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bangtan-gal · 5 years

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Wet Cement

Wet Cement

Yang Jeongin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, pretty basic, his is like, the most normal one, crack

Word Count:6.2k

Abilities: Empath, Charmer

Art wasn’t your thing, but you found yourself in the class when your best friend, Remi, dragged you into the slightly broken down studio. The first several classes sucked; the teacher droning on and on about different techniques, old couples slowing down the class as they had the instructor repeat the easy instructions, and all in all, you were forced to act like you liked something that you despised. Remi ignored your complaints and whines, telling you that it was a “learning experience.”

Yeah right.

When you stepped into class today, Remi was nowhere to be seen. Figuring she was late, you sat down at your usual table and drummed your fingers noisily on the desk as you waited. The class started and she was still nowhere to be seen. You frowned, half-heartedly accepting the piece of paper the instructor handed you. If she ditched you, there would definitely be a bloody mess somewhere.

Five minutes into the class, the door obnoxiously dinged. You ignored it as you stared at the paper and only looked up when the chair beside you became occupied. Instead of long, light brown hair, chubby cheeks, and shiny blue eyes, you were greeted by short and red-dyed hair, sharp cheekbones, and deeply colored eyes. Your gazes met for a moment and then you quickly looked away, cursing your stupid friend. Now you’d have to take this miserable class with some stranger beside you.

As you sat there, thinking of a million different ways you could murder Remi, the instructor talked to the newcomer.

“Yang Jeongin.”

His voice was sweet and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him flash a quick smile. Heat spread over your cheeks and you tried your best to focus on the paper before you. As class went by, your elbows kept bumping, knees kept knocking, and fingers would brush each time the two of you reached for the same tool. Neither one of you said a thing as you scratched and scribbled aimlessly on your papers.

“Well, good job everyone, I’ll see you on Thursday!” The lady chirped, clasping her hands together and sporting a smile that was way too big. You sighed and grabbed your purse, ready to dart for the door.

A tap on your arm stopped you.

“Is this class… like actually worth it?” Jeongin whispered, side-eyeing the teacher who was barely five feet away. You glanced at her and then back to him, shrugging. You were the last person to ask—you still hated art. You hated looking at it, attempting it, or just in general, thinking about it.

You loudly sighed, trying to embrace your inner Positive Polly.

“Y-yes?”

Well, that worked.

The red-haired boy raised an eyebrow at you. You pursed your lips together in an awkward smile and then started backing away. You maintained eye contact until you ran into a table, tripped, and then tried (and failed) to regain your footing. Your eyes pinched shut as you sat on your ass, on the cold, nasty art floor that was covered in dried paints, eraser shavings, and other shit.

It didn’t help that when you opened your eyes and saw that everyone who was left was staring at you. Jeongin’s face was squished up as he tried to keep his mouth closed and the laughter inside. When your gaze’s met, he looked away and a small bubble of laughter escaped which then turned into a whole fit.

You stood up with a groan, quickly whirling around and racing for the door. Jeongin shouted hey and as you stumbled out onto the busy plaza, the boy caught up and crashed into you. He caught you before you could fall on your face and you stood there, hands over your face and grumbles coming out around them. How was your life so unfortunate that you just had to keep embarrassing yourself in front of this cute boy?

“Cute?” You mumbled, pulling your hands away from your face. Where the fuck did that come from? He was annoying. He was the one who caused you to fall the first time and almost fall the second. But he also saved you from falling the second time. “Whatever.”

“Are you okay?” The boy asked wearily, leaning around you to try and look at you. You stared at him from the corner of your eye before you coughed and nodded.

“Just allergies.”

What?

He bit his lip and a soft gasp of laughter escaped him.

“So… what you said earlier sounded more like a question. Is the class really worth it?” He asked, waving a hand in front of your face. You blinked and then turned to meet his gaze. You exhaled again.

“I hate art.” Well, that wasn’t what you meant to say.

He opened his mouth, closed it, pointed to the building you just left and then to you, and then opened his mouth again.

“Okay, bye! Good to meet you!” You shrieked and then hurried off.

➻➻➻➻➻

When you woke up Thursday morning, you really questioned if getting out of bed was worth it. Remi had gone on vacation to 127 District and wouldn’t be back for a couple weeks. You hated the class, you hated the teacher, the other students, the creaky stools, the weirdly slanted sunroof, the outdoors, people in general, socializing, sunshine, hot weather, cold weather—

You were getting carried away.

(But the only thing you really liked was your bed because nothing could go wrong there.)

As you slugged out of bed and got dressed, figuring you may as well since Remi paid for the class, you prayed that Jeongin wouldn’t be there. That your weird answers would scare him away and you could just have your own table until Remi returned. You stepped out of your apartment, groaning at the heat that hit you.

The walk to the studio was miserable. It was hot and sticky and people kept bumping into you. For once, you were actually happy when you stepped into the studio, the AC running over your body. You moved down the aisle, going for your table and then stopped. A boy with red hair sat on one of the stools, head resting in his arms. You grumbled as you threw your purse to the floor beside the available seat and then sat down. When you looked at the boy, your eyes widened. He was deadass sleeping.

You looked around, almost as if to say: “does anyone else see this shit?” but no one else seemed to care. In silence, you set up your portion of the desk, your OCD kicking in as you straightened out the paper and pencils. You bit your lip, struggling with one pencil that seemed to decide that rolling around was a good-fucking-idea.

“That’s cute.”

You jumped, your knee smacking into the bottom of the desk and sending supplies flying. Eyes darted towards you as pencils and paintbrushes noisily rolled over the floor. You grumbled an apology as you slid off the chair to pick them up. Aggression roiled through you as you slammed them back down on the table and sat down with a huff. You turned to the red-haired boy with a scowl, which only deepened when he was making the same squishy face as yesterday.

“Don’t laugh at me, this is your fault!” You hissed, pointing a finger at him.

He giggled.

“How? It wasn’t my knee that bumped the table,” he pointed out. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah but—”

You weren’t given time to rebuttal as the instructor started up class. You shot one last glare at the boy before you pretended to pay attention. When the teacher stopped talking and people picked up their pencils, you followed suit, and started doodling whatever came to mind. You’d done this the past several classes, and so far, you hadn’t been caught. Or at least, the teacher didn’t really care.

“That doesn’t look like nature,” Jeongin whispered as he leaned over to stare at your paper. You elbowed him.

“Nature can be whatever the fuck it wants to be,” you retorted.

“So you mean I could draw a dick on my paper and get away with it?”

You started choking on nothing, a mix of laughter and coughs escaping you. You hit your chest a couple times, sending an unimpressed look the boy’s way. He didn’t seem to care though as he leaned back in his chair, looking way too proud. You frowned and went back to drawing circles and sticks and other random things. You managed to ignore the boy for several minutes.

You lost your shit when you looked over at his paper by accident. There wasn’t just one dick on his paper, but a ton. Your mouth dropped open and you covered it as you tried to keep in your laughter. He finally noticed your stare and the two of you stared at one another, both of you trying to keep in your laughter. Suddenly, you didn’t have such an indifference towards the boy. You’d never met somebody with such lack of filter, such an uncaring attitude.

“I can’t believe this,” you mumbled and then giggled. He smirked and then chuckled as well.

You ended up surviving the rest of the class, a small smile on your face and it would widen every time you looked over at the hundreds of dicks on Jeongin’s paper. It got even better when you had to turn in your work. Jeongin proudly signed the page and then handed it into the instructor. You both watched as her eyes bugged out and then she accepted it with an unsure smile.

“So, no allergies today?” He asked, bumping his shoulder into yours as the two of you wandered along the sidewalk. You frowned.

“No.”

Jeongin snorted and then his attention was diverted to his cellphone. You shamelessly peeked over his shoulder, trying to read the text. The redhead glanced at you before he flicked your forehead. You backed up, pressing your hand to your face and sending an annoyed look his way. He typed in an answer to the next, a soft sigh escaping him, before he turned to you with a somewhat melancholy smile.

“Do… do you wanna go grab some lunch, maybe?” He asked, shoes scuffing at the cement. You raised an eyebrow.

“Is this how the boy, who drew male genitalia all over his paper and shamelessly turned it into the teacher, asks out a girl?” You scoff.

“Hey!” He huffed, “who said I was asking you out? You’re nosy and ugly!”

You wiggled your eyes and pinched his elbow before you skipped off. The boy followed you and the two of you argued over a place to eat. You blamed it on the fact that there were too many places to eat in the Upper City. He blamed you, saying that you were too stubborn for your own good.

“Whyyyyy, it’s good food though,” he whined as you dragged him away from the italian place.

“I want burgers dumbass,” you snipped.

He wrinkled his nose. “My fucking god—burgers? Why not chicken? Fish? Pork? You want a cow of all things. Fake beef is disgusting anyways. At least fake chicken is close to the real thing!”

You opened your mouth and then closed it. You tilted your head curiously at the boy, not caring that the two of you had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. People grumbled curses at you as they shoved past you. He stared back at you and then scratched the back of his neck. You’d never had the luxury of real meat or fresh produce. Who was this mysterious boy, who didn’t give two fucks about others opinions, laughed at strangers, and yet, lived the life of perfection?

“Yeah,” you said sarcastically, “fake beef is totally disgusting.”

He went silent and his gaze lowered to his shoes. You pursed your lips and the two of you stood there, letting the stream of people pass by.

“Sorry, we can go get burgers. I’ll pay.”

The boy turned and then reached for your hand, pulling you along with him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as his fingers wrapped delicately around your hand. The two of you finally made it to the joint. It was mostly empty and the two of you sat down at the far corner, a perfect view of the busy street. The two of you were silent through most of the meal, not speaking until you had finished your burger and the redhead carefully poked at his.

“Are you from the Upper City?” You queried. You played mindlessly with the napkin in front of you, tearing it up and creating a little mountain on your plate.

He paused, eyes glancing down as he let his thoughts run.

“Well… I grew up in the Upper City, but I live in the Deepy City now,” he explained and when he looked up and saw your face, he rolled his eyes. “No. We don’t party there all the time. It’s actually a pretty chill place. Maybe you should come visit sometime uppity girl.”

You snorted and blew your pile of napkin at him. He swatted them away, running a hand through his hair, and then flung his straw at you. You giggled, catching the straw before it could get you.

“Isn’t the Deep City… like gang infested?” You stage-whispered, leaning across the table. The redhead sighed again, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

“What is up with people and assumptions these days?” Then he trailed off, eyes glazing over. He shrugged. “I guess you’re not wrong. There’s a constant stream of crime, fights, and… depending on the day, it’s not the safest place at night.

“But, I mean, if you’re on the main street, it’s actually really safe. Most of the fights are on the outer edge and that’s just because territory is easier to control. It’s absolutely gorgeous at night. Fairy lights, every Friday there’s a live band, and the water features look really cool at night. Plus, the street food is fucking amazing.”

You nodded as you listened. The image floated in your mind and it sounded wonderful. When you were little, a carnival came to the Upper City from JYP and it was magical. It hasn’t come back since and you’ve always wanted to relive that moment. The Upper City was the “rich people” city of District 9, but it wasn’t pretty. Some houses and apartments were gorgeous, but at the end of the day, it was plain.

“You know… today is Thursday,” Jeongin hummed.

“Oh my fucking god, no way,” you gasped, “I better go put that on my calendar.”

He wasn’t a fan of your sarcasm.

“And that means tomorrow is Friday: possibly, just possibly, you could come down to the Deep City and experience the experience?”

The offer warmed your heart, but you would never let the boy in front of you know what a sap you actually are. So you rolled your eyes as you picked at your nails, pretending to weigh the pros and cons. The honest truth was that the only thing that filled your mind was pros and in some way you were scared of them.

Specifically the part where you brain decided that a pretty big pro would be spending time with Jeongin.

➻➻➻➻➻

You felt stupid. You’d spent hours trying to put out some cute, chic outfit in order to somehow flatter the boy. And then, when the two of you met up at the Main Plaza in Upper City, he stood in jeans, a t-shirt, and an old ratty flannel. It was awful sitting there in your fancy “beach” (maybe beaches existed before the Collapse, but now they were a figment of imagination) pants, a fancy, short-cut shirt, along with your nice pair of sneakers and some carefully picked out jewelry.

If Jeongin noticed your attempts, he didn’t comment on them. Nor did he make fun of how overdressed you were. It felt even worse as the two of you sat on the bus together and you swore to god that every-fucking-one was staring at you. Was it such an odd sight, the two of you? A pretty boy, who didn’t even have to try to look like he just stepped out of a magazine and some simple, psychopath that was you.

“Does that old lady really have to stare into my soul?” You whined to him. He glanced her way and then waved, a big smile appearing on his face. The lady looked away, skin turning an ashy white. Your jaw dropped open.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Sometimes if you let people know that they’re staring, they’ll leave you alone.”

You just stared at him.

He waved at you.

You smacked his hand away. “Asshole.”

He laughed and the bus quickly came to a stop after, a scratchy voice announcing that you were in the Heart of the Deep City. Jeongin stood up, quickly grasping your hand and pulling you along with him. You stumbled off the bus behind him and glanced around.

The sun was just starting to set, casting a pink and orange glow across the towering buildings. Fairy lights were starting to flicker to life and you could see a faint glow in each of the fountains. People bustled about and you were glad to see that most of them were dressed like you. Now, it was Jeongin that looked like the idiot. You snickered to yourself, causing the boy in question to send you a weird stare.

“It doesn’t get good until real late, but until then, I can give you a quick tour,” he hummed.

The two of you made your way down the street. You passed hundreds of people and you saw a huge difference between the Upper City and the Deep City very quickly. Not just in setting, but in the people. Each one of them had something more different, more unique to them. Apparently, coloring your hair was a huge thing here. You rarely saw it in the Far Country or where you lived. You’d done it once as a kid and had been considered a sociopath, getting kicked out of class for the day, not allowed to return until it was back to its original color.

“Oooohhhh, this place is really good,” he said, pointing out a Korean grill. Then he leaned into you, “it’s run by a gang and they casually steal meat from the JYP district.”

You stared at him in disbelief and then back to the restaurant. It looked quaint—cute. You could faintly see a woman bustling around in there, looking too sweet to possibly work for a gang.

“You’re lying,” you grumbled.

“Nope,” he chirped, grinning like a maniac, “I’ll take you there someday and you’ll see: real beef. It’s a family gang, so they’re more friendly. But since you’ve already had dinner, we’re getting ice cream.”

You barely registered the last part after you heard the ‘someday’. The promise of a future had your heart stuttering and face heating up as the boy continued to drag you down the street. You didn’t fall this easy, you shouldn’t fall this easy. You didn’t know him that well—he was a total stranger—but yet, the idea of falling victim to his charms, wasn’t that bad. Because, as childish as it sounded, you could already picture a future with him.

The farther you were dragged into the city, the more shocked you were. Children ran around, dressed in bright colors and tossing around balls. Among the ocean of people, you barely spotted anyone that looked the same. There were carvings in the cement and a million apple blossom trees, that were just gorgeous. Fairy lights of various colors hung from overhangs and patios. Buildings made purely of glass sparkled in the dusk.

It actually felt… safe.

“This is crazy,” you mumbled as Jeongin stopped in front of an ice cream truck.

He grinned. “I told you. What flavor do you want?”

“Just chocolate,” you hummed.

He swiftly ordered and thanked the man once two cups were handed to you. He gave you yours and then led you down the street, where a bunch of stone benches surrounded a beautiful water feature. You quickly noted how small the bench was as you sat down. Your thighs pressed together, but you couldn’t squirm away without causing one of you to sprawl onto the ground. You tried to focus solely on your ice cream and not on the warmth that radiated from his body.

It was hard until the boy stole a scoop of your ice cream.

You blinked, mouth widening.

He sent you a cheeky grin.

“You dick!” You snapped, trying to cover your ice cream from any other attacks.

Jeongin didn’t reply as he simply dug back into his own cup, letting his eyes wander over the scenery around you. You followed his lead, watching as the world only became brighter when it should’ve become darker. As the sun sunk lower and lower into the horizon, the energy of the city went higher and higher.

It was all ruined when you noticed that Jeongin took another scoop of your ice cream, although this time some of his ice cream was on his spoon still.

You gasped, “did you just contaminate my ice cream?”

“What? Me? Never,” he exclaimed, looking around in horror.

“I can’t believe you!”

“I can’t believe whoever did this, either!” He mocked and then winked at you. You glared at him, grumbling as you handed him your now empty cup. Jeongin took it with a frown, mumbling something about how he wasn’t your slave. As he got up to search for a trashcan, he paused, almost as if remembering something, and then turned to you. “You gotta come with me.”

You stubbornly crossed your arms. “Why?”

“It’s a beautiful place, but don’t be fooled. People have been attacked during broad daylight here and other people won’t even bat an eyelash. Everyone’s number one priority are themselves. I’m not going to let you get jumped,” he said and held out a hand to help you up. You obliged, clasping his hand. The two of you wandered around until you found a trashcan.

As the two of you walked along, you stumbled across a part of the sidewalk that was blocked off. The redhead curiously glanced over the yellow tape and then sent a grin your way, pointing down. You walked over, noting the wet cement that lay there.

“Should I draw a dick in it?” He queried.

You opened your mouth, ready to protest, but the boy was already crouching down. You huffed and bent down beside him, watching as he poked in the shape. What was up with him and dicks? What was up with YOU and dicks? You crouched down next to him, ignoring his little work of art as you pressed your hand into the wet cement. It clung to your hand for a moment and then you pulled it back, satisfaction running through you at the hand print. Jeongin watched you and then placed his hand next to yours, a bigger handprint appearing in the cement beside yours.

“The perfect signature for our first date,” he declared.

“Yeah, sure” you huffed, wiping your hand off on his flannel and dragging him away. You wandered closer towards the middle of the city, wondering when the Friday night events would start up.

“A band should be starting up anytime now,” he mentioned and then you heard the start of a song somewhere nearby. Jeongin started sprinting and you raced after him, struggling to catch your breath once you reached the stage. You didn’t recognize the song and you weren’t sure if the redhead did, but he didn’t seem to care as he softly started to sway to the beat.

The mass of people was surprising. People bounced together in groups, hands raised, and joyful cheers filling the air. You kept yourself pressed to Jeongin, your body starting to sway with his as the two of you let the feeling roll over you. The band was perfect, but yet it gave you that impression. Giggles bubbled from you as the song sped up and Jeongin grasped your hand, forcing you to start jumping with the rest of the crowd.

You were so close at this point, your faces inches apart as the two of you bobbed to the beat. His eyes sparkled under the bright city light and his hair started to fall out of place, soft strands of deep red falling along his eyebrows. The urge to brush them out of his face was strong and you didn’t fight it as you reached up, your fingers running along his smooth skin. The two of you both ceased all movement, his dark eyes boring into yours. Your cheeks were the same color as his hair as his gaze dropped to your lips.

He licked his own before meeting your stare once more.

It was sweet and soft. His lips just barely there as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. You leaned into him, deepening the kiss as you did so. His hands dropped from your face to your waist and he pulled you tightly against him. It was no longer the two of you in a crowd, but the two of you in an empty world. He tasted like vanilla and his mouth was still slightly cold, a contrast to the warm press of his chest against yours. You carded your hand through his hair and when the two of you pulled apart, your eyes stayed closed for a moment longer, a soft breath puffing out between you.

When you opened them, you were greeted by the soft smile on his face. He rubbed circles on your back and your breathing slowed as you just let yourself fall into him. The two of you stood there, barely moving or breathing as you absorbed the moment. Then a soft laugh escaped him.

When you looked up, you were surprised to see white flurries fall down around you. You reached out, letting one fall on your skin and breathed out when a cold burst through the spot. It was odd, because as the snow came down, it was so warm. People’s cheers grew louder as the flurries fell upon them.

“How crazy is that?” You mused, reaching out to catch more and watching in fascination as they melted.

“Insane,” he whispered, but he was no longer looking at the sky. You refused to meet his heated stare as you looked up into the dark sky. You stuck out your tongue, giggling when several landed and then melted. “Truly insane.”

➻➻➻➻➻

Something took off between you two that day. The two of you hung out together almost everyday. Sometimes it was just lounging around in the Upper City and other times it was wreaking havoc in the Deep City. You also went to Memory Maze for the first time and after getting lost twice in a matter of five minutes and being on the other side of Jeongin’s teasing, you decided you never wanted to go back.

Just as he said, he took you to the Korean grill. Indeed, the food was amazing, and even more so, the beef. It ruined burgers for you and now the idea of eating whatever rubbery stuff they served you was awful. Sure, cows didn’t lead the lives of fresh air that they used to (although, you struggled to imagine what the world was like before the Collapse. Did animals really roam free? Were there actually creatures that could move through the sky?)

Art class became less miserable. Of course, it really helped that Jeongin continued to draw dicks on his paper and shamelessly turn it into the teacher. It was amazing, he got more creative every time. When you were told to draw a building, he very casually drew genitalia shaped bushes. The teacher stopped being surprised every time and instead just looked down right done, but it didn’t get any less funny. Sure, it was immature, but where was the joy in life if you didn’t act your age every once in a while? It’s no fun if you don’t drink before you’re legal.

Now the two of you sat in his room, giggling as he recounted his latest interaction with the mean lady who ran the convenience store down the street.

“She fucking told me that I look stupid with my dyed hair!” He groaned, laying on his back. You snorted, playing with his hair.

“How dare she,” you huffed, shaking your head. He sighed, looking up at you.

“She must be a psychopath,” he decided.

“There is no other reasonable explanation,” you agreed.

The two of you laughed again. Your head fell on his chest, still giggling. He rested a hand a top of your head, his laughter slowly dying down along with his rapid chest movements. You played with a loose string on his sweater, humming a song. He went silent beneath you and his hand stilled in you hair.

“I love this song,” he whispered. You looked at him from under your lashes. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes glazed over. “My mom used to sing it to me.”

You continued to hum the song, drawing a pattern along his chest. As you opened your mouth to ask a question, the door opened. You sat up on your elbows, meeting the gaze of a blue-haired boy. He paused upon the sight of you two and then shrugged.

“Jeongin, there’s dinner on the table if you want some,” he said and shot you one more questioning stare before he left the room.

“That’s Jisung,” he explained as he sat up. “You hungry?”

You nodded and followed him downstairs. As you walked towards the kitchen, your head lowered. Jisung sat on the couch with another boy and you could feel both their stares tearing into you. Just as you disappeared into the kitchen, you peeked a look at them. Jisung no longer stared, but the other one did, and you were shocked by the bright silver that gleamed at you.

“I see where you get your hair dye from,” you teased as the boy pulled a pizza box from the fridge. He chuckled.

“Yeah, runs in the family I guess,” he said and then paused. He cleared his throat and you didn’t question him on what he meant. From the sounds of it, he lost his own family, and if you were him, you would go looking for another one too.

The two of you ate it silence. You feeling too awkward to talk about anything with the two other boys right on the other side of the wall. Jeongin didn’t force you to talk as he mumbled about random things and occasionally ran his hand over yours. You ate your piece and then handed him the crust, snorting when he practically downed it. He paused to stare at you.

“What? I’m still growing,” he grumbled.

You laughed.

“Sure.”

You went silent again as the silver-eyed boy stepped into the kitchen. He walked over to the cabinet, grabbing a bottle of something and a glass. You pretended that you weren’t watching him as he poured himself a quick glass. As he brought it up to his lips, his sleeve moved, and your eyes zeroed in on the tattoo that rested high on his arm. A gray tiger. You’d seen that symbol a million times before.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumbled to Jeongin.

“Down the hall and to the left,” he said as he shoveled another slice into his mouth.

You scrambled away, your heart racing and sweat starting to collect along your collar and hairline. You locked yourself in the grand bathroom, leaning up against the door. Miroh—that was a Miroh tattoo. Why was Jeongin living with someone apart of that gang? Did he know? He had to, the man didn’t try hard to conceal it.

“Most of the fights are on the outer edge and that’s just because territory is easier to control.”

“It’s a family gang, so they’re pretty friendly.”

“I won’t let you get jumped.”

“Yeah, runs in the family I guess.”

Was he apart of the gang?

You closed your eyes and placed your hand over your heart. You were impulsive and careless almost all the time, but you hated assumptions. They were one thing you tried not to commit to, because they ruined lives. You couldn’t just assume that Jeongin was apart of the gang. And if he was, it didn’t make him a bad person. If the person you’ve seen these past few weeks is true, he’s a better person than most.

So, you stepped out the bathroom. As you carefully made your way back towards the kitchen, you stopped when you heard voices. You didn’t want to eavesdrops, but you didn’t just want to walk in mid-conversation either.

“If she doesn’t know what you’re apart of, that means she definitely doesn’t know what you can do,” a voice snapped.

“Would you tell her?” It was Jeongin this time.

“If you’re going to go and fucking fall in love with her, you should!” A different voice this time, sounding a little bit like Jisung.

Was he in love with you?

“Goddammit, Jeongin, just tell her! She’s gonna find out about your abilities sooner or later, you may as well save this relationship before it all crashes and burns!” It was the first voice. You stood there, your heart stopping. Abilities? What the hell does that mean? What can Jeongin do?

Can they all do something?

As the three grew silent, you stood silently for a moment. You backed up towards the bathroom door, loudly letting it swing open. Then you padded down the hallway and slid into the kitchen, glancing around. Jisung and the other boy stood on the other side of the counter, both expressions blank. Jeongin, despite his face being completely blank, you noticed the way his fingers twitched and how his chest heaved a little faster than normal.

“Hey, let’s go upstairs to my room,” he murmured, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. You walked along with him, refusing to spare his comrades another glance.

When the door closed behind you, he sighed and sagged against it. He stared up at the ceiling for a while. You sat down on his bed, working on your lip. Then Jeongin looked down at you, a shimmer of tears in his eyes.

“We have to talk,” he sighed.

“I know,” you blurted out. He frowned. “You’re apart of Miroh, aren’t you?”

The boy stared at you and you just stared back.

Then he slowly nodded.

“Do you know… about the powers?” He whispered, approaching you. You were surprised he didn’t ask how you knew, but relieved at the same time.

“Vaguely.”

He sat down beside you, his hand reaching for yours. Nothing inside you begged to pull away and you realized that this new revelation meant nothing new. He was still the fire that burned in your lungs and you just wanted to have a future with him.

“It’s… it’s not really my place to talk of the other’s abilities and positions. I… I don’t really know how to explain it, but I um, I can sense others emotions and”—he cleared his throat, eyes searching yours—“control their emotions.”

You stiffened, but your hand didn’t move from his. If anything, it tightened. You opened your mouth, uncertainty flickering through you.

“I-I never used it on you, I fucking swear on my life,” he rushed out, “I… the weird thing about you is that I can’t even reach your emotions. Like, at all. That’s why I was so attracted to you when we first met and then afterward it was just… well just you I guess. But holy fucking shit, Y/N, I would never use my abilities on you even if I could. If I really wanted someone to love me, I’d do it the right way.”

You raised an eyebrow and then smirked.

“Do you swear on all those dicks you drew?”

He paused, eyes widening. Then he laughed loudly, nodding. “For fuck’s sake, yes.”

“Well, then, I guess I can’t question you, even if you are some unnatural thing,” you giggled and then pressed your lips to. When you pulled back, a wide smile on your face, he chuckled again.

“I’ve never fallen for others’ smiles before.”

➻➻➻➻➻

The two of you both ran away, struggling to hold in your laughter. Once you were several blocks away, you burst into loud laughter again. You slapped his chest, stumbling into him.

“I still can’t get used to you doing that, but that was amazing!” You exclaimed and then a snort of laughter escaped you. He struggled to catch his breath, leaning over.

“God, I hold too much power,” he gasped, “she actually fucking did it.”

Maybe you should’ve felt bad for the old lady the owned the convenience store that was only a couple of blocks away, but you didn’t. After endless slanted remarks at Jeongin, she finally got what she deserved. Or at least something that would make her look like a dumbass. Sure, it was immature to use Jeongin’s unicorn abilities to trick someone into dying their hair neon yellow, but who acted their age anyway? Age was like cement that was always wet.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids fic #stray kids oneshots #yang jeongin #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin fic #miroh #wet cement

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jawnjendes · 5 years

Text

something more than me | shawn mendes

university au, shawn x goth gf. if there’s anything else yall wanna see regarding this series, let me know!

masterlist | series playlist

These days, the only way you could get me out of the dorm room apart from class and work was if you needed a buddy to travel with at night. What I’m trying to say is my roommate, Stella, wanted to go to a coffee shop after the sun went down. She would have gone alone if it wasn’t in a questionable part of downtown. It was also a coffee shop neither of us had been to before, and it was far from campus. She wanted me to go with her because I was always preaching about travelling in pairs at night.

The only thing is, Stella told me we were going out about fifteen minutes before she intended to head out the door. She was already dressed in a hoodie and leggings, a red beanie over her brown hair. She had her boots on and keys in hand. She was ready, while I was the opposite. The moment I woke up today, I decided to throw the whole day away. No interaction, no makeup, no pants.

“Come on!” Stella snapped, pulling off the comforter I was lying under.

I’ll admit, I was a bit under the weather these days. I had been waiting for a prescription refill on my antidepressants. Sleep evaded me, and when it wasn’t, I was having nightmares. Aside from that, my digestive system was giving me a hard time, which added to the mental stress. Finally, there was the fact that I was still in a gloom from, for lack of a better phrase, “breaking up” with my toxic fuck buddy, Luca. You could imagine how much I did not want to go out tonight.

“Isn’t that place, like, on the other side of town?” I asked, mumbling into my pillow. “Why not just go to Starbucks?”

“Because Shawn and Camila are performing at this place and I promised I’d go!” Stella hastily replied as she reached down to the floor to grab my jeans. “Now get dressed so we can go!”

“I don’t know those people…”

“You know Camila!” My pants were thrown at me. “Cover up your granny panties and let’s go!”

I vaguely knew Camila. She sat in the front of my stats class, always chatting to the professor. I was always in the back, close to the exit, staying as invisible as possible. We weren’t friends.

Stella was persistent, so I rolled out of my small bed and pulled my jeans on. “At least it’s not a bar.”

We showed up to the coffee shop after the show had started. People were spilling out the door, but Stella pushed her way in with me on her tail. A boppy tune was booming through the vicinity, and two distinct voices were singing passionately accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

Stella dragged me past the cashier/barista, claiming that there would be time for that later. She stopped near the front of where the singers were; A short girl who was fully jamming to her own song, and a tall guy with a guitar singing beside her.

I knew the short girl was Camila. Who could forget her beauty and voice that was talked about all over campus? I did not recognize the tall curly haired guy, though it was easy to tell he liked the group of girls sitting directly in front of his singing space.

My body was there, but I felt out of place. I thought that only happened at bars and night clubs. I wasn’t fond of being in a crowded space, or out of my dorm. My therapist said it was good for me, though. Being surrounded by strangers is better than being isolated, even if you feel alone in that crowd. Those are her words, not mine.

I snapped back into reality when the song ended and everyone started clapping. I joined in, trying not to look like an obvious stick in the mud. Come on, we can do this.

“Thanks, guys!” said Camila into her microphone. “I’m gonna leave it to my friend Shawn now!”

The girls in front were certainly happy about that. That Shawn guy was too. Must be a Leo.

Stella flagged down her friend as soon as she was offstage. Camila excitedly approached us and hugged us both. I tensed up at the touch, and my nose itched at the scent of her perfume, but she didn’t notice.

“I’m so glad you guys made it!” she exclaimed.

I’ve talked to you exactly once.

She and Stella chatted for a little bit before the next song started. Now, instead of holding a guitar and standing at the microphone, Shawn sat down in front of a keyboard set up. I internally prepared to barf at the incoming slow love song.

Thirty seconds into it, I learned to not judge conventionally handsome singers and assume they only live to make ladies swoon. This song was fucking sad and poking at my own wounds.

“You’ve got ahold of me Don’t even know your power I stand a hundred feet But I fall when I’m around you”

I got that cold ache in my chest just like I did two months ago. My throat burned and tightened up. I was immediately sucked into the song, and mildly resenting it. How dare a handsome singing man make a song that I actually like.

Someone hurting you so bad that you’re begging them for mercy… That feeling was my best friend and worst enemy. She knocked the wind out of me many times, so I had to kick her to the curb. You can find the will to leave someone toxic, but no one ever tells you how hard it is to deal with the sadness and aches that come after. I just couldn’t pinpoint why it was happening. I cut off the toxicity, I removed the bad thing. Why was I so fucking sad?

Applause rippled through the crowd as Shawn hit the bridge. I let out a soft breath and clapped as well. This guy certainly knew how to move a crowd with his voice.

“I’m prepared to sacrifice my life, I would gladly do it twice”

If I was the type to smoke cigarettes, I would have stepped outside to do so. My eyes were starting to sweat, so I looked at the floor and tried to suck it up. The toxic ex was making his was into my brain again. It was bad enough I still saw him at work…

The show ended with that last song. Shawn thanked the audience and waved at the girls in front. As soon as he stepped off the stage, everyone in the shop rushed to the barista to order drinks and whatnot. That was when Stella grabbed my wrist and ushered us back outside. Camila followed close behind, her hands on my waist. Didn’t have boundaries, I guess.

“Y’all are getting popular,” Stella said when we were finally out in the chilly night.

Camila was beaming. “Amazing, right? We had no idea it would turn out like this!”

“So when are you and Shawn tying the knot, eh?” Stella nudged her friend.

“Ha! You’re so funny!” Camila replied with an eyeroll. “We’re looking, just not for each other!”

That made Stella smile mischievously, and she glanced at me. “Inch resting.”

The two girls talked some more, while I merely listened. This was still better than being at a bar… Or alone in my dorm for the millionth time on a Saturday night. Maybe I needed someone, or something more than me. Something to push me to… I don’t know? Something better, I suppose. Stella was good at that when she wasn’t in Full Extrovert Mode. I couldn’t demand she always “takes care” of me, though. She deserved a good time as much as anyone else did.

For convenient timing, the singing man emerged from the overcrowded coffee shop. He spotted Camila and joined our circle. He had a drink holder in his hands, and a big smile on his face.

“Hey guys, I brought drinks!” he greeted, looking at all of us. His face was much kinder when it wasn’t hidden by dim lights.

I also couldn’t look directly at him when he gave me a cup. Nope, we’re looking at the ground now, laid ease.

Stella, on the other hand, was not having it with my quiet, introverted ass. She nudged my arm to make me look up and then she properly introduced me to Shawn.

“Oh, you’re the goth roommate!” he said. “It’s nice to meet you!”

Will I ever be able to trust Stella to make me seem like a normal person to other people? Probably not. At least she was trying to get me out of the shell I made for myself.

“You too,” I replied with an awkward smile. “Good set.”

“Thanks. I saw you tearing up in the crowd.”

Fuck.

“That’s impossible, I don’t do tears,” I said without thinking. Okay, edgelord. You’re so edgy. So original.

Shawn chuckled. “Maybe it was the other girl with black lipstick and the Underoath t-shirt.”

And we’re looking at the ground again!

“Hey, aren’t you and Shawn doing the same major?” Stella asked, nudging me once again.

“Music?” Shawn guessed, looking intrigued.

I was puzzled, glancing at Stella once. “Um. No. Psychology.”

“Oops. Had a brain fart.” My insane roommate giggled.

“It’s cool.” Shawn smiled and lied his stupidly cute eyes on me once again. “A psych major, eh? Are you analyzing my every move?”

Funny joke. First time hearing that one.

“No, but I can for three hundred dollars,” I said back.

“Is that how much a shrink is?” Camila piped up.

“No!” Shawn answered. “Free healthcare!”

Yeah… yeah, he got me there.

“Somehow, I still think I’m in the States,” I said timidly.

After that, Stella and Camila strolled down the street. That pretty much ended Stella’s Safe Buddy Duty. I felt quite out of place once again as she babbled away to Camila in Spanish. It’s not that I didn’t speak the language, I just really am as much of a hermit as I’m told.

Shawn thought different as we walked someways behind them. “They always do that in class. You can’t understand them either, eh?”

“¿Y porque piensas eso?” I replied, once again without thought. “Simplemente soy muy callada y casi nunca me salgo de la casa. Nomas estoy un poca incomoda con personas que no conozco.”

“Awesome,” he said after a moment of silence. “So… you’re from the US?”

“Yup. Southern California.”

“What made you want to come all the way over here for college?”

“Simple: I don’t like the desert. Or heat. Or the sun.”

I had my eyes on the sidewalk I stepped on until I realized Shawn hadn’t replied. I looked up only to realize he was looking back at me in disbelief.

“That’s it? You moved countries because of the weather?”

What is he expecting, my life story?

Before I could talk back, Stella piped up from in front of us. “She’s a goth, she’s allergic to the sun!”

“Ah, so it was for your own health,” Shawn replied. “I get it now.”

The next time I saw this guy was at a bus stop just outside of campus. I had seen him from where I parked my car, and I secretly hoped he would have forgotten me by now. I made sure to have my headphones on as I walked past him, but he touched my shoulder and stopped me. So much for remaining invisible.

“Do you always look at the floor when you walk?” he asked, amused.

“How else will I know where to step?” I said in return.

He laughed, which was then followed by silence. Why did he stop me? Just to say hi? What kind of fuckery-

“You’re not wearing the black lipstick,” he pointed out.

I shrugged, feeling… inadequate. “Didn’t want people constantly reminding me of my lip color.”

“Well, it looked really cool the other night. It’s kinda what made me notice you.” He offered a smile, to which I changed the subject.

“So, where you headed?”

“Work. I work at this flower shop in the middle of town.” Shawn looked both ways, noticing the empty roads. “I think the bus is late.”

The bus is late. He works with flowers. The bus is late. Flowers.

“Are you running late?” I asked. Don’t do it. Oh god, don’t do it.

“Uh…” Shawn checked the time on his phone. “No, I should be fine. I like to be early.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I have a question.”

FUCK.

“Uhh…” I said stupidly.

“What really made you want to come here for college?” he prompted.

Someone clearly didn’t forget my lack of interest from the other night. Why was this question so important to him?

“Why are you here for college?” I said back.

“I live here. Now you.”

God fuckign-

“Wanted to travel, I guess. I’ve been in one place my whole life.” I shrugged, looking anywhere except him yet again.

“Hm. Okay. What are you listening to?”

“Five sauce.”

“Aren’t you a goth, though?”

I rolled my eyes and made a noise between a scoff and a laugh. “Firstly, Stella calls me that, I don’t. Secondly, you ask a lot of questions.”

“Well, I just wanna get to know you.”

Any normal, naive person would have been swayed by Shawn’s sweet tone and charming smile. I, however, learned that there’s more than what meets the eye. He doesn’t really want to know you, he just wants something. He doesn’t care, he just wants to make you think he does.

I narrowed my eyes. “You need to unlock level forty seven friendship to know anything,” I told him.

“And how far am I?”

“We’ve talked one time before this. You’re not even on level one!”

“Okay, so we’ll hang out sometime so I can make progress.” Shawn’s grin was now very smug. Then he looked to the street. “Oh, right on time.”

The bus just so happened to pull up right about now. My eyes were still narrow and furious, and I was making sure Shawn knew it. How dare he trap me! How dare he ask questions about me! Just say you wanna use me for sex and go!

He was still grinning as he went to the bus entrance. “I’ll let you know when I’m free to hang out. I’ll see you later!”

This motherfu-

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #i love that im writing again :')

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unkindnessofone · 7 years

Text

5SOS. Quarter Tank

This was a monster, but it’s done. I can’t wait to hear what you think. I tried some new stuff out, took it to a couple places I’ve been worried to touch before, but I listened to a lot of what you guys suggested. I listened to Ocean Drive by Duke Dumont a lot while writing, it inspired the name. Enjoy.

The closed door meant nothing to Miles. It might as well have been wide open with colourful balloons framed around it. March was his twin brother. They had shared everything from conception to now. He wasn't about to start knocking on his brother's door and respecting his privacy now. Of course, he did feel empathetic towards his brother. He knew he was nursing a wounded heart with Daphne Hood deciding she didn't want to be with him anymore only two and a half weeks ago. Still, March's decision to stay in bed all day and play skateboard video games didn't keep Miles away. Cagney had advised Miles to just give his brother some space since March had barely leaned on her or even taken to the shower since coming from the airport after saying 'goodbye' to his sister and being dumped. Miles pushed his brother's door open, a pile of dirty clothes trying to act as a weak barricade on the floor as he did, and headed right to the bed where March was wrapped up like an overstuffed and frumpy burrito in his dirty black comforter.

“So this is where you live now?” Miles mumbled just as he did once a day since March had taken refuge in his room. “Dad is going to come home and yank you out, you know?” While Luke was soft and patient with Miles and then protective and worrisome with Penelope, he was brash and tired when it came to March. He had been trying to keep the youngest Hemmings on a leash since birth and it had aged him. He blamed March for his grey stubble entirely.

“He's never going to leave Penny in Paris.” Into the pillow, muffling his words that all sounded like groans, March retorted. He really wasn't worried. In fact, he wouldn't mind if his Dad uprooted the whole family to France – that way he wouldn't have to face Daphne at school in mere days. He could move on with endless cigarette cartons and fancy wine.

“Well, look Mom is having a girl's night at Aunt Grace's,” As sad as everyone was that Grace and Michael were calling it quits, Cagney was practically eighteen again going to the store to buy chips, coolers, and face mask ingredients for the evening ahead. Miles didn't understand what was so special about it. It wasn't as if Uncle Mike would have cared if his wife had a bunch of girl's over with him there. He probably would have joined in or holed himself upstairs with a rock 'n' roll documentary or anime. “She's probably going to crash there, so I'm going to have Taylor over.” Cagney and Luke thought they were very cool parents. If it wasn't for Penelope's penchant for sneaking out, they would have been very relaxed, but they still had a no sleepovers with boyfriends or girlfriends rule – at least while everyone was underage.

“You're going to bone with just a wall between us?” March rolled over to ask with an upturned nose. He, at least, always had the decency to wait until no one was home or take Daphne to the basement while everyone else was on one of the other floors. He was about to remind his brother of that fact when the memory stung at his chest and he just sunk lower into his mattress. If he had known the last time they were in the basement together was going to actually be the last time, March figured he would have let her pick the movie and he would have tried to last a little longer.

“I'm going to invite other people, obviously you can come hang out, but yeah, he's going to stay over.” Miles wished March hadn't asked with those words exactly. When Miles didn't earn even eye contact with his brother, he just nodded with a heavy breath out his nostrils and started to leave the room, picking up a couple pieces of laundry on his way to the door. “You know, I'm here for you, right?” He had told his brother that before, but he knew a reminder couldn't hurt in the slightest. “If you think something would help, I would do it.” Miles reached down to pick up a sock that matched another in his hands when he heard March throw off the covers and swing his legs over the side of his bed. It was something he had really only done in order to go to the washroom and go downstairs to get an entire bag of peanut butter cookies. It was the first time they had had them in the house in his entire life (with Penelope in Europe, they didn't have to consider her allergy anymore).

“I know what could make me feel better.” March mused, stretching out his arms and legs in front of him.

Miles was eager to abide, but he couldn't help feeling cautious. He had a hunch his twin was going to ask for him to trick Daphne into coming over or ask him to drop off something at her house. Even though Miles wasn't even involved indirectly in the break up, he had purposefully chosen not to interact with the Hood home. They lived mere blocks away, but he had been keeping his distance just in case his Uncle Cal mistook him for March and gave him a grandiose ass kicking.

“What?”

With his mom out drinking with her girlfriend's all night and his Dad somewhere else in the world entirely, March felt like God himself was handing him the most perfect apology present. It was one he would gladly accept, “We're having a party.” He told his brother nonchalantly, rising out of bed as if he hadn't been chained to it for over a week. “Help me lock up Dad's instruments and stuff.” If they were going to do this, the basement studio would be off limits.

“You don't want to shower first?” Miles checked as March strolled right by and taking his stench along with him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

'What is the point of being an ex girlfriend if you can't go parade how cute you are around them?' Emmeline answered Daphne's evening text quickly, responding with a question all her own.

Daphne had been avoiding the Hemming's family house as if it was haunted since she and March broke up. She knew that her Uncle Luke was away in Paris with Penelope, but she still worried that either him or Cagney hated her guts now. She wanted to reach out to Penelope, a girl she loved like a sister, but Daphne had a hunch the blond would be on her little brother's side. Still, it was the last weekend before school and if there was a house party, she wanted to go. Prior to being with March, she would have stayed home and watched a musical movie or romantic comedy with her friend from dance class, but March had introduced her to so many people that had expressed they still wanted to be friends and they were going to be there. Daphne worried now that they would move on from her since she wasn't March's girlfriend anymore, so if they were inviting her she felt like she needed to seize the moment.

Her mind was split in half, straddling both options evenly. All she could do was laugh at Emmeline's text and miss the effortlessly sassy model. For the first time in a while, Daphne felt alone. There had been a time where she was used to the sensation, but it was foreign to her now and it made her uncomfortable. She debated asking her mom what she should do, but she felt confident that Skye would advise her against going to March and Miles's party. So Daphne just stuffed her phone into her bag, grabbed her dance duffel bag, and car keys and set out to her Saturday drop-in class. She figured she would know what she wanted to do once she had diminished herself to an exhausted puddle of sweat.

Once her violet sneakers were on, Daphne rushed to her car. She didn't know where her parents were though she assumed that her Dad was helping Michael settle into his new condo downtown. She kept the radio off and tried to grow accustom to being by herself. It was probably the hardest part of the break up for her. She had grown up beside March and they had become attached to one another like extra limbs. Now he wasn't right over her shoulder, in between her fingers, and against her mouth. He was somewhere else and it wasn't her business where anymore. This was her choice and she had to be okay with it.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Rain slapped itself against the windshield as they drove home, the two hour explosion packed movie they had just left had kept them dry most of the afternoon. Still, the weather sounded gentle under Daphne's nonstop laughter while she drove.

"This is dangerous!" She warned March, bringing her shoulders up to her hoop earrings. Her eyes closed into small cuts when she laughed, making driving extra challenging for a nanosecond. "Stop!" Through giggling, she managed to say.

"You're pretty." Poking at her thick as a mudslide sundae hair, his fingers instantly getting tangled, March continued on as he had been. "You're so pretty. How are you this pretty?" He had just been looking at two unreal jacked up actors with blood and sweat dripping from their bodies, but even if he hadn't been, Daphne was still the most unusual collection of stunning puzzle pieces he had ever seen. She was a photograph that he hadn't discovered the right words to describe.

Giving Daphne a short break, March lowered his chosen metal music on the radio and rolled the passenger side window down, letting rain furiously hit his jeans. "My girlfriend is pretty!" Sticking his head out the window, unafraid of the growing storm, March yelled out. He wanted to make Daphne laugh, which he did, but he also just couldn't control himself. They had been together for two months and everything felt better than he ever thought it could.

"You're so crazy!" Daphne laughed, stopping at a red light then turning her attention to him. "And you're soaked!" She observed the water racing down his face and his hair stuck to every angle of his face. March just shrugged and leaned in to kiss her, droplets running from his hair and meeting the front of her bright pink shirt.

"We're going to my house, right?" March checked, taking a moment long enough to actually check the street they were on. He and Daphne lived so close to one another, it was hard to know.

"Unless the plan changed and you didn't tell me." Daphne mused as she began to drive again.

"We could always go to Aunt Sim and Uncle Ash's." In a low tone, he suggested and smiled deviously at her even if she couldn't see his face at the moment.

"Why?" Her very full brows came together to ask the question. "I think Simmie is in London anyway." It was hard to keep up with everyone when they weren't all on tour which didn't happen very much with all the kids in school or pursuing their own lives. They weren't in diapers anymore, just going wherever they were carried to.

March wasn't deterred and only sneered at how cute Daphne was, "They have the guest house." He reminded her. It wasn't as if his own house wasn't large enough for privacy, but March loved the guest house at the Irwin's. It was where he got high for the first time, it was where he crashed when he was too drunk to go home, sometimes he just went there when his Dad was on his case, and it was a right of passage (March figured) to fool around in it. It was where they all went when they wanted to get away with something. The Irwin's house was arguably the calmest which was, perhaps, why Connor and Molly were the most chill of everyone.

"I guess." Not as certain, Daphne knocked her head to the right side. She didn't know where she was supposed to be driving now. "We could literally just go to my playhouse." It was where March lost his virginity to her anyway. It wasn't as if her Mum or Dad spent any time in it anymore. They hadn't since she outgrew it's roof. "Why do we need to go to some random place?" Daphne pressed. "Your mom is making those stuffed pork chops..." The young couple had become a staple at each other's dinner tables.

"You would rather pork chops than private time with me?" Polishing his drama skills off, March feigned shock with his jaw dropped and then poked out his bottom lip, wet, to pout at her like a cranky baby.

"I can have you naked anywhere." Daphne laughed at him and continued to drive to his house. "I can only have your mom's cooking at one place." She pointed out, completely content to just go to the Hemmings house and make out with March in the basement. She wasn't quite immune to her uncle and aunt catching them, but she was getting used to it.

Reluctantly, March complied and slouched in the passenger seat. He figured they had all the time in the world to hook up everywhere and anywhere they wanted. He didn't think she was going anywhere that he wasn't going with her.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Her chest felt heavy as she pulled herself out of daydreams and focused to parking in a slim spot in front of the same dance studio she had been attending since she was two and a half. Daphne whipped off her seat belt once parked and reached into her dance bag, looking for her phone. She hadn't seen her best friend Rebecca's car anywhere and the whole reason she was there was because she was promised she wouldn't be taking the drop in class by herself. Daphne felt out of place everywhere she went, it helped to be with someone more outgoing. That was why she and March always fit or why girls like Emmeline and Penelope were easy for her to follow.

Surprisingly, Iden Clifford had texted her. They had been talking more since she asked him to draw her a picture for her bedroom, but it wasn't as if they spent much time together outside of family or 5 Seconds of Summer events.

“You going to March and Miles party tonight?”

Daphne imagined for a moment that Iden's world had probably shifted much more than hers had over the summer. His sister, his closest companion, had moved to the US, his parents had split up, he had lost touch with longtime friends, and he was spending time with the first girl worth nothing. Daphne had seen Iden being hit on by a bevvy of beauties before. It never made much sense to her since she knew he wasn't a very big social butterfly, but there was something about Michael's son that attracted men and women to him like flies to shit. Mariona, however, had been the first girl he seemed to be interested in himself. Daphne had heard from breakfast in the car with her mum a few weeks ago that he was very wrapped up with the spunky photographer or aspiring photographer. If Iden was going, with or without his new female friend, Daphne figured she could go, too. At least then she would have an ally in her corner. It dawned on her only then that she might not have just lost March, Penelope, her Uncle Luke, and Aunt Cagney, but Miles too. It hit her like a new slap in the face and her cheeks hadn't yet lost their color from the last few. It was, as Bananarama would sing, a cruel summer. She sat in her car to wait for her friend, texting Iden back to offer him a ride to the party if he was interested in going with her.

++++++

He was up. He had been sleeping for a few hours, but March woke up like a finger snap – suddenly in one jolt in the large hotel bed that he was sharing with his twin brother and Daphne Hood. Beside them, Penelope was asleep with her jeans and knit sweater still on and her mermaid sticker book open by one arm. Somewhere else in the Las Vegas hotel, Emmeline and Iden Clifford were fast asleep as well, but they had a babysitter handpicked by their mother watching over them. In England, the two Irwin children were with their grandparents while their mother was away on business.

March didn't lay around and wait for rest to return to him. He let out a large yawn that contorted his entire face and slid right out from under the covers. He had been sharing a bed with his brother since they were in the womb. He knew that there was little amount of movement and noise that could bother Miles. Even so, March didn't really care. He was two and his world was all about what was within reach and what his eyes could see. In his footless one piece pajamas, navy in colour with a grey and white astronaut suit in the middle, he headed straight for the door that was holding him captive in the room. He grunted and whined while stretching out his toes and tummy for the door knob. He landed back on his feet and turned around to wake up Penelope. She was his big sister after all, she could free him being that she was taller. Instead, he found the wide and perfectly circular eyes of Daphne Hood staring back at him. They were glowing as she watched him silently, pulling both her hands out from under the hotel comforter and waving at him. Her thick brown hair had been tied back in two braids by Cagney Hemmings, but they were frizzy in places now as she had been sleeping soundly for a while.

“I, too, go.” She nodded at him and began to carefully climb out of the bed, looking down at the floor to try and make out the carpet in the dark as it was a big step for her. She was wearing a onsie pajama that had a panda hood complete with black ears. As she clumsily made it to the ground, the hood flew up. She swiped her small sized Cookie Monster plush, complete with multiple drool stains, from the top of the bed and hugged it under one arm pit before going over to March.

On the other side of the door, there would be a living room with a babysitter on it, but Daphne excitedly anticipated her parents on the other side. Skye had explained they would be upstairs with their friends when she was toweling her daughter off after her bath, but Daphne didn't absorb a lick of the fact. She waited as March pulled the knob again and swung the door open. The room was lit with the blue light glow of the television while an eighteen year old boy was laying on the couch with his jeans open and his boyfriend straddling on top of him. Clearly being in charge of four children for the night and being paid to do so didn't mean much for him. March and Daphne were completely unaffected. March forged ahead, his feet feeling frosty once they traded the carpet for hardwood and he headed for the stairs that would lead them to the penthouse that was attached to their suite. He figured that was where the action was. It was where he had been before being tucked in and he knew that was where the french fries had been. Two year old March only enjoyed few things: running around with his shirt off, screaming, his brother, his mom's kisses, and french fries. Clueless, something like an extra small shadow, Daphne followed behind, slipping and falling down a few steps as she did. The closer the two toddlers came to the door, the louder the laughter, clanking glass, and music grew. It was nothing unusual to them. It was the sound that greeted them constantly whether they were at a sound check, hanging out backstage, or even back at home with their parents. They had grown up inside harmonies and between concert venues.

March joined the party without a thought, pushing open the door and letting it close behind Daphne. He walked right around a couch, through stranger's legs, and even crawled beneath a coffee table covered in peanut shells, a bong that had just been put down, empty beer cans, Grey Goose bottles, and a pair of black crusty boxers. Daphne was lost. She held her Cookie Monster tight to her chest and curled up into the fetal position, thinking she could maybe sleep her fear off.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” A very familiar voice croaked almost in a song behind March before he was hoisted from the ground, his face turning on a devious smile. He found himself being kissed by a black haired girl, one he recognized instantly. “It's a mini Luke.” Not sure if it was Miles or March, Halsey announced in the penthouse kitchen before dangling the little boy in front of her. On the other side of the busy kitchen island, covered in everything from Chinese take out to cocaine, Luke looked up with glassy, but delicate blue eyes. He spied his son grinning which softened his concern as Halsey kissed the top of his head.

“Hey!” Ashton shouted, drunk, from by one of the windows that lined the whole place. “You should be sleeping, young man!” He laughed as Cagney darted across the room, putting down her glass of wine on the first surface she found.

“What are you doing up?” In a gasp, Cagney asked. She pushed her face right up against her son's and rubbed her nose to his, making him chuckle. He reached for her false lash and threatened to tug it off, but she pulled away in the nick of time. “How did you get up here?” Cagney looked over March's head at Halsey and then turned to look back at Luke, mixing himself a drink while shrugging at her as an answer. He was the one who picked Trevor as the babysitter, the son of the woman in charge of craft services.

“Shit!” A southern accent pierced over the noise deep in the living room. “I just stepped on a damn baby!”

It captured everyone's attention and Ashton ran out to where a large group from the party was gathering in a semi circle. He just assumed it would be Miles. Cagney carefully freed her friend's hands of March and passed him off to Luke, stoned out of his eyeballs before following after Ashton.

At first, unsure of what he should do exactly since it was 1 in the morning, Luke cleared a spot big enough for March on the island with one hand and then sat the boy down. He stared at him for a long time, making himself blink.

“I love you.” March cooed, one hand reaching for Luke's long locks while the other mindlessly smashed down into a half of a banana that someone left behind. A small sliver of sobriety inside of Luke realized he was lucky it wasn't cocaine or cigarette ash. The rest of him was melting though at the sweet little boy in front of him, his sweet little boy. Luke pouted at his spitting image and leaned in to kiss March's nose and then his mouth. He felt March's sticky hand on his cheek, smearing banana residue over it as they kissed.

“Are you a cool party guy?” Luke asked, picking March back up and bouncing him lightly in his arms as he felt March's hands connect behind his neck, fidgeting with the clasp of a necklace he often wore. “Are you Daddy's cool party guy?” Usually, Luke would be stern. He would sigh full of agitation and return March back to where he was supposed to be. He would tell him to stay in bed, but right now, he wasn't a hundred percent in his right mind. Right now, he just wanted some cuddles from his youngest. He was how he always figured he would be when he had kids, how few quiet moments on the tour bus allowed him to be, and how his frazzled life of touring with three children rarely let him be.

“Do you know where Cal is?” While Luke was trying, and not succeeding, at teaching March how to wink, Ashton returned with Daphne in her hands, crying into her Cookie Monster stuffed toy.

Exaggerated, Luke shook his head from one shoulder to the other, “Don't cry, Daffy Duck.” Luke stepped closer and pat the top of her head with one March's little hands, making the boy laugh. “You're okay. You're with Uncle Luke and Uncle Ash. The cool Uncles.” He stammered on. “You have such big eyes.” In a very normal and coherent voice, Luke mentioned to her as he adjusted his posture and stood up straight. “They are like Oreo cookies. The big ice cream ones you get at a gas station.” He told Ashton, who only rolled his eyes as he tried to spot Calum somewhere in the crowded place. He assumed he was probably on one of the four balconies smoking. He figured he would have better luck finding Daphne's mom, Calum's girlfriend, but he just didn't have a hot clue where she would be. Ashton handed the crying little girl to Halsey and then took to hunting down Skye.

“I should probably take him back to bed, right?” Luke looked at Halsey and asked, cocking his head to the side in which March was pulling his hair.

“Yes, Luke, you should.” She looked at him like he was wrong for even asking. “I'll bring Daph because if I don't put her down soon, I will keep her forever.” She joked, poking Daphne in the stomach in a poor attempt to distract her. The little girl looked terrified as if she had just been stepped on – which she had. “She's so freaking cute.”

“It's the eyes, right?” Luke jumped back on his previous thought. “So big.”

“And the cheeks.” Halsey kissed the tear stained one closest to her.

“Here. I'll take them both.” He was used to carrying two kids at once since he had twins, Luke adjusted March carefully on his left side and then waited for the singer-songwriter to latch Daphne onto his other side.

“You good?”

“Oh yeah, Daph's light as a feather.” Luke showed off, bouncing both kids at once – it was just enough movement to make March roar with laughter and Daphne to lose her soft as a whisper whimper.

“Goodnight, party babies.” Halsey laughed and waved at them, her girlfriend sliding an arm around her and joining the group just as Luke was heading out.

He accepted different cheers, goodbye's, and silly faces as he navigated his way through the party they were having. They weren't in New York as often as they would like to be anymore and, when they were, they took full advantage of it by inviting supermodels, old friends, new musicians, and then some to come get rowdy and take a night off with them. Luke felt like he was trapped in a fairground fun house. Everyone in his way took a different shape and their voices took new pitches, but all made out like static. He was thankful by the time he reached the door that led him to the staircase to take them back to the suite that was reserved for his family only. Out of reflex, when he noticed Daphne struggling with her plush toy, he opened his mouth wide and let her stuff it inside to carry. Luke took the stairs as slowly as he could without matching the pace of a sloth. It felt like they were meters apart from one another and he was very aware that if he slipped, his lanky body would likely squish his youngest twin and the only fruit of Calum's loins. He had never felt so much pressure in his entire life and he had performed on live television multiple times.

Once he was on a flat even surface, Luke put Daphne down. He bent at the knees and stuck out his face, an invitation for Daphne to take Cookie Monster from his teeth which she did almost as soon as she was out of his grip. He thought he was holding her gently, but his fingers had been pushing into her chubby sides like eagle talons. Luke was grateful for her removing the doll from his mouth however, his compensated mind felt the fluff in his mouth and it made him worry that his tongue was losing it's firmness. Was he ageing rapidly to the point where his entire mouth was made of cotton? As soon as Daphne removed it, relief greeted him and he winked at the little girl who ahead already started slowly walking ahead. With March blabbering without any hard diction about playing wrestling, Luke forged ahead. The next road block was the two teenage boys on the hotel sofa, a expensive black leather sectional that they had been rubbing around over like clammy ointment. Luke just stopped and stared, losing track of Daphne in the room visually, but hearing her small feet pitter-patter without any rhythm. His blue eyes were glazed over, a delicious blue raspberry jello just waiting on the bottom shelf of stocked fridge, as he waited for the occupied teenagers to stop making out. They hadn't the slightest clue he was there even though he kept clearing his throat.

“Holy shit!” Luke finally just shouted, belligerent and stoned as he felt as soon as he saw them cocooned together. Right away, they parted with their heads on a swivel, looking for Luke in the room and finding him right up against the couch's edge where their feet were dangling off. “So, I'm not going to pay you, just....is that cool?” Rhetorically, he asked – even though it was taking all of his energy to form words and keep March in his grip. He was beginning to feel sluggish. The high had the reigns even though he was functioning through it as he had multiple times before. As if it was an answer, shamefully the babysitter nodded. “Yeah, I'm probably going to tell your mom, too. Hold up.” Luke shrugged even though his brain was trying to help him scoff and roll his eyes at them. Unfortunately, he still needed a sitter. There was still a party raging in full effect upstairs and Luke intended to return. He moved forward and carefully opened a larger gap in the bedroom door that Daphne couldn't reach the knob for.

He put March down on the bed's end and went to assist Daphne's wiggly round bottom as she tried to hoist herself up into the adult size bed. Luke carefully rolled her in and then held open the blanket, so she could climb under. She hugged her stuffed monster tightly and stared up at Luke with her round eyes. He swore they were glowing in the dark, looking for wisdom inside of his shell. The thought alone left Luke a little spooked.

“Goodnight.” She softly mumbled into her plush toy, pulling Luke out of his paranoid trance. “See you in the morning.” Daphne managed to say before forcing her eyes shut.

“Goodnight.” Luke replied, kneeling by the bed and adjusting the comforter over her shoulder. He saw Miles on the other side of her, drooling onto the pillow beneath his messy bedhead. “You have the biggest eyes.” After he had leaned into Daphne's head, he reported directly into her ear and then stood up. He turned to the other bed and checked on Penelope. March had moved to sit by his sister's sock clad feet, laughing into one hand at how she was still in her clothes from the day before. Luke shushed him and picked his daughter up with both arms, clumsily trying to put her head closer to the top of the bed without disturbing her. It felt as challenging as carrying both March and Daphne down the stairs at the same time had.

“I don't want to sleep.” It was a struggle to let the words out of his developing mouth, but March managed to hiss his feelings over to his Dad.

“Me neither.” Luke grumbled with his nose scrunched up. It was a very different response than he would have given if he had been sober and feeling the exhaustion that usually plagued his entire body. “But you have to.” He pushed his finger into March's shoulder and as soon as his young son looked down at it, he lifted it to nip March's chin. Both Hemmings boys laughing immediately at the prank.

“Let's 'wessle, Daddy!” March slipped right off the bed and bounced on the toes of his feet.

“Oh yeah?” Luke nodded at his son with the point of his chin, shaking his hair from his face and then hoisting the little guy up by his armpits. He wasted no time shushing March while cuddling him tightly into his chest. He could feel March's muffled giggles rushing wild against his flesh. Usually, they wrestled differently, but Luke decided he would just hug March as tight to his stomach as he could and run right out of the bedroom and go into the other – the larger room with the king sized bed that he and Cagney had made their own.

Somewhat gently, Luke purposefully dropped March onto the made bed and let his laughter fill the room. While March crawled quickly up to the pillows where his Dad's leather jacket was resting, Luke looked around the dark room for a remote control. He didn't notice that March was climbing his way into the beloved coat that engulfed the boy entirely.

Once the TV was on, illuminating the room with two shades of blue, Luke joined his kid. He laughed at March in his jacket and messed up his hair then dropping his arm over March's shoulders. Instantly, March took the opportunity to cuddle on it. He stretched out his toes to try and meet the tips of his Dad's boots even though his feet barely met Luke's hip. March yawned as he laid his head on his Dad's chest, a warm feeling rising through the white shirt Luke had on. It was comforting and March felt better there than he had under a blanket that he had to share with Daphne and Miles too. He watched mindlessly as his Dad flipped through channels, landing on a colourful 2D cartoon of a whiny duck. Luke tossed the remote away from him without looking where it landed in the bed and sunk lower into the mattress, his head resting on top of March's as he pulled the kid closer.

“What's this?” Through another yawn, March asked hastily.

“Am I that bad a Dad?” Luke almost gasped. He couldn't believe himself. “It's Daffy Duck. Looney Tunes.” How could his kid not know recognize the black television duck? There was a reason they all called Calum’s daughter ‘Daffy Duck’.

March shrugged, mirroring his Dad's action from earlier. He had never seen the show before. Luke had originally put it on to lull March to sleep, but now he didn't mind so much if they just watched it together. He was comfortable, more comfortable than he was in a room full of friends and people he wanted to notice him, and with anything he wanted just waiting in someone's pocket or on a flat surface. Neither Luke or his son figured out what Daffy's revenge plan on Bugs Bunny was before they were both passed out, sleeping in the bed.

++++++++++++++++++++

“What if Daphne shows up?” Taylor, Miles's boyfriend, came right out and asked as he lifted one of the couches in the main living room of the Hemmings's Sydney home. He didn't mind being the first one to ask, it was on most people's minds. Even Cagney had laid in bed before and wondered what she was going to do when it came to Christmas parties, Penelope's birthdays, and just any time Calum came over. The dynamic had changed even if they all wanted to pretend it hadn't.

“I don't think she will.” Miles answered, shaking his head, as he held the other end of the chesterfield. He couldn't believe that he was standing there with no shirt on, muscles bulging, and his boyfriend was asking about a girl. “Daphne doesn't like drama.”

“Someone's invited her, probably. She and March know a lot of the same people.” They grew up together and went to the same school. “It's a party.”

“Yeah, but her ex is throwing it.”

“And you. You're her friend.”

“We haven't talked since she and March broke up.” Miles pointed out even though he figured his boyfriend already knew that as fact. “I'm not worried about it.”

“She's a trigger for him.”

Miles groaned as they put down the couch on the other side of the room, clearing out space for the people they were expecting and the multiple kegs that March was trying to find someone to buy. It wasn't lifting the furniture that was frustrating, it was the conversation. Miles didn't want to think about all the potential drama that the night could produce. He was still adjusting the plan on how he would get away with hosting a party. Sure, his Dad wasn't even in Australia, but March had told their mom they were just having ten people over to watch a movie. Of course, Cagney was just thrilled that her youngest was out of bed and had finally put deodorant on. She would have agreed to almost anything.

“I have not been able to keep March out of trouble since birth.” Holding Taylor's stare tightly, Miles shared. “Why do you think I was born first?” Even though it made Taylor laugh, Miles was not joking. “I fully believe he wanted to come out feet first, but had second thoughts.” His whole life was checking that March was okay while surviving a time out or waiting to see the principal. Miles had accepted years ago that his brother could not be controlled. Growing up with Penelope and March had made being the good kid easy, but it didn't come without headaches and anxiety.

Miles was heading out of the room. He needed water and a break, maybe even a salami sandwich. Taylor watched him and sighed. The moment might have moved on, but it wasn't as if his mind was eased at all, “Throwing a party to get out of a depressive episode is a bad idea, Miles.” He informed him of what he already knew. “I don't think this is going to end well.” If Daphne didn't show up, March would drink himself into a stupor or sleep with someone he didn't recognize or accomplish something dumb witted. If Daphne did show up, Taylor feared the wild Hemmings twin might light someone's car on fire or try to swan dive from the roof into the backyard hammock.

“Can we pause?” Miles asked while staring into the open fridge, looking for the sandwich meat his mom said she bought yesterday. “You don't have to come if you don't want to come, but if you are going to help, can we stop talking about March and make out?”

The question was asked and a slow quiet drifted through the large home just long enough for Miles to let out a stunned gasp when his boyfriend's hand yanked him backwards, away from the fridge, and squeezed at his exposed waist. The double doors of the fridge slammed as Miles shut his eyes and leaned into Taylor's beeswax covered lips moaned into his neck and sucked so slowly that it felt like he was telling his skin a secret.

“We got three kegs!” March could be heard celebrating from upstairs, trying so hard to keep busy. Miles and Taylor's didn't acknowledge him for a moment, Taylor tightened his arm around Miles's stomach and moved his mouth to his shoulders. “Are you guys still here?” March continued from upstairs. “Taylor? Miles?” He called. “You two are making out, aren't you?” He asked, leaning against the glass rail that kept the hallway contained and then just gave up looking for them. He had more prep work to do like hide all of his dad's framed platinum records and other awards as well as try to find a beer bong in his sister's room. All her friends were surfers, there had to be some homemade contraption somewhere. ++++++++

While her dad had accepted that she wasn't a toddler anymore and that she and March were together, Daphne knew he would absolutely ground her for life if he knew where she was. Skipping school for any reason was against Calum's rules especially for his daughter who was always just barely passing her classes. She wanted so badly to be a good student, but learning didn't come as naturally to her as it did to Molly or even average students. It was mostly math that really destroyed her grade, but the other subjects weren't much easier to her either. While skipping school was bad enough, skipping school to have sex was probably outrageously horrible.

She couldn't say 'no' though. Not when March was giving her eyes from the second they met up at her locker after second period, not when he smelled like soap and pancakes, and not when he whispered in her ear about how sexy she was while also tracing his knuckles just under the hem of her uniform kilt. If it was between math and eating glass, Daphne would have sharpened her teeth and chomped. So math or sex with March Hemmings wasn't really a question.

“Are you sure your parents are out?” It wasn't like Luke or Cagney worked usual careers and typical hours. Daphne didn't even know if they were in town

“I don't care.” March managed to say while hardly peeling his lips off of h.ers as he pressed his chest into hers. Her back was firmly being pushed into the hallway wall that led to March's bedroom. In the open concept house, anyone who walked in through the front door or even jogged by could peer in. Her breath burned like the fresh sun burn on March's backside as he moved away from her mouth and dotted kisses against her jaw line, pulling at the collar of her blouse to find her clavicle waiting for attention.

It was true that March didn't care if his parents came home. At that moment, he was really only thinking of himself and Daphne. He was pretty sure that his Mom was out helping a girlfriend plan her second wedding and he just assumed his Dad was with one of the hundred bands he helped produce or working on his own stuff. If he was in his own studio, he would have his door closed and noise cancelling head phones on, so they were pretty much alone. He decided not to tell Daphne that. She just needed to know that everything was fine.

“We got to go to your room.” Daphne panted, a wet feeling between her knees making standing up straight feeling more impossible than before. It didn't help that March was grinding against her and leaving shivers everywhere. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at the framed picture to her left, an adorable professional snapshot of four year old March and Miles, hugging each other with huge toothy grins. Daphne had marveled at how cute he was in the picture many times, but right now, it did not help how turned on she was feeling.

“Can't wait?” His hands sliding up her blouse to reach into the open buttons and touch her breasts, a size that was very satisfying to him even if Daphne couldn't make up her mind how she felt about them.

“No.” Shaking her head, Daphne confirmed before sliding her hand away from the wall to take March's and lead him quickly into the room that had clothes all over the floor and a skateboard for her to trip on and stop her from gracefully laying on top of his unmade bed.

March was tugging aggressively at the school tie he wore loose around his neck while Daphne waited for him on the bed, reaching under his pillow nonchalantly and pulling out a t-shirt then dropping it to the floor. Her smile was a perfect underneath the sunshine that was dancing over her through the window that his bed was against. It caught the gloss she insisted on wearing over her lips every morning that March always just kissed off anyway. While he undressed, March just drank her in, arms above her head while her hair fell every which way, a small glimpse of bright teal lace under her skirt. She looked good enough to devour. Once his shirt was off, March gripped her ankles, her socks long since gone with her black shoes. His fingers guided his hands upward as he keeled onto the bed and kissed beneath her knees. She smelled tempting, like a latte that was too hot to drink, but it's foam too enticing to not dive into. March moaned as he leaned his cheeks against one of her legs as she undid her kilt, exposing the rest of her white half buttoned blouse and all of her bold colored thong. March then lifted himself over her, his head right over hes as her hands fiddled with the button and zipper of his grey uniform pants.

“I could look at you in my bed forever.” March mumbled in a hush. He didn't see the pigsty that he made or even the drool stain on his pillow under her head. She was the only thing in his line of his vision. When Daphne was around, he could forget about any and every mess.

Grinning, flattered, Daphne reached into her boyfriend's boxer briefs, feeling around at the half hard lump inside. March was just about to reach down and pull them off entirely to reveal himself.

“Daphne, I see your car!” Luke's voice howled from the bottom of the stairs. He had only just arrived home himself, but even though he parked in his garage, he saw her purple car that Calum had bought her just a few months ago parked a couple houses down.

Not wasting a second, Daphne jumped up and almost knocked her forehead against her boyfriend's. She grabbed her kilt and stood up, rushing to put it on. Luke might have known now that they had skipped school, but she didn't need to know that she was just a ten second countdown away from having his youngest son's junk in her mouth.

“I don't know your schedule....” Luke grumbled while coming up the stairs. “But I know March doesn't have a spare right now.” It was a lie. Luke had no idea, but he felt like since it was Tuesday in the afternoon that he had the upper hand. He didn't know if the kids were in the pool, down in the basement, or up in March's room, but the latter was his where he was going to check first.

“Dad!” March yelled with fury as he yanked on his girlfriend's hand, stopping her from putting her clothes back on. Afternoon delight was not always on the table in March's life. He had still only had sex, like, six times – he wasn't about to lose his opportunity for number seven just because his Dad didn't work a normal nine to five like everybody else's. “Daphne is throwing up everywhere!” He managed to put his pants back on and make it to his bedroom door. He jumped out of it and confronted his unamused looking old man. March slammed the door shut behind him and held the knob against his bare back. “I just laid her down and I think she might nap it off.” He lied.

“Why is your shirt off?” Luke's bare palm slapped over his forehead while he rolled his eyes. This was embarrassing. Daphne was his best friend's daughter. This was his house. He squinted his eyes shut and prayed that his son wasn't hard right now.

“She threw up all over me. It was like a muffin and carrots, orange and stuff.” March didn't know what to be more concerned about: the fact that he was so good at lying to his parents or that he wasn't getting turned off by describing vomit.

“You got to go back to school. I'll text her mom.”

“No!” March just shouted again, not sure how to weasel his way out of things now.

“Daph would have to be throwing up a lung to get you out of school.” Luke warned, nodding at the door behind March and raising his brows up at his son. He was not looking for a discussion. “I'll drive you back.”

“Dad, she's my girlfriend. I can't leave her when she's sick. Would you leave Mom if she threw up all over you?”

Luke wasn't as dumb as March and Penelope sometimes played him for. He cocked his head to the side and squinted, this time noting his son's almost boner making an obvious appearance through the thin trousers he had to wear for school.

“Daphne?” Luke looked out at his gorgeous front lawn outside the huge windows, waiting for Calum's daughter reply. “Daphne, It's your Uncle Luke.” Luke tried again.”I used to blow raspberries on your belly...”

“Hi Uncle Luke.” She peeped back, her shame evident without him having to look at her at all. March dropped his head and sighed. It was game over. They were caught. His girlfriend couldn't lie to anyone, but especially not to her Uncle Luke.

“Daphne, did you two skip school to have sex in my house?” Luke had to prepare himself before asking, panting at the beginning of his question.

“Please, don't tell my Dad.” Through the door, Daphne's voice revealed the truth. She sounded as guilty as she did when Luke confronted her at five, asking her if she had eaten chocolate off the ground between the tour buses. Of course, back then she had burst into tears and cried into his shirt where as now she was just staring at her boyfriend's bedroom window and wondering if she would survive the jump.

“March, Jesus.” Feeling more disrespected than anything else, Luke groaned. Couldn't his kid just wait until the evening or do it in a car? It was really the fact that it was on a weekday afternoon and in his house. “You're supposed to be at school! Both of you! Cal is literally going to kill us both. Put on a fucking shirt.”

“In my defense,” March spoke to his Dad's back as he walked away from his son. “I would have been back for forth period and the rest of the day.” He called out while his Dad headed into his own bedroom, slamming the door behind him. “It might have just been a blow job!” He kept shouting, thinking that, maybe, , the ultimate cock block, was listening.

“I knew this was a bad idea.” Whispering in a voice soft as a marshmallow, Daphne emerged from March's room, both her shoes in the hand she was using to put her kilt on with. “I am never going to be able to look at your Dad again.” She hadn't the slightest clue that Luke was in his own room, sitting on the edge of his bed and laughing into both his hands. He couldn't wait to text Cagney so they could embarrass their son together.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was as if as soon as the sun began to sink below the roof that everyone March had texted, and their friends, arrived. An hour, maybe twenty minutes more, and the entire mansion was crowded with little room left for breathing. March thought it would distract his dejected brain, but he found himself standing in the middle of a group, beer in hand, and having to force himself to tune in. He was trapped between his own thoughts, looking around every room for Daphne while simultaneously hoping she wouldn't show up his memories let alone in his house. He watched as one of his friend's older brothers lit up a lighter for the bong that he had started passing around the kitchen, considering taking a hit even if weed wasn't really his thing. March had never enjoyed it outside of edible form and his experience with that was low as well.

“Are you coming?” On the crowded driveway, Iden looked behind his shoulder and over Mariona's high frizzy ponytail to see that Daphne had stopped still in front of the Hemmings house. She had been there over a hundred times in her life, but this felt different. It hadn't changed and neither had she yet everything felt slightly tipped on it's axis. The drive over had been fine. She picked up Iden, listened to his girlfriend talk about art, and even managed to keep her mind off the question that plagued her all day: Should she even be going to the party? Now that Daphne was just steps away from awaiting chaos and loud low bass notes, the question was screaming between her ears.

“Daphne!!!” A slurred scream followed Iden's question and a girl with very bright and very unnaturally blond hair nearly took Mariona out on her way to grab Daphne. She had been spotted. It was too late now to turn around.

Iden simply took Mariona's hand in his and led her inside. It had been a while since he had been to a party, but he was feeling stronger these days, more like the person he wanted to be. His parents might have been separated, but the tension in his life had lifted and he felt like that had helped more than any of his medication, drawing, or therapy had. Mariona was good companionship too. She talked too much for him to ever feel lonely.

“Why are you wearing that?” The girl screamed once she relieved Daphne off her embrace, two other girls that she had come to know through March appearing around them. “March is going to die!” It wasn't as if any of them knew how he had been holing himself up in his bedroom since Daphne ended things. They didn't know how much he was struggling with his new reality.

“I don't think so.” Instantly nervous, Daphne looked down at herself and disagreed gently. She had purposefully picked something neutral, not her usual tropical colors and tight fitted designs. Daphne had pulled on one of the few pairs of jeans she had and magenta ribbed jumper. It covered her up completely and she felt like that was a polite thing to do when coming to your ex boyfriend's house.

“Are you seeing someone else?” A girl behind her bluntly asked, but Daphne was shaking her head before the question was fully out of the stained blood red lips.

“Let's get drunk.” Still screaming, the bold blond, who was already very drunk, tossed her arms around Daphne's neck again and started to lead the whole group in. Her mind had forgotten all about Daphne and March's break up and all she was thinking of was the shots that await her inside.

While throughout her entire life Daphne had been smaller than most and crowds had always proven problematic for her, she felt comforted by how many people were flooding the Hemmings house. Even though she knew her Uncle Luke would be outraged by the party in general, Daphne liked that it lowered her chance of even running into March. She wasn't sure if it would be better to see him now or in four days when they began school again. Daphne didn't have a chance to really wonder about it because as soon as she squeezed out of the hallway and through the kitchen, she saw him. They were close enough to kiss, to touch, to smell menthol on his breath. Taking pause, Daphne just stared at him as if it was the first time where as March had to bite down on his tongue and tell himself to manually breathe.

“March, come play Strip Snap with us!!” Behind Daphne, deeper in the kitchen, a brand new voice hollered for March. It was the first time in Daphne's young life that she understood how strong an urge to be violent could be. It was not in her arsenal, but the sound of some other girl calling for March to be naked with her made Daphne want to spin around and vomit screams through the house that she had said her first word in. She had been so occupied by what her presence at the party would be like for March that she hadn't even stopped to think about how she would feel seeing him or, worse, seeing him moved on.

His mouth was keeping shut, trying not to say anything or expose any emotion to his ex, so March just pointed over her head and started to walk by her. It felt harder than any exam he had written. The same tight and uncomfortable rawness that he felt when he sprained his ankle skateboarding two years ago twisted around in his stomach as he passed her, her scent the same as the one that filled his nostrils and brain whenever they would cuddle together and watch a movie or when she would lean in for a morning kiss. People pegged March to be shallow, but his memory was like an elephant's. Sometimes he felt like he inherited his heart from his dad since he made his living as a songwriter. March could feel overwhelmed by just about anything, but he worked diligently to repress real reactions. Hairspray reminded him of his mother, salt and sand made him miss his older sister, chlorine always brought up thoughts of Miles, sweat beads and dry skin made him smile at the idea of his Dad, and lemon with vanilla could only ever intoxicate him with perfect image of Daphne Amalie Hood.

“Can we talk?” Without thinking, Daphne spun around, her hair flying every which way as she asked the back of his head eagerly. His shirt was black and hanging over his long torso strangely. He looked like a very young Luke Hemmings.

“Yeah.” After counting to five in his head, March turned around to agree. “Where?” Their house was crammed with people. He didn't even want to know what was happening in his own bedroom. With help from Taylor and Miles, he had hidden his parents prized possessions, but it wasn't as if the master suite or any of the bedrooms had locks on them. The garage and his dad's home studio were the only rooms protected from the party-goers. At least until they grew rowdier than they already were.

“I don't know.” Daphne lifted a shoulder to her ear. She didn't even know what she was going to talk about with him. She just really didn't want him to go play Strip Snap with anybody. “Miles room?”

“Miles and Taylor are in there watching Titantic.” Making them both smile, March told her while looking down at his Converse clad feet. Strangely, March wished he was in there. It was his party, but he wanted to hide. He wanted to be escape the pain that was holding him and his body prisoner.

“Roof?”

“There's a bunch of people up there already.”

“Shed?” Daphne tried again, but March wasn't certain that people weren't hot-boxing or fucking in there by now.

“Um, just follow me.” Out of instinct, like butter just melting on toast when it wasn't even warm, March reached for her hand, but he retracted it before she could reach back. He led her through the obstacle of bodies that filled his house, saying 'hello' to familiar faces as he went, but trying to keep his head down. Every now and again, he would check behind him for her feet, her purple painted toes narrowly avoiding being stepped on. He headed down to the basement, walking around the couch that two couples were competitively making out on, through the dance party and karaoke, past a couple fighting (both in tears) and then he pressed the code (his parent's wedding anniversary) on the keypad that would lead them into his Dad's precious home studio. Daphne swallowed nervously and kept close to the closed door while March felt around the wall to turn on the lights.

“You wanted to talk?” He asked without acknowledging that she was even in the room, walking past his dad's guitar set up and running his fingers over the top of each one. March stopped in front of the mixing board and stared forward at the empty vocal booth on the other side.

“Yeah.” Daphne mumbled, playing with the bottom of her sweater. “How are you?”

“Great.” March lied, not even trying to sound convincing through his exasperated sigh. They had barely begun speaking, but already he felt like teeth were tearing at his sides. “You good?”

“I guess.” Daphne replied blandly, wondering if it would be appropriate to let him know that she had been missing him a lot. “Are you looking forward to school?” She had never had to make small talk with March before, things had always just flowed. She was learning that it didn't come very naturally for her.

“Yeah, Daph, I can't wait.” Turning around and groaning at her, March rolled his eyes. “I know you didn't come here to ask about school.” Daphne was a terrible student and March was always getting in trouble for skipping class or skateboarding indoors. He achieved good grades, but there was no way any of the teachers were looking forward to his return.

“I thought, maybe, it would be good if we saw each other before school started. I thought it could make things easier.” Daphne expressed, her large eyes growing as they saw him. She knew him well enough to see that he was in pain. She hoped he knew she came in peace and that she hadn't had any desire to hurt him. “We are going to see each other around.” It was inevitable given that their whole lives had been tangled up together like cable cords from the time they were in the wombs of their mothers.

“Maybe, I don't want to see you around!” March shouted at her, his voice filling the room that had been designed for the best sound production. There was enough space between them, but Daphne swore she could feel his wildfire breath, whiskey and frustration, blow over her face.

“You wouldn't want to be friends?” Daphne had been telling herself for the last few days that that wasn't out of the question. Her grandmother had told her to give March time and that soon enough they would be in a place where they could be platonic with one another.

“Fuck that, Daphne.” His face scrunched up like a prune as he swore at the floor and let it bounce up to greet her. He hadn't wanted things to change, it was her who had transformed them in his mind. “I have friends, Daph. I'm good there! Do you not see how many people are in my house right now?” He asked her. March hadn't realized that he had started walking closer and closer to her as he spat out his words. “It's not my fault if you need friends now.”

“I don't want to fight, March.” Daphne was without courage, she mumbled into her chest as she kept her head down and away from his ardent, but agitated eyes. She had always hated when someone was cross with her, but this felt worse. She felt like she, maybe, deserved it.

“I know, Daph. You don't want anything with me anymore! You're done. I take one fucking selfie with one girl you don't like and that's it. Daphne Hood is out!” March's arms flew above his head as he dramatically shouted right at her.

“That is not why we broke up!” Daphne spoke up, scaring herself. She reached forward and pressed her hand to March's chest since he had come close enough, trying to keep him there with some distance. “You had doubts. It wasn't just a picture.”

“Whatever.” He snarled. March wasn't seeing anything around him, all he saw was Daphne and all he felt was the hurt he had been bathing in since she left him at the airport. “You know what, Daph? I don't want you either.” He lied. “I don't want your friendship, I don't want your big fucking eyeballs, or your cute little voice, I don't want you. Leave. Take your perfect...” He softened, stopping himself as her dark eyes that he had forced blue locked him in. March's eyes were glassy and his voice went dry. He told himself over and over not to let her see him cry. “Take your....” He bit down on his lips, sucking them in and trying to keep it together. “Fucking leave!” His roar shook the room and kept Daphne from reaching out for him. She was going to, she wanted to hold him, but his voice terrified and sent her running out of the room after fiddling with the silver handle. Daphne ran through basement maze, sobbing, and rushed up the stairs – once again leaving March behind. He sunk into himself and crawled under his Dad's main desk, legs outstretched as he sobbed into his elbows uncontrollably. Everything had come out wrong. He had wanted to say 'I love you', March had thought about being civil or even being the guy that Daphne thought he could be, but instead he just let his anger take the reigns. He thought about going upstairs and letting himself be touched by any and all girls that would gladly strip him down, but March didn't have the energy to move. Right now, he was where he was supposed to be, laying lifeless in tears and hiding from the world.

Daphne searched at the front door through the sea of shoes for her pair of lacy slip-ons. She grabbed them in her heads and tossed open the door, running as fast as she could over the lawn. She saw an airport town car at the end of the driveway, but rushed past it to her car. It wasn't until she was behind the wheel safely that she pulled her phone out of her jeans to text Iden, telling him that she had to go and would pay him back for a cab. Daphne drove away the quickest she ever had before that she didn't even see who came out of the black town car.

Challenging was not the right word for how it felt leaving Penelope behind in Paris. Luke still wasn't convinced it was the right thing. It had only been a year and a half since her accident at Snapper Rock. While she had been recovering marvelously and avoided driving, surfing, and anything that could cause so much as a headache let alone head trauma, Luke still worried that Penelope needed him or Cagney out there. There were some things that she just didn't have like she used to. She wasn't as quick even if she was just as carefree. He worried that a new language, a new city, a new job, and brand new school would be too much for her. He knew his daughter was tougher than most grown men, but there was no amount of facts that could comfort Luke.

Visiting Emmeline had been peculiarly helpful. He hadn't expected anything from checking in on Michael's daughter during his overnight in New York. He didn't even think the new model would want to spend much time of him. Luke knew that she wasn't answering her father's texts or calls and that when she did bother to speak to her mother, it was not without wicked 'tude. He figured he would make like a good friend and decent Uncle and check on how Emmeline was doing. It was what Luke would want Michael to do if he found himself in Paris in the future. Instead of just making small talk with Emmeline and buying her a meal, Luke found himself captivated by the young female Clifford. They were laughing in her New York apartment, walking around her neighbourhood in deep conversation, and almost interviewing a new layer of one another. He felt like he learned a lot about Emmeline. Luke no longer saw her simply as the loudest tantrum in the room and the longest fake lashes. He also found out a lot about his own life. Emmeline changed a room when she walked into it and, because of that, she saw different parts of people. Parts that Luke somehow missed or that they didn't want to show him. He felt excited to come home suddenly. His youngest son was going through his first break up and, Emmeline was right, he should be there for him in whatever form he could. However when the town car pulled onto Luke's very private street and he saw young drunk bodies everywhere, he misplaced his excitement. He couldn't believe what he was seeing when the car finally made way in front of his house. Once the driver left the front to go fetch Luke's suitcase in the trunk, he pulled out his cell phone and called Cagney only to be greeted by her voice mail (it was full because she never used it).

Luke slid out of the car once the door was opened, tipping the driver without paying attention and taking his bag by the extended handle. His eyes stared blank at the different kids on the lawn and then at the girl vomiting in between cars in the driveway. He didn't recognize any of them and, given that this was his house, he thought that he should. There was a time in Luke's life where he thought that he would be a 'rad dad' (as he would say). He thought that the friends of his children would love hanging out with him, that he would chill out and crack open a drink with them in the living room, give them high fives before they went out for the night, and jam out in the basement together. Somehow, it never happened. He liked some of Miles and March's mutual friends, he loved his band mates children, and Penelope had two girlfriends that were very polite and always told him that he was 'cool', but Luke never actually found any desire in himself to want to spend any personal time with any of them. Perhaps that was why he found himself ready to hose down everyone he saw on his front lawn. When he stepped closer to the front door, usually entering his house through the garage, and he spotted all the body parts spilling out of every window, door, and even onto the roof, he was ready to be tried for murder. Luke was sure that all the blood left his body and filled his eyes. His knuckles were white around his suitcase handle as he bolted into the house, shoving teenagers out of the way as he stepped in.

“Get the fucking fuck out of my fucking house!!!!” The words stretched out through the house and while his volume wasn't much of a match for the many speakers that were blaring through the Hemmings home, it was powerful enough to shake the closet doors beside him and send a large group of kids running. He couldn't feel his face which was a pretty good sign that he didn't look like the protagonist of any story.

“Your dad is home.” While watching Jack hold onto the door Rose was resting on, Taylor cringed at the sound and turned to see just how terrified his boyfriend looked.

“I'm going to die tonight.” Sad, but with his fate accepted, Miles said before swallowing around the instant rock in his throat. How could his mom not have mentioned his Dad was coming home tonight? Maybe she just assumed that he was going to stay in France with Penelope forever. Miles hands were licked with sweat as he threw them over his face. He didn't know how to get out of this one. This was March's expertise. Miles didn't know whether he should sit still, hide, run away, or start throwing kids out by their collars. It wasn't as if he wasn't strong enough.

“Get the fuck out!!!” He heard his Dad roar again, this time all the music on the main level of the house stopping at once. Miles could hear people leaving in roars, a sound that reminded him of the Elephant March in the cartoon Jungle Book movie. His door was shaking as different classmates and their many friends raced down the stairs, some having to enter through bedroom windows from the roof and then try to rush out of the house. “Put my wife's clothes back!” Right outside the bedroom door, Luke growled. “No, don't touch that!” He was conducting drunk human traffic and hating every minute of it. Miles swore he could feel his Dad's angry breath through the walls.

In the sea of bodies that were racing around him, Luke looked for one he recognized. He didn't see his own children anywhere. He supposed with Emmeline in New York, Connor on tour, Molly somewhere else in Australia, Penelope in Paris, and Daphne no longer dating March that there weren't really that many people he would know. Still, he half accepted to be familiar with someone. It made him feel even less comfortable knowing that everyone who was in his place, destroying his furniture, and touching his bed were strangers.

“Get out of my fucking room! Put your clothes on!” Luke roared into his master suite, throwing open the door and tossing on the lights. He hadn't seen that many young naked bodies since his second world tour many years ago. He marched, stomping, down the hall and threw Miles's bedroom door open.

“Welcome home...?” Teeth chattering like a wind up toy in the dentist's office, Miles said the first thing that came to mind while Taylor sat up from his stomach and onto his feet.

“First of all, you know you're supposed to have the door open when your boyfriend is in your room - “ It had been a rule Cagney enforced since Luke was sexist enough to always tell Penelope that was the rule when a boy was in her room. “And secondly, I'm going to kill you once there's no witnesses left in the house.” Luke promised, sounding deranged as his head went from shoulder to shoulder while he addressed Miles. “Now one of you get a hose and get these people out of here and the other get a broom, you're not leaving until this house looks exactly how it did before I left for Paris. There better not be a soda can or used condom within a five mile radius of here.” Luke stepped out of the room before lunging back in like a wild tiger. “Now!!!”

Miles had never moved so quickly in his life, not even when he was on lifeguard duty at a public pool or beach. Taylor was right on his ankles and as soon as they were down the stairs, they were ushering people out of the house.

Luke's new mission was to find March. He knew this would have been his master plan. It was not easy to find his look-a-like with his house still packed the way he wished potato chips were. He stalked his entire first floor, looking under March's bed, and even behind every shower curtain and closet for the youngest of the Hemmings brood.

His heart was racing out of control as he came closer and closer to his beloved studio, the one that took him two years to build and that he never stopped investing in, the one where his first song to reach the Top 10 upon debut was written, and the one where Cagney and he could have sex in when the twins were old enough to walk and never left them alone. He typed the code in with fear and threw it open, thrilled when it found it was in pristine condition. There was one thing out of place though. March beneath his desk, curled up with his knees to his chest, and his eyes shot as if he had been up for days snorting blow and drinking tequila. He was dehydrated and broken. As much as Luke wanted to wring his neck and kick him out, he softened. He remembered the conversations he had with Emmeline and slowly dropped to his knees, waving silently at his son from across the room.

His plan had been to come home and show kindness to his heartbroken son and while that had changed when he was upstairs kicking out teens, Luke had to remember to choose his reaction. March was in rough shape and Luke could see it now. Everything his wife had been telling him via text took physical shape in front of him. Luke pretended, just for a moment, that there hadn't just been a bunch of underage teens drinking in his house and crawled under the desk next to his youngest.

“Hey.” He breathed out directly at March as they knocked shoulders. March was trying to conceal his tear stain face, wiping snot on the crew neck of his shirt right in front of his Dad's watchful blue eyes. “Or bonjour as I've been saying for the last two weeks.” He mumbled, unsure of what to say. It wasn't like March often let him be this way. Luke actually couldn't remember the last time his son cried, but he was pretty sure he didn't have all his adult teeth yet at the time. “March, I know - “ He began, putting his hand on March's closest knee and giving it a pat. This sort of thing didn't come as easily for him as he wished it had. He wanted so badly to know how to handle things. Ashton was an effortless father, Calum seemed born for the job, and Michael loved his kids so much that it radiated from his body. Luke always thought he would be the best parent out of all of them and yet he always felt like he was just doing an impression of a dad and making it up as he went. He felt like he was failing and the fact that he didn't know how to comfort March right now was only evidence of that to him.

“She doesn't want to fucking be with me.” March choked out, crying all over again. He turned his face away from Luke, embarrassed as he could barely breathe. “And I'm a fucking pussy crying about it to my dad.” It only made March sob harder.

“Hey!” Luke removed his hand from March and frowned. “You're not a pussy.” He said sincerely. “Break-ups suck.” Luke nodded, remembering the many he had gone through. Hell, even the ones he orchestrated felt rotten. “What can I do, March?” Luke leaned in and listened to March sniffle, hoping that March had a better idea than he did on how to make things better.

“I don't know. Take me out of school.” He really didn't want to face Daphne again.

“Nope.” Luke chuckled and shook his head.

“Can I go to a different school? Or can you kill me?” Looking up from his hands, March made eye contact with his Dad again and asked. It hurt Luke's heart that his son meant it.

“You know, when I came home and saw all of Sydney in my house, I could have made that happen for you.” Luke laughed as he joked, but as soon as March started to cry again, he clued in that now was not the time and instantly felt like a nimrod. He threw his arm behind his son's shoulders and brought him in close, holding him into his chest to try and console him like he would when he was a baby and fell down the stairs for the first time. “It's going to be okay, March. It's going to hurt and then it's going to be okay.” I promise you won't always feel like total shit.” Luke tried his best to convince him while rubbing the shoulder furthest from him. He didn't know if he was doing a good job or not.

Luke tried to connect and it wasn't nearly as hard as he thought it would be. He remembered when March was still in diapers and how Cagney moved him out of their bedroom and into the basement. She threatened very seriously to take the kids and move in with her parents in Minnesota if he didn't clean up his act. She wanted him sober and she went as far as booking open tickets to the US for New Year's Eve of that year. Luke remembered thinking he was going to die, curling up on the couch in their basement and feeling like a complete loser as he listened to her load the kids into the car to take them to Ashton and Simone's for the weekend. He might not have been a teenager anymore, but he knew the pain of failure and rejection that his son was living in right now. As much as Luke never wanted to feel that way again, he whispered in March's ear, “If I could, I would take everything you're feeling and feel it for you. I'm really sorry, March.” The apology was loaded. It stood for all the important days he missed, all the times he mishandled situations, and for the pain he was feeling now as they sat together underneath his office desk. The mess throughout the house could wait. For now, March needed him and he would let his son use every article of clothes he had as a tissue.

#5sos imagine #5sos story #5sos fic #5sos au #5sos one shot #5sos family #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings au #luke hemmings one shot #luke hemmings dad #dad!luke

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ask-the-hatbox-ghost · 7 years

Text

REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY

RULES: Repost, don’t reblog ! Tag 11 ! Good luck !

TAGGED: By @theheadlessgroom

TAGGING: Hmmm… @hitchhikinghaunts maybe?

BASICS:

FULL NAME: Thomas Ernest Topper

NICKNAMES: The Hatbox Ghost, Hattie

AGE: At least 200. He lost count somewhere down the line.

BIRTHDAY: May the 9th

ETHNIC GROUP: Skeletal Ghost (in life, Caucasian)

NATIONALITY: Resident of the Haunted Mansio (in life, American )

LANGUAGES: English, with a wee bit of French that is much less advanced that he thinks it is;

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteroromantic.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: ‘Engaged’ to Emily Cavanaugh Gracey, alias the Beating Heart Bride.

CLASS: Lowerclassish. Technically, he was a haberdasher, but his being related to the Graceys in two different ways (by his mother Annabelle and his bride Emily) kind of muddies the waters a bit.

HOME TOWN: New Orleans, Louisiana

CURRENT HOME: The Haunted Mansion, in Disneyland Park.

PROFESSION: Mortal scarer and Disney icon (hatter in life). Member of the Ghost Council.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:

HAIR: Pale grey, long and dishevelled.

EYES: Black on yellowish white (they were almost the same in life, but dark brown rather than outright black).

NOSE: Large and slightly hooked in life, Hattie’s noise is now nothing but a memory.

FACE: Very angular.

LIPS: He basically doesn’t have any.

COMPLEXION: Used to be a pale grey until the Ghost Host decided to repaint him green for some reason. (In life, pale, but not sickly so)

SCARS: It’s tough to determine whether the cut on his neck can be called a scar, inasmuch as his head isn’t attached to his body at all and he just holds it in place thanks to spiritual energy most of the time.

HEIGHT: Refuses to be measured.

WEIGHT: Very light, but bathroom scales weren’t exactly common when he was alive, and determining a ghost’s mass is the same as trying to weigh a hologram.

BUILD: Thin and bony with a hunch.

FEATURES: Bony frame, skull-like head surrounded by messy hair, large round eyes and a grin bigger than a Cheshire Cat’s.

ALLERGIES: Constance Hatchaway.

USUAL HAIR STYLE: Dishevelled and long, hanging on both sides of his face.

USUAL CLOTHING: A black cape with so high a collar that it would make Dracula jealous, a dark grey vest with four circular buttons with a dark shirt underneath, tight grey pants and featureless leather shoes.

PSYCHOLOGY:

FEARS: Fears banishment, obviously. He also has an irrational fear of geese, for some inscrutable reason, but the case rarely presents itself. Like many spirits in the Mansion, Hattie would also freak out if he saw the One-Eyed Black Cat roaming free, but let’s be honest, who wouldn’t?

ASPIRATIONS: Kick Constance out of his Attic, reinstall his bride in her place, and become the Ghost Host.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Intelligent, talented, loyal, generous (when nobody’s looking).

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Grumpy, megalomaniac.

TEMPERAMENT: Prone to frequent mood-swings.

SOUL TYPE: The Hunter

VICE HABITS: Prone to overwork himself badly.

FAITH: Used to be a Christian, but (due to being so full of himself he literally couldn’t imagine being sent anywhere else than Heaven) his beliefs were thoroughly shattered by becoming a ghost.

GHOSTS: Well, what do you think.

AFTERLIFE: Obviously, denying the existence of a beyond when you’re undead yourself would be rather stupid. Though he’s not sure there’s anything else than becoming a ghost, contrary to some ghosts who think there is a Heaven that only a select few can reach, distinct from the ghosts’ fate.

REINCARNATION: Madame Leota dismisses the notion as superstition. Hattie may not like her very much, but when Necromancy is concerned, he’s not going to go against Leota’s expertise.

ALIENS: He doesn’t really understand the concept, much less has any clear opinion on the matter.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: He didn’t care for politics as a mortal. As a happy haunt, he sided with the Graceys during the War agains the One-Eyed Black Cat, in the 1950′s, but now would very much like to become the Ghost Host.

ECONOMIC PREFERENCES: Hattie would very much like to have a fortune in gold.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Hard to tell. Hattie knows a lot of things, but a lot of it is wrong and he’s too stubborn to change his mind about any of it. He mostly learnt them on his own.

FAMILY:

FATHER: Gregorius Topper, a stern hatter who, in death, has become even more of a stickler for traditional ghosting than Hattie himself. And that’s saying something.

MOTHER: Annabelle Gracey, an aunt of the Ghost Host. Very sweet. Unfortunately does not appear to have become a ghost, though Hattie hasn’t lost hope that she’ll turn up one day.

SIBLINGS: He’s unfortunately stuck with his brother Ezra Topper, who loathed his father so much he changed his name to Beane and hitchhiked his way out of New-Orleans the day after Gregorius died.

EXTENDED FAMILY: Hattie is sometimes visited by his first cousin Reginald, alias the Mad Hatter. He is also related to all the Graceys, though the Graceys themselvs didn’t remember that until after leaving their corruptible mortal state; the Ghost Host is his first cousin, and Emily is actually his first cousin’s daughter.

FAVOURITES:

BOOK: His own autobiography (which is still in progress).

MOVIE: He never forgave cinematography on the whole for never devoting a movie to him, and has refused to see any film ever since, with the exception of Disney cartoons (the Imagineers celebrated the Mansion’s arrival by organizing a ghost-only screening of all Disney movies since Snow White for the Happy Haunts, and Hattie was talked into going by Emily).

DEITY: Frankly, Hattie would declare himself a deity if the Statue fo Spectral Secrecy didn’t prevent him from doing so.

HOLIDAY: He would have said Halloween, if not for the fact that since his return, he has to associate it with the Mansion being invaded by the Halloween Town crew and having to share the attic with a giant snake.

MONTH: May, due to being the date of his birthday and of his return to the Mansion in 2015.

SEASON: Autumn, probably. He never gave it much thought.

PLACE: Either his Attic or the Endless Staircases.

WEATHER: He likes the rain, as soon as he hears it drumming on his roof, rather than on his head.

SOUND: Emily’s voice.

SCENT: Roses, old leather, wax.

FEELS: Hugging Emily.

ANIMALS: He has a group of pet bats, whom he used to make little hats for. The hats had to be tight fits, lest they fall when his little friends hung upside down, so it was excellent practice.

NUMBER: What kind of an odd question is that?

COLOR: He’s most comfortable with brown or grey, but due to being “Emily’s color”, pure white has positive mental associations with him as well.

EXTRA:

TALENTS: Hat-making, mostly.

BAD AT: Dancing, unfortunately for Emily’s feet.

HOBBIES: Writing (he has been writing his own autobiography for decades, and he obviously has this very tumblr); lobbying to become the Ghost Host.

FC INFO:

VOICE CLAIMS: My own voicework on Hattie, mostly. The voice I use is a mix of French actor Roger Carel’s voice, and Scar’s voice in the Lion King musical. I know, it seems a bit random, but it fits oddly well.

MUN QUESTION:

Q1: If you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ?

A1: More than a single movie, I’d love a series of animated films based on the Haunted Mansion — not quite feature-length, but about 30 minutes-long each. I’d see no reason to call it anything else than The Haunted Mansion. The animation would be classical 2D animation, ideally based on @officialhappyhaunt and @whatwouldwaltdo’s drawing styles. They could progress from the backstories of various characters to the War of the One-Eyed Black Cat, Opening Day, the Hatbox Ghost’s banishment and finally to the ‘Present Day’ where all sorts of hijinx can take place.

Q2: What would the score sound like ?

A2: An orchestral soundtrack in the style of Phantom Manor, flirting between grand and moving pieces to jazzy, cartoonish one. There could obviously be songs.

Q3: Why did you start writing this character?

A3: I absolutely loved @officialhappyhaunt ‘s Hatbox Ghost comics on DeviantArt. When I came to tumblr, I discovered that the existing Hatbox Ghost blog, @askthehatboxghost, while very good, used a completely different characterization from the grumpy old Hattie I’d come to love from these comics. So I started this blog.

Q4: What first attracted you to this character?

A4: Mostly his hilarious personality.

Q5: What is the main thing you dislike about your muse?

A5: I don’t really like the new color scheme Disney gave him in 2015.

Q6: What do you have in common with your muse?

A6: I share some of his artistic and culinary tastes (it’d be fairer to say I gave them to him) and a general dislike for change and modernization.

Q7: How would your muse feel about you?

A7: Not sure, he’d probably be happy to see a dedicated fan in me, then move on to more interesting things, such as hats.

Q8: What character does your muse have interesting interactions with?

A8: Everyone. Of course, he’s at his funniest when trying to bother Constance, I think.

Q9: What gives you inspiration to write your muse?

A9: That’s… kind of redundant with Question 3, I think.

Q10: How long did this take you to complete?

A10: Oops, didn’t record my time. Long enough.

#macabre memes

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splattershotsundae · 7 years

Text

Better Eight Than Never --- Chapter 23: Some good and knot so good feelings

VZZTVZZT

Toda groaned.

VZZTVZZT

“I’m trying to sleep, phone...” He murmured, turning over in his bed, and then cringing in pain as he put pressure on his leg. Oh right, his life wasn’t exactly normal anymore… He carefully sat up, pulling the blankets off to get a look at his leg. Bato’d put the bandage up as high as he could, most of it able to be hidden under a pair of shorts, but he’d still have to wear actual pants if he wanted to be on the safe side… He took a moment to watch a few raindrops trickle down his window before leaning over and picking up his phone; There was a chance these texts would be important. When he saw it was from Jill and neither in all caps, or spelled properly, he relaxed and pull the covers back over his lap.

J: Hey T are you up yet?

J: I was wondering how u r

T: yah im up

T: im donig okay, prty sore tho

T: wbu?

J: Im good

T: good 2 haer

J: shoulder still hurts

J: aLOT

J: not suprised ur sore tho

T: yeah

J: r u feelin sick @ all?

J: jus gathrin info 4 S

T: hm...

T: no, i dnot thik so

J: good! :D

T: :)

T: wht bout u?

J: Im fit as a skattele!

J: *Fiddle

T: lol

T: hwo fit s a skattele? :P

J: theyre pretty fit

J: easy ot fit in ym mouth!

J: omnomnomnomnom!

T: LOL XD

J: Do u like skatteles?

T: nto my al-tim favrite, btu i liek tem

J: Ok, then wh@ candies do u like?

T: nything wit choclate

T: especly milk chocolte

T: espcily peant m&ms

J: I'll keep th@ in mind. XP

J: Especially th@ u dont have a peanut allegory

J: *Alligator

J: *A L L E R G Y T: lol XD

T: yah no allergies

J: I cant type 2day!

J: it is a cuuurrseeee

T: sems lik it :P

J: A hilarious curse...

Toda wasn’t quite sure how to reply. He decided he’d try to figure it out while he got himself some clothes for that day. He carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed and started to stand slowly, but as soon as he started to put weight on his bad leg he winced and sat back down quickly. Alright, it's fine, there's no hurry... He took a few deep breaths, then tried to stand again, putting a hand on his nightstand to brace himself as he put the weight on his leg again. “Okay, so at least I'm standing now...” He murmured as he started to limp towards the closet. Once there he leaned against the wall and looked over his available clothing. His usual layered anchor shirt needed to be washed… and to have the sleeve stitched up… He supposed he’d wear his part-time pirate, and a pair of baggy pants he hadn’t worn in forever, that was bound to be much easier to put on than a pair of jeans, or worse… He just remembered to grab a pair of socks as well before staggering back to his bed and sitting down. Thank Judd that was over, now he could take a bit of a break before changing clothes. Oh, Jill’d messaged him again while he was picking out clothes.

J:... T, how many of th messages did u read from after u stoped rplying yetsrday?

T: um.. I ddn’t rly

T: y?

J: You may want to look again.

T: ok?

Toda frowned a little, starting to pull up the group chat. He hadn't remembered receiving a notification for one after that, though he'd had no signal just before Oz came, and his phone had been muted too--

S: Toda!

S: No

S: answer!

S: Toda Pleaes

S: Toda pleas eanswer

S: I love you

He stopped, eyes settling on the message at the bottom of the chat. "Oh." He said aloud. A blush crept up his face, his stomach butterflies seemed to wake up and promptly triple in number; some of them made their way into his chest, making it feel lighter. "Oh." He repeated, his voice a little softer this time. He couldn't seem to come up with anything else to say.

He sort of lay back for a second, staring up at the ceiling. So.. so his feelings weren't unrequited. They liked him too, loved him too. He actually started to smile, feeling some of the worry that had been sitting with him the last couple of days ebbing away. He should call them and... wait. Should he just call them and tell them? What exactly would he say? Was now even a good time? Maybe in person would be better... but that might not be for a while; he didn't know if they were going to be up to coming to the plaza today... probably not... or would it be better to let them bring it up first? He rubbed his forehead, feeling a few knots starting to mix in with the butterflies, though these were slightly different knots than before.

He realized that Jill was probably waiting for an answer, so he picked up his phone and started to bring up their 1-on-1 chat, when it... occurred to him that Simon had confessed in their group chat room. He grimaced a little, feeling his blush become darker. Oops... He brought up Jill's messages, but the only thing he could think of to say was still just:

T: oh

J: Im sosorry this wa snone of my busniess Ishount ave sad anythung imsosorry i wish idneevr seeniut Ijsut fiue

J:ds thatsome ofs waht s isupsetbout i can hear thm pacing abd i got curios and

T: nonoonno

T: its fin

T: rel yit sok

T: wai

T: r they ok?

J: Im right below their room

J: Theyre pacing more than usual

J: I think... they thought you knew they said that.

T: oh

T: no, i hdant sen it til now

T: m phon was mutde

T: nd teh siganl wsa rell bad ther

A short pause.

J: Do u like them back?

T: yeah, i do

T: I really do

J: Oh thank goodness...

Toda smiled a little, taking a deep breath and trying to get the blushing under control… Simon had been a little awkward after they’d found him… was this why? They thought he’d seen the message?

J: Theyre pacing faster D:

J: MayB when u come over u should talk 2 them

J: or @ lest try.

T: yah...

T: wold tey b up 2 tha tday?

J: MayB

J: Probably just thruogh the door tho

T: ok...

J: @ this point u stand a beter chance than me...

T: oh...?

J: We... havnt been connecting as well snce... the stuff happned.

T: oh...

Toda felt more knots, of a different kind. This wasn’t good…

J: Theyre so distant from me now.

J: Its hard...

J: Sometimes I wonder if... he said something 2 them...

T: ... yeah... its posibl...

J: I wish I could help thm

J: But our encounters r so... the complt opposte.

T: yeah...

J: sryy 4 droppin heavy stuff....

T: its ok

T: i dont mnid

J: are u sure?

T: im sure

T: :3

J: if u say so...

Toda waited a moment, then sighed and began to change his clothes. Part of him wanted to stay at home, his leg hurt so much, but he had to go to the plaza anyway to meet with the squid sisters, so he didn’t really have a choice either way. He’d just have to take some pain medication and hope for the best. And have breakfast, if there was one thing he was fairly sure he’d never do again, it was take food for granted.

He stood up on wobbly legs and straightened his clothes, then slipped his phone into his pocket and limped toward his bedroom door. He paused with his hand over the knob, casting a glance at his Splattershot Jr. and ink tank. Nope, not going to take any chances today. He grunted and bent down to pick them up, and fastened them on before finally heading out of his room and going to get ready for the day.

Bato awoke that morning to the sound of rain tapping on glass, his room dimly tinted gray from the dappled light coming in through his window. He yawned and sat up, looking toward his bed, where he saw Hachi already awake and watching the raindrops glide down the windowpane. "Morning." He greeted, voice still a little heavy from drowsiness.

Hachi gave him a quick glance, but then looked back out the window.

He fell silent, watching the rain as well. It was awfully calming, he had to admit. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“… Meh...” She croaked after a moment’s pause.

"Looks like it might be a while before we can leave for the plaza." He continued.

Hachi nodded.

“… How long have you been up?” He asked.

She tried to speak again, but just started to cough, deeply and painfully.

He grimaced a bit. "Do you want something to drink?" He asked her.

She nodded, rubbing her throat.

He nodded as well, then stretched and groaned, feeling a bit of pain from where Hachi’s kick had bruised, then got up to get her a cup of water. As he did, he wondered how well Toda was going to be able to watch her with his hurt leg. He could always offer to help, he supposed. And if Toda didn’t let him help, he reassured himself that he was in the same building, so he could respond quickly if something went wrong. He walked back into his room, holding out the glass of water. “Here you go.”

Hachi gave a small nod, then took the glass and took large gulps of water. When she’d finished drinking, she cleared her throat. “Testing… Okay… So what things aren't going to go according to plan with you today?" She asked, voice still a bit rough.

He chuckled. "I think right now all we have planned is to go check in with the Agents at the plaza... I guess anything else will depend on how everyone's feeling. And the weather."

She paused. "... I'm... actually hungry this morning."

"Well, that's good." He said with a nod. "It sounds like both my parents left early this morning, likely to get to work before it started raining, so... There's leftovers we can heat up again, or I could look at making something quick."

"... You have any more oranges?" She asked quietly.

"Yup." He replied. "Stepmom got quite a few the other day."

She nodded. "One of those."

"Alright... hm..." He thought for a moment. "There's still some casserole left... or... I wonder if there's still any pancake mix left, that wouldn't take too long..."

"I'm not having dinner again." She clarified.

"Okay then, that's fine." He said with a small shrug. “Do you think you’ll be able to walk by yourself today?”

“We’ll see.” She grunted, then swung her feet off the bed and stood. “… Looks like we’re okay.”

Bato nodded. “Good. Come on, let’s get some breakfast.” He turned and lead the way down the hall and into the dining room, pulling out a chair for her to sit in. “Go ahead and sit while I get you that orange.” He said, then stepped into the kitchen. As he was opening up the fridge, he got a text from Jill. He began to text her intermittently as he peeled the oranges.

J: B is it raining @ ur house 2?

B: Yup. Might be a while before we can get over there.

J: k

J: just curious.

J: hows 8?

B: She has a bit more of an appetite this morning, so that's a good sign.

J: Oh good

J: She stil fevery?

J: oh man she went through yestrday w a fever course she was so upset

B: I think she's over the fever now

B: Yeah...

J: U think u got it?

B: Not that I can tell

B: And it has been a few days now...

J: Well im not feelin it yet ethir

J: ima have 2 ask T

J: mayB its just an octo thing

B: Maybe

Bato separated the orange slices and put them on a plate, bringing them out to the dining table and setting them in front of Hachi before stepping back into the kitchen. He opened up one of the cupboards and sure enough, there was a box of pancake mix at the top. He brought it down and got ready to start cooking.

J: I realy hope we dnt get it

J: if only 4 S's sake

B: Same here

J: Did ur moms let 8 stay or did u have 2 sneak her in?

J: just curious

B: They let her stay

B: I had to do some pretty fast talking though

J: wh@ did u have 2 tell them?

B: Mostly just reassurances that nothing serious was up

B: I think SMom was starting to think that she was in trouble with the law or something

J: Well....

J: I mean shes probly not WRONG

B: Yeah, probably not

J: I hope theres a rainbow 2day

J: th@ would b cool

B: Yeah, that would b cool

J: U think 8's ever seen a rainbow?

Bato had to consider that for a moment.

B: Hm... I don't know actually

J: MayB u should ask her

J: but if she doesnt kno just leave it a surprise

B: I might do that.

J: :D

After that, Bato began to pour pancake batter onto the griddle and didn’t check his phone any further. He figured that at least if Hachi had seen a rainbow before, that wasn’t what they called it, since she didn’t know what rain was. Then again, that lingual quirk could have survived, he theorized. Language was interesting… Where had words even started in the first place? Probably the word ‘Mom’, it was easy to say, and it had such an important meaning. He’d know, he had two.

He put the pancakes onto a serving plate and turned off the burner, then went back into the dining room. "They're ready--" He broke off, realizing that Hachi was absent from her chair. He quietly cursed and slammed the plate down onto the table, then jogged to the front door. Who knew how far away she could be by now, he should have paid more attention to her, he should have--

The sound of a toilet flushing broke into his thoughts and he froze on the spot. Oh. She’d just gone to the bathroom. He sighed in relief and headed back to the kitchen, getting out another plate and some silverware, then went back into the dining room and started setting up while Hachi came back and sat down.

“Great, more forks.” She muttered.

Bato chuckled a little, turning to head back into the kitchen. "It'll be easier than last night, trust me."

“I don’t think that’s a mistake we’re going to make again.” She replied.

He huffed, then went to the fridge and got out some syrup and butter, setting them down on the table and then sitting down himself. “Alright, so these are pancakes.” He explained. “You eat them like the… um… the breakfast from the other day.”

Hachi’s nose wrinkled in disgust, and her tentacles curled up a little.

“--That is, you put butter and syrup on them to flavor them.” He continued. “Go ahead, try some.” He pushed the bottle of syrup toward her.

Hachi paused, then picked up the bottle and flicked open the cap. She sniffed it, looking a little weirded out. She poured a little on her plate and then licked some off her finger, immediately recoiling.

“Not a fan?” Bato asked.

"Why do you make everything so sweet?" She asked. "Eeegh..."

He couldn't help chuckling a little. "It's what we like, I guess." He said with a shrug, taking the bottle and drizzling some on top of his own pancakes. "You don't have to put any on if you don't want it."

Hachi hesitated, then cut off a bit of butter with her knife and then tried that, face scrunching up again.

“We don’t usually eat butter all by itself.” Bato explained. “Try putting some on a little bit of pancake and let it melt in first." He suggested.

She raised an eyebrow at him and then cut off another piece of butter, dropping it onto her stack of pancakes. She attempted to spread it, but ended up just tearing it while scowling in frustration.

"Let it melt a little first." He advised.

She sighed. “I hate that I can’t go a single meal up here without instruction...”

He paused. “It’ll get better.” As she tried to spread the butter, he dug into his own pancakes, nice, light, and fluffy. They weren’t quite as good as they could be, this box was a little old, but it was still just what he needed this morning. He glanced at Hachi as she finally got a piece of pancake into her mouth. “Well, what do you think?”

“… It’s okay.” She said.

“Not an orange, huh?” He asked.

“Nope.” She agreed.

He nodded and went back to cutting up his pancake. “So, I think I’m going to bring the backpack with me today, just in case you can’t handle walking.”

“Keep running to a minimum.” She snapped.

He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

She nodded. "I've never thrown up while transformed and I don't want to find out how it works."

He grimaced. "Yeeeah, I can't imagine that would be pleasant."

Hachi paused. "...I say that and then I get curious, but I still don't want to know. especially not in a bag."

He couldn't help chuckling a little bit, but then nodded. "I'll try my best; hopefully we won't have a reason to run anywhere today anyway."

She. "And hopefully I can walk."

"Hopefully." He agreed, taking another bite of pancake.

They ate quietly for a while, until Hachi sighed glumly.

"... You doing alright?" Bato asked.

She shrugged. "I still hurt inside and out, and whatever these things are made of its weird."

Not knowing how to reply, he just nodded.

She paused. "Are these things made with the same thing as the sandwich?"

He nodded. "It's not quite the same, but they're both basically bread."

"Hm... is it plant?" She asked curiously. "Because it doesn't taste like meat."

"It's made with flour, which is ground-up wheat, which is a plant." He replied. "It's basically made by making a dough out of flour, water, yeast, and other things depending on the sort of bread you're making, and then baking it."

“Flour? Oh! I heard of that!” Hachi said. “I think more high up people get to have and use that… But… I thought it was made from grain?”

He blinked. “Well, wheat is a grain.”

“No no no, grain!” She said. “Little white bits about this big.” She gestured with her fingers.

He frowned a little in thought. Why did that sound familiar…? “Oh! We call that rice!” He said, finally making the connection. “Rice flour is a little bit different than wheat flour. Bao is made with rice flour, actually.”

Hachi nodded a little. “… I’ve been missing out on stuff like this all this time...”

Bato gave a huff, only a little amused. He got a text and realized he’d left Jill hanging, pulling out his phone. Though, it wasn’t Jill, it was Toda.

T: u 2 bout redy?

T: rains stppd

"It's from Toda." He said. "He's wondering if we're ready to go."

“I need some water.” Hachi said. “Then I’ll be ready to go.”

He nodded.

B: Yeah, give us about 10 minutes T: k T: tahts probly hw lng itll tke me 2 gt 2 teh elvator nyway :P

Bato and Toda are Knitter’s characters

Hachi, Jill, and Simon are Shuckle’s characters.

Splatoon belongs to Nintendo.

Please consider liking or reblogging if you enjoyed, it’s nice to know we’re doing things right.

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#Better Eight Than Never #Splatoon #fanfic #Splatoon fanfiction #SS Simon #SS Jill #SS Toda #SS Bato #Octo Hachi

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