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domesticnct · 2 years

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Thanksgiving with NCT 127

Written in collaboration with @ackermansupremacy

Taeil

This man would want Thanksgiving to be as family oriented as possible.

He would spend all day making sure all the kids and the kid cousins were as involved in the process.

He would be very strict on traditions making sure you all watched Thanksgiving specials and watched the football game between eating.

He would serve dinner early at 3pm like he did every year and he would cook all the same foods he did every year.

At dinner, he would have everyone hold hands and say what they were grateful for.

After he would gather the entire family and take everyone to the movies as was tradition.

When you got home, you all would clean up the giant mess made while cooking and then you two would relax on the couch and enjoy the rest of the evening.

Johnny

Super hype for thanksgiving and claims its his favorite holiday because he loves cooking and eating and spending time with family

He doesn’t actually cook anything but he is constantly in your kitchen talking to you while your trying to cook and he counts that as helping

He’s also super excited to watch the football game with your dad, since both their favorite teams were going head to head

Only for him to fall asleep 10 minutes after everyone arrives

Full on sitting on the couch lightly snoring, no matter how many times your kids pull at his sleeves or you whack him in the head

But as soon as you announce that the food is ready, suddenly he’s wide awake

He’s an absolute fiend and eats all the stuffing and half the turkey

Don’t even let him touch the ham because he’ll devour most of it

He’s always on cleanup duty because no one gives him much of a choice

He would also sporadically drop dad jokes during dinner because he’s that uncle

Taeyong

He would be the guy that hops from different Thanksgivings because he couldn’t say no to everyone when he was invited.

He would attend a Thanksgiving brunch with his friends, a super early Thanksgiving dinner with you and his family, and a later dinner with other friends.

He would be so exhausted by the end of Thanksgiving and would tell you he never wants to see another turkey again.

He would fall asleep immediately as soon as you got home and probably would spend the day after watching recaps from the game he missed jumping between houses.

He would try to spend as much of the next day with you as he could since your day was extremely chaotic.

Yuta

He would be extremely laid back and chill on thanksgiving.

He wouldn’t be very stressed about it as it would just be you and your three kids celebrating.

The two of you would spend the day in the kitchen cooking. He would be the guy that insists on making the turkey because it was something his dad always did. You were anxious as he’d made dinner often but it was usually simple and easy dishes to help you out. But he’d never made something as complex as a turkey. But it actually comes out perfectly, though a little bit dry as most turkeys are.

He would leave the kitchen at some point to encourage the kids to start setting the table. They would take a break from watching tv and help out.

Dinner would be a little chaotic as you have two daughters and a son who always argue, but you would eventually get them to calm down and ask them all what they were thankful for which they would sweetly reply their dad.

After dinner, Yuta would get the kids on dish duty while you two took the dog around the block and discussed what you were thankful for.

When you came back your younger daughter would be in tears because when she was putting the turkey away she dropped it on the floor. Yuta’s heart would be shattered but he would never show it. He would tell her it was ok and they still had plenty of ham leftover and they could salvage some of the turkey as it had fallen on the side that was already carved.

You would put the kids to bed early which wasn’t hard after they’d had all that turkey and you and Yuta would eat pie and sip on warm apple cider while watching a movie in each others arms.

Doyoung

He would be extremely extra.

He would have you handle all of the cooking, but he would be deep cleaning the house all day scrubbing floorboards and using a magic eraser on every light fixture. You would try to convince him that he didn’t need to go that far as most people wouldn’t even notice, but he would be insistent.

You would host dinner at your house with his entire family and one of your siblings.

Everyone would be in and out of the kitchen, but Doyoung would be monitoring everything to make sure it went perfectly and smoothly.

I see him spending the week before calculating how long it would take to prep each dish so dinner would be served right on time and would be piping hot.

He would play fancy jazz during dinner and make sure everyone had the drinks they requested and everything they needed.

He would be the last to get his plate of food and would be the person that makes everyone hold hands while he leads an extremely long prayer.

You had worried that he would be a little too strict about how thanksgiving would go, but in the end everything worked out.

Jaehyun

Jaehyun would be that awkward guy at the family thanksgiving that turns out to be really funny.

At first he was a little quiet, mostly sticking by you and helping out in the kitchen which your father, the home chef was thankful for. He had him on dish duty while he moved around the kitchen so there wouldn’t be as many leftover at the end of the night.

They got along to talking before you somehow got kicked out of your own childhood kitchen and sent to watch football with your mother and the rest of the family.

When dinner was served, Jaehyun would walk out of the kitchen and whisper “your father finally likes me.”

He would then proceed to tell lame dad jokes and make stupid puns throughout dinner which would have your whole family laughing.

After dinner the two of you would drive home with your car full of leftovers and he would tell you that he was convinced his family liked him more than they liked you. He then would say he wants to spend Thanksgiving with your family every year.

Jungwoo

Jungwoo would be the overly helpful person at Thanksgiving that keeps getting in the way and frustrating your parents.

For you growing up, the kitchen on Thanksgiving was always a kid free zone. Your parents spent much of the night before prepping and the entire day cooking and never wanted you and your brother getting underfoot. So you usually spent the day playing football outside, jumping into leaf piles, riding bikes, and watching movies in the basement until your relatives came and everyone had dinner together.

Jungwoo would be unaware of this tradition and continuously ask if they needed help or try to help by taking trash out, cleaning dishes, setting the table, etc. Your dad would eventually get irritated and send you two outside and tell you to go with your brother and your nephews and do what you usually did.

So you two would spend the day with your nephews and brother riding bikes or walking around the neighborhood, showing the kids how you jumped into leaf piles, and watching movies in the basement. It was extremely nostalgic and you explained that to Jungwoo who felt honored to participate in your childhood tradition.

During dinner he would be hesitant thinking your parents were mad, but when he realized they weren’t, he would be back to his usual happy go lucky self and would make your family crack up throughout dinner.

Mark

Mark is Canadian so he never celebrated Thanksgiving until he had married you and moved to the U.S.

He knew there was a turkey that had stuffing and that people usually ate mashed potatoes and watched football but that was about all he knew about it. He worried there were customs or traditions he didn’t know about and that he would be totally lost and confused but it all turned out fine.

You had planned to have it at your sister’s house with her family and no one in your family cared much about tradition.

On the way there he would ask so many questions and you would tell him there isn’t anything to explain, you just spend the day cooking and eating and then crash afterwards from eating too much.

He would get there and feel awkward just making conversation with your brother-in-law before being dragged away by your nieces to play dolls.

Eventually he would escape and watch the game just sticking with your brother-in-law while you and your sister cooked occasionally getting help from your nieces.

A few of your sister’s friends would come for dinner and everyone would sit around the table and chat eating all the good food while Mark just looked around.

He leaned in and asked you if you all had to say a special prayer or say what you were thankful for and you would explain that not everyone does those things.

Though he was worried, he would still enjoy his time and tell you that next year you should host it at your own house.

Haechan

This man comes with no food, no drinks and one big appetite

Thanksgiving is never held in your home because Haechan always claims there isn’t enough space but you both know he just doesn’t want that many people in his house at once

He always comes ready to hear the family drama and throw in his two cents

God forbid anyone wants to say anything out of line because he came ready for a tussle

He’s super confrontational and will not hesitate if someone says something he doesn’t like

Someone wants to comment on how many plates you had? he immediately tells them to stop projecting

Someone comments on how you have no kids yet? immediately tells them to worry about themselves

Definitely gets drunk and picks a fight with your dad over something random like the football team he likes or something he did in a childhood story you told him

Every year you have to haul his drunk ass out of the house and drive him home

But he always somehow steals the turkey leftovers before you leave

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

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Do I mind if I ask how you approach writing longer fic? I've always struggled to write anything more than maybe two chapters long and I'm curious if you have a particular method to how you approach such stories.

Thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely love it when people ask me for writing advice because it makes me feel like a Smart Person Who Knows Things.

Before we start, here is one grain of salt to take all of this with: I have a naturally long-form brain. It is very hard for me to write something less than 1k. Short fiction is great, and there is nothing wrong with sticking to short things if that's what your brain likes to do.

So. You have decided to write a story. This is going to focus on "stories". Some people write fic that's more freeform or whatever, I am not going to cover that. What I mean by a story is this:

It starts

Some stuff happens

It ends

It is highly probable that your story contains a change of state, which could be that a villain is defeated, or a goal is reached, but it could also be that character falls in love with another, or someone learns to like broccoli.

I like to start out by completing the sentence, "This is a story where _______". This is basically like coming up with a summary for an ao3 post, except that it doesn't need to be catchy. Lots of different kinds of things could go in that blank! It could literally be what happens: This is a story where Ichigo goes back in time and punches young Aizen in the nose. It could be about what you want to explore: This is a story where Hitsugaya gets a better understanding of his zanpakutou. It could be about the vibe you want to achieve: This is an AU where everyone is in a punk rock band and has cool hair and outfits. The idea of this is to clearly define what you, the author, is interested in writing. Make sure it feels right! Maybe you pick the first one, but when you say it out loud, you say, "You know, I really just want Ichigo to go back in time so he can horse around with young Renji and Rukia and punching Aizen in the nose is just an excuse for that." That may sound dumb, but it's fine, actually! Most people don't read stories strictly for the plot, they read stories for the implications of those plots! Will my favorite two characters kiss? Will there be funny interactions between these two groups of characters? Will there be sick fights? Stories are excuses to have scenes. Sometimes, you will have a story where the interesting sequence of events is the draw, but the point is to know what you're about.

Once you feel happy with your "mission statement", you need to decide the bounds of your story: where it starts and where it ends. It may be easier to start with the end. In some cases, it may be obvious from your mission statement: everyone gets home, a villain is defeated, Kenpachi realizes the meaning of friendship. On the other hand, let's look at that punk rock AU. You've picked a vibe, but you don't really have a natural story arc. It has to have a destination, though, otherwise, it's not really a story, it's a recipe for 3 chapters of an abandoned fanfic. So brainstorm a little: Maybe they get a record deal? Maybe they win a Battle of the Bands? Maybe Byakuya accepts that the band is actually good and tells Rukia he is proud of her. Do not settle for a plot just because it works. Pick something that makes you excited! You're the one who is gonna have to write it!

I said that we needed to pick a beginning point, too, but I'm actually going to skip that for now. The next thing I do is think of all the Big Scenes I want to write, the ones you are hype to write, the ones that pop in your head as you think about the premise. Make a bullet list. They don't need to be in order. The descriptions don't need to be super detailed, but write down anything about it that is important to you. If there's a mood or a snippet of dialogue or a joke you want to make, go ahead and jot that down so you don't forget it later. What you're doing now is putting broad blotches of color on a canvas, filling in space and leaving the detail for later.

Once you are pretty happy with what you have down, try to arrange it in chronological order. Put your end at the end (if it wasn't one of your big scenes, add it now). The next task is figuring out how to traverse your scenes. You've already picked out where you want to spend the majority of your energy. The rest, I regret to tell you, is your slog writing. Now, it often happens that you will find joy in some of these scenes and your best writing may occur there, but that's serendipity. These are the scenes that you are gonna have to make yourself sit down and write, so you honestly want to limit them to just the ones you need.

So how do we do this? Look at the first thing on the list. Can you start there? If so, congrats, that's your beginning. If you can't, what needs to happen to get to there? Where can you start so that you can get to your first fun scene as soon as possible? There. That’s it. You’ve picked your beginning, good job! Now, go through the rest of your list, and add in things that must happen, even if you don’t particularly look forward to writing them. The characters need to travel from geographic point A to point B. Shuuhei needs to say something that Izuru hears and misinterprets. The Central 46 makes a new law. If you have a good idea of how these things happen, go ahead and write them down, but it’s okay if you don’t know yet. Fill in all the blanks so that if you think of each bullet list as a scene, you could read it as a story, start to end. Once you get writing, you might add more scenes, or move things around or whatever, but you should have a thing that functions as a story.

If you struggle with this, an alternative is a story with a very strong structure that is going to guide you though what you have to write.Here are two examples from my own stories Hold On, Hold On (which is only one chapter, but the principle is the same) is structured around the 5 stages of grief. Not Broken, Just Bent takes place over roughly a week, and I just decided what happened every day of the week. See You on the Other Side takes place in the middle of a bunch of canon events, which worked at mile markers.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a rough outline!

Special note for avoiding burnout!: I am a slogger. I will drag myself through the broken glass of an interminable plot to get to a single thirsty scene. That's why, at this stage, I try to look at the ratio of what I want to write to what I must write. It's gonna vary for everyone, but this is a hobby, and if looking at this proto-outline makes you feel deeply tired, maybe this isn't a good story to be devoting your time to! Can you carve it down? Can you chuck two scenes you really want to write and get rid of 80% of the slog? Or maybe you can't! In that case, just write that thirsty scene as a standalone drabble! Or just go work on something else! Maybe in the future, this one will come back to you and you’ll have a fresh idea or a renewed enthusiasm for it.

Another thing I sometimes like to do at this point is to write out some notes about my characters and their motivations and moods. Character A is homesick. Character B is so determined to defeat the enemy that they are having a hard time being sympathetic to Character A. Character C cares for both A and B and is trying to support them both. This is sort of background info that you want to keep in your head as you are writing. Depending on the type of story you are writing, this might actually be the main plot, or it might be happening subtly, but adding to the emotional impact of the story. It’s very easy for me to write these sorts of emotional arcs, but if you struggle with that, you may wish to go ahead and made a more detailed outline for that, too.

Now, it’s time to start writing! I am great at beginnings-- it is very often the case for me that the opening scene was one of my Big Tentpole Scenes. (Before you hate me too much, I make up for this by being double horrible at endings; just let me have this) Usually, I will start at the beginning and write linearly for as long as I can until I get stuck. Then, I will look forward on my outline and do the next chronological scene that I feel like writing. In general, if I sit down to write and there is something I have an urge to write, that trumps everything else. Inspiration is a precious commodity, and you should embrace it when it hits! You can slog any day. I will occasionally hold off writing a scene that I really want to, because I am saving it, like a prize for myself for getting that far. This is a very personal process of figuring out what motivates your brain and then giving your brain what it needs to be its most productive.

Eventually, you will run out of things you are excited to write, but the good news is, you’ve got a bunch of story now! Odds are that what’s left is going to be a lot of those connective tissue scenes, and you’re just going to have to do them, except that now, because you’re connecting two concrete points instead of two abstract points, it will be a lot easier. You can continue running jokes you’ve started. Maybe you invented a cafe in an earlier scene where your characters hang out and you can have them return there. Try to think of ways to make these scenes more fun, both for yourself to write and for your reader to read.

Around this time, I like to start refining that rough strokes outline into what I will call an “as-built” outline. (This is an engineering term where you update your plans or models for something to reflect any changes that had to be made along the way). This is a great activity to do at times when you feel like you have writers block. I write down every scene I have written as a 2-3 word blurb, in order. I break the scenes into what I think makes logical chapters, and I will do a word count on those prospective chapters and write it down. As you do this, you will realize that maybe you can move a scene from here to there, which will make it 1000% easier to write. Things may be happening too much, or you’ve got the characters eating three times in the same chapter. If you have subplots and dangling threads, this is where you make sure they get closure. I know this sounds very headache-y, but you are so far along in the story at this point that it’s really not-- it’s a way to look at the problems you have left. Use some sort of formatting (I like to bold things I haven’t done and sometimes I put them in red) and it gives you a very visual to-do list.

You specifically mentioned multi-chapter fanfics and I admit that I don’t tend to think in chapters, I tend to think of the story as a whole and just break it up where it feels natural. The as-built outlining I described is very helpful in making sure that my chapters feel balanced. They don’t necessarily need to be the same length, but I like them to have the same amount of stuff in them. One chapter may basically contain one long scene, and other may contain many short ones. I don’t tend to, but you can certainly have a fanfic that varies between short and long chapters, that can actually be an interesting effect. But like I said, I always like to know what I am doing, and so having it mapped out, you can say “welp, this is what I’ve done, how do I feel about that?”

Polynya, you may be saying at this point, do you write the whole fanfic before you post any of it? and I regret to inform you, the answer is yes. A lot of people write as they go, and I have made one attempt at this and I didn’t like it. I don’t like locking myself in, I just need to be able write out of order and go back and change things. Here is the story of a little in love: someone gave me an AU prompt and I got mildly obsessed with it, and wrote 5 snapshots drabbles in that universe, ending with a slight cliffhanger ending. I probably should have stopped there, but I decided to keep going. I wrote out an outline of 5 acts where the first act was detailed to the degree of each chapter being specified. The chapters here were much smaller than I usually make chapters: 1-2k. I wrote act i and ii and it was actually great, and then I hit act iii which required a lot of set up for misunderstandings and a mini romance arc. I couldn’t wing it, but nor could I figure it all out with outlining. I write dialogue in almost sort of an improv “Yes, and...?” style, so until I do it, I don’t know what’s going to happen. So, what I did was treat the second half of act iii as a complete story in the process I describe above, wrote the entire rest of it, and then posted it. One might notice that the chapter lengths grew to 3-5k each. I have two more acts to go, and I haven’t decided how I am going to do them yet, but I suspect I will treat each of them as their own mini-stories.

(I will admit that in Heart is a Muscle, I tend toward chapters that are about 10k long, and this is honestly too long, someone should smack me. If you like punchy chapters, 1-2k is good. I think 3-6k is probably an ideal chapter length. Is this how long the chapters are in my latest fanfic? Absolutely not.)

Okay, so there’s one more step, which is quality control. I am habitual re-reader-- I read my fanfics-in-progress over and over and over while I am working on them. I understand that not everyone does this, but I am usually the primary audience for my own writing, and this is the actual fun part for me. Nevertheless, you should re-read your work at least once, to make sure it hangs together.

This is purely optional, but I recommend it: get a writing friend (if you don’t like re-reading your work, I recommend this even more strongly). If you can get a full-service beta reader, that’s great, but if you can’t find someone, or if receiving that level of critique stresses you out, it’s perfectly valid to just find a friend who will read your stuff and a) shower you with compliments, b) reassure you about parts you aren’t sure about (or suggest ways to help) and c) point out any huge problems you missed. When I am writing a long fanfic, it is a huge motivational factor for me to be able to send my beta chapters as I finish them. If you are already an established writer, and you have people who consistently comment on your fic, they might be overjoyed to get a sneak peak at your work.

And that’s it! That’s the way I do it, anyway! Some people are able to sit down and write a very detailed outline and the write it start-to-finish. Good for them, I say! I have tried this and it doesn’t work great for me. I will admit that some of my fics (especially my early ones) I just sat down and banged out whole-cloth like an insane person and they are generally better than the ones I actually plan out, but that’s not a reproducible process.

As one final mechanical note, I usually write in Google Docs, which I can access on multiple devices (I used to write a lot on my phone), has convenient sharing functionality, and I use the ao3 html formatting script add-in. I generally have two documents for a single story-- one is the outline, and any other notes I want to have handy. I’ll usually put a trashcan space at the bottom for scenes that got cut but I don’t want to lose. The other is the fanfic itself.

I hope this is helpful! Please feel free to follow up with other questions and good luck with your writing!

#writing advice #longform writing

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renegadewangs · 3 years

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Enigmatic Gnomance

Last night was movie night in my Discord server and we watched Sherlock Gnomes. Needless to say, things escalated very fast and I wrote a 2000+ words one-shot regarding the ending. Everyone liked it for some reason??? So here it is! (I’m not an expert on the gnome cinematic universe, please forgive me if I got a little detail wrong.)

Characters: Sherlock Gnomes, Watson Fandom: Sherlock Gnomes Pairings: (Lord help me,) Gnomes/Watson Warnings/rating: None. Summary: With the movie’s events behind them, Sherlock Gnomes ruminates on difficult matters.

Enigmatic Gnomance

The sun had set on the backyard when at last, Gnomes and Watson returned to their little home. Mrs. Udderson was nowhere to be seen, for which Watson found himself quite grateful. After all that'd occurred tonight, he wasn't in the mood for her invasive mooing. Gnomes hobbled over to the nearby armchair and settled himself down there. The deep crack in his leg instantly caught Watson's eye. He wasn't really a doctor- such a title was no more than an accessory in the world of gnomes. Even so, he found himself yearning to fix the injury somehow. He was responsible in a way, he felt. He'd been weak and he'd gotten cocky, which had made him a blind and unwilling pawn in Moriarty's little scheme.

But there was nothing to be done about it now; porcelain would never heal. Even with glue, Gnomes ran the risk of losing his leg forever if he were ever reckless.

Watson hesitated for a moment, then approached the armchair. His gaze wasn't being met. Gnomes had folded his hands together and was now peering towards his own feet. "Gnomes, ah... Are you alright? Can I get you anything?" he asked awkwardly.

Even with their reunion atop the bridge and their agreement to continue being partners, Gnomes still hadn't quite acknowledged the betrayal. It was maddening. Why wasn't he scolded? For Gnomes to come to terms with his rude dismissal of others had been the entire point, that much was true. However, to not see the gargoyles' true nature and be used by their master... That had been worthy of a good scoff, surely. Or at the very least an indignant sniff. Gnomes could have died, all due to Watson's own naivety. Sure enough, Gnomes didn't reply. The silence was worse than anything else he could have said.

"Gnomes..." Watson trailed off for a moment. Then he decided there was nothing to be gained by keeping his feelings bottled up. That was what'd caused this whole mess in the first place. "It's only us, now. Please, just talk to me."

"... I was ruminating, Watson," said Gnomes, still staring at his feet.

"Oh?"

"Yes, indeed. Ruminating. Quite deeply, I might say. My mind palace lost an entire dimension, attempting to process these hectic thoughts of mine. However, I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank. Perhaps, if you would be so kind, you might refresh my memory?"

The sober, forward nature of Gnomes's words caught Watson off guard. He hadn't known his friend to be so earnest, nor so willing to ask for help, for a very long time. Perhaps the day's events had made a difference after all. But then... Had it been Watson to make Gnomes see sense, or had it been Moriarty's doing? It was best not to think too hard on that, so he attempted to force the notion out of his mind.

"Of course, old friend." Watson placed a hand on the back of the armchair, smiling meekly. "If you need my help, you need only ask for it. Though perhaps... A bit more politely than you used to."

Gnomes uttered a chuckle, bitter as lime(stone). "Hah, quite right," he admitted. "I was wondering... Whether I actually took the time to say how sorry I am."

Watson felt his eyes widen and his body stiffen. Had he heard that correctly? Surely not. "Sorry" was a word not uttered aloud by Gnomes in a long time, short of demanding it from others.

"... What?"

"Quite a bit happened tonight. Moriarty is nothing if not a distraction. I'm certain I said quite a few things- to him and to you. However, it's all a bit of a blur, you see. Did I? Apologize?"

Watson shook his head fiercely. This was all wrong. This was what he'd wanted, and yet... No, he didn't deserve it, did he? "Gnomes- You aren't the one who needs to apologize. I put innocent gnomes in danger- I put you in danger. Moriarty could've won, all because I-I... I thought you'd..."

A hand on Watson's wrist caused any other words to vanish. He looked down to meet Gnomes's eyes. Even more out of place than the gnome's apology was the expression on his face, which Watson couldn't recall ever having seen once in all their years of partnership. What was it? Some sort of turmoil, certainly.

"My dear man, you were right to confront me with my attitude. To treat others in such dreadful a manner is already mortifying to me, in hindsight, but you... You deserved so much more and I fear I took your companionship for granted for the longest time. I'd forgotten just how brilliant you are, and so, you played the game quite well."

"Gnomes... Truly, you don't need to-"

"I am sorry, Watson. More sorry than even my own brilliant mind could ever begin to formulate."

Watson sighed and placed his own hand atop Gnomes's own. "I know. And I'm sorry as well."

For a long moment, nothing was said. Gnomes's eyes merely flitted towards Watson's hand and lingered there. Then, at last, he found his voice again. It had cracked almost as badly as his leg. "... I don't deserve a partner like you. Should you follow Irene's example and find your luck elsewhere, I would not blame you."

"Don't be a fool," Watson replied straight off the bat. "I did not go through so much trouble to teach you a lesson, only to toss away the benefits before I could reap them."

"You were perfectly content to abandon our partnership earlier."

"Well... It wasn't quite a partnership earlier, now was it?"

Gnomes appeared dumbstruck, though only for a moment. Then his lips carved themselves into a grin. "... Fair enough."

Watson took another shuffling step closer to the armchair, leaning forward and eyes narrowing into a bit of a squint. "Are you alright? Your leg... It looks quite damaged."

"It's only a few surface cracks," Gnomes replied, sticking his nose up in the air. "Nothing to worry about. The great Sherlock Gnomes is nothing if not resilient. It is a shame, though. That was my favorite leg."

Watson chuckled dryly. "I don't believe there's anything in this world you love more than yourself."

But Gnomes didn't reply. He merely stared ahead blankly at the wall. Had he gotten lost in his own thoughts again? Watson hadn't thought he'd said anything worth contemplating, nor blocking out.

"... Are you certain you're alright, Gnomes?" he asked.

"I... Yes." Gnomes blinked fiercely and rapped the fingers of his other hand against the armrest of the chair. "It's curious. You are quite clever, Watson, but then... Perhaps, unable to decipher the very same enigma which plagues me."

"An enigma, Gnomes?" Watson repeated. What was there still left to solve, at this point? It must've been significant, if Gnomes himself still struggled to put a finger on it. How tragic, then, that he would assume Watson would be unable to decipher it also. Were the learned lessons being foregone already? He hoped not.

"The time I spent with Irene... Well, surely you recall. It was a jolly good romp for a while, but I always knew she would come second place to the mysteries and the chases. And she came to know this as well. So in the end, a jolly good romp was all it was. I did not think I could ever love someone the way she expected me to."

Indeed, Watson did recall those 'jolly good romps'. He remembered the pain on Irene's face, which grew more severe with every instance where she'd been snubbed. He also remembered her resolution on the day she decided she would get over him. It was so very easy to rope her into his plans because the two of them related to one another. They both knew just how painful it was to be dismissed by Gnomes. They both agreed that the lesson had needed to come sooner and there was nothing left to salvage, but then... Watson hadn't given up quite as much hope as Irene, it turned out. It was a good thing that he hadn't.

"Indeed. But what's that got to do with another puzzle?" he asked.

"When I saw you fall and I heard that dreadful smashing sound... Well, I didn't want to think about it, really. I pushed it from my mind before it could ever take root there, because if I'd allowed that... Well, I'm sure I would've been quite useless for the remainder of the investigation."

"Oh, Gnomes, I didn't mean for you to-"

"It was a clever ploy, of course. I fell for it. Didn't even stop to consider you might catch yourself. That warrants another apology, I believe."

"No, really, it's fine. Perhaps I'd gone too far with that."

Gnomes's hand curled around Watson's wrist more fiercely. He turned his head upwards once again, brow furrowed, features pleading. "Watson," he began softly. "If I'd lost you... If you were truly gone, what would I do with myself? That's what I was ruminating on, you see. It pains me simply to envision the hypothetical, which is to say nothing of what would happen if it were a reality. I've never felt anything of the sort for Irene. So will you tell me, please?"

The situation was surreal. To hear words like that coming from his old friend... Well, the plan truly had been far more effective than Watson had expected it to be, though the result was overwhelming. Perhaps even unnerving. To earn Gnomes's respect and partnership was one thing, but to hear that his presence would've been missed so very dearly... That was more than he'd ever bargained for, or even dared to wish for. He didn't know how to feel now. He didn't understand what was being asked of him.

"... Tell you what, Gnomes?"

"Isn't there someone I love more than myself, or the thrill of the hunt?"

Watson's mind went blank. He felt quite cold, all of a sudden. But then... Also hot at the same time, as if he were standing out in the blazing sun of a warm summer's day. Gnomes's eyes were still on his own, waiting, perhaps deducing. Watson didn't dare look away. He was cornered now- trapped in Gnomes's intense stare.

Before tonight, his response would have been clear. He would have laughed bitterly at the question, then turned away from it. But then... Before tonight, it never would have been asked. Gnomes had never taken such things into consideration until he'd been forced to. To have Gnomes reflect on how much he'd always relied on Watson, that had been the goal. An unexpected side-effect, then, was that Watson now had to reflect on how much he'd relied on Gnomes. He'd wanted be looked at, to be acknowledged, to be praised- to be close to Gnomes, the way he used to when they first began to solve cases.

"I think that... The only one who could ever answer that question is you, Gnomes," he ultimately said.

"I... I need a hint, I believe," Gnomes replied in a bit of a stammer. "Just a clue, a morsel. The tiniest bit of guidance when it comes to deciphering these feelings."

"I'm not much help there, I'm afraid. I may be just as lost as you are."

"Oh... Are you really?" Gnomes paused for a moment, lips pursing and nose crinkling as he mulled it over. "If we're both lost in the same manner, does that not imply we both experience these same feelings?"

"Ah..."

And still, Watson had no true answer to give. Just as Gnomes's brilliant mind failed to form an apology strong enough to do the sentiment justice, so too did Watson's own fail to translate his feelings into words.

-Feelings? Were there feelings after all?

After about ten seconds, Gnomes tore his attention away from Watson's eyes and returned to gazing at his own feet. "Perhaps... It would be presumptuous to expect an answer to this riddle this very night. We are both taken by exhaustion, I'm sure. Delirious with it, perhaps. So..."

Still, no cohesive sentences came to Watson. Even so, he did have a reply, he thought. It wasn't a very clever one, but it was a reply all the same. He leaned forward to press a kiss against Gnomes's cheek. The gesture clearly shocked his friend, for he made a rather funny noise and attempted to jump up out of the chair. His bad leg, however, had other plans. Gnomes slumped backwards before he could ever fully stand upright and Watson caught him by the shoulders with both hands on instinct, cushioning the fall.

"Whaa- Whaaaat... son....!" Gnomes tilted his head backwards to peer up at him. "What...?"

"That was the small clue you were searching for, which ought to help you decipher these feelings of yours," Watson explained with another wry smile.

Gnomes appeared stunned. However, he soon relaxed in Watson's hold and eased himself back into the chair properly. "Indeed, that was quite helpful," he said. "Whatever would I do without your assistance, dear fellow? You truly are indispensable."

"It's good of you to say such things out loud, Gnomes. I expect to hear much more praise in the future."

"Of course!"

Indeed, they were both exhausted and had more than enough time to continue 'ruminating' on their feelings. For now, Watson was quite content to leave it that. Immense progress had already been made, and aside from that... Mrs. Udderson was still lurking high above them.

#sherlock gnomes #this started as a shitpost #but then I just kept GOING #people were howling in chat #what is my life

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janekfan · 3 years

Note

Can I request “Can’t wake up” for Jon from the bingo? I love your fics!!!!

aaa thank you! I hope you enjoy it ^^

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642440

“Jon!” Martin crashed through the door to the safe house, locking it for all the good it would do and drawing the curtain to block out the all seeing sky.

As Jon put so eloquently before losing consciousness, it was looking back, and Martin had zero desire to engage in a staring contest. He doubted the efficacy of such an action but it calmed the animal part of his brain that didn’t enjoy being watched and allowed him to focus all of his attentions on the crumpled man folded up on the floor. It hadn’t been an easy drop. Jon’s arm was twisted uncomfortably beneath his body, the side of his face that impacted the floor blossoming into a bruise that didn’t begin the healing process like Martin expected it to.

“Jon?” Kneeling, Martin gently turned his cheek toward him, brushing a thumb over the contused bone, swollen and hot. There was no response; not a groan or a flicker to reassure Martin that there was anything left of Jon at all and he swallowed down the clot of emotion coating his throat like ash and dust. He felt feverish, and when Martin lifted him off the floor, Jon hung lax and loose, stomach rising and falling unevenly when he breathed. With his head thrown over his arm, Jon gaped like a fish, mouth slack and accentuating his irregular wheezing. “Oh, darling.” It sounded neither comfortable nor easy, strained like a broken bellows. Under his hands Jon’s muscles spasmed and Martin wanted to get him as comfortable as possible, whisking him to the bedroom and laying him down among bedclothes still unmade from this morning. “Hey now, it’s time to wake up.” He swept damp and messy strands away from his face, noting his ashen pallor now accented by the flush settling so high in his face.

Martin spent the next quarter hour carefully spooning dosed tea into Jon, holding him close in his lap and counting down the minutes until it was supposed to take effect and rocking them both. Frowning, he pressed his lips against his blistering forehead, hoping, wishing for a change, however slight, and there was none. If anything the fever had risen and Martin perversely found himself praying that the Eye would protect him. It could do them this one favor couldn’t it? It’d taken everything else. Hurt them. Almost torn them apart.

Thoughts like circling vultures followed Martin wherever he went. Fear and anxiety and the feeling of being watched made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up and as much as he wanted to be with Jon, sit with him, watch him, protect him, the silence only made it worse. So, wrist deep in sudsy water Martin methodically scrubbed their breakfast dishes, fighting back tears because this morning everything had been different. Almost hopeful.

And now--

Martin was jolted from his thoughts by a crash, followed by harsh, damp coughing, and he was sprinting to the bed room they shared with his hands on him in seconds, drawing a strangled moan from where Jon was drowning on the floor.

“I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry.” Jon was on his back, hugging his stomach, viscous, black ink streaming from his lips, his nose, his eyes like oily tears. Gently, Martin turned him onto his side, petting back his sweat soaked curls and holding him there as the coughing eased and he labored for air, sweat lining his face in a thin sheen. “You’re alright, breathe, darling.” His skin was a brand against Martin’s, hot and dry, fever burning through him like a prairie fire. “Jon?” Cradled there, in Martin’s hands, glassy brown slipped over him like a river over stone and he laid limp and kitten-weak on the floor like that for long moments until his seeking, searching eyes fluttered shut again. With shaking fingers, Martin smudged the sticky black tracing the curvature of his cheek before realizing it had been too long dried there and leaving to fetch a cloth. With care, he scrubbed away the residue, tugging off the oversized tee before rinsing away the mess and sweeping down his neck, the shallow wells above his collar bones, letting the air wick away the heat buried like coals banked beneath his breast bone. Rather than risk another article of clothing (of Martin’s clothing) he gathered up Jon’s wayward limbs and tucked him between the sheets without before settling down beside him, hand moving over his brow, along his jaw, memorizing familiar planes to soothe himself to sleep.

Martin woke later, drenched in sweat from the spike in Jon’s fever. He was restless with it, falling in and out of static and statement and Martin lost track of how many times he begged Jon to come back to him, to resist whatever was trying to steal him away because he belonged here with him. Though the light no longer changed, Martin spent what seemed like hours running a damp flannel over Jon’s hot skin as he shifted fitfully on the pillows. There was nothing to do for it but persist, last long enough to win out over the Eye’s cruel machinations, whatever they might be.

“I’m here, darling.” Bright, acid green lit up the room in flashes, not unlike a lightning bug trapped in a jar, drawing a distorted magnetic tape whimper from the depths of his throat. “Hush, now.” Carefully, Martin slid an arm under Jon to prop him up, tipping a mouthful of water into him at a time. “Jon.” Firm and demanding, Martin shook him by a narrow shoulder, the tide of fear rising higher and higher and threatening to close over his head.

If he could just slip back into the Lonely for a little while--

The sudden chill and scent of seasalt in the air shocked him out of the all too easy descent.

“Alright, love.” Muttering mostly to himself Martin pressed yet another kiss to his forehead, watching his chest hitch unevenly with a harsh, agonal breath. Jon may not be altogether human, but Martin wasn’t sure anything could burn like this for so long without doing permanent harm. He lifted a thin hand, kisses lingering over each knuckle, and went to run a tepid bath. Utterly silent, Jon sank, head pillowed on a folded towel and held above the water because he wasn’t able to hold himself. Slowly, Martin cupped water over his shoulders, drawing damp fingers through tangled curls, again and again, thumbing carefully over the still angry bruise, droplets like tears carving through the watercolor wash still clinging. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw a mark remain this long. “Come on Jon, I can’t wake for you, dearest.” Murmuring sweet nothings he continued, soaking his hair and clearing away the tenacious inky stains from nigh translucent brown vellum.

“Mmmah…” Jon tried to speak, attempt limned with the Beholding’s corruption, and he coughed a river of iridescent black that cascaded down his naked chest, billowing out in obsidian clouds over the water’s surface. “S’s’sor…” Like a skipping cassette, and the second gush threatened to choke him. Head bowed, a few tears dripped into the tub like the indiscriminate ring of a wind chime.

“Shh, shhh.” Please, let this be like a poison leaving his body, a purge of some sort that signalled the end of whatever Jonah had done to him. “Just relax, love, let me take care of you.” A soft cloth lathered with a neutral smelling soap removed the ichor, and Martin massaged shampoo into his scalp, careful to keep it out of Jon’s heavily blinking eyes until they closed again. Dried and dressed, this time with just the slightest bit of awareness, Martin tucked them both in, tugging Jon’s damp head under his chin and running his palm up and down the smooth skin of his back, fingertips ghosting over the raised edges of scars. Jon was sick several more times before finally falling into a deep, restorative sleep, and Martin wasn’t sure what he was going to tell Daisy about her sheets if--when all this was over, but he didn’t need anymore guilt hanging over his head.

A strangled noise roused Martin from where he was curled around the empty Jon-shaped space and bleary eyed he raked over the room to find him peeking through a slit in the curtain. Even from the bed Martin could see how much his hands trembled and he pushed himself up out of the warmth to go to him.

“Jon-darling. You shouldn’t be out of bed.” As though on cue, his knees buckled under him and Martin rushed to catch him up, lowering them both to the cold floor. Jon held on so tight to his jumper his knuckles turned white and he pressed the heel of his palm hard against his temple, shaking, breath hitching, eyes huge and wet and scared.

“M’Martin.”

“Shh. You’re alright.” Gently, he pressed a kiss into his hair, over the shadow that remained of the bruise. Jon's voice was his own again, raw and ravaged as he pulled away to stare, already Seeing, already Knowing, into Martin’s eyes.

“Wh’what have I, I done?”

#TMA #the magnus archives #jmart #jonmartin #jon sim #martin blackwood #vomiting #sick #fever #sick jon #sickfic #INK #bathing #caretaking

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daydream-believin · 3 years

Text

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (there’s nothing wrong with Ohio)

Summary: Reader joins Douxie in the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company won’t he? - (Part 5) ohio hijinks. national forests, a b ‘n b. next- (part 6) start here -> (part 1)

Warnings: swearing, meat eating, idk gambling kinda?

Word Count: 6620

A/N: AAAAAHHH i gotta stop writing shit at 3am. it’s showing. also i cant believe i reworked their entire planned trip route for this. ajhqhdsjhfljh i have no excuses for any of this

Douxie was uncharacteristically quiet during the trip through the first bit of Indiana. Y/n hung over the railing feeling awkward. The treetops below flew past her in a blur. Y/n kinda felt bad, like maybe she had broken him. Did she nudge a little too hard? She had thought, if anything, her flirting would get him flirting too. Hell, Doux flirted with everyone. It was just part of his charismatic persona he’d built over the years. And he had been so strange this week, but especially strange during the time they’d spent on the road. Every time Y/n had thought she’d figured something out with him, he’d surprise her.

Douxie was still processing what had happened earlier that day. He may have been going mad finally, immortals do tend to do that, but he was starting to think Y/n had feelings for him too. Which was something he had to be imagining, and yet she kept making it really hard to dismiss. Maybe it was just that their trip to St. Louis had felt pretty damn close to a date. His gaze lingered over her form, looking out at the scenery, covered in his jacket, a little piece of him to always cling to her skin, mingling their scents. His eyes snapped back to the sky in front of him as he narrowly dodged a telephone wire tower.

They had decided on taking one last pit stop before settling for the night. They were making their way up to Cleveland, which was a little unnecessarily high north into Ohio, but since Y/n was the one holding the map so to speak, she got to shift their course, almost to her whim even. Douxie was happy with anything as long as they kept moving. There was something she wanted to see in Cleveland. It’s not like Douxie wouldn’t enjoy it too, though. In fact, if her memory served her correctly, Douxie might enjoy the trip more than her. Back to that last pit stop. Hoosier National Forest. Somewhere nice and nature-y for Nari, and as a bonus, nice and forested for magic boat hiding. It would be a good opportunity to stretch out their legs.

Speaking of stretching, Y/n stretched out her arms to the expanse below, her fingers spread with the wind whistling between them, and she let out a soft groan. She was just trying to make her shoulders less stiff, she had been holding onto that railing tightly for quite a while now, but Douxie did not like that action one bit. He locked his staff in place at the helm, giving him just enough time to loop his arm around her midsection and pull her back into the center of the ship. He was able to return quick enough to stop them from hitting the top of a particularly tall evergreen. Y/n was still confused as to what just happened.

“Why don’t you take a seat now, Love.”

She did as she was told, less confused now, yet disgruntled at the fact the Doux had just scooped her away like she was a tiny kitten he was keeping from jumping off the couch.

Hoosier National Forest was magnificent. Well, Y/n thought all forests were wonders, but this one was still great, promise. There were tall trees and big rocks and waterfalls. What more does a national forest need. She managed to convince Douxie that they should go for a hike. Just a little trail, only half an hour, scouts honour. They had flown most of the way, and a brisk walk was what they all needed. It would be good for Nari, after all. Archie took a hard pass, in favor of yet another nap in the sun.

There was a waterfall nearby. A small one, but a waterfall nonetheless. Y/n had pulled up the map of the forest on her phone. Thank the stars for living in a cyberpunk dystopia. She led the way on the trail, until Nari told her that she could feel the waterfall and they could get there faster if they stepped off the path and made their own way. A bad idea, really, don’t do this. Y/n was all for it, to Douxie’s dismay. He had hoped she’d be more sensible, but no, now they were climbing down a steep rocky hill with a literal spirit guide. Nari led them through more twists and bigger rocks to climb over. Douxie tried his best to keep up with Y/n, to keep a hand on her, but she and Nari were moving too fast. At least he could still see them. If Y/n ate the dirt he’d just have to patch her up, he supposed.

Once they made it to the waterfall site, coming out of some brush, they took a moment to rest. Apparently, they were supposed to relax and enjoy feeling the waterfall’s aura or something but Douxie was too preoccupied on assessing the damage from the trek. After he voiced his concern, Y/n boasted that she made it here with only a few scratches and only one cut. Completely normal Dewdrop. Douxie was going to make her take the actual path back. He was probably ruining the waterfall’s calming energy.

After patching up Y/n with bandages and alcohol from the pack on his back, Douxie took a moment to actually take in the water feature. It had carved itself through the rocks it came forth from. It wasn’t powerful when it began, but capable of cutting through solid sediment now. Thousands of years, spent in the same rock formation, and yet none of the water flowing was water that had been there before. Constantly moving, and going nowhere. Neatly polished stones as it’s only reward. Doux was starting to get uncomfortable thinking about this insentient piece of nature now.

They weren’t planning on stopping again until the next national forest, Wayne, so they picked up a bite to eat from a camp store on their way out. Not exactly a restaurant, their meal consisted mostly of beef jerky, almonds, and some dried fruit. Eh, good enough. It was easy to eat on the fly. Pun intended. And it reminded Douxie a little of the dried winter foods he used to eat back in the day. A good meal indeed.

` ` `

The sun had set hours ago. Douxie was keen on spending another night flying until morning but Y/n and Nari looked like wilted flowers. Nari a little more literally. They were slumped over on each other, barely keeping their eyes open. Y/n’s eyelids fluttered. He supposed they could spend yet another night actually getting a decent amount of sleep, in a comfortable bed, and not the deck of a magic flying boat or whatever. They were still in Wayne National Forest but he could see lights up ahead. Not many, but enough that it was probably another tiny town.

Douxie steered the boat to the outskirts of the town. Not much going on, but they were in the middle of nowhere yet again after all. He called over to Y/n, who gave a jolt at the sound of her name, waking her up enough to give him her attention. He watched as she looked around, gaining her bearings. The town itself was nothing they hadn’t come across dozens of times before. Despite the inky blackness from the thin moon, and the remoteness of location, the town had a homey vibe to it. A relief, after yesterday. This town had either already started decorating for Christmas despite it being September, or never took down their decorations from last year. The lights in the trees made up for the absence of the moon, glistening off the orange leaves. This town still had a drive-in movie theater, and it was showing Roman Holiday, for some reason. It looked like more than half the town’s population was parked in that drive-in. It was almost like this little place was stuck in time.

Y/n pointed over to a gingerbread house. The hanging sign swung in the wind, reading Avalon Bed and Breakfast, painted in fancy blue cursive letters. There was an illustration of a floating island under the script. Douxie wasn’t exactly feeling good about that name, they had had enough of spending the night in someone’s final resting place last night. Sure, it looked harmless enough, but most Venus wizardtraps did. There was a wrap-around porch, illuminated by the warm light spilling from the windows, and a woman sat in one of the rocking chairs, telling a story to a couple of children, sitting on the ground around her feet. Y/n’s pupils were really big, locked onto the scene. Avalon B ‘n B it is then. If all goes well, they leave this place in the morn with a magic buzz, not entombed. Or it could just be a regular inn with a sacred namesake. It was always hard to tell with these things.

Douxie hid the boat in the nearby forest and they set off for the B ‘n B on foot. There was a chill in the air. Y/n put her hood up to shield from the wind to their backs. She threaded the fingers of the hand not attached to Nari through his. Douxie’s hands were too sweaty for her to keep doing this to him. Hopefully she wouldn’t stop. Archie jumped up on his shoulders, ready to hide if need be by shape shifting into something much smaller and less noticeable than a cat. Y/n googled the inn as they walked. They were listed as pet friendly, however their website revealed that this policy only extended to cats. Luckily for them, Archie was cat-passing. No need to become a rat that stayed in Douxie’s cap.

As they stepped inside the large wooden door, they were bathed in an orange light. There was a deep scarlet rug under their feet. The atrium they stepped into had a bench with too many colorful cushions stacked on it, an antique mirror that was probably silver-backed behind that, and a counter blocking the way for you to step into the rest of the house, with a few keys hanging behind it. The old man behind the counter stood as they entered, grinning.

“Welcome to Avalon! Name’s Robert. Why, what a beautiful family you have here.” He leaned over the counter to speak to the veggie lady. “And what’s your name, Little Miss?”

“I am Nari of the Eternal Forest.”

Y/n laughed, in an effort to be convincing, “Oh, she’s going through a wee fairy phase, it’s our fault, we took her to a renn faire last month.”

“Oh, how adorable. Could I get a name for your reservation Ma’am?”

“Casperan.”

“Perfect. And we have both a room with a single queen, and a room with a queen and a twin. We also have a room with two twins available, but I’m sure that wouldn’t serve you folks well.”

“We’ll take the single, our little one still isn’t very brave when it comes to sleeping in new places.” It was cheaper.

“Alrighty, here you go. We ask you to pay the bill up front if that’s okay with ya’ll,” Douxie came forward to hand the man his card, which he promptly accepted with a flourish, “And don’t worry about your feline, he should be fine as long as he can get along with our resident kitty cat, Sammy.”

“No worries, it should all be fine, Archie here is very friendly,” Y/n gave Robert her biggest smile. She shot Archie a look when the man turned away. He better get along with Sammy if he knew what was good for him. Speak of the devil, a little gray cat one could only assume was Sammy came trotting over and sniffed the feet of these new people in his domain. Douxie put a none too happy Archie down to greet the new friend and told him to play nice. Sammy sniffed Archie, hesitated for a moment, but then rubbed his cheek on Arch’s shoulder. Douxie let out the breath he was holding. Archie kept his tail from flicking and chirruped to the gray cat.

After passing by an archway that led into the dining area, where several old ladies were playing bridge, Robert led them up the stairs and through an unevenly rugged hallway to their room, near the end. “Now take your time settling in, but do join us downstairs soon, you’ll miss all the fun.”

After promising to show back up in a jiffy, they took in the room after he left. There bed was covered in four different green quilts, or that were as many as were visible. The windows were covered in thick green drapes. They came in and laid down their packs. The wallpaper was covered in green vines. There was some fancy loveseat, also green. Nari loved the amount of green. There was an oil painted portrait of a cat on the wall, and below it, a large vintage radio that looked like it might as well had been new. Y/n turned it on. ‘Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered’ was playing. Ooh, she loved this song.

She grabbed Douxie’s hands and pulled him to the center of the room. “C’mon, dance with me Dewdrop.” With a hand extended for him to take, her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. Well, there was no way Douxie was saying no to that face. Y/n pulled him into her embrace the second he tentatively put his hand in hers. It was a sweet, slow love song, so they began to dance sweet, slow, and loving. Nari had made herself comfortable on the loveseat with Archie, who was pretending to be busy cleaning himself to give them one less pair of eyes watching them. Nari grabbed a book off the doily covered coffee table titled ‘Poisonous Herbs and How To Use Them’ that had caught her eye.

As they swayed, Douxie leant down to Y/n’s ear, “Why are we sharing a bed once again, Love?”

“You saw those people downstairs, if they knew we weren’t married they wouldn’t have given us accommodation, you want to go look for a new inn at ten o’ clock?” Douxie nodded, “and I figured we shared a bed last night and that was fine so why not tonight too? Oh stars, did I make you uncomfortable last night?” Douxie could hear the panic surging in her voice.

“No, no not at all, Love. Well, a perhaps wee bit,” Y/n pulled slightly away from him, which he quickly countered, “But in a good way. I- liked it.”

Y/n eyes got big as she scanned his nervous face. A weak smile spread across her flushed face. “I liked it too- oh,” Doux spun her around to the music. She giggled, but soon locked onto his eyes. There were so many things in them that she couldn’t name. Despite the chaos behind them, looking into them made her feel safe, his hazel eyes always did. A brilliant hazel, a little brown, a little gold, haloed in green. Warm colors, the palette of her fondest dreams. Ella Fitzgerald’s sweet voice still sung, Y/n couldn’t tell if the melody was lasting forever or if time had just slowed in each other’s embraces. His gentle touch on the small of her back, the warmth beneath his palm, was going to linger long after they parted.

She leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder. Y/n could smell a mixture of cheap soap from the motel, the sweat of his skin, and the pine needles from their hike. His hair tickled her face. She could hear him take every breath. It was enamoring. Bewitched indeed, Ella. Y/n was so lost swaying in Douxie’s embrace that she almost didn’t catch what was being sung.

Y/n lifted her head back up. “Wow, I don’t remember the lyrics to this song being so dirty.”

Douxie laughed. “That’s because most versions are not. They cut it off before it gets too far, but this is the full version.”

“And people were listening to this in the fifties?” Y/n asked incredulously.

“Oh, Love, you’d be surprised.”

It took some convincing to get Nari to put down the book so they could go downstairs. She was engrossed in a page about bloodroot, and wasn’t happy about having to stop. Douxie wasn’t sure about how he felt about Nari getting into said literature, and was annoyed that Y/n was slightly encouraging it. Y/n knew all about this kind of stuff, sure, but he trusted Y/n not to suddenly turn on him when the whim found her. Bleeding balroths. Before now, Douxie hadn’t realized that he didn’t quite trust Nari. That was probably bad. Sure, Merlin trusted her, and that should be enough for his apprentice Hisirdoux. But Doux had trusted a lot of people over the years, even some endorsed by Merlin, before his slumber. It was a dangerous game, that trust. The scar on his hand served a permanent reminder, the thread tied onto his pinky, a promise to never forget.

Douxie felt bold, and laced his fingers through Y/n’s this time as they headed down the stairs. Archie took his perch on Douxie’s shoulders, it would give him an excuse not to have to interact with the inn cat. They were met cordially at the bottom of the stairs by the innkeeper’s wife, Sherry. She had been on her way from the kitchen to the dining with a platter of cookies. She beckoned the group to follow her, she’d lead them to where the action was at. Said action was laughing people sitting at the dining room table playing cards, with drinks ranging from a posh teacup to an Oktoberfest beer mug littering the table, children stealing sweets from the platters on the buffet cabinet in the midst of their game of hide and seek, and a new mother rocking her infant by the fire, a quilt draped over her lap.

“Hey folks, the Casperans have joined us finally.” They received a cheery greeting by all in the room.

Y/n didn’t like the idea of Nari joining the children in their hiding game, since Nari was not someone who should be left out of sight, so she suggested the veggie lady go ask the woman in the corner of the table who was knitting if she’d show Nari how. That kept the forest child busy all night. Easily explained to the adults by her being a strange little one, a shy child. Besides Robert there was only one other man in the gathering, so they seemed pleased by Douxie’s arrival. They tried to get him out of his shell and bond over beer, fishing stories, and how much they loved their wives. Douxie was trying his best to fit in with the merry men. As Y/n sat, the blue haired lady next to her offered her hand to shake and asked her name. “Y/n Casperan, pleased to meet you too, Ma’am.” Douxie bit the inside of his cheek, it was all he could do to keep his soul from leaving his body. Archie teased Doux with his eyebrows, which made it worse.

Much to Archie’s dismay, Doux got his revenge by putting him down on the ground and telling him to go play nice. Besides, it would be weird if Doux just left him there on his shoulder all night. Disgruntled, Archie took a perch up on the back of one of the old plush couches nearby. He kept an eye on Nari, since Douxie and Y/n were distracted. He had hoped he could stay anti-social from up there, but no, Sammy saw him from wherever the old cat was in the house and joined him. The gray cat snuggled next to Archie, loafing. It’s not that Arch didn’t like cuddles, he just didn’t want them from this random Russian blue from Ohio. Sammy began to purr; Archie could feel it against his own chest. Sighing, he accepted his fate, but didn’t hold back from flicking his tail in contempt.

The gathering dealt Douxie and Y/n in for the next round. Apparently, Y/n was a card shark, not something Doux was expecting. Y/n’s secret is that she’d oftentimes sneak off from her aunt’s fancy parties to go gamble with the snooty rich men who never thought a little girl in a poufy pink dress could clean ‘em out. They were often too embarrassed to tell the tale so she never got caught. He watched her lovingly as she bluffed and bantered with the other women. Y/n glanced over to him from across the table, catching his gaze. Her own gaze softened at the sight of his adoring expression towards her. She looked back down at her cards and promptly ended the hand. The dealer started passing around cards again, but Y/n refused hers.

“Oh, I sure would love to play another round, but I need to go have a conversation with my husband outside for a moment.” She shot a glance to Douxie and he understood. He stood up from the table and pulled her chair out for her as he did.

“Of course, Love.”

Douxie followed Y/n out to the porch. The soft orange light streaming from the window illuminated her back as she grabbed his hand to lead him towards a more private spot. Now no longer within the sight of the party, she leaned back against the porch rail, facing Doux. The expression he bore was a slightly questioning one, slightly eager. Y/n gulped, here goes nothing.

“So!”

Douxie cocked a brow, “So?”

“I know. And You know. And you didn’t know that I knew but I know, and I don’t know if you know but I’ve made it pretty clear so I’m hoping that you do know.”

Douxie’s eyes flittered back and forth as he tried to make sense of that babble. “Er- Love, could you say that in proper English for me? I think I know what you’re saying, but I- I need you to say it,” He looked away, pushing his hair back with his hands.

“I- Love You,” She lost her courage for a moment, taking a deep breath and not daring to look into his eyes, “This is so irresponsible, I know. But I, Y/n L/n, love you, Hisirdoux Casperan. And- and I have for quite some time now.” She waited a beat with no response. She still refused to look up from the floor as she asked, pleading, “Do you, return my feelings, or- or-“

“Yes.” He cut her off. She hadn’t noticed him getting so close to her. “I, Hisirdoux Casperan, love you, Y/n L/n.” Her heart skipped a beat as he chuckled, “I have for quite some time now.”

Y/n let out the breath she was holding in a dreamy sigh, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Doux brought his hand up to move a stray strand of hair away from her face, and he let it linger against her skin. Y/n placed her hand over his, and drew him closer. Her eyelids slowly closed as she reached her hands up to his hair, pulling him in for a sweet kiss. Douxie couldn’t believe this was finally happening. His eyelids snapped shut and he deepened it with fervor in an effort to show her just how much he wanted this, in case she had any hesitation left. He surely was going to wake up any moment now, alone on the smelly old couch of the bookstore with his songbook on his face. She pulled away from him way sooner than he was happy about. With their foreheads still together, he took in her flushed face. Looking up into his eyes, her voice rasped, “I- I’d- I’d like to apologize.” Douxie’s brows furrowed. His head was a little fuzzy, but he’d not know where she was going with this even if he hadn’t just kissed the love of his life. “I- I’ve been so weary, and for nothing. And-and I’ve probably wasted all this time we could have been happy an-”

He cut her off with another kiss. This time he’d make sure it lasted a good, long time. Although a bit sloppy at first, they eventually found their rhythm together. Their lips slid across each other in sync. Y/n tightened her arms around his neck as she pulled him even closer, clinging for dear life. As they eventually surfaced for breath, the hot ragged breathing visibly mingled in the chilly autumn air. He pressed his forehead back into hers, nuzzling, “I believe it was worth the wait, Darling.”

They could have spent all the time in the world in that moment, if not for the sudden crash coming from the dining area. “Oh fuzzbuckets, Nari.” Doux mumbled under his breath as he grabbed Y/n’s hand to go check out the startling noise. Once back in view of the window, they could see it was a false alarm, as Sherry had dropped a metal platter and was cleaning it up. Nari was still attentively watching the knitting woman, and Archie seemed to be getting cozy with the inn cat. Ooh Archie, you Casanova. Douxie breathed a sigh of relief. Y/n tugged at his hand,

“C’mon Dewdrop, let’s rejoin the merry making.” Douxie obliged.

And the merry making lasted until just before midnight. Surprising, considering the company they were in. They didn’t even stay until the others retired for the night, Douxie wanted to get an early start on the day and also really didn’t want to have to hear another one of Bill’s fishing stories and act like he knew anything about fishing. He complained as soon as the door closed behind them. Archie argued that he had had it worse, which Doux scoffed at. They bickered back and forth, making Y/n smile. She never knew family arguments could actually make her heart fonder. Strange. So this is what genuine love brings.

After brushing their teeth, such a mundane thing that Douxie loved doing with Y/n, they settled in to bed for the night. The autumn chill might have come, but it still way too warm for the fifteen blankets the bed had been covered in. They removed the extra and set them neatly on a pile in the loveseat. Or Y/n at least made sure the extra quilts were neatly folded, Douxie had just thrown them off and let them bunch up. Nari got under the covers, like she’d seen humans often do before, but decided it was not a sensation for her. It felt strangling, to have something weighing down at her. She joined Archie where he lay at the foot of the bed and curled up. Archie was not in the mood for more cuddles, and Nari appeared to sense that, and stayed a little ways from the dragon-cat while still trying her best to be close to him.

Y/n nestled in, with the blanket pulled up on her ear, looking cozy as ever. Douxie’s heart skipped a beat. This was still so surreal. This entire day had been surreal. There was no way this wasn’t all one big dream. Maybe he did get eaten at the Missouri motel. Perhaps something was draining his life force but giving him a pleasant dream to pacify his dwindling mind. Y/n noticed him, still standing there at the side of the bed in a trance, and reached for his hand to drag him in. He fell flush against the mattress, and as he picked himself back up, she could see his cheeks were flushed as well. Y/n giggled at the sight of him.

“Get in, just mind Arch and Nari.”

Douxie carefully got under the covers without disturbing the two at the foot of the bed, laying on his side to face Y/n. For a beat they stilled, looking into each other’s eyes and watching each other breathe, miles apart despite being so close, until Y/n stretched an arm out to place it on his shoulder, an invitation. Doux got the memo and closed the gap of sheets between them, and Y/n snuggled into his chest. He tentatively wrapped his arms around her. This was sleep time and he was supposed to be settling down and relaxing but now his heart was beating fast as if he were running. Surely Y/n could feel it, hear it even, with her ears against his heart itself. He hair smelled lovely, like dirt but right as it first starts raining. Gently smiling to himself, he tightened their embrace.

“You know, I wanted to do this last night too. So, so badly.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Bold words of someone who literally just apologized for wasting our time with her weariness.”

y/n pretended to scoff, but failed to contain her snickers, “Oh, sod off. I am asleep now, and I cannot hear you.”

Douxie woke up to a face full of dark fur. Not an unusual thing for him to wake up to, just not what he was expecting for this particular morning. At some point in the night Archie had climbed up and nestled into the space between his face and Y/n’s. Impertinent, but endearing. Douxie supposed he’d be waking up like this for many mornings to come. This magic moment would become normal, a fact of his life that he got to enjoy. Just him, Arch, and Y/n. His tiny little family. What a lovely thought. What a lovely future.

Breakfast was at seven. That was the best part of staying in a bed and breakfast, Douxie reckoned. The fragrance of the goetta frying was heavenly after not having eaten anything but beef jerky and nuts since yesterday afternoon. The innkeeper’s wife had also made biscuits that she was serving with apple butter and her signature chocolate gravy, which neither Douxie nor Y/n were brave enough to try. The apple butter was just fine, after all. Nari didn’t care for the goetta, or many meats at all, Douxie was starting to realize, instead opting to glop way too much apple butter on a biscuit that she made into a sandwich. The fruit sauce dripped out when she bit into it, which only made the other guests dote on her, telling her how she was just so cute.

Y/n was wearing that new outfit, that Ash Dispersal Pattern shirt. It looked good on her. He hoped he wasn’t being possessive here, but it really made him feel good to see her in it. They would wash their other clothes in New Jersey. Hopefully they’d make it to the garden state and the troll settlement by nightfall, but by the way things were going, Douxie could only do that, hope. They’d make their way through Pennsylvania and maybe tuck through Maryland and Delaware to avoid Philly. The new Trollmarket was under a bridge of a small town in the thick of New Jersey. They’d make it there, that was the plan.

They bid their goodbyes to the people at the bed and breakfast, and headed off to Cleveland around eight. It was an uneventful trip, unremarkable and not even worthy of being described. Although one aspect of it that Douxie enjoyed was that Y/n stayed away from the edge, choosing to hang on his arm instead of the railing. A win-win if he had ever known one. Archie made some sarcastic gagging noises at their pda, but Doux ignored him. He had been waiting way too damn long for this to not embrace his beloved on his own fucking flying ship. Arch could tease him all he wanted. This casual affection he was now allowed to show somehow was worth it. The fact that he could now just touch Y/n? And she would not only not flinch from his touch, but would even touch back? It was priceless to his heart, marrow to his old bones, chicken soup for his soul.

As they drew nearer, Douxie found out that the reason Y/n had directed them to the metropolitan area around Cleveland, pretty high up into Ohio, was that she had wanted to make a visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Douxie knew he shouldn’t have expected anything less. He sure knew how to pick ‘em. He could get on board with this, a little trip down memory lane might be nice. There was a reason he’d never been. A lot of his old friends who’ve earned their places in this building had passed on. Yet, it might be nice to see their faces once again.

They once again hid the boat in a wooded area and took a bus into town. It wasn’t a problem finding a close stop, since their destination was a popular tourist destination. They wandered the halls, Douxie told Y/n and Nari about some of the people from bands that he had known. Y/n listened intently. Nari really liked all the pictures and memorabilia. She understood that this was some sort of memorial, and she was making sure that she was being respectful as Hisirdoux told her about it all. She didn’t quite understand why there were tributes to some still living humans, but did not question the humans’ rituals. Perhaps they were going to die soon. All mortals will.

There was a little station with a sundry of instruments, there for people to try out. Everything was most likely out of tune, being floor instruments touched by thousands of hands. That didn’t stop Y/n from grabbing an acoustic guitar to show Nari, plucking at it’s strings effortlessly. It was a silly little ditty, meant to entertain the veggie lady, but still impressive. Wait.

“Since when have you been able to play?”

“Ah, I dunno, Dewdrop. High school, I guess? I can’t really remember when, but my friend Roxy showed me a few chords and then I was obsessed for months.”

“What, I- I gave you lessons just last month. You were terrible.”

“Hisirdoux Casperan we both know that was just an excuse for you to hold me and touch my hands as you positioned my fingers.”

Douxie’s face was red. She was right, of course, but he hadn’t thought he had been so obvious about it. He watched her fingers drift across the neck as she started playing a softer tune. It was a song he recognized. Y/n seemed to get lost in what she was doing, mumbling the words here and there. At one point she started actually singing. Softly, under her breath, but it was audible nonetheless. Either she had forgotten he was there or she was finally getting comfortable enough around him to let him hear the beautiful voice. He hoped it was the latter. Nevertheless, whichever it was, it was like a siren song to Douxie’s ears.

“Why don’t you ever sing?”

Y/n stopped suddenly. She looked up from the stings, her eyes wide. “What?”

“You’re always humming as you do things, but you only ever actually sing when you think no one’s around. Why’s that, Love?”

While he wouldn’t recommend she try out for a singing competition reality show any time soon, her voice was hypnotic to him. Soothed his soul. Not that silky as was traditionally praised, but somehow felt like home, like a less smooth polished fabric, like a well-loved linen. The cadence of her voice was the best sound he had ever heard even. He had only been lucky enough to hear her fully sing a few blessed times, yet he knew that he could listen to her sing forever. Addicting.

“I – well it’s quite embarrassing isn’t it? To sing in front of people. I’m no starlet.”

Okay, now Douxie was ready to punch the lights out of anyone who made her think she should hide the angel voice of hers. Embarrassing. Who the fuck had the nerve. “Hmm. I think that’s bullshit, Love.” Y/n looked taken aback, and morphed into an expression of confusion. Douxie decided this wasn’t a time to be subtle. He cupped her face in his hand, drawing her in to make eye contact. “Let me make this clear, My Darling. Everything I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth has been nothing but angelic. I would never want you to feel shame about expressing yourself, even if I didn’t think your voice was my favourite sound on the planet.”

Tears welled in Y/n’s eyes. She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that. She was so cautious to keep him from hearing her before, but he liked her singing? It was hard for her to fathom. The first time he had caught her crooning to herself while unboxing a new shipment of bestsellers in the bookstore had been mortifying. She had never wanted to relive that, but maybe she wouldn’t have to. She loved singing. Her father had liked to call her his little songbird. She had hidden away that part of herself like a chest of out of fashion clothes in a dusty attic. If someone like Douxie, her beloved, thought so kindly of her though, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to open up the chest and try on a few dresses.

“I- You’re serious? You really think that?”

Douxie held her gaze. “Absolutely.” He tipped her face up towards his to punctuate his point with a kiss.

They continued to wander through the rooms and exhibits of the museum. Douxie stopped to look at a portrait of someone he particularly missed, an old friend he had many good times with. He’d miss the geezer. He really was a great musician. He had taught Douxie a lot of tricks, and Doux wouldn’t be able to play the electric guitar half as well without his friend. He had a different kind of magic.

He was caught in his reverie when Y/n popped in from another room, urging him to come see something. Her excitement was something Doux would never stop enjoying, so he let her grab his hand so he would follow her. Douxie didn’t know what he was expecting her to show him, definitely not this. He was staring face to face with his own poster, circa 1960. They were experimenting with a new style, the rock of the day that was becoming increasingly popular. He remembered it fondly. It was a new age. The drummer in the photo, he was mortal, and while he could have been alive today, sadly he was taken, just ten years after joining the band. Seeing his smiling face filled Doux with peace. So many memories, he was glad he got to make them. And there would be more memories to come, he’d make sure of it. No order of ancient terrors breathing down his neck was gonna stop him from doing what he loved.

He was so lost in thought they he almost missed what this meant. He was in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. How did he not know he was in the fucking hall of fame. They didn’t even tell him. Well, he supposed this version of him no longer legally existed, so that made sense. Still. It was fantastic news. He was pretty proud. Some sweet validation that he always craved. Y/n had brought him here, she’d been here before, she knew. She was showing him off, to no one in particular, but the thought made him grin. Ash Dispersal Pattern in the hall of fame. Heh. He’d have to tell the others; in fact he would announce this to the group chat as soon as he had some free time. Zoe would get a kick out of him not knowing. Y/n tugged on his arm.

“Aren’t you cool, Mr. Rockstar.”

#hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #douxie casperan x reader #hisirdoux x reader #tales of arcadia x reader #hisirdoux casperan imagine #douxie imagine #douxie casperan imagine #hisirdoux imagine #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #tales of arcadia imagine #douxie casperan #toa douxie #my writing #nert

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c4pricornc4ts · 3 years

Text

The Minors Lunch Club (MLC for short.)

This is a Valentines day one-shot for intruxx <3

Characters: Tommy, Ranboo, Sam, Tubbo

Catagory: Fluff

Words:2.1k

For a MCYT writing challenge, join the writer’s block discord here!

----------------------------------------------- It’s a very on-brand thing for Tommy to do- leave getting his friend a gift the day before Valentine’s day. He kept putting it off because he wasn’t sure what to get Ranboo. He has hybrid friends, but Tubbo was easy. He and Sam had taken a break from the hotel to make the boy a small bee necklace that he knew he’d love.

Endermen were a whole new category. What did enderman hybrids even like? He hadn’t talked to Ranboo much unlike Tubbo. So he was really at a loss for ideas. Are there items that are offensive to give an enderman? He hopes Sam will know. Otherwise, he’s going to have to ask Tubbo and he really doesn’t want to get laughed at.

Sam doesn’t laugh, even if Tommy knew the question was ridiculous. He wasn’t used to that.

“What do endermen like?” He’s gathering more wood for the hotel, Sam somewhere behind him.

“What are you setting up some kind of… enderman trap?”

He throws his axe down, splitting another log. Trying to keep his focus on his work, embarrassed to admit the truth to Sam.

“No- I don’t know what to get Ranboo for tomorrow. And I don’t think he’d appreciate me trapping his cousins.”

“Yeah you’re right, don’t tell him about Philza’s hardcore world then.” Tommy hears Sam shudder, his tail making a slight sound as it puffs out.

“Didn’t plan on it Big S.” Tommy laughs and cuts through another trunk.

“Just get him something he likes, we hybrids aren’t that different you know.”

“That’s the problem! I don’t know what he likes. We barely talk, but Tubbo went and invited the guy to our lunch and now I need to find him something.” He tosses the logs into their wheelbarrow and pushes it towards Sam’s pile to collect his as well.

“Okay then, get him a grass block or something. Better yet, let him pick. Y’know?”

“Your ideas are shit, Sam.” He hopes Sam can somehow hear a “thank you” in that insult. Because Tommy just got the best idea ever. “I’ll drop all this off, then I’m off to build something else. I’ll see you tonight yeah?”

“See you then, good luck with Ranboo. The only way you could mess this up is by giving him water so just- don’t do that.” The creeper hybrid goes back to the rest of the trees as Tommy pulls out his silk touch shovel and gets to work collecting grass blocks and a few other blocks just in case Ranboo likes variety.

He tucks his new blocks away into his inventory and goes towards the main path of the SMP.

With how far everything has gone, can he even call this the main path anymore?

He goes into the abandoned Walmart that Tommy for the life of him can’t remember who built it and starts arranging the mostly grass blocks into different piles and sections. Adding a small pile of sand and some smooth stone he mined with a silk touch pick for a little variety. He can’t have a store that only sold one thing, it was bad for the economy. He reasons.

Once he was finished he went to Sam’s house to find something to make for dinner. He and the creeper hybrid had a deal, he does dinners and Sam lets him stay in the spare room while the hotel is being built. Though he knows Sam doesn’t actually care if he does it, he just wants Tommy to feel like he’s earning his stay.

He appreciates it. He’ll never say it out loud but he appreciates all the little things Sam does for him. Maybe he’ll try being nicer to the man tomorrow.

Probably not.

He tears into his baked potato after wrapping Sam’s in some tin foil before running up the stairs to his room. Tomorrow he would drag a hopefully excited Ranboo to an abandoned Walmart and make the best second impression ever.

------------------------------------------------

Once he’s dressed and double-checks he has Tubbo’s gift in his inventory he pulls out his communicator to message Ranboo. Leaning against the front door.

You whisper to Ranboo: Hey, meet me outside Sam’s house, I want to show you something. :)

Ranboo whispers to you: Alright, I’ll be there by the time you read this message.

Tommy reads the message again, trying to understand what it meant when he hears a small vwhoop and jumps a bit when he looks up to see a slightly disoriented 6’6” enderman hybrid standing on his front porch surrounded by purple particles.

“I hate teleporting. But Philza says I need to do it more so here I am.”

Tommy regains his composure as Ranboo straightens out his suit that Tommy can only assume got ruffled in the process.

“You know, that whole teleporting thing would’ve been useful back when we were fighting for L’manberg.” Referring to L’manberg so lightly with anyone else would be impossible, but Ranboo’s absence from those days made it easier to joke about with. “What were you doing before you came here anyway?”

“I don’t remember.” Ranboo looks away, Tommy silently berates himself for asking. He really didn’t want Ranboo to hate him.

“That’s okay tall man! You’re here now and I’m stupid for asking.” He starts walking towards the Walmart hoping Ranboo would just follow.

He does. “You’re not stupid, most people would remember. I just have beef with memories y’know?”

“Beef with memories…? You’re gonna have to tell me about whatever that means later. But for now I gotta show you your gift.”

“My gift?”

Tommy stops and turns to him. “Your valentine’s day gift! I thought you knew, why else would you just teleport to me no questions asked?”

“I must’ve-”

“Forgotten. Right. It’s no big deal, but what I’m about to show you inside of this broken down Walmart is.” He takes Ranboo to the entrance which is just the 2x2 opening not surrounded by broken glass. “Welcome to the enderman store! I made it myself because I am just so cool.”

Ranboo immediately ducks under the doorway and starts moving the blocks around. “You aren’t very cool but this makes you at least 20% cooler.”

“Does that mean you like it?” Tommy asks as he goes to stand behind the makeshift counter.

“Of course I do! It’s like- like a block playground.” Ranboo teleports around the store and Tommy looks down because the sight of him appearing and disappearing was making his head hurt.

“You pick one yet?” He plants his elbow on the counter and tries to give his friend a good impression of an underpaid cashier.

“Pick one for what?”

“As your gift.” He says it like it was the most obvious thing in the world but with the way Ranboo stands confused he supposes it wasn’t. “I mean, the whole store is your gift actually. But you gotta like, pick your favorite block or something.”

“That’s kinda stupid.”

“Whatever, at least I’m not 6’6”, now pick your favorite grass block so we can go to Tubbo’s and show him how cool I am.”

“Okay, I like…” He carefully considers the dirt for what? Tommy doesn’t know. Maybe endermen have a block grading system.

He finally picks one of the many grass blocks in the corner and places it in front of Tommy.

Tommy uses his communicator as a scanner and pretends to ring up the block. Ranboo just seems even more confused.

“What? This is a store roleplay. I’m just keeping things realistic.” He pushes the grass block back to Ranboo who takes it and immediately holds it out in front of him. “The cost is teleporting Tommy to Tubbos because he’s lazy and doesn’t want to walk.”

The taller laughs and Tommy climbs over the counter and clings to Ranboo’s arm bracing for the sudden movement. He closes his eyes and stumbles forward a bit when the hybrid brings them to Tubbo’s in under a second.

He lets go of Ranboo once he’s sure he won’t trip and goes up to Tubbo’s door, instead of knocking he just let’s himself in. Rather he announces he’s here by shouting, “Big T! We’re here for lunch and I brought a very tall man with me. I think his name is Rainbow, not sure though.”

“Tommy it’s-” Ranboo is interrupted by Tubbo appearing from the kitchen, the fur coat he is usually buried in abandoned for a cheesy heart covered apron.

“Ranboo! Tommy!” He runs up to them both with excitement, but he quickly tilts his head at the grass block Ranboo had brought in that was no doubt ruining his floor. Tubbo runs back into the kitchen and orders the boys to, “Stay there!” and when he returns he is carrying a planter pot with a little note attached that says, “To: Ranboo, From: Me :)”

“This is perfect, you can fill my gift with… wait did Tommy really give you fuckin dirt?”

“No! I gave him a whole store of dirt you dickhead!”

“I liked it.” Ranboo adds, trying to help Tommy’s case.

“See Tubbo? He loves my gift, you are just a hater.”

“Whatever.” Tubbo rolls his eyes and turns around, leading the other two into his kitchen.

They take a seat and Tubbo places a basket of bread in the middle of the small wooden table. Tommy runs his hands under it to where he can feel the carvings of his and Tubbo’s name. They had built the table together, hell they had built most of the furniture in this house together.

Tubbo sits down next to Ranboo and places a jar of honey, no doubt from his own bees on the table.

“You know we should invite Purpled next time, then we can call it the MLC.”

“Call it the what?”

“Y’know the minor lunch club! All the teenagers in one place, hopefully shit-talking the adults.”

“Tubbo can you-” Ranboo is interrupted by Tubbo, who was focused on what Tommy just said.

“We are not naming anything ‘Lunch Club’ ever, pick another name.”

“What? Why not?” He whined.

Ranboo reaches over the table to grab the honey, knocking over the vase of flowers in the middle of the table. Tubbo pauses, he’s stood up, preparing to lean over and hit Tommy.

“Tubbo I’m so sorry I’ll-I’ll clean it up.” Ranboo starts to go grab a towel when Tubbo tackles him and pretends to be mad. Tommy just sighs at the scene and goes to actually grab a towel before the water could ruin the table.

“It’s valentine’s day and you’re fighting.”

“It’s play fighting, it's a hybrid thing you wouldn’t get it.”

Tubbo knew what he was doing, get Tommy mad so he’ll come over there and join them too.

It works, Tubbo giggling as Tommy pushes him off Ranboo and shakes him gently.

Tubbo headbutts him gently, careful not to actually hurt him. (It had happened once, Philza was not happy.)

Tommy wraps his arms around the deer and refuses to stop hugging him, Ranboo takes the opportunity to get up and actually wipe down the table before going back to where Tommy was sitting against the door laughing holding a faux annoyed Tubbo.

“Let me go Tommyyyy.” Tubbo whines, it’s muffled by the blond’s shirt.

“No, you were mean to me and now I’m sad.”

Ranboo sits down next to them and whispers “Clingyinnit.” causing Tubbo to laugh and Tommy to let him go opting to go mess with the enderman instead.

“I am not clingy!”

“He says, as he clings to Ranboo. His newest victim.”

They finally get up, dusting themselves off, and go to exchange the rest of their gifts. Tubbo giving Tommy earrings with two purple disks on them. Tommy hands him the bee necklace and then Ranboo gives both of them a pig spawner.

They go out and help Sam with the hotel for the rest of the day and when it’s dark outside they say their goodbyes and promise to come back tomorrow to see Tubbo’s new ‘project’ which the two no doubt means more nukes.

It’s almost midnight by the time Tommy works up the courage to give Sam his gift. Walking up to his bedroom door and knocking gently. Fiddling with the letter he had made. He had no reason to be nervous, it was just a card to thank Sam for everything. He owed the man so much more.

He had avoided giving Sam the card all day, but there was no turning back now. He supposes he could just run back to his room, pretend to be asleep when Sam goes to ask if he knocked.

“Tommy?” Sam opens the door, yawning. Tommy had clearly woken him up.

He shoves the card towards the creeper hybrid and looks away as he reads it.

Tommy can tell when he’s done because Sam murmurs an “Oh, Tommy…” before going to hug the blond. Who happily accepts it.

“Your gift idea wasn’t shit, he loved it actually.”

“I know, I never have bad ideas.” Tommy can imagine the grin on Sam’s face as he says that and it’s enough to make him laugh softly. For the first time in a long time, Tommy finally takes a deep breath. Holding onto Sam a little tighter than maybe he should. Tommy’s tired of letting go.

Neither of them ever want to let go.

#fanfic #minecraft fanfiction #tubbo #tommy and tubbo #tommyinnit #ranboo #awesamdude #c4pricornc4ts

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honeyju · 3 years

Text

carnations; choi chanhee

In which you visit the flower shop every day to buy a flower for someone you never manage to give it to.

genres: fluff, flower shop au, sort of friends to lovers au

word count: 3.4k

a/n: this is inspired by a flower shop au prompt i found on @alloftheprompts’s blog and tweaked a little!! it’s dedicated to my friend rea @superiormangos as it’s her birthday today and i wanted to write something special for her <33 also a huge thank you to alice @hyuckworld for the text dividers! hope you enjoy!!

THE VASE WAS OVERFLOWING NOW.

You couldn’t help but frown at the sight before you, a jumbled mess of light pink carnations stuffed hastily into a glass vase that had nearly no room left. Nearly all of them save for a handful were wilted, their stems leaning outside of the vase and petals dried.

I need to start giving these, you thought to yourself, yet you knew this wasn’t the first time that you had thought such words, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Curse Choi Chanhee for having a face so flawless you could’ve sworn it was carved from marble, for having a smile bright enough to set your whole face on fire. If only he didn’t have the ability to fluster you so greatly, you would’ve been able to do what you’d been yearning to do since the moment you first realized your attraction towards him.

You could only pray that today would be the day you finally gained some courage, and you tried not to spare another glance at the bunch of flowers sitting on your table as you shouldered your coat, adding a scarf around your neck in the hopes that it would be enough to battle the biting cold. You stepped out of the door, locking it, and set out along the familiar path you’d been following daily for the past couple months. The image of the full vase seemed to haunt you every step you took, and you shook your head, trying to clear your mind of the exasperation that was building inside of you.

It was only after a few blocks that you’d turned the corner and the shop you were so accustomed to came into view, surrounded by a magnificent display of vivid flowers. You could feel your heart beginning to race, and you had to scrunch your hands up into fists in order to prevent your palms from sweating. Somehow, you felt like you could already sense Chanhee’s presence inside the shop, knowing that the moment you walked in, your feelings would only intensify.

Sure enough, you had only taken a step into the shop and you already felt as though your heart was going to beat out of your chest. Chanhee was standing behind the counter, his gaze trained elsewhere as he mindlessly fiddled with a pen in his hands. When he looked up to the sound of your footsteps, his bright eyes meeting yours, you could’ve sworn that the world around you disappeared, everything falling into slow motion as his lips curved into a smile.

Why, oh why did Chanhee have to make you so damn nervous? You couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating up even if you wanted to, and you shakily lifted a hand to wave at him, not taking another step out of fear that your trembling legs would give way.

“Hey! Same order as always?” Chanhee grinned, gesturing to the carnations behind him, and you thought you could’ve passed out from the sparkle in his warm brown eyes. You forced yourself to nod, feet still glued to the floor, and Chanhee beckoned you closer. “Why don’t you come a bit more over here? It’s cold outside, isn’t it?” He raised his eyebrows in concern, referring to the door behind you that was propped open, harsh gusts of wind blowing inside every few seconds.

“Thanks,” you mumbled quietly, edging yourself forward as Chanhee leaned over the counter, resting his elbows on its surface. For a moment, he seemed to be analyzing you, his forehead creasing as a flash of worry crossed over his face.

“Rough day? You seem a bit frustrated,” he commented, placing his head in his hands. You couldn’t help but smile at his words, wondering how he could so effortlessly read past your timid appearance. His easy conversation always managed to loosen the knots of tension in your stomach, although ironically, he was the original cause of your jitteriness.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “yeah, it’s been a bit of a rough day.”

Chanhee’s expression fell into one of sympathy as he reached out to pat your shoulder. “I hope you’re able to cheer up soon! Look, I’ve got an extra special one for you today,” he consoled, leaning back and turning around to find one particular flower among the bunch you were so familiar with. It gave you enough time to calm down from the sudden contact his hand had made with your body, and you quickly released the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

When he faced you again, his gaze was tender, different from the fondness with which he looked at his flowers, somehow unique only to the way he looked at you. Sitting in his cupped palms was a beautiful pink carnation in full bloom, its white hues seeming to glow under the bright lighting of the shop.

“I picked it this morning,” Chanhee murmurs, his eyes flickering down to the plant and back to your face. “It grew a lot bigger than they normally do, so I wanted to save it for you.”

Your face grew warmer, if that was even possible, and you weren’t sure how to express the gratitude you felt for him thinking of you. You settled with a soft, “Thank you,” accepting the carnation from his hands, trying not to react to the graze of his fingers against yours.

“No problem. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

This was it. This was the moment. No matter how natural Chanhee made conversation between the two of you, it was always these words that had your breath hitching in your throat. While your mind screamed at you to seize the opportunity, your body was unwilling to cooperate, freezing up at the thought of messing up.

Tell him who it’s for. Go on, give it to him.

Despite the convincing voice encouraging you to take the chance, your fearsome thoughts somehow always won over the confident ones. The questions of what if this is too weird? and what if he rejects me? were simply too strong for you to ignore, and unsurprisingly, you let them stop you like you always did. Your arms fell limply to your sides, the flower in your hand drooping as if in regret.

“No, nothing else,” you sighed, looking down in the hopes of hiding your disappointment. You were about to turn away, walk out the door, and you knew that the moment you got back to your place, the first thing you would do would be stick the carnation in the bunch of flowers you’d repeatedly failed to give. But Chanhee interrupted your miserable thoughts, speaking up again as if he wanted you to stay just a bit longer.

“You know,” he started, leaning forward against the counter once more, “you’ve been coming in here every day for the past couple of months, and we’ve been having these little conversations. You probably know my name because, well, the name tag, but I realized that I never asked you for yours.”

It took you a few seconds longer to process his words than it should’ve, and when they finally registered in your mind, you blinked in understanding.

“I’m Y/N,” you answered quickly, a shy smile creeping up your lips. Chanhee’s answering grin mirrored yours as he tilted his head playfully.

“Well, Y/N, what do you say to a cup of coffee tomorrow when my shift is over?”

For a moment, you could’ve sworn you were dreaming, the words echoing in your mind as though they were a fantasy. Your eyes widened, and among the storm of feelings in the back of your mind, you heard that voice once again, urging you to say something, to accept.

This time, you let yourself listen.

“I’d love that.”

YOU ALMOST DIDN’T SHOW UP.

Funnily enough, you were able to exchange numbers with Chanhee, hold a full conversation with him over text, and even choose an outfit for the next day without having a complete mental breakdown.

Yet when morning arrived, you were suddenly riddled with worry, pacing around the room as you found yourself beginning to second-guess everything. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were overdressed, or maybe underdressed, or whether Chanhee had something planned after coffee that you needed to be prepared for. However, you knew you couldn’t let him down by not going, and so, almost reluctantly, you left for the shop.

You mindlessly let your feet carry you, and you were so deep in your trance that you hardly noticed when you reached the shop until Chanhee was standing right before you. It was only when he led you outside that things began to feel real, his shoulder nudging yours as you walked down to the coffee shop.

“Look at that tree,” Chanhee observed, his eyes alight as he pointed across the street to a tree decorated in reds, oranges and browns, the leaves clinging to the branches despite the relentless wind. You found yourself looking at him instead, softening at the adoration painted over his features as he continued to murmur small details about the scenery surrounding the two of you. You had only realized that you were zoning out when Chanhee snapped his fingers in front of your face, his lips curving into an amused smirk.

“Sorry!” Your cheeks turned impossibly red as you began to blurt out an explanation. “I just—I like watching people talk about the things they love,” you admitted. Chanhee’s expression was blank at first, and then it grew soft as he wordlessly took your hand in his, fingers wrapping around yours tenderly.

“Is this okay?” he asked tentatively, and your heart nearly stopped beating from the sudden move. Still, you managed a nod, trying to relax your body as Chanhee beamed, his shoulder touching yours. “I hope you don’t mind that so have a little something planned for today.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you told him, shaking your head. On the inside, however, you silently began to panic, feeling as though your stomach was turning inside out.

“Don’t be nervous! I think that you’ll really like it,” Chanhee assures, squeezing your hand to encourage you. You could only smile, left to wonder yet again how he was so impossibly good at knowing exactly what you felt.

You were curious, however, when he had chosen to take you back to the shop after the two of you had gotten your coffee, promising you that he’d show you something beautiful. Your interest only grew when he led you behind the counter, showing you the back door that you had somehow never noticed in your previous visits.

When Chanhee swung the door open, words failed you.

Your mouth fell open, stunned by what lay before your eyes. It was a garden, displaying rows and rows of flower beds organized neatly by type, color, preference, and nearly every other category that you could imagine. Each group of flowers was accompanied by a small label sticking out from the grass, upon which descriptions were scribbled in tiny handwriting. It was so alive, and you noted that the deep hues of the lush blossoms formed a delightful contrast with the impeccably green grass. It was undeniably one of the most entrancing things you had ever seen, and you were even more awestruck by the intricacy of the overall arrangement.

“Oh my god.” Your words came out in a hushed whisper, and you couldn’t help but feel as though it was because you saw the garden as some sort of sleeping figure, as though you feared waking it up from its tranquil state.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Chanhee grinned, sitting down and patting the grass next to him, encouraging you to sit beside him. You obliged, shivering slightly when your arm brushed against his. “There,” he said, pointing you towards a section of the garden flourishing with the double-flowered blossoms you knew like the back of your hand.

“Carnations,” you marveled, never having seen so many at once despite being so used to them. You could feel Chanhee’s eyes on you, and when you turned to face him, you gulped at the proximity of his face. He was close enough for you to feel his breath on your lips, for you to see every little detail of his skin. You found yourself anticipating his next move as he opened his mouth.

“Do you want to pick one? A carnation, I mean.”

His offer deeply touched you, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you found yourself rendered speechless by his sincerity yet again. You nodded, and he instantly took your hand, sitting up on his knees as he guided your fingers to one of the flowers in particular.

“Take it,” he whispered. “This one’s in full bloom.”

He watched, his hand still on yours as you carefully plucked the flower from the group and gasped quietly. You stared at it for a moment, twirling the stem between your fingers and watching as the petals caught the sunlight, glimmering a soft baby pink. When you looked back up at Chanhee, his gaze was anticipatory, as if he feared that you would not like the flower.

“It’s stunning,” you breathed, offering him a genuine smile.

His answering smile was bright enough to light up the entire garden, and although you had never believed in angels, you thought that perhaps Choi Chanhee was the closest thing to one.

“I’ve always wondered why you like carnations so much,” Chanhee murmured. His voice wasn’t meddlesome or demanding, but rather soft and curious, and you could see the honest question in his eyes. You tried not to freak out, remembering that you weren’t obligated to tell him the reason if you weren’t ready just yet. But the way in which he was looking at you told you that the moment would be soon, and something inside of you liked the idea of that.

“I’ll tell you someday,” you promised, and Chanhee nodded, an understanding look on his face. He inched closer to you, his body lightly touching yours as he tightened his grip around your hand.

It was yet another day in which you would be returning to your apartment with a carnation, but something about getting to pick it with Chanhee made your heart race in a way it hadn’t before. You could do almost everything with him, you realized. You just couldn’t give him that damned flower.

YOU COULD NO LONGER HOLD IT IN.

You were sick of it, you realized. You were sick of keeping your feelings in, and judging by the way you and Chanhee continued to spend more time together following the day in the garden, you had a feeling that Chanhee was sick of not knowing what it meant, too. You had made a promise to him, and it was finally time for you to fulfill that promise.

You decided that this time, you were going to be the one to surprise him. So that was how you ended up in front of your apartment, an extremely confused Chanhee by your side. You tried not to let your nerves show, praying that this would be the time you finally didn’t back out.

“Sorry to drag you here all of a sudden,” you apologized, and Chanhee waved it off with a small laugh as you guided him inside. You tried not to be too embarrassed about the mess, opening your mouth to apologize again before he cut you off.

“I love it.”

You blushed, something you had gotten used to after the countless moments you’d spent with him. There was something about the way he always knew exactly what to say that made you admire him, and you realized that it was part of the reason for why you liked him so much. You felt as though every cell in your body was shivering with what you were about to do, but you knew that despite the raggedness of your breath, despite your shaking hands, you finally wanted this.

“Chanhee,” you began seriously, as his lips curved into a soft smile, “I brought you here because there’s something I want to show you. But you have to promise not to freak out, okay?”

A flash of amusement crossed Chanhee’s face, but he nodded regardless. “I can’t promise you, but I’ll try my best.”

Accepting the answer, you turned around to find the vase you had kept tucked away in a corner of sunlight that came from the nearby window. When you pulled it out to show him, Chanhee‘s whole demeanor changed, his eyes immediately widening in recognition.

“Wait, those are—“

“Read it,” you interrupted, nodding your head towards the folded piece of paper that you had tucked between the flowers earlier in the day. Raising an eyebrow, Chanhee plucked the paper from the bunch, beginning to unfold it carefully.

Watching as he opened the paper completely, you were hit with a sudden feeling as though something was awfully wrong. You had the urge to stop him, and you realized that it was because this wasn’t how you wanted to tell him. You wanted the words to come straight from your mouth.

“Wait,” you blurted, “wait, I’ll say it instead.” Chanhee looked up, his eyes meeting yours as he compliantly folded the note back together. “You wanted to know why I’ve been buying all these flowers, right?” you asked, his answering nod giving you a surge of confidence. “Well, the truth is, I wanted to give them to you. The first couple times I came were for other reasons, but when I started buying the carnations, I wanted to use them to confess to you.”

“Confess? To me? But—“

“Hold on,” you said softly, needing to get the words out before you lost the courage to. “Chanhee, I like you. I like you a lot. And maybe I’m reading it wrong, but I think that you might like me too. I want you to know that I’ve always appreciated the moments we’ve spent together, and that I’ll continue to cherish them whether or not you feel the same.” You paused to take a breath, and you were about to continue your confession before you stopped short at the realization that you were rambling, your cheeks turning red from embarrassment. Your gaze fell to the ground, and you bit your lip nervously before Chanhee’s hand suddenly wrapped around yours. Your head instinctively shot up, only to find that he was looking at you with that same tenderness again, the kind that made you feel like he saw the entire world in you.

“Y/N,” Chanhee murmured gently, “first tell me, why carnations?”

It was an almost ridiculous question, and you couldn’t bite back the small smile that was beginning to form on your lips. “Why don’t you tell me what they mean, flower boy?”

“Admiration,” Chanhee answered without missing a beat, glancing back down at the carnations as if in confirmation. “That’s what these ones mean. You . . . you admire me?” There was a tone of disbelief to his voice.

“All this time you’ve been so gentle with me, showing me new things, teaching me new feelings. How could I not admire you?” you whispered, and for the first time, there weren’t any voices telling you what could go wrong. You reached for the most freshly picked flower in the vase, and despite the racing of your heart, you no longer felt scared. You held it out to him, knowing that Chanhee would understand its meaning, that it would be enough to convey what you felt.

For a second, everything fell into silence, as Chanhee’s gaze dropped to the carnation, his shoulders stiffening. Then his face broke into a smile, and he leaned in, his fingers finding your cheek. He paused before his lips could touch yours, as he cautiously searched your face as if to ask for permission. You only closed your eyes, and Chanhee chuckled softly before he finally closed the distance between the two of you.

Chanhee had always reminded you of flowers. Maybe it was because he worked at a flower shop, or maybe it was because of the way his mouth moved with yours, the way the two of you delicately fell into each other’s embrace like petals of a flower. Your entire body was on fire, filled with nothing but the thought of his figure moulded with yours, his tongue finding its way past your lips. Somewhere in the middle of the kiss, his hand found your still outstretched one, and when he took the flower from between your fingers as he pulled you closer, you smiled.

You had finally given him your carnation.

#the boyz #the boyz chanhee #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz oneshots #the boyz fluff #choi chanhee #chanhee #chanhee oneshot #chanhee scenarios #chanhee imagines #chanhee drabbles #chanhee fluff

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orange-waterfalls · 4 years

Text

Cell Block Tango, Ft. One Wilford Warfstache

ty @executiveespressodepresso for the request

A/N: I KNOW, I know. It took a long time. A really long time. 2 weeks is actually not that long but I GET IT. I’m done though! I am finished, I have completed one(1) fic, and I can rest easy now. I’ve had a bit of trouble with these types of fics before, mainly I just didn’t know how to write them. But I figured it out! Maybe. Sorta. I dunno, I kinda like it... ANYWAYS uh song bumps the rating up to a T, but there’s not really much else. You perform a song for Wilford after a long day! That’s it. Also Talking about Feelings at the end because I was feeling Angsty and wanted some Plot. It’s a long one dhwukcgfeywf anyways enjoy!

Word Count: 3.0k

Performing the Cell Block Tango for Wilford

You plopped down onto the living room couch and sighed. What a day! What a great, awful, stressful day. You loved Wilford, absolutely, but the man could be a handful.

You weren’t sure how it was possible for someone to have so many bullets in one gun.

In any case, you had to stop him from KILLING PEOPLE for a while before getting to come home.

You didn’t have the emotional capacity to be mad at this point. You really needed to wind down.

First, you should make dinner. Last time Wilford stepped foot in the kitchen the whole house went up in flames. You grabbed your phone and called to order take out.

You rubbed your eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. You shook your head, knowing if you fell asleep Wilford might kill the delivery person. You went to the bathroom.

You turned the sink faucet on and splashed your face a few times. You looked in the mirror at your soaking-wet face. God Wilford was so difficult to deal with. Well… he’d gotten better… but he still had a long way to go before you could even consider taking him anywhere. If he wouldn’t pull a gun on all the therapists you took him to maybe he’d have gotten a little better in the time that you knew him.

Now that Wilford was back on your mind, you thought of a way you could maybe relax.

You walked back to the living room and looked down at the phone that you’d thrown on the chair beside the couch. You looked up, not seeing Wilford anywhere. You took a deep breath, and decided you deserved a little performing. As a treat.

You pressed play on the song when you found it, and you stood up. You stood with your back to the music, facing the wall.

"Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz," you said quietly. "And now, the six merry murderesses of the Crook County Jail, and their rendition of the Cell Block Tango…"

You began moving your arms in rhythm to the song. A smile twitched at your lips. This might’ve seemed a bit silly to anyone else, but luckily, you were alone. Right?

Yes, Wilford went to go see Dark. You were absolutely, 100% alone.

In fact, you were so sure that you were alone that you didn’t hear Wilford walk into the room. He saw you… dancing? Were you dancing? He didn’t think you danced. You didn’t seem like the type to dance. He tilted his head to the side a little, about to ask what was happening, before hearing the music play from the phone and closing his mouth. He decided to stay quiet and just… watch.

The music began speeding up and you started to get really into it, moving around a lot. As the chorus got close, you turned around, only to find Wilford staring at you. He was standing in front of the couch, near your phone. You stared back at him, the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks. You prepared to shamefully walk away, to avoid him by taking a shower or saying you had to run to the store, to make sure he said nothing about this to you or anyone else.

But, Wilford seemed to have other things in mind.

Seeing you watch him like a deer in headlights, he thought there was something he should do in this situation, something to make you more comfortable.

With that in mind, he plopped down onto the couch, respectfully folding his hands in his lap, and looked at you expectantly.

Was that the right decision? Too late to take it back now. Hopefully it was.

You blinked for a moment before you got the memo and started moving again. You felt your skin burn in the still-present embarrassment as you continued your… well, it wasn’t quite dancing. Something along those lines, maybe. You expected Wilford to talk, laugh, comment, make any noise at all. But he just sat, watching you. You looked at him, nervous. He smiled brightly at you and you remembered that this was Wilford, dammit! The man loved you and would never wish any harm on you, physically or emotionally. And that’s when you decided to put a little trust in your boyfriend, and started to sing right as the chorus started up.

“He had it comin', he had it comin', he only had himself to blame… If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I betcha you would have done the same! Pop! Six! Squish! Uh-uh! Cicero! Lipschitz! Pop! Six! Squish! Uh-uh! Cicero! Lipschitz!”

Wilford nearly got whiplash when you started to sing. Since when? Could you do this? You had never? You were also quite good, so… why didn’t he know?

You started getting more exaggerated and “angry” with your movements, which made Wilford smile. You looked like you were having fun(which you were) and he was happy about that. He also appreciated the few lyrics he processed over the look of joy on your face taking full control of his mind. He could relate to it, at least a little. He wondered if that’s why you liked the song…

He then realized that it probably wasn’t, but he liked the thought nonetheless.

“You know how people have these little habits that get you down? Like Bernie. Bernie liked to chew gum. No, not chew: pop! So I came home this one day, and I am really irritated and I'm looking for a little bit of sympathy. And there's Bernie, laying on the couch drinking a beer and chewing. No, not chewing: popping!” You were waving your arms around while telling the story, and got this angry look on your face at certain points. While making the face, you pointed at Wilford accusingly. He frowned at first, before remembering you were acting. And, damn, you were good at it! "So, I said to him, I said, "You pop that gum one more time..." And he did. So I took the shotgun off the wall and I fired two warning shots... into his head.” You made a fake gun with your hands and fake-shot at Wilford. He leaned back on the couch, put on a surprised look, and laid a hand over his chest, playing along. You smiled at him joyfully before going back to singing.

He bit his lip to not laugh, as you might’ve taken it the wrong way. He was just very… happy. And entertained with what was happening.

“I met Ezekiel Young, from Salt Lake City, about two years ago, and he told me he was single, and we hit it off right away. So, we started living together. He'd go to work, he'd come home, I'd fix him a drink, we'd have dinner. And then I found out. "Single," he told me? Single, my ass. Not only was he married, oh, no, he had six wives. One of those mormons, you know? So that night, when he came home from work, I fixed him his drink, as usual.” Wilford got a bit distracted at this point, just by you. Everything you were doing. The dancing, the acting, the singing, the smiles… you looked so happy. He wondered why you didn’t look like this more often. He wondered how he could get you to look like this more often.

He’d heard someone talk about karaoke at the store one day.

Could he do that? Could he buy a karaoke machine? Would you want a karaoke machine?

“You know... some guys just can't hold their arsenic.” He was snapped back to reality,(ope, there goes gravity) when you ruffled his hair harshly at the last line. He looked up at you again and found you were still smiling. He automatically smiled back.

“Now, I'm standing in the kitchen, carving up the chicken for dinner, minding my own business. In storms my husband, Wilford, in jealous rage.” You accidentally said “Wilford” instead of “Wilbur”. Who could blame you, honestly. To save it, you started acting like you were talking directly to Wilford instead of just a make-believe audience. Wilford, on the other hand, panicked a little when you said his name. It wasn’t the same name as the song said, so… what? He then came to the conclusion that you just wanted to get him to pay more attention.

"You been screwing the milkman," he says. He was crazy and he kept on screaming "You been screwing the milkman." And then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times.” You leaned towards him, got up in his face, and grabbed and shook his shoulders. Wilford just kind of… sat there and took it, since he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He nodded a few times as well, seemingly a bit intimidated by you. It took much of your willpower to not break and start laughing at him.

His cheeks dusted a light pink because of how close you were getting to his face. He nearly leaned forward and kissed you, but caught himself. You were performing and he had no right to interrupt.

Still, your lips looked awfully kissable…

“If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I betcha you would have done the same!”

You had to mentally prepare yourself for the Hungarian part. You took a breath to lower your heart rate and told yourself that even if you messed it up, it was fine. It was just Wilford.

“Mit keresek én itt? Azt mondják, a híres lakóm lefogta a férjem, én meg lecsaptam a fejét. De nem igaz. Én ártatlan vagyok. Nem tudom, miért mondja Uncle Sam, hogy én voltam. Próbáltam a rendõrségen megmagyarázni, de nem értették meg.” You had to suck in a breath and miss a few lines to get your brain back on track. “Uh-uh! Not guilty!”

Wilford was thrown completely off guard at the Hungarian and he stared at the phone. Where the hell did that come from? More confusingly, when he looked back at you, you seemed to be keeping up with the words, for the most part. Did you know Hungarian? Did you just know this part? You slipped up a few times but, hot damn, it was impressive.

You had this sad, innocent look on your face the whole time. One that made him wanna get up and hug you. But he didn’t because he knew that you were fine and you were acting and he was gonna let you finish this wonderful performance of yours even if it fucking killed him, goddammit!

Okay, he was being a little dramatic. Even so.

“My sister Veronica and I had this double act, and my husband Charlie traveled around with us. Now, for the last number in our act we did these twenty acrobatic tricks in a row. One, two, three, four, five, splits, spread eagles, back flips, flip flops, one right after the other. So this one night before the show, we're down at the hotel Cicero, the three of us boozing, having a few laughs. And we ran out of ice so I went out to get some. I come back, open the door, and there's Veronica and Charlie, doing number seventeen: the spread eagle! Well, I was in such a state of shock I completely blacked out, I can't remember a thing. It wasn't until later, when I was washing the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead.” You decided you kick your leg up a little both times you mentioned spread eagles. Wilford shook his head, a little dumbfounded. He understood the implications in the song, and his face flushed darker. He wondered if you did too, because it just seemed like you did it for fun. In any case, he coughed into his hand quietly, as to not make you worry.

You look at Wilford, a bit confused, but he just gave you a thumbs up for you to continue. You smiled and kept doing what you were doing, not noticing how flushed he was.

“They had it coming, they had it coming, they had it coming all along! I didn't do it, but if I'd done it, how could you tell me that I was wrong?”

Wilford watched in utter fascination at how you were moving. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you choreographed this.

Well… he didn’t know what you did when he wasn’t home.

But you moved fairly fluidly through dances and you seemed to be on-tempo, even if the dances seemed random.

Random does not mean unplanned, he reminded himself.

He was also a little distracted from your dancing by the song, because it was making him feel emotions he wasn’t sure existed. He was determined to memorize your every move, however, so that would just have to wait until another day.

“I loved Al Lipschitz more than I can possibly say. He was a real artistic guy, sensitive, a painter. But he was always trying to find himself. He'd go out every night looking for himself, and on the way he found Ruth, Gladys, Rosemary and Irving. I guess you can say we broke up because of artistic differences. He saw himself as alive... and I saw him dead…” You stood pretty still for this part, since the song was almost over and you were feeling pretty tired. 7 minutes didn’t seem like a long time, but it’s different when you’re working out.

You did pace a little bit, while keeping your arm movement to a minimum. You felt your heart beating due to the exercise and also the anxiety of your boyfriend watching you.

You did make a last-second decision to boop his nose when you got to the last word. This made Wilford blink harshly and look up at you with a pout. Before you went back to your original spot in the room, you gave him a little kiss on the nose. That made him grin from ear to ear and dig his fingers into his legs. You bit back a chuckle and started up again.

“They had it coming, they had it coming, they had it coming all along! 'Cause if they used us, and they abused us, how could you tell us that we were wrong? He had it coming, he had it coming, he only had himself to blame! If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I betcha you would have done the same!” You kept dancing the same as you did before, even though your legs were starting to burn, and you were having trouble keeping the same fluid movements. Some of them became a little more jerky and forced than you wanted them to.

Wilford noticed this and brought his arms up a bit, leaning forward in case you needed help. He figured you wouldn’t, but he didn’t want you cracking your skull open or anything.

He’d be very upset if you did that…

“You pop that gum one more time! Single my ass. Ten times! Miert csukott Uncle Sam bortonbe! Number seventeen: the spread eagle. Artistic differences…” You did all your previous movements for each woman’s line. Which included: The shotgun, throwing both hands above your head, getting in Wilford’s face, wiping a fake tear, kicking your leg, and shrugging, in that order. You were very out of breath and a bit disoriented, but that was okay because there was only a little bit left!

“Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz…” You ended the song by walking directly in front of Wilford and falling to your knees in front of him once you were sure the song had ended. You breathed heavily, feeling the tiredness from the day and the dancing catching up to you. You were about to ask Wilford “So, how bad was it?” before he slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around you. You froze, not knowing what was happening.

“You were fantastic,” He whispered. Which you thought was very strange because Wilford couldn’t speak lower than a yell, in your experience. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Wil, what’s happening?” You asked, still out of breath. He squeezed you a little tighter.

“I just… wanted to show love to my partner?” He said hesitantly. You scoffed and hugged him back.

“Do you feel guilty because you embarrassed me?”

“Yes…”

“Wil, you’re fine, I promise.” You chuckled. He sighed and sat back. You looked at him and frowned.

“I…” He ran a hand through his hair and avoided looking at your face. “I… know I’m not the easiest to deal with and… I… I wanna… make you feel comfortable…”

“You do make me feel comfortable!” You took his hands in yours.

“But every time I’ve looked at you today you were always scared or angry!” He argued. You closed your mouth, not really having any argument.

“Mm…” You hummed.

“I… wanna… get better. I wanna be better. For you.” He grumbled. You smiled and twisted yourself around so you were sitting between his legs with your head resting on his chest. He laid his chin on top of your head.

“I think you’re perfectly fine.” You sighed.

“I don’t wanna be perfectly fine, I wanna be perfect!” He whined.

“Well, that’s an impossible goal.”

“Then… I wanna be perfect… for you.”

“That’s a better one.” You looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back, feeling a warmth spreading through his chest. You were listening. You understood.

And you loved him.

“Am I a good boyfriend?” He asked.

“Of course you are.” You snuggled into his chest.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly as he could. You squinted at him as he gave you his very best puppy eyes. You gave in, and gave him a peck. You could feel his arms waving around as he tried to decide what to do with them. Eventually, he placed them on the sides of your neck. You pulled back after a little and he stared at you adoringly.

“Don’t you look at me like that…” You warned.

“I love you…” He sighed and wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. You squirmed, trying to get out, but he didn’t move.

“Wilford…” You whined. “Lemme go! I ordered food!”

“Ok, I’ll let you go when the food shows up!” You huffed and let your body go limp as you succumbed to the hug.

You should’ve just cooked something.

#markiplier egos x reader #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #x gender neutral reader #wilford x y/n #wilford warfstache x reader #wilford warfstache x you #wilford x reader #wilford x gender neutral reader #x y/n #x you #x reader fanfiction

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nagisasstunningpersonality · 4 years

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The Character As A Tool: Why Your Fave Doesn't Get More Screentime

Please refer to this post

REMINDER THAT ALL VIEWS HERE ARE MERELY MY OWN OPINIONS

In truth, one of the most common complaints I see within this fandom is the treatment of side characters. Meaning, in short, a fair amount of the fandom are less connected to what’s going on with our main group of Nagisa, Karma, and Kayano, and instead relate to some of the less obvious choices. Now, there’s no problem with doing this. Hey, if you see something you like in a less important character, then absolutely go for it!

What We Do Know

I discovered for myself, whilst making my About Ass Class series posts, that absolutely some characters’ actual canon information is very dry. Matsui gives everyone a few bits here and there in both the Roll Call book and Graduation Album. If you’re lucky, there’s further points you can pick up just from watching/reading.

Now, and this I want to emphasise I’m stating as an opinion, Matsui actually gives us quite a lot to go from. Even if not every character is highly developed, there’s still a genuinely very solid starting block to go from with your own headcanon. Perhaps it can be argued that it’s not the reader’s job to supply that, but I’d counter that it’s actually kind of fun to not be fed every piece of information. Though more facts and a deeper dive into interpersonal relationships would be admittedly nice, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with us as a fandom coming up with those ideas on our own, using the pointers Matsui does give us as a starting point. Honestly it would take the fun out a little if there was too much information, and we’d have less possibilities to play with.

Why Certain Characters Exist

I’m sorry to tell you, but one of the first things you’re taught in any kind of writing or literature analysis class is that characters are not people, they’re tools. This may feel a little harsh to say, and I’m aware that many people get attached to characters and have genuine feelings towards them. And that is totally valid! Definitely not on the same scale, but I too enjoy when people have real emotions towards my OCs, so I get it.

(rest under cut)

To put it plainly: characters exist within a story as either a plot tool, or a message tool. A plot tool is someone who, as it sounds, exists to move the story along. Characters that need to exist in order for the story to happen as it does. Now, don’t get me wrong, you don’t need to have planned this out. You don’t need to specifically introduce Hara, for example, for the sole reason of her upping the stakes in the first Itona/Shiro arc. Characters existing for filler is still, in a way, a plot tool. It’s like… you set up a chess board. Sure, you might use the knight or the queen piece the most, but the pawns are still an important and useful piece, even if you don’t always utilize it for every move, or they don’t always stand out. Message tools are when a character doesn’t really do anything, but they help to assist in the message you want to send with your art/writing. There’s not so many examples of this in ass class, the best I can think of is either Yuuji or Sakura, who don’t do much at all but are beacons for what Matsui wants to say with them (which if you think about it is just ‘don’t do drugs kids’ and ‘stay in school’ :’)).

So free bit of writing advice for you: your character is your chisel. Once you’ve picked them up and started to work at carving out the story you want, then you can start adding all your fancy upgrades and personality points, which is what ultimately makes your character stronger. You grow attached to them when you’re done? Totally fair. Just… don’t go through this process the opposite way.

Without going too in depth with them right now, Nagisa Shiota is a plot tool. He is a plain easy to follow narrator whose observation skills intentionally mean the reader can see things clearly through his eyes. Where he loses relatability is when he displays his talent, but at that point he’s been so clearly introduced that it doesn’t matter as much, we can hear his voice. Him being more plain makes his talent more effective and shocking as it is. Karma Akabane is a plot tool. He exists so we have those somewhat comedic moments, and so we can have these big bad ass mental/physical fight moments. I actually think him not being the protagonist is something that makes Ass Class hugely stronger (and less cliché) as a series. Kayano Kaede is a plot tool. Admittedly, less so, but she has a lot of function as a back up to Nagisa, and then later is the catalyst for Korosensei’s backstory. The story starts to come to its climax due to her arc alone. As an aside I think a lot of criticism for Matsui isn’t that fair within the fandom, but I will openly say his treatment of her post reveal was not the best at all. He kind of lost control of what to do with her.

So, let’s talk about archetypes. I intend to write a whole meta about why Ass Class is predominantly written as a comedy series, but for now just take that statement as my opinion. Honestly, I do think Ass Class, with a few tweaks, could have worked with a bunch of unnamed characters. I’m instantly going to follow that up with: I’m very glad it didn’t. I love that it feels more like a large ensemble with a variety of characters. So instead of just plain filler, Matsui kind of makes good use of archetypes. You know, such as Takebayashi and Fuwa as otakus, Hazama as the dark occult girl etc. etc. All of this for comedic purpose, more than anything, which we really see in something like Koro Q which is more directly comedy. You might argue this is one dimensional, and I’d agree, but in this situation it’s achieving an effect. It’s genuinely better than having nothing. And honestly, they all do stuff. Some characters are far more effective and entertaining as a background character (i.e. Terasaka) than carrying a bunch of weight themselves.

Matsui Actually Does This Comparatively Well

Honestly, try and name another popular series in a classroom setting, with this many characters who all have individual personalities. Genuinely, the only one I can kind of think of is BNHA, and that’s not a fair comparison given the difference in story length. Comparatively to most series, Ass Class actually has really good side characters. If they were completely uncaringly written, nobody would stan them as hard. For the most part, I’d certainly argue everyone is memorable. Given that we’re juggling at least 30 people here (including teachers, Gakushuu etc.), I’d actually argue that’s kind of impressive.

And the thing is, Matsui does care. He cares enough to give everyone designs, hobbies, and personalities. A good portion of them have an entire chapter to themselves, although relative to the story as a whole they might not do so much (example: Kimura). Matsui could have been lazy with it, but he was not. I don’t want to invalidate anyone’s feelings with this, but I do argue here that those who think the opposite might be a little wrapped up in the character they stan. And I can totally understand that rightfully, you want the character you love to have more screen time. However, just because you happened to fall in love with them (figuratively I mean), doesn’t change the purpose they were originally created to fulfil.

It’s an unfair criticism that not giving every single person a huge arc makes Matsui a poor writer. Honestly, if everyone was equal without a few main characters getting a greater amount of the attention, the entire series would be a hot mess. It might be fun to reimagine the series that way, and go ahead in your own time, but as a series from start to finish, as a first time consumer, it would be genuinely very hard to follow. Not without changing the entire structure and many many plot points.

I do intend to write more about this too at a later point (because I will admittedly need to do more research), but in my opinion the biggest issue with Ass Class, and the cause behind the problems I have with it, is the genuine lack of time. It’s a relatively short story, compared to a lot of manga, and thus there isn’t the space to contain everyone’s story in deep way. I’m absolutely certain, had there been 50/100 chapters more, every character would have had a stand out chapter to themselves.

So thus I bring up the fun and stimulation that is headcanon.

The Issue with headcanons

(this point will go much quicker, I promise)

Ass class ended a looong time ago, let’s be fair. Whether you’re newer or older to the fandom, there’s still been quite a while since any kind of new content (Korotan D being the last official piece, Koro Q manga being the last anything, though I could be slightly wrong with that). That means, especially if you’ve cared about this series for a while, that we’ve considered the series to death.

Playing with headcanons is great! It’s fun! But, I do fear that especially when it comes to perhaps the more popular of the minor characters, a lot of us are getting wrapped up. It needs to be kept in mind that whilst these headcanons may have been around for a while, they are not directly correct to the source material. As a quick note, since I have seen people within the fandom getting kind of bothered over opposing opinions to the things they assume as canon. That’s not really anybody’s fault, but it does warrant saying, I think.

A Conclusion

Basically, loving a main character is great. Loving a more background character is great. You’re not a better or worse, more intelligent or more basic person for whoever your fave is. The point is, you see something you like in a character and you relate to them, or else just enjoy them. But as fun as that is, characters are tools. They exist for a specific purpose. Sometimes, that purpose doesn’t warrant them having a huge stand out character arc.

But hey, that’s totally okay because we’re fortunate enough to have such a community (arguably, I’d say a genuinely active one too) where we can dream that up ourselves. We can pretty much endlessly explore these possibilities. So, perhaps instead of negativity complaining about certain narrative issues we find (just putting this here: it’s fair to do this, but I don’t think it should be the FOCUS of conversation), we focus on driving that energy into creation. And there’s a lot to play with and create. And honestly, seeing HC posts and all sorts staring these more minor characters is great, and I’m pretty sure the majority would agree with me on that. I fully realise and accept that I have a platform here, and going forward I personally want to be a part of that. In a constructive way, rather than ‘deconstructing’ (yes, there’s a pretty big different as I see it).

(I realise that this last part comes off a bit call out post like, and I want to ensure that it is not intended to be that. I just have a general sense of some attitudes towards things floating around in a very generalised way right now)

#ass class meta #assassination classroom #ass class #ansatsu kyoushitsu

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writing-the-end · 4 years

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LoL Chapter 19- Exhaustion

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

On their way to lunch, the hermits are attacked. Jealousy rages within the guilds that are losing, but the hermits are unable to fight back. Will they even make it to the event in time?

___________________________________________

“We make a great team, that paper birdy didn’t even know what happened to it.” Tango laughs, grabbing Grian into a headlock and playfully nuzzling his fist into the golden locks. His body aches, and he feels weak, but prideful. The other hermits around them chatter excitedly, walking down the smooth, clean roads of the noble district. Even the canals of swampwater are tiled and cleaned of dirt and debris. Streets Mumbo knows well- he grew up here. So of course he took the chance to go to his favorite cafe.

“I’d say I’m happy with bronze, but I really wanted to beat that Mitch guy. Plus, pirates always love gold.” Cleo hums, looking at the medal around her neck. Of course, she’ll always take beating some 30 other guilds to get this medal, their moans and complaints of being beat in the wrestling challenge. She rubs her wrist, wincing. “Though I’ll admit, I haven’t felt this burnt out from magic in years. It’s like that one event sucked it all out of my body.”

“I feel that way every time I step into the ring.” Tango states, earning a nod from Grian as well. “After day one, I could hardly get out of bed. I felt like a dragon was sitting on my chest.” A few others murmur agreement, and the conversation stops. Not for long, thanks to Grian.

“Scar, Mumbo, are you two ready to show everyone your skills?” Grian grins, fluttering to the front of the group.

“I was born ready for the creative event. I’ve been dreamin’ about this since I was a boy.” Scar sighs, feeling giddy. He’s already got an idea in mind, building and creating within his own head.

“I...I’m not so sure. Can’t someone else step in for me? I don’t think I can get my magic to work well enough, much less to beat the others like you all have.” Mumbo’s terrified. He wishes he had the confidence that Scar just exudes. He has no clue what he’ll build. He’s not even sure if his magic will appear today.

“You’ve got it, man.” Doc appears beside him, patting his shoulder. “Don’t doubt yourself, otherwise I’ll take control and make you believe.” Mumbo freezes, smiling weakly. He’s not sure if he should be comforted or not by Doc’s offer.

He turns, eyes glimmering upon setting his gaze on the cafe. He came here all the time when he was younger, before he joined the hermits. He would come here to study, to relax, sometimes just to get his favorite tea from the shop. Being back here is strange, the nostalgia mixing with nerves. What would his friends think of this place? Are they out of the normal? Doc and Grian definitely are.

Mumbo reaches out, grabbing the door’s wrought iron handle. His hand goes right through the metal, iron warping and wiggling like air in the summer heat. “What in the…”

The ripples cascade out, across the air and townhouses. The mosaics shatter before reforming, and the entire street is empty. But the hermits aren’t alone. “You freaks think you own this place, don’t you? That you’re anything like us? That you can just waltz into the noble district because you’ve won the past two days?”

Doc immediately summons his magic, ready for a fight. More than a dozen other mages appear from the illusion. Torn shoulder pauldrons, glistening with gold spikes, announces them being from the Guild of Gedeon. A council guild. Behind Doc, he can hear other hermits drawing their circles, blues and yellows shimmering off the illusion they're trapped in. “Let us go, you’re messing with the wrong guild.”

“Ohoho, win a couple of events and suddenly you think you’re a guild? No, no.” A burly man with feral eyes stares down Doc, shoving him and Cleo towards Scar and Mumbo. “You’re messing up everything. I don’t know why Magistrate Dolios let scum mar such a prestigious event.”

“Maybe it’s because he realized ‘scum like us’ are better at magic than you. Didn’t want the crowd to get bored of the same old dopey outfits and subpar spells.” Cleo’s words have hardly crossed her lips before fists collide with them, sending her splayed across the ground. Doc needs no further initiative, activating his circle and taking control of the mage that struck his friend. His eyes close, and open again looking at himself. Ugh, this body smells. He turns around, meaty hands instead crashing into the Gedeon’s own guildmembers. Three fly out of the illusion, out of the bubble that traps them where no one can watch the fight. Beneath another, the ground opens up beneath her to reveal hellfire. The flames claw at her feet, dragging her into the open chasm. Swallowing her up.

Doc is thrown out of his puppet, head spinning and blood pooling from his own nose. Grian’s shout rings in his ear, making his head spin and splinter. He looks up, seeing the magical bludgeon disappear like a ghost from a Gedeon member. “You’re gonna regret messing with us. Messing with the order of things. You don’t belong here, none of you do.”

The illusioner stoops low, snapping his meaty fingers and nodding the gang forward. “And we’ll show you why you don’t mess with the Council. The wrath of the Guild of Gedeon is not something you walk away from.”

The fight is intense. Six hermits against about a dozen combatants. What’s worse, the Guild of Gedeon is an offensive group. When the arcane guard can’t do a job, when a strongarm is needed, the Gedeons are the first in line. Cleo holds her own, blood boiling under her dead green skin. Her sword doesn’t back down from a fight, and neither does the poltergeists she summons to aid in the attack. She’s exhausted, but that doesn’t stop her from being in the middle of the battle. Doc jumps from person to person, tapping into their magic and turning it back onto their own teammates. Scar does his best to protect Doc in the process, throwing up walls of rock only for them to be crushed by a volatile spell shot their way.

But they aren’t winning. Cleo and Doc’s attacks aren’t enough to stave off the fights and fragments of magic flown their way. Tango’s magic is all but gone, sapped from his body. Where did it all go? He had it all this morning, and the bird chase event couldn’t have been enough for him to lose it all! Even worse, Grian’s magic sputtered and died halfway through his attack. Mumbo peeks out from behind Scar’s barrier, hissing with pain as a bolt of hot rock is flung against his forehead. “Grian, what in the world is going on with your magic?”

“I...I don’t know, Mumbo!” He flicks his wrists, but nothing happens. His arms snap in a quick dance, and he does manage to summon his spell. The wind is hardly more than a summer breeze in his hair. “It’s not there, I’m drained of magic, of energy! But how, I hardly used anything!”

“It’s like you’re me!” The four hiding behind the wall are crushed as the rocks collapse. Trapped, unable to fight off the onslaught. Scar can only block the worst attacks, but bruises and cuts blossom across the hermits.

Until the bell of the capitol building tolls a single time. As quickly as the fight started, it stops. Scar lowers his walls and arm, brushing the blood from his cheek. Immediately, he searches for his friends. Doc struggles to his feet, ready to fight. But Cleo, Grian, and Tango look like they’ve been fighting for hours. They’re completely out of magic, skin pale and eyes glazed with weakness. Something is very wrong. Is there a suppressor mage here? No, that would affect everyone. Mumbo scrabbles backwards, wrist hanging limp. “Good luck getting to check in for the rest of the events, freaks. We’ll see who’s in the labyrinth event now.”

The illusion drops, and the busy street returns. Bustling crowds, horse-drawn carriages and carts passing by the hermits. As alone as when they first arrived at the cafe. People step around them, glancing at the battered group but never offering help. Scar gasps, wobbling to his feet. “The competition! Mumbo, we’re going to be late!” He pulls Mumbo to his feet.

“You guys go ahead.” Doc growls, sitting down on a pile of rubble. He rubs blood off of his cheek. “I don’t think the others can get up. They’re too weak.”

“What caused that? How could Grian not use his magic?” He’s an S-Class, he has ultimate control of his magic. But he acted like he was...well, Mumbo. And now? Now his friends are hurt. They lost the fight- no, they were thrashed. And he wasn’t even able to do anything.

“I don’t know, but I have a sneaking suspicion who the dark mage is now.” Doc waves the two off, before snarling. “Go! I’ve got the others!” And he’ll be sure Gedeon’s leader, that monster Sidero, gets a taste of what he just did to his friends. He must be the dark mage, trying to stop them.

But as Doc watches Mumbo and Scar flee, and he helps Grian, Tango, and Cleo to their feet, he’s only made them angrier.

_____________________________

“How am I...gah, how am I supposed to take a giant cat statue and make it move?” Mumbo hisses, looking up at the relief. Scar’s winning sculpture for the creative event was incredible. He could practically see every hair and whisker of Jellie, carved from stone using her owner’s terraforming magic. Even her wings are feathered, each barb as thin and interlocking as the real thing. It’s easy to see why Scar won the creative contest, hands down.

And here he is ruining it all with his own magic. The council really outdid themselves, pulling a twist like this. His magic falters, and the redstone dust collapses to the ground. Mumbo’s chest feels heavy, lungs pressed and heart clenching. His head feels dizzy, and his magic is nearly impossible to tap into. Surely this is all just nerves? But even Scar looked exhausted, like he was struggling to breathe, to stand after his magic. Exactly what Grian and Tango looked like.

What’s happening? He can’t help but look over his shoulder. Other guilds are working on the creations their teammates created. Whatever was before them, they had to automate. And from what Mumbo can see, most others are well ahead of him. Especially Ian, deep in the bowels of the contraption Sky had built. He can be heard swearing, the conductive gold making his machine move when he doesn’t want it to. At least Mumbo doesn’t have to worry about that.

But that doesn’t mean he can do it. The redstone dust falls apart, showering the ground beneath him. He’s going to disappoint everyone, he’s going to ruin Scar’s wonderful statue. He’s going to be the only wizard in this event that can’t even get the thing to move! He falls to his knees, the pressure mounting in his lungs. Making it hard to breathe, crushing in on him. And he’s exhausted, even though he’s barely used any of his magic. He can’t even get it to appear. Like always. All this work, all his hopes to win, will mean nothing if he can’t get his magic to summon. He’s a multi-mage, but he can never prove it. He can never show off his powers, and it’s exactly why he could never join any guild. Looking around, he can see all the guilds in the field he applied to. All of them said no, laughed in his face and ridiculed him when his magic failed to show itself. And now here he is, proving them all right. Making a laughing stock of the Order of Hermits.

“You can do it, Mumbo!” He picks his head up, looking around. He doesn’t recognize that voice. It takes him a moment to realize it’s not coming from any of the hermits. The voice is loud, echoing over the crowd’s low roar. It’s Ecto, one of the wanderers. Beside her, the other two teammates are cheering him on as well. Red’s practically bouncing in his seat, about to fall over the railing as he yells as loud as possible.

More voices join them. He can hear Iskall, shouting for him to breathe, to remember his training. He can hear some sort of soliloquy being written across the sky, intertwined with Joe’s voice. Zedaph and Impulse are holding up a sign, nearly knocking False and Wels with the board. Even the rest of Team Crafted was cheering for him. TFC is watching Mumbo, blue eyes gazing through silvery hair. He gives a small nod and a smile, his own way of showing his encouragement.

All of the hermits are his family, the family he never had. A family that would support him, help him, be with him no matter what. That never gave up on him. And TFC was like the father he never had, with a calm voice as smooth as obsidian and as strong as diamond. Someone he could go to with all his fears and faults, and know he wouldn’t be ridiculed or put down. That TFC would listen, and offer sound advice. Advice he can hear echoing in his head now. “It isn’t about the amount of times you fall down, Mumbo. It’s about how many times you get back up.”

So he gets back up again. He brushes the sand and dirt off the black fabric of his trousers, ignoring the physical pain in his chest and the unwieldy way his head spins. He closes his eyes, hand outstretched. In his mind, he can see his magic circle. The ninety degree turns ending in dots, the petal-like curls from the center. His hands move unconsciously, following the pattern of motions he created. It’s like ramming open a door, trying to find his magic. Trying to connect to it. But once he’s in, it washes all over his body.

He opens his eyes, his circle cast and the redstone moving to his bidding. Climbing up and ingraining in the pores of Scar’s stonework, following lines weathered through the rock. Lightning shoots through the circuits, from his fingertips and breathing energy into the cat. The haunches of the massive statue move, toe beans uprooting from the sand as Jellie comes to life. Redstone dances across her granite tail, flicking side to side. Mumbo can’t help but laugh, knocked over into the sand by a giant stone cat head rubbing into his chest. Scar’s incredible creation, brought to life with his redstone magic. Given energy through his lightning.

Statue Jellie opens it’s mouth to meow, but no sound comes out. She turns her head, gazing across the crowd surrounding her. Her eyes stop at the crown seat, where the Council sits in awe. Redstone turns on all across her body, his magic branching out onto each hair as it rises and her back arches. “Whoa, what’s all that about?”

Mumbo has never seen Jellie hiss at anyone, and even if this stone statue is just a version of her, his magic seems to have brought her to life. And her eyes are as thin as paper, ears turned back and hissing as she faces the Council. Mumbo runs over to the massive kitty, trying to calm her down. Lightning spreads across the redstone, forcing the stone statue to calm. For a second, Mumbo swears he can hear Magistrate Dolios’s voice, though his head is swimming from exhaustion. “Well done, boy. What i wouldn’t give for such...raw power. Soon.”

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marveloussupernerd · 4 years

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Halloween Charity Stream - Jumin Han

Alright I know this may not be everyone’s cup of tea (people were not horribly fond of my interview Jumin fic) but just trust me on this one. Let me take the wheel. Happy Halloween week! If you haven’t heard, I’ve randomly generating all the prompts for each character’s Halloween story this week

Prompts: Charity fundraiser, blindfolded “feely” challenge (idk what it’s called, I’ve seen it called “Mystery Box” before tho), TP Jumin’s house

Summary: Korea’s favorite married couple, the Hans are hosting a charity livestream this Halloween. You have a few tricks and treats and activities planned along the way to make up for Jumin’s lack of celebrating in the past.

Tonight was the night. A crew had been setting up lights and cameras and props in your living room all day for your charity livestream. You and Jumin had gotten a pretty good slot for the stream: 7 pm on Halloween on three national stations. You were also streaming on YouTube, of course. Today’s goal was to raise as much money for a Children’s Hospital as possible. The hospital had been looking for someone to host their event, and why not choose not only members of the RFA, one of the most sought-after party planning groups in the country, but also the country’s favorite couple.

This was actually you and Jumin’s second Halloween together, but first as a married couple. You were super excited! Jumin was not super into Halloween last year; you had to force him to dress up and even then he wouldn’t even carve a pumpkin! You had gone out of you way to prepare “tricks” and “treats” for him to get during the stream, hoping to push the spooky spirit into him.

You had on a burnt orange dress and Jumin had his usually suit on, but a tie with cartoony pumpkins on it. The outfits wouldn’t last for long; after the first milestone the two of you would change into Halloween costumes.

You were kind of nervous as you glanced at the clock, the seconds ticking down before the show started. Jumin, sitting next to you on the sofa, sensed your nerves and grabbed your hand. You had done interviews before and speeches at different events, but you had never run a show for a four-hour block. You were nervous. When they told you you were rolling, you didn’t even process it at first.

Luckily, Jumin spoke up, snapping you out of your gaze. “Hi everyone. And welcome to Halloween with the Hans. It’s me, Jumin Han, and my lovely wife with me tonight. We’re going to be accepting donations for the Korean Children’s Hospital.” He was such a natural. Such a show-off.

It was probably your turn to speak. “Now, for each milestone we hit in the next four hours, I’ve got a little surprise.” Jumin raised an eyebrow. “I’ve planned a trick or treat game on the side. You get to pull it out of the hat and see if you’ll get a trick or a treat.”

“To clarify,” Jumin told the camera. “I didn’t know about this.”

“Well it would be boring if there weren’t any surprises,” you teased him. “But the first milestone of the day will be a treat for the audience: Jumin and I will get dressed up in Halloween costumes, and those who donate get to vote for what we wear!”

“There are pretty out-there options. But if that’s what you all want we’ll do it for you,” Jumin chuckled. His eyes told a different story, pleading the audience to not pick what he was sure they would pick.

They picked it once the first milestone was hit. You cut to commercial and very quickly pulled your costume on, settling the headpiece so it sat in your hair just right. You grabbed Elizabeth the 3rd. She was sort of the star in this costume.

You and Jumin agreed to walk into the room at the same time to let the camera grab your reactions. When you saw him in a mullet, a baseball cap, and a tiger print shirt, you lost it, nearly dropping Elizabeth as you doubled over in laughter.

“Well you actually look okay! This isn’t fair. Did you put stripes on Elizabeth the 3rd?” He asked, extremely surprised to see the black (easily washable) marks on her white fur.

“She’s a tiger! And if you hadn’t guessed it yet, we are indeed dressed as Joe Exotic and Carole Baskin from the Tiger King show,” you explained to the camera, setting Elizabeth down before she got fussy.

“I hope you all enjoyed the wig but I cannot possibly keep it on. I will keep the hat though in good faith,” he apologized to the audience. You helped him fix his hair after he took the wig off, only for him to cover it up with the hat once again.

You squeezed Jumin in a sickeningly sweet hug. “Get your screen caps now people. He’ll never dress like this again.”

Eventually it was time for the first challenge. You held out a Jack-o-lantern trick or treating basket and made him pull out a piece of paper. “Trick.” He said, keeping his face expressionless.

“Oo! Fun. We’ll have to dive into the trick bucket then.” The trick bucket was a spoopy ghost bucket, much like the Jack o lantern.

“My Love, what in heaven’s name is a ‘feely game’?” He asked, trying to hold back his laughter but eventually failing.

“Oh!” You laughed too. “I didn’t really know what to call it. But no worries.” You grabbed three boxes that had been hidden under your coffee table. “I put some scary stuff in these boxes, and it’s your job to guess what they actually are.”

“Without looking, right?”

“Right. It’d be way too easy if you looked. I played this once at an elementary school Halloween party. Keep in mind, this is real food.” You pulled the first box closer to you. “First up: EYEBALLS!” You announced in the spookiest voice possible.

He simply shook his head, turning it so he couldn’t see into the box then feeling inside. It was just grapes. You had peeled grapes and hoped they felt like eyeballs. This was probably way harder for kids in retrospect. “Ew. I don’t like the way it feels.” He complained. He took his hand out of the box and wiped it on his jeans.

“Well? What are the eyeballs actually?”

“I don’t know. Olives?” He guessed.

“Close! Peeled grapes.” You opened the box to show him.

“What happens if I get it wrong?”

“Oh...” you hadn’t thought about that. “Nothing I guess. But everyone watching will make fun of you.”

“Oh boy. That’s the worst fate of all,” he confessed, a small smile on his face. He grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles. He just couldn’t help himself. You were so cute.

“Next item!” You declared, pulling out of his grasp to grab the next box and keep the game going. “Guts!”

He seemed to get this one pretty quickly, only having to feel inside for a moment. “Those are noodles, right?”

“One point for Mr. Jumin Han! I knew you could do it. You might just redeem yourself yet. Last round,” you winked at him, grabbing the final box. “Hair.”

“Just... hair?” He questioned.

“Yes. Hair. Go ahead and feel it.”

He put his hand in and retracted it immediately, jumping in his seat closer to you, wiping his hand against your shirt. “That’s actually just hair. Did you just put your hair in there?”

“I didn’t realize you disliked hair so much, Honey,” you giggled, wrapping an arm around his waist to ‘protect him’. “You never seem to be bothered with Elizabeth the 3rds hair.”

“That is nothing like this. That is literally hair.”

“It’s not hair.”

“It is too hair.” He was pouting now.

You opened the box to show him and the camera. It was the ‘hair’ you took off he husk of the corn. “That is genuinely hair.”

“No! It’s part of corn!”

“They call it the hair of the corn. I think I’m right. Maybe we should ask the audience,” he glanced at the camera, “Please, let me be right over my wife just this one time.”

They, believe it or not, sympathized and sided with him.

Next prize was also a trick. He pulled out the next piece of paper. “T... P? As in toilet paper?”

“So, when you TP it’s basically you throwing toilet paper all over the exterior of the house. It’s like a Halloween prank,” you explained.

“How silly. Whose house are we TP-ing?” You saw the glint in his eyes. He just wanted to TP Zen’s house.

“We actually made a wheel to decide! Spin the wheel! Your options are our house, renowned photographer V’s house, Chief Assistant Jaehee Kang’s house, or famous actor Zen’s house,” you explained to the camera. You were pretty proud of the little wheel you made; it held up even with the strong spin Jumin made.

It landed on the little emoji of Jumin. “Guess we’re TP-ing our own house,” you chuckled. You went to go get a few rolls of toilet paper, and the camera crew helped you move outside.

“Have you done this before?” Jumin asked as the two of you walked outside. You shrugged. You’d never tell. “You little Minx, you.”

“So, if I remember correctly from the good old days when this was a thing,” you handed Jumin a roll so he could follow along, “you unroll a little, and then just yeet it at the house.” Your throw went sailing over the house, leaving a nice trail behind. Jumin’s roll hit the side of the house without unraveling, then bounced back.

“I think I did it wrong.” He commented blankly.

“Alright, let me help.” You stood behind him, covering his hand with your own to help him perfect his form. “For everyone watching, this is why you need a partner. So that they can teach you how to TP your own house,” you joked to the camera. Jumin was blushing bright red from the close contact on live television, but you were far too focused on the perfect throw to care. It was flawless. It sailed over the house.

“Wait, that was kind of fun. Let me try on my own now.” Jumin offered. You handed him another roll. Next you’d have to go to the side of the house to keep going with the previous rolls. His next throw was perfect we well.

He went over-the-top with his throwing. It was more like he was decorating your house in the end, aiming perfectly so that each roll could fall where he wanted it to. The house actually looked pretty cool. You’d clean it up tomorrow (A/N: y’all this is a Covid free story don’t be TPing houses in this economy)

The viewers really seemed to enjoy that segment. A few more tricks and treats (which were mainly just candy or a kiss) later and you were onto the last gift of the night. “Alright, before we close things up, we’re going to do the last trick or treat,” you announced. You grabbed the basket, with one piece of paper in it, and held it out to Jumin.

He didn’t bother looking away to grab it, opening it up. “Treat. What a good way to end the night.” He was glowing. It had been a good stream overall, you had raised three times the money you had expected to.

“And for your final treat of the night...” you opened the last slip of paper for him, showing it to him and the cameras. It just read “surprise” in big bold letters.

“Surprise? What’s that mean?” He asked, taking the paper from your hands to inspect it for any other potential markings. There were none.

“I’ve been saving this one. Kind of appropriate it was the last thing actually,” you grinned, pulling an envelope out from behind the pillow you were sitting by. You handed it to Jumin. “Open it up.” You couldn’t contain your smile.

He opened it very meticulously, ensuring not to rip the envelope. He pulled out the piece of paper on top. “A kitten is on the way?” He read, extremely confused. Your grin was unmistakable now.

“Wait! Is Elizabeth the 3rd pregnant!?” He seemed appalled. “This is not a treat.”

“No. I’m pretty sure she can’t get pregnant Jumin,” you giggled.

“Then what could that mean? A kitten...” he was hopelessly lost. His thinking face was so cute yoi almost didn’t want to help him out, but you were so excited.

“The audience chose well. Look at our costumes, Honey.” You explained, grabbing his hand in yours.

He looked down at your outfits. “Tiger King. Carole Baskin. Cool cats and kitt- you’re pregnant!?” He exclaimed, dropping the envelope.

“Our own little kitten is on the way,” you confirmed excitedly. He pulled you into a hug instantaneously. You could feel his chest shaking with laughter. You couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off your face. This was just perfect.

He may have been hugging you for a little too long. “Jumin, Love. We still are on the air,” you reminded him.

He pulled back, still with his arms around you too though. “You all heard it here first, with me huh? Thank you for coming out tonight and donating. You’re helping so many children in need. And hey, guess you never know when a child may come into your life.” He glanced at you, smiling. He also couldn’t get the stupid grin off his face.

“Good night all. Happy Halloween,” you bid the audience goodnight.

The first thing Jumin did after the program ended was pull you into a loving kiss.

#mystic messenger #mysme #Halloween #Jumin han

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thoseofgreatambition · 4 years

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NLT pt 2 || ash

pointing out the truth resulted in you being pushed away in one of your more desperate hours. you learned that people often disliked honesty despite their protests otherwise. you refused to shrink from the truth and its consequences, even if it meant the boy you used to think you’d marry ran off again. for now, he seemed to be standing firm.

genre: romance, angst

warnings: alchohol, smoking, family troubles

pt 1

a/n: hello loves! glad to be back. the idea for this hit me and i had to take it. let me know what you think!

Your bar was grungy, had several holes in the wall from drunken duels, and often smelled like cigarettes. It was absolutely your favorite place in the world. This was the place you had carved for yourself through blood, sweat and tears. You’d been cursed at by your mother for such a disgraceful career, your father had withdrawn all love, but this was your place. The tables had been made by your hands.

To you, it was as sacred as holy ground.

Which made you all the more protective of it. You dumped out the ash in the ashtray at the bar, annoyed at the late night drunks who’d stumbled in. They always seemed to be the worst amount of trouble. “Oi! If you lot don’t settle down I’ll drag you out of this place by the ear.”

One of the more drunken ones piped up from the back, “Anyway you can drag me back to your flat instead?”

He dropped one of your pint glasses. Magic could fix it, but that felt beside the point. With a flick of your wand their drinks flew behind the bar, and you walked over to the table, back straight. “Out. All of you, get out.”

Draco watched from the bar with an expression of dry interest as he sipped on his drink. If he was more of a gentleman, he would have kicked them out for you.

You always had a handle on these things though. Nothing ever seemed to phase you. You seemed impervious to any sort of comment that came your way. Impervious to his apologies, even.

It was odd. As much as Draco was trying to make himself better and stronger man, he could not figure out how to crack you open again. It was his fault you were closed off. He was shocked however to find out that you were not closed off to everyone.

It seemed impossible to get back to the point of friendship. Much less love.

With much moaning and groaning you’d kicked out your rowdy customers and wandered back to behind the bar. “Why’re you looking at me like that, Draco?”

“You’re nice to your friends.”

“Ah, I can see how that’d be shocking to you. A new concept I’m sure.” you grinned at one of your regulars as they came up to pay off their tab, making small talk before wishing them a good night.

There was a frown on the blond man’s lips. He hadn’t expected to be mocked this much. His mouth opened to speak, and instead was interrupted by you. “Why are you here?”

“I came to make amends.”

“Paying me money and being a customer isn’t making amends. Small talk isn’t friends.” You lit up a cigarette with the tip of your wand and took a drag. “Things aren’t that easy, Draco. I stopped associating with the ‘pureblood’ lot years ago.”

“I’m not part of ‘that lot’ anymore.” At your disbelieving look he picked up his voice to defend himself. “I changed. I was wrong. I’ve made amends.”

“It’s more than just changing your mind, Draco. You ought to know that. You treat muggleborns and squibs now don’t you? Half-bloods too. Do they forgive you? Do they trust you?”

His whiskey burned as he took another sip. The smell of your cigarette was terrible. He struggled to understand why this wasn’t working out like he thought it would. “I don’t talk to my patients about that. I just treat them and stay respectful and empathetic.”

You seemed unimpressed, and suddenly Draco found himself just as unimpressed with himself.

“I’m doing my best, Y/N.”

It was hard to drum up any sympathy for the man who was still on good term with his parents after switching career paths, when you’d been disowned for the same.

“Doing your best doesn’t mean results come the next day.”

Draco stood up, put his payment down on the bar top before polishing off his drink. “Maybe you’re right about that. But I won’t stop trying.”

Your brow twitched upwards at that comment, it sounded surprisingly sincere, coming from him. “Very brave of you to say that.”

There was a sad smile on his face, “I can be brave, you know. Don’t need to seem shocked about it.”

You hummed in response, and watched as he walked out the door. Maybe you were going to be surprised about this.

In the cold London night you wandered the streets, only lit up by the lamp-posts you walked underneath. A bus whizzed past you, and you let out a puff of air. You wanted to smoke at the moment, after breaking things off with your muggle lover, but you’d been informed that muggles took smoking in public especially bad.

A very good reason to get back to the wizarding section of London. Not to mention the unfortunate fact that your family’s home was only a few blocks away. They’d gone the way of another notable pureblood family and charmed a house that didn’t appear to muggles.

It was all a farce really, you never understood why your parents wanted to live near people they hated.

Prats. Fools. Idiots. Prideful bastards who cared more for wealth than anything else. For image. For the ‘bloodline’.

You’d been screamed at when things with Draco ended. They’d been sympathetic at first, their child’s first broken heart and all that. Then you’d told them it was because he was a death eater. That it was a despicable thing.

Your parents, who were providing monetary support and time to that cause did not take kindly to it.

The last year of your education had been spent homeless.

It was worth it. That was what you told yourself at least.

You’d never gotten on with Potter’s lot. You fell into an odd sort of crevice. A neutral niche, where you had good ideals and morals, but lacked the courage to fight for them.

Standing your ground had been the bravest thing you’d been able to do.

Your cheeks stung for some reason, and you realized that you were crying.

Maybe you weren’t that brave after all.

You set course back to your flat, opting to take it on foot.

It gave you more time to think.

You glanced to your left and watched a blue car roll past you, a young man with blond hair at the wheel.

Naturally, your thoughts drifted back to Draco.

Even you weren’t entirely sure why you said you’d forgiven him, and then roundly rejected any attempts on his part to reconnect. Was it because he said he still loved you?

You didn’t think so. That just made you feel bad for the poor bastard. You’d held on to your feelings for him for over a year, convinced things would change and your heart had been roundly broken.

Holding onto that emotion for five years sounded terrible.

There was a part of you, a terrible part of you that was hell bent on the truth, no matter who it hurt. Typically, others were the ones to suffer because of that side of you.

This time, you were bearing the brunt of it.

You related too much to him. It was far too hard to look back at someone making the same journey you had so long ago. It tugged at your heart in an odd way, and strummed at the strings of your empathy.

It was an awful thing really.

This was far more easy when you could put him out of your mind.

You’d told him you would give him a chance at friendship. It seemed you weren’t doing that yet.

Ducking into an alleyway you gritted your teeth. You damned yourself, and your need to be truthful and honoring your word. It was the most annoying thing about yourself.

With a pop, you found yourself in front of a black apartment door. Safely out of the muggle quarter, you took out a cigarette and was in the process of lighting it up when the door opened before you, revealing a surprised looking Draco.

“Y/N?”

You brushed past him and strolled into his apartment. “Tell me why you became a healer. Not just that you wanted to help or not follow your father, why healing?”

He stared at you without comprehending for a moment, as you sat down on his couch and transfigured a coaster into an ash tray. “What?”

“You said you wanted friendship. Small talk doesn’t make friendship. Real conversation does.” You mustered the best smile you could. This felt oddly vulnerable, even though he would be the one to do the talking. “So are you going to tell me or not?”

There were a few more beats of silence before a look of comfort came over Draco. “I will. But first, want something to drink?”

“Of course. And don’t think I won’t know what the good stuff is, Draco.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy headcanon #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter #death eaters #my writing #my imagine

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

May: TinyDoubt

Previous: April’s The Wild Lillies

Pairing: None

Genre: Creative Angst

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: Swearing!

Summary: Creative block is alive and well as you stare at the figurines in front of you, your only comfort? The voice in your head challenging you to soldier on.

Notes: I tried to channel my deep deep writers block for this. Do I hate it? Maybe. Do I feel all those things about my writing? Oh absolute. Is that inner voice how I talk to myself? You bet it is. Is the title so good? Yes, yes it is.

Paintbrush

Sculpting clay

Carving tools

Dry hands

Paint under fingernails

Hair swept back

Slick drying on cheeks

Shoulder’s tense

Should’ve sprung for the expensive chair, the one that holds my legs back and supports my core.

It isn’t too late, I could still spring for it after this batch sells… if I sell it.

I sigh, glancing at the clock, 5 minutes to midnight. How long have I been sitting here? When was the last time I ate or drank anything? Too long. I’ll feel it tomorrow, the ache in my joints, the exhaustion in my body, limbs sore, eyes worn out, all craving nourishment and rest.

Gently, I place the figurine on the clean expanse of my drying rack. Thin and leucite, it supports the variety of creations I’ve been making, each in a different state of disarray. None have ended up being perfect, none are worthy of completing, except maybe, just maybe, this one.

Standing perfectly still at 3inches, somehow, in the bright light of my desk lamp, magnifying lens on its second highest setting, I had perfectly sculpted the manicured swoop of hair. Each strand carved delicately, the part off center, the lingering hair nearly over the left eye, all made from modeling clay. It had taken days to perfect the lift, the arching bow from one side. In its naked form, it looks immaculate. But I know I can only succeed if the coloring is perfect, if the glasses I made, labored over, filling with resin in raspberry pink, fit properly over the new ears I carved days ago.

Ears were always the easy part, a simple structure on the head, never taking more than a pin-head size of clay. Noses too, tiny and dainty drops, always done in the middle of creation.

Staring at this latest iteration, I can’t help but wonder if this is worth it. Meticulously drawing every line, breaking my back mixing yellows to get the golden shade and all the highlights, not to mention the truly painstaking part of it all, hands. Is it worth it, the weeks spent making this tiny, tiny creation, only to deem it unworthy, and left incomplete?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

It’s always worth it, despite what the odds tell me. There’s always that voice in my head, telling me that not only is my skill appreciated, but worth something. The last set sold for five times the asking price. This set could double, triple that… Maybe if it did well enough, I could transition to this, full time. Though the thought of working on perfecting miniatures for 12 hours a day sounds quite possibly like hell.

This isn’t hell, or horrible, you’re too hard on yourself.

The voice in my head tells me. Laughing, I counter that statement. “I am not, they’re all shit,”

They are not.

“I should’ve stuck with wood carving,” I grumble.

You cut yourself pretty badly the last time-

“I know I did!”

I can’t tell if I’ve fully lost it, or if this conversation is going to lead to a creative breakthrough. Though based on my running internal monologue, which yes is voiced by Nicole Byer, I am due for a serious heart-to-mind pep talk. It’s not that I haven’t scolded myself recently, or lamented about how completely incompetent I am, how horrific my work is, or how I am wasting my youth sitting at a cramped desk with coffee I’ve reheated four times. I haven’t had the full ‘this is meaningless, stop wasting your time perfecting the shades of blonde on this plastic and clay figurine and go figure out the next steps in your career’ in at least three weeks. I suppose, staring at these in complete monstrosities, that a conversation with myself regarding what I’m doing is far more enjoyable than listening to my father droll on about how I am in command of my destiny.

Because I’m not in control. If I was, I wouldn’t be sitting here making TinyTan figurines, crying when the paint dries a different color than my swatches or weeping when a miniature dot of adhesive gets stuck on the outside of the clay and chars the entire piece in the oven.

So I’m not in charge of my fate.

You make your own luck.

“Alright, I didnn’t ask you.”

Who did you ask then? Jimin? Yoongi? Oh wait, they don’t have mouths and they’re made of plastic!

“See, they don’t have mouths because they fucking suck and I should give up.”

They’re probably better than you think, you’re just too close to it.

“I think that’s actually incorrect and there is nothing wrong with how close I am to these figures,”

You are though

“What do you suppose I do? Capture their souls? Summon them with a knock off The Power of Seven Will Set Me Free, while I hold their tiny little plastic hands?” I throw the ball of clay I’ve been rolling onto the table, the small glob sticking to the side of a larger block I had been carving from.

Do you always have to be so difficult?

“You’re inside my brain! You know how creatively frustrated I am! And you know how absolutely fucking bitchy I get when I’m upset!”

Why are you frustrated?

I groan, standing up from my chair and walking to the kitchen sink. The hot water scalds my dry hands, melting the clay and paint off, the extra judicial scrubbing peeling back layers of grime I’d let build in the last 10 hours.

Why are you so frustrated? Is it because you aren’t good enough? Are you scared it’s going to be your senior year showcase again, where that girls sister didn’t understand you collage and made snarky comments?

I dry my hands, unwilling to answer the questions my mind was asking.

If you don’t talk about it you’ll blow up like a volcano…

“Because! Fuck, because I can’t get any of this right. I just got the hair done, and that’s taken me two weeks. All I’m doing is chipping away, carving away, fucking up and starting again. When I’m not working on it, all I’m doing is thinking about it. They haunt me in my sleep, their little round bellies body rolling to Mic Drop, trying to get me to eat the mini quiches they’ve carved their initials in. My life is consumed by these tiny fucking figures and it’s making me absolutely hate them.”

Hate them?

“Whoever decided TinyTan needed to be a thing,”

Shouldn’t you be mad at whoever told you to create your own versions of them?

“Oh, so you want me to be mad at myself? Aren’t I already?”

Okay, point made.

“I just stare at them, their little body parts, heads on a platter like the Addams Family.. Everything I make is ugly, everything I make isn’t good enough. Every curve, every cut… garbage.”

Do you want to quit?

“Give up on my project?”

Yeah, say fuck it, toss them out, never come back to them.

“I, should’ve gotten into doll houses,”

Why?

“They’re easier, the rules aren’t as rigid, it’s an interpretation and you can do that 1000 different ways,”

So quit, move to doll houses, sell all your tools. But, answer this, what happens when you get upset or frustrated making doll houses?

I sigh. “I don’t quit craft projects.”

… didn’t you just say you wanted to?

“I don’t quit crafts. Relationships and friendships, that’s another story. But art?”

Then why are you bitching?

“I just,” I sigh, slumping into my couch. “If I finish them, and they don’t turn out, what kind of artist will I be? What does that say about my craft? My ‘talent’?”

What kind of artist do you want to be?

“This Socratic method is really fucking annoying.”

I’m your mind, stop doing it if it bugs you so much

“I just, what does it say about me if they aren’t any good?”

I’m not sure it says anything about you as a person.

“Me as an artist?”

I don’t know if we can answer that.

“Maybe you’re right,”

About?

“Maybe I just, I’m too hard on myself. A set of figurines isn’t going to break my hobby… even if it’s broken my spirit,”

If it’s broken your spirit, why keep doing it?

“I love the finished product, but I love the process more,”

Then keep going.

The thing about the voice inside my head is that no matter how hard I try to lie to it, it always knows. It always comes back with wisdom and truth, shining a light on exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid.

“Tonight?”

No bitch, you need sleep. TinyTan will be there tomorrow.

“Is this when we sing Zero O’Clock while we brush our teeth?”

Only if you want to.

I rise from my couch, slipping my apron off, putting it on my crafting chair and clear my throat.

“Oo- and you’re gonna be happy,” I sing as I move through my apartment, miniatures drying, waiting for another day of scraping, molding and painting, my broken spirit stitching itself back together as the clock resets.

Next: June Pride

#thebtswritersclub #monthlychallenge #BTS fanfic #Tinytan #Tinytanfic #bangtanuniversity #bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv

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iberico-long-pork · 4 years

Text

Hannibal role reversal au + serial killer Will au picks

Sleeping in the knife drawer - emungere Rating: T, Wordcount: 2.9K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter, Doctor Graham, Serial killer Will Plot: Hannibal is sent by Jack to recruit Will as an advisor. It takes persuading. Sample:

“You don’t use the space,” he said.

“I don’t use most of the house. How much space does one person really need?”

“Usually one’s life expands to fill the space that contains it. Unto overflowing, in some cases.”

Will walked to the window and cleared away a mass of cobwebs with his hand.

“I’ve expanded as much as I’m likely to,” he said.

“You’ve contracted. Away from your practice in the city. Alone out here. Alana said she was the only person whom you see regularly.”

“Most people don’t like me.” Will grinned, sharp-edged and bright as a knife blade. “No idea why.”

“Do you offer to show all of them your attic?”

“No. Maybe you’re just special.”

// Spectacular dialogue, light read

Watch Your Back (There’s a New Killer in Town) - OneWhoSitsWithTurtles Rating: E, Wordcount: 73.8K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter, Doctor Graham, Serial killer Will, sub Hannibal, Dom Will Warnings: Exhibitionism, Knife play Sex: Versatile, mostly dom Will sub Hannibal Plot: Hannibal is sent for a psyche eval to Doctor Graham. Will decides to court him. And teach him that killing is okay. Sample: "Hannibal," Will spoke softly, drawing Hannibal's gaze back to him. Hannibal watched him as Will took a carving knife and cut a small slice of the roast off the end. Will speared the seasoned meat onto a fork and presented it to Hannibal, who balked.

"What do you fear?"

Hannibal swallowed, eyes flickering between Will's face and the meat.

"That I'll like it."

Will held the fork aside and cupped the back of Hannibal's neck with his other hand, bringing him in for a kiss. Hannibal kissed him back but his uncertainty soured the brush of their lips and Will asked, "What else?"

Hannibal looked away but Will turned his face forward again with a hinting touch to his jaw. Hannibal swallowed.

"That if I don't, you won't want me anymore."

// Amazing dom/sub relationship, good writing, good pace

Coping Mechanism - Cinnamaldeide Rating: T Wordcout: 1K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter (past as doctor), Doctor Graham (past as officer), Serial Killer Will Plot:��Before their scheduled appointment, Special Agent Lecter and Doctor Graham share a cigarette and some friendly considerations. Sample:

He admitted his own addiction when he noticed he had a favourite brand. An indulgence Hannibal found soothing after having pursued dangerous murderers and sensitive psychopaths. Certainly not as satisfying after an amorous encounter, as was often believed. He had taken to smoke before his appointments with his psychiatrists instead, which shouldn’t have been such an easy association.

“I thought doctors were supposed to know better,” a voice distracted Hannibal from his long inhales, fume rising above his head in a slow, languorous ascent. “Don’t you know how it tarnishes your lungs?” his therapist needled, arms crossed on his chest and shoulder loosely resting on the wall. Their appointment was scheduled in a few minutes, but Mr. Graham was an observant man, knew where to find him. Knew aiming at Hannibal’s pride often proved effective.

“You know doctors are notorious for not following their own advices,” Hannibal answered, puffing a fine line of grey, volatile smoke away from him. “It prepares me for our encounters,” he offered, curious to see how Dr. Graham would process that information.

// Pleasantly slow and casually sensual. Like a breather scene in a movie.

Identically Different AU - Pragnificent Rating: E Wordcout: 243K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter, Doctor Graham, Serial Killer Will Warnings: Past child sexual abuse, Trauma Sex: Versatile Plot: Doctor Graham plans to influence his new fascinating not-really-patient, Agent Lecter. When Will befriends the prickly agent and invites him to dinner, he doesn’t expect him to recognise the taste of the meat he served. And that’s only the beginning. Sample:

“I’ve seen setups like this before,” Hannibal says, his mouth feeling as though it has been stuffed with cotton, “though this is the first one with feather pillows.”

“Your comfort is important to me, Hannibal.”

Hannibal doesn’t justify that with a response.

He looks around the basement. A half-empty bottle of bourbon and two snifter glasses sit on the small table next to Will. On the other end of the basement, metal tools hang from a pegboard on the wall, gleaming dangerously, and in the corner there is a large stainless steel work table with two meat hooks hanging near it.

Hannibal works on accepting what all of this means without letting it frighten him. He tries to draw on the colder version of himself, the one that kept his feelings on lockdown and didn’t worry about Will or Will’s approval.

“I meant to take things much more slowly,” Will says, and it’s hard to know if he should credit the note of apology in his voice. “But I wasn’t expecting dinner to be the thing to give me away. Hannibal, there’s something important that you haven’t been sharing in your sessions, isn’t there?”

// HEED WARNINGS (It’s not properly listed in the fic tags). Fascinating but dangerous series. Long fic.

sweet awakening - Romennium Rating: T Wordcout: 612 Tags: Role Reversal AU, Doctor Lecter, Serial Killer Will Plot: Hannibal has been getting too close to catching the prolific serial killer. Will decides to visit him in the middle of the night. Sample:

Hannibal woke up abruptly, heart in his throat. His poor organ doubled his pace in the moment his not-yet awake brain realized that his body couldn’t move. Someone was sitting astride him, completely blocking his chest and his arms.

Hannibal moved, trying to dislodge the body above him, but his attempt didn’t do anything but make the weight of the intruder press into him even more and the hand shutting his mouth moved to partially close his nose as well.

In a millisecond the air to his lungs diminished drastically and panic grew, making him believe he was suffocating. A rational part of him, but completely overwhelmed by fear, told him he wasn’t suffocating, but his lungs seemed to burn and the air, there was no air and his sight-

“Sh, sh, Doctor Lecter,” a calm and reassuring voice whispered into his ear, “calm down, Doctor.”

The hand moved away from his nose and Hannibal tried to take a deep breath.

“Yes, Doctor, that’s good, breathe, everything is okay,”

// Very short and spicy. Snack fic.

Raw Material - RubyBakeneko Rating: E, Wordcount: 3K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Doctor Lecter, Agent Graham, Serial killer Will Sex: Top Will, Bottom Antony Dimmond Plot: Betrayed by his psychiatrist, serial killer Will Graham escapes to Italy. There, he reflects on the nature of his relationship with Hannibal, and he meets someone who provides him with an opportunity to work through some of his issues. Sample:

Will misses him terribly and without respite, the weight of his heartache a miserable fury that makes him feel ill. He imagines they are together in bed, that he is pressed up against the heat of Hannibal’s back with a possessive arm draped around his shoulder. He dominates Will’s dreams, which are by turn so luridly explicit that he comes in his sleep and so painfully romantic that he wakes in tears.

Hannibal has survived Will, the way few have done before him. He might arrive in Italy any day now, to kill Will or to kiss him. His heart races at the thought of either.

He silently dares Hannibal to find him. I’m here. Come and get me. // Poor Antony, I hoestly really love that character. Light read

+++ ( ‘Hannibal is Hannibal’ fics)

Wolfman - Cadaverish Rating: E, Wordcount: 38K Tags: Canon Divergence, Serial killer Will, Serial killer Hannibal Sex: versatile Plot: The Biloxi Wolfman has a crush on The Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal doesn’t know that. But he does have an interest in Will Graham. (In which Hannibal wastes time trying to bring Will to the dark side when Will already has lower moral standards than Hannibal) Sample:

Gideon has paused obligingly to peer out the window set into the front door, likely checking for police sirens or curious neighbors, but all it really accomplishes is giving Will the chance to take several long strides, closing the distance between himself and Gideon. He allows his last step to connect loudly with the hardwood floor and Gideon starts, turning around to look at him.

“Special Agent Graham,” he drawls and Will gives him a grin that has nothing human behind it.

// Tfw Hannibal actually has higher moral standards than Will OvO

Astronomical odds - xzombiexkittenx Rating: M, Wordcount: 2.5K Tags: Pre-Season AU, Serial killer Will, Serial killer Hannibal Sex: Mutual handjob Plot: Based on the joke: ‘ Picked up a hitchhiker last night. He said, “Thanks! how do you know I’m not a serial killer though?” I replied, “The chances of two serial killers being in the same car are astronomical.” ‘ Sample:

There’s a knife strapped to his ankle, a loaded gun in his bag, and he’s not above using his teeth if he has to. He also has mace. He met a nice butch lesbian truck driver who picked him up off Interstate 20, drove him as far as Abilene, bought him dinner, and insisted on giving him her mace. She’d been so worried about him and his ‘pretty face.’”

“Honey,” she’d said, over burgers and shitty diner coffee, “girls like you find trouble without even looking. Take it for my peace of mind.”

He’d realized she thought he was a sex worker. Will hadn’t tried to change her opinion of him. No one was looking for a serial truck stop male prostitute. He’d run that angle for a while, down in Louisiana, but it was too much trouble. The clothing was hard to hunt in, and he didn’t like men pawing at him while he got them to the secondary location.

He wonders if Hannibal thinks he’s a sex worker. Hannibal has nicely manicured nails, strong-looking hands, and fantastic arms. Will’s not sure he’d complain if Hannibal made a move on him. He hasn’t decided if he wants to kill Hannibal or not but on balance he also hasn’t decided if he wants to try for a roadside quickie or not.

// Honestly hilarious. They make inside jokes thinking the other’s not getting it, and run into each other at a body dumping site. Light fun read.

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