he visits Carl alone, because nobody else knew him as well as he did. This probably will go as it's done in the game, but I want it to be more affectionate. In the game, the only thing that Markus visits Carl for is to seek advice, but that isn't enough for me. Maybe they would hug, or say "I love you" to eachother. It wouldn't be TOO affectionate, because neither of them are very cuddly or touchy, but it would get the point across. Carl would still give him the advice he needs, and Markus decides not to use the dirty bomb.

When it comes time to confront the police, (the scene where the player could choose to either kiss north or sing) he kisses Simon, confronts the police and refuses to back down. Kara makes a speech to the humans in a last ditch effort to gain their sympathy, and it works. The game ends with jericrew, kara, connor, and hank all on the same side, happy and content with their efforts.

As for a post-credit scene, I still have no idea what that would be. Maybe it's Markus and Simon, sitting peacefully together and in love. Maybe it's Markus and Carl watching tv. I don't know, but it should be something happy.

That's my second DBH plot critique!! I haven't read this over before posting, so the writing may be choppy or there may be typos. But anyway, I hope you enjoyed!! Next up is Connor, and that will be posted shortly. Thank you :)

#dbh #detroit become human #markus #dbh markus #RK200 #video game #ps4 #dbh kara #dbh critique #david cage

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helahades · 4 years

Text

The Goddess and the Grocer

(Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Sappy and hopelessly romantic, the part time art student, part time grocery bagger, and full time fantasy creator Steve Rogers lives in his head, with you as his muse. Making puzzles out of your groceries, and portraits of your every curve and edge, he fears and craves every interaction, while living with you as a lover in his mind.

A/N: Well. I have struggled with motivation for the longest. Something hit me though, and by something I mean other supportive writers and great friends. Hugest shoutout to @threeminutesoflife for being a darling and @imanuglywombat for making TWO beautiful mood boards I stare at more than Steve stares at the Peggy compass.

Warnings: creepy, obsessive Steve. ideation of creepy thoughts. food focused talk. mention of overeating. dub-con concepts. two mentions of alcohol consumption.

New blog, new me! I’ll take this moment to say I’m taking requests, and I love feedback even more than Steve loves you! hope you enjoy

Word Count: about 3k

Now rain slicked, the sheen of oil and water twists the reflections of the tonights red, red, green—-“can I make the turn, no too late” on yellow—now red traffic lights into a twisted rainbow on the city streets.

Down those streets, and across a barren parking lot, parents, lovers, businesspeople and more squeak and clack and slap their rainy shoes on the old speckled tile at the entrance (that Steve had just mopped) as they do every week.

At the Potts Grocery Store, nothing ever changes. And never in the night.

It isn’t just night though, it’s dead night. The odd time after things have slowed for sleep, after the rush in between when people bumble in (promising themselves promises they won’t keep about doing the shopping sooner next month), after the ten minute period within which Dr. Banner wordlessly picks up the same array of bland teas.

The night has crawled beyond all the events that happen as they do, and entered the dead night.

Maybe Steve is too poetic—like his dad says he is—too tied up in fate, and hope in life’s mystique, but he holds hope for what happens where the night is dead.

When the night dies, and most are asleep, with it, facades die too. The only people to come in the dead of night, are drunks, doctors, various night shifters, and… you.

He hasn’t yet questioned your reason for showing up so late. Hasn’t really, technically, spoken to you at all, really.

Some part of Steve thinks, maybe if he startles you, says something that clangs too loud or awkward, all your pieces will blow away, like some agitated dandelion, and he will never know you again, if he ever even knew you at all.

No, Steve’s job isn’t to startle you, or to take up your space. It’s to try and meet your eyes as you hand him the reusable bags. It’s to try and figure out what meal you’re planning from what he’s bagging, and what he already knows lies unused in your kitchen. It’s to put the bags in your cart if you’ll let him.

He hasn’t seen you yet. It’s getting late, where are you?

Somewhere between cold fluorescent and neutral warm desk lamps, the lights of the grocery store seem to exist both to chase shadows on tired shoppers' faces, and to mock him, like a candle finally blown out by a stood up date.

Had he done something wrong the last time? If he had, that couldn’t be helped. You were wearing those shorts and looked like you had just gotten ready for bed and you had your hair pulled back, but just a little fell into your face anyway.

And your scent. It always wraps around him like the saccharine spice of pastries when he swings open the bakery door for his morning shift.

The moment you breezed by him after checkout was almost too much to bear. He caught the fresh damp scent of your tied up and deep conditioned hair. You smelled like fresh linens and a life he can only imagine having when he’s chasing orgasms alone and twisting up his sheets.

He could have devoured you.

But he didn’t.

Not even when your shoulder accidentally grazed him while you were rushing out in a frenzy.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” came your frantic whisper.

He dreams of making you that delicate again. He thinks he could shape your unsure apologies in his hands like clay, or spread you thin on a canvas when you whisper so soft. But he didn’t do those things at all.

Steve being Steve, he tried to make his large frame slouch, your aura wrapping him up into a double life Clark Kent shyness, despite your gentleness.

He didn’t say a word.

A wordless, mirthless stretch of his lips. An “It’s okay, walk all over me” grin. You regarded him with a flicker of an odd glance, and then you were out the door.

As he finishes up with the last shopper in his lane, his worn Converse squeak as he leans his frame against the bagging station at checkout.

Last class, last week, his art teacher dropped a big assignment. Stuffy and sadistic, the man seemed to only eat the pain of lovers kept from expression, so of course, he relished in the moment he told the class to try a new medium, with a subject they hadn’t previously captured.

He seemed to look directly at Steve as he delivered the blow.

Steve's problem certainly isn’t creativity. It isn’t talent or lack of effort. He surely is adaptable, he rarely tells on his love!

For the still life project, he captured the tree that blocks your kitchen window. Heavy strokes in his sketchbook.

He even painted the park in blooms on a paper towel—yes a paper towel—when you justified to a cashier one day that all the crackers and deli meats were for a picnic.

So he has a muse. But he’s not a fool. Sometimes he spends so much time trying not to look like a fool, and paints so much around you instead of you, that it’s a self portrait of his own obsession.

Your face. Your curves. The many separated sections where he tried to master the texture of your hair. All those traces of you live in his sketchbook. Only twice has he turned in a portrait of you.

Being told he can’t have you makes Steve feel like he’s been too obvious. You’re his little secret. And he is no fool. He’ll have to be more careful. So here he is.

The canvas is as bare as the walls of his studio apartment.

Three jobs and a potted plant from his mom just aren’t enough to decorate life. He wishes he could capture sleep in a picture frame and hang it on the wall. When he got too tired and caffeine stopped working, he thinks he’d pick up those frames and absorb the sleep in the way he can absorb nostalgia when looking at a real picture.

Then, he thinks, that’s the sort of thing art majors say when they haven’t slept in three weeks.

The canvas is still bare. It isn’t like Steve. He always knows where to go, what he feels, what he wants.

His teacher told him to try something different. Had the nerve to clap Steve on the back after class and say something about stretching creative wings and finding a new muse.

He thinks the guy should have punched him in the face instead.

There’s nothing stuck about Steve. He knows what he wants and how to get there.

He also knows that schooling ruins the intent of art, he knows how to put love into colors, that art teachers know the least about expression out of everyone on earth, and that he works two night jobs a week to barely afford to be taught by that man anyway.

Life is full of oddities.

Some of life’s oddities are right there in your cart as you approach. Steve notices the rain has frizzed your hair, the lovely heart shaped curve of your lips as they stretch into a smile, and the way you yawn before you say hello to the cashier.

He makes a mental note that your hair might have a warmer tinge when illuminated by the sun. You’re already his sun. His stars too. Maybe even his whole universe.

You’re always warm in his paintings. Anything to separate you from the dreadful scheme of this commercial death trap.

What’s for dinner this week?

Your groceries thump onto the counter in practiced succession. Perishables together at the front, and non perishables as neatly as possible following behind.

So thoughtful, my sweet darling.

Your produce today mostly consists of fruit. It reminds Steve of how practiced he is with a knife. How he’d slice up your apples just right for you. He has the practiced skills of an artist. He’d take care of you.

Bucky likes to tell him that cooking is the art and baking is the science. That’s meant to mean that it’s no surprise that Buckys got a perfect little life with a perfect little baker who smiles like the sun and only trusts Bucky in her kitchen.

...And it’s no surprise that Steve’s artsy streak has led him here. Thinking about folding mandarin slices between your perfect lips and letting the flavor explode across your tongue.

He thinks about kissing you. How you would taste tangy and sweet as you try not so hard to push him off so he gets back to cooking and doesn’t burn the house down.

The house. A house with you. A home.

He sees you’re wearing a sundress, and tries not to pity you for the irony. In the closet of some cookie cutter three bedroom, you might ask him how you look in it. He would beg you to wear it just for him a little longer, but ultimately, he would have been able to warn you about the rain.

You wouldn’t have listened though, my stubborn angel.

He thinks about your thighs beneath your dress, and the heat between them.

Sometimes, his dreams betray him, and he steps through the threshold to your shared home, not an artist, but a “Honey, I'm home” suit wearing prisoner.

He fears the simple life, but with you, he believes simplicity could be enough. Maybe he would be rich enough to buy you a million sundresses.

But without his art, he’d be powerless to show you how rich you look, bathed in color, divine from his perspective.

Without his art, he has no outlet for imagination. The only thing that gets him off these days is imagining what you look like under your clothes, and how it might sound if you spoke his name.

When you buy lotion, or a candle, he makes a mental note of the scent, and uses it to color his experience later. You like warm sugary scents, or natural outdoorsy ones, with no in between.

As you small talk with the cashier, your card slips from between your fingers and clatters onto the unswept floor. Finishing a thought, you delay in retrieving it, but by the time you’re leaning down, Steve’s already handing it back.

Eyes flitting up to meet the baggage boy standing up at full height, you melt into an easier smile.

You notice first that his eyes are incredibly blue behind the dark window frames, and second that his hands are incredibly warm as he hands your card back.

Frazzled, and just a bit smitten, you smile kindly.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, regarding him fully, perhaps for the first time, and pausing only to let your eyes drift to the knitted cotton polo stretched across his broad chest—no, to the name tag resting on it…

“Steve,” you finish with a smile that makes it ring like an exclamation point. To hear you finally pronounce his name… it’s like church bells. But they’re muted because now he can only consider your eyes locked on his.

He’s never wanted to escape somewhere and go home with someone so badly. And would it be so wrong?

He could slice up fruit for you. He could bring sausages and deli meats and blocks of cheeses whole from the market where they slipped him things free. He’d slice them up nice and wrap them in cloth and surprise you with an old fashioned wicker basket picnic in the mountains.

He’d let you eat yourself round. And after you were full, he’d still offer to feed you grapes, to pour you more wine.

Steve never understood why the rich ate bread with olive oil, but God he wanted to be rich enough to give you that. All the things that sound ridiculous to people who work to live. He wanted to work so hard you’d never work again.

He wanted to kiss you dizzy, bunch up the fabric of your dress on your hip and tell you he loves you while you’re wine drunk. He’d carry you back to the car and surprise you with wildflowers in a bunch.

Later, he’d paint you nude with them in your hair, and he’d feed you more grapes.

He would tuck you in and wrap you up for later when you woke up missing him. Maybe he wouldn’t leave at all. Maybe you would want to spend the whole day with him too.

He’s got a twinkle of charm in his eye and just a bit of sadness that looks every bit like the starving artist people believe him to be. Bucky hasn’t stopped bringing him the leftover rolls at closing since he found out Steve spends more money on paint than meals.

And is it so wrong? As Steve looks into your eyes, he musters all that charm his mom said he was born with. He blinks brighter the twinkle in his eye.

“You’re welcome,” comes Steve’s gentle, but sure reply.

You pause at that, because really it’s nothing... But people always seem to say “Don’t worry about it!”, “It’s nothing”, or maybe nothing at all.

You pause at how the reaction seemed genuine, in a world of practiced replies, and on a day that you’re feeling shitty because the rain ruined your hair and happiness.

You smile at him again, grateful for a pocket of truthful kindness, and turn back to the cashier, effectively ending the interaction.

Steve’s mind is spinning in ways he just can’t bring himself to understand. So he bags your groceries. You forgot the reusable bags, he doesn’t pause to wonder why.

Click. Click. Click. Beep!

Tomatoes. He bags them with the apples. Double bags for good measure.

Beep.

Spaghetti. The good kind that most people overlook in favor of a more common brand. New bag.

Beep.

Frozen garlic bread. He adores you. You’ve got garlic and basil and more herbs than you’ll ever need at home. You’d probably make the spaghetti noodles and parmesan yourself if you could. But you love five minutes at 400 garlic bread.

He imagines your pretty little kitchen, with all its various knick knacks, smelling like garlic and tomato sauce. He can’t help thinking you’d be impressed with his chopping skills too. Just how his mom taught him.

He imagines cooking with you in the dead of night, instead of being here. He imagines you bending over with your legs straight and your back curved and the oven mitts on to get garlic bread out of the oven. You put the tray on the cold burners Steve’s not using.

Maybe he would ask you to try the sauce, he’d hold the spoon to your lips after blowing off for you. Your eyes always flutter closed to process the taste of things, and sometimes he swears he could read your mind.

Then they would open. Wide. The same way they did when you tasted the new product double chocolate brownie sample last Tuesday. You would tell him how perfect it is and praise how he finally isn’t shy about using garlic anymore. Turning off the burners, he’d pull you into his arms, he’d kiss you til you saw stars…

Walking you backwards, still entangled in the breathless kiss, he wouldn’t stop until you bumped the padded kitchen bench. Then he’d fall to his knees.

“Steve, honey”—

You’d cut yourself off with a breathy moan because he’d already be under your skirt.

Kissing up your thighs, flattening his tongue against you, kissing you gently, before sucking your clit, while working it with the tip of his tongue, he’d show you again, like always, how passionate of a lover he is.

You’d moan like heaven, because you are.

You’d lean back, propping yourself up on an arm and pushing the other hand through his golden hair. You just can’t stop your hips from rolling against his tongue that’s still worshipping you.

He won’t use his fingers. It wouldn’t be proper, he’s just been cooking. So instead, he uses those hands to pull your thighs up onto his shoulders.

Still swirling his tongue around your clit, Steve is drawing you closer, your body seeming to know it’s own ways to pull him to you too.

It’s electric. You can’t stop and you’d never want to. He’d make love to you every single—

That’s not where he is though. He grabs the paper bags he’s bagged up with your ingredients and some other oddities, and he places them in the cart you’ve pushed forward.

He tries not to think about the fact that you’re going home alone. He tries not to think about how he’ll be sleeping alone, and in cold colors. Tries to skip forward to later when he has all the time in the world to imagine the way things should be.

A quiet goodnight and you’re on your way. You’re careful not to graze him as you walk away, and he’s careful not to be obvious watching.

The cashier leaves the station, and Steve puts his head down as he passes, before looking up in your direction as he always does.

Except… when he looks up to see your sundress swishing, it isn’t. And you’re turned back looking at him with this funny little look.

You smile. A twinkle of embarrassment, nervous to have been caught looking. He tries not to chuckle for all the irony.

He watches you as you watch him just a bit longer, before your sundress swishes out the door, and the light of your halo fades into the distance, consumed by the rain.

By the time his shift is up, the rain has stopped and the sky is colored like a bruise. The sun knocks at a threshold unseen, just slightly feathering light through the sky.

Steve is dead tired, but he won’t sleep a wink. Once he arrives at his apartment, he begins the project.

A mixed medium piece. Acrylic paint, charcoal shadowed details. It’s a wicker basket, full of apples, grapes, and wildflowers.

Later, as the sun rises, and the painting is half done, he flops into bed, finishing up a stale roll from the bakery, and dreams about waking up to you.

He pretends there’s no job to be at in three and a half hours, but instead, that it’s a quiet Sunday, and he’s waking up to you in his arms...

Soft and ethereal.

Thank you for reading!

Whether or not this is your type of writing, or you liked it at all, I just want to tag some authors who generally inspire me and helped in some way to motivate me posting my first piece: @threeminutesoflife @imanuglywombat @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18 @heavenbarnes @tropicalcap @allaboardthereadingrailroad @thotty-tatertot @sapphirescrolls

#dark!steve #steve #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #steve x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #steve au #steve rogers au #civillian!steve #artist!steve

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chibimyumi · 4 years

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Hi there! So I've been meaning to ask this for a while after realizing it, but don't O!Ciel's, Doll's, Alois', and Lizzy's color schemes kind of reveal their past and future a tad bit? I've know Alois outfits are bold yet kind of gothic colors like violet emerald green black and brown which all in the world of art are color forms of different emotions depending how you work with them, green being envy or disgusted but he hides it with royal purple, black means wounded which are his shorts & tie

Dear Blackbutlerfandomnerddomain,

While colour symbolism is popular, I personally don’t think the colours in Kuroshitsuji’s costumes are supposed to deliver any meaning other than aesthetic value. Especially with O!Ciel and Lizzie we can say with some certainty colour symbolism is not within the intention, because they change clothes in every single illustration, and every time they wear different colours. Yes, these characters do have tones they tend to wear, but that’s how real people dress themselves too. Somebody who likes calm colours is slightly less likely to have a rainbow assortment of neon, for example.

This is simply the way I understand Yana’s style, there’s not really ONE correct answer here. So feel free to read as much into the colours as it pleases you. But as I personally see it, Yana’s style of using symbolism tends to rely on objects rather than colours. Allow me to briefly analyse two artworks to illustrate what I mean and how I came to my understanding.

Case One

One of the most famous artworks is the front illustration of the second illustration book. Many colours including green, red, blue, white, gold are all present here.

One could make arguments for the black and white of the Earl’s attire being symbolism, but this meaning is quickly overshadowed by the ravens emerging from the Escher patterns. Red is the most eye-catching colour in this illustration. One might say O!Ciel’s gloves being red means to symbolise his hands being blood-dyed, or his shoes red because he walks a bloody path... but then how do we explain the inside of the drape or Sebastian’s waistcoat?

The setting is a place that appears to be a type of greenhouse; a place built to maximise the function of sunlight. And yet, while the illustration seems to suggest it is daytime, the sun is failing miserably in face of the heavy clouds. Rather than painting the sky ominous red or just dark, Yana uses the unsuccessful sun to set a mood or convey symbolism. “Is the white light against the dark clouds not also a type of colour symbolism?” Yes, it may be, but then one should also ask the question: "why choose a greenhouse then, and not any other setting that could have conveyed the light/dark contrast?”

Case two

Another famous piece is this 2014 artwork. The overall tone is gloomy and is mostly lacking in colours. Though held back in terms of colour, there is a lot to be unpacked here!

The first thing that catches the eye is indeed the overwhelmingly sombre palate of this illustration. Black can symbolise many things, but when 70% of the illustration is black, one could say this illustration is either incompetent in conveying symbolism in it being over-saturated with “meaning”, or that the black is merely here to set a tone.

Instead, we can see white lilies in O!Ciel’s hair as well as one stem carried by Sebas. Rather than colour symbolism, Japan has a long history of flower-symbolism (花言葉・Hanakotoba), and Yana herself is big fan of this style. When Western culture was introduced to Japan, black and white lilies were accepted as symbols for death.

The composition of the artwork leads the eye from the bottom left corner to the top right. This guides our vision to the empty plate at the top of the table, where a bright white saucer lies with a conspicuous bit of red sauce.

Red might symbolise blood here, and it is befitting. But more importantly we also need to consider this choice from an artist’s point of view. How many different colours of edible sauces are there? There’s chocolate sauce and other dark sauces, but that would just blend in with the rest of the illustration. Yellowy sauce is certainly a thing, but that’d be overpowered by the golden details. So red is the only bright colour that would make the empty saucer pop out. The Empty saucer has a fork placed diagonally on top, meaning that somebody had consumed food and is now finished. Rather than the colour of red, I think it is the now-empty saucer that is supposed to symbolise Sebastian’s goal of consuming his master.

Next to the saucer is the skeleton of a bird; presumably a crow judging from the size. Skeletons universally symbolise death, but it has nothing to do with the colour.

In Japanese native culture the topic of ‘death’ is big taboo. In older Japanese buildings for example, the 4th floor would often be skipped because ‘4′ (四・shi) is a homophone of death (死・shi).

In the past when Buddhism was introduced, the Japanese embraced this religion with open arms because finally there was something else that would deal with ‘death’ while native culture could stay in its comfort-zone. It was a bit like: “we do we... Hey, Buddhism, can you take care of that thing we’re too afraid of for us? Thanks dude!” Since the introduction of Buddhism, images of skeletons came to not just mean ‘death’, but more specifically ‘impermanence’ (無常・mujou). Impermanence is one of the core teachings in Buddhism, reminding humanity that everything will eventually come to an end, be it good or bad. With Buddhism introduced, skeletons were no longer only associated with pure fear, but instead gained an additional meaning of acceptance of change and the cycle of nature.

The origins of the meaning of skeletons have blurred through the years, many Japanese people probably don’t even know why things evoke certain meanings in them (just like in other cultures, I presume). But fact remains that though still macabre, in Japan a skeleton is now assumed to symbolise the naturalness of death.

That the skeleton of the bird is preserved in a glass dome is interesting. Glass domes’ function is primarily display. Out of all things, Yana chose to specifically display the symbol of impermanence and death, meaning that within this artwork that skeleton is the key object of display. In human subjectivity death is finite and fearsome. To a demon like Sebastian however (from whose perspective we view this artwork as he’s the only one awake here), he probably views death more akin to the way Buddhism views it; as just impermanence. I am NOT saying that Sebastian subscribes to a Buddhist philosophy, but I am saying that he must view death a lot more neutrally than most humans do.

Most Japanese people are not raised consciously religiously, but everyone is always influenced to some extent, Yana included. And therefore it is no surprise that Yana might have been inspired by the neutral view towards death (for at least Sebastian), even if she might not know where this inspiration comes from.

The casualness of ‘death’ in this illustration is further indicated by the coffin that is set up as a dining table. There is no respect, no ceremony, objects are scattered on top and around. The message is rather straightforward so I shall waste no more time explaining the obvious here. But I do wish to point out how this gives further evidence for how the meanings of this illustration should be considered from Sebas’ perspective, just like the crow’s skeleton as explained above. What is finite to us, is just a fact of nature to Sebas.

Conclusion

Yana has created many illustrations. Not all include symbolism, but the more elaborate pieces are usually packed with them. Of course I have only analysed two illustrations, and I would not blame anyone for calling this post insufficient evidence. But... I could just go on and on forever, and I need to draw a line somewhere, right? What I can say with confidence however, is that if you were to grab any artwork by Yana and see it for yourself, rather than colour, item symbolism is stronger.

Also, the way Yana uses colour is just not very symbolism heavy; she has a much stronger tendency to use colours purely aesthetically. Take any of the inside covers of this series, and one would quickly find out there really is no pattern to be found here.

In a nutshell, Yana’s colouring style is mostly aesthetic and used to set a tone for her illustrations. What carries the symbolism instead is in the objects.

Again, this is merely how I personally read Yana’s illustrations and an elaboration of how I came to this reading. There is not one correct answer to read illustrations, because art is subjective in its core. So if the colours do mean more to you than they do to me, please do enjoy doing so by all means ^^

#Kuroshitsuji #Black Butler #Art #Illustration #art analysis #analysis #I did study art for a bit and it shaped the way I look at art #but the core lesson of art analysis class is that art is always subjective #ALWAYS #symbolism

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas: Chapter 3

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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Chapter 3

[Ron]

The door slams behind Hermione just as Ron calls her name, and he's left gaping after her and clutching his marriage certificate. Their marriage certificate.

He should have told her. It would have been easy just to hand it over, but he couldn't. She was horrified to wake up next to him and angry when he tried to apologize. If that was her reaction to sleeping together, how would she have reacted if she knew they had gotten married?

With a groan, Ron stumbles to the kitchen counter, collapses onto a barstool, and drops his head into his hands. He thought that getting to know each other better might repair the damage of their first impression. It would have been nice to become friends during this trip, but unfortunately, the morning's events have made that unlikely. Even if they can get back on track after a one-night stand, the moment she finds out they're married, it'll all be ruined.

Ron's head is throbbing — a pain that only worsens when he glances around at his hotel suite. The color scheme reminds him of an orange creamsicle, and the harsh contrasting lines of neon orange and white wall paint don't do much to calm his hangover. Neither do the jagged edges of the kitchenette's quartz countertops, the lingering smell of champagne in the air, or the rock-hard barstool that might leave a bruise on his backside if he sits here too long. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his king-sized bed — it has far too many pillows, and its blankets are all ruffled up. He knows he should straighten it out and hide the evidence of a hook-up, but his heart sinks when he thinks about doing it. Unlike Hermione, he doesn't want to forget it happened. He wants to remember it, but he can't, and what a waste it is.

Although not intentionally, he's pictured her in his bed before. His mind conjures up the image with any appropriately aged, attractive, single woman, but for some reason, throughout this trip, it's been an image of Hermione more than anyone else. Something about their dynamic intrigues him. They really haven't spent much time alone since their first meeting back in London, but their brief conversations are always riddled with tension. Not sexual tension, just tension. Awkwardness. They affect each other, and Ron is simply curious what that would translate to in the bedroom. As anyone would be.

Now he's experienced it, but he doesn't remember, and fixing the bed would make it feel like it wasn't real.

Overcome with frustration, he nearly gives in to the temptation to tear the marriage certificate in two, as if that would change anything, but he's interrupted by a knock on the door. His stomach lurches — could it be Hermione again? If so, this could be a chance to tell her and make it right. Ron folds up the certificate and shoves it into his pocket before opening the door.

"Morning!"

It's just Harry. "What are you doing here?"

Harry looks offended. "I'm checking on you. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

Ron opens the door wider in invitation. "You could say that. Why are you checking on me?"

Harry laughs. "Well, for one, I was worried. You disappeared last night."

"Did I?" says Ron sarcastically. "Can't remember."

"Too much to drink?"

Ron's grunt seems to be a sufficient answer for Harry.

"So there's no point in asking what you got up to, then?"

"Nope," says Ron, as the door slams closed behind them. "Can't recall a thing."

Harry pauses when he catches sight of the still-disheveled bed. "Ron, why does your bed look like someone else slept here?"

When Ron doesn't immediately answer, Harry whips around to face him, eyebrows raised. "Did you bring a woman back here last night?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Ron says, shifting uncomfortably as he eyes the bottle of whipped cream and empty champagne flutes that he didn't think to hide. Unfortunately, he's not subtle at all. Harry follows his gaze and smirks.

"Sounds like a lie. It looks like one too."

Taking a precarious seat on the kitchenette's barstool, Ron dumps his head back in his hands to rub his temples. His headache is getting worse every second as the adrenaline of the morning wears off, and he barely manages a muffled apology to Harry. "Sorry for disappearing."

"Ah, it's fine. I'd be more annoyed if I didn't also have a good shag last night."

"Oi, mate. That's my sister you're talking about." Even though they're best friends, Ron still hasn't gotten used to the idea of Harry and Ginny together, and he definitely doesn't want to think about them in bed.

"Sorry, forgot we can't talk about that kind of thing."

"Definitely not," says Ron. "If you were marrying anyone else, then we could."

"Still worth it,' says Harry shrugging, and begrudgingly, Ron has to admit that there really is no better person for his sister. "You can still tell me, though. Who was she?"

As tempted as he is to change the subject, his compulsion to confide in Harry is stronger. "Apparently not a stranger." He can't tell him about the marriage, not until Hermione knows.

"What do you mean?"

"There was a girl last night, and it was someone I already knew."

"That's impossible...the only people we know are in the wedding party." Ron gives Harry a significant look, and his jaw drops. "It was one of Ginny's bridesmaids, wasn't it?"

Ron nods, and Harry's face slowly melts into a grin. "What?"

"If it were Lavender, you wouldn't be skirting around it."

He's right. Even though they've broken up, Ron and Lavender still enjoy the occasional shag, and Ron has never been secretive about it. "True. It wasn't Lavender," he confirms.

"So," asks Harry. "Who was it?"

Ron rubs at his temples again, his head still pounding.

"It was Hermione, wasn't it?"

When Ron doesn't answer right away, Harry beams, and his smugness compounds his headache. "How did you guess that?"

"I don't know," shrugs Harry. "Demelza has a boyfriend. Luna's Luna. It was a lucky guess."

"Bollocks, isn't it?"

Harry shrugs.

"What?" Ron scowls.

"Well, it's not exactly surprising."

"It's not?"

"Well… some things are surprising. Like that," Harry nods towards the whipped cream. "But not you and Hermione shagging."

"Sure it is," says Ron incredulously. "We don't exactly get on particularly well."

"So?"

"We hate each other."

Harry laughs. "No, you don't."

"What are you talking about? We fight constantly."

"You flirt constantly."

Ron shakes his head. He can't imagine any of his interactions with Hermione being misinterpreted for flirting. Their limited conversations usually involve pointless arguments about itineraries, travel arrangements, or plastic straws.

"She was horrified when she woke up here this morning."

"She was probably just embarrassed."

"To be seen with me?"

"That's not what I meant," says Harry exasperatedly. "She's… proper. Casual shagging is likely new for her, and she might have needed a moment to process it all."

"Proper?"

Harry nodded.

"You talk like you know her."

"Well, I do," he says. "I've gotten to know her quite well through Gin. She's a good one." There's a familiar tone in Harry's voice, similar to Ron's when he defends Ginny.

"Can I ask you a favor?" asks Ron suddenly.

"Of course."

"Don't mention this to Ginny."

"I won't." Harry smiles smugly. "But she'll probably ask Hermione at brunch."

"Brunch?"

"Yep. The girls have brunch reservations today."

Ron groans, shuddering at the thought of Hermione and Lavender sitting together over bottomless mimosas, talking about whatever it is women talk about. For her sake, he hopes the girls aren't as curious about her whereabouts last night as Harry was about Ron's.

"Anyway, the rest of us are going to the pool," continues Harry. "Care to join us?"

"Yeah," says Ron. "I'll be down in a bit."

"Great," says Harry, making his way toward the door. "See you soon."

Ron waits for Harry to leave before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the marriage certificate. Even though he didn't tell Harry the entire truth, their conversation did help to clear his head, and he no longer has the urge to rip the certificate in two.

He studies the piece of paper and then spots it — scribbled on the certificate, under his and Hermione's signatures, is the officiant's name and the venue's address. Ron types the address into his phone, and his search result turns up a website.

Erised Elopements Follow your heart's desire!

Maybe he can make it all disappear, and he wouldn't have to tell Hermione anything. He saves the address and pockets his phone.

"There he is! The man of the hour!" Seamus calls as soon as Ron arrives on the pool deck — which he now realizes isn't an appropriate descriptor at all. Seamus' body is draped in a hammock hanging between two palm trees, growing from the landscaped beach that meets the pool's edge. The natural yet dusty odor of the sand mixes with the stronger smell of chlorine into an aromatic blend that Ron's brain can't process at the moment. Ron squints when he approaches Seamus, the sunlight reflecting off the glittery white sand and blinding him.

"I think Harry's the man of the hour," he says, reaching for his sunglasses.

"Yeah, well. We were talking about you. Specifically about where you ran off to last night."

Ron shoots a quick glare at Harry, who shrugs innocently. "Last night?"

"Yeah, you disappeared. We thought you might have brought a bird back to your room, but Harry says no one was with you when he checked this morning."

"Well, no birds last night," says Ron, eyeing Harry thankfully. "Just went to bed early, that's all."

"Then why do you look so rough?" asks Dean. "Looks like the sun is melting you."

That's because it is. "Blessed to be a ginge, I guess."

"Really?" presses Dean..

"Fine, I went to bed early last night because I was drunk as hell, okay? Didn't want to make any bad decisions. Now the hangover is killing me."

"Yeah, that checks out," says Seamus, and the boys all laugh. Ron doesn't even mind them laughing at his expense; he's just relieved they don't seem to need more details.

"Since you're the last to arrive, the next round of drinks is on you," says Neville.

"Alright, fine," says Ron, feigning grumpiness, although he's more than okay with the subject changing. He rises to his feet and mucks off to the bar.

The manufactured beach turns abruptly to a boardwalk, then to a loud and ostentatious eatery where brunch is in full swing. Every corner of the room is packed with tropical trees, and he can smell the moisture in the air — probably false humidity in a feeble attempt to keep the flora alive. The humidity pools on his skin like sweat, and he wonders if his shower was even worth the waste of water. He's never been very into green living, but he's suddenly curious what the sea turtles would think if they were to see how flippantly humans use clean water. And plastic straws, of course.

He scans the room for the source of his sudden environmental distress — Hermione Granger. He scours the bamboo tables, the forest-green walls adorned by portraits of safari animals playing blackjack, and the giant decorative goblet standing in the middle of the restaurant, advertising its signature cocktail, the Goblet of Fire. Eventually, amidst the chaos of the hotel's theme-indecision, he spots Ginny's flaming red hair at a round table, along with Luna, Demelza, and Lavender. Notably, Hermione is absent, a realization that elicits a sigh from Ron. Whether it's from relief or disappointment, he doesn't know.

He can't help but imagine her back in her hotel room, unable to face his sister in case she serves as a reminder of last night. Is she really that regretful?

Ron dejectedly turns toward the bar but freezes when he spots a bushy brown head of hair at the counter. It's undeniably Hermione, and she's talking animatedly to a blonde-haired woman who, for some reason, looks vaguely familiar.

Where have I seen her? In her dark green jumpsuit, long neon-pink fingernails, and gold spectacles, the woman appears as eclectic in her fashion choices as the hotel does in its decor. He probably met her when he was smashed last night — he would have remembered had he been sober.

Instead of bothering himself with the mystery woman, he takes in Hermione's appearance. She's wearing a sky-colored dress, the same one she wore the day they arrived in Vegas. It's just short enough to make Ron wonder what's hiding under the hem, and the fabric in the front crumples together in a way that draws Ron's gaze right to her chest. Thanks to that damn dress, it took a lot of effort to keep his eyes away from her breasts that day, so he chose not to look at her at all. Especially because he could feel Lavender watching him, scanning for any sign of his wandering eye as if she had any claim to his attention.

Ron backs away from the bar and slips into a doorway, obscuring himself behind a cascade of glass beads that hang from the ceiling like a waterfall. He feels utterly ridiculous hiding from women in a bar, but he brought it upon himself. He watches Hermione and the stranger pass a phone between one another, and his curiosity piques again. Who is she, and what are they talking about?

They soon part ways with a hug, and Hermione's left alone at the bar. She spends a few moments intently staring at her phone before the bartender places five mimosas in front of her. She pockets her phone, pays, and grabs the tray of drinks to carry it back to the table, expertly swerving between ferns and palms like she's on a mission.

Ron waits for a few moments, just to assure that the girls are distracted by conversation before he approaches the bar, wishing his hair was a little less conspicuous.

"Hey, handsome."

Lavender's crooning voice shudders Ron awake; he didn't realize he fell asleep. If only he hadn't jolted awake, or he might have been able to pretend to still be sleeping.

"Hey," he reluctantly greets her. "What time is it?"

"Two."

Okay, so he has only been sleeping for an hour. He's hanging in a hammock by the pool, luckily hidden from the sun by a cabana, and Lavender is stretched out on a towel below, staring at him through oversized, ridiculous-looking sunglasses. "How was brunch?"

"It was fine. Still happening, actually."

What does she want? "Then why are you here?"

"I have questions about what you did last night," she asks, running her fingers through a mound of sand.

Ron lifts his sunglasses from his face to look her in the eye. "I went to bed early."

Lavender eyes him suspiciously. "That's not what Hermione Granger said."

His heart rate stutters at her accusation. There's no way Hermione told the girls about last night. She wouldn't. "What… what did Hermione Granger say?" he asks tentatively.

"Oh, not much. She just said she spotted you with a girl," shrugs Lavender. "And that she was quite pretty."

Ron tries to resist the urge to laugh but can't and instead lets out a soft chuckle. "She did?"

"I know she's probably just saying that to piss me off. She doesn't like me."

Ron puts his sunglasses back on, mostly so Lavender doesn't see him rolling his eyes. "Don't take it personally; she doesn't like anyone."

Lavender scoffs, and Ron can't resist smirking. Sometimes, he enjoys dodging her attempts to fish compliments from him. "Well, were you?"

"Was I what?"

"With a girl?"

"Honestly, Lav? I don't remember much of last night. There was no girl in my bed this morning if that's what you're getting at." She looks relieved at his lie. "Did Hermione say anything else?"

"No, she just changed the subject. A little too quickly, if you ask me."

"Oh, well. I guess it's a mystery, then," he says, settling back into his hammock.

But Lavender isn't finished. "She kind of sounded jealous at the thought of you with a girl."

Ron chuckles again. "Doubt that."

"Oh, come on, Ron. She has a thing for you. That's why she doesn't like me."

"Nah."

"Why else wouldn't she like me?"

So many reasons. "I don't know, but she definitely doesn't have a thing for me." He knows that by the way she nearly cried then stormed out of his room this morning.

"I think she does."

Lavender's insistence reminds him of Harry earlier that day, insisting that he and Hermione are always flirting. Maybe they're onto something. There may be a little bit of flirting, but if so, it's clearly one-sided. "You're just paranoid that everyone has a thing for me."

Lavender shrugs. "I can just sense it."

"Lavender, if you really need to know if Hermione fancies me, just ask her."

"I wanted to, but she disappeared. She said she wasn't feeling well and went back to her room."

Ron leans back on his pool chair, his heart suddenly beating faster. If Hermione's tucked away in her room, it's a good opportunity for Ron to escape to the venue location and figure out how to undo the damage of last night. If he leaves now, he won't draw suspicion from her. "Well, sorry that I can't answer your questions," he says, hoping the finality of his tone will end the conversation.

She continues to look expectantly at him, but he has nothing else to say. "I guess I'll just go back to the brunch table, then,' she grumbles, after a few moments of awkward silence.

She rises to her feet and gathers her towel, leaving behind two sandy motes as she drags herself from the beach to the boardwalk. He hears the snapping of her sandals once she reaches solid ground, and waits until it grows quiet in the distance, muffled by the bustle of the restaurant. Ron then opens his eyes to see that the boys are either napping in hammocks or floating aimlessly in the pool, never too far from the swim-up bar. He flings his legs over the edge of the hammock and slips his feet back into his shoes. Shoving his hand into his pocket to assure he still has the folded-up wedding certificate, he figures the best time to try and fix this mess is either now, or never.

#hp fanfiction #hpromione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #Romione angst #muggle au #romione fics

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

your wonder under summer skies (5/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

a/n: thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over these words ❤️

And to everyone else, happy Friday! You’ve made it through another week!

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

-/-

“Where are you going?”

Emma twists her head to the side and tugs her comforter up to her chest. “To get some water.”

“I wore you out then, did I?”

Emma groans and tries to get out of bed before Killian’s hands wrap around her waist and tug her back. His lips press against the back of her neck, scruff scratching against skin, and she melts into the feeling of it.

Almost.

“Wait, wait,” she interrupts, pulling away from him and twisting in the bed until she’s back on her side and facing him. He’s got red pillow creases all across his face, and he desperately needs to fix his hair. It’s a mess. They probably both are. “We need to talk.”

His eyes flutter closed before his lips spread into a smile. “I’ve found when a woman says that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

Emma swallows and pulls the comforter up a little higher. She doesn’t know how well this is going to go, but it’s been on her mind pretty much every other minute for the past week. Well, besides when she wants to pull her hair out over the insane specificities that her boss is giving her for every event they’ve got on the books. A regular Tuesday night dinner with twenty people does not need to be the most well thought out dinner in the history of dinners, but no one seems to understand that.

A part of her almost misses waitressing, but then she remembers the pay and how shitty people are to waitstaff.

“We need to make rules,” Emma blurts out. She’s got to bite the bullet or else she’ll never do it.

Both of Killian’s brows raise at that. “Rules?”

“Yeah, about this.” She motions between the two of them. “I don’t – hell, Killian, we’ve kind of fallen into…”

“Bed?” he laughs, his lips ticking up into a broad smile.

“Shut up.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“I know, but I – look, we’re friends, right?”

“Aye.” He nods and sits up as the sheets fall down to his waist and she’s only slightly distracted by the dip in his collarbone and the way the ink on his shoulder stretches across his skin. “To be quite frank, you’ve somehow wormed your way into being my closest mate.”

“Your closest mate who you’ve now been sleeping with for, like, a week, and not to be too emotionally aware since that is not my expertise, but I feel like that’s going to blow up in our faces at some point since we’re not really talking about it.”

Whew. She got that out. That was the hard part, right?

“Ah, so you want to make rules?”

“Exactly.”

Killian clicks his tongue and points between them. “If we make rules, Swan, it means we’re continuing this. Do you want to continue this?”

God, yes.

“I mean, I feel like it could be beneficial to both of us.”

“How so?”

He knows exactly what she’s trying to say, but the asshole is going to make her say it. Maybe she didn’t get the hard part over. “I’m not looking for a relationship,” Emma starts, “and I assume you’re not either.”

“I’m not,” he confirms.

“So why don’t we continue this? No strings attached. I don’t have to be some poor, heartbroken woman as my ex walks around with the woman he cheated on me with without a care in the world, and you don’t have to find one of your women for the summer. I can be that for you.”

Killian hums and scratches behind his ear before tilting his head to the side. The light from outside is hitting his eyes so that the blue is even brighter than usual, and a shiver runs down her spine as he stares at her.

This is weird but good.

“Rule one would have to be that we don’t let sleeping together get in the way of our friendship,” Killian starts, holding a finger up. “I can’t stay sane without having you to vent to about customers and Liam and also Will purposely not restocking my rum at the bar.”

Emma huffs. “I can’t stay sane without middle of the night slushie runs and runs with Skipper.”

“So, we agree on that then? Our friendship comes first.”

“Absolutely.”

“And we’re both fully aware that the both of us are using each other for sex, correct?”

“Well, don’t put it like that.”

“Why?” he laughs. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, but if you put it that way, it makes it sound absolutely dirty.”

“Dirty, huh?” Killian shifts in the bed and moves over toward her. Emma falls back onto the mattress while Killian climbs over her until he’s caging her in and staring down at her with those blue, blue eyes. This shouldn’t feel so damn good, but it does. “I can show you dirty, darling.”

“I think you’re changing the subject.”

“We were talking about sex.” He leans down and nestles his chin into her neck until his teeth tug at her skin, quickly soothing the spot with his tongue. “I’m simply changing it from talk to the act.”

“We have to finish our conversation,” she protests, falsely, as her nails scratch down his back. He groans, and Emma can’t say she minds the sound.

“There will be plenty of time for your lovely little rules later. I can assure you I will listen to them and follow them and do every little thing you ask of me. That’s the benefit of sleeping with a friend who is accustomed to listening to you.”

Emma’s hips arch up into his, and she gulps down as heat licks along her skin and curls between her thighs. He’s more addicting than he has any right to be, and she could definitely get used to a no strings attached kind of situation like this.

Friends with benefits.

She never thought she’d be the type of girl to do that, but it was probably because the situation hadn’t presented itself yet. It obviously has now.

She didn’t have the right friends, apparently.

“You’re a bad influence.”

“I never claimed to be otherwise,” he whispers into her ear, his voice soft before becoming gritty, almost in a blink of an eye. “Now wrap your legs around me. I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back than spending my time talking.”

“I feel like nothing has ever stopped you from talking before.” “Well, if my mouth is otherwise occupied, it does become a challenge. But, you know, I do love a challenge.”

-/-

Killian Jones: Rule #2. We don’t tell any of our friends.

Emma Swan: Agreed. They would lose their shit.

Killian Jones: Liam and David would join forces to keep us both locked in our apartments.

Emma Swan: David would at least give me food and water. Liam might leave you hanging.

Killian Jones: I’d somehow find a way to get Skipper to bring me food. Or you could find a way to send me something.

Emma Swan: It’d be the least I could do.

“What are you doing?”

Emma hits the button on the side of her phone and stuffs it in her back pocket. “I was checking our schedule for today.”

Mary Margaret tilts her head. “We’ve got the Silver Club’s luncheon at noon, a group information session at three, and then we have the Welcome Dinner tonight. How did you forget that? We’ve been planning this for months.”

“I didn’t forget,” Emma lies as she stands from the chair. “I was double-checking the times.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just want everything to go well, you know?”

“Emma.” Mary Margaret walks closer and leans against the wall next to Emma. “You just ended a long, serious relationship. It’s okay to not be okay. You’ve been frazzled, and I don’t mind picking up any of the slack that you need me to pick up.”

“I’m fine,” Emma lies. “I am not at all upset about Neal. I just want to, you know…”

“You want to what?”

Emma puts her hands in front of her chest and pushes forward. “I want to push past it, shove it away.” “Of course, of course.” Mary Margaret’s ballet flat scuffs against the hardwood. “I always thought you two were good together. There’s not a chance that – ”

“Fuck no,” Emma laughs even as she wishes she could be anywhere but here. “I mean, we had our good moments, but I’ve been through too much shit to stay with him. I think for the first time I – you know what, never mind, it’s not important. Let’s get back to the dinner. Do you think it’s going to go well?” Super smooth subject change there, Emma. Mary Margaret definitely didn’t notice it at all.

Mary Margaret sighs and wraps her arm around Emma’s shoulder. “It always goes well. You’re good at this. You’ve got to know that by now.”

“I pretty much live in constant fear that Regina is going to fire me because someone is unhappy with a color scheme or because a kid is going to tell their parent we didn’t have the right kind of lemonade and then the parent decides to take rare interest in their kid for once just to make my life miserable.”

“Yeah, I live in constant fear of that, too. Those parents are scary.”

“How many are coming to the information session?”

“Ten new couples, three returning who want an update, and then we’ve got forty kids already signed up to stay in the kids’ club all summer.”

Emma lets out a low whistle. “Ashley and Aurora are going to lose their minds if we don’t get the part-time hires on board.”

“Or if we don’t help them out more than on the excursions.”

She hums and opens up the door out of her office. “I’m too busy dealing with whiny, privileged adults complaining about how the pool isn’t the right temperature.”

“You’re right. It’s such a hard life.”

Emma snickers. “Maybe we’re not meant for this job.”

“Probably not, but you prefer this to waitressing, right?”

“Oh hell yes. I will not go back to that and sleeping on your couch. You were the best for taking me in since I was pretty much a walking human disaster, but there will be no more sleeping on your couch. I like having my own bed and being able to eat food other than kitchen leftovers.”

“I do miss you on my couch, though. Lots of good talks. And my hair was long then, and you were the best at braiding it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma laughs. She takes a deep breath, letting a little bit of the heaviness on her chest evaporate. Mary Margaret pushes her a hell of a lot, but sometimes she does know when to step back. “I know you do. Now come on, let’s go make sure that there are no pink linens or Mrs. Rose will absolutely lose her shit.” “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Oh, I would, but like I said, I also like my job.”

“Then no pink linens it is.”

-/-

“How did I know I’d find you here?”

Emma’s heartbeat picks up at the familiar voice, and she looks up from her spot to see Killian walking down the beach toward her.

“Because Mary Margaret probably told you.”

“Damn, I’ve been found out.” He takes a few more steps until he’s sliding down onto the lounge chair next to her and handing her a slushie. “Because they melted the other night.”

Her cheeks heat at the thought, and she’s got to stop doing that. They are adults sleeping together, and there’s no need for her to feel weird about that. It’s a little weird talking about it somewhere other than a bedroom or over text, though. Yeah, that’s why his reference made her cheeks flush. That’s the only reason.

“Thank you.” She takes quick sip. “Is there tequila in this?”

“I thought you could use it after your Welcome Dinner. I know that’s hell every year.”

“Oh my God, yes,” Emma groans. “It was the worst. I swear it’s more people every year, and they all show up thinking this is going to be like that episode of Mrs. Maisel where they show up at the summer camp and never have to lift a finger. I mean, to the point where I would be putting their food in their mouths, which I am not going to do.”

“Isn’t that kind of what this is?”

Emma glares at him, but Killian not-so-slyly takes a sip of his drink and avoids her stare.

That was smart of him because she’s just exhausted enough to want to slap him for being a smart ass.

“No. We’re not a resort. They just come to the club for meals and parties and leave their kids with us all day. They ask us where they can rent or keep their boats, and I obviously only recommend you, and then they have to go home to their own homes or rentals at the end of the day where I have nothing to do with them or what they ear.”

“Oh, yeah, totally different than it being a resort.”

“Shut up,” Emma chuckles as she drinks her slushie. She’s going to have to run in the morning to work off all of the food she’s been eating today. She had so many of the cookies before they went out to the tables. “It is different. I’m just at their beck and call for half of the day. I would lose my mind if I had to do more.”

“A job’s a job.”

“And when you’re not qualified to do much else…”

Killian kicks his leg out in the sand toward her. “If things don’t work out for you, you can come work for me.”

Emma sputters out a laugh. “Liam would never in a million years let me work with you guys.”

“Oh, come on. He definitely would…at some point…maybe two million years.”

She rolls her eyes and twists on the lounge chair until she’s facing Killian again. A breeze from the ocean wafts toward her, and chills pop up on her arms. Killian silently shrugs off his sweatshirt before handing it over to her. He’s got on a Henley underneath it, and he obviously is more prepared for the late-night chill than she is.

“Liam isn’t my biggest fan. It’s okay. I’ll just have to go back to waitressing when I lose my mind on a member and throw a drink in their face.”

“Hey, now, he does like you a little bit. Let’s not immediately jump to throwing drinks in someone’s face.”

“You don’t have to placate me, KJ. Your brother is a stubborn ass to me. It runs in the family, but one of you at least makes up for it by providing drinks and mediocre conversation.”

Killian scoffs before leaning back up against the chair and running his hands through his hair. The scars on his hand look almost silver in the moonlight. She’s never noticed that before.

“Mediocre conversation? Is that what this is? I happened to think I was a brilliant conversationalist.”

“Occasionally. Did you know they want me to start wearing a uniform?”

“What?”

“Yeah, Regina is losing her shit. She wants me to wear khaki shorts and a different pastel colored polo for different days of the week, but that’s only for the afternoons. At night, she still wants me to get dressed up so I can ‘look like a member and not an employee.’”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Damn,” Killian whistles. “I am going to love giving you shit about that.”

“Ha, I’m not going to wear the polos. I already have to wear the damn khaki shorts when we do events on the beach, but I am not wearing the polos. I’ll get fired first.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll have a job with me in a million years.”

“Two, I thought.”

“Possibly three.”

Emma laughs and settles back down onto the chair as she keeps drinking. Killian got a little too much cherry in this. Or maybe that’s just the tequila. It’s good, though, and she needed it tonight.

God, the people at the club are all so obnoxious, and she’s desperately going to miss fall and winter when she didn’t have people hounding her with questions every day all day. She deserves hazard pay for every person that makes a snide remark about the linens or someone who they think doesn’t fit the type of person they want at the club.

They don’t know she’s the exact type of person they wouldn’t want to associate with.

Foster kid, no money, little education, run ins with the law…the list goes on and on.

But she’s not that person anymore. She’s not. She’s at least got her life together in that she has money and isn’t having to steal Pop-Tarts from convenience stores.

Now she just drinks slushies from them that have tequila mixed in.

At least these were paid for.

She hopes. No, she knows. Killian definitely paid for them.

“Oh,” Emma says, “I thought of another rule. It’s kind of a big one.”

“Is it now?”

“If you want to start sleeping with other people, you can. Just say the word if you meet someone like, you know, you usually do, and we can stop. There’s no need to do it if you’re sleeping with someone else.”

Killian’s brows furrow, and he scratches his chin. “I thought we had already decided I didn’t need to find someone? I don’t purposefully look for someone, by the way. It just happens.”

“Oh, yes, I’m so beautiful too that people just line up to sleep with me.”

“I mean, you are. You’d have to be blind not to know that.”

Emma swallows and tugs down the sleeves on the sweatshirt before crossing her arms over her chest, hugging her stomach tightly. She is not going to give herself enough time to process what he just said. “Anyway, I mean that if you meet someone and want to give it a shot, go for it. Give me the word, and we can start pretending I’ve never seen your dick before.”

“Well, I mean, you already did that one time at – ”

“That was an accident,” she giggles, “and totally your fault for leaving the door unlocked while you were changing.”

“There wasn’t a lock on the door.”

“Whatever.”

“Rule four,” Killian sighs, holding his fingers up, “is that I do not have to cook you breakfast if you spend the night.”

“No. That’s a shitty rule, KJ, and you know it! You cook me breakfast now. You can’t go back on it.”

“Alright, alright, if you insist,” he laughs as his hand reaches over toward her and curls her hair around his fingers. They’re warm and rough, and she has to admit that it’s comfortable to have him hold her hand like that. “You know, Liam is staying over at Elsa’s tonight?”

“Is he?” she asks. Emma swallows and shifts a little closer to Killian, the ocean breeze suddenly much warmer.

“He is, and he won’t be back until we open at ten.”

“So, enough time for breakfast then?”

Killian’s eyes crinkle with his laugh. “Is that going to be the only reason you come over?”

“Nah,” Emma sighs as she stands from her chair, “I also really like your dog.”

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @shardminds @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @itsfabianadocarmo @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera @cluttermind

#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan

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kxhlzn · 4 years

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[iii.] the birdwatcher & his lover.

➳ synopsis: it's the summer of '89, and you discover new things about yourself— some good, and some you wish you could swallow and never see again. dealing with the newfound confusion of sexuality, you must learn the ins and outs of friendship and what it means to grow up.

➳ genre: coming-of-age drama, ANGST, fluff, slight crack.

➳ characters/pairing(s): eventual stanley uris/reader, unrequited!bev/reader, eventual benverly, eventual reddie (possibly unrequited.)

➳ wordcount: 5.9k

➳ warning(s): profanity, sexual comments, ANGST, jokes about 80s AIDS, hurt feelings, fireworks (don't try this at home, kids!)

➳ song rec: flowers in your hair by the lumineers.

➳ author's note(s): sorry i made richie cry, i hate myself too lmfao. also i love stan. that's all. that's the post. give me some recs on what you'd like to see happen to them in the future! :)

July, 1989.

the rain is constant; pattering, almost as if it expects you to open your window and let it sneak into your bedsheets, like a sneaky, horny, little teenager. except, the only teenager creeping through your window tonight is mischevious richie tozier, head full of grand ideas and schemes.

his hair is sopping when he slams on the glass, and you nearly lose ten years of your life at the scare. most of the terror racing through you isn't because you're shocked by his presence, but rather you didn't really want him to see your arms full of letters and graham crackers. he stares at you a moment, his glasses dripping with water, as a single crumb trickles onto the floor from the corner of your mouth. you consider, for a moment, that he didn't see it, but from the small smirk that appears on his lips, you know you were caught. he's crouched on the roof beside your window, tapping his knee patiently.

you don't rush to make a move, either, as you both have a staredown; richie is uncharacteristically patient, you notice, and it makes you loosen your grip on the items momentarily. but then, richie slips, and you throw them all on the bed and make a break for the window. once you've tossed it open, richie is already steady, his hands splayed out at hip height. he's preparing himself in case he slips again.

"what do you want, trashmouth?" you quip, propping the window open. you glance at the surrounding area behind him, and the sky is a deep grey. the trees are heavy with water, puddles scattered across the ground. what on earth could he need at this time?

"so, i got this cool idea," he says, gripping the sill as he slides through the crack of your window. now, he's got water dripping all over the floor, and you scowl at him as he shakes his head like a dog, flinging droplets across your bedroom. "what if we buy fireworks?"

you don't miss a beat. "what?"

"like, you know, fireworks. for fourth of july? i might know a guy."

"seriously? that'd be so cool!" you say, picturing lighting off rockets into the sky, at the quarry. richie nods in excitement, collapsing on the floor beside your bed, leaning his head against your sheets. one knee is propped up, and his arm slings comfortably on it. the water drips onto his (for once) solid color grey t-shirt and plaided black pajama pants.

"right?" richie agrees, "you can thank me later. i already told 'im to buy them. 'said he'll get back to me soon. what are those?"

you blink at him a moment, and draw your attention to where he is focused. he's eyeing the pile of letters on your bed behind him, and he starts to get grabby as he digs through them.

you jolt forward, swatting at his hands. "they're, uh... letters? to? someone?"

"your pops?"

"what? no. well, actually, most of 'em, yeah."

"he ever respond to the ones you sent last year?" richie asks softly, peering at you when you take a hesitant seat on your bed, near richie's mop of hair.

"nope," you shrug, "but it's worth a try to send some more, ya know?"

"nah. you're trying too hard, babyface. you ever think that maybe it's time to toss the towel in?" richie's hand lands on your knee, but you jerk away from him.

"toss the towel in? what the fuck, richie?" you stand, quickly, and take a few cautious steps away from him.

"no, urgh, listen. i just hate seeing you hurt yourself like this—" he stands, too, stretching his long legs in a couple strides toward you.

"what's so fucking wrong with me writing a letter to my dad?"

"it's stupid! i just think—"

"you're just pissed 'cause yours sits a room away from you, and he talks to you less than mine!" you bite, and you immediately regret it, a sour flavor sitting on your tongue.

"fuck you!" richie barks, pointing an accusatory finger at you. his voice cracks in the process. "at least my dad bothered to stay! i wasn't so fucking bitchy that he disappeared into the night, not able to deal with having me for a kid!"

you want to snap back, but you're afraid your voice will betray you, so you merely open and close your mouth like a fish. richie's shoulders are heaving, eyes blown wide enough to rival the size of his actual face, with the glasses magnifying them so much. his fists are clenching and unclenching, consistently while you stand in tense silence.

"you're right," you whisper, mostly to yourself, and you cradle your arms against your chest. you lean up against your wall and slide down until your arms hug your knees. richie gapes, mutters out a few incoherent words, and then collapses in front of you, his hands on your arms.

"no, fuck, no, i shouldn't have said that. i didn't mean it. we're both tired, and hungry, and frustrated. that was such an asshole thing for me to say," he sputters out, and he pulls your head into the crook of his neck while he coos softly.

"it's okay, i didn't mean what i said, either. i think, i just, i know you were right about the tossing in the towel thing, but i.. i just don't think i'm ready to, you know?" you mumble into his shoulder, and he nods.

"that's okay, it was just a suggestion, babyface. you want to send him a letter? fuck it, let's do it."

"okay."

you spend the next ten minutes sealing the letters up, stamping them, and tossing them into your desk drawer for later. you sit comfortably in your chair, finishing up writing the address on the last one, when richie hums to himself.

"what?" you ask, spinning around to face him. he holds a letter up from his seat on your bed, sitting crisscrossed. his magnified eyes are glued to the words.

"nothing, you just missed one. except, it's not for your pops..."

"what do you mean? i didn't write one for anyone e—..." and it dawns on you. "richie, can i have that letter, please?"

"uh, yeah, nope... 'dear beverly marsh—'"

"richie, god, please!" you fling yourself at him, and he screams, throwing his hand up so you can't reach it while you climb over him. there are a few grunts as you dig various body parts into his flesh, grabbing for the paper, but he's not having it.

"why the hell are you— ouch! —writing a letter to bev?" richie questions, shoving at you a bit to get a good look at the piece of lined paper. "is it a looove letter?"

your silence forces you both to stop your movements, and the pink on your cheeks makes richie blink a few times.

"wait..." he begins, "does that.. do you.. do you like beverly?"

"what does that even mean? 'like'? of course i like her, she's one of my best friends! why wouldn't i? she's kind, and pretty, and one of the best people i know."

"yeah, okay, but do you want to stick your hand down her pants?"

"richard tozier!"

"well, you know what i mean."

"unfortunately, yeah, i do. but... that's not.. i can't, you know, like her like that. she's a girl," you squirm, scooting over to the headboard of the bed. richie leans up next to you, his shoulder bumping yours.

"so she's a girl. if she were a dude, would you do it?" richie presses.

"do what?"

"stick your hand—"

"beep, beep, richie!"

"what i'm saying is, if she were a guy, would you like her?"

"uh, i don't know, i guess," you admit, your hands in your lap. you bite your lip.

"then what's it fucking matter?" he asks, brows curved inward, "just admit it."

you blink at him, kind of understanding where he's coming from. you suppose you never could accept how you felt because it's the 80s, and you're in derry, so same-sex relations remain strictly platonic. you wonder if others have felt, or feel, the same way you do. maybe it's not so bad. maybe you can say it out loud, to someone.

"i have a crush on beverly marsh."

it feels empowering. like you could stand on top of your roof and scream it to the entire world, make everyone know that you, a small-town girl in maine, likes another girl. it feels empowering, but also incriminating— like you have something to hide, like you should be guilty for feeling this way.

guilty of what? loving another human being?

"well, shockingly, that's not the most lesbian thing you've ever said to me," richie quips.

"beep, beep, richie."

"anyway," he clicks his tongue, desperate to change the subject, "so the fireworks. what's your game plan?"

"right. well, we'll probably have to ask bill to tell eddie's mom that they're studying. you know how she gets when me or bev call— rant about how he can't hang with us 'cause we'll force him into an orgy 'n shit," you laugh dryly.

"wouldn't mind an orgy with her," richie whistles lowly.

"her, and who else? stan's mom? she's too high-strung for that."

"with my charms? pft, please," he replies, signaling down his body.

you roll your eyes. "oh, for sure, she'll be on her knees in no time."

"nah, she'd break a hip."

you laugh. "okay, focus— so you got the fireworks, bill's got eddie's mom—" ("he'd better share!") and everyone else should be able to make it. bev and ben can sneak out, and mike is pretty much free to go wherever. i can convince stan's mom that we're spending the night at bill's, with supervision. she likes me, but i can't be sure she won't think i'm trying to fuck the jew out of him."

"he wouldn't mind."

"seriously, richie, learn when to shut the fuck up," you scold, and he laughs, "anyways— do ya think mike could scrounge up a picnic again, or should i go over to bill's to make one? i think mike would want to do it..."

"yeah," richie yawns, and he leans on your shoulder. you sigh softly, sweep his hair away from his face, and slip his glasses off, onto the bedstand. "should prolly head home."

"no, it's pouring out. you've stayed here before," you tell him, pushing him off of you so you can turn the light out. by the time you've turned yourself around, he's hogging all of the blankets and you frown. rolling your eyes, you mutter something along the lines of "didn't get to eat my graham crackers", and you stash them under your desk.

crawling beside richie, you kick him with your leg as a sign to scoot his ass over, or else. he doesn't listen at first, but another heel in his side, and he's doing as he's told. (richie won't admit it, but he likes being the little spoon); you wrap your arms around his torso and poke his back with your nose as you prepare yourself for sleep.

after a few minutes, richie turns over slightly, glancing at your face. when he is convinced you've fallen asleep, he sighs softly and bites his lip— there are so many things he wishes he could tell you. so many secrets. after hearing you admit you like bev, he feels safer; like someone can relate to him, like he's not alone. it would be the first time he ever admitted it, even to himself.

richie doesn't know you're even listening, but having you next to him makes it easier to say out loud. "okay, so uh, listen... i think.. i think i'm like you, okay? i think i like..."

he's quiet for a moment, but now you're focused; you hadn't been asleep yet, but this is odd of him. you sigh, and snuggle up against him. "eddie. it's okay."

his breath hitches, and he chokes out a "yeah". you think he's fallen asleep after, but you hear small sniffling, and you can't help but tear up too. your grip on his chest tightens, a sign that you hear him and understand. he flips his body around, and suddenly, rather aggressively, pulls you against him, his face in the crook of your neck. his small tears melt into sobs, and yours soon follow suit.

"it's okay, it's okay," you coo, combing your fingers through his hair. he sounds so hurt, so painfully heartbroken. but, so do you.

"is there something wrong with me?" richie cries, the droplets creating a pool in the skin of your neck, "with us?"

"i don't know," you reply, your shoulders shaking, "oh, god, i don't know."

how badly you wish you did; if not to ease your own pain, but most especially his. richie tozier did not deserve to be crying in your arms in the dark, because he fell in love with his best friend. he deserved a much better love story than that.

—

over cereal the next morning, you and richie don't talk much. you're both reeling from the many emotions that were expressed last night, and you're afraid if one of you speaks, it will spoil everything.

your stepfather and your mother are speaking in the other room, and you hear the pattering of footsteps — loud ones, at that, a sure one it's your stepfather — as he walks into the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee. he looks as dead as the two of you.

"hey, kiddo, i need you to take the trash out when you're done," he says, glancing at you. it takes him a moment to register that richie is sitting across from you. he gets an eyeful of him, and shrugs nonchalantly, "hey, rich."

"yo," richie replies, stuffing another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. the two stare at each other briefly, before your stepfather becomes bored and pads off into the other room to inform your mother of richie's presence, as she wasn't aware. you hear her nearly shriek, worried that the house isn't clean enough for guests.

"it's fine, mom, it's just richie," you raise your voice so she can hear you, "he literally doesn't care. like, at all."

she says something back, but you don't catch it, as you stand from the table and put your bowl in the sink. richie follows suit.

"so, um... i'll call bill, you handle the, you know, and then i can head over to stan's to let him know the plan. you got everyone else?" you quip, and richie smirks at you.

"you need to take the trash out, kiddo. but, yeah, i got everyone else."

"okaay," you reply, groaning.

richie leaves a few minutes after, through your window, for dramatic effect. you tell your parents he left through the second living room, a sliding door to the backyard in it. they accept it.

calling bill is easy; he always answers, (as he is always home and his parents don't care much for the phone), and rather quickly, too. it's easy to convince him, as well, as he's kind of excitable. he agrees to free eddie.

you call stanley, next. his mother picks up, and you curse to yourself. she's a hard nut to crack.

"hi, mrs. uris!" you tell her it's you, and you swear her tone becomes a bit sharper, but she stays polite. as is the way of jews.

"hello there, sweetheart."

"is stanley home?"

"yes, he is," she replies, you smile. he's always home, too, if he's not birdwatching.

"... could i speak to him?"

"oh! yes," she says, and she barks his name quietly, a sign that he was probably walking past her when you asked.

you tap your foot as there is brief movement on the other end, and stanley breathes into the phone just a millisecond before he speaks.

"hello," he says softly.

"hi, stanny! you free today? great!" you chirp cheerily, smiling against the telephone.

"o-oh, uh, yeah—"

"i thought we already established that."

"oh. um, yeah, i guess.. we have," he sounds dejected.

"kay. i'm coming over."

"what? wait, okay—"

you hang up, and hop slightly as you turn yourself around to grab your things. once you've gotten them, you head out to the place stanley calls home, a small house right outside of the synagogue.

you knock on the screen door at the back of the house and bounce on your heels as you await stanley. the locks on the door rattle briefly, and he's there, pushing open the door to let you in. you thank him and slip off your shoes in the entrance.

"so, you wanna hear about what we're doing tonight?" you say happily, poking his shoulder with a giant grin on your lips.

he swallows. "okay..."

you capture a handful of his collar, and pull him closer to you; he turns beet red. "we're gonna light off fireworks! but i gotta tell your mom we're staying at bill's."

"what? are you guys insane? that's dangerous!" stanley whisper shouts. he looks at you in complete and utter bewilderment.

"i know!" you cheer, "it'll be a blast!"

"no, i'm not doing that!"

"pleaaaase?" you beg, giving him puppy eyes, "it won't be fun without you."

he rolls his own. "no! that's ridiculous!" stanley crosses his arms, glances at your sweet face, and huffs dramatically. "ugh! fine! only because i don't want any of you doing something stupid. mostly you, because you're accident-prone."

"you know me too well, uris," you whisper sappily, and give him a strong hug. he refrains from doing it back for a second but sighs and wraps his arms around your shoulders.

"stanley!" mrs. uris calls out sharply, and she shakes her head stiffly at him. you immediately take a few cautious steps away from him. "what on earth are you doing?"

"i, uh, was just hugging her because..." he trails off slowly.

"my grandma died," you spit out.

"oh! goodness, when?" mrs. uris asks, putting down her basket of laundry.

"um—" you think of a random time, and say, "last night."

unfortunately, stanley says "this morning" simultaneously.

you glance at each other.

"last night," stanley says, "i forgot, and thought it was this morning."

"oh," mrs. uris mutters, "goodness, child, you almost had me thinking you just hug that girl for the sake of it."

"yeah, nope, i would never," he agrees, "she has like, um, ...cooties."

when the high-strung woman finally skitters away, you and stan release a breath.

you're the first to speak. "cooties, stanley? really? that was your genius idea?"

he throws his hands up in defense. "i'm sorry! it was the only thing i could think of. i couldn't say AIDS!"

"i think AIDS would have been more redeemable."

"hardly!" he exasperates, "'cause then she'd think you're a homosexual man with a sex addiction under that skirt and scrunchie!"

you break out into a fit of laughs and shove stanley's shoulder. he shoves you back, and then you're both laughing.

"what? so how am i supposed to convince her to let you come with me to bill's when she thinks my grandma just died and i have cooties?" you inquire as you both step into the main section of the house and prepare to enter the living room.

"with slow coaxing and distance."

—

somehow, all of the losers are able to come— with slow coaxing and distance.

a symphony of crickets echoes down the dirt path, matched with the small pattering of eight pairs of feet. the bugs' song drowns out eddie and richie's bickering at the front of the group, but soon, stanley's soft voice joins in. the sun has already dipped low past the horizon, coating the sky in a hazy blue-grey, but the large trees block out the color significantly. the greenery tickles at your ankles, sly weeds brushing up against you.

a few feet in front of you, stan's pearly whites sneakers kick up rocks, a thin powdery layer of dust residue sliding around the heels, and coating the sides. his laces are neatly tied, and he has taken extra care to tuck the ends away to avoid them from collecting dirt; a signature, and neurotic, move on his part. his socks are a snowy white, and nearly match the pale tone of his calf. almost as if he might turn suddenly and catch your prying eyes, you scrape them to the heavens, admiring the stars that begin to trickle into the blanket above you. you are startled as eddie shrieks, and you manage to catch a glimpse of richie waving a handful of mud from the mucky dissolve at the end of the path, which must have been created during the rainfall yesterday.

"that's literally so disgusting! no! richie, if you fling that at me, i swear to fuck—!" his voice heightens to a womanly pitch, as he withers back from richie's sopping palm. in turn, he snickers devilishly as he circles around eddie like a vulture, with stanley's disapproving expression prominent on his boyish face.

"do you realize how sick i can get from that, huh? flesh-eating bacteria can get into my fucking cornea if a rock cuts my eye!" eddie nearly wails, throwing his hands up to protect his face. richie makes inhumane sounds following eddie's spring for the opening up ahead.

bill shakes his head contently, mirrored nearly identically by beverly and mike. you glance around at the meadow, and your heart skips a beat when you catch sight of a small glow up ahead, hovering just above a patch of flowers.

you squeal and push past the others to get a closet look at the fireflies now littering the meadow. you like to catch them, but not with malice— you capture them, and let them crawl on your hands until they decide to fly again. you giggle, spinning around, arms wide open, admiring the plethora of them.

they're everywhere, and you're in your own personal utopia. richie appears next to you, and he allows a firefly to land on his finger. "hey, watch this."

you eagerly grin as he moves his other hand over the bug, and then— he crushes it, wiping the glow across his skin. you gape at him, and then scowl. "richie, you're such a dick! it was innocent!"

"yeah, but my skin glows!" he replies, showing his hand to the others. none of them are amused, as they peer at your now heartbroken expression.

"that was harsh, rich," bill says, shaking his head in disappointment.

"i thought it was cool," richie mumbles, adjusting his glasses.

you roll your eyes at his response and continue to gaze off into the dark at the glowing bugs. you manage to capture one and cup your hands as you march over to stanley.

"hey, hey, check this out," you tell him, and he cranes his neck to watch as you open your hands, and show him the lightning bug. he slowly reaches out, and it crawls onto his forefinger. "isn't he so cute?!"

"yeah, definitely," stan agrees. the glow from the bug as he raises it up to face reflects off his nose, illuminating some stray freckles on the bridge. his eyes are lit up to match, and they never leave the insect, even when it ultimately makes its flight elsewhere.

"hey, lovebirds! come help me collect some sticks! or should i wait 'til y'all are done gushing over a bug?" richie barks, raising his arms, which are full of twigs, for what you assume is a fire.

"we're not—" stanley begins, but richie is already turned away and focused on something else.

you toss stan a bashful grin. "c'mon, birdboy. 'm sure mike brought marshmallows 'n stuff for s'mores."

"wait—" stanley says suddenly, voice risen uncharacteristically as he grips your arm. when he's positive he has your full attention, he drops contact with you, and stares at the grass below. "u-um, i got you something. i-it's not like anything big, you know, just like.. i saw it, and thought of you, or, er, us."

you blink at him. "you didn't have to—"

"—no! uh, i mean, no. i wanted to," stanley replies, fishing into the pocket of his khaki capris. there, he turns over two bracelets— they're woven, some sections tan and others colorful. there are two short brown strings at the latch on both of them.

"oh, my god, stan!" you say quietly, sticking your wrist out happily. you're grinning, and you can't explain the butterflies in the pit of your stomach or the heat rising to your cheeks. "they're so cute!"

"heh, thanks," he says, stepping forward to slip the bracelet over your wrist. it feels oddly intimate. "i, uh, it's not much, but.."

"no, no, i love it," you chirp, keeping a hold of his hand while you admire the charm. your grin reaches your eyes as they rise to meet his. the feelings expressed by simply the contact of your gazes sends rushes of excitement into your bloodstream. "i'll never take it off. not once."

then stanley suddenly stares into the sky, his lower lip tucked under his teeth. his brows are now curved in concentration. "d-don't look at me like that."

"like what?"

"like this is the best present you've ever gotten. l-like this is the happiest you've ever been."

"it is," you say softly, "this bracelet means the world to me. i've never felt so cared about, not ever."

you take the second bracelet from his hand that remains stretched out, like he's offering the jewelry. you slip it onto his wrist, and use it to pull him into a warm embrace, your arms wrapped around his neck. your right hand rests on the flesh of it, a few curls brushing against your skin.

"thank you, stanley."

your entire being buzzes incessantly as he accepts your gratitude, and you pull away. the air hitting your chest leaves you chilly, the empty kind; disconnecting with him now feels like abandoning the other half of your body, and leaving it frozen in place. you feel as though without him you will always be cold. the empty kind.

richie makes short work of the fire, relaying a grand story about his survival in the woods at six years old, and his incomparable courage that winter. the flames are low and small, but no one dares tell him to stoke them or toss in some leaves for an extra shove, as he seems so content with the low burn as it is. you all subtly cuddle up next to each other, but bill is the most obvious, physically— he scowls and wraps his arms around himself while eddie is vocally unhappy.

beverly leans into ben, subconsciously, and the sweet boy glows brighter than the fire, his skin illuminating a deep red, like an apple. beverly's scarlet hair, in turn, rivals the fire as it roars. her hair, and the way it is ruffled and sharp with each sliced strand, resembles the flames as they lick up towards the sky. the reflection of the campfire makes it burn ever the more vibrant, and it melts onto the skin of her freckled shoulders and nose.

you're cut from your stupor when richie nudges you, and he whispers, "you're staring", as though you weren't already aware. the others don't catch on, fortunately, as they all listen intently to the process of shelving meat, as expressed by mike. you find it riveting, really — as riveting as the tale of processed and packaged animal flesh can be. a silence ensues once richie makes a horrible joke about vegans, and then he clears his throat awkwardly.

"so, fireworks? who dares me to blow one up eddie's ass? maybe it'll get the stick outa there," he chirps, and eddie shrieks and chucks a stick at him.

richie smirks at him and tells him to follow him so they can fetch the fireworks and eddie reluctantly agrees. they scatter off, and you watch contently as they bump shoulders. your brows draw in, a bit depressed by the two of them— how badly you wished they knew. how badly you needed them to know they were everything you dreamed to be.

while you all wait for eddie and richie, ben and beverly disappear behind the trees to go explore this stream ben had found. he told her he felt very poetic being near it, which he had hoped would signal something to her, but she hadn't noticed. in the meantime, you and stanley stay by the fire and discuss his journal, as he gushes about a ruby-throated hummingbird, and shows you a light sketch of one — he shaded the throat, and it makes you smile. he's certainly improved on his work, and you feel a rush of pride break through the dam of your chest.

"stanley, you've really been practicing," you tell him, running your index finger over the graphite lining the yellow paper, "i can tell it's a bird this time! and it's not having a heart attack!"

he nods in approval, and he takes a second to realize you were referring to the first time you met when you told him his art looked like it was having a health scare. his dull eyes blink at you momentarily, like he's trying to figure you out or understand you— and it dawns on you that he's not thinking about the drawing anymore— but rather, he's trying to understand you as a whole— as though you are some sort of puzzle he can't quite put his finger on.

stan's attention retreats back to the journal, flipping occasionally to the next page and reading the notes he's taken on each bird. when your eyes drag down his face, you feel a twinge in your stomach— there's simply something about stanley uris that you can't quite put your finger on, either, and you rather like that about him; it gives you space to unravel and discover each day. you always feel like you're learning something new and jarring about him, and you like to think that gives him depth.

however, his face holds something harsh and cold— something that remains constant, despite the circumstances of his mystery— and it's the sadness. it's the sadness and the fatigue, written like scars across every inch of flesh, a consistent tattoo of sorrow. he's imprinted with it, as though it's simply the base coat on the canvas of his life— and it hurts you, seeing him sad. and it's worse knowing that you don't think you've seen stanley uris any other way.

and you consider, briefly, just for a striking moment— that maybe he's only sad when he's looking at you.

stan recounts a conversation he had with a girl in your shared english class, persephone— known universally as percy — an introverted blonde girl, who has a curious knack for all things odd and quirky. she likes to wear lacy, flowy dresses, and unusual jewelry. she has a rather soft voice, like listening to a cloud speak— and she too enjoys birds. he says it's been a while since he's had a decent talk with someone about the animals, and that he's happy she appears genuinely interested and engaged in the topic. you aren't surprised, by this, though; you half expect percy to be some sort of angelic tree nymph.

you open your mouth to reply to his story, a bitter tang of jealousy on your tongue you don't recognize, but richie tozier beats you to it. almost to your relief.

"what's up, whores?! you ready to blow this place up?" he calls out, raising some fireworks, with exhausted eddie dragging behind him. he looks like he wants to swallow gunpowder and then a match.

you find yourself beside him, hands on his shoulders. he's too tired to even remove them. "eds, what the hell happened to you?"

his eyes are hazy. "richie thought it would be smart to go through the shit path, and now i've probably got seven diseases, at least."

richie smirks. "didn't want to go the usual way. woulda got caught by the po-po."

"you're a handful, tozier," you say.

"you love it," he replies, blowing you a kiss.

"you got me."

the rest of the night is soft chaos; richie lights off the fireworks, and they burst in bright and vibrant colors, lighting up the night. the air is crisp and free, and the grass between your toes is heavenly. you become drunk on your youth, an alcoholic in your own right. you wonder, briefly, if this is the peak— if this is the highest point of your life, if this is what you're meant for. if you're the peter pan of your successful friends, if they will all grow to be everlasting lovers and soulmates.

if this is where your journey with them ends.

and, by god, watching the way beverly looks when she's in her element, dancing barefoot with the rest of you— the way they all gaze at her like she's some sort of angel, some sort of saving grace. the way you gaze at her. how your chest aches. how it burns, to be amongst her beauty, to be jealous and insecure and in love all at once. your feet buzz with the shake of the earth, the fire in the sky. your skin sears, like ashes racing to compete. at this moment, you swear you feel your entire being burning alive.

and it is exhilarating.

and as you watch them, hooting and screaming and letting their voices be heard, you feel infinite. like the world is putty in your hands, like they are the most exhilarating people you'll ever know and you'll spend the rest of your life just settling. and your heart calms, because suddenly everything is simple; you want to hang out with these people until the end of time.

and stanley, the way his curls glow under the fireworks— the way his skin shimmers in possibility. the sadness so present in his face has faded, like he's suddenly hazy and thoughtless. his movements, they're slow and unsure, like he's seconds away from making a fool of himself. but he's beautiful— like some sort of saint— stanley is the human form of apollo, he's the sun himself. apollo— you crave that for him. and his soil eyes stray from the others and meet your excitable ones; his expression is not blank, but rather glowing. you can't define a single emotion on it, but rather a feeling. one that doesn't have a word. one that just is.

and he's looking at you like you're a goddess— you, with a crown of flowers sewn into your chaotic head of hair, you, with your flowy skirt and bare feet— and you know no one has ever looked at you like that. it sparks something in you, something luminescent and empowering. and god, he glows. that boy glows.

and it hits you both at the exact same time, like a comet striking the earth— an epiphany in the form of a human.

i want to hang out with this person until the end of time.

and maybe, you consider, just for a moment, almost a guilty thought—

he wants to hang out with you, too.

is that so bad to wish for?

a person to spend the rest of your youth with?

a person to spend the rest of your life with?

a person to call your own?

and by god, you want it to be him.

let your cries shake the earth, if it isn't.

[🌿] taglist:

@hannarudick @cedricisnotonfire @russian-romanova

#it #the losers club #stanley uris x reader #losers club x reader #beverly marsh x reader #stephen king #it 2017 #stanley uris #stan uris #it fanfiction #stanley uris imagine #beverly marsh imagine #kassie writes #BW

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thewheezingwyvern · 4 years

Text

Caffeine Kisses

This is a prize for @sophiashyaway for my 500 follower giveaway. She requested something for my YYH fanfiction, Melon Liquor from Kurama’s perspective so here’s my attempt! Sorry for your wait, love! He was challenging to write from his perspective! Banner was edited by me, photograph from here.

Rating: Fluffy

Word count: 2080

Kurama x Midori (my OC)

The sun had just barely slipped over the horizon when I woke. Still bleary eyed and foggy from sleep, I glance over to the right only to give a faint smile and quiet chuckle at the sight. Midori was sprawled beneath the blankets, ink black hair a wild cloud around her head as she slumbered on. Dusky shadows painted over the skin of her arms, mouth open to emit soft snores. Amusedly I noticed that one leg was thrown haphazardly over my own. Fortunately Midori was a heavy sleeper, especially now that she took the tonics I made for her to help her have dreamless nights.

Gingerly I shifted her thigh, bare until the hem of her pajama shorts, and slipped out of bed. The digital clock glowing on the bedside table displayed 4:03 am, signifying that she would need to wake up for work in thirty minutes. Coffee burst to the forefront of my mind and I silently walked into the kitchen. Caffeination was an important part of the process of growing your own functional Midori, or so she had explained to me on numerous occasions.

The apartment was silent in the rising morning and I couldn’t help but let my thoughts wander. We had come such a long way together. If anyone had told me in the beginning that I would be moving in with her I would have thought them brain damaged. At first I thought she was reckless, wild and a danger to herself. I had thought that she wasn’t that observant. At first.

“You don’t have very many friends, do you?”

One simple sentence was enough to make me think more of her. To reexamine her more closely. Of course I had been suspicious of her, wondered if she was a demon hunter at first but that was gradually shown to not be true. But that single question had forced me to reconsider most of what I had thought about her. Everyone I had met in school assumed I had a lot of friends because of my popularity. But without even trying she could see through that.

The fragrant, earthy smell of coffee permeated the air, the maker bubbling away as it funneled into the pot. The scent would likely be enough to rouse Midori shortly, so I stepped onto the patio to tend to my plants. The pleasant smell of lavender and rosemary had steeped into the air and it brought an even deeper sense of calm. Midori had begged me to grow some of our own spices on the patio and the lavender was a specific request from her.

When I finished and went back inside the apartment, my partner was posted in front of the coffee pot, pouring out a fresh mug. Her eyes were still bleary with sleep, movements sluggish as she struggled to pull herself from the grips of lethargy. I couldn’t help but smile, seeing her standing there hazy with sleep, clad in a matching set of fox pajamas. I quietly approached her, settling my arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Morning Kurama…” she murmured, cradling the hot coffee in her hands closely.

I hummed with soft pleasure when Midori gently leaned into my touch. The sight of her so content in my embrace made me linger longer than I had planned. But she always had a habit of throwing off my plans. She proved that when she had managed to make it to the Dark Tournament on her own. It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was impossibly stupid.

It was so very Midori.

Never once had I ever thought I would find recklessness endearing but she had made that happen. As she shrugged out from underneath my arm and shuffled over to the fridge, I pondered all the times she had been reckless but for the sake of others. Kaoru had been the first one to come to mind when she willingly involved herself with a stalker and broke into the school just to track her down. And then her first encounter with Hiei, a demon she knew that could and would kill her for her interference.

I couldn’t help but smile faintly. I think she had grown on Hiei even, albeit unwillingly.

“Whacha smilin’ about?” she mumbled, pouring the creamer into her coffee.

“Just some memories.”

Midori quirked a brow at me over the rim of her mug, “Those old man genes coming out then? You thinking about the good old days?”

“I hardly think you are in any position to accuse me of being old.”

“I’m a spring chicken thank you very much!” she took a long drink of her caffeinated beverage and then gave a pleased groan, “Your coffee in the morning is always the best. Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s the only way I can get you out of bed.”

Midori glared at me but said nothing, still sleepily nursing her drink. It was always so amusing to pick on her because she never failed to rise to the bait, even when she knew I was doing it on purpose. A part of her charm, I would say. With a quiet but playful smile, I eyed her sleepwear.

“Nice pajamas.”

A sleepy smile emerged from her then, “I thought you might appreciate them.”

“I can’t say that I don’t.”

“Good. And now I always have you on me.”

It was my turn to arch my brow at her, amusement coloring my face at her slip of the tongue. Midori blinked at me owlishly, confusion clear in her expression as she tried to interpret my amusement. Then realization dawned on her face and then she rolled her eyes with a groan.

“You know what I meant! Don’t make it weird.”

I decided to spare her and change the subject, “Would you like me to make you breakfast?”

“Oooh ye-wait. No I know we only just moved in together but if you do that I’m gonna start expecting you to do it all the time.”

“I don’t mind. Besides, I’m not entirely certain I trust you to have anything healthy or nourishing in the morning. Or you even having breakfast at all.”

Midori stared at me silently for a few moments, “You know it’s still alarming to see how much you’ve figured me out.”

“I believe we’ve discussed how you aren’t as closed of a book as you would like to believe.”

“That’s just to you…” She muttered, taking a drink of her steaming cup of coffee.

“I can concede that.” I told her in amusement.

Bright green eyes, still hazy with lethargy, studied me thoughtfully. Her hands still cradled the warm mug, clutching it almost like a life line with slender fingers. Hands that were not afraid to get bloody. Hands that could kill, if she wished. I think I first realized that my feelings for Midori were beyond friendship when she saved me at the Dark Tournament. When she fought that snake demon on her own and nearly died in the process. On death’s door and she was still cracking jokes, albeit weakly.

“Well, I definitely won’t turn down breakfast if you’re offering!”

I smiled as she shuffled over to the bar on the other side of the counter, hopping up onto a barstool, “What would you like?”

“Hmmmm, surprise me! You know what kind of stuff I like by this point!”

An omelette came to mind immediately, so I started pulling out a skillet, a cutting board and a knife. I could feel Midori’s eyes on me as I moved to the fridge, peering in to search for appropriate vegetables. I brought them all to the cutting board, setting to work on the onion first, ready to chop up enough for both of us. It would be beneficial for me to cook myself breakfast as well. And I couldn’t deny that I would enjoy eating with her.

“Do you see something that interests you, Midori?” I asked in amusement at her staring, making sure to speak with a flirtatious tone to tease her.

She didn’t seem to notice my tone and continued to stare thoughtfully before cracking a wide, toothy grin, “Oh don’t mind me. I’m just trying to picture you in a pink frilly apron.”

“You never change, do you?”

“Would you ever want me to?”

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

Midori gave a playful gasp, slapping her hand over her heart. Her expression was one of mock affront as she pretended to swoon in her seat. I chuckled under my breath, focusing back on the onions I was chopping, eyes starting to sting the more I cut.

“You suppose? Kurama you mean you aren’t sure? What am I to you?”

“As of this moment? A source of amusement.”

Midori scowled at me but it was not in earnest and I shifted the onions to the side and moved to chop a tomato next. She was steadily waking up so that meant that she was almost through her cup of coffee. However I knew it was likely that she would grab a second one as her caffeine dependency had been rising for quite some time. I would have to work on breaking her habit. Or at the very least convert her to a cup of green tea in the morning or something similar.

“We only just moved in together and you are already doing me like this! I’m leaving you for another gorgeous demon!”

“Gorgeous, am I?”

“Oh don’t even play. You’re a very pretty man and you know it.” she waved her hand dismissively at me, “Everytime we go out together I’m pretty sure all of the girls start scheming to have me assassinated.”

“I hope you realize that I get similar looks from men when I’m out with you.”

The shock that washed over her face then was genuine. Midori often spoke and acted like she was so confident of herself but moments like this reminded me that she still had plenty of doubts about herself. Including but not limited to her beauty. It was not an exaggeration to state that she drew attention anytime we went out together.

“Wait, what?”

“Are you really so surprised? You get a lot of looks from men everytime. A few have actually tried to approach us to speak to you.”

“Seriously?! How come I never saw them?”

I gave her an innocent smile, “I guess they simply thought better of speaking to a young woman already in a relationship.”

Midori narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me, “You gave them one of your scary looks, didn’t you?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

Before I transferred the onions into the skillet to carmelize, I caught sight of her smile. She always did seem to like when I got possessive of her. But she also appreciated my efforts because Midori wasn’t overly fond of strangers approaching her to flirt. I cast my eyes to the time on the microwave before looking back to my partner.

“Don’t you need to be getting dressed?”

She huffed, “Fine, fine. I guess you’re right.”

Midori slid off of the stool with a deceptive grace, leaving her empty mug abandoned on the counter. Before going to get ready, she shuffled over to me, turning my face towards her with a single hand. She gave me just a moment to stare at her before pressing a firm but chaste kiss to my lips before leaving to get dressed. I turned back to the vegetables I was cooking as she vanished back into the bedroom. The distant hiss of the shower kicked to life as I tended to breakfast. Fortunately Midori had developed the ability to shower quickly on her work days, though she used to be pretty bad about getting out in a reasonable time.

This was never where I had anticipated my life to go. For years my plan had only been to survive in human world and then make my escape back to demon world. Yet now the two worlds were intermingled, demons and humans coexisting regularly. And there I was, moved in with a human woman that I was calling my girlfriend. I still hadn’t quite adjusted to that but mother was ecstatic with this development. She had always been fond of Midori. Domestic bliss was not something I had ever expected to come to my life…

I think I could get used to it.

#YYH #Yu Yu Hakusho #Kurama x OC #Melon Liquor #my writing

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miscellaneous-miraculous · 4 years

Text

Painted Lady Chapter 3

Read on AO3 here

*four years later*

The apartment was a mess and Adrien loved it. He loved finding Nino’s headphones in the most random spots. He loved Alya’s ‘conspiracy wall,’ photos and articles pinned up everywhere with sticky notes of every color. She claimed there was a system, but no one except Alya had ever figured it out. He even – no, especially, loved finding Marinette’s stray needles everywhere. It reminded him of when he was younger, before his father became a supervillain and all-around jerk. It also made their apartment feel lived in, something his own home had never been like.

“Marinette!” Adrien dropped his keys in the bowl, kicking off his shoes at the door. “I got the fabric!” It was Nino’s turn to cook dinner if the scent of tajine was anything to go by. Adrien could already feel his mouth watering.

“Thanks!” Marinette called from the mezzanine. Her ‘nest’ as Alya had dubbed it. Marinette practically lived up there during finals or when she had big projects. Adrien had carried her down after finding her asleep at her desk more than a few times. She leaned over the edge, a tape measure draped around her neck and a few pencils stuck in her hair. “I’ll be down in second, I’ve just got to finish hemming this.”

Adrien nodded, turning his attention to Alya and her wall. “Anything interesting happen today?” He noticed a few new sticky notes.

“Miraculous wise? No. Journalism wise? Also no,” Alya sighed, pushing her glasses up. She was still wearing the white button down she’d put on in the morning, but she’d changed from her skirt into a pair of orange running shorts, her plaid blazer tossed over the back of her desk chair. “Any chance Chat Noir wants to graffiti the Eifel tower or something?”

“I think I’ll pass on that one, but I’ll let you know if I see anything on patrol later.”

“Fair enough,” Alya shrugged, returning to her board. “I’ve got a few leads to check again, but I doubt anything new will come up. Still nothing in any international news either.”

“Is bad I just want something happen?” Adrien set down the fabric bag on the couch. “We finally solved the thing with my father, but Lila’s still out there. I just wish we had a clearer target.”

“Me too, Sunshine,” Alya took a sticky note from her wall, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re on patrol later, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I tag along?” she folded the sticky note into her shorts pocket.

“Sure, you know you’re free to come whenever, right?”

Alya smirked, “Like I’d ever willingly tag along on a day that’s just you and Ladybug.” Adrien blushed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “There’s a reason we alternate patrol days.”

“Like you and Nino are any better.”

“Try you and Nino,” Alya snorted in laughter. “Last time you two patrolled together all the news stations were covering a brain freeze contest between Chat Noir and Carapace.”

“That I won!” Nino called from the kitchen.

“Did not!” Adrien protested. Alya only rolled her eyes, looking amused.

“Case in point.”

Adrien was spared replying by Nino shouting, “Dinner in five!”

“I’ll get Marinette,” he said, picking up the fabric bag.

“Don’t get too distracted, lover boy,” Alya said with a wink.

Adrien ignored her, making his way up the ladder. Marinette had several pins in her mouth as she worked on the hem of her dress. It was plain black aside from the two tiny Ladybug stitched over the right shoulder and there weren’t any fancy folds or stiches because of the jacket she’d paired with it. Adrien hadn’t seen it finished, but he knew it was a pink silk bolero that she’d spent days hand embroidering with different flowers. It was the final piece in a collection of six.

“Marinette, Nino said dinner’s almost ready.”

“That’s five minutes of work I can squeeze in,” she said, taking the pins from her mouth.

Adrien sighed, resting his head in his arms as he waited. Then his eyes zeroed in on the basket of yarn in the corner. He had barely reached for it when Marinette said, “Absolutely not, remember what happened last time you got into my yarn?”

“It was one time!” he protested.

“And how many hours of rerolling the balls?” She shook her head, still focused on her work.

Adrien mumbled something about the softness of the yarn before reaching for it again. “Adrien Agreste, I will bring out the laser pointer.”

“Is that a promise?”

Marinette sighed, “Alright, alright, I’m coming.” She laid the pins and tape measure on her desk, shuffling a few papers before making her way down the ladder. “How was your day?”

“It was alright. Finally finished the equation set from the beginning of the week, with a little help from Plagg. Who knew he was so good at explaining Physics?”

“I’ve been around since before Physics was invented,” Plagg yawned. “Now cheese bread, there’s an innovation worth celebrating.”

“I’ll pick some up next time I’m at the bakery,” Marinette promised. “Just try not to eat through it in two days, Mama was worried last time since three out of the four of us are lactose intolerant and it was all gone in a day.”

“You poor, poor humans,” Plagg sighed. “Missing out on all the gooey goodness of cheese.”

“I’m so glad Wyazz just eats lettuce,” Nino said, placing a large dish in the center of the table. He was still wearing the apron Marinette had made him – a green hexagonal pattern embroidered with the words ‘turtle-ly awesome’ and a little smiling turtle underneath.

“Yeah, you and Marinette really lucked out in the kwami feeding department,” Alya said, taking her seat. “Remember when Trixx had me going to the store for frozen mice?”

“I’d rather not.” Adrien shuddered as he remembered opening the freezer and thinking they looked just a little too appetizing for comfort. Marinette might be fine eating flowers but if he ever found a rodent in his mouth, he and Plagg were going to have a serious talk. Especially since he and Marinette had talked about going to the pet store to pick out a hamster once the school year ended.

“I still remember Nino’s screams when he found one on his pillow,” Marinette giggled.

“That was not cool, dude,” Nino frowned at Trixx who merely shrugged.

“I was saving it for later.”

“And you wanted to see Nino’s face when he found it,” Tikki added. It had been her who told Alya that kwamis could eat almost anything, even if they did have their preferences. After that Trixx had been negotiated down to chicken and the occasional sugar mouse.

“Oh, of course,” Trixx smiled indulgently.

“Nino, do you have a gig tonight?” Adrien asked, changing the subject before he could think any more about the possible taste of frozen mice.

Nino shook his head, “Nope, finally got a break in my schedule. Next week’s packed though.”

“Up for some Mech Strike after dinner then? I convinced Marinette to take a break and join us.”

“Since when?” Marinette raised an eyebrow.

“Since just now,” Adrien said, pulling out his best kitten eyes.

The battle didn’t last long.

“As long as you’re prepared to lose,” Marinette said, getting herself more tajine.

“I’d expect nothing less, my lady.”

“Speak for yourself, bro,” Nino protested. They all gave him a look – Nino was notoriously bad at video games. Even though he’d been getting slightly better over the years, he was still no match for Marinette. “Can’t a man dream?”

They all laughed at that.

After dinner Marinette went to set up the game while Alya and Nino did the dishes. Adrien and Alya had been banned from doing dishes together ever since Alya had realized he hissed like a cat whenever the water splashed him, and she found it entirely too entertaining. The moment Marinette sat down Adrien sprawled himself across her lap. “I hope this isn’t some elaborate scheme to distract me,” she said, shifting to a more comfortable position as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Adrien gasped in mock hurt as he placed a hand on his chest, “How could you think so low of me? I simply missed my lady’s company.”

“We spent the entire day together yesterday,” Marinette said with a teasing glint in her eye.

“Exactly, yesterday, today is an entirely different day.”

"Hmm," Marinette tapped her chin. “Well, we could always meet up for some late-night ice cream after your patrol.”

“Ooh, that new place that just opened? With all the toppings?” Adrien’s ice cream usually ended up at least ninety percent toppings.

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to try it out.”

"Let’s do it then,” Adrien said, practically purring with excitement.

Continue on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23580646/chapters/58909261

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airlock · 4 years

Text

alright folks, I’m back for more of those results from the anniversary poll; once again, I’ll be counting them as properly as I can because IS sure as hell can’t, and in the process, I will also judge whether the fans have spoken good choices

this time, we’ll be counting and criticizing the top 15 dancing duos! (disclaimer: I don’t dance. I still will attempt to comment on everyone else’s dancing)

#1: BERKUT & RINEA (9313 votes)

tumblr won’t let me simply put two images next to each other in a text post, and I can’t be fucked to put them together in such a way that doesn’t make them un-transparent, so I’ll be putting them together with a simple color background; it’s a spot uglier and I will probably fail to spot some wonky pixels, but c’est la vie

anyways, I don’t like it, but like Byleth before, this is a natural afk pick; they’re some of a very small subset of characters in the series that we actually see dancing with each other, in a proper cutscene. a cutscene that, in fact, basically exists to tell us that they look good dancing, so one’s not wrong to vote for them here, I suppose. there are, in fact, a lot of people in this world who are fantastic performers and also would throw their spouses in a fire if they figured it’d make them feel good about themselves again

#2: OLIVIA & INIGO (2474 votes, including Laslow)

this is actually sweet, though, mother-son dancing duo and all. one thing I do have to mention, though, is that you’d have to hope that our hypothetical dance-off was announced plenty of time in advance, there’s so much that could bring a performance between them crashing and burning if they don’t hash it all out for themselves first

#3: EDELGARD & DIMTIRI (1871 votes across all appearances, possibly with uncounted change)

they sure do look fantastic, dancing with other people with their backs completely to each other,

might as well stuff this strangely popular nothing-of-a-choice with a little additional note: these paired votes are going to be especially harrowing on the split vote front, because any combination of two characters who both have split votes means they can be combined with each other in 4 different ways. like, most people probably won’t combine, say, someone’s PoR self with someone else’s RD self, but properly unsplitting votes in this is going to be a lot more of a challenge. and that’s to say nothing of byleth; there is a whopping 16 different ways to combine Byleth and any one Three Houses character

ETA: I. completely forgot about the thing where edelgard tried to teach dimitri to dance when they were young. okay, that kind of tracks. but also like, whomst the fuck got the idea that whatever they were doing there was building up to elegance

#4: ELIWOOD & NINIAN (1495 votes)

I’m getting the lingering feeling that this fandom is a lot better at pointing out good dancers than good teachers-

this one’s another amazing pick; sure, not one you have to think a lot about, since they’re oft-shipped and one of them is an actual dancer -- but the beauty of it is that even the ostensible weak link still has much offer, between his flawless elegance and a love of dancing that we at the very least knows is in his lineage

let’s just hope eliwood would still prefer to keep the “special dances” private though-

#5: BYLETH & CLAUDE (1163 votes across all appearances, possibly with uncounted change)

speaking of the ballroom cutscene again, man, Claude sure has left an impression on us all back there-

still, we don’t actually see the dance, and it’s probably better that we don’t -- I wouldn’t bet that Byleth is any more expressive with their moves than they are with their face. there’s really not very much of a reason to vote for this other than wanting to insert yourself into a situation where one dances with Claude. and I mean, mood, but let’s focus, please-

#6: OLIVIA & AZURA (996 votes)

this is just a copout, though. this is like if I asked you about the best food in your town and you just told me that technically Gordon Ramsey was born there. ooo, hot take alert, two unrelated professional performers can probably put on a decent performance together!

at least their theme colors together make the trans flag, so I’ll give all 996 of you that much-

#7: ALM & CELICA (990 votes)

was there like an actual thing where they dance, or were people picking this just because they’re good-looking and married? because like, in the absence of evidence, I cannot and will not assume that Alm is a remotely passable dancer.

in fact, here’s the drill: for this section, I can’t actually blame people if they’re just hornyvoting -- being hot is kind of a point-plus for this -- but I can and will blame them if they’re voting for their ships with no regard as to whether they’d look good dancing. so, accusations of hornyvoting shall make way -- to accusations of shipvoting! I believe that’s also going to happen on the other paired category, even if that one is a lot less about the chemistry (presumably)

#8: NILS & NINIAN (884 votes)

this kind of a copout again, but it’s also a family dance again, BUT most importantly one of these two is not actually a dancer. like, sure, he plays the flute, but this isn’t a flute-and-dance duo poll, it’s a dance poll! although I mean, it does mean he must have a good notion of rhythm, and from the sprites we can definitely tell he’s got a spring in his step when he plays, and Ninian can teach him too, so... maybe? oh well, it’d be cute to see them try

#9: SIGURD & DEIRDRE (790 votes)

eh, I’m gonna call shipvoting on this one too. like, sure, they’re both hot and they’re in love with each other, but even if you leave aside the likelihood that Deirdre was raised too shelthered to have danced like ever, any dancing they’d know of would be totally incompatible, considering their entirely distinct backgrounds.

I suppose I will lend credence to the idea that Sigurd’s at least experienced as far as dancers go; it’s not like he was studying back at that academy,

#10: BYLETH & EDELGARD (735 votes across all appearances, possibly with uncounted change)

since most of the votes on this are for post-timeskip edelgard, this appears to be unrelated to the ballroom scene, for once

that said, I can’t think of anything to this other than regular shipvoting -- and not even shipvoting of much quality, because besides the above-mentioned on whether byleth can dance, I have a nagging feeling that the kind of dancing Edelgard would genuinely be interested in would be strictly for fun, without any sort of elegance or other things that an outside participant would enjoy watching

#11: TSUBASA & CAEDA & KIRIA & THARJA (687 votes)

don’t let the fact that I found a transparent tsubasa but not a transparent kiria distract you from the absolute trainwreck that resulted from the naming scheme used in FEH for TMS#FE characters crashing into the notation I’m using for the duos here- ahem, well, please be distracted from both of those things, anyway

assuming this is just between the two mirage users and we’re not talking about the most awkward foursome in history, well... I once again have not played TMS#FE, so uh, they sure are both pop idols and I think people ship them, I guess?

#12: MARTH & CAEDA (596 votes across all appearances)

I mean... there’s a lot that can be said about their individual qualities and their dynamics, but I have absolutely no idea how any of it would translate into a ballroom. and if we’re any inclined to believe that skill with words and skill with bodily expression tend to be opposite skillsets, then theyyyy are both screwed.

#13: PENT & LOUISE (508 votes)

I get it, I do. they both look sparkly beautiful and haute and classy and like everything around them is prettier for them being there. but let me categorically tell you that neither of these two dance.

neither of these two dance because one, Pent is an absolute potato, and two, Pent specifically chose Louise because she didn’t try to impress him with a dance.

#14: SAUL & DOROTHY (495 votes)

regardless of any merits they may or may not have, this is 100% just to get them into heroes, isn’t it. alright, I can respect that

but as for whether they can dance... sure, maybe? Dorothy is full of hidden talents, and Saul has probably tried to dance enough times to guide her along at least

#15: CORRIN & AZURA (476 votes across all genders)

alas, there’s no way this can work out, because we all know corrin has two left feet.

thank you, thank you! I’ll be here every night!

HONORABLE MENTIONS (highest vote in their continuity, without reaching top 15)

Ike & Soren (344 votes across all appearances): disappointingly, of the stark few Tellius pairs that got on this list, the best-ranked of them is 100% blatant shipvoting. I mean, sure, Ike’s got moves, but Soren?? at least vote Ike & Ranulf you cowards

Eirika & Ephraim (323 votes): first, we’d have to extensively train Ephraim on how to not make this experience entirely embarassing for Eirika, but that can be said of most anything they could do together in public-

Triandra & Plumeria (280 votes): yep, still unfunny. and now all of you 280 assholes are stretching it

Ferdinand & Lorenz (95 votes, possibly with uncounted change): I’m just mentioning them because I’m one of these 95 people. and so should more of you have been! don’t you know elegance when it’s right in front of you? huh? huhhh????

and that’s it, you’ve endured me attempting to talk about dancing for several minutes when I have no knowledge or experience on the subject! I eagerly await your input in my replies and reblogs, especially from those of you who do dance.

#anniversary poll critique series #my stupid text posts #Fire Emblem is tagged in this post #Fire Emblem Heroes is tagged in this post

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dancedancerevolution2020 · 4 years

Text

how to begin // disorientation

“It matters how we arrive at the places we do.” (2)

“Orientations are about how we begin; how we proceed from ‘here’, which affects how ‘there’ appears, how it presents itself.” (8)

I’m writing this at the beginning of my independent study, curious about how to proceed. The ‘here’ of the internet.

I am beginning: in a spirit of inquiry, curiosity, creativity.

Orientations are not simply given. When we orient towards some thing or some one, we are also turning away from something. As Ahmed says, what is present or near is not “casual”, but has appeared because of certain lines followed, paths taken or not.

The writing table: “In this book, I bring the table to ‘the front’ of the writing in part to show how ‘what’ we think ‘from’ is an orientation device. By bringing what is ‘behind’ to the front, we might queer phenomenology by creating a new angle” (4). Ahmed is calling for a politics of location, intersectionality, being situated. To queer phenomenology would be to acknowledge where one is beginning, bringing what is usually in the background to the front and thus creating a different angle, a different dialogue.

“After all, phenomenology is full of queer moments; as moments of disorientation that Maurice Merleau-Ponty suggests involve not only ‘the intellectual experience of disorder, but the vital experience of giddiness and nausea, which is the awareness of our contingency, and the horror with which it fills us’“ (4).

“When we are orientated, we might not even notice that we are orientated: we might not even think ‘to think’ about this point.” (5)

“It is by understanding how we become orientated in moments of disorientation that we might learn what it means to be orientated in the first place.” (6)

I walk in to the studio. Where do I face? What do I do? Do I start on the ground? standing? with music? Lately I have been using this score of “bad dancing” because it makes me question and look at what I think is “good dancing”. One way to look at where I am oriented.

I think that all practices of somatics are in essence practices of disorientation. When I arrive at a somatic practice I am often not aware of how I hold my body and move through the world. Or, I am aware, but it has become so natural and habitual to me that I no longer feel it as new, unique. The experience has faded to the background. By feeling, thinking, and moving differently my sense of self is (at least momentarily) shaken loose. I remember my first Feldenkrais lesson in which we balanced books on our feet for an hour. When I got up, I felt like I’d been given a new pair of feet they were so alien, alive, and richly complex.

How can somatics remain flexible and rooted in community practices as opposed to rigidly codified systems? We are not given a body that we then have to try to discover the user manual for, but instead are a body and are continually investigating ourselves and our way of moving through the world.

Side note: I find it interesting that somatics often relies on others, either people or objects, to disorient. I’m interested in this inherent relationality. We need another in order to see and feel differently.

Desire / Lines

“The lines we follow might also function as forms of ‘alignment’, or as ways of being in line with others.” (15)

“Following lines also involves forms of social investment. Such investments ‘promise’ return (if we follow this line, then ‘this’ of ‘that’ will follow), which might sustain the very will to keep going. Through such investments in the promise of return, subjects reproduce the lines that they follow” (17). Inheritance, wealth, safety. Codified structures. Pathways. Certain ways of being that we know white supremacy and capitalism will reward.

Can desire function as a kind of guiding principle (note to self: read adrienne maree brown’s Pleasure Activism next). Pleasure guiding scholarship and research.

What do I choose to practice? How do these practices shape me?

I am reminded of one of the first pages in Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower:

“All that you touch You Change. All that you Change Changes you. The only lasting truth Is Change. God Is Change.“

((I take a brief diversion to look up adrienne maree brown’s definition of “somatics” in her book Pleasure Activism)

(sidebar: listen to new podcast with adrienne maree brown and Toshi Reagon where they discuss Parable of the Sower: http://adriennemareebrown.net/tag/octavias-parables/)

“Somatics is: a path, a methodology, a change theory, by which we can embody transformation, individually and collectively. Embodied transformation is foundational change that shows in our actions, ways of being, relating, and perceiving. It is transformation that sustains over time. Somatics pragmatically supports our values and actions becoming aligned. It helps us to develop depth and the capacity to feel ourselves, each other and life around us...Somatics is a practice-able theory of change that can move us toward individual, community, and collective liberation.” (17)

I notice the use of the words change and transformation. Within oneself and one’s community and society. Concentric rings. We cannot just focus on ourselves. A theory of change and transformation -- not seeking a rigid neutrality. Balance is never still but always slightly oscillating.

The Orient and Other Others (Queer Phenomenology Chapter 3)

“And then the occasion arose when I had to meet the white man’s eyes. A unfamiliar weight burdened me. The real world challenged my claims. In the white world the man of color encounters difficulties in the development of his body schema. Consciousness of the body is solely a negating activity. It is a third-person consciousness. The body is surrounded by an atmosphere of uncertainty. I know that if I want to smoke, I shall have to reach out my right arm and take the pack of cigarettes lying at the other end of the table. The matches, however, are in the drawer on the left, and I shall have to lean back slightly. And all these movements are made not out of habit, but out of implicit knowledge.” - Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks

Bodily awareness -

I recently had a conversation in which we discussed intention and reception (in regard to someone not wearing a mask because they were unaware of the science behind it *extreme eye roll*). Privilege is not having to think about how something is received. It is feeling comfortable that your good intention will be seen and not having to think far enough ahead to reception.

“Where phenomenology attends to the tactile, vestibular, kinesthetic, and visual character of embodied reality, Fanon asks us to think of the ‘historic-racial’ scheme, which is, importantly, ‘below it’.” (110)

“For Fanon, racism ‘stops’ black bodies inhabiting space by extending through objects and others; the familiarity of ‘the white world’, as a world we know implicitly, ‘disorients’ black bodies such that they cease to know where to find things--reduced as they are to things among things. Racism ensures that the black gaze returns to the black body, which is not a loving return but rather follows the line of the hostile white gaze. The disorientation affected by racism diminishes capacity for action. For Fanon, racism ‘interrupts’ the corporeal schema.” (111) I write these words and recognize the wisdom and learning in them but I also want to push back or question a little bit. I wonder about Ahmed taking away agency in this section of writing. Or rather, I wonder, as some things are not as in reach or possible when Black, what other things that are not in the white imagination become available?

“process of racialization...consider racism as an ongoing and unfinished history, which orientates bodies in specific directions, affecting how they ‘take up’ space” (111). I really appreciate this reframing of racism as a process. It is active, we are active. But we can also bring attention to and redirect this activity. Racism is not a structure we are passively sitting inside of, that exists outside of us.

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javistg · 5 years

Text

One Victor. CH 19. P1.

Chapter 19 is almost done! Seriously, I have to write one more scene and edit stuff a bit, but I’m mostly done. So, I decided to share this snippet with you.

If you want to find the rest of this fic, go HERE.

As usual, all this is unbetaed and still subject to change. Hope you enjoy. Tell me what you think.

One Victor. CH 19. P1.

“So, what do you think? Is this OK?” Peeta slid the open book across the table so that Katniss could see his work.

“It’s perfect,” Katniss said, running her fingers along the edge of the book so as not to smudge Peeta’s artwork. The bunch of yellow flowers was so lifelike she could almost smell them. “I’ll add the information tomorrow, once the ink is dry.”

Peeta looked at the clock on his kitchen wall. It was 6:45. “You better get going, the alarm’s about to ring.”

Katniss sighed. Tired. Annoyed. It was the same thing every day: wake up, go to school, check up on Prim, go to Victors’ Village, rush before curfew, put dinner on the table, do homework, go to sleep, start again.

Life in District 12 had never been particularly exciting, but Katniss Everdeen had never lived within the confines of her district. She couldn’t even remember a time when the woods weren’t a part of her life. She had grown to rely on them for nourishment and needed them to bring peace and contentment to her soul.

Sadly, Peacekeeper Thread’s hold on the district was tighter than ever and —with everyone walking in a straight line— Katniss’s days of roaming through the woods and stalking prey had become a thing of the past.

Luckily, thanks to her arrangement with Peeta, the lockdown didn’t mean empty cupboards and hunger. With the food she received, Katniss and her family could now enjoy the kind of peace that came from knowing where their next meal would come from; a sense of ease she hadn’t experienced since before her father’s death.

Of course, she didn’t miss the constant worry of having to provide for her family —or the terror of going back empty-handed after a long day out in the woods— but she still missed the thrill of doing what most wouldn’t. The sound of the forest moving around her; the smell of the trees; the soft brush of the mountain air caressing her cheeks; the feel of her father’s bow between her fingers; the pride that came from landing that one perfect shot.

She still went by the fence every day —like a stubborn criminal returning to the scene of the crime— and every day, she was met with the buzz of electricity coursing through the wire.

Sometimes she didn’t know what was worse, confirming the woods were still out of limits or knowing that —after her last adventure— she might not even have the guts to sneak out ever again.

Even as her days blended together in a monotonous repetition, Katniss still enjoyed a few things. Helping Peeta out in the greenhouse remained one of her favorite activities —just the thought of the small glass building thriving in spite of its surroundings made her smile-- but, lately, there was something else she liked even more.

The day after her little adventure in the woods, Katniss had shown up at Peeta’s back door with a shy smile on her lips and a sort of peace offering in her hunting bag.

She couldn’t explain why she felt so rotten for having put him through the entire ordeal, but Katniss knew he had been worried, and she hoped her small token would help make up for his troubles.

Peeta’s mouth dropped open as soon as she produced her family’s plant book, leaving it on his kitchen table with an almost theatrical flourish.

“Would you still like to work on it?” she asked, her voice tight with anxiety. She wanted Peeta to say yes so badly, her heart ached.

They had both mentioned the project in passing a few times, but her misunderstanding with Gale had made her weary, and the idea of misreading Peeta’s intentions scared her so much that she hadn’t followed through yet, somehow convinced that he had only offered his help to be polite.

With the gentlest of touches, Peeta ran his fingers over the cover. “I do, but only if it’s OK with you.”

“It is,” Katniss assured him.

Peeta pulled out a chair and sat down.

Katniss pushed the book in his direction and took a seat; watching as he opened it and began peering through the entries.

“Where should we start?” he asked, smiling like a boy who’s just received the best birthday present ever.

They worked on the book practically every day. They always left it for last. After tending to Peeta’s vegetable and herb garden, and prepping and storing the food for later use, they went into his kitchen and sat down to work.

Unlike the hours they spent in the greenhouse, --where Peeta chatted about the most random topics, usually making her laugh and pulling her into conversation— the time they spent with the book was one of silent reflection. Once they settled on the plant they were recording, no words were needed. Katniss didn’t understand why sitting like that, immersed in the comfortable calm they shared, thrilled her so but, as days went by, she found herself yearning for those stolen moments almost as much as she longed for her time in the woods.

In the soft light of impending dusk, she followed Peeta’s hands as he worked, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to her previously black and yellowish book.

Sometimes, while Peeta diligently made sketches on scraps of paper trying to get every detail right, Katniss’s mind wondered.

Three weeks had gone by since she had found Bonnie and Twill by her father’s lake and, in that time, no one had mentioned them again.

She wasn’t surprised by Peeta’s silence. As a victor, he was probably privy to information she couldn’t even begin to imagine —information he wasn’t at liberty to disclose.

She had never given much thought to these things before, but learning that Peeta carried a signal scrambler in his pocket —and had another one installed on the kitchen wall; she was now convinced that the green blinking light over his stove couldn’t be anything else— had made her realize that the blue-eyed victor with the winning smile had some secrets to keep.

But Peeta wasn’t the only person who knew about the escapees and, after years of hearing her hunting partner’s rants against the Capitol, Gale’s silence on the matter unnerved her. Why was it that, in the face of real change —actual rebellion— Gale had suddenly become tight-lipped?

Had Thread’s measures tempered his spirits or was Gale still fighting —secretly scheming with those discontents he had mentioned in New Years’? If so, had he approached Peeta?

The first option saddened her —she hated the idea of her friend’s spirit being crushed under Thread’s boots— but it was something she could understand. A lot of miners had been arrested recently. Ending up in the peacekeepers’ cells was no joke. Katniss wouldn’t have blamed Gale for walking away from his ideals when his family’s safety was on the line.

But the second… the second scared her so much she pushed it out of her mind almost at once.

Days trickled by. Katniss went to school, checked up on Prim, worked in Peeta’s greenhouse, wrote in her family’s plant book, and kept her theories and questions to herself.

Deep down, she didn’t mind, holding on to her routine soothed her and, really, it wasn’t as though she had much to say. When it came to politics, Katniss had learned from an early age to steer clear of trouble. Even as a small girl, she had understood the importance of watching what she said, always fearful —like her mother had been— that Prim might repeat her words and get in trouble.

After all, Katniss had spent years ignoring Gale’s heated rants when they went out to the woods, not because she didn’t agree with him, but because she didn’t see the point of attracting unwanted attention when she had a family who depended on her.

But things were different now, something big was happening in Panem —something most people had only ever dreamed of— and, with her days blending together with tedious dullness, Katniss was growing curious. She was also growing anxious.

As thrilling as news of an uprising had been, hearing what the Peacekeepers had done in Eight sobered her. Thread and his men had already done plenty in Twelve —and that was without provocation— what would happen if things got out of hand? President Snow would show no mercy. He wouldn’t think twice before killing off another district --same as he had Thirteen. Even if it was only to make an example of it.

District 12 was small and weak, and it didn’t develop nuclear weapons. It would take every person in the district to stand up to the Capitol for anything to really happen, and that would never be.

She hated admitting it, but Gale was right. The tesserae system, the lack of job opportunities for people from the Seam, the way merchant businesses were passed down from one generation to another. More than the Games, these were the things that kept the people in Twelve pitted against each other; the things that made it impossible for a rebellion to succeed.

With all these thoughts pressing down on her, Katniss couldn’t stop being cautious —couldn’t forget that she had a lot to lose. Curiosity wouldn’t put food on her table —and it certainly wouldn’t keep Prim safe— so, Katniss bit her lip and did what she had always done: kept her thoughts and theories to herself.

Still, when she was at home, all the silence and prudence in the world didn’t stop her from paying attention whenever she watched TV. Every night, she sat in her living room and waited for Bonnie and Twill’s elusive mockingjay to show up on the corner of her screen. It never did, but that was hardly surprising, District 13 wasn’t the kind of topic that came up in the daily news.

Her repeated failure to put the matter to rest frustrated her, but there was nothing she could do. She had a full, busy life. She didn’t have time to sit around and wait for a random story to pop up on her screen.

XXXXX

Peeta stood up and stretched his back. He hadn’t been painting for long, but the chairs in his kitchen weren’t that comfortable, and he was tired. The long, sleepless nights of late were finally catching up to him.

A few steps away, Katniss began gathering her things. Now that winter had begun to withdraw, she had cast her old coat aside and gone back to wearing her father’s old hunting jacket. The leather garment was a couple sizes too big for her slight frame, but Peeta suspected she liked wearing it because it reminded her of her dad. Whatever her reasons, he welcomed the change. It made her seem happier, she looked a lot more like her usual self.

Wanting to keep Katniss around just a few minutes longer, Peeta asked, “Would you mind giving me a hand before you leave?”

“Sure, what do you need?”

Peeta pointed to a couple of wooden crates on his counter. “Could you help me carry one over to Haymitch’s?”

Reaching the counter, Katniss slid her hands under one of the crates and pulled it into her arms. “Lead the way.”

XXXXX

Haymitch’s house was worse than a pigsty. Mouse droppings, piles of unwashed clothes, and discarded wrappings littered the hallway.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust at the revolting stench of liquor, vomit, and burned meat that hung in the air, Katniss followed Peeta through the long entrance corridor and into the kitchen.

Alerted by the sound of visitors, Haymitch quietly slipped into the room.

At the sight of the victor, Katniss tightened her hold on her crate and shuffled back a couple of steps. She had seen Haymitch hundreds of times before, usually skulking around the Hob, but she’d never been close enough to smell him.

Surprise quickly gave way to disgust.

Maybe it was because she had grown used to Peeta, who was stylish and handsome, and every bit what a victor was supposed to be, but she couldn’t quite believe that the paunchy, middle-aged man with greasy black hair and gray Seam eyes who stood across from her had once won the Hunger Games.

Unperturbed by Katniss’s presence, Haymitch pointed a half-empty liquor bottle in Peeta’s general direction. “Hey, Kid,” he slurred. “Whatcha got there?”

Peeta looked down at the jars and containers he carried. “The usual.”

Eager to get back out to the fresh air, Katniss looked around trying to find an empty space for her crate. Every surface seemed to be covered in empty bottles and dirty plates. “Where can I—,”

Haymitch waved his bottle in the air. “Just leave that on the table, Sweetheart.”

The jars in Peeta’s crate rattled as dropped it on the counter. “Don’t call her that,” he growled.

Startled by the anger in Peeta’s voice, Katniss stiffened. She had never heard him speak so forcefully before.

Seemingly undisturbed by Peeta’s outburst, Haymitch shrugged. Pointing his chin at Katniss, he asked, “How old are you, girl?”

Annoyed to be under Haymitch’s scrutiny, Katniss pulled her shoulders back. “I’ll be seventeen in May.”

“Ah!” Haymitch raised his liquor bottle as if in triumph. Looking back at Peeta, he added, “Don’t worry, Boy, I’ll learn her name when she’s 18.”

Peeta’s lips turned white as he pressed them together to bite back a retort. Looking away from his mentor, he went to the kitchen table and began to move the dirty dishes out of the way so that Katniss could deposit her box.

“This place is a mess,” she grumbled, too nauseated by her surroundings to be polite. “Have you ever considered getting a housekeeper?”

Amused by Katniss’s discomfort, Haymitch tilted his head to one side. “What? You angling for a job, Sweetheart?”

“Ew, no!” Katniss shook her head in disgust. It wasn’t a bad offer, even with all the filth, but she still had two more years of school ahead of her. “I don’t have that kind of time. You need someone who can come here every day.”

A wide smile broke on Haymitch’s face, and he started laughing. “You hear this, Boy?”

Peeta nodded, his previous bad mood forgotten, replaced by a bright smile. “I think she’s right, you know? You could use someone.” He turned to Katniss. “Do you know anyone who might be interested?”

It only took her a second to find an answer. “I do,” she said, adding an enthusiastic nod for emphasis. “I think Hazelle would be perfect for the job.”

“Hazelle?” Peeta shook his head, the name unfamiliar.

“Gale’s mother,” Katniss explained. “She washes clothes for a living, but she hasn’t had much work lately —what with the shortages, and all— I’m sure she wouldn’t mind leaving that for something more steady.”

“Could you tell her to come over tomorrow?” Peeta asked.

“Yeah. I’ll stop by in the morning before school.”

“Hey, I’m still standing here!” Haymitch complained. “Don’t I have a say?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your say,” Peeta said, already moving to show Katniss the exit. He didn’t want to keep her any longer. This had taken longer than he expected, and the curfew alarm was about to ring. “But it won’t hurt to have her come by and take a look.”

“It won’t hurt you, you mean,” Haymitch yelled back.

“Is he always like this?” Katniss whispered once they had reached the front door.

Peeta shrugged. Haymitch was more of an acquired taste, he couldn’t expect her to understand.

XXXXX

Katniss had just reached the wrought iron gates of Victors’ Village when Peeta stepped back into Haymitch’s home.

The old victor was busy rummaging through the contents of the crate Katniss had left on his table. “So, you know any of these people?”

Peeta leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Yeah, I know Gale. He’s alright.”

Haymitch pulled a big round jar out of the box and smacked his lips in appreciation. He loved pickled cabbage. Cradling the jar against his chest, he fixed Peeta with the most solemn look he could muster. “Alright, alright?”

Peeta nodded. “This is a good idea, Haymitch.”

With a grunt, Haymitch twisted the jar open. After dropping the lid on the table, he turned to look for a fork. “OK. Set it up, then.”

#one victor #sneak peek #victor!Peeta #catching fire AU

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