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ask-the-becile-boys · 3 months

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Fic: Piano Lessons (Crosspost)

Word Count: 3501

Summary:

It’s 1918, and a young Hare has been sent to teach piano to Ignatius Becile, his maker’s oldest estranged son. But Ignatius is thirteen, full of that age’s anger and desperation, and in Hare he sees an opportunity to impress the father he’s never met.

With thanks to BlueSpine for the prompt and some ideas, and to Dionysus for helping break my writer's block!

　　1918.

　　“So, you and Pops was pen pals?” Hare asked.

　　The Widow Becile’s lips twitched up in a faint smile. “He’d never call it such. But yes, we initially traded correspondence while he was incarcerated. His letters were dictated, of course, due to his injuries.”

　　The Widow Becile was not, in truth, a widow. Thadeus Becile was still very much alive; Hare had seen him just that morning. But notoriety made waves, and the Widow was a quiet woman.

　　Hare didn’t know anything about Delilah Morreo beside her name, and he couldn’t have started to guess why Pops had liked her so much. But he could see why Pops liked this woman enough to marry her on the sly: she was smart, distant, and her eyes were cunning as knives, just like him.

　　Why they’d had two kids together, and what strings they had pulled to make the first one happen while Pops was still behind bars, Hare didn’t dare ask.

　　They sat in the Widow’s garden at a little tea table with a glass top. The two-story townhouse it surrounded was painted pale yellow, with little patches of decorative ivy crawling up the sides. The flowers were bountiful and the bushes long in the tooth, and Hare watched white butterflies dance above the leaves. It was small compared to the Becile Estate where Hare lived, but it was just as silent, like a painting no one could touch.

　　Hare, the Widow, and the baby Norman had been sitting there for half an hour, he judged by the church bells. Hare tried to be polite as he could be for the lady as she patiently grilled him with question after question, Norman sleeping silently in her arms. How old was Hare? Just over a year, ma’am. (That made him about a year younger than Norman.) How long had he played piano? Most of his life. Did he enjoy playing? Oh, yeah, loved it. Loved performing, too. She should come see, sometime. Was he good? Well, he liked to think so.

　　Good. The house was too quiet for a boy Ignatius’ age, a hale thirteen. He needed something to do with his hands beside tinkering.

　　The wooden gate clattered close behind a row of bushes nearby. Hare turned in his seat, already watching the space when Ignatius came around the corner. The boy was halfway into his growth spurt, a little lanky but not yet tall, features starting to sharpen under his short curls and large glasses. His school uniform was clean, if slightly wrinkled, but the bulging backpack over his shoulder was well-loved. Ignatius pulled up short, seeing Hare, and his face flashed darkly for a second before dissolving into a carefully practiced blank.

　　If the Widow had caught the piercing look, she didn’t react. “Ignatius, welcome home. You remember I asked your father to send one of his robots to teach you the piano. This one is named Hare.”

　　“Pleasure’s all mine, kid,” Hare said affably, standing.

　　Ignatius nodded slowly. There was a second-too-long pause before he said, “Nice to meet you.”

　　Oh boy, Hare thought. Hare might have been young, but he had a knack for reading people, and this boy was simmering.

　　“Go drop off your school books and change your clothes,” The Widow Becile said to Ignatius calmly. “You may have a moment to breathe while I show Hare the piano.”

　　The new stand-up had been placed in the parlor next to a large window, angled perpendicular to the wall. Hare had stuffed his vents with filters to minimize his dark smoke, not wanting to pollute what he’d correctly assumed to be a lovely residence, but he was relieved to see the window all the same. He swung the frames outward and sat down on the piano bench, lifting the fallboard and casting his green eyes over the keys. The ivory was as white as clouds and shone in a way Hare had never seen on another instrument. He tentatively pressed middle C and smiled at the bright tone. Giddy at the opportunity, Hare set his hands on the keys and began to play ragtime, improvising a riff. He almost didn’t hear the floorboards behind him creak.

　　“Mother won’t be happy if you teach me that music,” Ignatius drawled. Hare turned to see him standing in the doorway, arms folded, head slightly cocked to the side as he regarded Hare through his glasses. “She says ragtime and jazz are for scoundrels.”

　　Hare paused, then lifted a brow. “Yeah? And what do you think?”

　　“I think it’s a glaring over-generalization, and I don’t see how music could predicate moral fiber,” Ignatius said. “After all, Mother says my father prefers classical music, and he’s a bastard.”

　　Hare whistled an impressed, sliding note. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Hare said, readying himself to spar.

　　“Of course I do. If she doesn’t know I swear, she can’t know the difference,” Ignatius said, walking into the room. ��All the same, I’m not interested in offending her over something so trivial, so you’d best stick to teaching me the classics.”

　　“Is that what you’re interested in?” Hare asked. “’Cause I was gonna teach you theory, first, unless all you want is to play by rote.”

　　That gave Ignatius a moment of pause. “Theory? Like science?”

　　“You could spin it that way,” Hare said.

　　“I’m surprised you know that much,” Ignatius said frankly. “Were you programmed to know it?”

　　“Nope. But I got better recall than most humans. Makes learning patterns real easy.” Hare scooted over on the bench and nodded toward the empty space next to him. Ignatius grimaced slightly, hesitating, before he sat down.

　　Ignatius was a quick study when it came to principles, and Hare could see the growing wear and tear on the study books he lent the boy, but he got frustrated when his muscle memory couldn’t keep up. Hare came back twice a week, and he tried to be friendly, tried to be encouraging. But Ignatius kept him at arms length, his gaze always calculating when he looked Hare in the eye. Occasionally Norman would toddle into the room and watch them, ever silent, often chewing on his thumb or a part of his shirt. Ignatius would pointedly ignore him.

　　“This one’s a Hare Becile original,” Hare said, placing a few sheaves of sheet music on the stand. The notes were written in sharp, inky scratches. “I made the arrangement easier than the way I play it, but the melody line’s the same.”

　　Ignatius looked the papers over, his lips slightly moving as he worked through the solfège and rhythm. He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to dumb your music down for me,” he said bluntly.

　　“Ain’t ‘dumbing down,’ Ig’, it’s adapting,” Hare said.

　　“How do you play it?” Ignatius challenged.

　　Hare rolled his head to the side in a feigned stretch, smirked, and started playing. It was a dark sound, minor and slick, with high trills and a low, continuous rumble. His hands flashed across the keys, jumping between octaves, and when it was over, Ignatius was wide-eyed and silent.

　　“How am I supposed to catch up to you?” Ignatius eventually blurted out. “I’ll never be able to play like that!”

　　“What, giving up before you’ve tried?” Hare asked. “That ain’t the Becile way.”

　　Ignatius shot him a pointed look. “You’d know better than me,” he grumbled. “But what’s the point if you’re always going to be second best?”

　　Hare thought for a moment. “You enjoy being alive?”

　　“Of course,” Ignatius said moodily.

　　“You ever feel more alive than usual? Even in a bad way?” Hare laid a hand gently on the piano keys. “That’s the point. Your ‘best’ isn’t about being better than someone else, it’s about the ride.”

　　“You say that,” Ignatius said slowly. “What about Walter’s band of robots?”

　　Hare stiffened up. “What about them?”

　　“My father made you to compete with them, didn’t he? I saw them at the World’s Fair. It doesn’t take a genius to see the connection.”

　　Hare felt the fire in his chest burning hotter. He hadn’t seen Rabbit for most of a year-- not since her conscription into the war overseas. For all he knew, she’d never return. Maybe if she didn’t, their rivalry would stop haunting him-- but then he kicked himself. Wishing for Rabbit’s destruction was a step too far. “Look, that’s… complicated. More complicated than I wanna talk about. You don’t got that problem.”

　　“Don’t I?” Ignatius muttered.

　　“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hare asked.

　　“Forget it. Let me hear the simplified arrangement so I can get started practicing.”

　　“Piano’s getting out of tune,” Hare said a few weeks later.

　　Ignatius quirked an eyebrow and stopped playing. “It sounds fine to me.”

　　“It ain’t by much, but it’s there, in the low notes.” Hare looked out the window that was directly to the piano’s left. “It’s probably from the weather.”

　　“Well, we have to keep it open for you during lessons,” Ignatius said. “I don’t want to choke.”

　　“This may be a shock, Ig’, but the temperature around windows is always a bit more like the other side,” Hare said. “Even when the pane’s closed.”

　　“Can you even feel temperature?” Ignatius asked.

　　Hare blinked. “No. I just… know that.”

　　Ignatius rolled his eyes. “Fine. Do you want me to stop playing?” he asked, lifting his hands from the keys.

　　Hare hummed thoughtfully. “Well, now I gotta think. I don’t want you getting used to an off tune. But if you can’t hear the difference yet, it shouldn’t matter. It’s gonna drive me batty, though.” Hare performatively stuck his pinky finger in his ear, as if trying to shake out a bout of tinnitus. “Course, it really comes down to your mother paying for a tune up.”

　　Ignatius was quiet as Hare talked. His eyes followed Hare’s hand as he lowered it from his head.

　　“Hey,” Ignatius said. “Could you take off your gloves? I want to see how your hands work.”

　　Hare startled at the request. “Uh, sure, I guess,” he said. He peeled his gloves off gingerly. He never touched a piano without them on; his fingertips were too thin to hit the keys correctly and so sharp as to leave scratches. “Mind the blades.”

　　Ignatius seized his right hand first, turning it this way and that. “You don’t have a lot of plating here,” he observed. “The mechanics are exposed in places, like you’ve been flayed. Fascinating.”

　　“Flayed? Gross,” Hare said. “They’re just like that so’s they’re easier to fix.”

　　“And the gloves act as sheathes,” Ignatius mumbled. He ran an index finger along the length of one of the blade edges, then pulled back with a hiss, blood blossoming on his fingertip.

　　Hare jerked his hand away, head starting to swim in an unfamiliar way at the sight of the blood. “I told ya’!” he said, standing. “Criminy, you know where the bandages are? Kitchen? Bathroom?”

　　“Kitchen. But it’s barely a papercut,” Ignatius grumbled.

　　“Don’t care, we’re patching it up anyway.” Hare stuffed his hands back into his gloves and headed for the kitchen. “I ain’t going back to Pops to tell him you got lockjaw ‘cause of me.”

　　Hare didn’t reply when, as he stepped out of the room, he heard Ignatius quietly say, “Like he’d care.”

　　Things continued in their passable way for a few months. Ignatius’ playing improved steadily, if not quickly. He even guardedly asked for pointers on composing his own music, scrawling out fragments on scrap paper and collecting them in a folder. Hare thought they were making progress, and he didn’t think much of the occasional times Ignatius asked to look at his hands.

　　Then the Widow was invited to see Pops.

　　Ignatius’ face was dark as storm clouds as Hare helped the Widow into her coat. He sat at the piano, chewing his lower lip, glowering at the sheet music in front of him.

　　“Watch your brother, Ignatius,” the Widow said over her shoulder to his back. “If there’s any problems, the neighbors are home.” Only Hare caught the slow turn of Ignatius’ head, how he stared at her with one eye.

　　Hare offered the Widow his arm as they left the house, and she took it. He tried to keep her talking as they walked to the streetcar, hoping it would be enough to distract her from Ignatius following them. All things considered, the kid was stealthier than Hare expected, but he chose amateur hiding spots. Hare guided the Widow to a seat on the streetcar so that she faced away from the way they’d come, and he thought they lost Ignatius there.

　　They met The Skull at the gates of the Becile Estate. He doffed his hat for the Widow, muttering a quiet, “Ma’am.” He then led them up the remnants of the gravel trail to the house, pausing to take the Widow’s coat and hat at the door, and through the halls to Pops’ study.

　　After the door to the study clicked close behind the Widow, Hare grabbed The Skull’s arm and started pulling him down the hallway. “Listen, Skulls, we gotta do a sweep. Their oldest kid, the one I’ve been teaching piano, he was following us part of the way.” Hare said quickly. “I don’t know if he caught the next trolley after us, but Pops’ll have our hides if the kid shows up uninvited.”

　　The Skull nodded, and they split ways at the parlor. Hare searched one wing of the house, while The Skull searched the other. Hare could hear The Jack practicing his violin in the basement as he passed by the stairs, and he decided not to get him involved.

　　A muffled shout caught Hare’s attention. He ran to the noise to find The Skull holding a struggling Ignatius by the open kitchen window, some of the clutter from the counter knocked onto the floor around their feet. Ignatius, seeing Hare, slowed his flailing and sullenly glared at him from under his brows. He wore his ragged backpack, the straps barely hanging onto his shoulders after his fight against capture.

　　“What’s a’ matter with you? You hate your old man,” Hare said in a hushed tone. “Your mom’s gonna rake you over the coals for leaving Norman alone.”

　　“I locked him in his crib,” Ignatius said. “He won’t get out before I get back.”

　　Hare shook his head. “Cripes, kid. You gotta know Pops won’t see you.”

　　“Exactly,” Ignatius said vehemently. “I want to know why.”

　　“Ig’, we live with the guy, and we don’t know why he does half the things he does,” Hare said. “He don’t take kindly to questions and takes even less to surprises. You gotta scram.”

　　“Like hell,” Ignatius snarled. “You don’t get it. You’re just a machine. Why did he even make you? Why did he give mother Norman when he refuses to speak to me? What am I here for?!”

　　Hare stared at Ignatius for a moment, then traded looks with The Skull, before sighing, allowing a cloud of dark smoke to pass his vents. “Pops might not want you around, but your mother does. Sometimes, that’s gotta be enough.”

　　“Well, it’s not! Let go of me!” Ignatius demanded, eyes wet. “I’m going to get answers!”

　　Hare shook his head. “You got two choices-- you go home with dignity, or we carry you back like a sack of screaming potatoes. Look, I’m sorry. I know it ain’t fair.”

　　Ignatius inhaled, meaning to shriek, only for The Skull to clamp a hand over his mouth. The Skull gave Hare a confused look, obviously uncomfortable using force on a child, but held him tight regardless.

　　“What do we do?” The Skull asked Hare.

　　Hare ground his teeth as he thought. “We gotta get him outta the house. I don’t wanna gag him, but if we’re gonna carry him--”

　　“That will be unnecessary.”

　　The three froze as Pops walked into the room. The Widow hovered in the doorway behind him, looking at Ignatius with disappointment.

　　“The Skull, release him,” Pops said flatly.

　　The Skull obeyed, and Ignatius took a teetering step forward, regaining his balance, eyes locked on Pops.

　　Hare winced and said, “We tried to take care of things. Figured you wouldn’t want your visit interrupted. We can take him home--”

　　“You will.” Pops regarded Ignatius with all the passivity of a wall. “But first, I intend to reduce his reasons to invade my home a second time.”

　　Ignatius, his mouth a thin line, unslung his backpack and darted a hand into it. Without a word, he pulled a contraption out of the bag, its parts clicking against each other as he held it out for Pops to see. “I made this,” Ignatius said flatly.

　　Hare stared at the thing, not immediately comprehending what he was looking at. Then the bottom dropped out of his furnace, and he felt impossibly sick

　　Ignatius was holding a replica of Hare’s hand.

　　Pops’ brow lifted a fraction, and he held out his own metal-encased palm to take the replica. Ignatius shuffled forward a few steps and passed it over, watching Pops closely as he examined the construction.

　　“Where did you get the parts for this?” Pops asked Ignatius, testing the range of motion of a finger.

　　Ignatius hesitated for a second, avoiding his mother’s gaze, before saying, “Junkyards. Scrap metal and broken toys. A few pocket knives.”

　　“And you made this to impress me?”

　　“No.” Ignatius straightened up proudly. “I made it to prove that I could.”

　　Hare wished he could melt into the floor tiles. The Skull was avoiding looking at him, his hands nervously clenching.

　　“I see,” Pops said. He gave the replica back to Ignatius. “I’m loathe to reward you for breaking in. But I suppose if you’re going to pursue mechanical engineering under the Becile name, I would rather oversee your development. You’re old enough now to not be a nuisance.” Pops looked down at Ignatius through his glasses. “I’ll discuss a schedule with your mother. Bare in mind that you’re starting on thin ice. You will not enter this house again without my permission. Understood?”

　　“Yes,” Ignatius breathed. He glanced at Hare and grinned. Hare did not grin back.

　　The Widow cleared her throat. “I’m not exactly opposed,” she said. “But if it’s all the same, I’d like him to continue his piano lessons as well.”

　　Hare frowned and folded his arms, tucking his hands out of view. Before he could protest, Pops spoke again.

　　“There may not be time. But we shall see.” Pops looked at The Skull, who snapped to attention. “The Skull, get my guest’s coat for her. You’ll escort her and Ignatius to the streetcar.”

　　“Yes, sir,” The Skull said. He barely glanced at Hare as he swiftly left the room.

　　The Widow held out her hand to Ignatius, who slowly passed Pops to go to her. They followed The Skull, leaving Pops and Hare alone.

　　“You disapprove,” Pops said.

　　“Am I weird for feeling weird about it?” Hare asked, a note of pleading in his voice. “He didn’t tell me he was doing it. He didn’t ask. He just copied me like, like a thing, like a piece of homework.”

　　“Hare, you are a thing,” Pops said.

　　“Yeah,” Hare’s voice faded to a whisper as he looked at the ground. “But he don’t gotta treat me like one.”

　　Pops shrugged. “In any case, I expect you to continue to be respectful. Keep your reservations to yourself, and if time allows for your piano training, challenge him.”

　　Hare narrowed his eyes. “… You got it, Pops.”

　　Over the next four years, Hare and Ignatius’s lessons became more ever more sporadic. Hare never shook the feeling of violation, and while he was not a cruel teacher, he wasn’t proud of the spitefulness that churned in his chest when he was cool in the face of Ignatius’ improvement. It was only when Ignatius formally ended their lessons and Hare felt a wave of relief that he realized just how long he’d held the grudge.

　　Ignatius seemed to thrive under pressure-- at first. He devoured the books on engineering Pops assigned him, kept his grades up in school, learned to dance his skilled fingers across the ivories. He was hard-working, prodigious. As far as talent went, he was everything a man could hope for in an heir.

　　At seventeen, he broke.

　　Hare could hear Ignatius screaming from the other side of the manor, though the words weren’t clear. When The Jack and The Skull started to stand up from their game of cards, he shook his head.

　　“You guys really wanna get between those two?” he said quietly.

　　The Jack and The Skull traded looks, and they awkwardly sat back down.

　　“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Hare muttered. He looked at his hand for a moment, balled it into a fist. “Let him burn his bridges.

　　“I never liked how he looked at me, anyway.”

#becile bots #steam powered giraffe #steam powered giraffe fanfiction #hare becile #ignatius becile #thadeus becile #the skull becile #canon fic #the widow becile #piano lessons #fanfiction #bonus update

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rabbitenn · 7 months

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MATCHUP FOR @al-is-my-pal

hello, hun, and thank you very much for requesting ! your info is super detailed, so thank you for that too, it helped me determine your best match <3 (you seem like a v cool person btw !)

anyway, i really hope this is to your liking and i apologize that it took me a while to be able to get to it !

your idolish7 match is someone who encompasses the bubbly side you show when you’re with your loved ones. similarly to you, he really is a people’s person, wanting to know more about his friends and become closer to them. he is a romantic at heart, and he’s not shy to show it, which means he, like you, often expresses the beauty he finds in the mundane. he is someone who knows what it feels like growing up with not many close friends too, thus he loves fiercely and kindly.

so? do you already have an idea of who i’m talking about? hehe ~ come along, friend, he seems to have a confession to make…

♡ ROKUYA NAGI

Okay, so, I do genuinely believe Nagi is a really good match for you. You mention you struggle with social anxiety and your confidence, and honestly? There’s few people better than Nagi at making others feel appreciated and confident about themselves.

Don’t be fooled by his flashy exterior, because Nagi definitely understands emotions deeply. So when you’re overthinking and mulling things over, he notices right away. With a gentle tone, it is not uncommon for him to take your hands in his, deep sapphire eyes full of reassurance as he prompts you to lean on him.

Nagi also would be amazing at helping you get out of your shell more. His charm is truly magnetic, making you feel like you’re stepping into a magical world every time he encourages you to go out with him to try something new. How could you ever say no to his alluring winks, huh?

In terms of hobbies and interests, you two are pretty similar as well.

And isn’t it nice, to spend the evenings cuddled together, watching anime, while you work on your drawings and his arms are wrapped around you?

—

To anyone else, the bright and sparkly pinks of his room might come off as gaudy.

To you, however, they meant peace. A warm kind of calmness, where worries tended to melt away.

Your boyfriend’s tv is on, the ads previous to the show you await, nothing but white noise as your back rests against his chest.

Tablet in hand, you keep adding new shades to your masterpiece, roses and golds merging beautifully, an interlude of spring and summer on your fingertips.

Nagi’s chin rests on your shoulder, his arms circling your waist comfortably, sky hued gaze mesmerized by the movements of your pen.

“Is that Cocona, my girl?” He asks, tender smile on his lips.

You chuckle, hand still expertly adding color to your artwork.

“You always catch on quick when it comes to Cocona, don’t you?” You tease, tilting your face slightly to meet his gaze.

For a few seconds, you feel as if you had been put under his spell. You had always found him unarguably stunning, but something about seeing your boyfriend so at ease right now causes a million golden butterflies to spread their wings in your stomach, a comforting caress to your heart, as they flutter warmly.

You don’t know if he reminds you of distant gilded stars upon snowy skies or of the summer sun sometimes, but you’re completely entranced by his princely features as he smiles.

His lashes flutter closed for an instant, then:

“Well, she is my second favorite, after all.” He says, a knowing glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Your second favorite? Nagi?” You let out a laugh. “Since when isn’t Cocona your number one?” You question, disbelieving, as you set your drawing supplies aside. “Has a new anime character stolen her spotlight?” You gasp, eager to know who your boyfriend’s talking about.

“Hmm… I wouldn’t say they’re from an anime, though I would certainly watch it if that were the case.” He smiles, expression soft.

“Then who is it? You’ve gotta tell me!” You beg of him, tugging on his sleeve, as you stand on your knees over the couch, excited.

He gives you one of his charismatic smiles, and you swear right now, no portrait you or anyone could ever paint would do Nagi justice.

“I’m looking at her right now.” Your lover announces, leaning a little forward.

Intently, you glance around his room, trying to discern which one of his non-Cocona figurines could be his most beloved.

However, an airy chuckle interrupts your actions.

“My dear, you won’t find her unless you look in a mirror.” The charming idol playfully says, tone brimming with affection, as his slender fingers cradle your cheek.

“Oh.” You breathe out. Heat rises to your cheeks, your chest, though it is not unwelcome.

He smiles sweetly, thumb tracing small circles over your cheekbone.

“That’s right, my darling.” He holds your chin in between his fingers, guiding your gaze to his, as if you weren’t already completely under the Northmarean prince’s charms. “You’re my favorite, always.”

Then, he leans in, hands cupping your face, taking you by surprise at first. A few moments pass, with his lips on yours, as you kiss him back. And even though this isn’t the first time, there was always something that felt like discovering a wrapped gift every time you kissed him.

Sweet and playful, tender, yet brimming with passion; to kiss Rokuya Nagi feels like making a wish upon the northern lights; so magical, laced in mystery despite all the brightness, luring you deeper into the firmament of all the love he holds for you.

By the time Cocona’s opening song starts playing on the tv, your lover’s lips are still on yours.

You have a few more instants, you both know that song by heart, after all.

—

You mention you have a soft and gentle energy, which, to be honest, matches Nagi’s quite well. Yes, he is extroverted, incredibly charming and has a flair for the dramatic, but he loves his friends (and especially you) more than anyone else. He’s always there for everyone, managing to shine a little light when they’re feeling down. That, of course, includes you. But in turn, your kind and considered nature would make him see that someone is really there for him in times of need. By your side, he feels like he can let himself speak about what’s burdening his mind.

In the matter of your more bubbly and silly side that you show when you’re with close friends, Nagi would really be the perfect person to make you embrace it more. He can be very silly himself sometimes (affectionate), so in the moments you’re together, it’s not rare for you to let yourself be more free.

Your willingness to listen to people and learn about them pairs well with Nagi’s demeanor as well. We all know he adores anime and will talk about it with anyone who is okay with listening. So, having chats about his favorites with you, where you’re actually listening to everything he rambles about means the world to him. The sparkles in his gaze and the grin on his lips truly are precious.

In terms of more hobbies of yours, you two have more than just your love for anime in common.

Your love for music and singing is something he shares too, and he’ll be so, so happy to sing songs with you! And if you teach him how to play cello? He falls in love with you even more, if that was possible.

He’d find it so endearing how you love stuffed animals as well, plus he’s totally into the princess, angelcore and soft aesthetics you like!

Also, I can definitely picture you too having tea and some sweet treats while you game together or watch anime.

Regarding what you look for in a s/o, Nagi pretty much meets all the requirements. He’s kindhearted, will listen to you, always, both to the good things and the bad ones; his bright demeanor is enough to make you feel warm, as if things will turn out for the better, the reassuring affectionate words he speaks, making you feel safe every time.

Focusing on your mbti type now, Nagi is an enfp, which can help you (isfj) to develop your creative, dreamy side more. In turn, you, as an isfj, could help him prioritize work when he has to (and sleep, because if you let him, he’d spend the night watching Magical Cocona /lh but /srs).

As a 9w1 enneagram, you’re hardworking and modest, and while still friendly, you know how to be serious when needed, which pairs well with 7w6 (Nagi’s enneagram type) more enthusiastic and adventurous nature (and it goes both ways, you both complement each other).

You, as a libra, are more reflexive, considering various sides and outcomes before acting, whereas gemini (Nagi’s sign) are good conversationalists, smart and with a bit of a dual nature. Both yours and his characteristics make for a pretty solid pairing.

Summing it up, you and Nagi would make a very sweet couple, in my opinion. Both your personalities would get along well together, additionally to him being what you say look for in a partner.

♡ RUNNER UP: IZUMI MITSUKI

Like with Nagi, Mitsuki fits everything you look for in a lover; he undoubtedly has a kind heart, and who wouldn’t feel comfortable next to a sunshine like him? He’s excitable and energetic, without it being overwhelming.

Mitsuki is another great candidate to help you get out of your comfort zone more too. He has a knack for encouraging others, so you feel at easy when you do something new and he’s by your side.

There are moments, however, when he can feel like he’s not enough, and it’s in these instances when he has you to lean on. You try to always be there for others, doing your best to make them happy. And the truth is Mitsuki’s smile is worth everything when he looks at you with tender eyes.

Mitsuki loves idols, especially zero, and since you’re studying music and are into singing, I can easily imagine you two doing karaoke or singing some of zero’s songs (since Mistu is a fan).

He finds your quiet passion and ability to see the beauty in everything very endearing and adorable. He’s so cute when he gets lost in you with a lovestruck smile hehe.

#idolish7 x reader #idolish7 #idolish7 imagines #idolish7 matchups #idolish7 hadcanons #idolish7 x you #ainana #idolish7 scenarios #ainana x reader #idolish7 x y/n #idolish7 fluff #rokuya nagi x reader #nagi x reader #izumi mitsuki x reader #rokuya nagi #izumi mitsuki #anime matchups #anime x reader #anime imagines

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atruththatyoudeny · 4 years

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Monthly Reads | October 2020

Happy 28th! I probably sound like a broken record already but I have to say it again: this fandom has an insane amount of talented writers! I am in awe! Every single one of you is my hero! ♥♥♥ Here are all the 23 fics I read and loved this month:

✧ Welcome to The Rivalry | 2tiedships2 | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - enemies to lovers - rivalry - college - 19k “Welcome home!” Niall yelled, clapping his hands in excitement. “Isn’t it great?” Louis looked between Niall and the house, unsure how to respond. “I don’t understand,” Louis finally managed to say. “Aren’t we a little old to be living so close to campus?” Niall scoffed. “You’re only twenty-four for fuck’s sake. There is still plenty of partying left for us to do. What better place than one street over from where a car was set on fire after the Michigan game last year?” “Is there proof of that? Did the car have Michigan plates or something? Is there a photo I can send in a DM to Wolfie?” As if on cue, a Twitter notification popped up on Louis’ Apple watch. He had tweeted again. Or a reverse You’ve Got Mail au inspired by the Ohio State/Michigan rivalry. Featuring duplex neighbors, (kind of) enemies to lovers, and an anonymous Twitter feud between omega Louis and alpha Harry.

✧ Back to Seventeen | crimsontheory | teacher - soccer coach - 26k As a first grade teacher in a small town in Illinois, Harry’s life is pretty simple. He loves his job, is close with his family, and has a best friend he would go to the ends of the earth for. When a new soccer coach starts at the local high school, things start to get a bit more exciting for Harry. Because that coach just happens to be Louis Tomlinson; the guy Harry was unrequitedly in love with in high school. Or the one where Louis moves back to his hometown and Harry realizes he’s still not over his high school crush.

✧ Sigh for Sigh | logogram | historical - a/b/o - regency - miscommunication - pining - marriage of convenience - 11k When his father's sudden illness forces Harry to get married in a hurry, he's delighted that Lord Louis Tomlinson is the one who makes him an offer. Being married to Louis is just as wonderful as he imagined, except for one thing-- they haven't mated yet. Or the one where they're both idiots, Harry's afraid to say what he's thinking, and Louis's just trying to be honorable.

✧ We Can Find a Place to Feel Good | yeah_alright | 1960s - High School - school dances - 8k 14-year-old Harry is ecstatic to finally be old enough to experience the time-honored tradition of school dances. But with each year that passes and each dance he attends, he’s realizing they’re not all he used to hope they’d be. Especially when he can't actually dance with the person he most wants to. Maybe he and Louis can figure out their own ways to keep dancing, anyway.

✧ At Risk, I Fold | clare328 | canon compliant - established relationship - angst - emotional hurt/comfort - miscommunication - anxiety - implied/referenced alcohol abuse - 15k 2015 is a stream of hotel rooms and whisky on the rocks, tired glances and touching hands under tables. It’s the bears and the bees under a rainbow sky, and Harry and Louis have to figure out how to grow up together, instead of apart.

✧ Carry These Feelings | LadyLondonderry | fae Á faires - established relationship - magic - 3k Harry is one of the fae, and has to return to Court once a year to please the Queen. He makes a detour on his way home to Louis. Two weeks and I'll be home.

✧ Hung Up High in the Gallery | lovelarry10 | friends to lovers - slow burn - pining - 14k "Louis, lay still!” Louis sighed loudly, and Harry watched his chest puff out as he inhaled deeply, the breath he let out loudly making Harry’s curls shift. “I am, stop being so fussy. Can I see yet?” “Nope,” Harry remarked, smiling to himself. “I’m doing your chest next. Shit, this is going to look so good, Lou. Your tan and these colours… why haven’t we done this before?” “Because we haven’t been this drunk in a while, and it never occurred to me until tonight?” ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ When Harry’s best friend, Louis, comes to support him at his art show, he decides they need to do some celebrating afterwards. How fast do the lines between friends and lovers get blurred ... or better, get painted?

✧ Love you in the dark | Perzikje | historical - wedding night - arranged marriage - dubious consent - 10k The story of a historical wedding night: in which Louis is quite unaware as to just how clueless his brand new husband is about sex. They try their best to figure it out together.

✧ Victorian Boy | audreyhheart | historical - victorian - royalty - enemies to friends to lovers - slow burn - angst - murder mystery - 101k Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

✧ the anticipation of knowing you | sweetrevenge | strangers to lovers - neighbors - light angst - 13k Hello Neighbor! Just wanted to let you know that you were having sex so loud and scarily I called our building manager and security officer because I thought you were hurt. P.S. I sent them away when I heard you yell ‘cock’. I’m sorry that I heard that, but I wanted you to know in case they stopped by to check on you or something. Sorry! Your neighbor Louis Tomlinson in apartment #306 After Louis overhears his next door neighbor having sex, he doesn’t really expect anything but awkward hallway encounters to come from it. Instead, he’s surprised to find himself in a whirlwind pen pal relationship with the sweet, albeit loud, baker next door.

✧ We'll Be All Right | dandelionfairies | married couple - accridents - 13k Harry is performing his one night only show in LA but there are four very important people missing.

✧ The Last Song of Your Life | reminiscingintherain | famous/not famous - Rays of Sunhsine - homophobia - 21k As Harry glanced around at all of the faces, he froze as a very familiar pair of blue eyes leapt out at him. A pair of eyes that he hadn’t seen since before the One Direction bomb exploded. A pair of eyes that he never expected to see again. ~~~~ or the famous/not famous AU, with first love, miscommunication, interfering bandmates, and adorable little sisters.

✧ Her | jaerie | a/b/o - trans character - transitioning - dysphoria - anxiety - quarantine - 7k The buttery swipe of a high quality lipstick was almost a sexual experience in and of itself. This time a deep colour with purple undertones which drew out the emphasis of long, dark lashes and perfectly contoured cheekbones. It was a look for loose and styled curls, feeling the classy formal nightclub vibes reflected back from the mirror. The silky plum coloured slip dress would be perfect to debut. The tags still needed to be cut free from the new garment that hung in the closet, but tonight was the night to set it free. When Harry gets home, she can finally be who she wants to be. Letting someone else in always feels like a distant daydream to her... until it suddently isn't.

✧ Loving You's the Antidote | lululawrence | Stylinshaw - a/b/o - touch deprivation - hospitalization - soulmates - polyamory - anxiety - friends to lovers - no smut - 11k Nick and Harry had never been an obvious match. When eighteen-year-old Harry, newly presented as an omega, came home freshly bonded to Nick, a man nine years his elder and a beta no less, Anne had been more than skeptical and Eileen had shared some harsh words of her own. That didn’t deter them, though, and their families soon realised there really was something special about the bondmates that allowed them to work together almost seamlessly. It was only a few months later that Harry started getting sick. Or the one where Harry and Nick have been able to keep Harry's disorder at bay over the course of their relationship, but when they move to London and away from their support system, they find themselves in desperate need of help.

✧ Like A Neon Sign | reminiscingintherain | canon compliant - mentions of death - fluff - 8k Harry had always been perfect to Louis, through every age, through every stage, and in all the important ways, he was proud to have been able to witness the growth that Harry had experienced first-hand.

✧ We Had Everything | lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes) | exes to lovers - getting back together - famous/not famous - 3k “You know Harry’s coming, yeah?” Louis’ fingers twitched, faltering where he was straightening the knot in his tie as he tried to ignore the false nonchalance in Zayn’s voice. He had no idea how he missed the name on the invite list, how he skipped over the initials on the small gifts, didn’t notice the elegant swirl of Harry’s name inked onto an emerald green place card. Or, Louis and Harry fell apart, and Louis' never forgiven himself. He gets a second chance at Zayn and Liam's wedding.

✧ True To Your Heart | reminiscingintherain | Mulan AU - a/b/o - 13k The world was at war with itself. In the small country of Enilenif, in a tiny, often overlooked corner of the world, young Alphas were quickly signing up to fight, desperate to protect their Omegas and their country as Aidem began to attack their borders. A few defiant Omegas tried to enlist as well, but were firmly turned away with disapproving looks by the staff in the office. Harry Styles was one such Omega, sighing heavily as he kicked at a small stone on his walk home.

✧ What the Water Gave Me | larryatendoftheday | fantasy - mermaids - long distance relationship - 29k When a mermaid crawls out of the sea to listen to Harry sing, it changes everything.

✧ it’s hard for me to go home | localopa | angst - breakup - getting back together - 5k don’t call me baby again

✧ The Prince and the Thief | jaerie | Fairy Tale - a/b/o - strangers to lovers - violence - kidnapping - threats of rape/non-con - 19k Harry is an omega prince locked in a tower and Louis is the thief sent to kidnap him. Nothing turns out as planned.

✧ Up On The Shore | wordsnnotes | Eroda AU - magic - epistolary - friends to lovers - childhood friends - emotional/psychological abuse - angst - long-distance relationship - domestic violence - 34k Magic has been outlawed on Eroda ever since President Cowell came into power, and all the magic people had to go live on the island of Stonell. Things are not looking good for Harry when he finds out he's a magician and his abilities seem more and more out of control. Thankfully, his best friend Niall's mother has the idea to put him in touch with Louis, a magician boy living on Stonell. They begin a secret correspondence and drama ensues. Or: Louis hides his feelings under sarcasm, Harry is too sweet for his own sake, everyone is a rebel, the mums are amazing, Harry's dad is a jerk, and I'm struggling to make it understandable without using normal narration.

✧ this town's just an ocean now | louistomlinsons | exes to lovers - friends to lovers - summer romance - miscommunication - childhood friends - light angst - fluff - 31k “I have really great friends. Do you remember Louis? You guys were always hanging out when you were growing up.” Harry remembers Louis. Harry remembers Louis. Suddenly, his throat feels way too dry, despite the ice cream he keeps licking at. He chokes a little on a chocolate chip before saying, “I, uh. I remember Louis.” Her face brightens. “We have dinner every Sunday. He owns the house now. His parents moved further north, and he wanted to stay here, so they just gave it over. Now if you want to worry about someone being lonely, that’s who I worry about.” inspired by watermelon sugar, featuring picnics on the beach and boys being dumb

✧ I Am the Blinking Light | dearmrsawyer | ghosts - shipwreck - 19k There is a legend of a lighthouse far out to sea. It can’t be found on any map, and those who do find it never return. They say a ghost haunts the lighthouse, and you can hear it calling out in loneliness on the ocean waves.

#28th appreciation #fic rec #my fic rec #monthly reads #completed fics #larry fics

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woppy-my-beloved · 3 years

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Aint that just the way that life goes down? Colonel Beckett x Amy Barrett

Original Plot: In 2015 Colonel Beckett Travels back in time to the year 2001 to stop a Plauge happening in 2009 by eliminating patiient Zero (Amy Barrett) and trades his life in for hers. Making sure the plauge never happens however he dies in the year 2001

Alternate Universe: Where Colonel Beckett survived and managed to go back to his own time. But the plauge never happend. TW: Mentions of Plauge/Global Pandemic/Drunk Driving

It was a rainy day, I slowly walk through the streets of New York while looking around I see all kinds of people hiding around me and children playing in puddles of water. These are the days like today when I think back to 15 years ago when I lost my husband Billy, to a drunk driver I had lost the love of my life. The night that I lost Billy I can still very well remember, coming home from work and getting dinner ready until I heard a knock on the door. Finally Billy was home i thought, concerts were always untill the late hours. But once when I opened the door, I was greeted by two uniformed police officers, not knowing at first that they were coming to tell me the news of Billy. The news they told me then dropped like a bomb. Billy never came home, never

“Mom, Mom! Come on or we'll be late! ” Said Bobby, our son. Yes, you will be surprised, two nights before Billy passed away I became pregnant with Bobby, Billy never knew he had a son. He looks just like his father, and he shares his love for music, he studies at the same music school that Billy used to go to, piano to be precise. “Mom come on now! Don't hesitate, I have to be there on time I want to speak to Catherine before the concert! ” "I'm already coming to you Bobby, just relax." I said with a chuckle. The concert is a collaboration with the other branch of the music school, Bobby's pen pal Catherine happened to be there too. In fith grade they got to know each other through a penfriend project through their school. Since then they have always kept in touch with each other, Catherine mostly lives in Chicago, but since her parents divorced 3 years ago, Catherine can be found with her father during vacations in New York. However just the way life is, it seems like the universe just doesn't want them to meet. And the concert was the perfect reason to see each other in person for the first time.

When we arrive at the doors I see the familiar faces from 15 years ago. I used to come here with Billy so often, until his death since then I did not dare to go to this place, everything reminded me of him. I lost just about all my friends after Billy's death, I pushed them away, I just didn't want to anymore. I had lost the love of my life.

Four months after Billy's death, little by little I came back to enjoy life again, I slowly started working and decided to go to the cinema after work. Until the universe played a game with me and decided to let someone dump their coffee on me. I decided to go home that evening, but just before I got home I heard a loud bang. When I looked back I saw him lying on the floor. Beckett his name was Colonel Beckett. He had been hit by a car driving in reverse and did not want to go to hospital at all costs. At that moment panic struck me, when I saw him lying there I only thought of someone, Billy. God, that image of Beckett laying on the floor in pain has haunted me for months. Only later did I make the connection that that moment again caused the memories to surface. I took him to my house so he could rest, he insisted he didn't want to go to the hospital.

Once at home I was able to take care of him, Beckett stumbled to the chair and sat down with difficulty. He just managed to take off his shirt, when I looked at his body I saw the bruises from the impact, and a few scars. Beckett didn't say much about himself. He had been in the military, special forces to be precise. He was hiding something, he was trying to keep himself together and distant, and little got through to him.His mind was elsewhere. “What are you some kind of tough guy?” I said. “Not so tough,” he replied.

Looking at his wounds I just couldn’t help it but wanting to help him. I think it’s because I wish I could’ve done this to Billy. Had he come home and I was able to take care of him. “Here i got you a shirt.” I said to him wile holding up one of Billy’s old shirts. “I’m kind of hungry would you like to have some food?”

He looked at me, still tense from our earlier conversation, I just couldn’t point what was wrong with him. “Well the delivery guy must’ve tought we were having a party.” “I haven’t eaten Chinese in quite a while” He said looking at his plate. “Well Beckett this place is really good.” I said and smiled. I felt some tension in the room. “So you from around here? Or don’t you like talking to me.” While taking a bite, Beckett looked at me and replied. “Chicago” “Oh Chicago is nice, my husband Billy had a recital there. He didn’t get paid but exposure was always nice.” I stood up and reached for the cabinet where I got out this freamed picture of Billy. “This is my husband Billy, he passed away 4 months ago, drunk driver.” I walked over to Beckett and showed him the photo.

“So are you married?” I asked him. He looked at me, took a small pause and said. “I was married once. She died.” Well there it was... He had lost someone too. Great Amy this is why you should be more carefull around other people! “How did she die?” I asked looking at him, not sure if I asked the right question. “ She was sick and there wasn’t any cure.” I looked at him and felt inmense guilt coming over me. “I’m sorry Beckett... Sometimes you forget in your own grief that other people go through these things too.”

He had lost his wife to an illness, and no cure was available, from then on I realized I was not alone in the grief of losing a loved one. Once I told Beckett about Billy, he seemed to open up more to me. For the first time since Billy's death, I felt alive again, and I saw that in Beckett. He was sitting at the piano playing what he had made up himself, it was sad but beautiful. He told me he hadn't played Sarah since his wife died. And suddenly there he was, sitting at the piano, so focused but also so dreamy. We had more in common than we thought.

“What’s that piece called.” I looked at him. “Ah a little improv” He said while looking at the piano. “What happend to the drunk driver that killed your husband. The moment he asled that the music stopped and he turned to look at me. “ Oh he is fine i said, looking down.” I didn’t end up killing him like I planned to.” He looked at me with this confused look. “I wanted to buy a gun and take him out.” I said looking at him, thinking back of the man who killed Billy. “What made you stop?” He asked looking directly at me. “It wouldn’t bring Billy back”.

Beckett seemed rushed, as if he couldn't rest. He even offered to stay the night on the couch that night and went to my doctor's appointment the next day. That day was so weird, and it was tense, it was different. That look in his eyes was a look with a mission, he didn't want to tell it at first until he panicked to get me away from the clinic.

“Beckett you have to tell me what is going on!” “Amy I can’t” He yelled back, there was something going on and I just needed to know. “Beckett please tell it to me!” He looked at me defeated and took me aside. He pulled out this little thing with a screen and showed me a video.I saw people scared, bodies, bodies laying everwhere. Beckett came from the year 2015, a year where there was a global plague all over the world, and I was the instigator. Me Amy Barrett a young woman from New York. I was the one who hurt him and millions of others so much. I had the misfortune to come in contact with 2 DNA fragments that started all of this.

“You’re patient Zero Amy” Beckett looked at me. Fear ran through my body, what is this? This can’t even be possible!

Fear got into my body and I decided to run, from that moment on it clicked. He was there to kill me! Before I knew it Beckett came up to me and pulled me close to him. He looked at me, and I expected hate, I expected him to kill me at that point, but he wasn't angry. He took me in his arms and comforted me. He wanted to protect me, me the one who made sure he lost his wife! I felt so immensely guilty. Beckett, on the other hand, held me and said it would be okay. His arms around me, that kiss on my forehead. He couldn't, he decided to spare me. He chose to stay with me so that I could not come into contact with the two other DNA fragments. My doctor was one of them.

From that moment on, it clicked. Beckett’s hostility towards me, the way he reacted so cold. He was sent to kill me. But he didn’t. Somehow he didn’t hate me for the things I had done.

At my appartment he later came clean about everything. “So why didn’t you kill me.” I asked him. “ Why didn’t you kill the guy that hurt your husband?” That was the sentence that send him over the edge. That got him to change his mind he spared me because he knew that we were going through the same kind of grief.

“So we changed the history?” Ï said to him. He turned around and laughed a little bit. “What do you want? A medal?” he grinned. “Well a pat on the back would be nice.” I said looking at him. We later heard a knock on the door,upon opening it was an unfamilar face to me. But for Becket it was not, it was his colleauge, who came to check in on him when he didn’t return. And he had good news the plauge never happend!

I looked over at Beckett and I saw a sigh of relief coming down his face. He was going to get his wife back. And it was time for us to say goodbye. We looked at eachother knowing that this was going to be the last we were ever gonna see of eachother ever again. “ Well Beckett.. I want to thank you.” “It was nice meeting you.” I said wanting to go in for a hug but I decided not to.. I know it sounds strange but it felt that I was loosing someone important to me again. “It was nice to meet you as well Amy.” We looked at eachother and knew it was okay. It was time for him to go.

That was the last time I saw or heard of him

“Mom!” I looked up and heard Bobby’s voice coming to me. “Yes darling.” I looked at him totally unaware that I had dozed off for a second in my own thoughts. “Catherine is here she would like to meet you.” I walked with Bobby to one of the tables and I saw a young brunette standing there smiling at us. I smiled back at her and shook her hand. “Hi My name is Amy Barrett nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you Miss Barrett my namce is Catherine, it’s so nice to meet you and Bobby finally.” She looked at Bobby with a smile and the two of them looked at eachother like this wasn’t the first meeting for the two of them. “Catherine honey, where are you?” I heard a raspy voice coming from down the hall. Catherine looked behind her for a second and said: “Over here dad!” and as I looked in her direction I saw a tall handsome man heading my way. He looked familair, he had short brown curly hair and blue eyes that looked like you could get lost in them forever. When our eyes locked It hit me. It was him... Colonel Beckett.

#Michael Rooker #Patient Zero #The Outer Limits #Amy Barrett x Colonel Beckett #Colonel Beckett #Amy Barrett

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blishwix · 3 years

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❝ WE ARE ALL WEARING MASKS. THAT IS WHAT MAKES US INTERESTING ❞

huh, who’s LUKE MITCHELL? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually JIMBO “WICK” BLISHWICK VI. he is a 35 year old PUREBLOOD wizard who is CEO OF A WIXEN TECH & MEDIA COMPANY. he is known for being CALCULATING, FRAUDULENT, HEDONISTIC, CONCEITED, and AMORAL but also CHARISMATIC, AMBITIOUS, INNOVATIVE, METICULOUS, and PERSONABLE, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song IT’S LONELY AT THE TOP BY BIG BAD VOODOO DADDY and STYLISHLY RIPPED JEANS AND SUEDE SHOES, PURELY AESTHETIC AND MISLEADING SOCIAL MEDIA FEED, NEATLY TRIMMED BEARD AND SANDALWOOD MUSK, HORN RIMMED GLASSES WITH SMUDGES ON THE LENS, MOLESKIN FULL OF ENDLESS CODE AND FUTURE TECH INNOVATIONS, EXTRAVAGANT PENTHOUSE OVERLOOKING THE CITY, WHISKEY STONES AND EMPTY DECANTERS, and CHARMING PERSONABLE SMILES WITH MALICIOUS INTENT HIDDEN UNDERNEATH THE SURFACE. i hear he is aligned with THE DEATH EATERS, so be sure to keep an eye on him.

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Jimbo Dashiel Bartholomew Blishwick VI NICKNAME(S): Wick, Jim, Dash, Bart (yes he legit will go by any of these) AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 35, 02/16/1994 OCCUPATION: Tech & Media Mogul GENDER: Cis Man PRONOUNS: He/Him/His HOMETOWN: Dallas, Texas CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, I guess ALMA MATTER: Ilvermorny, Horned Serpent BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

BIOGRAPHY

MEET JIMBO BLISHWICK: THE YOUNG AMERICAN CHANGING THE WIZARDING WORLD ONE STATUS UPDATE AT A TIME.

I’m not sure exactly what to expect when the invitation comes in. It seems archaic to be communicating over owl. There was even a part of me that thought I should revert to the “email” form which my subject is so fond of. What if the wixen tech mogul’s fondness for typing meant he had poor penmanship? To my delight not only was Mr. Blishwick’s handwriting clear as day, but it came with a gleeful acceptance to be interviewed. So it was on that high note that I made my way to Blishwix HQ in London to meet with the illustrious CEO. What I had expected was some pristine corporate office with dark leather and wood accents, sterile and admittedly cold and disconnected from the world. What I was met with was surprising. Blishwix is anything but old school in its style. Much like the young hip branding that accompanies its many products and services, the corporate HQ of Blishwix is sleek, modern and very accessible. It’s a open space of mostly glass walls, the bull pen dotted with standing desks and stability balls replacing wheeling chairs. Towards the entrance to the main floor there is a food bar, one which changes weekly I’m told. This week it’s a cereal bar, last week it was a sushi bar, the next week it’s expected to be a pho bar. Employees are scattered around it with tablets and laptops, giddily conversing around mouthfuls of rainbow marshmallows and corn flakes. There’s also several corners tucked away with velvet cushions where some team members curl up with headphones and e-readers or handheld video game consoles. Designated comfort zones, the tour guide describes them as. It’s the Blishwix goal to make sure the employees are all comfortable, so whenever they get stressed out or overwhelmed, there’s always a little place they can escape to in order to calm their nerves. In truth, Blishwix looks less like a company and more like an urban hang out for pretty hipsters in crop tops and flannels. Surely the big man on top would have a more professional set up, right?

Even the display in the bull pen did not prepare me for Jimbo Blishwick’s personal office. It’s one of a few closed off areas to the side of the floor, wide with tall glass walls over looking the bull pen, and predominately empty save for another bean sack, a slim desktop atop a standing desk, and a row of bookcases displaying dozens upon dozens of novels, all of which I can’t place and among the only print media to be found anywhere in Blishwix. “They’re muggle books,” says a voice from behind. When I turn and get a first glance at the figure leaning casually against the glass door to the office, my gut instinct is that this is just another one of those twenty something year olds squeezing stress balls on the work floor. He’s tall, wearing a handmade beanie in a burnt orange color -- One that is, frankly, not a good pair with his golden hair. His neatly trimmed beard and horned rimmed glasses speak of an elegance that doesn’t exactly match the acid wash tattered jeans or the faded t shirt worn under an oversized cream cardigan. The shirt is colorful and bears a phrase that doesn’t come easy to me. Woodstock. Perhaps this is another “muggle thing”. It isn’t until he draws close enough that I recognize the bare footed man. It’s Jimbo Blishwick himself. “Call me Wick,” he easily responds to my surprised expression, knowing full well he wasn’t what I expected. Instead of holding out a hand in a formal handshake and then pulling up a chair for the interview, he engulfs me in a hug and ushers me into the love sack. It’s awkward at first, but eventually I melt into it. It’s just as comfortable as it looks, and their use in the designated comfort zones make more sense to me now. Wick opts to sit crosslegged on the floor, a large coffee in one hand and a bowl of granola balanced on his thighs. He sips the coffee as my eyes wander the space, finding small and interesting little things to ask him about.

The first thing that draws my attention is a set of crystals sitting on the top of his desk, and when I ask he lets out a howling laugh that echos throughout the office, surely drawing the attention of his hard playing -- and hardly working -- employees beyond the glass walls. “Oh, I had a bit of a headache,” he says with a somewhat amused grin. “My wife said they might help.” The wife in question isn’t some darling stay at home mom you might expect. In Wick’s own words: She’s the reason the “Boss Girl” phrase was invented. Selene Blishwick is as shrewd a business person as her husband is, and perhaps a bit more progressive. As I attempt to shift a bit in the cushion, Wick relays some confidential information about some of their upcoming branding collaborations. Each is more unconventional than the last, and they all have one vital thing in common: Selene Blishwick is the one that found them. I’d go into detail, but Wick swears it would become a marital problem if I spill the big secrets before they’re due to come out. Instead he offers a sly grin and taps a single finger to his lips. “Our little secret, then you can be the cool hip one among your friends who knew all about it before it came out.” An exciting proposition, though I realize that I do need something I can share with the public from this visit, and as Wick’s bowl of dry granola gets emptier I fear I’m running out of time. So I set out to do what I’d planned: a profile on the CEO of Wizarding London’s premiere tech company.

When I ask Wick what was the event that kickstarted his long journey to bringing the wixen world into the 21st Century, he answers in one simple phrase: “A pen pal program.” I was surprised to say the least, but it all became more transparent as I urged him to elaborate. What ensues is a story about the overweight son of a MACUSA politician who was teased and bullied all his life and struggled to maintain platonic connections. “I had no friends,” he says, a sad truth but it comes out with a light and airy laugh. “But I didn’t make it quite easy for people to be my friend.” Despite his laid back and easy going charm, Wick reveals a disabling shyness and insecurity that kept him from engaging with the world. The only one privy to his thoughts and personality was the journal he carried with him wherever he went. “I always thought I sounded better on print than in person. I could be whoever I wanted to be on paper -- Handsome, smart, clever and fun. I just could never bring that outwards, you know?” I think we can all sympathize with the young Blishwick’s plight. It didn’t help that he had quite the shoes to fill. Sixth in his line, the Jimbos that came before the media mogul were all tied to American politics. They’re all charming and ambitious men, but Wick says he just didn’t have it in him to be a lawmaker. “Big Daddy” -- yes, that’s the moniker his father, Jimbo the fifth, goes by -- “He’s just built to be a Senator, I’m just the apple that fell a little too far from that tree.” Secluded and distant, educators began to worry that Wick’s development would be halted by the lack of socialization between him and his peers. So one Ilvermorny professor had suggested Wick be one of a handful of students elected to partake in a cross continental penpal program. “Fabricating friendship,” he called it. What they didn’t know is that the program would lead to a lot more. When I ask him who his first penpal is, if it’s someone he still has direct contact with, he lets another one of those amusing grins slip. “Oh yeah, very much so. I’m actually married to her.”

A fifth year at Ilvermorny, Wick was matched with a Hogwarts student a handful of years younger than him by the name of Selene Rowle. According to Wick, their correspondence lasted throughout both of their schooling and beyond, until he had taken a chunk out of his trust fund in order to travel to the United Kingdom to meet in person. He says that’s the only time he used his family’s money to get where he is now -- literally using it to transport across the Atlantic. Leaving behind his family’s estate in Texas and the promising job at MACUSA his father had acquired for him, Wick came to London in order to meet his long distance friend for the first time. The only person “who really knew what he was about” he says. I ask if it was for romantic reasons. He thinks about it while he sips his drink. “I guess in hindsight it does seem a little romantic.” Whatever his reasons, Wick came and he never turned back. He said that one of the first times they interacted in person, he and his future bride had lamented on their past communication and the long waits between letters. “We felt like we’d left things off on cliff hangers so often, and you’d have to wait forever just to get some kind of answer to those burning questions the last letter gave you. It was one of the most frustrating things.” The pair wondered what it would have been like if there had been a more instantaneous way to talk with wizards across the globe. After all, Wick had concluded, the muggles did it just fine. During his teen years, the Texan said he had grown very interested in what nonmagical civilization was like. A “No-Maj Studies Class”, as they call the Muggle Studies program in the states, had a unit on the technological advances of the nonmagical community during much of the modern era. The professors tried to teach the students that this was all building towards a very dangerous threat to the magical community: exposure and the fast spreading of information over the internet. Wick saw something different. “As I thought about how I wished I had a better gateway to my penpal during my teen years, I just kept thinking about how muggles had that already figured out. They could instantly send letters to anyone anywhere in the world. No long wait times for traveling owls or anything like that. It was instantaneous.... And why shouldn’t we be like that?”

It was this very thought that birthed the company the Blishwicks lead now.

So how do you bring the magical world safely into the 21st Century as dictated by the nonmagical? That was no easy feat. For his part, Wick said he had to learn all about something that didn’t exist in their world, something that didn’t interact well with magic. And how do you study muggle tech without magic interfering? Simple: You “become a muggle”. That’s when I realized there was a book I recognized on his eclectic shelf of reading material. Daisy Hookum’s best seller My Life as a Muggle. It’s the first book on the shelf, in the most pristine condition. A first edition, and it’s even signed by the author herself, though Wick doesn’t remember the meeting. It has a simple message in it: I hope you enjoy the time you spend in the nonmagical world and make memories as fond as my own. “Oh yeah,” he laughs, “I did tell her I was also voluntarily giving up magic in order to help kickstart my company.” He says it with an air of unfamiliarity, like he only vaguely remembers the moment. Still, he presses on with the story. A controversial choice for the son of a self proclaimed “conservative-traditional” pureblood senator, Wick was shortly disowned by the American Blishwicks for his choice to give up his magic for two and a half years to live among the muggles. But it had purpose. “I may have lied my way into an internship with a tech company in Edingbrugh. I was trying to learn as much as I could about this muggle innovation. If I wanted to create something similar for our community, I needed to master their version.” He says it took more than the two years he gave himself to live among them, and he’s still studying it to this day, but after that amount of time he had the ground work he needed to then create his tech and media empire. The biggest obstacle wasn’t even in creating the highly secret magically encrypted network which allows smart phones to be used in the wizarding world. No, for Wick the biggest hurdle to pass over was the longstanding traditional values the community had. “I think there’s an innate fear in not just advancing the community, but in mirroring any sort of progress than the muggles have done. There’s nothing wrong with it, I mean we have adapted enough of their inventions into our own world already so why not take it a step further?” He refers to radio and electric hook ups that appeared in a lot of wixen homes in the past century.

Blishwix started out small, creating and selling smart phones and desktops primarily with the idea in mind to change the way we communicate. Email was one of those first muggle digital contraptions that made its way into the wixen mainstream and has stayed, but within a short decade the company’s offerings expanded to mirror exactly what the digital world of the muggles looks like now. It’s becoming more and more rare to see wixen without a Loquix* in hand, or a Blishwix desktop at home. The Wixpix social media app, in which users post photos taken from the cameras on their cellular devices and add witty captions which can then be “liked” or “commented” on by users across the globe, continues to grow in popularity. And now the media and tech giant is rolling out a “streaming platform” -- a sort of home theater in the form of an app that catalogues film and television programs created by wixen for wixen. There’s Accio, an application that allows you to ask random questions and receive an answer instantly; Portky** which allows users to request forms of transportation when they desperately need it, including ministry-approved portkeys (or so it claims, we haven’t used it yet here at the Prophet). There’s even applications for those lonely wixen looking to find a love connection. Erised is one such app where user profiles are made with a handful of photos, a small ‘about me’ section, and a few small details that can be provided to prospective dates in order to help connect those with similar interests and hobbies. The married Wick does not have an Erised profile, but his assistant allows me to scroll through her’s and even swipe a few times on other profiles. I accidentally match her to someone she admits she can’t see herself interested in, but we all have a good laugh about it. These are only a few of many “experiences”, as Wick refers to them, offered by the company in order to branch the magical people from across the globe. “What is more beautiful than seeing people from different cultural backgrounds and walks of life coming together and sharing ideas and thoughts so quickly?” I realize as I’m sitting there in that bean cushion, scrolling through a prototype of the next Blishwix tablet that I know so little about the world beyond my little corner of it. I suddenly understand Wick’s enthusiasm about expanded communication.

It’s all pretty exciting to see coming together, it’s almost impossible to understand what more could be done by Blishwix. So when I ask him what’s next, Wick gets a very eager look in his eyes. “There’s a lot of places we still don’t have our tech in that I think would be all the better for it,” he solemnly reveals, and I’m shocked to hear it. Since visiting Blishwix, I have seen their product seemingly in every corner of Wizarding London I explore daily. Who isn’t using connected to their expansive network at this point? “I would love to do a partnership with the Ministry. As the governing body, I feel like we can offer them so much that could continue to further develop the community and continue progressing us into the future. If we could get our desktops in every Ministry Department, we can further the sort of work that keeps our world moving. Just imagine how we could expand Law Enforcement, Education or Wellfare departments if we can make all the relevant information they need all the more accessible to their employees? Think about how much easier it would be for them to process information on our fast and reliable network.”

On the topic of Education, Wick reveals his ambitions don’t stop with the Ministry. “I would love to see Blishwix in schools like Hogwarts,” he says, revealing what may be the biggest bombshell yet. “This whole dream started because of a chubby boy who had no friends in school and wanted a faster way to communicate with the one he made far away. I think a lot about that and how my life would have been different had I had this kind of technology available to me. If there are lonely kids like me who could have that, or even kids who are just struggling to get the information they need to be successful in school, and I could give them what they need to advance in life? Then I could say I’ve done what I initially set out to do. Until that day, I would say that Blishwix hasn’t been a success yet. Even teachers could benefit from the use of the internet and all the resources we have out there which we now have access to.” I begin to wonder if the technological genius is actually more of a philanthropist. “I don’t know, you tell me,” he quips when I muse out loud. Our interview comes to a halt by this point, and I’m left with so many more questions. What is Blishwix cooking up for the wizarding world next? What kind of innovations will define the company’s next decade? These, and so many more, questions are left unanswered as I walk out of Blishwix HQ, a takeaway bowl of fruity cereal in one hand and my previous generation Loquix in the other (scrolling through shopping apps in order to find that “love sack” I spent much of the afternoon lounging in).

The same day I begin writing this piece out, Blishwix has announced the Loquix VI, their most advance smartphone yet. They livestream details of their upgraded OS and hardware reveal on the company’s social media, an event I watch while typing this article up on my worn out typewriter. Halfway through and I’m out of ribbon, and I silently curse myself as I order a new set online. All the while the Blishbook Pro is being revealed on the stream, its sleek wireless keyboard and slim expandable monitor shimmering under the stage lights. I join in with the loud gasps from the shareholders crowding the conference room where the event is being held. The irony of this isn’t lost on me, and as I sit here writing out these last few paragraphs with a quill in my cramped hand I begin to realize exactly why I admire Jimbo Blishwick and his forward thinking. At least he’s not sitting here with ink blotches in obscene places, running to his editor’s office just barely before deadline with a mess of typed and handwritten article. I remember in that moment, drenched in the rain while rushing through the offices of the Prophet, the first line in his owl response to my inquiry for the interview:

You should have just emailed.

Touché, Blishwick, touché.

*Portky app idea comes courtesy of Kim ( @strvngemagics ) **Loquix phone name comes courtesy of Vic ( @cfdiggorys / @moodyparis / @aarlingtons ) Both gave permission to use / mention these galaxy brained concepts in the intro and credit for their conception goes to them. Thank you guys so much!!

TL;DR: Wick is full of shit. What can I say? Here’s the ‘Murrican lad who claims to be some hip and cool CEO of a wizarding tech and media company. Okay he’s I guess apple meets zuckerberg. Idk I’m not galaxy brained enough for this afheiahfpea hence the very oddly written bio. Wick’s a pureblood from america who supposedly forsake his family’s purist ways and then decided to create a company modeled after muggle tech in order to “bring the wizarding world into the modern era”. In actuality? He’s a fucking bigot who created a network that he could use to spy on people who may be enemies of the cause. At least that’s how it’s being factored into the DEs. His theme song is “Somebody’s Watching Me” by Rockwell bc he’s always watching you. Gives off this very laid back and down to earth and charming persona just so he can gain your trust and meanwhile he’s leaking your information to the DE and helping them further their agenda. Some extra tidbits not seen above:

He’s got some daddy issues which are leaking into his parenting. Aka he is not exactly excited to be a father but you wouldn’t know that from his Wixpix feed which feature so many “cute” dad photos with his baby boy. In order for him to become his best self, his dad had to make his life a living hell and he believes that’s how he’s gonna have to handle Zephyr as well.

He is smart, yes, but he’s not some brilliant innovator like the world thinks he is. His empire is built on stolen material which he simply “adapted” to the magical world. He’s not original, but he is clever.

He’s not a fighter, clumsy with a wand, had a severe stutter as a kid which made it very hard for him to cast spells etc, so he avoids battle often and instead offers up his company more for espionage for the DEs. He’s better suited to behind the scenes mayhem, and that’s kind of the way he likes it.

He’s a coward. He’s hiding behind computer screens and tbh if things get really sticky he’s likely to try and sell out the DE in order to save his skin. Has an escape plan to the states if things get really sticky but the likelihood of him succeeding are slim to none.

He acts very charitable and humble and kind but he’s conceited as hell and he’s a real shady bitch sometimes. Talks shit on everyone behind their backs

He’s had a few affairs here and there despite being married. Even with that, he is in love with his wife and feels a sort of fealty towards her. She’s a very important part to the company, she’s pretty much the brand of it and so he relies on her a lot to help manufacture their image even just as individuals to help the rouse.

BODY IMAGE TW/EATING DISORDER TW. Wick has some body image issues due to his past tbh. He got bullied a lot as a kid for being overweight and quiet, his solace was in food and he was a binge eater. As he got a bit older, he made some desperate choices in order to lose weight to gain a slimmer figure. It wasn’t healthy, it landed him in hospital a few times, and eventually he had to meet with nutrition specialists and therapists in order to work out a more healthy mindset on food. He’s still harbors body imagine issues, but he’s learned to be better about it. Still, he maintains a very strict diet and work out regime because he feels his image is one of the most important things about him. He did meet Selene when he was slim and athletic and therefore thinks it’s best he maintain the figure even just out of fear she wouldn’t find him attractive otherwise.

is any of the stuff he said in this interview true? Idk, idk

Idk, I hate this man and this bio afheuiahfpea I’ll end up rewriting it eventually.

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic LANGUAGES: English FAMILY: Jimbo Dashiel Bartholomew Blishwick V (but they call him “Big Daddy”; father), Cricket Blishwick née Berkeley (mother), Beaufort Harland Blishwick (younger brother), Cora-Lou Blishwick (younger sister), Selene Blishwick née Rowle (wife), Zephyr Blishwick (infant son), and by extension all the fucking Rowles I guess PETS: TBD FACE CLAIM: Luke Mitchell ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Aquarius MBTI: hm PINTEREST: (coming soon)

WANTED CONNECTIONS

interns - a couple new grunts at the blishwix HQ. they can be any affiliation, but if they are DE affiliated then they’ll know a little bit more about what is going on behind closed doors at the company. could be fun for future plotting purposes.

co conspirators - other DEs who similarly to wick lead a double life in the public eye. philanthropists, media stars, all sorts of “do gooders” who are banning together in order to break “harmful stigmas and stereotypes and join the wixen community globally”. blishwix mission statement aims to create a platform for wixen of all types across the world to interact free of prejudice and judgement and to bring the magical community into a modern era free of harmful ideologies. of course that’s a fucking lie, so if you play a baddy bad who’s pretending to be goody good then this could be a fun collaboration.

partnerships - alternatively, let’s see some honest to good people and groups get schemed by these fuckers. this would involve some potential screwing over but no worries, at the end of the day blishwix will tank and then your character can get their sweet revenge on this man and his corrupt business.

idk hmu with ideas.

#potterintro #sorry fam no fun doodle this time #bad men don't deserve it #ahfieafea i'm sorry this is kinda lame but i wanted to get something out there to help with plotting

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1079

survey by ashley-mae-cook

Would you want to have twins? Pass. I want kids, but if I am to have them I’d prefer to have one at a time. Twins don’t run on either side of the family anyway, so I think I’m safe from this ever happening.

How old was your mom and dad when they had you? They were both to turn 27 that year, but my mom was 26.

What would the worst year of school ever would have to be? I barely remember any details from Grade 6 and freshman year of high school as both were terrible and were spent without friends. At least my mind did a decent job permanently blocking any memories from either year. As for college, I hated my freshman year because I had a hard time adjusting then, and I also spent that year mostly alone.

What did/would you do for your 18th birthday? A week before my 18th birthday I went on a cruise, care of my dad; I traveled to China, Japan, and South Korea for around a week. Once I got back, I treated my friends to an overnight stay at a hotel so that I got to celebrate with them. On my actual birthday, my friends forgot it was my birthday lmao and they planned an advanced birthday surprise for another friend in our group (whose actual birthday wasn’t until three days later), so Gabie arranged a very last-minute plan to take me out and made sure I still enjoyed my real 18th birthday. That was also the same birthday I started to reevaluate if I should keep the same set of friends around me.

Have you ever flushed or put a live goldfish down the sink? I haven’t, but I’m not sure if my parents or grandparents have done this to the goldfish I used to have.

What’s your favorite Disney movie? Toy Story and Tangled.

Are you hypoglycemic? I’m not hypo- or hyper- of anything, fortunately.

How do you like your doughnuts? Anything but filled; I find those nasty. I’d like to try out more quirky, artisanal doughnuts, with uncommon flavors - all of which are hard to come by here (if there are even any) considering we’re dominated by the two big doughnut chains and the market for doughnuts is nothing but a tiny dot where I live. I’m still dyinggg to try Voodoo Donuts in Portland because I’ve heard so much about it.

How long can you hold your breath? I dunno. Maybe 30-45 seconds? At least my previous record was somewhere in that range.

Do you have allergies? As far as I know, no; but maybe the annoying, itchy reaction I get on my legs when I’ve been outdoors for too long is some sort of allergy? I just never have had any idea what it is that’s causing the irritation.

Who taught you how to swim? I think I just taught myself, lol. The moment I gained ~consciousness, I knew I liked to swim. I don’t remember ever having trouble being in the water.

What's your favorite kind of tree? I don’t have one. I’m not much of a plant/tree person at all, and I always end up killing or abandoning the plants I own.

Could you handle working on a farm? Probably. But I would miss the city life too much and I don’t know if I’d be happy for long.

Do you hate having to repeat yourself? In some ways, yeah. I don’t like when it happens in my personal life, i.e. when I expect people to act better (or when they make the promise themselves) and yet they keep disappointing. Repeating myself got a hell of a lot tiring with Gabie because she refused to change, even when it meant that who she was was already hurting me.

What's your favorite thing to see at the zoo? Probably the exit sign? Lmao. I don’t want to go to zoos as much as possible.

Have you ever been attacked by an animal? Just this big bird that felt threatened by me. It just slowly walked towards me and started pecking my foot, though.

Have you ever had to put an animal to sleep? No.

Do you enjoy laying in the sun? The only time you’ll see me doing that is if I’m at the beach. < Yep. Otherwise, hate the sun.

What makes your heart melt? I like heartwarming stories of stray dogs getting adopted by kind people, or fundraisers for abused/stray dogs going well. I’m also a sucker for emotional advertisements lmao, and clips of grandparents being sweet with their grandkids.

Do you know anyone who is in prison? I think so. One of my aunts (not related, though) was jailed last month for reasons I’d rather not get into. Super unfortunate.

Do you have a distant pen pal? Nope.

Do you like going to barbecues? No, that’s not a thing here.

Ever fall asleep with your contacts still in? Nope. I avoid contacts because I get very wince-y with eye stuff, and also because I’m the kind of person who would for sure forget to take off her contacts before sleeping or while cooking.

Do you like the social scene? I’ll join it as much as possible; but obviously I haven’t had the chance to because of the pandemic and most bars and other public areas that allow for socializing have remained closed.

What’s the hottest piercing on the opposite sex? I don’t look for piercings anymore but back when I was a teenager I liked lip rings.

Do you have a favorite type of firework? The big ones? Hahahaha idk what their names are. I’m not much of a fan of those fireworks that come out as dots and only let out a pop. For me, the bigger, the grander it feels, and thus the better.

Where do you/did you, on your body get your first tattoo? Probably my wrist or thigh.

Are your teeth perfect? The two front ones aren’t.

#survey #surveys

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acrobaticcatfeline · 4 years

Text

Of Books, Brothers, and Broadway (Creativitwins College AU) Chapter Three!!!

Word Count: 6875

TW: Remus, Janus, cursing, ocean critters, think that’s it

Pairings: dukeceit, logince, I think mentioned moxiety, familial creativitwins, platonic everyone else with everyone else, a nice bit of parental Remus and Thomas.

Notes: It gets gay!!!!! Finally!!!! Also skirts!!!! We learn more about Thomas, who is baby TBH hes just like, Remus good boy and I agree. these two have a very close mentorship, Remus has been there for for several years and Thomas has pretty much adopted him. They have one of my favorite dynamics in this. A lot of angst comes shortly after this so enjoy the soft gays while you can.

Summary: Remus is gay and smitten. Roman is as well. The two battle to woo their brothers best friend and both succeed. Soft boys going on dates and being in love. Remus rants a bit.

By the time that they all finish dinner, Remus is more than a little excited to show Janus his lizard friends. Janus is so nice and cute and he has an interest in reptiles, and the book he wrote for the musical in progress, and god he's in love. Roman gives him permission to run off without him while he and Patton engage in ‘civilized’ conversation. So he shows Janus his room, and heck he's bringing a cute boy into his room god this is filthy, disgusting worse than the worst most cuddly pornos that he's ever sat through, this is intimate and Remus feels like his blood is going to boil. He smiles instead though, because Janus is squealing and bouncing and looking at all the little guys in the tanks and he so desperately looks like he wants to hold one but he bounces in place while sounding like a balloon with a leak.

“You want to hold one?”

“More than anything!”

Remus walks over to the tank and tries to pull out a small gecko, but his only snake slithers out and coils his arm before he could. He laughs at it, petting its little head softly and he's almost knocked unconscious by the pure joy on Janus’ face. His eyes are damn near sparkling, his bouncing has stilled as his jaw dropped.

“This little guy is a Kenyan sand boa, he's actually the only scaly friend I've ever gotten from a rescue, the rest of these guys are just local pals. His name is Amadeus. Wanna hold him?”

“Yessssssss!!!!”

Remus guided Amadeus to slither up Janus’ arm. He ended iup coiling around his neck loosely and Remus could see the effort Janus was exerting to not get too excited. He petted the snake gently, stars in his eyes as the snake seemed to lick him.

“I love him!”

“He seems to like you too”

“I’m sorry I’m being so childish heh, I just, I lose my composure with animals I guess. And theater. I suck at keeping up this uh, facade I guess I can call it”

“Why would you? You're cute like this”

Janus froze and Remus nearly backpedaled on his words before Janus broke out in a huge blush with a matching grin. He swept the bangs that were sticking out from his beanie to the side of his face as he looked back at Remus.

“Do you want to go get coffee at some point? I mean uh, we can, we can talk about the musical some more and uh, maybe I can convince you to strike up a deal of some sort?”

Remus blinked and smiled back at him. He pulled out his phone and looked at something before changing it and handing it over to jay.

“I've got a class tomorrow and then work, and I'm bringing home an octopus so I probably can't do coffee tomorrow, but how does dinner sound?”

Janus took the phone and saw a new contact page pulled up. He smiled as he entered the information and sent a standard text and handed it back.

“That sounds even better! I'm free after 4 tomorrow!”

“How does 7 sound? I'm technically back at 5:30 but I want to be here for a bit in case shit goes sideways with Cephy”

“Sounds like a date! Er, um, a plan! Sounds like... a plan..!”

“God you're gonna have to stop being so adorable before I turn myself in to the police preemptively. Anyways, Roman might be getting annoyed from having you stolen for so long, so hows about we put back Dee and pick up this convo later?”

“Great idea!”

By the time that they leave the room, Patton is ready to leave, and as jay was his ride, he had to leave as well. The four said their goodbyes, and when he thought Roman wasn't looking, Janus mimed a little ‘call me’ motion to Remus and he nearly melted as the two left. Remus flopped onto the couch, and subsequently Roman, when the door closed with a sigh.

“You've already stolen him haven't you?”

“Were going to dinner tomorrow”

“Of course you are. I'm going to have to help you get ready aren't i?”

“Yup. and I'll make dinner on Saturday and Sunday as a thank you”

“And as payment for skimping on your original day”

“Yeah sure”

Remus wasn’t panicking, of course not, he was totally chill. It's just that he was bringing home an octopus at the end of his shift and then he was going on a date with a cute boy and he just wasn't used to so much happening in one day. He refocused however. He was wearing his lab coat and was sitting next to the institute's recreation of the coastal ocean with pen and paper in hand. He was recording some behaviors in the dolphin they just got, and its differences in behavior compared to their other inhabitants. It was moving slower, and did not seem to like getting close to the walls. He had many questions as he continued to note its peculiarities. Thomas walked in and squatted next to him with a smile.

“You have your inquisitive look on, whats up kid?”

Remus continued to watch the dolphin intently.

“Why is she so scared of the walls?”

“Oh, she was abused by her human caretakers, she's afraid of us still. She also doesn't like our feeding rods, or when we get in to do maintenance. She's just people shy, which isn't too terrible for her or us for the time being. She hasn't lashed out, and it's only a mild inconvenience during feeding times. The longer she's here with the others, the easier it will be, animals are great at encouraging trust in others, its key for survival. But isn't she just so beautiful?”

“Definitely! Hey, weird question, do you ever get transfers from different parts of the world?”

“Sometimes, not often though, they only transfer out of country or state if its a true emergency for the most part, and we aren't really in the hierarchy for those things”

“Hmm. I really want to see an amazon river dolphin. They're so fricken cool!”

“Well, if that's something you want to see about, and you're serious about it, I have some connections with the dolphin research center as well as Clearwater, and I think they both have some that were serious rescue cases. I might be able to set you up for a summer stint if you want?”

“Oh no, no that's fine I just, it's just one of the things that made me want to pursue marine biology. It was an episode of Go Diego Go if you can believe that. They were just, so magical, and I learned more about the ocean and like, the ocean is filled with magic that we don't even know about, and it's just, I dunno. Its a bucket list thing I guess”

“Fair. mine was jellyfish and sea turtles. Finding Nemo”

Remus chuckled at the image of the doctor as a child getting starry eyed at Finding Nemo. He nodded distantly and Thomas fully sat, giving Remus a nudge on the arm.

“What's eating at you kid? You're acting distant today, is something up?”

Remus finally looks at Dr. Sanders at this, a little shocked and confused. He looks back at the water and curls his legs up close to him and lays his head on them.

“A lot is happening and I’m scared I’m going to mess something up”

“Talk to me Re”

“Well, ok so my brother is real into theater, always has been, and he asked me when we were younger to write a musical with him. And, and it's fun, don't get me wrong, but I hate hate hate showing people my writing. And now I'm showing him it regularly, on top of my writing assignments for my creative writing minor. And like, I don't know how to feel about it. But like, it's not just that. Like, I'm a full time worker here now, not an intern, but I'm not even working full time hours, and I feel like I have to prove to you and everyone else that it was worth it but I don’t have the time to put in more hours and it makes me feel so guilty because you're losing money by upping my pay and I don't know, I feel like I'm not doing enough but I know I can't do any more. And then! I'm getting Cephy and like, I know she's gonna be a lot of work, and I'm so ok with that but I’m worried I’m gonna mess up and hurt her or something! And I've got a date with a cute guy tonight and he's my brother's friend and he's so cute and we mesh so well, but I could ruin it, like I always ruin my relationships, and then what if he holds it against Roman? He’ll hate me forever and I don't know what I would do if I lost my brother too, I drive him crazy but I know he still loves me but it makes me want to die thinking about how conditional it could be, even though he's never shown me that that would ever happen it still eats at me and god I'm a mess. God I talked too much I’m sorry boss, I'll shut up now, you didn't need to hear all of that”

Thomas hides the shock and concern on his face, choosing to nod as he rubs a gentle circle in Remus’ back. The two were very very close, they were basically family at this point, Thomas having chosen to be his mentor the moment he met him. He waits a moment to choose his words before speaking.

“I can't pretend that I totally understand your problems, but I'm aware that that isn't what you're looking for. So lets start with something easy. Cephy will not get hurt with you. There is not a single doubt in my mind that you won't be able to, while you were the only applicant, if we didn't know you were responsible enough to care for her with complete certainty and confidence, we would have sent her home with one of our older scientists. This was a long discussion and I know that you will do exactly what you have to to keep her safe. Two, you were not promoted because we needed you to work more. As I've said since you've started here, your studies come first. You were promoted because you did amazing work with what little you are allowed to do as an intern, and we could see that you would do even better with less restrictions. This was meant to give you the ability to learn more and aid in your work ethic. We don't need you to spread yourself too thin so you can work more, we have enough people for you to only work part time”

Remus nodded, he was trying to believe him, he really was, but his head kept turning them around with what ifs. He stayed silent as Thomas paused again.

“Your writing is personal, creative work always is, it is a bearing of your soul and its reasonable to be hesitant in sharing it. Even more so when it's to an overly creative person. But if I know anything about your brother, it's that he is a kind and uncritical person. You don't seem to have any reason to distrust him with it. I know that sometimes your head makes you nervous and casts doubt over others intentions, but it isn't healthy for you to be unable to trust even someone as close as your brother. And, if you let him know your feelings on it all, I'm sure he would be willing to work on it with you. This ties in with the other bit. If you have no reason to believe that something like a break up would cause your brother to hate you, then it's likely not the case. Trust that he values his relationship with you enough to endure the small likelihood of a break up between you and his friend. His friend is a bit of a wild card to you right now but just, give it a shot. It might go better than you can imagine”

Remus felt like he was about to cry. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and took deep breaths. He pulled his hands away and looked at Thomas as he leaned slowly into a hug with the older man. Thomas smiled and wrapped his arms around the other and they sat there a moment in silence.

“Thank you Dr. Sanders”

“This is an emotional moment, call me Thomas”

“... thank you Thomas”

Remus had calmed down and felt far better after his conversation with Thomas, he was pretty zen as he drove home with Cephy on his passenger side. He parked outside he and Roman’s house and dialed Roman’s number. Roman picked up on the second ring.

“You back?”

“Yup. can you get the door for me, I don't want to set Ceph down on the ground”

“On it”

Remus got out of his car, opening the passenger door and lifting the rather small tank carefully in his arms. He felt bad for her getting stuck in such a small carrier tank. He got to the door and saw Roman in the doorway. Roman held out his arms.

“I imagine if I hold the tank I won't have to transfer her into the big one? So hand her over.

Remus chuckled and did so. He slid past then, opening the door to his room and lifting the cover on the big tank. He pulled on plastic gloves and did the same to the carrier. He laughed as Cephy’s arms immediately swung over the side of it. Roman nearly screamed and dropped the thing when one of her tentacles stuck onto him. Luckily he just hummed loudly and squeezed his eyes shut. Remus carefully picked Ceph up, placing her oh so delicately on the little rock shelf near the top before he released her and she dove to the depths of it quickly, swimming around happily, likely glad to have room again. Roman rushed to the bathroom, shouting as he went.

“REMUS CAN I DUMP THIS???”

“GO AHEAD! IF SHE NEEDS TO TRANSFER AGAIN I’LL JUST PUT HER IN IT WHEN ITS EMPTY, SHE CAN SURVIVE OUT OF WATER FOR A BIT”

“WHY IS SHE SO FUCKING SLIMY???”

“SHE'S AN OCTOPUS WHAT DID YOU EXPECT???”

Remus pulled off the gloves and tossed them, placing the tank lid on again before going back to the car to get the rest of her supplies. When he finished unloading, Roman was back out of the bathroom with the tank now placed under the other one in the living room. His hair, which was about shoulder length, was tied up in a hair tie, his bangs pinned up and he was wearing a black crop top with golden print of a crown and shorts. He had a makeup bag in one hand and a hair brush in the other. He had the most sinister smirk on his face.

“K, go take a shower and change into shitty clothes so we can try some faces. Go on! Its 5:45 and I need an hour to get you in order”

Remus opened his mouth and shut it, knowing that Roman was right. He sulked to his room, grabbing some pjs and heading to the bathroom.

“Roman I’m going to look like a clown with all this makeup, why are we even doing this?”

“Because you want to look nice, and you'll look better if you do a little bit of makeup to accentuate your features. And also because you suck at shaving so I'm hiding the welts you gave yourself. He won't want to kiss you if you look like you've been eating out a beehive. Now sit still! We still have to choose your outfit and deal with your hair!”

Remus did as told, pouting as he did so. Roman finally, finally put down the makeup brush. He pulled up a mirror and Remus gasped at his reflection. His face looked clear and smooth, and his cheeks had color. But his eyes were stunning. They were black on the lid, but it faded into a sparkly green shade and gosh Remus loved it.

“I’ll put some lipstick on you when you're done changing. Don’t want to accidentally stain anything”

“Ro I love it!!!!”

“Good. ok clothes next. Where are you guys going?”

Remus blinked and felt himself flush and Roman rolled his eyes. He walked into Remus’ closet with a sigh.

“Typical. Ugh, men. Jay likes anything, he's pretty basic on that, I'd say go to olive garden. Mid Range price but nice aesthetic. Plus he eats bread sticks like an actual snake. He’ll love it. Maybe plan your next date a little more though”

Remus nodded, eternally grateful for the suggestion. He followed Roman as he flipped through his clothes. Roman sighed again.

“You're so lucky I saw his outfit and know it isn't too regal, otherwise I would make you push it to later and buy you new clothes. Here, how about this?”

He pulled out his skull shirt, some ripped jeans, his leather jacket, and his fingerless gloves. Remus smiled.

“He's not against punk?”

“Of fucking course not, did you not see his outfit yesterday? He's a baby pastel punk. He thought you looked good yesterday, he’ll think you’re the sexiest mother fucker tonight if I do this right so get changed”

Remus did so, not caring enough to be modest as he changed in front of his brother. They'd seen each other in less, it didn't matter. He grabbed some socks as well for the outfit, pulling them up before tugging on his jeans. He carefully pulled his shirt over his head, keeping it from hitting his face. He was swinging his arms through his jacket when Roman grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the proper part of his room. He sat down and Roman ruffled his hair before grabbing his hairbrush.

“Ok so we’re making this look decent. Ok so you’ve got the fucking fade done, so how about the nice swoop?”

“I have no idea what language you're speaking”

“Okay it was a rhetorical question anyways. Lemme grab my gel”

Roman poured a decent heap of gel into his hands, rubbing them together before raking them through Remus’ hair. He then took his comb and moved his hair all over to the right. He pulled a few strands free to fall in his face then pulled away and smiled as he wiped the excess gel off with some wipes. He gestured to the mirror next to Remus and once he looked at it, Remus was once again astounded.

“Roman what the fuck kind of sorcery?”

“I'm a theatre major, I dabble in makeup and hair”

“Dabble???”

“Oh honey you should see Patton at work”

“Roman, grab my docs”

“Which ones?”

Remus knew that while a valid question, it was also meant to tease and he narrowed his eyes at him. He pointed at the ones still on his shelf that had skulls. He rarely wore them, and was ecstatic at having the chance to. Roman brought them to him and he slipped them on with practiced ease.

“I think you owe me for this”

“If I give you Logan's number will we be even?”

Roman sputtered and blushed but nodded shyly. Remus grinned. He texted Logan to get his ok, which he got instantly, then sent the number to Roman.

“There you go! Now, I have a date to get to!”

“You have his address?”

“Of course not”

“You fucking spoon. I’ll text it to you”

“At least I’m not gaysexual”

“What the absolute fuck did you just say?”

“Spoonsexual?”

“Leave before I break your fucking neck”

“Fair, have a nice day”

Remus pulled up to Janus’ dorm room expecting many things. None of which he got. Janus was dressed in a black crop top with a turtleneck, a high waisted pastel yellow skirt that reached his mid thighs, and soft yellow thigh high socks. He was wearing bright yellow converse and had a golden flower headband. Remus thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven. When Janus gets in his car he finally tears his eyes away as he goes to start driving again.

“You look nice Jan”

“As do you”

Remus avoids speaking, hoping that Janus will start talking and getting more anxious as he doesn't. Janus is playing with his skirt wait, his? Is his still a thing?

“Might I ask if you're still using he him pronouns?”

Janus looks up suddenly and smiles as a blush forms on their? Face.

“Oh, yeah, he/him all around, they them is good as well, but yeah”

“Ok cool”

“...I’m sorry I’m being so awkward, I'm a little on edge”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not in the slightest actually. Um, where are we going?”

“My two brain cells fucked off and didn't think of that until about an hour ago, but Roman told me you liked olive garden so we’re going to olive garden”

Janus giggled and god if Remus wasn’t already gay, he wouldve been the ambassador of queerland to hear that again. He smiled and sent him a quick look, feeling his cheeks darken as he saw Janus looking at him.

“That sounds great! So um, how's the musical going?”

“Hm? Oh, it's going well. Uh, sort of. I've gotten a bit stuck on the script, and Roman’s hit a roadblock in the songs. I'm a little uh, let's say bad, at writing things like this. It's uh, it's far more tame than my usual stuff, but Roman isn't one for my more graphic shit, you know how it is. He's all unicorns and rainbows and im blood and porn, so writing something he would like is tricky to say the least. It's far easier to just translate all my night terrors and intrusive thoughts to paper than to actually be creative”

“Well, your night terrors and intrusive thoughts may be you know, normal or whatever to you, but I'm sure your writings about them are just as good! Creativity takes many forms and seeks different inspiration! I would love to see more of your writing, if it's ok with you?”

“Oh, no they're, they're shitty, you don't want to see them. They're about eldritch monsters and serial killers and they're really bad, I don't want to subject you to that”

“Nonsense! Like I said, I'm sure they’re amazing! But if you're uncomfortable showing me, then that's ok too”

Remus shuts up, avoiding the end of this conversation. Except he digs absently in the back seat and pulls out a notebook, handing it to Janus.

“It's filled with them. It's my last notebook, I suggest you just borrow it and not try and read them over dinner. Some of them make me a little sick to read. But uh, yeah. Go ahead”

Janus looks at it, the little doodles that are sprawled over the cover, and then looks at Remus with his eyes filled with stars. And Remus almost crashes, he’ll admit it, but that is a look that no one has ever given him before and he might actually die this time. They're at olive garden though, so he gets out and rushes to the other side to open the door for Janus who giggles again.

“So where'd you come up with the idea for the musical?”

Remus looked up from his food at Janus. Janus had his hands pressed together and he looked insatiable for answers. He smiled, licking his lips before explaining.

“When me and Roman were kids one of our favorite movies was the nutcracker. Around the same time that he said he wanted to write a musical, our uncle took us to the ballet of the Nutcracker live, it was our Christmas present from him. It was, well it was magical. So that was part of it. But like, as a kid I always loved reading. I found that I had loved some characters more than I had loved anyone outside my family. I had crushes throughout my life, but none of them really worked out, so I ran back to stories, it gave me something permanent and I dunno, I had a recurring dream where I would wake up and the hero or villain of my favorite books would be there and would love me. It's uh, it's a bit pathetic now that I say it out loud”

“No! Its, cute”

Janus was leaning on his hand as he stared and listened to Remus, moving to be more attentive in his posture, both arms on the table, with an insistent look on his face at Remus’ last words.

“It's not pathetic to want to be loved! It's hard to feel like you aren’t. I used theater as my escape from my shitty situation, and now I'm in college spending more money than I will ever use on anything else to pursue my escape as my reality. Sometimes it seems silly, but it makes me happy, so it's not useless. I mean, what other group would look at some guy with scars enough to play Deadpool who wears frilly skirts for fun and accept him? Definitely not any group from my home”

Remus frowns a bit.

“Anyone with half a brain”

Janus smiles at him.

Remus was dropping Janus off. He did not want to be dropping him off, he wanted to be taking him home and talking mindlessly for hours about nothing and everything, but Janus had to go, he had a shift in the morning. And Remus did as well, but all he could think of was how wonderful the night had been, and he didn't want it to end. They were standing outside, had been for a while, both of them trying to drag this out. Janus shivered and Remus immediately toar off his jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders. Janus was blushing again.

“You don't have to do that, I'm right outside my door!”

“Yeah, but this way I have an excuse to see you again”

Janus smiled and shuffled slightly. He mumbled something incoherent and Remus’ eyebrow rose.

“What was that?”

“I would really like to kiss you, if that's alright?”

Remus felt his skin burning at the question. He nodded, leaning down to kiss him. It wasn't fireworks. It was a chocolate fountain, soft and sweet and smooth, and they were pulling away and Janus looked completely blissed out. Remus felt the same way as he leaned back against the car again. He smirked and gestured to the dorm.

“You should probably head in, it's getting late”

“Yeah. yeah I should. I don't want to but I should. Um, I'll see you again?”

“That jacket is too expensive to leave with someone I don't plan on seeing again”

Janus smiled and nodded. He finally turned to go inside, and Remus waited until the door shut behind him to get back in his car and drive home. He starts the ignition as his phone rings.

“Roman holy shit Roman I’m in love help”

“Of course you are”

“Roman he wanted to read my stories”

“Well yeah, he's already shown interest in your writing-”

“No but the dark shit Roman, the nightmare fuel the terrors and murderers and the dark gritty shit I never show anyone”

“Yeah, he's really into that kinda thing. He's a fan of that genre”

“But he's, he's so soft!”

“Yeah, you only just got to his second layer of that, he's got a bunch of soft covering up the gritty fucked up interior. His words not mine. He's got some shit buried, Patton knows a bit more than me, but he really tries to keep that hidden. I knew you two would hit it off, you're very similar”

“I want to know it all Ro. I want to know everything about him, I want to know what he's afraid of and what his parents told him before bed and what dreams he has and what makes him tick and god I want to kiss him forever and never stop”

“That is the sappiest thing you've ever said. Want some coffee?”

“It's almost midnight”

“Did I stutter?”

Roman was distracted. He was at work, so he really shouldn't be, he didn't really have the time, but he and Logan had been texting since Remus sent him his number, and Roman had caught feelings hard. He was super hot honestly, which was unfair Roman thought, he's half his size he shouldn't be allowed to be so attractive. But they had been sending selfies back and forth, mostly because they were both too occupied with their hands and Roman fucking adored it. There was one of Logan in a tie that was slightly loosened and he was giving the camera some sort of smoulder. Roman had decided after that to explain that he was working and turn off his phone. He went to the back of the shop to grab some replacement baked goods to bring up front and he thanks his years in dance that he didn't fall when he saw Logan at the counter. He was still in his polo and tie, but the tie had been tightened and he looks significantly more innocent than he did in the photo. Roman set down the boxes and moved to greet him.

“Howdy hot stuff, haven't seen you around here, what are you craving?”

Logan smirked back. Suddenly Roman was grateful the shop was in a lull, and he's sure Logan was too as he looked him up and down.

“Well, if we’re honest I'm in the mood for a tall cup of sexy, but it doesn't seem like you're on the menu, so I'll go with a salted caramel mocha. I think its a close second in sweetness”

Roman is completely red, very unprepared for any of what was said. Logan's smirk breaks into a smile and he laughs. And Roman quickly gets to preparing his drink before he combusts. He mutters the price quietly as he makes it.

“Aren't you supposed to have me pay first? Or am I being treated by a knight in shining armor?”

“You're going to give me a heart attack, I hope you know”

“You can't expect to tease me and get away without consequence can you? You'd have to take me to dinner first to get away with that”

“I did not tease you, if anything, you were teasing me, you foul beast!”

“Oh so me sending a picture of me in full clothes is teasing, but you in your gym outfit is just the norm?”

“Of course!”

“Mhmm. keep telling yourself that hot stuff. I suppose if I did the same, you would find no problem then?”

“Wha, you go to the gym?”

“Yes, it is healthy and I attempt to keep a healthy lifestyle. In a word… duh”

Roman felt warm all over again, far more attracted to the idea than he was consciously ok with. The two had been flirting incessantly, and Roman may have teased the poor nerd a bit, but he still didn't deserve this!

“So then if the price of free teasing is dinner, then how about dinner tonight?”

“Hmm, irresponsible to wait until the day of to ask someone to dinner, but I am free tonight, so consider yourself lucky. 7 work?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be waiting for your fine ass at 7”

“Oh dear, how have you ever wooed a woman? How dare you objectify me like I'm a hunk of meat?”

“You're definitely a hunk, that's for sure. A true himbo”

“Falsehood, I have a functioning brain, you are the himbo between the two of us”

Logan grinned at him as he finished paying and took his drink. He waved as he walked away.

“Seeya tonight sweetcheeks!”

Roman didn't know what he signed up for but he was so in.

“Yeah so you don't have to worry about dinner tonight, I've managed to seduce Logan into dinner with me”

“Is that how it happened? Logan told a very different story”

“Ok no, but don't let the truth get in the way of a good story!”

“Yeah sure whatever, I guess that means I'm getting the house to myself?”

“Yup! If jay comes over please try to remember our agreement and dont fuck in the common areas?”

“What? One, of course not, I’m not a heathen, and two, we’ve been on one date, I’m a gentleman, no sex until at least the third date!”

“Mhmm. likely story”

“Oh, and one last request, if shit happens with you two, don't tell me anything you wouldn't say in a pg13 movie. If it's worse I don't want to know, I still have to go to class with him on Monday”

“Deal”

“What's cooking good looking?”

Logan was stepping in the car and rolled his eyes at the line.

“No idea, you're the one in charge of food if I can recall”

Roman thinks it's very rude how easily the nerd can manage to take his breath away. He pouts a little.

“Why were you so shy when I first met you, cuz you obviously aren't”

“Nerves. I wasn't expecting to meet someone attractive when dropping off Remus’ belongings and I startle easily”

“Attractive huh?”

“Don't get too excited, if there's nothing else other than good looks I don't imagine this will go anywhere”

“Fair, I could say the same to you”

Logan sent him a sideways glance. He was also ungodly attractive. He was wearing a black v neck shirt, black jeans, and a blazer and Roman didn't think anyone could pull off a nerd look and be hot but counter evidence was sitting in his passenger seat. Roman was wearing white jeans, a simple gryffindor t-shirt, and his letterman jacket from his high school that was a nice red and gold. He also had simple makeup done, as well as his hair being tied back, leaving his bangs to frame his face purposefully. He was really hoping this went somewhere.

“So, where are we going, might I ask?”

“Depends, do you like Japanese cuisine?”

“Yes, I'm a fan of it, why?”

“Well it was between cheesecake factory and Benihana, and we have now decided”

“Benihana? Roman, that's really expensive, we don't have to go there, I know I joked about you buying the ability to tease, but you don't have to pour a fortune into a first date!”

“Nonsense! As you said, I teased you unfairly, consider it an apology and a bribe”

“...I can already tell that you're even more stubborn than your brother”

“We came by it honestly!”

“So you're a theater major right? So you do the big three, acting, singing, and dancing? I imagine you aren't a fan of writing considering Remus is writing for your musical, but do you do any traditional arts?”

Roman was mid bite of sushi when the question came. He set down his chopsticks and grabbed his napkin to cover his mouth as he finished chewing. He finally set it down and smiled.

“I am and I do, but I do enjoy writing, but it's garbage compared to what Remus writes. As much as I'm not a fan of his subject matters, his writing is undeniably amazing. My writing is very ah, fluffy. Not much sustenance. And like, fanfiction, but that isn't like, real writing-”

“Fanfiction is real writing. Every idea is based and influenced by countless things, sometimes without realizing it. Besides, it takes a lot of the most menial and boring part of the storytelling process out. Exposition is just as difficult to write as it is to read, in fanfictions you get to start right where the interesting part starts, no boring history that means nothing to the plot other than for throwaway lines. Sorry for interrupting I just have uh, I have strong opinions on the subject. Continue, please”

Roman might’ve gone red again but he was shocked at Logan's response. It felt… nice to have the validation in the writing he enjoys. He did however, go back to the original question.

“Um, and uh, yeah I do traditional art, I don't really get? Digital art? It's just confusing to me so I just do the bare sketchbook. I think I have some pictures of them on my phone if you'd like to see them?”

“I'm actually quite intrigued. May i?”

Roman grabbed his phone and pulled up his gallery, choosing his art folder and handed Logan the phone. He went back to eating as Logan scrolled through.

“You and Remus have such similar styles in art, I'm surprised. Definitely different tastes in what you draw, but the style itself is almost indistinguishable. Did you learn together?”

“Hmm? I mean, yeah sort of. We both drew a lot when we were little, but other than the little doodles in his musical notebook I haven't seen any of his art in years”

“Hmm. I suppose that makes sense, he's very secretive and protective of his creative works. I wasn’t ever allowed to see his writing until we were paired for a writing project. Creativity is incredibly personal, and while many seek validation and approval, he seems to fit the other type that fears rejection. I can assure you, his art looks a lot like yours but far more ah, violent. And usually a fair amount of tentacles”

Roman smiled softly, he was happy to know that Remus hadn’t stopped drawing. Logan was still swiping through, eating rather absentmindedly. Suddenly Logan sat up and Roman swore that his eyes glittered.

“Is this the Marquis de Carabas???”

Roman looked at the phone and indeed it was an image of his version of the character. He nodded and smiled as Logan smiled back.

“Yeah, I was messing with plague doctor masks, and I had just finished the book. He was always very birdlike to me, so I thought it fit”

“Roman this is incredible! His coat is perfect and, and his hat? Goodness, this is so pretty!!!”

“Meh, it's not my best. I drew Door as well, I think she's a better piece personally”

“I didn't take you as someone who would like Gaiman”

“Remus loves him and he's another talented author. Besides, Terry Pratchet was one of my favorite authors and I fucking love Good Omens. Oh and I grew up on Doctor Who so that also helped”

“You like Doctor Who?”

“Hell yeah! It's probably in my top favorite TV shows I've ever watched”

Roman was walking Logan to his door and they were still chatting when they reached it.

“This was nice Roman. Thanks for taking me out”

“My pleasure. I got to spend a nice night with a radiant man”

He smirked and was ready to watch Logan step inside when Logan grabbed his jacket and yanked him down into a kiss. He stood there with his arms awkwardly floating for a moment before he wrapped them around Logan's waist. It was quick, Logan pulled away.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked first I-”

Roman leaned back in, crashing his lips against Logan’s,and it felt like a forest fire. Logan wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck and smiled into it. It was passionate and wild and warm and Roman felt like every inch of his skin was burning and he never wanted to let go. They did though, and Roman stared a moment at Logan's face, admiring the blush that colored it. He knew he wasn't any better. They stayed there until Logan finally spoke.

“Do you um, do you want to come inside?”

Roman released him, and had to hold back a chuckle at the sad whine that left Logan when he did so. He leaned back in, placing a small kiss on his nose before stepping back.

“Sorry doll, not on the first date. ‘Sides, I have work in the morning. Maybe next time though. Text me”

Logan nodded and watched longingly as Roman got in his car and drove away. He sighed softly before stepping inside of his home, reminding himself to get another date with Roman, and soon.

Roman was about to shout about how his date went when he walked in, but he saw the lights in the house were all off. He walked to the living room and cooed at the scene he was greeted by. Remus was sprawled over the couch, one leg on the floor and one arm over the back of the couch, and Janus laying on top of him, curled up small with his head over Remus’ chest and Remus’ other arm wrapped protectively around him. The two were both passed out and Roman chuckled. He went to his room and came back with a blanket to cover them with before going to his room to sleep as well.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years

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#5yrsago Remembering Sassy Magazine's life advice for teen girls

Theresa DeLucci got a letter published in the only publication for girls that really attempted educational journalism—amid Twin Peaks fashion spreads and celeb interviews with grunge luminaries like Kurt Cobain and Kim Gordon.

The recent news about the return of Twin Peaks got me reminiscing about the magazine that introduced the show to me in the first place – Sassy, the most valuable print magazine for teenage girls to ever exist. It sounds like hyperbole, but compared to its peers -- Seventeen, YM, Teen -- Sassy was the only publication for girls that really attempted educational journalism amid its Twin Peaks fashion spreads and celeb interviews with grunge luminaries like Kurt Cobain and Kim Gordon. This was well before everyone had the internet. For many, Sassy was like a super cool, trusted, wiser sister who could tell you what to expect at your first gynecologist visit, what to do if you've been raped, why it's important to make your voice heard and vote. The magazine had its regular columns: One to Watch, Cute Band Alert and It Happened to Me, which featured first-person accounts of experiences seldom or never before discussed in print for young women. "I Went to Prison." "I am a Muslim." "My Mom's a Drug Addict."

Being a bookish, weirdo teen in a small town (Sassy's target demographic), I desperately wanted to write for them. But, alas, my feeble fiction was justly rejected, and I was too young and too far away from the New York City offices to try for an internship. Yet, while I didn't feel comfortable sharing anything heavy enough for an "It Happened to Me" article, I could at least put together a passable question for the much more light-hearted Dear Boy advice column and try my luck that way.

Dear Boy. An innocuous enough feature. Many teenage girls find the male mind pretty mysterious, especially the mind of an older, famous, possibly cute boy, so Sassy provided a space for that. I wrote in without a thought as to what a man's advice specifically might imply. Is it really mansplainin' when the whole point is to have a girl ask a much older man in a position of social power a personal question? Does any teen girl need to know J. Mascis' opinion on big butts? (He likes them and cannot lie.) Does a parent want Thurston Moore telling their daughter that she'd be "lucky" if some crappy, cheating boy returns her affections? Is any woman anywhere served by Billy Corgan's guilt-tripping tale of woe at being romantically rejected by a childhood sweetheart?

Every month I would get my subscriber's copy of Sassy in the mail, bound up to my room, close the door behind me, and thumb the pages to the column to see if my question was there. And one day, one issue, in 1994, Mike D of the Beastie Boys answered. My hands shook as I started to read the familiar words under the header:

"BUMMING BAD SEED? My mom was a well-dressed, popular boy-magnet in high school. I am a punked-out loner boy-repellent. I get the feeling she’s disappointed in me. To top that off, my dad thinks I am unfeminine. Help! Searching for my real parents."

I cringe at the words "punked-out" now. I believe my original letter referenced my pea-green hair and good grades, but Sassy edited it for space. Anyway. Mike D responded:

"By age 14 I had orange hair and a safety pin in my ear and everyone thought I was a freak, but I had found music and friends who meant more to me than the accepted norm amongst kids in school. There’s no need to conform to the preconceptions of your parents. You obviously have got it going on, so as you achieve stuff on your own terms, your parents might come around to respect you."

It was a total softball question for the magazine that was my gateway drug to the fiction of Francesca Lia Block and Poppy Z. Brite, the music of Bikini Kill and Henry Rollins. But it was also very earnest. And self-edited. There was no "feeling" that my mom was disappointed by my combat boots. She made it very known. Or that my frustrated dad didn't exactly say I was unfeminine - more like I dressed like a freak. (His codeword for lesbian.) I did feel the weight of parental expectations like these, and I didn't know any sympathetic adults I could ask that particular question to. After all, my friends' parents were kind of all dealing with the same disappointing "freak" kids in their houses, too. And I was very privileged, really. The parents of some of my friends kicked out their lesbian daughters, neglected their clinically depressed kids, and lived in denial of their children's drug addictions. Those, unlike black lipstick and Bauhaus shirts, were actual, serious family conflicts that couldn't possibly be addressed with two witty sentences from a Beastie Boy.

Before that day, I liked Mike D, but wasn't a huge fan. Compared to past Dear Boy columnists, he wasn't as cool as Iggy Pop -- who had predictably terrible advice for teen girls -- but he was definitely a cooler Dear Boy than Evan Dando. (Damning with very faint praise, I know.) But after that Dear Boy column, I would think about a misfit Mike D who went on to great, creative things and I would feel a needed twinge of solidarity.

And Mike D was ultimately right. I already knew seeking parental approval wasn't a big concern for me, but, yeah, after a few years, I did feel my parents came around to respecting me. And accepting me as I was -- and as I continue to be -- which is not everything they had quite hoped for. A near impossibility for any child to be, but especially a teenager wanting to be herself as well as a "good" daughter, to whom all parents seem as distant as aliens.

Not at all like Mike D.

Of course by its nature, Sassy's Dear Boy questions were published anonymously two decades ago. My box of back issues has long since vanished. And that bums me out, because I always consider Sassy to be the first time I ever wrote to market. I don't expect everyone to believe my long-distance teenage connection to Mike D, but I also don't know why anyone would make that up. (Though it's a great way to get thirtysomething-year-old women to buy you a drink when they find out.) All I know is how I felt that summer – when I sometimes took to wearing a safety pin in my own ear -- I felt a little less weird and walked a little bit taller because of my secret pen pal.

Once upon a time, twenty years ago, Mike D thought that I had it going on.

https://boingboing.net/2014/11/20/remembering-sassy-magazines.html

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bonnieisaway · 4 years

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a blooming garden - saiki k x oc

HI I KNOW NO ONE LIKES WATTPAD BUT I DONT HAVE AN AO3 STILL SO UNTIL THEN YOU GET TO DEAL WITH ALL MY SHIT ON HERE SO HERES MY SHITTY SELF INSERT OC STORY THE FIRST CHAPTER IS REALLY SHORT OK BYE

wattpad link

chapter one - flowers bloom

My name is Yua Ichika.

And I’m a flower.

I suppose I should be more specific. I’m not an actual flower- I’m a human girl with a peculiar curse. See, I’ve lived in Japan my whole life, but when I was younger I moved around a lot. I don’t remember a lot of my childhood. A lot of it is a blur of doodles, moving trucks, and bickering with my older sister, Aneko. But I have one thing I remember very well.

I suppose I was about 6 at the time. Aneko was 7. I went to school with this girl who’s name I’ll never remember who claimed to be a psychic. She and I liked the same boy. I think his name was Hisato. Hisato liked me, and the girl was bitter when I told her.

I think if anything this taught me two things. One: don’t tease people. I remember teasing her and before Aneko reprimanded me the psychic told me I’d regret this, and anytime I fell in love with a boy, if he did not love me back, flowers would bloom throughout my body until I died.

The second thing I learned was simple: don’t ever fall in love. I’ve stuck to this rule pretty well. There was only one other time I could think of, in middle school when I liked some girl who was out of my league. It was only a minor crush, though, and the flowers went away fast.

..And then there was now. Something else I’ve learned: the flowers are different every time. Last time, the flowers were oleanders. Oleanders are usually associated with charm and romance, but they could kill humans. The oleanders never affected me like that, though, and I was lucky when they stopped blooming and fell away. It’s really hard to lie about why you’ve got a flower blooming over your eye. But I did realize now: the oleander represented how I felt about her and her true personality. I loved her. She was toxic.

I have freckles across my cheeks and arms. People usually assume that I was born with them and that it’s just a cute trait. That is, when people pay attention to me. But the freckles are actually places where flowers have bloomed and fallen away before. My arms, face, and neck.

Do I regret teasing that girl? Yes. I do. Would I go back and change my actions if I could? No. I wouldn’t. I know that one day, this may kill me. Or maybe in the eyes of some people I’ll never live a “full life.” But I know I wouldn’t have learned some certain lessons if I didn’t.

Which brings me to now. I’d like to emphasize, I don’t curse often since I don’t talk often. But I’d like to dub myself as a fucking dumbass. A really big idiot. And the reason why I say this is because I just coughed up a golden bloom- what I presume to be a buttercup flower, in the school bathroom.

This isn’t as bad as it can be. I’ve had oleanders cover my eyes before, this will be fine, this will pass. I know exactly who the cause of this is, too. Well, to phrase in a better term, I know who it is I’ve fallen in love with.

I wipe my hands on my handkerchief and place it back in my pocket as I look at myself in the mirror. Brown hair cascades past my shoulders, framing blue eyes hidden behind glasses. Freckles dot my face and neck, or what’s visible of them. There’s even a few freckles on my left eyelid, but they’re never noticeable. I stride out of the restroom and into my classroom with feigned confidence, our teacher nodding to adknowledge I’ve returned as I take my seat towards the back of the classroom.

I can’t help but zone out, staring out the window lost in thought. I’ve liked Saiki for a while now. I guess it just took a bit for my curse to kick in. My eyes slowly scan the classroom of students. All of them I know their names, but I’m not friends with any of them.

Those are the measures I’ve taken to make sure I don’t fall in love. I’ll be honest, I don’t care if I’m alone. And I still wouldn’t ever go back and change what I did. But I’m still afraid of one thing:

I don’t wanna die.

My eyes continue to scan until they fall on Aiura Mikoto, one of the two psychics in our class. And, well, the only known psychic in our class. I don’t know why but she looks so familiar to me. Like a distant memory, or someone you saw in a dream once. Before I know it the bell rings, dismissing our daily classes.

As I stand and collect my things, my eyes fall to the note I’ve written, lying untouched aside from my handwriting, lacing the page in black pen. I pick it up as I throw my bag over my shoulder, and I’m the last to walk out of the classroom. Our teacher casts me a glance, one of concern, as I leave. She’s usually worried about me, when she remembers I exist.

That’s the thing about not having friends. No one remembers who I am, and no one cares to. It’s a side effect. I do it to stay safe. Of course, I have my moments, say in gym class I’ll save a game or score a goal where people get happy and if I’m lucky they’ll remember my name. But that’s about it.

As I walk through the halls of PK Academy I pass Teruhashi in conversation with Saiki. I smile at them both. Only Teruhashi smiles back.

I’ve always been jealous of Teruhashi. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted to be. Pretty. Loved. Friendly. Outgoing. But I’m never hateful of her. If anything, maybe one day I’d like to be her friend. But I’m always cautious, and I’m sure with a girl of her pure social status she is too, so.. I’ve never tried. But her distracting Saiki gives me an opportunity as I approach the shoe lockers.

I slip the note I’ve written into Saiki’s locker before turning to mine, conveniently next to his. Call that cruel irony, huh? I change my shoes quickly and walk out of school, thankfully leaving before Saiki could get to his locker. It’d be really awkward if he opened it and found a note from me while I was next to him.

I walk out of the school gates and ahead of me I see Kuboyasu and Kaido walking and talking, laughing. I smile to myself. They’ve got a nice dynamic. Also I could see them dating. Just throwing that out there. I live close to Kaido’s house, an apartment near his. I dig in my bag to find my phone and earphones and it’s barely a minute before all I can hear is the music.

I’ve always been a bit lonely. Sometimes music helps fill the void. I think one of the cruelest things about my curse was the once upon a time I had friends. And I don’t remember them well but I remember how it felt. Having people care and always be there for you. Maybe it’s dramatic in the sense- the measures I’ve taken to avoid this- but it’s all I can ever think of.

As I enter the general store that’s placed along my path home I take out one of my earbuds and turn to the register- only to see Nendo Riki, my classmate. He smiles wide and greets me. “Hey, pal!”

“Hi, Nendo.” I smile as I turn to the aisles. Nendo calls me pal because I hung out with him once or twice after we had to work together on a partner project. I let him be the exception because.. Come on. It’s Nendo. But I never talk to him much since he’s usually with Saiki. If I’m by Saiki and I fall for him harder.. It’ll only quicken the process.

I stop in front of a clear fridge with sodas in it. If I’m anything I’m addicted to coca cola, I’ll admit it. I open it and grab a coke- vanilla float flavored, and walk back to where Nendo stands by a register. I place it on the counter. A man who seems to be his boss is behind him, guiding him, which is unsurprising to me.

“How have you been, buddy? We don’t talk often!” Nendo grins as his boss guides him and I hand him 300 yen.

“I’ve been alright. You?” I ask him kindly as he hands the bottle back to me. I open it as he talks.

“I’ve been great! Recently, my other buddy and I, Saiki, went to the beach with Kaido and Kuboyasu as well! It was great!” He seems overjoyed. He’s like a stray puppy who I left food for once and now he comes back every week but I can’t take him in because in this metaphor I’d be allergic to dogs.

“I’m sure it was fantastic, Nendo. I have to go, though.”

“Oh, okay! Bye, buddy!” He waves as I leave and I give a small wave as I exit the store and continue walking home.

The walk isn’t much longer as I finally arrive in my apartment and kick off my shoes. I live alone, and Mom and Aneko live across the city. Mom pays for this apartment because once upon a time PK Academy was my dream school. Now it’s just.. A school. But I’m not necessarily complaining. It could be worse.

I drop my bag somewhere along my route to my bedroom before changing out of my school uniform and into a black sweater and shorts. I dig through my cabinets and grab a box of pocky before going to walk into my living room.

I sit on my couch and play idle games on my phone as my mind wanders to the note I left Saiki. No, it was not a love note.

‘Saiki, I’ve got something important I need to talk to you about. I know about your powers and I have a favor to ask of you. Signed, Yua Ichika.’

That's what I wrote. I had a plan, to ensure I’d be okay:

I’d ask Saiki Kusuo to make me hate him.

The reality is I’ve known of his powers for a while now. How, you ask? I heard Tortisuka and Aiura yelling that day they were trying to yell at Akechi, or something. I got curious and when you look for a pattern you find one. I’ve gathered at least some: teleportation, telepathy, clairvoyance, phsychometry, astral project, and there’s probably more.

I never bother him about it though. Generally, at school I keep my thoughts away from him as best I can. If I don’t stand out to him there’s no chance anything will happen. With this curse, sure, there’s a chance that maybe if he likes me back the flowers would fall away with time.

But that doesn’t happen. I’ve seen Saiki before: Saiki Kusuo does not fall in love. So this is my last option. I can’t fall out of love. I’ve tried before.

Last year. Before time rewinded.

I don’t know why but I’m assuming Saiki rewound time for something. I have all the memories of last year- and so does everyone else- but I’m the only one who realizes this. Because I was seconds from death when he rewound time. So I have to take this precaution now in case he doesn’t rewind again.

And it’d be selfish to ask him to rewind the whole world because I don’t wanna die. So as much as I don’t want to this is the last option I can think of.

I have to get myself to hate Saiki Kusuo.

#thiis kinda sucks #and its super short #but i started writing it on impulse #so #let me live #but yeah we love yua ichika #also i swear to god #if any of you make fun of aneko's name i'll gut you #the website said it meant older sister #saiki k #saiki k x oc #saiki kusuo no psi nan #the disastrous life of saiki k #my writing #my oc #yua ichika

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statementends · 5 years

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Okay that cousins au thing was The Cutest Shit and if you’re still taking prompts... more of that? In whatever way you wana interpret that

So this story happens in a universe that is sort of a blend of By the Seashore and Broken Web.

By the Seashore involves Gerard on vacation with his little cousin Martin who he takes to the beach and helps him win the attentions of his crush, Jon.

Broken Web takes place a few years later. Gerard saves Jon from A Guest for Mr. Spider and comforts him. He promises to remain Jon’s pen pal and tell him more about the supernatural. Jon and Gerry do not recognize each other from the events of By the Seashore

This story takes place when Jon and Martin are thirteen and Gerard is about twenty. The timeline is a bit shaken up since Mary doesn’t bind herself to the book until 2008 when Jon and Martin would be twenty-one. In this universe it happens earlier.

Characters: Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Pairings: Minor Jon/Martin background in this chapter

Rating: T

Warnings: Parental neglect, homophobia. The story starts out sad, but I do plan for warmer feelings in the later chapters.

Summary: Gerard opens the door of Pinhole Books the summer after his acquittal. Standing in front of him is his younger cousin asking if he can stay with him.

AO3: Link

Gerard almost didn’t get the door.

It wasn’t like he got any customers for the dingy old bookstore by appointment or otherwise. When there was a ring it meant the paparazzi or some busy body wanting to see ‘where it happened.’ He wanted to sell it, but his mother wouldn’t let him. It was tempting to burn the place down when she was weakened.

After the mistrial he had tried for normal as he had done in the past. It hadn’t lasted long. Didn’t help that people recognised him. He considered cutting his hair short and bleaching it, but the thought of it made him wince. He’d rather be miserable as himself rather than miserable as someone else.

The buzzer rung again. He sighed, but decided to shoo off whoever it was bothering him. Last time he had left it someone had tried climbing through the window not knowing they were already nailed shut.

He opened the door. His scowl switched to confusion.

He had grown a lot. He would still be one of the tallest boys in his class, he already overtook Gerry. The chubbiness hadn’t faded any and the freckles had multiplied. He was big, and if it wasn’t for his babyface he might be mistake for a full grown man, as it was Gerard recognised him as his thirteen year old cousin, Martin Blackwood.

“Why…” The answer was probably Gerard’s luck honesty. It had been… a very bad year. Not that he disliked Martin, but…

Well, whatever this was it was going to complicate his already complicated life, he could feel it.

Martin was trying very hard to smile, but there was a watery look to him. Brittle. He opened his mouth to speak, but inhaled suddenly, as if realizing he couldn’t bring himself to start the sentence.

Gerard frowned. “Martin?”

“I–” Martin’s voice cracked. “Could I maybe stay with you for a little while? I… I don’t have anywhere to…” He crumpled and quickly wiped tears from his eyes.

Oh shit.

Gerard looked wildly around. He couldn’t bring him upstairs. He couldn’t slam the door and say no, which was tempting only because if Martin thought he would find safe shelter here, he was very much mistaken.

“I…” Gerard said slowly. “You… you know about the…” He gestured. Surely his Aunt had told him. Not that she had kept in touch for more than the occasional Christmas card, especially in the last few years, but she had been pretty clear about him staying the fuck away from her. She rung him up the night he got out of prison.

Martin nodded miserable and hesitant. “I don’t–they wouldn’t have let you go if you had done it.” He offered weakly.

Gerard shrugged. Honestly they would have jailed him. He knew he didn’t do it and knew there wasn’t much of a chance of convincing anyone otherwise unless he wanted to show them his mother’s ghost. Martin’s uncertainty did hurt a little though.

“You must be desperate then…” Gerard sighed. He still had Martin on the doorway. He quickly glanced around. No one seemed to be watching, but that didn’t mean someone with a camera wasn’t around the corner. He relented and pulled back.

“Close the door behind you and lock it,” He told Martin.

“Y-Yes of course, thank you Gerard.”

“Don’t thank me yet, we need to talk about this.” Gerard led him up the stairs. He felt the usual claustrophobia of all the books stacked around him. He lead Martin to his room. It was the only place free of clutter and the stench of paper and the crawl of silverfish. He sat on his chair at his desk and Martin sat on his bed. Martin looked amazed in the way someone is amazed by a house fire. There was no way he could let him live here even if his mother wasn’t literally haunting him.

“So.” Gerard said. No use beating around the bush. “What happened? Why are you here?”

Martin bowed his head. He played with the hem of his shirt. “Do I… do I have to say, Gerard? I… Mum kicked me out and I … there’s no one else…”

“She kicked you out?” Gerard asked. His Aunt had never struck him as a warm woman. He had only spent a long length of time with her once, a summer vacation in Bournesmouth. She didn’t seem to be a particularly tolerant woman, but Martin did his best to be obedient. Only a kid but he was well behaved… maybe… maybe too well behaved…

Martin was nodding still playing with his hem, not meeting Gerard’s eyes.

Gerard almost asked what he did, but caught himself. He doubted it had anything to do with what Martin had done and more to do with the fact that she was a terrible woman.

Must run in the esteemed Von Closen line.

“What happened,” he asked instead. “I won’t hold any of it against you.”

“I… you can’t know that you won’t.”

“Martin I was suspected of murdering my own mother,” Gerard said bluntly. Maybe to shock Martin out of it. “There’s not a whole lot worse than that.”

“You didn’t do it though.” Martin said, more certain this time.

Gerard sighed. “Right, but I’ve had a lot of people hold things against me, so I’m not inclined to do that… especially not to family.” Not that family inspired anything in him really, Martin was probably the only exception.

“I’m … I…” Martin took a deep breath. “I’m gay.”

“Right.” Gerard couldn’t be less surprised by the revelation considering he facilitated Martin getting to spend time with his first summer crush. He felt a weird sort of emptiness though. Mary Keay wasn’t a good mother, but he had a cold comfort certainty she would never abandon him.

There was a long pause. Gerard shrugged.

“I�� already knew,” He said thinking it might put Martin more at ease. Martin looked terrified.

“You can tell?” He squeaked.

“Oh–no. I mean… you and your friend that you played with that summer. Jack? Josh? You were obviously smitten.”

Martin’s cheeks heated. “Oh…” He said softly. “I… I never thought of it like that… but… yeah…” He looked down. “I guess it’s weird to want to marry a boy you just met.”

“It’s not weird,” Gerard said. He felt tired all of the sudden. He can only imagine what Martin’s Mother said to him before throwing him out of the house. “It’s just… love.” he shrugged. He didn’t really have any sort of experience with that sort of thing, but he knew it was stupid for people to get offended over it.

Martin still had an ashamed look on his face.

Gerard wasn’t sure how to comfort him. He had embraced a very alternative lifestyle at the age of eleven. Was used to sneers and jeers and assumptions about his personal life. Had the shit kicked out of him a few times for it. He had never slept with anyone to make either side of the argument true, but he considered beautiful people beautiful, and the idea of masculinity incomplete and shortsighted. Gay probably wasn’t quite what he was, but he was certainly queer. It had just… it hadn’t mattered. It wasn’t a worry, it was just… part of him. Like liking oranges and getting sunburned easily.

But for Martin this was probably the most afraid he had been in his life.

“You’re fine,” Gerard said. “Hey.”

Martin looked up.

“You’re fine,” He repeated.

Tears spilled down Martin’s face.

“Th–Thank you. Gerard.”

Gerard got up and sat beside him on the bed. He squeezed his shoulder awkwardly. Martin instantly pressed in quietly shaking on his shoulder. He gave his back a few pats, but let him cry it out. It was uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, but the kid needed it, and Gerard was emotionally distant for his own sake, but he wasn’t emotionally dead.

His crying subsided eventually.

“Why don’t you rest in here for a bit, I’ll get us some food. That alright?”

Martin nodded. “Y-yes. You really don’t mind me staying?”

Gerard knew he should kick him out. Give him to child services and let the government sort him out because keeping him here was a bad idea.

Maybe he was lonely… or maybe it was because he wanted to believe family did matter in the good ways. Maybe it was just Martin’s lost look. Whatever it was he nodded.

“Long as you like,” He told him.

Gerard left the room and headed upstairs to his mother’s old office. He dug around and found a plain brown box, packing tape, and a sharpy, as well as enough stampage. He stared at the book he had avoided touching knowing she might pop out at any moment.

“Right.” He inhaled slowly. Slipped the book into the box and wrapped it. Carefully wrote out the address of the Magnus Institute.

If anyone could hold her it was them.

He went out and threw the book in the post, then grabbed some curry and headed back. He opened the door and stepped on the junkmail. There was a letter among it all in familiar and precise handwriting. He dipped and picked it up, slipping it in his pocket. He knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Martin said. His voice sounded a lot stronger.

“So, it’s actually good timing if you don’t mind the work,” Gerard said as if Martin was just here to visit him. “I need to pack up and sell this place.”

“You’re moving?”

“Yeah,” Gerard nodded. There was a strange lift inside him saying it out loud. “I mean… we are…”

Martin nodded eagerly. “Right. I can help!”

“We don’t have to start right now, eat your curry.”

“In here?”

“The place is a disaster,” Gerard said. “I’m almost tempted to burn it all and save some time.”

Martin laughed. The first time he heard since he got here. Small and a bit timid, but there all the same.

He gave Martin his bedroom and made do on an old couch in a room Gerard couldn’t have put a name to. It was full of books like the rest. So more of the store. He remembered the letter and pulled it out. Neatly written in Jon’s handwriting:

Dear Gerry,

You haven’t written back since my last letter and I’ve lost patience with you which is why I’m writing now. If you’re trying to protect me, or think that I might think the worst of you for what I’ve read in the papers you’ll find yourself very much mistaken. All you’re doing is being stubborn and thickheaded.

I know that you didn’t kill your mother, and if you did, you probably had a good reason for it and she probably wouldn’t have been considered anyone’s mother anymore, so you need to write me back, or I’ll break the promise we made and come straight to this address and make you talk to me.

Gerry snorted at that. He’d like to see Jon try. He hadn’t seen the weedy boy in years, but he had the feeling he hadn’t grown all that much.

So. Write back to me. You said you would. I know whatever happened you did what you had to. And I’m sorry for your loss. I hope you’re okay.

Sincerely,

Jonathan Sims, Bournemouth

P. S. I think I’m right about the docks.

Gerard scowled at the post script. That little… he sighed. Two thirteen year old boys he had no business looking after. He shook his head.

The ending was nice. Through all of his bluster Jon was worried about him, but if he thought Gerard wouldn’t go down to Bornemouth and kick his arse for going anywhere near the docks after he had explicitly told him not to…

He got up and grabbed a pen and paper.

Jon,

Do. Not. Go. To. The. Docks.

I’ll look into it.

-Gerard

P.S. I’m fine.

He stared at the letter. He should go into it a bit more, but he was too tired for it. He put it in an envelope and addressed it, planning to send it the next day. For now he’d sleep. Try to figure out what to do with Martin.

#tma #the magnus archives #kids fic #gerard keay #martin blackwood #fanfiction #jonathan sims #i'm sorry I promise it'll get happier later on #elf-grunge

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hk-stain · 5 years

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Bad Blood

🔪 The bar was dim and hazy with the prevailing scent of liquor and fried food. Just the place for a Hero to lose himself. No one here cared who you were, they only cared about the game that was on and the beer in their hand. Opening the door, Stain boldly stepped inside. As expected no one, not even the bartender, looked up when he entered, the game was in sudden death. His target sat alone in the darkest corner nursing his one drink. On several occasions, Stain had observed that even with wanting to drown his worries in the bottle, the UA teacher was stricter with himself than he was with his students. Walking over to his table, Stain pulled out a chair and boldly sat down. Ignoring Eraserhead’s insistence that he wanted to be alone. To ensure he would be heard out, Stain pressed his blade into ex-Hero’s groin. “You quirk won’t save you here. I only need you to listen. If I were to press any harder you would bleed out before help could arrive. Don’t make a fuss. Drink your drink and listen. I’ll even buy you some food. Doesn’t UA feed their staff? You looked better in your Hero days. Hear me out, then we both can be on our way. Agreed?” 🔪

EREASERHEAD‌:

Dull, tired eyes didn’t show any sign of fear as the Hero Killer placed themselves at the table. Though, Aisawa did set down his drink. It would appear he wouldn’t get any peace today after all. That was annoying.

“It isn’t U.A.’s job to feed their staff,” he replied. “We’re grown adults. Though we can always eat from the cafeteria if we pay.” His tone was irratated, as if someone had asked an incredibly stupid question in class.

Shota sighed a bit, but he didn’t move, pull away, or yell. Stain was correct, there was an important artery there, and if Aisawa was bleeding out, who knew if he’d move to another target. “What is it you want, Stain? If it’s information on my students, or the school, you can pry it from my cold, dead hands.” This, too, was said in the same bored manner in which the teacher appeared to say everything. No emotion.

🔪 Stain narrowed his eyes, suspicious of Eraserhead’s quick response. But it was not out of character. The teacher was known to be distant and often cold to his students. Level headed and somewhat bored were other terms used for the has been hero. “Don’t care about your school. Or your students… right now.” Stain grinned, voice jovial and full of humor. Stain was sure that while the teacher looked indifferent, he had Aizawa’s full attention. Stretching, he leaned back in his chair, blade not wavering from its position or level of pressure. “Boy, aren’t you a stick in the mud. Cold, dead hands… esh… Don't give me a reason to make that statement prophetic.” he ended darkly. “Are you as cruel as they say you are to your students? Bored with heroics and teaching alike? Because I heard you only took the job to so you get paid to lay around. That you push your student to failure then expel them when they don’t measure up. Some role model you are. Abusing your authority. How could you be trusted to care for anyone, especially children?” he sneered the grin returning. 🔪

EREASERHEAD‌:

Aizawa's hand twitched, but he bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t stupid. He immediately figured Stain was attempting to goad him into a fight. He would not give him the satisfaction. Still, who spread rumors like that? Was that how his co-workers and students viewed him. Shota felt a slight twist of pain in his chest.

“If you believe rumors spread around in dark alleys, then you are not worth my time, Hero Killer,” a sneer of his own stretched across Shota’s face. “Do you believe all the fairy tales your sleazy pals tell you?”

Something irked the teacher. Stain still hadn’t explained what they wanted from him. “Perhaps you are hard of hearing: I asked you, what do you want?”

He reached down next to him and grabbed a folder, from which he produced a stack of ungraded papers and a red pen. Even with the blade there, he began to grade the work. A quiet sort of “screw you” to the killer.

🔪 Aizawa reaction was exactly what he had hoped for. Stain’s heart raced. This was thrilling. Even the not so subtle snubbing was perfect. He grinned so widely that his extremely long tongue slipped out as he laughed. It was a dangerous thing he was doing. Even if no one recognized him and called other heroes to come, there was Eraserhead himself. A very dangerous foe to be carelessly poking. Abruptly Stain stopped laughing, his expression serious and intense as he leaned in. “You want to know what I believe? his voice a harsh whisper that only Aizawa could hear. “… I believe you push your students so hard because the world will not be kind to them. It will push even harder to break them. I believe you expel those who do not have the drive to succeed. You will not let anyone graduate to be a ‘Hero’ who could not handle what’s coming.” Leaning back Stain draped his arm over the back of the chair. “Tell me..” his tone back to being light and friendly. “What is your honest opinion of All Might? Not asking for secrets, mind. Just your opinion of him. 🔪

EREASERHEAD‌:

Shota didn’t respond right away. He focused on a students paper, taking all the time in the world to answer. He refused to let this man probe and poke him. Once the paper was graded, he looked up, directly at Stain. Though, he didn’t use his Quirk. Just peered at him. “I will not deny nor confirm your statements, but I will say this; had you been my student, you would not have turned out this way.”

Aizawa had said for a long time that the education and the system for heroes was out-of-date and should be rectified. To him, Stain was a perfect example as to why. His Quirk could have made for a good hero, but, because his cries for help were ignored, he fell to villainy.

“Why are you so keen to know my opinion on All Might?” Shota asked. He figured he was digging for information to use against the symbol of peace. Aizawa would not let that happen.

“I don’t exactly agree with All Might’s constant in-the-spotlight life, but I understand why it is that way,” he eventually said. “He’s a good hero, tries his best to save everyone, no matter the cost.” Shota didn’t look away as he said any of this. “He takes every failure to heart, and carries it with him.”

Aizawa looked down. “I’m proud to know him, even if we disagree, and I know he does what I can’t.”

🔪 ‘… had you been my student, you would not have turned out this way…’ That comment had Stain seething with anger. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at the teacher. “I went to UA. Everyone likes this system. They can’t see it is creating more problem than it fixes. No one listened. You think you would have?” he spat out, daring Aisawa to deny it. Rising out of his seat, Stain leaned in close. His brown mismatched eyes alight with suppressed fury. “Would you have supported me in persecuting the Hero that killed my family by setting fire to my Apartment building, just so he could be seen by the media, rescuing people? That is what he did, you know. Had his friend start a fire so he could rush in to save someone. He used me! I begged him to save my family!” For one moment the fanaticism felt his eyes and he was that scared little boy he used to be. Stain dropped back into his seat, head lowered. Deflated. “He used me…” his voice broken and small but full of grief and anger. “He said no! He said NO! They were screaming! Burning! But he wouldn't save them! Not till the media is watching!” 🔪

EREASERHEAD‌:

The teacher couldn’t hide his utter shock at Stain’s words. They hit him like a bullet and got his full attention on the killer. So. This is what had happened to make him this way? He set his pen down. A hero had allowed his family to burn in a fire for media coverage? Shouta felt a heavy stab of pity, followed by his regular irritation with heroes and the media.

“I can’t tell you what would have occurred in my classroom,” Shouta finally said, “but, had you come to me, told me your story, I would have listened and helped in any way I could.” He sighed, suddenly feeling even older than before. “I’ve said for years that heroes shouldn’t be in the spotlight. That it caused too many problems. I, myself, avoid the spotlight as much as I can. Hence, why most of my class didn’t even recognize me as Eraserhead at first.”

He hated what he was about to say next. It was so cliche, so empty, and had never helped anyone before, in his opinion, but still. He had to say something, “I’m sorry that that happened to you, Stain. You, nor your family, deserved that.” He paused, “Is that why you are here?”

🔪 The truth was Stain had never received condolences before. When he woke up in the hospital all people could talk about was how brave Grey Ghost was saving him and how he should be grateful. When the police came to the hospital to get his statement the officers said the landlord had condemned the building and we were all squatters. We were lucky it didn’t happen sooner. He tried to make the police listen. Begged them to investigate! They told him they had. And I should thank Grey Ghost for being my hero, endangering himself to save me instead of spreading lies.

No one felt bad for him that he lost his entire family. Mother, Father, Grandmother, even aunts, uncles, and cousins. A dozen people in all. His family said he was the lucky thirteen. Only he never felt lucky. Doctors, Nurses, even the police thought he was an ungrateful brat. Spreading lies to get attention. After locking him in the psych ward, he had got a little too mad at the police officer, he even heard someone say his family was breaking the law and they deserved what happened.

“Thank you.” he said his voice still calm and flat. The glimmer of the sane person Stain used to be fading as his thoughts pulled away from his past into the now. “No one has ever said that to me. But you are right, that isn’t why I am here.” Would this one help him? Stain took a moment, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he considered the hero Eraserhead.

Suddenly Stain jumped up and crouched on his chair, leaning over the table. “You said you would have helped me. Will you help me now? A righteous cause for a Hero? To save people. Will you listen and work with me? Or will you let more people die?” The passion returned to Stain’s voice. “Before you ask, think. If I took this matter to the police they wouldn’t have listened. They would have arrested me. Or tried to. You know that is what would have happened. So Hero… will you help me save a few people?” 🔪

CFFEEXERASE‌:

Aizawa didn’t say anything. Just regarded Stain quietly for a minute. This could be a trick or a trap. He could be luring him to kill him off somewhere. However, if Stain was telling the truth, and Aizawa didn’t get involved, people could die. Innocent people. Shota couldn’t let that happen.

Stain was right about the police, too. They wouldn’t listen to him about anything. He would have to work with the Hero Killer.

“I’ll work with you.” He replied, somehow managing to look even more worn out. “What’s the situation? What do you mean more people?” He felt a stab of alarm. Had people already died?

Eraserhead was one of the few heroes who had worked with small-time criminals in the past. As long as no civilian was injured, he would look away.

🔪 Grinning so wide Stain looked comical or just creepy, his tongue flopped out of the side of his mouth. Plopping back into his seat he looked at the breadsticks the waitress just set on the table next to Eraserhead. “You going to eat those?” he asked as he licked the top two, ignoring the look Aizawa gave the wet bread, then him. Snatching up the two he licked, Stain stuffed them into his mouth. “Mmmm… Themmse are good! You shmmmmould try themmmm.”

His stomach no longer rumbling, Stain could think. He wanted to tell Eraserhead what was going on but he wasn’t sure he could trust the teacher yet. While he had heard good things about Aizawa he had also heard a few bad things. There was the fact that All Might had once said Eraserhead was one he could count on. And that was high praise in his book. But he wasn’t sure in this case if Eraserhead could help. Snatching up the teacher's pencil and the top paper waiting to be graded, Stain looked it over. “Badodo? Bakodo? Eh… he did have much to say.” Tearing off the bottom half what wasn’t written on, the killer wrote out an address, then handed it to Aizawa. 三田市, HYOGO

“Come as soon as you can. Alone! Do not wear anything openly hostile or flashy. No guns or knives where they can be seen. No flamboyant hero costume or you will learn nothing and more will die. After we discuss what we each think is going on then you can bring someone else in if needed but not without my ok. These people are scared. They will defend themselves if they feel threat…” A whoop of a siren approaching interrupted Stain. “Geeze, guess the waitress didn’t like me eating her gift to you. Oh, she baked a note inside,” he whispered. Unrolling his tongue, Stain dropped a damp piece of folded paper with smudged ink, onto the table. “Love note or ‘if you need help’ instructions? Hmmm I wonder.”

Then he was gone. Angry voices and clattering dishes marked which way he went. 🔪

CFFEEXERASE‌:

Aizawa pushed the food in Stain’s direction with a finger. No way in hell was he going to touch that now. He listened to Stain’s blathering, then gave the killer an openly hostile look as they took Bakugo’s paper and tore it. How was he going to explain that? Still, when the paper was passed back to him, he took it and shoved it into his pocket.

Stain had the right idea, running. Unfortunately, Shota couldn’t. He had to appear innocent. Running would simply raise questions, so he remained in his seat, allowing the killer to flee. Though, the man did gather up his grading papers and put them away, placing Bakugo’s at the back.

The police came and sat at the table. They didn’t arrest Eraserhead, or take him to the station. They simply sat and asked the teacher what occurred. Aizawa edited the truth, telling them Stain came rambling about heroes and ripping at his papers, asking if he was a true hero. This was his official statement. Then they left, with a warning to Aizawa about being careful. Shota left, stopping by his car to leave the folder, before heading for the address written.

He didn’t use guns. Ever. And his ‘costume’ was just his yellow goggles, which were tucked away in the gray fabric of his scarf. All the things he used were in the pockets of his belt. Aizawa never stood out. So the man headed to the address given, using rooftops as his mode of transportation. When he arrived at the address, he sat perched on the roof across from it, watching carefully and staying out of sight.

🔪 This was the edge of the city. Train tracks ran this way and that like battle scars across the earth. Beyond them was a huge decrepit factory. Many of the lower walls and windows were broken. Tents and shacks made from any material that could be scrounged filled the ground floor of the factory. People went about their lives, working in a small garden or on vehicles. Inside faint inconsolable crying could be heard.

There was something off about these people. Upon further surveillance, he realized what it was. They were the dregs of society. Vagrants and the homeless. Misshapen from odd quirks. People deformed by wounds or missing limbs. Not a one was whole or what would be considered normal even among a society full of unusual quirks.

On the street below, a rummaging sound and clinking of glass could be heard from within a dumpster. A long, thin dirty white tail lashed about caught by the closed lid. The lid started to bounce several times as if something was trying to get out. There were a few disgruntled sounds and a paper bag was pushed out. It fell and split when it hit the ground. Rancid leftovers spilled out over the sidewalk.

A tiny child no bigger than his forearm pushed its way out from underneath the lid. It had wild, long, curly dirty white hair and fur on its arms and legs. Spying the bag with it’s spilled contents, it let out a squeak of dismay as it got trapped by the lid. Frantic kicking and squirming got the large collar it wore free and it leaped out and landing on the ground next to the bag. Whimpering it gathered up the spoiled food and shoved it into its mouth. 🔪

CFFEEXERASE‌:

Aizawa’s eyes widened. That was a child! A starving child! What was going on here? Why were these people here? He looked all around. There had to be something- rummaging in his pockets, he produced a crumpled sandwich he’d been saving. Without hesitation, the teacher dropped it down to the child before stepping back into the shadows, where he couldn’t be seen.

Were these people tossed out to live here like this? Shota was unsure what was happening. Could he get closer? There was an awful lot of them. Chances were at least one of them had had a run-in with Eraserhead. It was risky. Still, he had to know what was going on here.

Eraserhead dropped down into an alley, careful to make little noise, and crept towards the dilapidated factory. He made sure his goggles were well-hidden in his scarf before crossing over and peering in through a broken window. Hopefully, he’d hear something useful.

🔪 A squeal of delight could be heard, then growly noming noises like a hungry kitten.

The inside of the factory looked like a trash village. People moved about doing daily activities. But there was an air of sadness. People sat in front of their hovels cradling items, grieving. While others tried to console them.

“You can come in, you know.” A frail old woman with nasty acid burns across her face gestures for him to follow her. “This is a safe haven. As much as we can make it. Dark, Evil things move and hunt in the shadows under the cover of night. You do not want to be caught outside at night if you can’t defend yourself. Come in. You will be safer with us. We don’t have a lot but we will share. When did you hear the…”

A soft trill came from behind them. The tiny child crept closer on their hands and feet like a baby monkey. It trilled a query at the man and held something out to him. Suddenly it cried out in pain as several rocks hit it in the forehead, cheek, and throat. Bleeding, it whimpered, large hurt eyes and quivering lower lip then it turned and fled. Weeping as only a heartbroken child can, as it ran, leaving behind the wax paper with half his sandwich.

“Nasty little varment!” the old woman growled. “All this trouble started around the time it showed up. Wolf in sheep's clothing.” The woman prepared to throw another handful of rocks after the fleeing child. 🔪

CFFEEXERASE‌:

“Hey! What are you doing?! That’s a child!” Aizawa stared at the old woman in shock. Why was she attacking a child?! What was going on?! “Just- Don’t!” He held up his hands, ready to plead with the woman.

“I really don’t understand what’s going on here…” He muttered, eyes wandering again. “Ma'am, please explain what’s going on.” Would Aizawa have to forcefully take the rocks from her? He didn’t want to.

Shota suddenly realized the child was hurt. He bent and scooped up the sandwich, looking after where the kid had gone. He could stay here and get answers, but…..damn!

Without warning, and against his better judgement, Aizawa took off after the kid, running away from the older woman.

🔪 “Eh?” The woman stepped forward as she looked up at the newcomer. Light from above revealed her ruined eyes. “That is no child. It is a monster. A bogin sent to tempt us into the night so we…” Hearing his retreating steps. “Sir! No. She’ll get you too. Come back!” The child ran across the tracks back, to the building where a deep crack in the brick provided it some safety. It heard the pursuit and was afraid that it was going to be hurt by more than just rocks. Scooching backward as far as it could into the crack, the child held it’s throbbing, bleeding head and stuffer it’s tail into its mouth to muffle it’s crying. 🔪

CFFEEXERASE‌:

Shota didn’t listen to the woman. Perhaps he was making a mistake, but….a kid? Out here alone? It just wasn’t right. He heard her shouting after him, though. She? Who was ‘she?’ This kept getting crazier and crazier, and Eraserhead felt he might be in over his head.

Aizawa chased the child all the way to the deep crack where it hid itself. He could still hear it’s soft cries. Panting, the pro crouched down, holding out the partly eaten sandwich and a packet of crackers. After a moment, he set them down and backed up a bit, giving the child space.

Oddly enough, the teacher was treating the child the way he’d treat a wild stray he was hoping to lure and take home. He began to speak in a soft tone, trying to comfort the kid. “Hello, I’m Eraser. Are you all right?” He paused, tilting his head, “Can you speak and understand me? I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re not to badly hurt.”

#gaslight : bad blood #erasquirk #picking up where we left off #sorry for the long post #read more will be removed later #bad blood t.2

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cheetahsprints · 6 years

Text

Weight of Stone

Summary: Cisco was getting himself in trouble, in more ways than one. But he would have to put that on the shelf, for the sake of the entire world. Word Count: 2772 Previous: Subtle Grace Next: Shattered Surface

Cisco was glad he didn't wear the fingerless gloves. Even a hint of contact, and Harry would be fully aware Cisco’s hidden truth. Harry’s hand seemed large in his grip. Cisco was looking into his eyes, for the first times, and having him look back. He still felt like he was going to wake up from this vivid dream. And he didn’t really sleep, only entered the occasional trance state to recharge, especially after vibing.

Cisco had allowed Harry to see him. It could be a fatal error or the best decision yet.

Most humans would have seen nothing but wings and a near blinding light. Harry could make him out, every detail. It was proof Harry was his soulmate. He hadn't wanted to believe it.

Unlike humans, who required physical contact, angels’ senses were affected immediately. He had been with Harry, 18, alone in his home, on his birthday. Cisco’s friends had pitied him for getting stuck with such an antisocial pain in the pass. But Cisco had been optimistic, he thought there could be more than meets the eye.

Harry’s schoolmates were jealous of him, or didn’t understand him, or they didn’t know what to do with his attitude. He had a pen pal from another state, no one else. And Cisco would read over his shoulder, to see that Harry never bared his soul or inner thoughts to that person. He was isolated and pretended to like it that way. His parents were distant as well. He didn’t even get the benefit of throwing wild parties while they were gone.

Bells had rang in Cisco’s head, the moment Harry had unknowingly looked into his eyes. Cisco’s nerve ends had been aflame. He knew.

“It never ends well,” Caitlin had warned him.

Her husband had been human. He had sacrificed his soul to save many lives. She was never the same. They renamed her Killer Frost, for how violently and ruthlessly she took out demons with her ice powers. Having simple small talk with her felt like walking on thin ice, pun absolutely intended. Cisco had thrown caution to the wind, despite all the warnings.

He had watched Harry grow and change, but not very much. He broke hearts. He yelled and cried. He met the love of his life, and Cisco helplessly watched her die. He saw the pride Harry had for his daughter. Cisco was remote yet ever present like the moon to the Earth. He could observe and not touch.

He fell in love with someone he could never speak with, someone who would live and die and never know him. Harry would’ve never knew he existed, that he had another soulmate in the universe. Or so Cisco had assumed.

Desperate to save the man he loved, he broke one of the most sacred laws: Don't Cheat Death.

But he couldn’t understand the justification. He had a daughter who still needed him. The loss of her father too would crush her young, innocent soul. Caitlin was Jesse’s guardian. She would find out soon, as Jesse had been told of her father’s demise before Cisco could revive him. He figured Harry would call her in private. He feared Caitlin’s reaction, and the outrage from the rest. Cisco didn’t have a good standing with the elder guardians already.

Revealing himself to Harry had been necessary. They could only do this together.

He would have to duel Death herself. She wouldn’t stop until Harry was no longer for this world. It was gossiped among the angels that he had not unlocked the full scope of his abilities. That if he did, he could be strong enough to challenge the Archangel or even Death. She chartered souls, kept the balance of the circle of life.

She would take Harry over Cisco’s corpse. He had a sinking feeling that was the most likely result. But he would go down fighting. She would pry Harry from Cisco’s cold, limp fingers or never have him at all, those were the only two options.

In the present, Cisco lingered too long. Harry tilted his head, squinting as though Cisco was the most intriguing puzzle. Cisco blushed and yanked his hand back. He cleared his throat and situated himself on the arm of the couch. Cisco kicked off his golden sandals and put his feet on the cushion. He stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. Harry’s lip curled, informing Cisco he successfully broken the moment. He found himself missing Harry’s scrutiny. Cisco had yearned to be the object of his laser focus for years.

Cisco was weak. He shouldn’t allow himself to easily fall into human trappings. He was beyond getting lost in a stupid, futile little crush. At the end of the episode, Harry had ants in his pants. If he had worn any. He repeatedly shifted on the couch. Cisco leaned back and put his hands behind his head, eyes following Harry as he went off to his bedroom in a tizzy.

He reappeared fully dressed and carrying car keys. “I can’t idle here when there’s potential discoveries waiting for me. Let’s go.”

“Bossypants,” Cisco mumbled. He went, not like he had something better to do. He flew above Harry, admiring his expensive car. The model wasn’t even on the market yet. Harry spoiled himself in some ways, deprived himself in others. Such as sleep. And socialization.

“Welcome to STAR labs,” Harry announced. “It’s been the leading facilitator of genius and innovation for -”

Cisco rolled his eyes unseen. “I know.”

Harry gave him a dirty look and breezed down the hallway. Cisco fluttered after him. It was quite spacious which he approved of. They came to a fairly empty space. A single glass board housed Harry’s equations. It was where Harry came to be utterly alone.

“I can make some adjustments, turn this into a training room.”

They set to work. Various projects were labeled and stacked onto shelves in the storage closet. Being marginally stronger, Cisco moved most of the tables. Meanwhile, he snuck glances at Harry as he assisted. Cisco never invaded his privacy so far to see him totally naked, but he knew what Harry looked like underneath his sweaters, cardigans, and jackets. For a mortal his age, he was ridiculously fit.

Harry left a computer station in part of the space. He sat in the chair and asked Cisco about his powers. He explained how he could see the past, present, and future. He added that he could feel the vibrations of the universe, open breaches in the space-time continuum, and shoot blasts from his hands. Harry stopped and stared a few times, trying to wrap his head around it all. Cisco’s abilities must have been a marvel.

He decided not to explain the multiverse to Harry yet. That might be a bit too much.

Harry began setting up targets. Most of them were pop outs on a course, reminding him of Men in Black. To his embarrassment, he mostly screamed in surprise and either missed or blasted the wrong target. When he glanced at Harry, the idiot mortal was obviously trying not to laugh his head off. At least he understood that wouldn’t encourage Cisco much.

“This isn’t working!” Cisco threw up his hands. He jumped up on a desk and crossed his arms. He knew he looked like a petulant child.

Harry waved, “There is no sitting on desks in this laboratory. Honestly.”

Cisco stuck his tongue out but hopped down. Harry stepped close to him. Their noses almost touched. His breath puffed hot over his mouth. Cisco trembled with the need to get in closer. He restrained himself by a thread. Harry smiled like he knew exactly the effect he had.

“You will get this. Try. Again.”

His voice was rough. It dragged Cisco over the rocks and dashed him against the cliffside. He raised his arm. To his credit, Harry didn't flinch. Cisco shot the vibe blast past his shoulder, hitting the roving target on the bullseye. He blew on his knuckles and grinned.

Harry didn't turn to look. “Good job.”

Harry continued, “Time for a break.”

Cisco thought he was hallucinating. He knew Harry didn't take breaks. He seemed to enjoy working himself into the ground. But of course, Harry went to the board and began writing and drawing diagrams. He only meant Cisco.

He returned to his roots of silent observation. Watching Harry work was his favorite pastime. He blinked and realized Harry was working on something to channel and guide his power. Angels always just used their powers, they never built anything to refine control. Perhaps he should bring that to the table during the next meeting.

They’d probably laugh him right out. He was young by angel standards, which usually assumed inexperience and incompetence. He had a hard time proving he wasn't a fledgling anymore.

Harry became stumped. He growled and rubbed his mouth. He pushed up his glasses then took the off entirely. Cisco held in the urge to giggle at his frustration. Harry’s marker ran dry. He gave up fast on shaking it and threw it in a sharp flick if his wrist. Cisco reacted, sending it through a breach. The marker hit Harry square in the forehead. Cisco snorted. Harry jerked belatedly and glared at him. Cisco completely lost his shit and bent his knees. He desperately sucked in air past his chortling.

“Ramon. Why am I putting up with you again?”

Cisco breathed in deep. He gasped, “Because we need each other. To stop that murderous fiend.”

“Right. A little professionalism would be appreciated.”

“Because throwing a marker is professional?” Cisco almost bopped him on the nose with his index finger. He stopped his hand just in time. Harry went cross-eyed, then took a wide step backward.

“It’s part of my thought process. I am channeling my frustration into the marker, instead of giving you a bloody nose.”

“I’m an angel. You know that would just break your hand.” Cisco put his hands on his hips. Harry copied him. Cisco’s head dropped as he was hit by a round of chuckles.

“Then you’d have to listen to me complain,” Harry said, “So it’s a win-win situation.”

“If you say so.”

Cisco turned to examine the remaining contents of the desk. He curiously picked up an old fashioned war helmet. A wave of nausea hit him. His falling adrenaline spiked again. He was vibing. He was seeing Hunter Zolomon, the speed devil that had almost killed Harry. He was dressed in a monsterous blue outfit. They were in a parking lot somewhere. He let the waves of the universe pull him.

Zolomon shouted, “You think you stand a chance alone Flash?”

“I'm not alone,” spoke another leather clad speedster in red. Another in yellow joined him.

“You’re done terrorizing this town, Zoom.”

Cisco didn’t recognize their voices. His mind immediately supplied improvements for the red suit. The yellow seemed well developed. He wouldn't touch Zolomon with a nine foot pole. It was bizarre. Cisco figured it was set in the future, but it wasn’t apparent how far. They all sped off, leaving trails of multi-color lightning.

He gasped for air, Harry's visage appearing before him. His expression was tight. Cisco was collapsed against a work table, wings fluttering urgently. Harry started to reach out, halting the motion and wiping his hand on his sweater. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Are you alright?”

“I had a vision - hard to explain -”

“Save it, you can barely breathe.”

Cisco appreciated that. Harry had a soul after all. There was hope for him. He thought about his vision. The angels’ database only had five known speedsters that had visited or were born on this Earth: Hunter Zolomon (born), Jay Garrick (visitor), Johnny Quick (visitor), Wally West (born), and one whose other identity was unknown. Speedsters didn’t have guardian angels, and angels weren’t omniscient. Additionally, speedsters could see angels and easily disguise themselves.

Something about the scarlet speedster wiggled in the back of his mind.

Iris West-Allen. She had written chronicles of central city’s very own hero called the Flash. He was one of the speedsters they had referred to as a speed angel. He was the real deal. The other, Wally, hadn’t yet come into his own. Cisco didn't entirely trust him, but the Flash did good work. He could try to find out more from Iris’s guardian, Linda.

Harry snapped his fingers in front of Cisco’s face. So much for being nice.

“I'm going to run to Big Belly. Do you want anything?”

He must have asked Cisco several times, judging by his tone. Cisco understood him getting irritated over his unresponsiveness. Cisco hated repeated himself. It made him feel like he wasn’t important enough to the person to be listened to, and it happened quite often among his kind. He felt invisible sometimes.

“Two triple triples and a jamocha milkshake.” Cisco added, “Please and thank you.”

Someone around here had to show some manners.

“I supposed I'm buying. Can't you just make it -”

“Against the rules.”

Better to be as much of a stickler as possible. If not with the angel of Death, at least he could plead a case with the guardians. Digging a deeper hole wouldn't help his case. He already had a reputation of borderline reckless behavior. Harry gave a short nod and headed out.

“He’s hot.” Cisco literally flew to the ceiling due to that sudden voice behind him.

“If you haven’t hit that yet, I don’t know what you’re waiting for, Vibe.”

“Rathaway you jackhole! Why didn’t you let me see you?”

Hartley snickered. “And miss the chance to scare the feathers off of you? No way.”

“Jerk. As I live and breath you are my least favorite person. What do you want?”

Inside, Cisco was screaming. Hartley rarely left his charge, David Singh, unless it was an absolute emergency. Hartley was obsessed with him, but Singh was happily married. It had showed no signs of deterioration. He would feel some sympathy for Hartley, if he wasn’t such an asshat. He braced himself as Hartley’s expression became somber.

“This isn’t a social call.”

“No really, because we should totally hang out more. Get on with it maybe?” Cisco noticed he was still holding the helmet. He dropped it to the floor in disgust. He would have to ask where Harry even found the thing, it radiated evil.

Hartley told him gravely, “The Archangel Nora is dead. She was murdered by a speed devil.”

Speedsters were the forbidden children of an angel and a human. They usually went bad at some point. Cisco just spun and gaped at the tattered cardboard. He couldn’t bear the alarm in Hartley’s eyes. If Hartley was spooked, that wasn’t a good sign. It was an alarm screeching at everyone to get out of town or die. Hartley blew out air behind him, the heaviness of the situation apparent in even that sound.

“We're having a meeting to vote in a new leader. Quickly finish up -- uh -- whatever the hell you were doing.”

Hartley cloaked himself. He was gone as sudden as he appeared. It was typical Hartley. Cisco couldn’t shake the look on Hartley’s face. He was scared. Hartley was an elder angel. The last time anyone heard of an elder angel being frightened out of their wits was World War II. The last time an Archangel had died -- humans hadn’t truly existed yet. Angels had looked more like Archaeopteryx than apes. They were a mostly incorporeal, adaptable species that took the shape of the dominant life form, in order to connect with and understand them.

The loss of an Archangel was an omen of the highest order. It was a harbinger of extinction.

“This is really bad, like over 9000 levels of badness,” Cisco said to himself.

Cisco’s wings unfurled, preparing for him to take flight. With the fear flooding his system, he might shake himself apart with vibes at any moment. Probably not the best time to leave someone who was helping him control his vibes. Harry grabbed Cisco’s wrist, sending goosebumps along his entire arm. Cisco had missed his return, despite facing the doorway. Harry dropped his bags on the floor and squeezed.

“What's wrong?” Harry released him, blanching at the contact. He had received his sign. Cisco froze, his wings wrapping around him protectively.

“I’m sorry I can’t - I. We’ll talk about this later,” Cisco said in a rush. “There’s this speedster - the Archangel’s dead and I - I gotta go!”

Before Harry could get out a single word, Cisco vanished through a breach.

#harrisco #guardian angel au #soulmate au #actual angel Cisco Ramon #my fic #I can't stop writing at work gdi #random name drops #A wild Hartley appears #three guesses who the angel of death is c'mon I gave you the gender #I might continue this but ugh no guarantees #plot isn't my strong suit

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isolationreview · 3 years

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My Life in Isolation: Part 1

This segment I wrote for my first post but decided it went on too long for an introduction. But this is a crash course in what my life of isolation was, but not what it felt like and not the day-to-day. That would be a lot more to cover. I don’t think I could even give a full idea of what isolation was like in my life in just one long post, either; by that time it’d have to become a short novella. I’m not even going to get into too many particulars about what happened in each stage of my life. It also feels a bit icky to talk so much about myself, especially as a person who spent a long time with what I think might have been a dissociate disorder. When I was 8 years old I was taken out of school because of discipline and internal family problems that would take up too much unrelated space to get into here -- basically I was a little kid feuding with half my school staff. I had exactly one friend throughout my childhood who I saw every once in awhile, sometimes going months or years without speaking to even them. Otherwise, my encounters with people were sparse, intermittent, usually the result of tagging along with my parents (who had no friends or close associates) around our small city as they shopped. Many children experience a lonely childhood, it’s true, but I think as years grew the disconnect from seeing or knowing so few people grew on itself and became exponentially harder to deal with. Always there was the lingering hope that some day things would get better, maybe my parents would allow me to go back to school... But that never came. Toward the end of my teen years I joined a religious organization that one of my parents had belonged to most of their life but was barely active in throughout my early life. And, desperate to be accepted in the new group, the altogether about four hours a week of contact with other people that it provided became my life. These few hours a week was a huge social uptick for me, and it showed to the point that I was immediately branded as “backwards” and “autistic” (I’ve never been tested for any psychological anomaly, so their assertion was that ‘autistics’ were simply those who had a hard time communicating). So, for nearly a decade from then on, I lived with what in our community was the stigma of being shy, which has a feedback of its own. After a while my friend from when I was 8 years old went into the military and we hardly spoke again for several years -- mostly because they were so busy and I was so self-internalized. Pen pals, internet friends, came and went over the years, so I wasn’t completely alone. I also had my family. So it was more a permanent 2020 situation than what a prisoner of war would likely experience. And yet, religious fundamentalism drove me further into isolation as I was told by our prudish local technophobes that the people I would find on the internet were mostly criminals. So again I isolated myself, trying to get by on tidbits of interaction that I experienced with a few dozen people. And yet I at no point had any friends in that group, and only a decade into my conformity was I even invited over to one of their houses. I was an unwanted person, and I more or less signed up for it. Due to the aforementioned ‘schoolessness’ and the insular nature of my own family, I didn’t even begin looking for a job until I was in my late twenties, around the same time that I was in a position to seek one. The world, too, forgets you when you have next to no formal education, but thankfully its easy enough to study and receive a GED so long as you’re able to absorb education through osmosis while having next to no way of interacting with the human system. I found my first job and “lost my religion,” after about a decade and a half I could no longer stand being in the same room with the fundamentalists. And still; progress was very slow, still living with my parents and not knowing how to advance in a world which had been set to ‘read only mode’ for me for over two decades. I started college after a long stint thinking I could get into a really nice one just on what I figured was the uniqueness of my life story. College was probably the best experience of my life, being able to actually produce results that other people could see and give recognition to. I met a ton of nice people, but I always felt distant and alien to them. Still living with my parents, who, holding the purse strings, refused to let me go into distanced learning in another state. I feel like I should realize at this point that a lot of this was my fault. I shouldn’t have listened to anyone in my life ever, flopped out of the womb as a diehard atheist, extrovert, entrepreneur, and all-around professional hustler. Okay, that’s a bit hyperbolic, but I’ve heard the things people say about just homeschoolers... and in a society mad for individualism, even the nicest people seem to turn very unsavory when the subject of communal living, dependence, and... I don’t know how all to explain it, but they for some reason see homeschooled people as ugly ducklings -- like pack animals who have been away from the herd for too long and “smell different.” I think it should be noted, too, that most everyone who goes to school learns a bit about how to hustle their way through life from going there, even if they don’t realize it. How to make connections, how to ‘survive’ in various social situations, how to oneself out there for things like finding a job. That may all be inadequate for many, if not most, but at least it’s something. And going through life with next to nothing? That puts you in the underclass, the forgotten people. I guess I’ll leave it there for now, because typing all this out has made me feel decently sapped. Hopefully I’ll feel like adding more later. I think next I’ll focus more on the later part of my life or the day to day details of isolation and how it felt. Thanks for reading, if anyone does -- if you have any specific questions or things you’d like to know, please leave me a comment.

#psychology #isolation #academic #study #childhood #lifestory #autobiography #2020 #blues #blog #feel #learning about people

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lenin-it-to-win-it · 6 years

Text

the lorax, but everytime a character appears its bnha and every time u read it u want 2 die

summary: oh you know damn well whats coming, sweetie

notes: its 2:35 am. i spent over an hour writing this. pls clap.

*****************************************************************************************************

it was a suny day in thneedville and the sun was shining but it was COLD and DARk in dekus hart as he gazed sadly off intot he distance. “mommm wy doesnt todoroki senpai-san NOTICE me???”” he lameneted to his mom.

“maybe its ur ugly little pissbaby child face” inko suggested as she cooked up a spaghety for brekfast.

“how can i impress him??” deku questioned

“try lifting, cucklord” said his grandma recovery girl as she casually bench bressed 600 pounds of rocks.

“how bout i find him a plant insted?” deku sugested thinking about the tre todoroki painted on his house. he had asked todoorki if he liked trees and he sed ‘ya sur i gues’. “bitches lov plants”

“yeeee i kno wat u mean giv him some *lettuce*” recovery gorl winked

“wat a bout a tree” “but TREEs are DEAD” inko exlciamed! she threw the spagheti on the floor for dramtic effect and cltuched dekus head in his hands. “Son do not SPEAK of such things or The All For One’HAre Corporation Copyright TM wil BUST thru the ROOF and kill you! Now sit down and eat ur capitalism! Consumerism is god hallejeuluah amen!”

“tree” deku whisperd

the hose exploded and every1 died but they were okey. avaracious all-for-one’hare, a tiny liitle with a shiny bowlcut and tiny little man feet bitchslaped deku across the face. “NO TREES ALLOUD!!1!” he shrieked. he bloo a kiss ot dekus mom “that plate of capitalism u have is cooking upped looks lovly mam”

inko blsuhed. “thanks”

“just make sure to keep the kiddo here away from any” all-for-one’hare, lowered his voice, which was hard bc he was already so short and low and close tothe flor. “trees”

inko gASPed! “of CORSE! i wil keep him away from the place where the trees once were by the Forbindden WAll u buildt with ur money to keep out the Bad COmmunist SentimentsTM”

recovery girl made shifty suspicious looks on her face “sure yea me too”

all-for-one’hare, was convinced. “I AM CONVINECED” he sed “by felicia!” he hopped on his hoverbord and hoverborded away.

inko cleaned the spaghety off the flor and recovery girl pulled deku by the leg into the backyard. “YO FUCKER U BETTER RUN UR ASS OVER THE COMMIE WALL AND GET A TREE SO U CAN START SLINGIN SOME MAD PUSS”

“but gramma im gay”

“then start slingin some nuts my d00d the POINT is get a TRE e” she scremed. “when i was, a yung boi, my ffather, took me over the wall, to see a bunch of trees, he sed son when, u grow up, dont kill them , the trees, and bring the nonbelievers, to come and plant new trees”

“k”

she siezed dekus sholders “GO FORTH CHILD BRING THE TREES SO WE CAN MAKE THEM GROW ANEW AS THE PROPHECY HAS FORETOLD, OUT BEYOND THE WALL LIVES A MYSTERIOUS MAN CALLED THE ONCE-FOR-ALLER, FIND HIM, HE WILL TELL YOU HIS TRAGIC TALE OF TREE AND BRING NEW LIFE TO THIS BARREN CAPITALIST HELLSCAPE, NOW GO”

“k” deku hopped on his totaly radicel scooter headed 2 the wall. a robot cat watched him forehsadowingly.

it was hella empty over the commie cuck wall with not even a bORger king in site!!!1! tree stumps covered the flor and clouds of smonk from a thousand vape pens darkened the sky. a ded bird lay deadly on the ground while its bird children cried over its bird corpse. it was sad. deku took a sad face selfie with the ded bird then did a sick ollie over the corpse and headed toward the mysterious shack in the distants.

the shack had a bucket in front of the dor labeled “piss”. deku hopped on in the piss bucket “YO ONCE-FOR-ALLER U GOT KIK??” he cried. wind wistled past his ears and he coffed from the vape smoke but then the pis buckt got pulled up on a ROPE and deku found himself hOISted up to a wINdOW!!!! he stareed face to face at a pair of black eyes with blue spots in the middle like limpid tears and some long bony arms with glvovs and yaoi hands reached out to slap him.

“WHAT” he yelled “ARE YOU DOOING” he leaned closer “IN MY SWWAAAAAAMP!????”

deku wet his pants and criied. “i sutjj,,, i jstu wann, t a t;rree,,” he said sobbily. “i,m tr yiyng to get s enpai , t o noticnse me,, an ,n and i thgout,, i fi got, hima t,r,ree, he wo uld liek me”

“fucken millenials” snarled the once for aller “its always senpai this, thrussy that, my neck my back, my snapping-chat, wy wold i giv u a tre??”

“b-because i,, i brought u a SPAGHETTY” deku exxclaimed, pulling pounds of spagheetyi out of his pockets

the once for aller slorped up the spaghetti hongrily “ya ok i gues i can tel u my storey now. its a dark and trageic tale of capitalism, like the star wors preqols” a tear ran down his bony old cheek. “but insted of jar jar binks thers only me, booboo the fool”

there was a crossdissolve and suddenly they were in the once-for allers past where he was a big bara man with bara tiddies and twinky skinny geans no where near the size needed to accomodate for his phat dong. he rode along in a cariege puled by a single muel

“FASTER AIZAWA KUN” cried the once-for-aller hapily. “those proletariats arent gonna exploit themselves!”

aizawa the mule grunted sexily and plowed on, workin that tight little mule ass.

the once-for-aller started shredding out a sick nasty solo on an elextric guitar and it was RAD AS HELL as he blasted out the opening cords to jake pol’s magmnum opiss “its everyday bro”. “we gotta dab on those haters aizawa kun” said the once-for aller with a very gay wink

aizawa the mule grunted in annoyance. he could not dab, for his sexy mule bodey had no arms.

they fond a metric shitload of trees and there were like wildlifes and shit running around. bears (like endeovor) froclikced int he woods with their hairy bara nippels exposed 2 the world, tsuyu and her frog pals swam in the woter, and tokoyami the borb boy floo in the sky wich was pure and clean without a single trace of vape smoke. the tres looked fuckable so the once for aller busted a nut against one trunk then wipped out a glock and started shootin them down “YEHAW fuCKERS iTS HIGH NOON” he screamed in texan, his native language, as he mowed downt he trees the way present mics sexy voice mows down the pussey.

sudenly DANY DEVITO IN A FURSOOT APEARED. he was tiny and magestic and orange and so fucken valid. also he was grand toledo. “CUNT” he yelled kicking the once for aller in th e kneecaps. “THIS IS THE ENVIROMENT!!!!1! YOU CANT JUST START WEED WACKIN THES TREES WITH YOUR YANKEE DONGLE DANDY AND SHOOTING THEM WITH GUNS!1! THAT IS BAD AND WRONG! CAPTIN PLANET DIED FOR OUR SINS”

the once for aller looked down at the tiny orange man then down at his own big bulgin bara tiddes “i cold crush u 2 deth with my tiddys, maybe u shuld stay out of my way dude’

dany deveto gasped angrely. “how DARE!!1!” he screamed, punching the once-for-allers big toe. “BUDDY I WILL PERSONALLY FUCK YOUR GRAVE WITH MY OWN TWO ASSCHEEKS IF YOU SAY ONE MORE FUCKING WORD, I DEFY U TO TALK SHIT, COME AT ME SCRUBLORD IM RIPT”

“try me gardfielf” the once for aller laffed “iv ben drinkign plenty of nut milk so my boneses are helthy and Stronk”

daney devito pulled out his 20 inch thunderdong and beat the once for aller in the head with it until he was past oout on the ground. the woodland crreatures danced hapily around the bodey but then he woke up

“u kno wat” he moaned “mabye capitalism isnt so good, lets al liv together in communism and friendship, and i wont cut and/or fucc any of the trees”

danny deveto was mostly appeased. “ya ok, but if u try anymore fuckin shit ill go back in time and cuck ur grandparents.”

dannneie dievoto tried to hav the once-for aller killed on at least 10 separate occasions and the once for aller did slip in some clandestine tree fuckage now and agein, but other than that the communism and friendship was good. but everything changed went he fire nation atteacked, they defeeted endevor esily but then the once for allers slutty, sluty family showed up to REEK HAVICK :0 !!!1!

the once for allers ugley mom, sir nighteye, stepped out of their cheap car and did the anime glasses thing “toshi u commie thot” he said with distaste “stop being poor”

“but MOM” the once for aller wined “i HAV to be por! its good for the envorionemnt and my new animal frends and if i dont dany devito will beat me over the head with his massive meaty man-canoe!”

“dont b lil bitch, do a capitalism.”

the once for allers loud cosin hizashy jumped out of the wagon. “YAINT” he shrieked at 1000000 decibels, killing 90% of life on erth. “ARE WE GON FUCK SOME TREES OR WHAT”

the once for aller looked at his disproving mom, then at his loud cosin, then at the very fuckable trees. his eyes lingered on a sexy sap hole. “yea we are” he said, pulling out his gitar sexily. “how bad could it posbiley be??”

the answer was prety fucken bad as it turned out. a metric fuckton of people paid to watch the once for aller and his family fuck trees to deth by throwing moneey at them like they were stripers, but then al the tres were fucked ded!!11! the bears starved into ity bity twinks, unable to maintain the THicc, tsuyu and the frogs choked and coffed up water ful of human piss as they peed in the water while laughing in delite at the once for allers antics, and tokoyami and the birbs coffed out their organs from the clouds of vape smoke filing the sky.

soon ther was no one left. the once for allers familey left with al the money, aizawa the fuckable mule was ded, and it was just the once for aller allone in the rouns of his former capitalistc glory with only the bright yellow banana suit on his back to remind him of those days.

dani devioto looked at the once for aller with sad eyes before kciking his own ass so hard he got sent rocketing thru the stratusphere, leaving behind an imapct crater with a single word

“cunt” deku whispered softly in the present as he gazed into the crator.

the once for aller sighed sadley. “iv wondered for years and yeers wat he ment by that, but i think i understand now. unless some1 like u stops being a cunt, then nothign is gona get better, u nut”

“shit fam thats deeep” sed deku

the once for aller looked at dekus pissbaby child face. “i lost evrything to capitalism, my friends, nature, my family” teers rolled down his cheks “i even sold my organs to buy cocane and strippers so now i hav a total of 2 orgens in my hole bodey.”

“kinky”

“but we can change that!” cried the once for aller passionetely. “i am going 2 giv u a tree to plant in thneedvil so communism can return and bring back the life stole from this world with my big stick diplomacy. go now, young midorieya-shonen my boy, GO FORTH IN THE NAME OF COMMUNISM AND UN-CUNT THIS MISEREBLE WORLD!!1!”

ther was an epic radicel chase seen wher deku had to fite the The All For One’HAre Corporation Copyright TM and his grandma recovery girl did sik triks on her moped and deku almost but not quite got to kis todorki senpai but they made it to the town square.

deku held todorokis hands and tenderly put the baby tre in it “here” he sed “take my seed”

todoroky noded solemly. “i hav never wanted anything more than to be given ur seed midoreya” he was about 2 plant the seed in the ground when all for one’hare appered! “NOT SO FAST FUCKHOLES” he yelled capitalistically. “this TRee is COMMuNISM!!1!” he cried to the townspeople. “do u RELLY want to be FILTHY COMMIES???”

“Commies hate micdonaleds!!1” screamed one impassoned townsperson.

“LETS BOIL THEM IN OIL” some one else agred.

“but guys wait!!!” deku cried “dont u want like, nature n shit?”

“CAPITALISTS WANT TO REPLACE EVERY REMOTELY FUCKABLE PERSON WITH A TREE” all for one’hare screamed

teh twonspoeple gasps, thens tarted chanting for deku todo and grandma to get boiled in oil

deku sweated nervosly “um but,, treees,, r good?”

“OIL OIL OIL”

“BACK IN MY DAY WE FUCKED TREES AND WE LIKED IT” recovery girl rored!

that was acomeplling argument. the boil in ooil chanting slowed

all for one turned to his henchperson stain “STAIN” he yelled “TEL THESE HIPPY DIPPY COMMIE TREE FUCKERS WHAT WE REALLY THINK OF THIS CAPTEN PLANET B-ROLL BULLSHIT”

stain cleered his throt and burst into magnificent song “let it gro let it gro, so we can have trees to bone” he sang. he was The Ultimate ChadTM so every1 agreed with him imediately. they throow all for one’hare into a pit of spiders where eh was eten and killed and planted the seed in the fertile butthole of the earth wher it could blosom and gro.

in the folowing yeers trees started groiwng beyond the wals and the once for aller crawled out of his shame sahck to water them with his nut as an act of penanc.e

slowly, magesticsally, danny devito in a fursewt flew down from the sky. “ya done good cunt” he grunted, tenderly slapping the once for allers boney ass with his furry orange old man boner. “ya done good.”

they both floated up to gay heaven by their ass skins wher the once for allers big bara past self greeted them with open arms. “all of ur trubles are ogre” he whispered tenderly in their tidditlyated ears.

the once for aller caressed his past self “oh oncey” he whispered sweetly “are u shure we should do this?? can u even,,, oh, how can u love me in this broken down form??”

past once for aller smiled and did the kabedon thing with his future self who whimpered arousedly and blushed carnelian. “its not who we are on the outside” he shoved his entire arm up his entire ass“its who we are inside”

danney devito cheered the once for allers on as they fucked together for all of eterneity and it was very communiest teh end

#bnha #all might #deku #lorax au #selfcest #i managed to work it in #at the very end #i Had TO

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rkhyungwon · 6 years

Text

{ new year’s kiss }

31st dec, 2010

a winding, narrow staircase leads from his parent’s penthouse apartment to the rooftop and, like every year, all the guests his mother has invited start climbing it at exactly five minutes before midnight. the apartment building was high and the view on the fireworks was fantastic. at the bottom of the staircase stood hyungwon, fingers tightly gripping the rail and lips pursed. the glass of orange juice in his hand had been long forgotten as he shifted on his feet, impatient to finally reach the top and, at the same time, dreading the cold wind he could already feel seeping into the warm apartment through the open glass door.

jaeho stood before him, a step above that gave him lavage he didn’t usually have and hyungwon tries not to let it show that he was slightly miffed at the half a head of height difference and not only the fact that he would get to see the fireworks before hyungwon did. hyungwon’s lips purse further, his young mind cursing everything and swearing that new year’s would be ruined because there was only a minute left and people were moving too slowly. the older gentleman in front of jaeho finally climbs three steps, but instead of moving forward, jaeho turns around. there’s a smile on his face and no matter how much time would pass, hyungwon would never forget it. he would forget what jaeho said, but later on will think to remember it must have been something teasing, he would remember huffing and crossing his arms - or did he continue gripping the metal rail? - and he would remember jaeho leaning down. his lips taste like the orange juice in hyungwon’s glass, but they’re warm and soft, like hyungwon’s favourite pillow. he forgets how to breathe and his small world spins, his head dizzy from the sudden rush of blood towards his face. panic grips his chest for a heartbeat; did jaeho somehow find out about his budding feelings? hyungwon thinks he had been doing such an excellent job in hiding them. the moment ends all too quickly and as if he had been pulled underwater before, the sounds of exploding fireworks and murmur of conversation start flooding his senses again. jaeho is still wearing that smile, but he’s much closer than before. hyungwon still doesn’t know how to breathe. “happy new year’s.” jaeho says. hyungwon finally exhales.

31st of dec, 2017

a winding, narrow staircase leads from his parent’s penthouse apartment to the rooftop and, like every year, all the guests his mother has invited start climbing it at exactly five minutes before midnight. the apartment is left behind almost empty, with hyungwon still sitting on the armrest of the living room’s couch, the wine glass in his hand almost empty and shoulder’s slumped. melancholy had gripped his heart, like so often, and it doesn’t take more than a glance over his shoulder and towards the staircase for him to see that smile again, clear as day. he still feels the heartbreak, the loss and the sadness of being left behind by the person he has loved the longest and the bitterness he has to swallow is quickly drowned out with the last gulp of sweet wine. he inhales and pulls his phone out of his pocket, movements slow and tired. he dials the number of his mailbox, waits for the familiar beep right before letting the sound of jaeho’s voice wash over him. “hey it’s me, your best friend jaeho.” his bottom lip starts to quiver and hyungwon starts gnawing on it almost immediately; he’s listened to it often enough for the words not to effect him anymore. there’s the rush of wind that makes jaeho’s voice sound more distant and brings back the scent of sea salt, “that was the wind. i’m sitting outside by the sea— i mean this is busan so pretty much wherever you go there’s a breeze of the water.” there is a short pause and he closes his eyes, imagines jaeho falling quiet, looking uncharacteristically pensive, “it’s like, uh, almost two in the morning which is why i didn’t call you and instead decided to leave this voice message—even though it feels super weird to have a one-sided conversation.” there’s the sound of laughter that’s still so warm and so familiar it makes his heart ache, “anyway i just wanted to check in with you. i hope you’re sleeping and eating well even though i’m not around to give you discounted chicken or fresh croissants from the bakery down the road. maybe you could train mozart to get some fresh bread in the mornings. that would be so cool!” although the idea was silly, the audible smile in jaeho’s voice makes hyungwon laugh, still; a short and shaky sound. “as you know i’m living with and helping out my grandparents—you’ve met them—and uh… it looks like I’ll be here a bit longer than i expected.” jaeho pauses and hyungwon let’s the feeling of longing wash over him. this part was always the most painful. “i’ve managed to find a job in a dance studio here luckily so i’m not entirely a burden. but it’s still tough. i know I said I’d be back soon, wonnie, but uh… yeah, it seems like i’ll have to break that promise. i’m really sorry.” his eyes open. he blinks once, twice; tries to blink the blurriness away. “you know I miss you right? like a lot a lot. i’ll try to make it back to seoul after new years okay? i love you, hyungwon-ah, stay healthy and happy for me okay?” the message ends and hyungwon’s brows furrow, eyes shifting to stare at the glass that’s currently resting atop his knee. he promised himself he wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t let the tears fall. outside, the fireworks have started. hyungwon inhales and hangs up on the computer voice, starts dialling the number he still knew by heart - by heart. how ironically fitting of an idiom. it’s midnight and he knows the lines are busy, knows it will go straight to mailbox and clears his throat. he doesn’t want jaeho to hear how effected he is. “hey, hyung...” it had been months since they talked. after the voice message jaeho left, hyungwon has been ignoring him. swiping his calls and leaving his messages unread. it was childish. petty. a tantrum that wouldn’t hurt only him, but jaeho as well and yet it had taken him until this very moment for him to feel ready to reply. “it’s me, hyungwon. um... it’s been a while?” before he listened to the voice message, he had thought of so many different things he wanted to tell him. so many things had happened in the past six months, yet now that he was speaking into his phone, his mind seemed blank. “it’s now new year’s. you can probably hear the fireworks in the background, right?” he pauses, gnaws on his bottom lip again and knows he will regret everything that will escape him as soon as the treacherous flesh is released. “do you remember new year’s from six years ago? when you kissed me at the staircase? i’ve always wondered if you knew back then that i had just started to fall in love with you and wanted to tease me for it. it’s weird because... well, after that nothing else ever happened, did it? nothing changed.” there’s a shaky bitterness in his voice then, frustration and unshed tears that had been suppressed for years. “you still remained my best friend and i still continued to be hopelessly in love with you.” “there’s no point in telling you this now, but- you said you would try to be back by new year’s and you’re not here. shouldn’t you have tried harder if you missed me as much as you said, hyung? you missed so many things. i got signed to trc and- i got a new cat. an old pen pal of mine moved here, from france. i graduated from university, too, just this month. i missed you at the graduation ceremony.” he knows that it must be audible by now; that he’s still sad, that he’s trying not to be a crybaby for once. “and i dyed my hair for the first time. it’s light brown now.” a pause and he glances over his shoulder again, sees the smile before his inner eye. “so many things changed. one thing still hasn’t. i hope you’ll be happy, hyung. wherever you are.” hyungwon exhales. “i love you.” the message ends.

#journal #solo para #im emo #rkjaeho #now im even more emo for using that tag #1.5k of sadness #but it had to get out

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