#one day silver goes to change it and realizes he has 5 more contacts than he expected having. which is any number higher than 0

[ofieugogyshz]

silver probably has nicknames for some of his contacts in his phone, few though they are.

usually it's "annoying person #1" "annoying person #2" etc for his friends

if he's had to add me it's probably "annoying lady"

#lance and clair get proper names... probably. well maybe clair gets something snarky #lance probably went from ''annoying old man'' to his actual name LOL #one day silver goes to change it and realizes he has 5 more contacts than he expected having. which is any number higher than 0 #(he also prob has his dad's #but under 'old man' or something that's saved but not named... #tsundere stepson #anyways sorry this was just funny to think about okay

[yoontopia]

𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 | 𝗺𝘆𝗴

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: anti-soulmate au; light smut (in the form of making out, thigh grinding), angst if you squint, fluff, strangers to lovers, arranged marriage (kind of)

rating: M (for the light smut, swearing)

word count: 5.4k

summary: either you find your soulmate by the time you’re 25 or a partner is chosen for you, that’s the law. (un)fortunately for you, you were just born without a soulmate scar, an anomaly in a world defined by fate, so it seems your decision is made for you. you meet min yoongi the day after your twenty-fifth birthday and its everything but what you were brought up to believe. there are no sparks, no bells, and definitely no love.

author’s note: unedited because I wrote it pretty much in a sitting. will be editing later!

You are happy for Solhee. She’s twenty four-and a half and manages to find her soulmate by literally running into her outside the twenty-four-seven grocery store on the corner of the block. Solhee barely had six months to go before it would have been too late for her. The system assures you that you will find your soulmate, your other half, before the age of 25. If this doesn’t happen, the government intervenes and matches you with someone they see fit.

 It wasn’t always like this. Your parents met when they were in their thirties, and are very much soulmates, if the matching marks on their wrists are any indication. But the government insists that anything after 25 is too late, especially to further the population. Society literally dictates that you’re married off by the time you’re 25.

 You don’t want to know what happens if you don’t follow the law. And you’re happy Solhee doesn’t need to find out either. Solhee’s soulmate scar shines in the sunlight as the two of you sit out in the park, sipping on juice boxes and eating home-baked cookies. She tells you of her meeting with her soulmate, and the rush to get married so they can make it in time before the deadline. A plain, white gold band glitters on on her left ring finger.

 “It felt like coming home,” she tells you, sighing and staring up at the blue sky. “Finding my soulmate, I mean. You know me, I never believed in this stuff. I figured if I didn’t find them, Big Brother would just hitch me off with someone and that would be okay. But I’m glad I found her in time. I can’t imagine it now if I hadn’t.”

 You nod along, taking a sip of your pineapple juice. It’s sour, but you like it. Your eyes wander over to Solhee’s wrist — her mark is a small crescent-shaped moon — it matches the one on her fiancee’s wrist, and it stands out on her pale skin. You squeeze at your juice box to get the last remaining drop out, trying to ignore your empty, unmarked wrists.

 Your soulmate mark never appeared. The latest you should’ve been able to see it would have been your 18th birthday. You remember, hiding away from your own party, rubbing your wrists raw, begging it to show up. Looking back, you aren’t sure who it was you were begging to.

 Of course, you aren’t alone. There are several cases like yours. Marks that fail to show up, or even individuals who have the mark but don’t manage to find their soulmate on time. There is a solution for that — the matching program ensures you don’t end up alone.

 After seeing your friends and coworkers find their soulmates though, you’re not sure you want someone to be arranged for you. It feels artificial and feels like you’re missing out on something incredible. What if the person they match with you doesn’t love you? What if you don’t love them?

 It’s been a while since you’ve entertained such childish thoughts. You’re an adult now, almost 25, and this is a reality. In the next two months, on your 25th birthday, you’ll wait for the government to contact you. They’ll send you a name and then check in on the two of you consistently to make sure the match is happening. It’s not like you have a choice and you suppose its better than being completely alone and soulmate-less for the rest of your life. In a way, you’re almost grateful, as someone who doesn’t have the mark. You just wish things could be different.

 You watch Solhee marry the love of her life exactly on her twenty fifth birthday. She glows in her dress, and as her best friend and maid of honour, you’re busy making sure the wedding goes by without a hitch. You’re the last of your friends to turn 25, meaning you’re the only one in the group currently single. Taehyung and Jimin, also friends from your college days, laugh and tell you to enjoy the last of your bachelorette days, but their entwined hands are all you can focus on. You know they’re just trying to make light of a rather depressing situation, and you’re grateful

 You meet Min Yoongi on a snowy evening, the day after you’ve turned 25. He’s got curling dark hair, ears adorned by various earrings that dangle in the light. A delicate nose, and strong hands. He looks at you like he’s looking at a stranger, which for all intents and purposes, you are. You clutch at the letter in your hands with his name on it. You smile tentatively at him. He doesn’t smile back.

 It doesn’t feel like coming home at all.

 You move in with Yoongi as soon as the new year starts. He has a roomy apartment in the centre of town and lives by himself so its easier. He helps you move your boxes into his place. He never says much, but he’s never rude, or mean to you. In fact, he’s been polite, respectful — even caring, in a way you are to a coworker or an acquaintance. He shows you around his small flat. It’s two bedrooms, one of which he’s turned into a small studio. You know he works in the music industry, but aren’t sure what his exact job entails.

 “I can move my work stuff to my actual studio at the company,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t want to sleep in the same bedroom, that is. I don’t want to force you.”

You smile slightly, scratching your cheek.

 “No it’s fine,” you say. “I don’t want to encroach. I promise I’ll stick to my side of the bed.” He nods.

 “I usually work odd hours,” he says. “I DJ at the club down the street some nights, so I don’t come home until early morning hours. Usually I work from home during the day. There’s a schedule on the fridge.”

 “Um, I work a regular 9-5,” you tell him and he nods again. “I’m home on the weekends and evenings.” It feels a little like drawing up a schedule with a roommate. You don’t really mind. It could’ve been so much worse.

 Yoongi’s running a hand through his hair. You notice he wears a lot a jewelry, and file away this fact for later. His ears are adorned again with several earrings, pierced in multiple places. Bracelets clink on his wrists of various materials and colours. A single, silver necklace hangs around his neck, two fish swimming in a circle. He’s a Pisces, you realize. He’s been twenty five nine months longer than you have.

 “Make yourself comfortable,” he says, waving a hand towards his small, but cozy living room. A small couch and an armchair sit pointed towards the TV. A guitar sits in the corner of his studio, next to an old brown piano. Hints of music adorn the place, photos of Yoongi with his friends at various concerts and gigs. He looks different when he smiles. He has yet to smile at you.

 You spend the rest of the day moving in, and its evening before you emerge from your now-shared bedroom with Yoongi. He’s nowhere to be found and the taped schedule to the fridge tells you tonight he DJs.

 There’s containers full of food on the counter with your name on them, and you assume he’s left you some of his own meal. You eat alone, and do the dishes. You go to sleep that night, feeling no different from your usual self.

Months pass by quickly once you’re settled in with Yoongi. The two of you fall into an easy routine. You cook breakfast, and he cooks dinners and lunches are usually eaten at work. You split your grocery costs.

 Honestly speaking, he’s a really easy roommate to live with. As time goes by, you get to know more things about each other. You learn that he likes meat more than anything else, that he has a tendency to overwork himself when deadlines are near. He has three close friends that he’s grown up with, and an older brother. His family owns a small brown poodle called Holly. His brother is a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city. You’ve met him once and liked him. He’s allergic to seafood, but eats it anyway because he likes it too much.

 You also know he has, or had a soulmate. One time you caught him coming out of the shower wearing nothing but jeans. You were curled up on the living room couch watching TV and you could see him shuffling around shirtless in the bedroom, looking for a shirt to pull on. It’s the first time you see him without his usual bracelets and there is a mark on his wrist. You can’t make out what it is from where you’re sitting, but its there, clear as day against his milky white skin. An uncertain feeling curls in your stomach.

 Until this point, you’d assumed Yoongi was like you — wrists bare. But this changes things — either he’s never met his soulmate, or they aren’t around anymore, and you don’t know what’s worse. He hasn’t spoken about it, and you almost understand why. It’s not like the two of you are close. Everything you know about him, you’ve gleaned from information you’ve received indirectly. You understand now, why he keeps you at an arms length.

 You catch up with Solhee and Jiyeon over brunch. The two are bright eyed, fresh off their honeymoon. Hands entwined under the table, giggling. You laugh along with them, forgetting for a minute about your situation, that is, until Solhee brings it up.

 “So how’s Yoongi?” The question is casual, but you know it’s a loaded one. Solhee isn’t just asking how Yoongi is.

 “Fine,” you pick at your food. “He’s asleep right now — worked till late.”

 “Hey he’s the DJ at Tropical right?” Jiyeon asks, leaning forward. “The popular one.” You’re dazed. Six months of living with him and you don’t even know which club he works at. You nod anyway, not wanting to appear clueless. “I heard he’s really good. Taehyung knows of him through Seokjin.”

 “Kim Seokjin?” You ask, surprised. It’s one of Yoongi’s friends. Jiyeon nods. “He owns the club.”

 “Hey we should go check him out one night!” Jiyeon is excited, and clueless. You smile half-heartedly at her and Solhee sighs. “Tae can get us into Tropical on the day Yoongi works — when does he work?”

 “Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays,” you reply. Jiyeon nods.

 “So… who’s down for it tomorrow?”

 The club is sweaty, and crowded. You’re here without telling Yoongi, a fact that already makes you feel guilty for some reason. The strapless number Solhee had forced onto you clings to your skin as you follow your friends towards the bar. You haven’t been to a club since university and you can’t help but feel a little out of place.

 “There he is!” Jiyeon screams, pointing towards the small stage at the other end of the dance floor. Sure enough, Yoongi stands there, two laptops in front of him. His hair is tucked into a baseball cap, but other than that he’s dressed the way he usually is, in jeans and a silk button up. The music is loud, and your heart thumps in your ears. “Let’s go closer!”

 The three of you make your way closer to the stage, maneuvering past the sweaty, drunk bodies. You can barely make out the music he’s playing, and you know barely anything about music to know what’s good and what’s not. He must be good though, if the crowd is anything to go by.

 Solhee pulls you and Jiyeon into a corner next to the stage with a good view and the three of you stand there bopping along to the music. Even though you barely know him, you have a strange feeling of pride curling up inside you. He’s incredible.

 Your eyes glaze over the crowd until they land on a woman, standing only a few feet away from the three of you, one arm crossed under her chest, the other caressing her chin. She’s also watching the stage, a smile on her face. The world seems to spin for a second because your eye catches the mark on her wrist, and you don’t have to double check to know that it matches the dark haired man on the stage.

 The night goes from bad to worse when Yoongi jumps off the stage after finishing his gig, and she runs up to give him a hug. You feel like throwing up, but nothing compares to what you feel when his eyes find you over her shoulder.

 Things quickly sour after that. The peaceful relationship the two of you shared previously is shattered. You avoid him on the nights he’s home, preferring to crash at Solhee’s, who’s more than happy to accommodate you. Jiyeon apologizes profusely but you cannot blame her, not when none of this is her fault in the first place.

 “Don’t you think you should let him explain?” Solhee asks one day over dinner.

 “There’s nothing to explain,” you say automatically. “Their marks are there — it’s self explanatory.”

 “What a harsh system,” Jiyeon adds softly. You nod. If there was a way for Yoongi and his soulmate to be together, you’d want it to happen. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel like an awkward third wheel. “Do you think they found each other after the deadline?”

 “Definitely,” Solhee nods. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been matched.”

 “I don’t want to come in between anything,” you say softly.

 “Oh honey you’re not,” Solhee says. “None of this is your fault.” You bite your lip, holding back tears threatening to fall. You haven’t cried in front of people in years. “It’s not Yoongi’s fault either. You should really go home and talk it out. He probably misses you.”

 You choke out a laugh at that. The idea that Yoongi misses you is ludicrous. You were a nuisance to him at best, even though he’d been nothing but respectful of you and your space.

 “What the two of you need is to spend time together,” Jiyeon says, and Solhee nods. “Get to know him, tell him he needs to come clean with you with everything. Maybe then things will see peace.”

 You decide to go home that night. You know it’s a Tuesday and Yoongi should be home. Stomach in your throat, you shakily unlock the door to his—your— apartment. The TV is on, and Yoongi is curled up in the corner of the couch, swaddled up in a blanket. It’s only been a little over a week, but you find you’ve missed him. You find you’re also surprised he’s actually here. A part of you had almost expected him to take off. He turns to look at you and starts, hurrying to turn the TV off. It’s oddly clumsy from someone who you thought was aloof, and it almost makes you giggle. Almost.

 “Hey.” You say lamely.

 “Hey,” he replies back. It’s awkward. This is such a bad idea. Who decided confrontation was healthier than hiding from your feelings? You’d like to prove whoever it was wrong. You sigh, slumping a little, mind wandering again to the pretty girl that is his soulmate. You don’t usually hate how you look, but in this moment you can’t help but draw comparisons. Yoongi’s pretty too after all. Giving him a curt nod, you begin to make your way to the bedroom.

 “I’m sorry.”

 You pause, and turn to look. He’s standing up now, blanket still around his shoulders. A closer look tells you he looks tired. His ears are devoid of earrings for the first time, hair unkempt and greasy. He’s not wearing his usual bracelets — you suspect he only did it to hide his soulmate mark from you. You must be staring at him with a dumbfounded expression because he repeats his hushed apology.

 “For what?” Your voice is just as shaky.

 “Everything.” He says instantly.

 “Do you love her?”

 “No.” his reply is instant again, and you find yourself believing him. There’s no lie in his eyes. “I met her a month after we… moved in together,” A month after the government threw the two of you together against your will.

 “Do you want to try things with her? I promise I won’t come in between that, I know how wonderful it can be to—”

 “No.” He says again, his voice firm. He takes a tentative step towards you.

 “Why not?” You’re genuinely curious. He shrugs, almost as if he doesn’t know the answer himself.

 “Don’t want to.”

 “Why not?” You turn to face him completely now. The two of you glaring at each other. He’s struggling to find the words and stares up at the ceiling in defeat.

 “I don’t wanna leave you alone alright?” He snaps. You scoff

 “Don’t pity me. I can take care of myself just fine. Did it before you came along too.”

 “Don’t act brave when you don’t have to,” his voice is softer now. “You think I don’t hear you cry to yourself at night when you think you’re alone? Or when you hang out with those friends of yours and get suddenly quiet?” You open your mouth, then close it. Yoongi had attended a total of one party with you and your friends. You were surprised he picked up on it at all.

 “But she’s your soulmate,” you say, confused. He shrugs and sits back down on the couch, flicking the TV back on.

 “Yeah, she’s also someone I don’t know, and someone I’m not going to bother to know” he says easily. “I’m not gonna chase after her if it means losing a friend.” You didn’t even know he considered you a friend.

 “B-but that night at the club?”

 “Didn’t know she’d be there,” he says. “I’d told her to never contact me again the day I met her. Just because she thinks its okay to be unfaithful to her partner doesn’t mean I think its okay too. I’m not about to live that kind of life, especially with someone who thinks something like that is okay.”

 “Oh.”

 “Yeah.”

 You take a hesitant step forward.

 “What’re you watching?”

 “Sky Castle.”

 “Can I— can I join you?” He nods, patting at the empty spot on the couch next to him. “What if you regret this down the line?” You ask at last, sitting down on the other end of the couch. It’s your worst fear and you can’t believe you’re voicing it. “What if one day you wake up and wish you’d gone after your soulmate instead of settling for me?”

 He smiles faintly, more to himself than anything. You think this is the first time he’s probably smiled in your presence.

 “I made a choice already 5 months ago. Haven’t regretted it yet,” he says simply. He doesn’t deny that he settled for you, not when it’s the cold hard truth. You settled for him too after all.

 The couch feels like home for the first time since you’d moved in.

 Things change again quickly after that. You and Yoongi fall back into that seamless schedule, but now there’s a little something to it. The two of you are still far from a couple, but you find yourself curling up next to him in front of the TV more often. He waits for you to eat the meals the two of you are able to eat together. The two of you even do activities outside the apartment. You meet more his friends and he meets more of yours. Its progress. You don’t mention his soulmate again, and neither does he.

 You find Yoongi’s actually a really easy person to get along with. He’s funny in his own dry, sarcastic way, often saying jokes with the straightest of faces. He snappish and straightforward and has an incredibly low tolerance for bullshit. His friends baby him, probably because of his smaller stature and childlike features, and although he grumbles, he lets them. You even think he enjoys it. He smiles more in front of you now, gums on display, and you know that his cold persona in the beginning was just a front. In reality Yoongi is a shy, awkward boy that finds it hard to make friends, and so he comes off aloof, but is anything but

 It also makes sense to you why Yoongi had been so firm in staying with you all those months ago. He’s steadfastly loyal, never going back on his word, and even honest to a fault. Sometimes, when you’re in one of your self-deprecating moods, you think he only chose to stay with you because of his principals, and not because he actually cared for you beyond a friend. But you’re glad he’s here nonetheless. With all your friends paired off, you’re glad you have someone to do things with. Someone who, in a way, belongs entirely to you.

 You marry Yoongi exactly one year after the two of you met. Non-soulmate matches don’t have the deadline to wed as soulmates do. As long as Big Brother (as Solhee so lovingly calls the federal government) knows you’ve been matched in their system, you can take things easy and get to know one another. How sweet of them to allow that, you think to yourself sarcastically.

 He looks smart in his plain black suit, hair neatly parted, showing off his forehead and well marked eyebrows. He looks older like this. You wear a simple white dress, and carry a bouquet of lilies down the aisle. Yoongi doesn’t cry with happiness at the sight of you, but his slight grin warms your heart. You know that whatever the case, you’ll be comfortable with him.

 He plants a simple kiss on your lips, a formality more than anything else. You and Yoongi aren’t physical. What you share is a platonic friendship, and you try not to let your mother’s suggestive wink cloud your mind. While you like Yoongi, you’re not sure you think of him in that way, and he definitely has never thought of you as anything more than a friend. Yoongi’s hands are warm and calloused and familiar, and you think you can learn to make a home in them.

“My parents are soulmates,” you tell him on your wedding night as the two of you lie on your shared bed staring up at the ceiling. “They met when my mother was 27, my father 32.” You don’t know why you’re telling him this. You’ve changed into your comfy PJs, but Yoongi is still in his dress shirt and trousers, top buttons undone, tie loose. You want him to know you.

“Mine were too,” he hums. You turn to look at him. You’ve never met his mother. His father and brother were at the wedding, but you weren’t sure if the topic of his mother was a sensitive issue. “Until things didn’t work out and she left him.”

“Oh?” Stories like that were rare. This is your first time hearing one. Yoongi doesn’t elaborate on his mother’s life and you don’t ask, grateful that he’s entrusted you with this information.

“I guess that’s why I don’t really believe in the whole soulmate thing,” he continues, sitting up and pulling his tie off. “There’s no such thing as fate or destiny. It’s all about choices and commitment.”

His soulmate mark is visible to you now as he gets up to take his shirt off and change into something comfier. It almost looks like a tattoo, a small fish, not unlike the one he wears in his necklace. The mark is familiar to you now, but it doesn’t carry the same pain. His words are new to you, having grown up around talks of fate and destiny, but you find comfort in them. Hearing him say it like that makes your heart warm. The two of you fall asleep easily that night, facing each other, but still a few feet apart

 Yoongi’s eyes flash as you enter the bar. You’d gotten dressed at Solhee’s place and she’d sat you down in her chair, eyes devious, and done your makeup. You feel uncomfortable in your skin, face heavy with everything she’d slapped on it and you pull down your skirt.

 “Cheer up, you look hot as fuck,” Solhee hisses beside you as the two of you make your way to the reserved table where the rest of your friends are. “If Yoongi doesn’t get a boner after this, I don’t know anymore.” You shush her hastily, ears going red as you sit down across from your husband. He’s still staring at you, something dark evident in his eyes, and you try to ignore the roaring in your ears.

 Marriage had treated you two well. You still weren’t physical, but sharing pecks before heading off to work, or cuddling and hand holding weren’t foreign concepts anymore. You weren’t sure how far Yoongi wanted to go, and you didn’t know what you yourself wanted.

 Yoongi looks good today. He’s wearing his infamous dark silk button up, with the top three buttons undone so you can see the column of his throat. His hair is parted and in the dim lighting he almost looks like a feline ready to pounce on his prey. You swallow.

 Your husband’s beauty is not foreign to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before after all. You’ve seen his hands as they glide over piano keys or when they pluck at his guitar. Yoongi is beautiful and you can’t deny the attraction you have grown to hold for him. Your insecurities however, prevent you from verbalizing your thoughts. There’s just no way he’d be attracted to you, not in that way. Next to Yoongi, you look painfully average.

 He doesn’t say much, just sits across from you and sips on his whiskey, occasionally leaning forward to snag a nacho from the shared plate the table has ordered. You wonder if he’s angry at you about something.

 Halfway through the night, the several glasses of wine you’ve drunk catch up to you and you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’re trying not to stumble and you’re thankful you make it to the bathroom in one piece.

 When you come out of the stall and are washing your hands, you jump when you see Yoongi enter the bathroom.

 “Yoongi!” You hiss. “This is the girl’s bathroom—.” Yoongi raises a well-marked eyebrow, and walks up to you in two quick strides. Before you know it, he’s crushed his lips to yours. You’re taken aback but you melt into the kiss quickly, hands roaming up to grasp onto the front of his shirt. His hands settle on your hips before moving to grab your ass. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue.

 Dimly you’re aware that this is technically your first real kiss. He tastes like whiskey as he pulls you closer to him, shoving a leg between your thighs. You let out a whimper, and you can feel him smile against your mouth. He lets go with a pop before latching his lips onto your neck. You throw your head back with a groan, freely grinding on his thigh now as he licks a thick stripe up your neck and nibbles at your ear.

 “Let’s get out of here,” he groans, voice deep. “Before I fuck you in this disgusting bathroom.” You moan at his words and make a voice of complaint when he pulls himself away. You straighten your skirt hastily and eye him, his lips swollen and smeared with your lipstick. He grabs your arm by the wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom, out of the bar and into the crisp night air. The two of you giggle as you walk to your apartment, Yoongi stopping you periodically to steal kisses.

 You unlock the door hastily, and he pushes you in, slamming the door behind him and latching onto you immediately. You moan as his hands reach your skirt and pull it up over your ass.

 “God,” he groans in between kisses. Your shaky hands are unbuttoning his shirt. You push it off him. “Please tell me you want this.” He walks you towards your bedroom, shoving you onto your bed.

 “Yes,” you respond instantly, breathless, looking up at him. “Yes, oh god, of course I do.” He’s climbing on top of you now, leg back between your legs. You grind onto his thigh, wild moans escaping your mouth as he sucks a bruise onto your neck, his rock-hard erection prominent against your core. Your hands find his belt and take it apart, undoing the buttons on his jeans. He sits up to push his pants off him before reaching over to tug your top over your head. You’re left in a bra and underwear, your skirt bunched up at your waist, staring at him expectantly.

 That night is simple, the two of you moving in unison, finding what the other likes. Your hands disappear in his hair and he makes a home in the crook of your neck as you reach your respective highs.

You fall asleep blissful and satisfied, curled up in Yoongi’s arms.

 Your relationship takes yet another turn after that moment. Now its like the two of you can’t keep your hands off of each other. Consequently you do it on every surface in the apartment. It’s funny, you think, you haven’t even said the L word to each other yet, and you’re not even sure if you do. Growing up, you were taught that one came after the other, but your relationship with Yoongi is anything but conventional.

 At night, he holds you, curling his body around you like a child. You can hear his heartbeat this way, and nights soon become the things you look forward to the most.

 It still doesn’t make the relationship easy. You argue, slam doors, ignore texts, but at the end of the day when you crawl into bed, apologies evident on your tongue, he pulls you in and kisses the crown of your head wordlessly.

 You and Yoongi are solid; a team, almost. You think you work well together. Growing up you were taught that finding your soulmate meant ringing bells, and puzzle pieces feeling like they were slotting into place and you spent your entire adolescence craving that. But whatever this is that you share with Yoongi is special, in its own way. There are no sparks, no flashing lights, and definitely no bells. Now you know what Solhee meant all those years ago about the feeling of coming home. There isn’t any other way to describe this feeling.

There are many more turning points in your relationship that you look back on fondly — the day you told him you loved him is one you remember vividly. It was nothing special, just casual conversation over dinner. He’d given you a blinding smile and returned the sentiment.

“Do you regret it?” You ask, out of nowhere. You’re washing dishes and he’s beside you helping you dry them.

“Hm?”

“Choosing me, back then. Do you regret it?” You know the answer already. Gone are the many months you spent belittling yourself. It’s been a few years with Yoongi now and you know exactly where you stand with him.

“I wonder sometimes,” he hums. “How differently things would’ve played out.” Don’t we all, you muse to yourself. You could’ve been matched with anyone but somehow it was Min Yoongi that stood in front of you on that cold, snowy that day, unsmiling and unfamiliar. It feels like a lifetime ago. When you look at him now, he’s heartbreakingly familiar. You know him like the back of your hand. “But there hasn’t been a single day where I’ve regretted you.” You grin and poke his cheek with your soapy hand.

“Go wake Sunhee up,” you laugh. “It’s time to feed her.”

“Yes ma’am,” he tells you dutifully and you watch as he shuffles into the second smaller bedroom. Gone is the studio equipment, replaced with pastel green walls and a small wooden crib Yoongi had crafted himself. Sometimes, when you look in there, you can still see a dark-haired boy with his eyes closed, playing on that old brown piano.

#kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #min yoongi #yoongi fluff #bts #bts fluff #yoongi #suga #suga fluff

[fandom-space-princess]

Every Day's Most Quiet Need

midam week prompt 5: whisper - (v) speak very softly using one's breath without one's vocal cords, especially for the sake of privacy/(n) a soft or confidential tone of voice; a whispered word or phrase

Rating: Teen [2.5k words, a tiny bit h/c, mostly just sort of sweet]

Some things can't be spoken aloud. The only way to get them out is to say them as softly as you can.

read below the cut, or on AO3

When Adam thinks of whispers, he thinks of Michael's wings.

-----

"Michael? Why are you shivering?"

Maybe a silly question. The Cage is cold. An understatement, of course, but trying to hyperbolize about it has never taken the sting out. No matter how Adam tries to wrap it up in description, thinking of it as frozen as the Arctic tundra or the original ice cube or goddamn Minneapolis in February is never enough to distract from bitter reality.

So: the Cage is cold.

Shouldn't matter, though, and usually it doesn't. Michael is an inferno inside his chest, and he runs hot even by angelic standards (at least, according to him; not that Adam has any basis for comparison). Adam barely registers the frigidity of the place, and as far as he knows the cold bothers Michael not at all, either from his vantage in Adam's head or, as he's taken to doing more and more lately, manifesting as a separate presence.

Not that he's really asked. They've been down here for close to two hundred years, and it's only the last fifty or so that the rapport between them has been something resembling friendly.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it." Michael curls himself up smaller near the wall of the Cage, knees clasped to his chest, and slips into what Adam has privately begun to refer to as his Stoic Angel Face. The juxtaposition strikes him as odd: this intense, commanding creature, tucked into the corner like a human child, tight with tension, but wearing an expression that would seem more at home on a commander of armies, or carved into a mountainside.

Adam has been looking at Michael for two centuries, though. He's getting good at spotting the cracks in his masks.

He settles himself down next to Michael, a bare few inches separating them. "Ok. Say I believe you. You're still pretty clearly uncomfortable right now. Can I... is there anything I can do to help?" He rests a hand cautiously on Michael's arm, watching his face closely. Doesn't miss the flicker of Michael's eyes to where they touch, then away again, tight and guilty like he doesn't want Adam to see.

He leans into it, though, and Adam shifts to press into his side, shoulder to shoulder.

This close, he can feel the fine shivers still running through Michael's frame. Can make out the shallowness of his breathing.

"Michael. Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't usually hang around out here when you want to be left alone. So what's up?"

Michael sighs. "As you say, I am merely uncomfortable. I — the last time we fought —" He nods across the Cage, at the far shadowy corner where Lucifer broods in solitude, "— I sustained a few... minor injuries. Injuries I am incapable of healing except by waiting for my grace to recover. In much the same way as your body would heal naturally."

Adam blinks. He doesn't know what he'd expected, but that — that wasn't it. Lucifer and Michael often scrap with each other. When they first arrived, it had been out of genuine fury. But as they have settled into a more permanent resignation to life in this place, Adam has come to suspect that their ongoing fighting is mostly out of habit, and frustration.

At least now they do it in their own forms. Being conscripted into participation on a physical level, especially when Sam had still been present, had not been among Adam's favorite activities.

He casts his gaze over Michael, critically. "You don't look injured anywhere that I can see. Is it — it's an angel thing, isn't it."

"Yes." Michael fidgets against the wall. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Another bitter sigh. With a face like he regrets ever consenting to participate in this conversation at all, Michael mutters, "My wings hurt."

"Your... oh." He understands, suddenly, why Michael is reluctant to talk about this. While there is no longer any aspect of each other that either of them is uncomfortable with, at least on a physical level (Adam's body has been home to both archangelic grace and human soul for an order of magnitude longer than he had ever occupied it alone), Michael's wings aren't entirely physical, even by his particularly lax definition of the term. They're tied up too closely with his grace, with his power, with his place in Heaven and the burdens that come with it. Adam has seen them, time to time, out of the corner of his eye. Knows that Michael can and does manifest them when he's coping with some severe emotion.

Usually violence. Or fear.

He fidgets again, and shivers, and the emotionless mask he tries to keep in place is betrayed by the tightness around his eyes. Adam realizes that he's never seen Michael look quite so shaky, quite so miserable. How much pain does it take, he wonders, to make the Sword of Heaven look like he wants nothing more than to sink into merciful unconsciousness?

Which is a good point, actually.

"I know you've gotten in fights before, bad ones. I've never seen you like this." He nudges Michael gently with his shoulder. "What's so different now? Is it that we're stuck here, something about the Cage?"

"No, it's... well. To be blunt: I have never injured part of my noncorporeal form this badly while also possessing a corporeal one." His voice has dropped to a low murmur, and Adam tilts his head closer. He's curled in on himself, as though making himself as small as he can. "If I were to leave you, I could tend to the problem much more quickly. Given our circumstances, that would likely be unpleasant for me, and fatal for you." His eyes dart to Adam, then away again.

Oh.

"You'd rather be in pain then risk hurting me?" Adam asks softly.

A scowl is all the acknowledgement he gets for his trouble, before Michael returns to staring fixedly off into the middle distance.

"I care about you too, you know," he says. He rests a hand on the archangel's arm again, in reassurance. Once again, he leans into the contact, a response which seems almost involuntary.

Interesting.

Testing a theory, Adam leans back against the wall of the Cage. Slowly, allowing Michael time to object if desired, he stretches an arm out and settles it lightly over his shoulders. Michael goes utterly still, and Adam wonders if he's made a mistake. He's about to draw back, offer an apology, when some measure of the tension leaves Michael's frame and he relaxes fractionally against Adam.

"You'd tell me if there was anything I could do to help, right? I want to know, if there is."

"I don't want to presume upon you further than I already have. Given time, I'll be fine."

"So there is something. Come on, halo, out with it. Let me help."

Michael frowns, then shivers again, appears to reach a decision.

"Fine." He uncoils himself from Adam's embrace, and moves to kneel a few feet away. Pointedly meets Adam's gaze, and holds it, as if in challenge.

A crackle like embers from a fire along his skin, raising goosebumps over his arms, and a soft displacement of air. And then —

— he's seen them before, of course, but never dead on like this. Michael's wings are gigantic, and beautiful: the soft grey of storm clouds, fading to a darker slate blue at the tips of the largest feathers. Threads of silver and steel grey etch through them, and they refract the dim light oddly, half-translucent, as though they only partially exist in this plane. Which, now that Adam thinks about it, they probably do.

They're also a mess. From where he sits, Adam can see patches of broken and scorched feathers, clumps of dried blood and sulfur, places where the flesh has started to heal badly. A pang of sympathy, like a lightning bolt through his chest, and he's extending one hand out toward Michael on impulse before he realizes what he's doing.

"You can't reach them, can you? While you're possessing me? That's what you meant."

Michael's eyes track his hand, the aborted gesture hanging in midair. His face and posture have gone closed-off, rigid, like Adam might change his mind at the last moment and strike him instead. "The metaphor is imperfect, but that's essentially accurate. In Heaven, I could tend my own form. Here, my options are... limited."

Adam slides closer, until he sits at his side, facing him. Watching Michael for any sign of distress or hesitation, he extends his hand until the tips of his fingers brush a patch of uninjured feathers over his shoulder. They're softer than they look, and they buzz faintly under his touch, a barely perceptible hum of bioelectric feedback.

Jaw clenched, Michael looks away. Nods once. Presses the wing forward against Adam's hand.

"I'm going to clean the injured parts as much as I can, ok?" Adam says gently, trying to catch Michael's gaze. When that fails, he reaches out to clasp a hand to his shoulder, squeezes once. "Let me know if I should stop."

He grazes his fingertips over one of the burned patches, and Michael hisses, flinching away.

"No," he responds immediately as Adam draws back by reflex. He catches Adam's hand in one of his own, lightning quick, and shakes his head. Deliberately presses the hand back against the scorched feathers. A wince, but his eyes lock on Adam's. "You won't hurt me." His voice falls to nearly a whisper, and his hand drops away. "Please."

This time, when Adam touches him, he is still.

The damage is extensive, and Michael's wings are... well, there's a lot of ground to cover. Adam suspects that he's not getting the whole picture, somehow; that what he sees are only the parts of himself that Michael has chosen (or, perhaps, is able) to bring forward into this plane. That there might, in truth, be more injuries over more of him — and in more dimensions — than Adam's mind is capable of perceiving.

He hums as he works, fingers combing careful through clumps of feathers. Straightening those healthy enough to be salvaged, pulling away bits of dried blood and occasionally tugging free those feathers too bent or broken to be saved. Michael makes a low, pained sound deep in his chest at the first one, and Adam presses his hands back to the space immediately, soothing.

To get his mind off it, Adam speaks. "So, what, you'd do this yourself in Heaven? Or the — I dunno, whatever the metaphysical equivalent of grooming your wings is for angels?"

Michael leans into him, hip pressed to thigh and shoulder against his arm. "Yes. They'd heal more quickly if I was, as you say, able to 'reach' them. But much of my grace is currently constrained within your form. The ways in which I can manifest and manipulate it are comparatively limited."

"But you'd always do that for yourself? Not that a ton of the angels I've met seemed too friendly —" He snorts, thinking of Zachariah. "I wouldn't blame you if you were picky about who you let get that close. But you must have had someone."

For a moment, Michael goes tense against him, and his face clouds. Then it passes, as though it had never been. "No," he says, clearly unwilling to elaborate.

Adam doesn't press the issue. He leans back on his heels, then stands, stretches. "You doing ok? I should do the back." Michael nods up at him, from his place on the floor, and Adam circles behind him. Taps him on the shoulder. "Stop kneeling there and sit down." His voice is light, teasing. "I'm going to need all the height advantage I can get on your ridiculous, massive wings."

It startles a chuckle out of Michael, and Adam grins to himself. Michael settles near his feet, and Adam resumes carding through the wings. He starts at the tips and works inward, down along the leading edge, gradually moving back toward Michael's body.

When he's close enough, Michael relaxes back against his legs. Almost like he doesn't realize he's doing it, Adam thinks. He doesn't mention it, and when he moves away to start on the outer edge of the other wing, the quality of the silence between them is different than before. The pain seems to be fading, and Michael no longer shivers, but some less definite emotion is rooting in its place, something quieter and almost sorrowful.

When Adam kneels behind him to reach the places closest to Michael's body, he can feel the difference. It's in the way the wings press eagerly into his hands, rather than shying away. In the way the angel tilts back into him, posture more relaxed than Adam has seen him — maybe ever.

Adam encourages him, pressing his weight in turn against Michael's back. As levelly and casually as he can, he says, "What about the others? I was under the impression that you guys were, well, close. A family. For whatever that means for you."

"Heaven is not —" Michael tenses, but Adam just leans more firmly against him, fingers moving soothingly over his wings, and after a moment he relents. His words sound fragile, hollow, and his voice is almost too quiet to hear. As though speaking this too loudly would be too much, would mean acknowledging something he was unwilling or unable to acknowledge. "We aren't like humans; we don't interact like you do. We don't — we don't touch each other. Except to fight." He glances furtively across the Cage. In that moment, Adam sees a glimpse of his deeper nature, the weight of an impossible stretch of time on this being as old as the universe. "Once, perhaps. But not for a very long time."

Adam says nothing. Nothing needs to be said.

He sits against the wall of the Cage, spreads his legs out, and tugs at Michael's waist. Michael's wings vanish, and he turns his head to speak, but Adam cuts him off.

"Don't argue with me, ok? Just come over here."

Michael lets himself be pulled along, until he rests between Adam's legs. He leans back against his chest, and fidgets for a few moments. Then Adam curls his arms around his waist, and he settles.

"You deserve to be touched in something other than violence," he murmurs, chin hooked over Michael's shoulder. He runs hands down his arms, until their fingers twine together, pressing close to Michael's body. "Don't give me that 'not like humans' line. Just stay here with me for a few minutes."

He has no power to hold Michael here against his will, he knows. He could vanish, fly off, simply stand up and walk away — he is far stronger than Adam will ever be.

But Adam holds him, the only comfort he has to offer.

And Michael, a silent weight against his chest, doesn't move away.

#technically pre-slash but they're getting there #cage fic AND a wing fic?? look at me trope #platonic physical affection for the touch-starved angel #and listen. i know the title is sappy and overdone. i know it. #but consider: i do what i want #michael spn #adam milligan #midam #midam week #spn #fanfic #mine #my fanfic

[elitparadox]

Life Goes On~ (Pt. 4)

↳ miya osamu x f!reader

↳ fluff, comedy??

↳ 2.6k

↳ status: ongoing

↳ parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

You suddenly appear in haikyuu after watching the show for weeks now, and you’re trying to find a way out. Deciding to make the most of it, you learn from these talented volleyball players, cuz why waste an opportunity? You weren’t meant to fall in love with any of them, but with Osamu’s alluring formosity and talent, you can’t help but rethink your life that has led up to this exact moment.

It’s Sunday afternoon. During the span of two days, you tried to contact someone who could help you, but it was no use, because of course, no one believed your story. On the other hand, you became a little bit more acquainted with Osamu and his too-clean apartment.

Sighing, you turn away from your borrowed laptop as you focus on Osamu’s pencil that was writing unfamiliar calculus signs on his homework paper.

“Wait- what am I going to do?”

“Hm?” Osamu doesn’t turn around as he responds.

“Don’t I have to enroll in your school? Which is the nearest one, I suppose. The hours will pass by too slowly for my liking, and I must receive my education”

Osamu’s gaze lands on you. “You could contact the principal and ask if you could attend for a few weeks with an excuse.. You’re a… 1st year?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fills the room as the two of you brainstorm.

“I guess I could do that; do you know what the principal’s phone number is? And we’ll call as an unknown number. Can you lend me your phone?”

Osamu shrugs as he enters a password, opening the calling app to the principal’s number, and hands over his phone, fingers accidentally brushing yours, making the atmosphere a little awkward.

You press the call button after quickly switching the number identity, and someone on the other end answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” quick. make up a name. You fake a cough, changing your voice tone. “I’m Kagai Yinimi, Y/N’s mother. We recently moved to Japan, and I have not yet found a school fit for Y/N, but tomorrow is supposed to be the day she needs to go to school. Is there any way you could clear a spot for her?”

“Excuse me?”

You didn’t realize you just spoke English. Then it hit you. The whisper from your dream. This situation now. You’re a polyglot. (someone who can speak multiple languages fluently) You weren’t one before. So had haikyuu changed anything about you? But most importantly, why can’t you control it?

*ahem* go with the weird-everything-goes-her-way mom tone. “I’M TELLING YOU- Y/N NEEDS HER EDUCATION! COULD YOU PLEASE CREATE A SPOT FOR HER?? SHE CAN CATCH UP, AND, UM, SHE SPEAKS JAPANESE TOO!!”

During this whole time, Osamu was looking at you with a “what the heck are you doing” expression.

You shoot him a “come help me” glance.                                                          

Osamu takes the phone from you, alters his voice tone, and says, “Sorry. My, uh, wife can’t speak Japanese yet. But she’s saying that we just moved here, and Y/N, our daughter” *pauses* “-needs a school. Is there a spot for her?”

Silence first. But after about fifteen seconds, he responds.

“Yes. However, the prefecture needs more information about this, um, transfer student. How old is she?”

“15.”

“Parents name…”

So, after forty minutes, Osamu was finally able to enter you in the school.

You feel too grateful to the point that guilt eats at you for what Osamu’s doing for you, although he did have to tell the principal lies, but only because he doesn’t know you well

As Osamu ends the call, he turns around and asks “so what was all that? You can speak fluent English?” You stare at him quizzically. “Of course I can! Do you think I’m uneducated??”

He laughs, but you notice a hint of relief. “No. But why did you speak English to the principal even though you could’ve talked to him in Japanese?”

“Uh- I- the thing is, well, I’m not sure if this theory is accurate,” you said slowly, “but I think that if I talk too quickly, I speak English and if i speak a little slower like right now, I talk in Japanese” you shrugged. “I don’t really know”

Osamu looks confused for a second. You can hear him mutter “things are really weird right now”

“Mhm. Sorry, but it really wasn’t my fault that i’m in another dimension” like hell it wasn’t

He sighs slightly, then suddenly looks a little less pressured. How did he manage to change his expression so quickly??? uwu

“anyways, the principal says that tomorrow morning you can visit the main office and pick up your schedule. I could take you there-”

You cut him off. “Again, it’s ok; you don’t really have to do that- Uh, also, don’t I need textbooks? Once again, I apologize-”

“No,. it’s fine. Like I said, I’m glad to help- As for the textbooks, the teacher gives them out at the beginning of the school year, but you could ask the office tomorrow”

He smiles- a little weary, but still breathtakingly beautiful.

“Thanks again.” You feel an urge to hug him right then, but you don’t, instead walking back to your room. Because, after all, you need to return to your home and away from everything you’ve seen in these past few days.

Several more hours pass, lapsing into the night, and then morning. 5:30 A.M.

You yawn, stretching your arms and kicking the covers. Another day, another chance.

Wait- why was it nearly 5:30 in the morning? Didn’t Osamu say yesterday that school started at 7:50? It was way ahead of your usual wake time.

You hastily brush your teeth, untangle your hair as quickly as possible, change into your own clothes, and open the door, tiptoeing across the living room toward the other room to ask Osamu why his usual alarm was set so early in the morning.

But he’s already up, making breakfast. He turns around and notices you walking strangely about the living room.

Shoot.

You fake-cough and stand up straight, brushing off imaginary debris from your shirt. “Good morning? Um, also why is your- I mean my alarm set at this time?

“Because we have volleyball practice, remember? And you asked me for help. So it would be rather convenient to watch us practice.”

“Oh yeahhhh- I forgot. Sorry. By the way, do you live by yourself? I mean, without your parents or any siblings?”

Osamu nods, his eyes still focused intently on whatever he’s cooking.

“Okay. Uh, I was also wondering what people would think if you, um, suddenly came to school after a weekend with an, uh, immigrant, or whoever they think I am. You know what I mean?”

“Oh.” He seems thoughtful. “I could say you’re my cousin who’s staying at my apartment for around a year” He shoots a look at you. “Because, you don’t really know when you’ll be returning, right?”

You glance at the clock. It’s exactly 5:39 A.M.

“Yeah. So when does practice start?”

“You do ask a lot of questions, huh?” You can see the hint of a smirk on his cheek, making you blush. “At 6 A.M.”

“So then why are you packing a lot of food?”

“My lunch, remember?” Now he finishes preparing the light breakfast and lunch, turning around. “And yours too.”

You stare at Osamu for a little longer than usual, but quickly catch yourself, averting your eyes from his.

“Thank you again. I really don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t there to help me.”

You chuckle. It was such a lucky turn of events to meet him.

“Well, we only have around ten minutes to finish breakfast and clean up, so let’s hurry.” 

At approximately 6:00, you and Osamu enter a particularly large gym where a group of boys, the volleyball team, is warming up.

Whispers spread among them as they notice you following Osamu.

“Uh, ‘Samu? Who’s she?” A tall blond-haired boy, probably Atsumu, gestures toward you. 

Ah, so he wasn’t the flirting type that your friends like. Better tell them after you get back. If you even get back. If they would even believe you then.

“Oh, Y/N? She’s our cousin. She’s staying at my apartment”

You were pretty sure everyone on the team noticed the glare he shot at Atsumu. And you desperately wanted to climb under a rock and never come out. Nobody would believe that story now.

“Uh, well I’m only here to observe your practice. I just wanted to see everyone’s volleyball techniques and learn from there! Since I really want to advance my volleyball skills-” You cut in.

Your insides were shaking from the looks these tall boys gave you. You personally didn’t like the fact that people would view you as only Osamu’s cousin, but on the other hand, things could get fun.

“Sorry if I’m wasting everyone’s practice time. I- I should go”

“No, it’s fine.” A silver haired boy, whom you noticed was Kita, steps forward. “It’ll be nice to have someone watching and learning from our practice. And so that some people-” he shoots a glance at the twins “-won’t fool around.”

Ah. So he noticed how serious Osamu acted in front of you.

“Thank you.” You look down at your tattered shoes.

Although a few members of the team look at you cautiously, the others smile at you kindly.

As practice continues, you notice that there isn’t a female manager anywhere in the gym. Shaking your head, you focus again on the practice rally raging on. It was amazing how you had never known any sport that would involve so much shouting to cooperate and energy to race after the ball.

You were taking mental notes on volleyball techniques when a ball whizzed past you. You could literally feel the force traveling with the ball near your cheek. But then again, you were used to that stuff.

It bounced off the side wall and miraculously ended up beside your left foot. You picked up the ball carefully, checking for the brand name, and contented, threw it toward the next server. Atsumu. You had watched their routine, and it seemed that someone on the team or on the sidelines would retrieve the ball depending on where it was. So you had no worries of being judged. But all those thoughts vanished as Atsumu frowns at you.

And without even knowing the reason why he did so, you frown right back. It isn’t a big deal, but you decide that you would get over with Osamu’s twin brother right now. But then he smirks, averting his hazel eyes from you.

Out of the corner of your eye, a boy with weird dark hair turns away, clicking away on his phone.

“So what’s the deal with my brother?” Osamu asks as he leads you to the principal’s office at 7:20.

“Oh, nothing, just that he’s kinda rude?? And he doesn’t even know me! So why does he act like I’m his enemy? Wait- sorry I didn’t mean-”

“I agree.”

“HUh?” You looked at him, slightly amazed. “Oh yeah. You fight all the time.” No surprise there. “Welp, let’s see if we have any classes together in my new schedule”

Two minutes later~

“crot this” you mutter under your breath. “What am I supposed if I only have one class with you? If someone bullies me, I won’t make it out alive!!” you complained, voice lowering by the second as students nearby shoot looks at you. You could only imagine what they were thinking that had something to do with the new student, you.

“You’re exaggerating. It’s okay though, you have a class with Kita and two with Atsumu”

“oH okay, so you’re saying I have to put up with him??”

“Ignore him” He shrugs, indifferent about your so-called situation.

“Okay....”

The first part of the day went by fine. Except for some skeptical and often rude looks thrown in your direction, the teachers seemed kind and schoolwork was a breeze.

Holding the lunch Osamu prepared for you in a paper bag, you walk tentatively toward an empty table when you hear a voice behind you.

“Why don’t you come eat with us?”

You don’t need to turn around because Osamu’s already walking next to you.

“Maybe the others won’t feel comfortable? After all, I’m a stranger who randomly appeared in their school gym to watch them just practice?? Sounds suspicious, even to me. By the way, why did you lend me a room in your apartment? I bet others wouldn’t have, out of fear that they’ll be murdered or whatever”

Osamu stays silent for quite a while, and you two are nearing the volleyball team’s lunch table. You’re wondering whether you should apologize, but he says coolly, “That’s a good question. Although this might not make any sense, I invited you to stay because from the moment I saw you, a small voice in my mind said to help you” He shrugs. “It actually happened, believe it or not. How things have gotten weird these days”

Your mind’s racing for the nineteenth time today as you sit on a metal chair between Osamu and the dark-haired boy, Suna.

You don’t realize that you’re staring blankly into space until Osamu snaps his fingers in your face and says “Aren’t you going to eat your lunch?”

You shake your head to clear up your thoughts. “Yeah. Right.”

You pull out a recyclable container from the lunch bag, fumbling with the lid holds.

It was then all hell broke loose. 

And everything from here seemed like a movie on 2x speed.

You accidentally knocked down Osamu’s thermos/bottle, which was still open, and coffee spilled all over his lap and the floor.

You desperately grabbed some napkins and tried to clean up the mess while students from the other tables were bending over backwards to memorize this scene well, because it’s not every day someone spills water over someone’s lap and there’s chaos brewing in a normal high school. 

Suna was capturing the whole thing on camera, and Atsumu- well, Atsumu he actually was trying to help. 

But of course, that went wrong, because he somehow slipped on the floor drenched with water and landed flat on his back. 

Then a bunch of girls ran over one another to help him, and a teacher nearby rushed over to smooth things out. 

You figured that everything would be fine, because after all, it was a small accident, but some idiot decided it would be funny to throw his burger right in your face. See where I’m going with this? People shouldn’t follow this action, except: monkey see, monkey do. And humans are connected to monkeys, apes, whatever. So, just like in a cheesy cliche movie clip, a food fight commenced.

Fast forward a couple more minutes after lunch ends…

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You’re seated in the principal’s office on a firm wooden chair next to Osamu, half-listening to the principal’s lecture.

“First day of school and...blah blah... due to inappropriate blah blah, you are suspended-”

The moment your brain heard and processed the word “suspended” your defense mode activated and you started to protest about how it wasn’t your fault and people shouldn’t suppose that you’re a troublemaker just because it’s your first day of school here

The principal sighs. “I understand, but since we don’t have a janitor, you and the other kid-” he nods at Osamu “- will kindly clean up the mess.”

You sink in the chair, your hopes deflating by the second. “Okay.” A second later, Osamu nods in acquiesce. It would be a hard day tomorrow.

The principal seems to read your mind because he adds, “Oh- and you two start today.”

reblogs are always appreciated! thank you for reading :)

#haikyuu #hq!! #osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fanfiction #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n

[liannyeong]

Crimson (Chapter 5)

Summary: Yujin attempts to escape the mansion.

Word count: 3272

Pairing: Jaebeom X OC

Warning(s): None

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

A/N: An even longer chapter now... Whoops. As always, you can show your support by buying me a coffee! Follow me on Twitter for updates ~ See you next week!

No, Yujin tells herself, there is no way I will stay here any longer.

Sure, Jaebeom has informed her all the details regarding the wedding. But can she fully believe his words? What if there’s other things she doesn’t know? What if they're hiding something from her? What if everything Jaebeom said is a huge lie?

Yujin supposes those things can be pardoned, except for one: the fae oath. The fae oath that requires her life as a guarantee. Performing a fae oath will put her life at a cost. Her life will always be at risk. Furthermore, the fae oath will have her tied down to Jaebeom for eternity. There is no way she wants that.

There is no time to waste. She has to act soon.

When night falls, Yujin lays in bed and waits. She keeps herself very still, as if afraid that the slightest creak of her bed will be amplified down the halls. She remains attentive, ears open for any single sound.

An owl hoots and that's the signal for her to move. Everyone would be fast asleep by now. Yujin tiptoes to the balcony and climbs over the railing. She makes her way down the walls with bare hands, careful with each step so as to not get her limbs tangled with the vines. She’s thankful to be given the room on the second floor, so it wasn't a tiring descent. She’s even more grateful to be at the most secluded room, for no one would be able to spot her at all. She lands safely on her feet, muffled, then sneaks her way out of the mansion grounds.

The moment her feet step into the forest, Yujin speeds off. She goes as far as her legs could carry her, as much as her lungs could take. There is no way she will stay in the mansion forever. There is no way she will live her life as someone else's bride. Even though she can barely see a thing, she heads straight ahead. She nearly stumbles over, almost tripping on her own dress. So she forcefully tears the skirt from her knees down. It’ll be much easier to run like this.

Yujin continues pushing on, not once looking back. Adrenaline pumps through her veins, her steps not faltering. She desperately hopes that she'll emerge out of the forest, into the familiar town. Perhaps by some miracle, there'll be a traveller at this hour, from whom she can get a ride to her own home.

But suddenly, Yujin is knocked backwards, her whole body falling onto the bed of moss and fallen leaves. She groans in pain.

"Going somewhere?" asks a familiar voice, low and deep. Yujin freezes in shock. How did he know? The male fae looms over her, his glowing eyes a contrast to the pitch black forest. It sends shivers down her spine. His eyes trail down her body, as if she's a prey.

Yujin swallows a lump in her throat, mouth feeling dry. Maybe it's because of all that running. Or maybe, she's just scared of her wits. She sees the fae coming closer, then crouching before her. She can’t see what he’s doing, but she hears the rustling of a fabric in the dark.

"I--" Yujin's mind is reeling. She needs to think of something. And quick. "I just--"

She feels a cool material draped over her lap. What?

“Your skirt is torn,” Jaebeom simply states. “It’s not befitting for my betrothed to wear tattered clothes.”

“I-- I’m sorry I--” Yujin stumbles on her words.

"Where were you going?" Jaebeom asks straightforwardly, eyes looking straight into hers.

“I was--” An idea strikes in her mind. Almost immediately, Yujin forces tears in her eyes, letting her shoulders slump. "I just miss my old house. I wanted to go back for a while and come back..."

The Fire fae hums. His eyes are gentle now, and she’s certain he believed her words. "You could have told me."

"I didn't want to trouble you... You were already busy with the wedding and I just-- It just doesn't seem right of me to burden you with my trivial request..."

The Fire fae brushes a knuckle against Yujin's cheek. He uses his thumb to wipe off the tears that rolled down her face. She can’t see, but she’s sure that he’s wearing a warm smile on his lips.

"Nothing you ask will ever be a burden to me," he mutters softly, like a promise that is to be shared between just the two of them. Then, he slips his arms beneath her body -- one below her knees, another around her shoulders -- before lifting her up easily. Yujin herself is surprised by how her body snugly fits in his hold, how close she is to his sturdy chest. She can smell his scent more strongly in this position and something about it has an effect on her. Her breathing easily evens out, she realizes.

"I told you before and I will tell you again, Yujin. Anything you ever need, I'll make sure it's taken care of," he gently reminds. He holds her closer and leans his head towards hers.

"Hold tight. I'll take you there," he whispers to her ear.

There's a whirring sound all around her and the next thing Yujin knows, the forest just spirals away. It happens in a matter of seconds -- or even less than that -- because in a blink of an eye, they’re standing in her old room.

Emotions hit her all at once. This place is the only familiarity she has. It's the only place she can truly be herself, the only place she truly belongs. How long has she been away, that she feels like this? Just a few days ago, she was all alone in this house, minding her own things, until a certain fae appeared in front of her.

"Could you... leave me for a moment?" Yujin croaks, a lump in her throat, a few moments after Jaebeom sets her down. She keeps her back on him, avoiding any eye contact.

"Sure," he replies. "Take your time. I'll wait."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the fae leaving her room, then a click of the door. Yujin exhales deeply, trying to relax herself. She hadn't expected to feel so many things when she stepped in here. She thought there wouldn't be any difference. Looking around, the room has collected dust in her absence. The windows were left open, her bed unmade.

What can she do now? Her attempt to escape the mansion is now foiled. She will have to return to the mansion with Jaebeom. Is there truly nothing she can do? Will she be able to change her fate?

Yujin's eyes land on her wardrobe. The dagger!, her mind recalls. She can retrieve the silver dagger without Jaebeom knowing anything about it!

Hastily, she pulls open the wardrobe doors and searches for the weapon. It's hidden beneath piles of clothes that she rarely wears. It's still wrapped in leather, and Yujin unsheathes it a little just to take a peek that she's gotten the right object.

Wait, there’s only the two of us in this house, her mind whispers. Realization dawns on her. She can just end it right here, right now!

A silver dagger to the heart will kill a fae instantly, was what her father told her. Yujin will just need to aim for Jaebeom’s chest! But how will she do it without him knowing? Can she creep behind him and stab him? She’s not even sure.

Whenever the opportunity arises, she decides. So Yujin ties the dagger around her right thigh with a loose fabric that she found laying around. Albeit torn, her skirt has just enough length to hide the weapon.

Yujin grabs a bag from her drawer and stuffs her favorite dresses for good measure. She then pads to the dressing table and grabs a hair clip that her father gifted her, just to remember him. A silver pendant at the corner catches her attention. She clicks it open and there, staring back at her, are her parents. Her mother was a beautiful woman -- her hair is long and wavy, her smile is warm and gentle. Sadly, Yujin only knows her mother through her father's stories. In the photograph too, her father has his arm wrapped around her shoulder, his lips curled into the widest smile. Yujin doesn’t remember a time when he wore such an expression in front of her.

Deciding that she has all that she needs, Yujin exits the room. She spots Jaebeom at the dining table below, seemingly staring into space. She moves quietly, eyes not once looking away from the fae. He doesn't even react when Yujin reaches the bottom of the stairs.

Perhaps this is a good chance! Her mind supplies.

She creeps closer, and very carefully, Yujin slips her hand to her thigh. She curls her fingers around the grip of the dagger, ready to unsheath it. She holds her breath when she’s a few steps away, slowly sliding the weapon out--

The wooden floor creaks, snapping Jaebeom from his reverie. He turns, and Yujin quickly lets go of the dagger, letting her hand drop by her side.

“Hey,” she says, forcing a smile, pretending as if she didn’t just try to kill him. "I hope you don't mind me bringing back some of my things to the mansion.” She holds up her bag.

"You can bring whatever you wish," Jaebeom assures. "Are you ready?"

Yujin nods. She notices how the male fae takes one last glance at the dining table and the living room just ahead. Weird, she thinks. Why does he seem oddly nostalgic of this place?

"Let's go back." The Fire fae winds an arm around Yujin's waist. She hopes he doesn’t feel the dagger pressing against his leg. This time, she can see the black smoke surrounding them in a circle. The loud noise can be heard in her ears again, then the whirling sensation as they disappear from the house before reappearing in front of her room door.

Yujin tries to break apart from Jaebeom, but the male pulls her into a hug, much to her surprise. She can't explain it but his touch feels nice, her own body relaxing against his. For some reason though, she has an inkling that Jaebeom needed some form of comfort himself. He buries his face into the crook of her neck and inhales deeply. She wonders if something happened to him...

The fae finally pulls away, but he places his hand on her face. He rubs the pad of his thumb against her cheek, eyes full of fondness.

"Don't hesitate to ask me for anything next time, alright?" he reminds. His hand goes to cup the back of her head and he leans forward. Yujin shuts her eyes tight, afraid that he will do something to her--

Then, she feels something bumping her forehead gently. Taking a peek, Yujin sees Jaebeom upclose, nearly in a cross-eyed fashion, his own eyes closed. He has their forehead pressed together. His eyes flutter open, and the red glow of it is especially mesmerizing this time, as he whispers, "Good night."

He lets go and gestures for the female to go in. Yujin nods at him, rather blanking out, before stepping into her room. The door clicks shut behind her and only then did she let out a sigh of relief. She dumps her bag onto the floor at the foot of the bed before throwing herself onto the soft mattress.

Why does her heart feel unsettled, she doesn't understand. All she can think about is the warmth of Jaebeom's body against hers, his deep voice, and his red eyes. Burying her head beneath her pillows, she tries to shake it off but her mind is plagued with thoughts of the Fire fae. It's the only thing she thinks of, even as she goes to sleep.

---

Three days before the wedding, Yujin starts feeling anxious, pacing back and forth in her room. How will she now escape this place? She can’t seem to think of any other way, apart from using the dagger. Even so, how will she use it? When will be the right moment to attack him?

Well, it’s not as if she can do it now anyway. She hasn’t seen the fae around since that night. It’s been a week, and she doesn’t even know where he’s gone off to. Jinyoung was the one who came to her and explained rather ambiguously that Jaebeom is occupied with matters pertaining to the wedding. Deep down, though, Yujin suspects that it's a lie.

“Why won’t he let me help out with the wedding if he’s that busy?” Yujin argues, sorting a new collection of books into the empty bookshelves. Who would have thought that such a huge library still has room for more books? She swears that it was all filled when she browsed down the aisles a few days ago.

Jinyoung looks at her with an amused expression. A tentacle made of water is holding up a volume of books behind him, having been conjured by the Water fae himself. He grabs one of the books and slots them into the bookshelf. “Why, do you miss his presence so much?”

She flounders, taken aback. “I’m definitely not--!”

Her reaction has Jinyoung laughing out loud, the skin around his eyes crinkling. For some reason, an image of a cute rabbit crosses her mind. No, he’s definitely not a cute rabbit.

Over the course of a week, they’ve gotten familiar with each other to have a friendly banter. While Jaebeom always exudes a kind of tensed aura, Jinyoung is more relaxed. It’s probably because the other fae has a wedding to worry about, Yujin muses. Nevertheless, there’s something about Jinyoung that makes him seem dependable. Trustworthy even.

Now, now, Yujin, she reminds herself, let’s not get swayed.

“Jaebeom wishes to make it easy for you,” the fae says afterwards, when he’s done laughing. “He wants you to enjoy your time here as much as possible.”

Yujin scoffs. “Yeah, sure. What can I even do here apart from reading all these books?”

If not for Yujin’s insistence and Jaebeom’s absence, Jinyoung wouldn’t have let her help with the books. If Jaebeom finds out, Yujin is certain Jinyoung might not even see the light of day.

“You must know that Jaebeom has gotten these new ones for you.”

She groans. “Yeah, I read all day every day, nothing else,” her words full of sarcasm, earning a chuckle from the Water fae.

“He cares for you. I have never seen him like this before,” Jinyoung says. “All of us joked that his heart is made of iron. But ever since you came here, he’s all… soft. It’s nice, to be honest.”

Yujin keeps herself mum, feeling rather uncomfortable. Something about it doesn’t sit well with her.

“Say, Jinyoung,” she calls, trying to divert the topic, “how are you and Jaebeom related?”

Jinyoung is not fazed. If he notices her intention, he doesn’t mention it. He continues to arrange the books as he answers, “We share the same father, making us half-brothers. My parents had an arranged marriage, but he married Jaebeom’s mother in secret.”

“Then your eyes--?”

“My parents were Water faes, but Jaebeom’s mother was a Fire fae.” Seeing Yujin’s frown, the fae explains, “That makes him a halfling, though he dislikes being called that.”

“Is it bad being a halfling?”

Jinyoung purses his lips. He turns his body fully to face Yujin, stopping his work. “The strength of a fae depends on the purity of their blood. The purer the blood, the stronger the fae. In Jaebeom’s case, his powers are diminished because he has both Fire and Water blood in him. While other Fire faes can manipulate and project great flames, Jaebeom can’t. He can only control small fires like candles, nothing more.”

Yujin has only seen Jaebeom toying with the candles and the fireplace. She must admit, she did think that was cool. If that is not a fae’s fullest capability, she can’t imagine how powerful a pure-blooded fae would be.

“Because of this, faes see halflings as crippled, weak and a disgrace,” Jinyoung goes on further, letting out a sigh afterwards. He murmurs, “Coupled with the fact that our father was a royal fae...”

Yujin heard that sentence loud and clear. “What?”

“Our father was the advisor to the King of the Water court. We used to live in the palace together, though Jaebeom was hidden away from the eyes of the faefolk. When word got out that our father has a halfling son…” Jinyoung shakes his head, eyes downcast. “Faefolks labelled my father as a traitor to the Water court. They wanted him to pay the price of betrayal for tainting the purity of the Water court. They wanted him out, wanted him dead. In his effort to protect Jaebeom and his mother, my father sent them here, to this forest, to this mansion. Here is definitely far from the Water court and far from any faefolk because it’s in close proximity to the humans.”

“What happened afterwards?”

“Well, my father was sentenced to death,” Jinyoung answers. “Thankfully, my mother and I are still welcomed in the Water court. It was difficult to regain the trust of the faefolk, but Jaebeom has it worse. He is completely ostracized, unwelcomed everywhere, including the Fire court. It was a difficult time for him too. Shortly after our father’s death, his mother died. In a sense, he lost everything all at once.”

“At least he still has you by his side,” Yujin says, sympathetic.

Jinyoung smiles ruefully. “Still, I have to keep my bond with him a secret. If any other fae finds out, we’d be doomed for.”

Yujin and Jinyoung have settled on the floor, talking about Jaebeom and Jinyoung’s family history, stacks of books long forgotten. The Water fae has his knees to his chest, arms hugging it close. He looks like a child who needs to be consoled.

“Jaebeom is the only friend I have. My only brother,” he says with fond eyes. “I’m not like other faes who love a fight. I’m rather diplomatic, you see. When he was sent away, I wanted to follow him. I wanted to go wherever he went. But he stopped me. He didn’t want me to live like an outcast when I am a pure blood. I used to visit him occasionally, but with the wedding coming up, I end up staying here more often than usual. But truly, I’m more than happy to be part of it.”

After listening to Jinyoung, Yujin feels a turmoil starting in her. Their past -- especially Jaebeom’s -- is unexpectedly tragic. To think Jaebeom had gone through all those horrible things… Yujin can’t help but feel pitiful towards him.

“I understand if this all comes as a shock to you,” Jinyoung speaks again, shooting a small smile. “Jaebeom doesn’t like talking about his past, but I thought you should know. Maybe it’ll help you understand him better.”

“On a good note, Jaebeom is more tolerant towards other elemental faes, as compared to any other fae. That is why you see other faes in this house like Chan. He even employed Bam, a Water fae, as his couturier! They see him as family, as someone they can depend on and look up to.”

“So don’t you worry,” Jinyoung suddenly assures, “Jaebeom will take care of you well. I attest to it.”

#got7 #got7 scenarios #jaebum #got7 jaebum scenarios #got7 jaebum #got7 im jaebum #got7 im jaebum scenarios #got7 im jaebeom #got7 im jaebeom scenarios #got7 writing #got7 fanfic #lim jaebeom #got7 lim jaebeom

[phoenix-manga]

[DCA Event] - Six Queens Event Part 5

Warning: Dark Jokes

[Howard - All you wanna do] 

It was Cerule’s turn, the ghost sends a promiscuous feeling thorugh her soul. They expected Cerule to be like Briar, vulnerable to being possessed completely not because of a relation in their situation, but more like Cerule is a bit impulsive at times. But surprisingly she was just as strong willed as Vidya, it could be perhaps because of her family’s hereditary power.

Using her voice, the ghost is blocked by the magic that her voice possesses. She gets into center stage as her eyes glowed a bright pink. She gets her act on stage and the audience thought this was just the sexy type character. But they won’t realize that this act was the darkest part of the play.

Cerule starts to ‘roast’ the queens as they tell her that she can’t compete with them in terms of having the worst life. The crowd chuckles at her sarcasm, Jade and Rook were invested in this act and with how she carries herself with such confidence. They stan a queen who knows how attractive they are and doesn’t regret flaunting it.

Cerule: Yeah… yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna need all the luck I can get, your lives sounded terrible and your songs… really helped to convey that.  I mean, Catherine, almost moving into a nunnery and then not? It almost could’ve been really hard for you.  And Anne! Anne, getting your head chopped off? Surely, that means you’ll win the competition— oh, wait, wait, hang on a sec. Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded… oh, wait, nevermind.  Audience:

And Jane, dying of natural causes? When will justice be served?! And surviving…  Audience: *Laughs as she skips Rozeline* Seriously, seriously, Anna, all jokes aside, being rejected for your looks legit sounds really rough. I wouldn’t know anything about that.  Audience: 

Cerule: I mean look at me, I’m really fit. So yeah. I can’t even begin to think of how I’m going to compete with you all. Oh wait, like this... 

She snaps her fingers as the lights flash pink and the song starts. Cerule had been practicing on using her voice for the act, since there was a lot of times she’s lost control over it. The harsh vocal training with Professor Faustus was worth it, she uses her voice to make the audience feel the wave of sensual excitement, but for only a small portion, it was enough to get them to focus on her. 

Crowley feels the need to tell her that she shouldn’t be dancing so sensually, but Divus just pulls on his shirt collar again and reminds him that it’s a play, chill out or he’ll be tempted to tighten his tie. (Poor Crowley, his view on the perfectly well-behaved students are being dragged through the gutter, for real though... chill Bird Dad let the Serpent King do the scolding XD)

Jack was now praying to whatever Gods who might be listening to not have Idia kill him as Ortho sits there still with a curious expression. Like the majority of the audience, he can feel his cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

Others who are affected are Epel who is red as Riddle who happens to be clutching Trey’s sleeve as the third year was covering his mouth with his hand, Ace is affected too but he’s focused on laughing at Deuce who is covering his eyes with his hands whenever Cerule coincidentally makes eye contact in his spot of the crowd. Cater was just vibing with the music, typical playboy not affected.

Azul is blushing too but he is struggling to NOT look away because he can feel Jade glance at him from time to time. Floyd was just enjoying the music, go figure. For Azul, if he looks away that would mean that the twins would NEVER shut up about this incident for weeks! He’s having a battle, internally with himself and the twins. Cerule’s dancing just makes it worse because it looked so damn convincing! Not to mention the way she sang the song! OCTOBOY IS REACHING PUBERTY XD

Cerule: All you wanna do, all you wanna do baby~ Touch me, love me can’t get enoughsies~ Azul:

But when she reached the climax of her song the feeling of excitement faded as she her expression morphs from playful to a near meltdown, her dancing stops as she shakes off the hands of the queens when they make contact on her body. The crowd goes silent as the feeling of dread and pity washes over them like a raging wave.

Vil, let’s just say that he can find things that he can relate to being fairest. He may or may not have felt like this when he was pursuing his path of reaching ultimate beauty. He applauds Cerule’s acting, it looked so convincing, as if he was seeing the actual young queen go through the trauma of being used by the men in her life.

Cerule: Touch me when will enough BE ENOUGHSIES?! Audience: *silently realizing the real situation*

When the song was over, she could barely feel the possession fading since it was mostly blocked by the magic of her voice. At the end of the song, people were clapping loudly but there was little cheering. 

Not because they didn’t like the act but because it took such a dark turn. But they admire the acting because some were in tears, we now know whose been in that situation before.

[Queens Fight]

Cerule lightens the atmosphere by explaining that’s how she was beheaded. This was the part where the queens would start to argue.

It starts when Cerule claims that she is the winner because she’s had it way worse. But the others seem to disagree with that.

Briar comes up to Cerule and states that she may have had it bad but it wasn’t the worst they have heard this evening.

Cerule retorts back by stating that she had sung four choruses, that’s the amount of SH*T she has had to deal with.

Allison speaks up by saying how the situation was similar to hers so she ain’t the only one who has experienced that.

Allison:  Wow, yeah, being manipulated by men and paying the price, none of us could possibly imagine what that— oh wait, yeah, I did experience that. Evonie: Yeah, for like that last five minutes of your marriage, Anne! Men had manipulated me from day one. I was literally shipped over from a foreign country, not knowing a single word of English, to marry some random dude. Vidya: Oh my god, same! Audience: *laughs*

Evonie tries to argue again about how the king didn’t even say goodbye but was cut off when Allison and Cerule said that they’ve been there too except she got to keep her lovely neck. The two high five while giving Evonie the stink eye.

And her last statement about the king not allowing her to see her only child who had the chickenpox, which sets Briar off. And the outburst shocks everyone, the motherly queen lashing out in anger.

Evonie: when my one and only child had a raging fever, Henry didn’t even let me, her MOTHER see her- Briar: OH BOOHOO! Baby Mary had the chickenpox and you weren’t there to hold her hand! You know, it’s funny because when I wanted to hold my newborn son, I died!

Malleus: *Was just accepting it at face value and has no energy left to be shook anymore*

The entire room was silent as they gawked at Briar’s outburst.

Vidya buts in by yelling how she has the plague and the queens all turn to her, concern written on their faces.

Vidya: Guys I have the plague! Queens: What?! Vidya: Lol I’m just kidding my life’s amazing~

At the sight of a smug queen with the other five giving her a displeased look, the crowd erupts into laughter.

Kalim is laughing while he’s clinging to Jamil, Ace was choking on his spit and is trying not to laugh because he is going to lose more oxygen. Floyd is cackling because he would probably do this joke too if he had the money to back it up. Azul is scowling a bit because, let’s face it he had a bad life at childhood.

Although Vidya adds that she was humiliated on an international scale but Allison sarcastically asks who could possibly relate but Evonie snaps at her at what would she know about humiliation. This was the moment that sh*t went down.

Evonie: You seriously wanna talk about humiliation?! Well, when I was queen... Henry had not one, not two but three historically confirmed mistresses! Allison: Oh no, mistresses.. GET OVER IT! When I was queen I had not one, not two, but THREE... M I S C A R R I A G E S!

*Record Scratch*

Vil, Divus, Cater, Rook, Jade and Lilia:

Riddle, Azul, Jack, Sebek and Malleus:

Ace, Deuce, Epel, Ortho, Floyd and Silver:

Crowley:

The audience went apesh*t at that and it got crazier when Evonie one-upped her by yelling how she had five miscarriages. And the five queens started going at each other’s throats and yelling.

Rozeline stopped the fighting by yelling, “That’s ENOUGH!”

[Extra]

Rozeline yelled so loud that it shocked the five queens. To the audience it was just acting but for Rozeline this was going out of control. She could feel the ghosts nearly take over the dorm leaders as they argued. Their eyes glowing brighter and even Vidya and Cerule who had really strong wills to resist were being crumbled down almost becoming vulnerable themselves.

That was a close call for sure, but Rozeline thought back to the moment they got possessed. She had a song prepared about the life of the sixth queen but looking back at it, what was the point of making their pain known? She sympathized with the queens because they were in the same position as her, they felt powerless against the man who held the power to take away their lives. But should she just end the show with their suffering?

What about the happy ending? She wanted them to be recognized but would she want them to be recognized like this?

The six wives of Henry VIII who suffered in his hands? 

That was what they were, just HIS wives. Nothing has changed and Rozeline was not about to settle for this!

They’ve had enough suffering, she regrets not seeing this sooner but she’ll make the ending count. Hopefully the girls wouldn’t mind if she went off script for just a bit, right? Time for a histo-rewrite to ensure the legacy of the Six!

She just needs the ghosts to realize that they are so much more than just their history with the king.

#phnx #dca #diamond crown academy #dca events #six queens event #six #twst oc #twst #twisted wonderland oc #dca headcanon #headcanons

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter four

Merry Christmas Eve! This chapter took an unfortunate amount of time cause of shopping for my little siblings but I finally had the night away from anything to do and was finally able to punch something out. Hope y’all have a lovely, safe Christmas! The next chapter is already written so that’ll be coming soon!

cw - religious content

Gil tries to contain his unease as the lock to the cell echoes in the halls. The pit in his stomach only seemed to grow as he makes eye contact with no other than Martin Whitly himself.

He made Malcolm the promise that he would find Jess, he intended to keep it. No matter the price. They’re nearing the 48 hour mark, only 5 hours away. Malcolm only grows more frantic, analyzing every small detail, Ainsley grows more agitated at her lack of freedom to roam at her own risk. 

Their limited resources are growing thin and the media is chomping at their heels for answers to the two bodies dropped in the park. Since a “letter from the killers” was dropped on the media’s doorstep, the questions of “The Needle’s Eye” haunts his every move. Colette herself collected the letter, but even with their top analysts on the case they’re not sure. Nevertheless every piece of news imaginable had attached to the name and rolled with it. Every print, every broadcast, it’s eating at him.

In other words, he’s desperate.

“Gil!” Martin’s face cracks into an almost jovial smile. One that he witnessed firsthand the vicious nature behind. “I have to say when Mr. David said I had a visitor I wasn’t expecting you. My children haven’t gotten themselves into trouble again have they? Can’t seem to get a hold of anyone these days.” Gil bites his tongue waiting until he exhausts himself. “Where is my boy? Not keeping him from me I hope? Didn’t turn out too good the last time, hm?”

“Dr. Whitly-”

“And I haven’t seen Ainsley on broadcast in two days! I was so happy when they let her back from her sick leave,” he speaks out the side of his mouth with a sly wink. As if they’re sharing some fucking gossip over brunch. “They aren’t questioning that decision are they? Because I can still pull some strings if need be, I mean she was made for broadcasting.”

Gil clears his throat and that seems to catch his attention long enough to get off of the topic, “I’m assuming you’ve heard of the needle’s eye?”

“Oh yes, tragic. Point for creativity though” For a moment, he’s not sure whether Martin means the name or the act itself. The thought tastes like venom in his mouth.

“And you’ve heard that they’ve moved their hunting ground to New York?”

He nods but Gil can see the shift as he begins connecting the dots. He straightens taking exactly three steps closer. Any fake smile or sympathy is gone in the split of a second. “Where are my children?” He asks again, this time the question feels more like a threat. It’s almost accustory the way he bares his teeth. Still he doesn’t waver.

“Malcolm and Ainsley are at the precinct. They’re under strict watch until we catch the men responsible.” Martin relaxes, nodding. “I’m here about Jessica.”

“She didn’t fuck him too, did she?” He barks out a laugh. He runs his tongue across his top teeth with a huff. The comment is a dig and it takes all of his power not to turn it right back at the smirking man.

“Two days ago we found her car at the scene of a wreck. Her driver Alphonso died on impact and we found evidence that she was taken by two men pretending to be paramedics.” Gil delivers the case with the most professional tone he can muster with the anger building in his chest. “The license on the car that caused the wreck matched ones connected to the FBI’s case against the killers.”

He’s not sure exactly what he expected but the laughter booming from deep within startles him. The sound bounces off the walls mocking him to his core. It screams with pointed accusations, his failures to protect her yet again dig in with pointed teeth.

He’s slamming Martin against the wall before his brain catches up to his actions. Anger clenches his jaw, wanting nothing more than to pull every damn answer out of him. The sound stopped with the movement, replaced with a taunting grin that doesn’t make it to his eyes. Martin leans his head back against the concrete looking down upon him. 

He played exactly into what Martin wanted.

He lets go before Mr. David can even open the door, retreating back behind the line in defeat.

He won’t help Gil, even with Jessica in harm’s way. The mere thought brings back to bloody, impulsive rage yet again but he tampers it this time. A lump forms in his throat at the thought of her somewhere; hurt, alone, terrified.

He thinks of Malcolm, eyes hollow with misplaced guilt. Driving himself into the ground until it’s too late. He thinks of Ainsley who would burn the city to the ground to find Jess if she could. He remembers his promise to them. No matter the price.

Gil turns back to Martin, who’s still grinning at him like the devil himself. “Malcolm and Ainsley need you.” He bites his cheek so hard that he can taste the blood in his mouth. It’s better than tasting his own words.

Martin’s jaw drops, for the first time he believes The Surgeon is speechless. He gapes, trying to collect his thoughts a few more times. “The Needle’s Eye, possible religious background. I believe the phrase goes: it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. Now, I think that a little harsh but that’s beside the point.” 

“And the other bodies?”

“No doubt connected to the killers, don’t let the ol’ switcheroo fool you. These men believe the rich to be the epitome of sin. Greed, lust, gluttony the whole nine yards. He’s proving a point. Making them choose who lives or dies. Them, or a perfectly innocent stranger.” 

“They’re partners.”

“Clearly there’s a dominant. The one who enacts the brutal killings, and the one who disposes of the victims. The dominant wouldn’t show remorse for the innocents, they’re simply the sacrifice of his mission.” He curses internally because it makes sense. “But there’s a twist. If they choose to live, they die a brutal death. If they sacrifice themselves, the stranger dies. Judging by the news. Jessie’s making the wrong choice.”

“So she’s alive.”

“At least until she changes her answer.” Gil tries to swallow but his throat feels like the desert. Two bodies, who knows if the killer has found a third victim to capture. It’s only a matter of time before Jess makes the connection to the answer the killer wants, at the cost of her life.

The clicking lock draws both of their attention. Mr. David hovers there with a stern look on his face. “You’re needed at the precinct.”

“What happened?”

“Malcolm just punched a journalist.”

“Oh, good for him.” Martin grins. “Don’t tell Ainsley, but a lot of them can be so pushy.” 

He grits his teeth following Mr. David out of the door. This will not help Bright’s case with Colette. She already struggled letting him in on the case in the first place and it’ll be a struggle keeping it that way. He ignores the calls of Martin as he walks down the hall.

“Do visit again Gil! It was lovely talking with you!”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The flooding of sudden light makes Jessica wince, hand instinctively trying to shield herself. After god knows how long in relative darkness the brightness stings her eyes. She squints watching a figure in black stumble into view.

“This is all your fucking fault.” Her heart dips as her eyes adjust. His knuckles are bloody and his footprints he leaves are crimson. The thought sinks in all at once. The partner, the one who had just been pleading and arguing with the man about killing innocents. The one who was young and stupid and impressionable was likely dead at the hands of this evil man. “If you weren’t such a stupid bitch!” 

The backhand across her face stings but the aftermath gives her the opportunity to truly see her captor, even through the mask. Her stomach does a flip as she realizes in horror that she’s all too familiar with the black uniform. One she’s had the misfortune of seeing too many times for her liking over the years. One that matches Gil’s long before he was a Lieutenant. The badges and markers are covered or removed but she recognizes it regardless.

The glint of silver catches her gaze next, the knife is clutched in the man’s hand with a death like grip. She wonders briefly if he actually intends to kill her this time. “You’ve fucked up everything.” He spits before bending over to be on her level. “So I’m going to have to improvise.” With his face this close she can smell the cheap vodka on his breath. He grips her chin between two fingers forcing her eyes to meet his. “I’ll just have to get one of your kids. Maybe they’ll make the right choice. Dear mommy or a poor stranger.”

Whatever energy she still has flares in her with her protective instincts. She rears back and smashes her forehead into his nose before he can react. His drunkenness helps the clumsy instincts. The hit makes her head spin and her side ache with a new flare of pain that spreads all the way across her chest. 

It’s almost worth it to see him bleeding.

He yells both in pain and in anger, raising the knife high in the air. She braces for the kill, it would be worth it to spare her children the pain of that choice. One that they would no doubt in her mind, make to save her in a heartbeat. She closes her eyes.

She screams when the knife pierces her leg. She opens her eyes again to see it deeply embedded in her thigh and the man stumbling back away. The lights flick out again as the tears escape uncontrollably. The pain of it chokes her until she can’t help but weap. All of the energy that had taken over to protect her kids flooded out. 

Tipping her head back she let out a final scream. All of her frustration, anger, fears piled into one as she mentally berated whatever higher power was out there. Afterwards with her throat sore and head heavy, she allowed herself to be pulled into the welcoming darkness.

#gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #prodigal son #jessica whitly #gil arroyo #religious content cw #martin whitly #mr david acting like he aint seeing someone fight martin when he deserves it is my aesthetic ok #he didnt see nothing #fanfic #find your way (back to me) #find your way (back to me) chapter 4 #notgonnarememberthis fics #gilssica #why is the ship name so ugly #why have i tagged that before

[kayteewritessteve]

DT - Drunk Twitter 1/3

Description: One stupid drunken night leads to an uncomfortable week from hell. That only gets worse when you are forced to face the problems, that your drunken escapades caused, head on. Yeah, you are never going to drink ever again.

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 8,380 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Lots of curse words, awkward moments, and a slightly frustrated reader. Little angst here and there, but lots of stupid humour.

Requested: Nah, this just randomly popped into my head and I ran with it.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

You groan loudly as your hand flails out from under your duvet cocoon, blindly searching for the hellish contraption that currently insists on screaming at you. It is far too early for such an ungodly sound, and you are far too hungover for this shit right now.

Your hand finally makes contact with the screeching little asshole that is your alarm clock, causing a loud smash to echo through the room, just from the sheer force of your flailing limb alone. And then instantly your room falls back into silence once again. Though the constant ringing in your ears, both from the alarm and your hangover, makes that last fact slightly unknown to you in this moment.

You groan, grumbling incoherently as you pull your hand back into the warmth of the little blanket bundle that has now become your life. You plan to spend the rest of your days just hiding in this dark little cove, and then eventually one day dying here. Which from the aches and pains wreaking havoc on you currently, might be sooner, rather than later.

Why the hell did you drink so much?! Who let you polish off two bottles of wine last night?! Like, where the hell was your adult?! Clearly from this day forward you’d need someone to constantly make life choices for you, so that you never ended up in this position ever again.

You vow in this exact moment, that from this day on you will never ever drink again.

But then you remember your best friend's birthday is in 2 weeks, and you groan loudly. Okay, so you kinda have to drink for that, but mark your words now, that will be the very last time that you do!

Your phone buzzes on your bed beside you, lighting up the dark little fortress you’ve created around yourself. And whelp, looks like you never plugged it in last night. You’re honestly surprised it’s even still alive. You’d have to write a tweet to Apple about how their phone actually made it 24 hours on one charge. You’re sure that’s something they’d like to know about, as that was a highly uncommon thing to actually happen.

You reach over to grab your phone, picking it up and bringing it close to your face, before hissing at the brightness and yanking it away with such force you’re surprised you didn’t fling it across the room. You squint your eyes as you fumble to turn the brightness down, and once you successfully have you bring the screen back to you. Directly in front of your face so your blurry, dry eyes can actually read it.

And instantly you gasp loudly, your eyes watching as notification after notification pops up on your lock screen. Your twitter is blowing up right now and a cold sweat promptly rips through you. Because oh God, did you do it again?! Did you seriously post something while stupidly drunk again?!

Fuck. You groan, unlocking your phone quickly to check. Because for some ungodly reason, drunk you always insisted on posting the stupidest tweets. Normally you’d wake up the next morning, hungover and a little closer to death than the day before, and you’d open your twitter to find all the ridiculous shit you’d posted about, the previous night. Usually all of which only had maybe a retweet or two, a couple likes and usually at least one comment—thanks to your lovely best friend. Her comments normally consisting of both laughing at you and calling you out for being a crazy drunk tweeter. She just knew you and your quirks far too well. It was seriously a problem.

But this time, this time was clearly entirely different. However that was just an educated guess, due mainly to the hundreds of notifications that you now had, thanks to whatever your dumb drunk ass had posted, which had obviously blown up. And now you’d be lucky if you could sweep it under the rug like you’d always done in the past.

Oh God, please don’t let it be another praising tweet to some figure head or celebrity. That seemed to be your go to favourite thing to drunk-tweet. You had this weird need to cheer random strangers up when you were drunk. This insistent desire to support and appreciate the people you idolized. Oh please God say you didn’t tag the person the tweet was about this time.

Your shaky thumb clicks the iconic blue and white, Twitter app icon. Completely ignoring the ridiculous number in the little red circle on the icons top right corner, as you do. You haven’t even read the tweet yet and already you’re freaking the fuck out.

You quickly make your way to your profile and your eyes widen at the insanely large rant, that’s continued through multiple separate tweets, and is now sitting at the top of your page. Your eyes skim over them all, in order of posting, and you cringe, truly and utterly mortified now.

‘Do you ever just hear of someone in passing, or see them in the media, and have this instantaneous deep longing emotion within you. Not a longing in the sense of wanting them, but entirely due to hoping with everything inside you that they find their true happiness one day..’

‘..‪That they wake up in a few years and smile, like truly smile, because they are exactly where they wanted to be. Where they deserved to be. That they’d ended up with every desire they had yearned for. And I’m not talking about material objects. I’m talking life goals and accomplishments..’‬

‪‘..I’m talking about the true important aspects of life. The things that actually matter in the grand scheme of it all. Well, that is how I feel whenever someone brings up Steve Rogers. Or whenever I see an article or a news story about him. I instantly have this desperate want for him..’‬

‪‘..to be happy. Truly and utterly happy. The man deserves exactly that, and yet so much more. What with everything he has done for us and this planet. If anyone in this world has earned their happily ever after, it’s that man.’ ‬

‪Oh God. You groan, as your free hand comes up to cover your face in sheer horror and embarrassment. I mean, at least the silver lining here is you didn’t make any major spelling mistakes, and you also luckily, completely forget to actually tag him in it. So those are both small victories, in and of themselves. ‬

‪But the fact parts of that rant had blown up, regardless of you actually tagging him, is a little disheartening. You’re pretty sure he’s either seen it or been informed about it by now. And even if by the off chance he hasn’t, you know it’s only a matter of time before that changes. ‬

‪You scroll through the notifications and you feel your heart stop, as all the blood leaves your body and goes—honestly who knows where it goes, but it definitely doesn’t stick around to be apart of this train wreck of a situation. You abruptly sit up, the blankets falling from your upper body and pooling around your waist now.

‪Tony Stark retweeted your post. ‬

‪5 little words that make you want to delete every social media account you currently have, plus move to ‬Lesotho or something. Never heard of Lesotho? Well, that’s exactly why you’d picked to move there. Because most people don’t really know it even exists, nor where to find it on a map. So it would be the perfect place to hide away, and start a new life under a fake name.

Yup, it’s settled. Pack your bags, we’re moving to Lesotho!

You don’t even have it in you to read Mr. Starks response back to your tweets, nor dig any further into your notifications to see who else may have retweeted this whole mess. God, what is wrong with yo—

Your phone ringing scares the complete shit out of you, damn near chucking the metal brick across your room, for the second time this morning if anyone is keeping tabs, as your heart thumps loudly in your chest. However, you manage to keep a firm grip on your phone, but just barely. Effectively saving the thing from an untimely death, thanks to being forcefully introduced to your bedrooms brick wall.

Though come to think of it, maybe smashing it would be the best option here?

You sigh deeply as you finally notice it’s your best friend calling, a groan leaving your throat as you then instantly realize that she is probably calling thanks to your stupid Drunk Twitter rant. You contemplate not answering for a second, you could pretend you’re still asleep. But you know she’ll just keep calling until you answer, or worse, she’ll just show up at your house and let herself in with her spare key. Then you won’t have the luxury of hanging up on her if her teasing gets to be too much.

So as you click the answer button and hesitantly raise the phone to your ear, you prepare yourself for your incoming humiliation. I mean, more so than your already currently experiencing. Which is both surprising and frustrating, because who knew you could ever be this mortified in real life? You certainly didn’t, but yet here you are.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Lindsey’s loud voice mixed with her unabashed laughter rings out of the phones speaker, it’s so loud that you instantly yanked the phone away from your ear. Your headache coming back tenfold as you groan loudly and message the side of your skull.

“Giiiiirl!!” She hollers now, and so lustrously that you can hear her perfectly, even with the phone still being nowhere near your ear. “What the hell were you drinking last night? And where can I get me some!”

You grumble out a, “you need to lower your voice or I’m hanging up on you.”

“Awe, is someone a little hungover today?” She coos in a motherly voice, though at a much quieter level now, at least enough to warrant putting the phone back to your ear once again. However her voice may be softer now, but the playful and teasing edge to her tone is as loud as a freaking bomb.

“More like dead,” you mumble falling back down to lay on your bed and slinging your free arm over your eyes. “Or at least I wish I was.”

Her gleeful cackle rings out of the phones speaker now. “Girl, don’t say that! I’d miss you too much, and you’re fucking famous now!”

You just groan, not even remotely interested in what she means by that.

“Oh, and why am I famous now, Lindsey?” She says in a mocking tone, clearly trying to impersonate you, but in your opinion not coming anywhere close. “It’s so wonderful you should ask Y/N! Probably because your tweets are all over the news stations, social media and the internet. Even most of the Avengers have already retweeted it, most notably Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson AND Bucky Barnes. Ya know, all of Steve Roger’s best friends. But yet, no one has commented on whether the recipient of your beautiful drunken words has actually seen it or not. Buuuuut we can all assume he probably has.”

“Can we just not do this today?” You roll onto your side, your free hand now pulling the duvet up and over your head again. “I am in far too much pain and far too humiliated to be having this conversation right now. Can we please, for the love of all things that are holy, talk about something else? Anything else, I beg you!”

“Hell no!” She exclaims, you wincing at the abrupt volume change. “My best friend is famous! And all because she drank too much wine and tweeted a ridiculously sweet rant about thee Captain America! Honestly, this. Is. Just. Too. Damn. Good.” She squeals, “you can’t even write better shit than this!”

“Lindsey,” you groan, “I am way too hungover and under caffeinated for this right now. Seriously, I’m going to hang up now and hopefully fucking die.”

“Fine, fine,” she relents but you can still hear the humour in her voice, “I promise I’ll drop it, for now. But get your sexy ass out of that bed and meet me in the kitchen STAT.”

“Uuugh,” you drag the sound out. “You’re freaking in my house right now, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she says gleefully. “But before you flip shit, don’t. I brought coffee and bagels, so be a good girl and get your ass out here or I’m going to eat all of it myself.”

You don’t even respond as you hang up the phone, she had you at ‘coffee’. You quickly flip the blankets off yourself and roll out of bed. Not even bothering to check yourself out in the mirror because honestly, Lindsey has seen you at your worst. So she is entirely used to this from you.

You trudge your way out to the kitchen, seeing your best friend pulling wrapped food from a brown bag and you groan again, but this time happily. Her eyes dart up to you and she gives you a once over, a small frown on her lips now.

“Oh boo thang, you look horrendous,” she says softly, sweetly, as you reach her, and she hands you the large to go cup of coffee. “Drink this. Then go jump in the shower, you stink like shame and poor life choices,” she scrunches up her nose playfully.

“I honestly don’t think a shower will remove those particular smells from my skin. I think that’s just my natural scent now,” you giggle as you take a deep waft of the glorious life juice’s warm aroma, a content sigh coming out on the exhale. You bring the drink to your lips and almost moan. Yes, you are this much of a coffee nut. You take a few generous gulps then stumble over to the counter stools and plop down. “But a shower does sounds like a good plan,” you nod, the cup staying close to your mouth for quick and easy access.

She hums in agreement, nodding as she hands you a wrapped up bagel. “So, should we talk about what caused you to want to get ‘Sappy Drunk Tweets’ wasted last night or?”

You sigh, “I just had a shit day at work. My boss was a raging asshole, yet again.” You shake your head, “but what’s new?”

“I can not stand that evil little man!” Your friend growls. “You seriously need to find a new job, Y/N. You can’t keep working for that piece of shit anymore. And I honestly don’t think your poor liver can take much more of these semi frequent beatings. Somethings gotta change.”

“I know, I know,” you nod, “I’ve been searching for something else, but there just isn’t many available jobs at the moment. But I’m hopeful I’ll find something soon.” You take another large gulp of the sweet, sweet liquid gold, feeling as the warmth radiates throughout your whole body, as your brain slowly begins to rejoin the land of the living.

It’s been a few days since your stupid drunken escapades on Twitter, and a few days since Lindsey visited. You both had enjoyed your coffee and bagels, talking about everything and nothing. Luckily she had kept the drunk tweet talk to a minimum, like she promised. And once you were all done that, Lindsey headed off to work and you hopped in the shower, before spending the entire day on your couch, watching movies and pointedly ignoring your phone. Or rather, the never ending string of notifications on said phone.

So now you’ve been basically hiding out since then, only leaving your house to go to work or to make a quick trip to the store down the block from your apartment. The stupid tweets are still blowing up, people are still retweeting them and talking about them.

You’d hoped this would have all blown over by now, that something else ridiculous would have come along and stolen everyone's attention. But alas, you aren’t that lucky. Because not a damn thing is going on in the world right now, obviously, as everyone is still very much hung up on your whole embarrassing sap fest.

So much so that you are being recognized now as the ‘Steve Tweet Woman’. Which is just fucking outstanding—ha! not!

News outlets, websites and talk shows have been blowing up your phone and email, asking for comments or to set up interviews. Wanting to know if anyone from Steve’s camp has reached out to you, or if you’ve been invited to the tower to meet the team. Also asking if you and the Avengers are now friends, or at the very least acquaintances. And those are just a few of the things they are asking you. Honestly, those are the least ridiculous questions—which is freaking sad.

So leaving your house has become a damn chore now, you have to wear a full disguise just in the hopes no one recognizes you. This is not what you wanted at all. Shit, you don’t even know what you wanted from making that tweet, but this for sure was not it. Not even close.

You’d avoided Twitter along with all your social media playforms since that dreadful morning, as well. You were just too overwhelmed with all the notifications and messages you’d been receiving ever since. Far too many to ever read, let alone even keep up with. Nor did you want to see what any of them actually said.

You sigh, trying to focus back on your computer monitor. You were currently at work, hiding out in your cubicle and keeping your head down.

At the moment you worked as a writer for a news and entertainment website, much like Buzzfeed but nowhere near as large or well known—And I know! Ironic right? Uuuugh! Your damn life was just such a joke.

Your cubicle neighbour, Tyler, springs up over your divider wall. His arms resting on the top as his chin sits on them, a small frown on his face. So this obviously isn’t going to be good.

“Do I even want to know?” You ask quietly before he can utter a word.

He sighs, “probably not. But sadly you kinda have to know.”

“Okay,” you spun slightly in your chair to face him fully. “I’m ready, lay it on me.”

“The boss saw your tweets,” he starts and you wince in embarrassment. “He messaged me as your email keeps sending his messages back undelivered. So you should probably check into that, but first, he wants to see you in his office.”

You groan, dropping your forehead onto your desk with a thud, “my email has been so swamped the last few days that I shut down the receiver.”

“Understandable,” he says quietly, and you can hear that the frown is still present on his face.

“Does he want to see me now?” You peek up at him.

He nods, “yeah, said it was urgent.”

“Shit,” you mumble and sit up, grabbing a notebook and pen quickly as you stand from your chair. “Well, wish me luck, hopefully he doesn’t just fire me the second I walk through the door.”

Tyler shakes his head, “he’d be an even bigger idiot than we all currently think he is, if he did that. Don’t sweat it, at worst he’ll probably just throw a tantrum and give you a slap on the wrist.”

“On second thought, I think I’ll just quit instead,” you say playfully as you walk out of your cubicle. Hearing Tyler’s deep chuckle behind you as you do.

“But then who will keep me entertained everyday?”

“You’ll find someone,” you giggle, shrugging. “My replacement, most likely. Though sadly they will never be as awesome as me!”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he agrees as he lowers back down into his chair and you continue on towards your bosses office.

A moment later you find yourself standing outside of his closed door, notepad clutched to your chest. You have no idea what this impromptu meeting will be about, but you can only assume it has something to do with your stupid drunken posts.

You take a deep breath in, raising your fist up to knock on the door. And a moment later hearing a muffled and authoritative, “enter.” God, he really was just such an entitled asshole.

You open the door and peek your head in, “you wanted to see me, Sir?”

He glances up and nods, “ah, Y/N. Yes, come in.”

You quickly open the door and make your way into his office, closing the door and then hastily moving to stand in front of him.

He interlocks his fingers together and rests his hands on his desk, just staring at you. “Why isn’t your email working?”

“Oh, uh,” you shift awkwardly in your spot. “I um, I shut it off for a bit.” You nod, “just till I could get caught up on the emails I already have.”

He raises a brow at you, “your email is being swamped with messages, I take it?”

You nod again, “ah yes, Sir.”

“Does that have anything to do with the tweets you sent out last week?”

You almost groan, almost, but manage to contain it. “It—it does, Sir.”

He nods, glancing to his monitor, “now normally, foolish shenanigans such as this would be grounds for termination. And I was going to fire you for the embarrassment you’ve brought on this company, but I had a change of heart. So you won’t be losing your position just yet.”

You nod slowly, wishing you could give this idiot a piece of your mind. But your need to pay bills and have a job forces you to bite your tongue. “Oh, um, thank you, Sir.”

“But,” he flicks his beady eyes back to you, “you will have to make this up to me.”

You almost gulp, what the hell does that even mean?! “Um, how,” you clear your throat, “how exactly would you like me to do that?”

He leans back in his chair, a smirk on his lips. One that instantly causes a chill to run down your spin, and this time you do gulp. “There is a press conference in 3 days. You are going to attend it on behalf of our website.”

You nod, following along so far, and honestly this doesn’t sound so bad. Getting to be at a conference first hand is a huge accomplishment. Being trusted enough to be the one present is a big deal in this company. Normally only seasoned writers get to attend such functions.

Yet, something about this feels...off. Like there is a shoe about to drop nearby and you can’t shake that thought. “Okay, um of course, Sir. But what is the press release for, exactly?”

His smirk grows into a full blown grin and your heart rate picks up instantly because of it. “I’m so glad you should ask,” he nods, “It's a press conference for the Avengers. They are opening their new facility and are holding a press junket to cut the rope and answer some questions.”

And instantly you choke on air, no joke, then coughing a few times to clear your airway. Because oh fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck fuck. Why you?! Why does life always do this to you?!

“Um, Sir,” you start quietly once you stop coughing. “I don’t um—this is not to say that I’m not completely honoured that you’d choose me for this job. But uh, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to send me to this. Not with everything currently going on, at least.” You swallow thickly, your hands turning clammy as your nerves pick up. “There, ah, there has to be someone more qualified to send to this event. Ya know, someone other than me.”

He shakes his head, “there isn’t. And even if there was, I can’t send anyone else. You were specifically asked for by name, we weren’t even originally supposed to attend this press release. Only larger media outlets were invited.” He opens his top drawer in his desk and pulls out an access pass on a lanyard, holding it out to you. You gingerly step forward to take it then take a few hasty steps back once it’s in your grasp. “You were the only one invited, and were given an all access pass for the whole event.”

You gaped at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as you glance between your boss and the press pass currently in your hand. “But ah,” you shake your head, “why me?”

He shrugs, “probably because of those silly posts you made. You clearly caught someone's attention. So get to work, you have a press conference to prepare for,” he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

But you just stay firmly planted in your spot, “Sir, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Oh but it is.” His eyes shoot to you and narrow, “so you either attend that conference or I’ll fire you. We are making the most out of your blunder here, don’t mess this up. You only have one shot at this, and I expect the article from this to not only be outstanding, but also on my desk Monday morning. This is the break our website needs, but if you aren’t willing to pull your weight and fix your mistakes, then we don’t have a place here for you anymore. So it’s your choice, Miss Y/L/N.”

You sigh defeatedly, and nod, “okay, I’ll do it.”

“I figured you would,” he nods once then turns back to his computer screen. “Close the door behind you.”

You nod, spinning on your heels and exit the room. Shutting the door softly behind you like he’d asked and then heading back to your desk to start preparing for this press conference.

But all you can think about is how truly mortifying this whole week has already been. And it’s clearly only going to get worse from here on out. How do you get yourself into these things? Now someone from the Avengers team has specifically requested that you be there. Great.

Were they planning to embarrass you further? Were they going to make a mockery of you because of a stupid drunken mistake? Were you going to regret accepting this article instead of just quitting?

You glance down at the press pass in your hand and sigh, there is no way to know currently just how this will all play out. But sadly, you’ll be finding out the answers to your questions soon enough. And in a little less than 3 days, at that.

You stand in front of your full length mirror—wearing the seventeenth outfit you’ve tried on so far this morning—and trying desperately to find faults with it. In all honesty, all the outfits you’ve tried on had looked perfectly fine and would have worked. But you were determined to stall, to waste as much time on pointless outfit changes as you could, so that you didn’t have to face your reality.

That reality being that today was the day, today was the Avengers press conference at the new facility. And oh God, how you really did not want to have to do this today.

I mean, the moon wasn’t in the right placement. Nor was Jupiter currently aligned. And your horoscope had warned you about ‘life changing events should you venture out of your box.’ And you could only assume said life changing events weren’t going to be good ones, and this was very much venturing outside of your box. Plus like, you just had this strange gut feeling, something deep inside you telling you that something was going to happen today—And one should always trust their gut in true times of crisis.

So really, that was all to say that this was a horrible idea, and you should probably just stay home. Yeah, it’s settled then, you’ll stay home. That was a much smarter plan for sure.

Your hired car pulls up to the large, intimidating steel and glass structure and you instantly feel like you’re going to puke. And if the hired car didn’t charge you your first born for doing just that, you’d gladly probably have puked in this exact moment. It comes to a stop and you thank the driver before collecting up your belongings and climbing out.

Glancing around you notice a bunch of people hanging about, some with large camera’s around their necks, others with microphones. But all are wearing various passes, some look similar to yours, however none match it entirely. Your hand grabs on to the pass around your neck and pulls it away from your body to examine it more closely.

Yeah, yours is the only one like it, that you can currently see. Which yeah, that’s extremely odd, for sure. You release the pass, letting it fall back to your chest and head towards the check in booth, just wanting to get this all over with so you can promptly go home and die of humiliation in your bed. Alone and away from the world.

You give one of the ladies at the table your full name and instantly notice a wicked smirk appear upon her lips as she hears it. Which honestly can’t be a good sign for what’s to come. No, this is a sign you should probably just leave now. The universe is clearly trying to warn you, but your dumb, job needing ass can’t leave. No matter how much you desperately want to.

She hands you a map, pointing to the location where you will be standing for the conference. Then she points behind herself, in the direction you are to head and you mumble a quick thank you before heading the way she showed you.

As you make your way to the location, you continuously glance between the map in your hands and the area around you. The last thing you need right now is to get lost on this insanely large property, and end up missing the press release all together. Oh God, your boss would pitch a fit if that happened.

Your heels click on the cement ground, thankful you aren’t trudging it through grass at the moment. Heels and grass do not mix, and with your luck you’d probably end up twisting an ankle or snapping a heel. And the last thing you want right now is to draw unwanted attention to yourself. Ya know, more so than you already have.

You glance down at the outfit you’d finally begrudgingly decided on, choosing to stick to basic shades to help you blend in a little better. No fancy or colourful prints or shades today. No, blacks and whites was what you went with. Hoping that most of the other press members would be dressed similarly. And with one glance around you, that hope actually came true.

You’d decided to go with a black pleather pencil skirt, that was form fitting but also flattering to all your softer areas. With a long sleeve white shirt tucked into it, and simple black pumps. It was a pretty basic look, but that’s exactly what you were going for. You wanted to blend in, praying none of the Avengers or press would even noticed you, let alone figured out you were the drunken Twitter tweeter.

God, doesn’t that just sound so stupid? The ‘Twitter tweeter’. Just ridiculous. And to think, this is your life now! This is who you are now. Seriously, the next time you drink, you are going to leave your phone at work. As you clearly can’t be trusted with it when you’re intoxicated.

As you make your way closer to the spot the nice lady had shown you, you realize that you are the only one in this location. All the other press are further down, in front of the stage, whereas your place is off to the side. It has a perfect view of the stage, but there is nothing and no one to hide behind.

You halt your steps, and even though it’s a beautiful sunny day, you feel a cold sweat come on. Are they segregating you? Are they going to make an example out of you? Or treat you like some circus clown?

You know these thoughts are ridiculous, these are world heroes we’re talking about here. Good people who put their lives on the line everyday for everyone else. But maybe they are going to force you into speaking to the press, maybe they are going to use you for good PR. Your stupid tweets are the hot topic at the moment, everyone is wanting the inside scoop on you, your life and your possible new affiliation with the mighty team.

But being in the spotlight isn’t your thing, you like to be unknown, anonymous. Just another face in the crowd. And if this is an ambush, then take you the fuck off that sign up list. You are not interested in this being spun around on you. Fuck that.

You turn on your heel and head back to the main press area, you’d just hide out there amongst all the other reporters and journalists. At least you could hang in the back and keep your head down while you take notes.

You might be overthinking this. Or be acting a little too irrational at the moment. But cut yourself some slack, this week has been hellish and overwhelming, to say the least. And your poor frazzled mind is in overdrive mode, overthinking the smallest things and making you a bit of a basket case. Clearly you don’t handle stressors like this very well. That’s obviously a flaw of yours, but one you very much do not plan on addressing today. Or ever, maybe. But definitely not here and now.

You reach the main press area and tuck yourself into a back row chair, lowering your large black purse onto the ground and digging through it to grab your notebook, recorder, pens and your phone. You’d record the whole press release, taking notes and photos here and there. Then when it was all over you planned to hightail it out of here, long before anyone noticed you. Hopefully. That was the plan anyways.

You glance around, noticing a few nearby press members staring intently at you. God, you hope none of them cause a scene and point you out. You quickly glance up at the stage, seeing that it is still empty and none of the team is up there yet. So you drop your eyes down and decide to just doodle in your notebook till the junket begins.

Time seems to be ticking along at an alarmingly slow pace. Probably just because you are so desperate for this to all be over, therefore it’s doing the opposite now. The minutes currently feeling like hours to you.

Finally, after weeks of waiting—at least you swear it’s been that long. You hear commotion up on the stage, and notice as everyone around you is seated now, taking photos. You grab your phone and flick your eyes up to the stage, seeing the mighty group of heroes slowly ascending the stairs and fanning out on the platform.

You snap a few shots and then prepare your recorder, hitting the button to start it once Tony Stark makes his way to the microphone. You balance the recorder on your left leg, your notebook open on your light and pen at the ready. Your phone sitting in between both legs, fully charged, set to silent and camera app open.

The conference starts with Tony doing a speech, thanking everyone for being here and just general PR stuff. You are sort of paying attention, but also not. You know that you can always listen to the recording later if you miss any part of this conference, so there isn’t a huge weight on you to be fully listening currently.

So instead, you get lost in your own mind, continuing to berate and chide yourself for your horrible life choices. Ya know, all the ones that led up to this very moment. You keep your eyes down for most of the event, only glancing up periodically to snap a few more photos here and there. But then they flick back down to continue doodling in your notebook.

On the plus side, the grassy, flowery meadow you have been drawing this whole time is looking wonderful. Even if it’s only in all blue and black pen ink. But focusing on this is better than possibly locking eyes with the poor victim of your latest drunk tweets. You know he is up there, because they all are. And the last thing you want is to look at him currently. Your immense guilt and humiliation preventing you from even entertaining the idea of ogling the handsome man right now. Not even a little bit, no matter how badly you want to. No matter how much you want to see just how attractive he is in person. You can’t allow yourself to.

You don’t even really deserve to be here right now, the only reason you are, is because drunk you is a sappy asshole. Had you not posted those stupid tweets, you wouldn’t have been invited here today. God, how you wish you had a time machine right now.

You’d made a bunch of mistakes throughout your life, I mean, who hasn’t? But this one was by far the worst, you were definitely paying for this one. Tenfold. Maybe this is the wake up call drunk-you needs though. Hopefully she will have learned her lesson from all of this. Buuuuuut knowing her, probably not.

You sigh, picking up your phone to take a few more photos as the time nears to the official opening of the facility. To the rope cutting, which is the true reason you are all here today. You keep your eyes on your phones screen, but movement off to the side of the stage catches your eyes and they snap from the screen to it.

They lock with a greyish blue set, and you see the owner of said eyes glance over your face momentarily, before a smirk breaks out on his lips. Bucky Barnes aka The Winter Soldier aka Steve Roger’s lifelong best friend. You are currently having a stare off with an ex hydra assassin, and an insanely good one at that.

You are just about to break the eye contact when you notice him elbow the blonde super soldier to his right. Leaning in once he has the other man's attention and whispering something in his ear, before his head nods in your direction. Oh God, this also can’t be fucking good.

The blonde furrows his brows for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd before they land on you. And the second your eyes meet, you are fucking trapped. Because, Jesus! This man is basically a human bear trap, and your ass just willing stepped right on to it.

Greeeeeat. Now you’re having a stare off with thee Steve Rogers. Just exceptional. Note the extreme sarcasm.

And then you notice as he frowns, most likely now realizing you are the crazy lady who tweeted about him. He snaps his eyes away from you, turning to glare at his best friend. Who only grins wider in return and then shrugs his shoulders before nodding his head to the billionaire at the podium. Mr. Roger’s heated gaze then flicks to the side of Mr. Stark’s head, narrowing a little more and honestly, if looks could kill, everyone here today would be witnesses to a murder. To the death of Iron Man, at the eyes of Captain America.

And oh fuck, this is not going well. So much for going unnoticed. You can’t do this, you can’t be here any longer. This is all just too much and you want to go home.

You quickly pack up your belongings, throwing them haphazardly into your large purse. As the tears of humiliation begin prickling in your eyes. What did you do to deserve any of this? Clearly you fucked up in a past life and now you were paying for it in this one.

Your eyes involuntarily glance back up to the stage, tears threatening to fall but you try to force them to hold off until you are away from this place. Away from all the prying eyes. The last thing you need is photos of you crying like a baby, at the Avengers new facility opening, to start circulating the internet and only adding fuel to the fire.

They’d probably play it up like you were this insanely huge fan, and just being here made your crazy come out to play. Bawling your eyes out for just being here, in the presence of the hero you so clearly had lady wood for. But yet, that wasn’t it at all. You know most of these people were probably too focused on Mr. Stark to even notice the moment between the super soldiers. You’re pretty sure you were the only one who actually did see it.

Your eyes lock once again on the intense pair of blue ones, finding yourself momentarily trapped all over again. Then his eyebrows furrowing snaps you out of it, thankfully, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek. You quickly wipe it away as you turn and hastily make for the press area exit.

You don’t look back, you can’t bare to see the relief probably on Mr. Rogers face now. He is probably thankful you are leaving early. He probably never wanted to actually see you in the flesh. He probably thinks you are just some ridiculous, crazed fan who went out of her way to either try to get noticed by him, or boost her career via the exposure.

God, how far from the truth that actually was. But not like you’d ever get the chance to prove that to anyone now. You vow in this exact moment to delete your twitter the second you get into the Uber. Like completely deactivate your whole account. Then you’d have no way to embarrass yourself ever again. At least not publicly, not in front of the entire world.

As you reach the spot where the hired car had dropped you off, you pull out your phone and open your Uber app. You had a hired car set up to pick you up later on, for when the press release was supposed to be over. But as it was still early and now only over for just you, you needed a ride and fast.

You begin filling out the order, hastily walking down the laneway towards the main road. Like hell were you going to stay standing on the facilities grounds any longer. Risking being seen or stopped by random press members. You’d just meet the car down the road a bit. That was the best plan here.

But as you are making your hasty get away, you hear fast footfalls coming up behind you. And you cringe slightly, too nervous to turn around and see who is coming towards you currently. You pray it’s just someone running to meet their car. Maybe one of the press people has an emergency and needs to leave early because of it?

“Hey, hold up,” a deep voice calls from behind you, effectively killing that last thought dead in its tracks. Much like you wish would happen to you right now. If you could just drop dead in this moment, you totally would. You didn’t have suicidal thoughts, ever, but in this exact moment, you’d take any out you could get. The sheer humiliation of this week finally crashing down on you.

You sigh, quickly wiping your cheeks of the few tears that refused to stay put in your eyes, and slowly turn around as the footsteps near you and come to a deafening halt. You know whoever it is, is now only a few feet away from you and there is no avoiding this awkward situation any longer.

You instantly realize the person now standing mere feet from you, is the very last person you want to be anywhere near right now. Even with keeping your eyes down, focused entirely on the ground so that whoever the person ended up being wouldn’t see the tears, now in your eyes. You still instantly know that it’s Steve Rogers, the newest and current victim of your drunken praise, and it now takes everything in you to not start rambling out a ridiculous apology, while also bawling your eyes out.

A heavy silence looms over you, starting to feel as if you are being crushed by it. You take a deep breath, keeping your eyes honed in on the cement ground. “I um, I’m really, really sorry,” you start, the words coming out raspy from your unused and tear tingled voice. The volume barely above a whisper so you quickly clear your throat, “I shouldn’t have come here today. I ah, I didn’t want to ever make you feel uncomfortable in any way. And I guess I just need to apologize to you for my ridiculous antics last week. And ah, and for stupidly agreeing to come to this junket. I’ll just um,” you glance over your shoulder momentarily. “I’ll just be going now,” you finally glanced up at him, as you gesture with your thumb over your shoulder and take a step back. “Sorry again, for um, for everything.”

But holy fuck, he is so much better looking than you could have ever imagined. Up close and personal he is a freaking dream boat—Argh! You have no right to ogle this man! Give your damn head a shake. You are the very last person on this planet who is allowed to fangirl over him right now.

You quickly turn and continue to hastily make your way towards the road, not even giving him a moment to respond to your words. You don’t need him to say anything back though, he doesn’t owe you a damn thing. You are the dick that brought this all on to not only in yourself, but this poor man as well.

You got the chance to apologize to him, which is more than you could have ever asked for. Now you just want this all to be over. You just want to go home and pretend like this entire week never happened. He can go back to his normal life, and you to yours.

God, you could really use a stiff drink right now, but that’s what got you into this whole mess in the first place. So that’s probably not the smartest idea at the moment. So instead you’ll settle for a giant tub of ice cream and a lengthy, tear filled, phone call with your bestie.

“Wait,” he says softly, probably so he doesn’t startle you any further, as you feel a large warm hand grasp your elbow, urging you to turn back around.

You clench your eyes shut, why can’t this just all be over already?! Why you?! You take a deep stuttering breath in then open your eyes and turn to face him again. He releases your elbow as you do and then you awkwardly lock eyes with him once again.

One of his large hands comes up to rub the back of his neck, the action almost looking sheepish. Clearly he also has a few words for you, and whatever they are you’ll totally deserve them. Even if they are chastising you for your stupid posts. So you quickly steel yourself for what’s about to come.

“I ah, I wasn’t—“ he pauses then quickly corrects himself, “I’m not uncomfortable about you being here,” he shakes his head, “not at all. I just—firstly, I just wanted to apologize to you, actually. I know they probably forced you to be here today, I don’t really know how, but judging by your reaction to all of this, I’m guessing you really had no say in being here.“ He sighs deeply, “I had no idea that they’d actually invited you, so I can only assume that Tony played a huge hand in all of this. He really likes to insert himself into other people's lives, so I apologize that you got dragged into this. He doesn’t really know when to butt out.”

You nod slowly as you glance down to the ground again, “it’s okay. You really don’t owe me anything, I honestly brought this all on myself. I um, I don’t blame anyone else for any of this, but thank you for saying all of that.” You look back up at him, “it really helps to hear. This week has just been—“ you cut yourself off with a deep sigh, as you wave a dismissive hand around, “sorry, that’s really not important. Um, just basically thank you, ya know, for easing my mind with all of this.”

He frowns a little, but quickly corrects it. And you still just honestly want this all to be done with. But he looks like he still has more to say, so looks like your hopes will go unanswered this time. And just as you suspected he speaks up again.

He shakes his head, “don’t mention it, but I should really be the one thanking you.”

Awe, isn’t that just so dang sweet of him—wait, what?! I’m sorry, come again?! Your eyes widen as your mouth falls open slightly. You imagine it’s a super attractive look—note the sarcasm again—but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care about that at the moment. Because what did he just say?

Your eyebrows furrow after far too long of a moment with you just gaping up at him. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but um, why exactly would you owe me a thank you?”

He smiles down at you, then quickly glances over his shoulder before looking back to you. “I’ll explain all that, but first, can I show you something?”

You find yourself nodding before you’ve even realized it. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, great. Just uh, just follow me then,” he says through a hesitant smile as he leads you off and away from the gathering. You aren’t sure where exactly he is taking you, but for the first time all week, you aren’t worried at all. Probably because this is Steve Rogers, the man out of time, and a true gentleman, in every sense of the word.

And maybe, just maybe, your hellish week that all began thanks to one stupid drunk moment, might just end on a way better note. Maybe your Drunk Twitter escapades weren’t all bad. Maybe they weren’t entirely horrible.

But honestly who really knows, you’d just have to wait and find out.

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

Part 2 of this, from Steve POV, will be coming sometime this week! So stay tuned for that!

@caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tfandtws @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @casuallydarktiger @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @viarogers @pixieferry @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @capsicledoll @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @ivannagotthebeat @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @ivoryhazlewood @steverogersxreader @cjhorseback @jasminecalia @secondstar2disney @jessiedaeum @betsynodak @capricornprince118

#au fanfiction #fanfiction #long post #long read #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #drunk twitter #steve rogers au

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Meet me in the past part 5

A/N: This is part five to: ‘meet me in the past’. This absolutely suck, but I thought you know what I’m not changing it again, so you know, here you go. I hope you still enjoy regardless. Please let me know what you think!

Summary: After Stanley Uris takes his own life, his daughter goes to find the recipients of his letters and ends up in Derry. After an encounter with IT, she ends up traveling back into the past, meeting the younger version of her dad and his friends.

warnings: cursing, mentions of suicide and some really rude words of Pennywise

tagging; @artlovingbre​ @cocastyle

Stan stared at Emily as she ran away, but he didn’t respond. He felt the world slip away from under his feet. Who the hell did this girl think she was? He turned his gaze towards Richie, who’s eyes were widened and looked even bigger now then they already did on regular days. Richie was his best friend, even though Stan couldn’t stand him sometimes, and so he looked at him for something, a conformation that whatever happened just then really happened, and it wasn’t all in Stan’s head. Richie however did nothing but stare, as if he himself couldn’t quite figure out what this entire day had been about. However, Richie knew Stan like the back of his hand, so he knew exactly what to do when he saw the look in Stan’s eyes, deflect.

‘I Wonder when she got dropped on her head one to many times am I right boys?’ Richie joked, adjusting the glasses, and trying desperately to lift the dark mood that feel upon the group.

‘Not now Richie’, Bev interjected, her mouth set into a thin line. Stan turned his gaze towards her then, after scanning the entire group. Out of all of them, she seemed the least confused, instead she looked thoughtful, as if still deciding how to approach this situation best.

‘Why not Beverly?’ Stan asked, his face sour. ‘He’s right, what the hell is she even talking about? I’m her father? I’m fucking thirteen.’

It seemed that their previous argument about IT was forgotten, instead everyone was looking at Stan, gauging his reaction. Richie opened his mouth to try and make another joke, but a sharp look from Bev shut him up.

‘Wait,’ Stan said, ‘why aren’t you surprised? Did you know about this? About whatever delusion she is dealing with?’ Stan looked at Beverly, but Beverly was pointedly not looking at him.

‘Are you kidding me? How long?’ Stan’s voice raised in hysteria, his arms waving around wildly.

‘Stan,’ Bev started, and her voice was shaking.

‘How long’, Stan asked again. His voice dropped down to a threatening tone, and Beverly shivered despite herself. Stan would never ever lay a finger on her she knew, but he was furious, and it sucked that Beverly was the target of his anger.

‘She told me last week okay, after you made those stupid jokes and we spend some time alone together. Look Stan I’m sorry, but she made me promise not to tell you. Besides it’s not like you believe her. Look at you, you look like you’re about to punch something or someone.’

‘That’s because I thought you were my friend Bev. I can’t believe you could hear something so absurd and still not tell me.’ Stan said, still visibly angry, though he was starting to calm down a bit. He was very observant, and rational, and he was starting to realize that getting mad at Beverly wasn’t going to solve anything.

‘What if she’s Pennywise who has been stalking us? What if this is just another one of his ploys?’ Stan uttered, his hands now desperately scrubbing at his pants, trying to get the non-existent crinkles away. He always did this when he was nervous, and it was his tell tale when he was lying too.

‘T-t-that doesn’t m-m-make any s-s-sense S-s-stan. W-w-why k-k-keep up the c-c-charades for s-s-so long?’ Bill inquired.

‘Are you saying you believe her Billiam’, Richie questioned, ‘cause if so that would mean Stan the man had sex and I don’t think Stan over here would just pop his cherry for anyone,’ Richie quipped, and while doing so he swung his arm around Stan’s shoulders.

‘Beep beep Richie’, Stan snapped back, though he didn’t push Richie’s arm away.

‘Bev what do you believe’? Mike asked, taking a step towards the group. Bev sighed.

‘Look, I admit that I was skeptical in the beginning too. But just look at what happened to us today. We got attacked by a demonic clown that lives in the sewers. Nothing about this is normal okay? And Emily she told me stuff, and you know how good I am at telling when people are lying, and I sincerely think that she was telling the truth. So yes, I believe her.’

‘Just because she believes that it’s true, doesn’t mean it is Beverly’, Stan grumbled.

‘Don’t call Bev a liar’, Ben interrupted, as always coming to Bev’s rescue. It would be endearing to Stan if he wasn’t so fucking irritated.

‘Why is everyone acting like what Emily just said is totally normal? Am I the only one who understands how crazy this is?’ Stan asked again. He looked towards Richie, who shrugged in response.

‘Fine’, he spat out, walking towards his bike and grabbing it with a huff.

‘Stan, where are you going?’ Richie shout out. The rest of the losers shuffled forward their bikes as well, like they were anticipating something bad to happen.

‘I’m going to find her. If you all believe her than fine, she has some explaining to do. I want to know where her delusions come from.’

He swung one leg over his bike, already pushing his feet, gaining speed before abruptly stopping at Bill’s voice.

‘S-S-Stan stop’, Bill said, and Stan did. All of the losers would if they were in Stan’s place. Bill didn’t even have to raise his voice. Whatever Bill said, goes. He had a curtain authority about him, and the losers without question followed him.

‘Y-y-you can’t j-j-just g-g-go at h-h-her Stan. Y-y-y-you need t-t-to calm d-d-down first. It’s n-n-no use i-i-if y-your just g-g-gonna yell a-at her.

Stan turned around slowly. The other losers watched on without saying a word, to see what Stan would do.

‘I’m calm, I’m not going to yell at her Bill,’ which as obviously a lie, Stan looked everything but calm. If anything, he looked mostly anxious.

Still though, Bill nodded solemnly, going to his own bike.

‘Don’t yell at her Stan, she’s been through a lot already’, Bev spoke, and as she and Stan made eye contact her eyes flickered downwards.

‘You know something, don’t you?’ Stan inquired.

Bev shook her head, but didn’t respond as she wheeled her bike closer Bill’s.

‘You do, else you wouldn’t have said that. What did she tell you?’

‘I thought you didn’t believe her’, Bev countered, but because she did, Stan knew for a fact that she was lying now.

‘I don’t, but I want to know what she said about me, about us.’ Stan declared. He didn’t understand why Bev wouldn’t just tell him, unless.. ‘it was something bad wasn’t it?’

‘Stan, talk to her, please. Just ask her, I’m not the person you should discuss this with,’ Bev insisted.

Stan stared at her for a few more seconds, before taking off without looking backwards. He was sure the other losers would follow.

He wasn’t sure where Emily could have gone, but he had a bike and she was walking, so he assumed that would see her walking among the sidewalk somewhere, but he didn’t.

He kept riding, Bill catching up to him fast. As always, silver was faster than anyone or anything could possibly be. He looked around street after street, hoping that she had kept going straight forward, towards the park.

Bev mentioned going to look for her at her apartment, but the losers realized that that was a long shot. She was never inside Bev’s apartment alone when he father was coming home, which around the time it was now. So they kept up on their way, riding until they saw the beginning of the park. Stan’s mind was racing a thousand miles a minute. The days events were catching up too him, and he felt exhausted. He was nearly killed, saw a killer clown, had to watch one of his best friends be dragged away by his mom, and to top it all off, his other friend claimed to be his daughter.

As they came closer, they saw that the jacket Emily had been wearing was draped over a bench. There were barely people there, only a little old lady who was walking her dog, but she was just about to leave.

They stopped at the entrance, Stan putting his bike away nicely on the side, while the rest of the losers dropped theirs down on the ground without a second thought. Stan rolled his eyes, how silver was still going after all the reckless things Bill had done with it.

‘W-w-we should s-s-split u-u-up’, Bill declared, looking around the group for conformation.

‘Are you kidding me? Splitting up would be dumb Big Bill, Eddie broke his arm today. If we split up we’re basically clown food.’ Richie said.

‘Well, Emily is not going to show herself if we’re all in group, I think Bill’s right. We have more chance to find her if we split up,’ Mike agreed.

‘Fine’, Richie huffed out, but he looked to Stan, as if to see if Stan would agree before doing anything. Stan too nodded; ‘they’re right, Rich’. And so the losers split up. The park itself wasn’t all that big, and most of it was an open space, but there were a handful of places that Emily could have hidden, so the losers elected to search for her there.

Stan walked towards the eastside of the park, before he heard a whisper of his name, so close by that it was as if someone has whispered it right beside him. He turned quickly with a gasp, but saw no one behind him, so he kept walking. Not even a second later he heard the sound again, but when he turned once more there was nobody. He’s gaze was pulled towards the trees towards the west side of the park, for no particular reason. The trees didn’t look any different, yet Stan still felt compelled to change his path. He heard his friends call out towards Emily, but he paid no attention to them. He didn’t know why he was walking towards the closed area, but it was like he didn’t have any control of his legs anymore. His own voice called out, ‘Emily’, but he barely noticed it, even if it was his own voice.

When he reached the tree, he looked back towards his friends, but a giant tree was in the way, and he couldn’t see his friends anymore, and he was sure they couldn’t see him anymore. Suddenly, it felt like Stan’s brain shot in action again. He realized that he had just walked away from the losers, causing him to be alone and vulnerable. Panic gripped around his heart like a vice, causing his breathing to speed up.

He had just made the decision to go back towards the open field, when he heard a small; ‘help’, coming from deeper in the woods. He was torn between going to get the others, or finding the person that called for help as fast as possible. Even if it was Emily, he didn’t want anything to happen to the girl. A loud ‘help’, called out but it sounded closer somehow, as if the person was teetering closer. Stan stepped forward against his common sense just a few steps, trying to find the person in danger.

The person screamed loud appearing in front of Stan behind a bush, scaring him half to death. In a panic Stan threw himself backwards, stumbling over a tree trunk and tottering to the ground. Stan scrambled back up fast, wincing at the dirt that was on his clothes, before looking up to who was in front of him. It was a little girl, her hair in pony tales, with a blue dress and black sneakers, crying and reaching out for him. Stan cringed, really didn’t like strangers, but he felt bad for this little girl, so he reached his arms out and lifted her up. ‘Are you okay’? He asked her, trying to keep his voice light. The little girl sniffled in his arms, ‘where did you go daddy? I need you, the evil clown took me.’ Stan froze, he instantly dropped the little girl, not thinking about his wellbeing at all. He stepped backwards, until his back hit a tree. The little girl was still sniffing, but it seemed like a grin was taking over her features.

Stan looked into her eyes and with a gasp, he saw his own eyes reflected there. He shook his head angrily, he wasn’t going to let Pennywise in his head. He was just taking advantage of Emily’s statement, but Stan couldn’t shake the feeling of dread away. He continued to stare at the little girl, trying to call out to his friends, but only a wheezing as his throat closed up.

‘Daddy, I missed you. Why don’t you love me? Do you hate me?’ The little girl took another few steps towards Stan. It seemed that all logic flew out the window, as Stan tried to disappear into the tree instead of just running around it.

The little girl changed appearance, and suddenly Emily stood before him. It was clear that the little girl had also been Emily, only younger. ‘Because I hate you too daddy,’ Stan cringed at the words, ‘when you killed yourself, I was so mad. You never really loved me did you daddy? You’re a coward. IT should have picked you off when it had the change, it’s not like anything was gained from your life. You caused me and mom so much pain, I wish you had left when I was little, then you wouldn’t have hurt me or mom.’

Stan’s face paled, all the color draining from his cheeks. His hands were trembling as they wiped down his pants. ‘You’re lying’, Stan’s uttered, his voice sounding shaky even to himself.

‘You’ll never be anything, you should just kill yourself now, save you a lot of trouble.’ IT Emily leaned in close to Stan, changing back into the clown that had broken Eddie’s arm mere hours ago. ‘You couldn’t keep her away from me in 27 years, and you couldn’t keep me from her now.’ IT whispered into Stan’s ear, who could do nothing but let out a pity full whimper. What was Ben taking so long? As if Ben heard his thoughts, Ben walked into Stan’s line of sight. Ben screamed as he saw IT hunched over Stan, alerting the others of IT’s presence.

IT vanished as fast as he had come, IT’s hands falling from Stan’s neck. Stan fell to the ground, his breath coming in gasps, Ben ran to him, and he could hear Bev, Richie, Mike and Bill running towards them too. Ben pulled Stan towards his chest as he started sobbing.

‘Stan, Stan are you okay?’ Bev asked him placing a hand on his shoulder.

 ‘IT’, Stan rasped. He looked up to see his friends looking at him confused. ‘IT has her.’

#stanley uris x daughter #x daughter #stanley uris imagine #ben hanscom #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier imagine #eddie kaspbrak x reader #bill denbrough imagines #mike hanlon imagine #beverly march imagine #My writing #it chapter two imagine #it chapter 2

[theonlinemuse]

So @lesbianmaxevans and I have been discussing how there’s very little backstory for Dani Powell on the show and we decided to contribute to the tags by coming up with our own headcanons for her:

Dani is a nickname obviously, but instead of Danielle or Danika, it’s short for Danys, a unisex Haitian Creole name. She only gets called Danys if she’s in trouble  

Malcolm giggles whenever that happens and Dani threatens to put her cold hands on him if he tries calling her that 

Malcolm learned her middle name the same day he met her middle sister, New York County Court Judge Naomie Powell, who barged into the precinct after an incident where Dani got hurt and went, “Danys Eliana Powell, if you’re going to give our family a heart attack, at least pick up your phone!”

Her dad is Haitian (I still say that episode 5 should’ve delved into this with Dani and her backstory) and her mom is Jewish. Dani and her sisters were all raised Jewish 

Dani doesn’t regularly go the synagogue, but it’s tradition for the Powells to go to services during major holidays 

Dani and JT explaining Jewish holidays to everyone

Powell wasn’t her dad’s original last name. Her dad and grandma came to New York from Port au Prince in the late 70s and their original last name was Poirot. Grandma Eliana kept the name, but her dad changed it to Powell when he started university 

She’s the youngest of three girls in the family. Her oldest sister Mona is played by Meta Golding while middle sister Naomie is played by Sydney Tamiia Poitier

Naomie was the sister who suffered from night terrors after getting into a bad car accident as a teenager and Mona and Dani would often take turns looking after her. This is how Dani knew how to deal with Malcolm 

Dani is bisexual. She and Edrisa went on a date before deciding to be friends and Edrisa likes to joke about them being exes much to Malcolm’s confusion 

“When did you even break up?” “We didn’t, technically. We just went go karting and had lunch at Zabar’s before we realized Dani was wayyyy too much like an aloof little sister to me.”

And this is totally a crack headcanon, but after seeing Jurnee Smollett-Bell playing Black Canary in Birds of Prey, Dani and Dinah Lance are now cousins. Their moms, Zipporah and Dinah Senior were sisters

Dani and Dinah may be Jewish, but they don’t keep kosher all the time. They don’t eat pork, but they’re absolutely weak against shellfish, much to their moms’ dismay 

Chaotic bi Dinah and distinguished bi Dani

Imagine Dani going undercover in Dinah’s band and them singing the Birds of Prey song from Batman: The Brave and the Bold

Dani can rock the punk rock aesthetic. Dinah makes her wear fishnet stockings, red lipstick, a corset over a dark lace shirt, and gold metallic temp tattoos. Malcolm has a heart attack

And then Dani starts singing and he’s a goner because he’s only ever hear her sing old songs from the 30s to 50s and there’s something powerful and sensual about her singing punk rock music. He’s not ready for it

JT teases the hell out of him, but he soon shuts up when Dani and Dinah bring Tally into the mix. Edrisa records the whole thing, as well as Malcolm and JT’s expressions. Gil ends up using it to keep Malcolm and JT from doing anything too outrageous

Grandma Eliana would sing old jazz and méringue songs to Dani and her sisters when they were little so Dani ended up with the habit of singing them absently whenever she’s focused on a task, usually when she’s doing her hair

Dani grew up listening to songs from the 30s, 40s, and 50s due to grandma Eliana always playing her extensive vinyl collection. She didn’t really get to listen to modern music until she was in middle school 

In addition to jazz and swing, Dani’s surprisingly good at disco. It didn’t help that her dad often played Boney M and Earth Wind and Fire during her childhood

She used to joke that the Powell family is decades behind in their taste in music. Dani doesn’t listen to many modern songs, but she likes singing along to Yonce as well as Janelle Monae songs like Electric Lady and Sally Ride

Make Me Feel becomes Dani and Dinah’s bi anthem 

Malcolm once caught her singing and he keeps trying to catch her again. He’s lucky to listen for five seconds before she kicks him out of the bathroom

Dani’s a bit of a tea expert thanks to grandma Eliana, who taught her many different ways of making tea. Other than Earl Grey, Dani’s favourites include grandma Eliana’s ginger tea and pomegranate tea

And I’m not just saying that last one because I saw tags about a Brightwell Hades and Persephone AU

She loves tea flavoured desserts as well. She often gets a glazed Earl Grey donut for breakfast on Monday mornings when she needs a little pick me up

She changes up the glaze depending on her mood. Lavender for when she’s stressed, balsamic and pomegranate for when she’s in a good mood, blueberry for when she’s irritated or stuck on a case, brown butter for when she’s tired, and caramel with blood orange zest for when she’s ready punch a dick

In the summer, she loves Thai iced tea popsicles and matcha green tea popsicles dipped in chocolate

Dani isn’t as big of a coffee drinker as she is a tea drinker, but if she has to have coffee, it’s always a cinnamon mocha with a shot of espresso 

She can cook, but because of her schedule, she mostly sticks with quick to make dishes like grilled cheese and spaghetti. She likes spicing things up though, thanks to growing up with her dad and grandma’s cooking 

Every Hanukkah, Dani always gets roped into preparing the desserts with Zipporah since her dad, grandma, and oldest sister are in charge of cooking. Dani’s the first to admit that she’s not a cook, but she’s gotten good at making sweets, even if she doesn’t always have the patience for it. Eight nights a year is her limit

Malcolm as a foodie bemoans this and his trying to broaden her food choices slowly becomes a thing 

The look of horror on his face when he sees her chow down on a double beef bacon mushroom burger, poutine, chocolate pecan pie and a strawberry milkshake in one sitting is priceless

And Dani loves seafood, especially shellfish which Malcolm can’t have because it gives him hives 

Dani was a bit of a trouble maker in elementary school, but for good reason. She stuck gum in a classmate’s hair because she stole her favourite scratch and sniff stickers and lied about it. And she once kicked a football player where the sun don’t shine because he was being a dick to her

She dressed like Kimberly Hart from the Power Rangers movie in high school, though she did have a goth phase for about two weeks in freshman year. She was trying to channel Wednesday Addams. She was definitely a bit of a rebel style wise. Malcolm was most definitely a nerd

Ironically, Dani’s the one with poor eyesight. She only wears glasses if there’s no more contacts and they’re a chunky pair that’s similar to Edrisa’s glasses

Dani does have some secret nerdy traits, she knows how to code thanks to her sister Naomie going to coding camp for five consecutive summers 

And like Kay, Dani has some artistic tendencies too. She grew up with outdoor art programs that encouraged her to paint 

She’s fluent in French. She, her sisters, and their paternal cousins went to a bilingual language school thanks to grandma Eliana’s influence

Dani also did competitive figure skating as a kid. She actually made it to the Junior Grand Prix finals. She got silver

There’s recordings of her competition routines on YouTube somewhere and she actually goes undercover as a figure skater for a case. Gil acts as her coach because he actually used to skate as well

She also did some cross training in ballet as well since her godmother is a well known ballerina turned dance teacher. There are a lot of pics of Dani in her early teens of her in a leotard and tights with curls escaping her ballet bun

She has an old injury that often acts up when the weather is cold. She broke her leg pretty badly in high school due to an accident in gym class. She got knocked off the balance beam when they were doing gymnastics and had to be rushed to the hospital for surgery 

She prefers horror and thrillers to action movies, but she likes period pieces too. Belle is a recent favourite of hers

Dani likes Star Trek because her dad is the biggest sci-fi nerd and it was a big part of her childhood. She also grew up as a fan of Eartha Kitt because of him after he made her watch 1960s Batman reruns with him

As a result, she wanted to name her first kid after Eartha. She eventually nicknames her first daughter Kit because of this

Dani actually introduced Tally to JT. They were roommates in college (Dani majored in social work while Tally studied chemistry) and they went to the same synagogue 

Tally designated Dani as godmother after she and JT had twin girls. She was the sandeket at Noa and Miri’s simchat bat  

She practices Krav Maga, she and Dinah both learned it in high school, though Dani always says that Dinah had more of a natural talent for it 

Dinah also did kickboxing and gymnastics and Dani ended up tagging along her lessons. She doubled as a coach and sparring partner 

She and her sisters dressed up as magical girls for Halloween when they were little and the new Charm reboot is like reliving their childhood

She wraps her hair for sleep with funny and colourful scarves that Naomie always gives as gag gifts, a tradition that started when they were preteens 

She’s dyslexic, but she wasn’t diagnosed until middle school. She had difficulty memorizing things so she got into a habit of carrying a recorder with her. She also has her phone and computer set to dyslexia friendly fonts and listens to a lot of audio books

It’s also the reason she sometimes makes mistakes when she’s dancing. She sometimes mixes up left and right

She also had trouble learning French at first because of this 

Dani can hold her liquor, but after four drinks, she becomes a giggly drunk who randomly speaks French and sings 90s rock songs

She also suddenly gains a sweet tooth when sober Dani doesn’t usually go for sweets. Luckily Malcolm has a few lollipops stashed away for when this happens

Dani did a brief modelling stint back in college to help out her cousin, who was in fashion school at the time. She mostly modelled for women’s wear and book covers. She even posed for a couple of historical romance covers 

Malcolm may have accidentally come across it thanks to his mom. Jessica might have been a little smug when she told him to fetch the book from where she left it. The look on his face was priceless

Dani ends up recreating a cover for a case. Edrisa makes Malcolm pose with her. She takes so many pictures

Given that Malcolm has Sunshine, it’s ironic that Dani owns a cat. It’s a mischievous black cat named Shuri and she loves climbing things, especially Malcolm

#Prodigal Son #Dani Powell

[ofravensandgenesis]

IT IS FINISHED no seriously, this took ages. First couple of days were fine and motoring along with progress, then I was laid out for a week-ish with health problems. Then once I was well enough again I was back to being fixated on finishing this piece of my lad Joshua here for another handful of days, so I’m super glad this is done now. More talk about the painting, details and process under the cut:

Art Entry 01, Joshua Rook, Junior Deputy of Hope County. Regarding the painting’s execution, stylistic choices, practiced methods, and speculation on further experimentation for skill and stylization. _____________________________ Honestly I thought that the uniform’s large swatches of green fabric would be more difficult than it actually was. Turns out that was the easier part compared to the shoulder patch and metal badge. x’D The metal badge design is based off of and inspired by a custom-ordered cosplay badge design I found while looking for references, in this post here (link,) from v-i-d-e-n-o-i-r’s blog and Far Cry 5 cosplay. There are some differences in the painting’s rendition above, namely I flattened the middle section and made it all concentric polished metal instead of painted and the great seal rendition in the middle doesn’t have silver lineart either. Those choices are as much for aesthetic reasons of eliminating the blue ring so it was all a fairly simple mono-material-looking surface as it was for simplifying having to forego painting the foreshortening that a spherical dome might entail. Also just because the rest of the metal turned out looking good enough that an additional bit of shiny metal seemed like it’d fit right in for this. That being said, the badge design that inspired this one is rad and awesome looking—and I totally didn’t realize it wasn’t quite like the badges from in-game assets until after I’d painted it. x’D So, I decided to stick with this one since it’s simpler and has cleaner lines, and less engraving to pick out highlights on. Metal is very hit or miss for me to get right, so I’m very pleased with how this one came out! :D I think I did well on that one. The shoulder patch originally I was looking at real world references and ended up changing the shape once I actually looked at in-game references on Staci and Joey—who I discovered have slightly different details on their uniforms, like the font for their name tags—Staci’s has an old-timey-looking-font with serifs, Joey’s is a non-serif more modern-style font. Some pictures have them having different buttons on their uniforms either in color or shape (the former being exported assets, the latter being in-game gifs/screenies/etc.) This is also how I learned that the little landscape with the shovel, pickaxe and plough/plow are part of the great seal of Montana. I had no flipping idea that was what it was, looking at the patches in-game. The cosplay community does some great work for that, for which I’m grateful. I ended up looking up references of what the state seal’s design was so as to see the smaller details, and to find out what the motto meant ”Oro y Plata,” meant, leading to etymology googling adventures from there, as usual. All important details to paint though I think here, since Joshua’s deputy uniform is symbolically significant to him and will remain so throughout his story as part of his internal conflict for a couple of reasons. One thing I knew I should’ve done from the start, and reminded myself to do, was the fact that I should paint all skin sections at the same time, so as to ensure they all came out the same shades. I did not do this. x’D I’ll have to actually try to do that next time honestly. Same with the hair sections, while I like how they came out, I do feel the differences between the three major segments in terms of brushwork is not as coherent as I’d like, even if beard hair is not necessarily similar in how it lays to scalp hair, particularly with length and such taken into consideration. Still, not bad. Could’ve used more refs for the backlighting and figuring out how the highlights would fit best on the ponytail, but I think the hair curves turned out nice there in particular. Overall, Joshua’s hair ended up messier than I’d thought with how the locks all end up looping this way and that across his head, but it does actually fit him well as a character for his hairstyle to be messy and loosely held together, but functional. It did end up longer than I’d intended, so we have him likely ending up with a nerdy Jesus hairstyle when it’s down. x’D (Thanks to @undead-gearhead​ for that mental imagery, I shall take great amusement in that should I get around to drawing Joshua with his hair down.) Aside from that, I think I’m slowly improving on figuring out how to paint glasses, though I’m thinking in the future I should test more layered reflective light on them or something where the frames are in contact or close to skin, particularly around the glasses’ bridge across the nose and such. Then there are the other deviation details added—like using dark green instead of the black for the uniform accents. The faded black looks great in-game, but I do think the buttons pop more against dark green instead for this painting. I’m a little bit surprised how well the button-placket section came out, Clip Studio Paint crashed when I painted the first rendition of it, sadly losing all that work. I thought it’d be okay but turns out it didn’t quite get to auto-save that recently enough, but the second go around turned out quite well I think, possibly better. I was originally planning to try to put more textured brushwork across the flat sections of the uniform material, but decided to skip it for speed—I’ll test that elsewhere perhaps, though I think it came out well with the watercolor brushes layered on top of one another like that as is. Among the other smaller details, there’s some tweaks and such for how Joshua’s eye shape, eyebrows, nose shape, hairline etc came out compared to references of Greg Bryk in his role as Joseph Seed. I think Joshua did come out looking like he’s obviously related to the Seeds as I was hoping for, but I’m kind of on the fence that people would look at him and automatically assume it’s Joseph specifically that he’s descended from. I hope so, but either way, that’s how he’s written in-fic. x’D Overall, I would consider this painting a success, though as usual I do wish it’d been faster to finish. I do think this was good practice for detail work, and metal shading, also: buttons. Still haven’t figured out how to paint lips with more pink or red tones, I don’t like the way they look when painted sadly, unless it’s lipstick. That may end up being a stylistic element perhaps, along with how I paint the lines for fingernails and other such details. Fun fact: I have to leave the shading on the eyes for last, or else my brain goes “The eyes are done! We’re done! Call it a day.” I’m not sure why, but so far, leaving them as flats until the end seems to work a treat for keeping me focused on finishing the rest of the work with less mental dissonance. Now if only I could figure out why despite knowing I should do all the exposed skin portions at the same time, I don’t follow through on that naturally as far as inclinations go. Maybe it’s a layer organization thing and perception of wanting, say, the cloth to be done first before working “down” to the hands and such in the sense of working from the head down? I’ll have to think on that some more and test things in the next painting. Perhaps color coding the order of layers to paint will help? CSP does have a nice layer-icon-color function that I’ve dabbled with here and there. There are so many brushes, I really do need to test out more of them, I use, what, four or five total, but primarily somewhere around two or three. Hm, but what to do with texture, and how to utilize it so? Hmmm, as far as personal appeal for methodology goes, I might prefer to use textures in select pieces for more emotional emphasis? If I can figure out how to do that in a messier speed-paint style of things. Rougher textures for conflict, for example. That sounds like an interesting idea to explore, I’ll have to remember that for a later piece. Maybe more heavily textured brushes will also help with the mental itch to refine things to a cleaner-level of refining instead of leaving it in a more organically rough state. Hm, maybe it’s a “mental texture” aversion or something, as far as an interplay between the brush’s texture and the flow of the linework/brushstroke. Perhaps more uneven brushes echo that in a complimentary fashion to better allow less mental discomfort for me personally when trying to paint in a faster, looser fashion? Honestly, very tempting to go try that out sooner rather than later on some art ideas I have, but I’ve been missing my writing very much of late with two time-demanding paintings back to back. So, ideas for a later time to experiment with.

#Far Cry 5 #FC 5 #Far Cry 5 AU #FC 5 AU #deputy joshua rook #my art #ofravensandgenesis's art #art talk #chatter #writing about art #writing about fanart #queue

[unexpectedcronchiness]

“Sirius does the impossible” PT 5 of stories i create while texting waassup read the warnings

WARNINGS: SELF HARM, EATING DISORDER, SPIRALING THOUGHTS, DEPRESSION, NEAR DEATH OCCURRENCES, MENTAL SLIPPAGE, MENTAL BREAKDOWN

also bad grammar and just generally shitty writing ( i was trying to be speedy) but happy ending

inspired by

“beforee the war sirius's boggart was his mother and no one will ever change my mind

ur right and u should say it”

“I like to think that too, but then after the war sirius realizes that what he loves has the potential to hurt him more than what he hates and the moment he realizes that everything changes

he withdraws from everyone, including remus, hes just so scared”

beeecause hes more scared of losing them than he is of getting hurt

and then he thinks, if they can do that to him, then he can do that to them, shit he could lose them, SHIT he could hurt them and he can't ever let that happen so he leaves

(ikr im in an angst mood tm,) and the only thought going through his head "im becoming my mother, im becoming one of them, once a black, always a black, you can leave your blood but you can't escape it"

When remus finally tracks him down, sirius is half dead lying in a ditch, literally, he hasn't fed himself, his cheeks hollow, his eyes sunken

remus doesn't recognize him at first

sirius doesnt recognize him for a while

it takes longer than either would care to ever admit

sirius screams as remus reaches out to touch him, grab him, make sure hes real, because hes real, its really sirius, and sirius starts bawling, huddled like a wounded dog

remus doesnt know what to do

so he leaves

and cries

a week later, far too long he thinks, he goes back and finds him still there

hes barely breathing

remus cant begin to understand why hed ever left

Wait, yes he can,

because hes a COWARD He screams at himself

well he wasnt going to be one this time he was going to get sirius back one way or another dammit

sirius still doesnt recognize remus

his eyes are red and bloodshot as though hes been crying since the day hes been born

remus not knowing what to do, sits next to him

even with his werewolf strength he could never hurt sirius (in this case at least) not when hes already so close to death, he fears one more tousle would kill him

cautiously he silently casts and aguamenti into a sunken hole next to sirius, not sure what it would do but it felt helpful

then, cursing himself, he thinks sirius needs the water idiot, and if he has barely been drinking any all this time why would he drink now

so remus sits

and he sits

he could force him, he thinks, but quickly shakes the thought

one more tousle and hes dead, one more touch and hes gone, mentally and physically

he cant get him to st mungos, he cant get him home, he cant get him anywhere

so he sits

unsure of what to do, he sings

its an old song, hes not sure where its from, his mam used to sing it to him (shout out to @mvnvgedmischeif love the welsh)

sirius looks up

its the first time hes made eye contact this entire time

hell its the first time hes moved

taking advantage of this moment, not sure what comes over him, remus dips his head into the puddle and takes a drink.

that was incredibly fucking stupid he thought

but

then sirius looks at him again

and looks at the puddle

then at him again

and slowly, in an almost dog like manner he takes a drink

maybe remus is being hopeful but he thinks just that alone helps

so an idea hits him

he summons some food, never very nutritious or tasty he knows, but its the best he can do and he shudders to think what would happen if he leaves to get some real food

slowly he takes a bite

and then he offers it to sirius

he sniffs hungrily, but definitely more human like than before

he snatches the food greedily

huddling over it,  biting his hand, rocking, crying, he doesnt deserve this the conscious part of him thinks  and remus begins to sing again

And it calms him down

and he does the impossible

he lays his head down on remuses lap

remus lets out a breath he hadnt even realised hed been holding

tentatively he reaches out a hand and carresses sirius head

sirius flinches but doesnt fight, doesnt move away, moves closer into the touch

remus watches as sirius falls asleep and does the only the he can do

he sits

and waits

For what he doesn’t know

he waits

the sky gets dark

and then it gets light again

and then dark

and then light

and then he looses count

sirius hasnt woken up

and he can't bring himself to move sirius though

he can barely bring himself to move

he imagined he would be looking as sirius was when he first found him

and then sirius does the impossible once more

"moony ssat you?"

"moony? MOOny remus get away im not safe im not safe to be around im bad its bad its bad im not safe youre not safe"

hes crying, frantic, tearing at his hair trying to push remus away

tell me remus sings again

remus decides fuck it, if they were both going to die, then he was going to die with sirius in his arms

he pulls sirius in for a hug and time itself seems to stop

sirius stops moving

sirius doesnt breathe

sirius stops crying

and then he sighs, relaxing into remus, allowing himself to feel safe, loved, even if he thinks he doesnt deserved it becaues hes so tired, he so tired and hes selfish and he needs this

and remus cant help it

he cries

he cries empty tears as he has nothing left to give

"Moony moony moony, i don't deserve you do i"

remus cries harder at this, his shoulders heaving, gasping for air

"You deserve so much you deserve it all please, please let me help you, talk to me, let me help you, please sirius"

and for the third time, sirius does the impossible

he nods

that was the only thing remus needed

using every ounce of his strength left he apparates them back to grimmauld place where they collapse on the floor, and are met by frantic, concerned friends

a week later remus wakes up, his hand sweaty

"ew" he remembers thinking to himself

then he looks over

and gold eyes meet silver

i love this so much

tears meet cheeks and bedsheets

sirius clutches remuses hand harder

and remus smiles

and then sirius smiles

and then they're laughing

maniacal relieved laughter

hysterical laughter

perfect honest laughter

the tears turn from worry to adrenaline and glee

remus decides for the second time "fuck it" and flings himself over onto sirius

he cups siriuses face in his cheeks

and leans in

sirius doesn't lean in, he waits, telling himself to let himself know how much remus loves him. Remus seems to understand this and closes the distance

after what seems like eternity, they separate

remuses hands still cupping siriuses face

"next time, please, talk to me, just please I can't lose you"

his voice is barely above a whisper

and sirius says "what if you hate me what if i hurt you what if you leave what if-"

"what if i love you so much that you leaving hurts me more, what if i love you so much i think that you deserve happiness, what if you deserve happiness whether or not i love you. You need to be fair to yourself sirius."

and then sirius does the impossible for the final time

and he says "i promise"

THE END

#wolfstar #remus x sirius #sirius black #sirius #remus lupin #remus #sanity loss #read the warnings #mental health #mental breakdown #angst #writing #my writing #drabble #short fic #mini fic #au #hc

[lunnamars]

strange connection - chap 2

Chap 2! First part can be read [here].

Can also be read in AO3 e FFNET.

Chapter 2 - waves

When Tashigi called again, the field mission had been complicated as usual, but with a different result. She had won, she had been able to protect civilians successfully and the pride she felt of herself filled her chest to the point of overflowing. On those days, she even goes out to celebrate with the crew.

But she was stupidly surprised and furious that a certain green-haired man was the first thing that came to her mind.

Surprised because it was Roronoa Zoro. Furious because it was Roronoa Zoro.

But... I wanted to tell him that I won.

So, instead of going out to celebrate the victory, she decided to go back to the base, take a relaxing bath and… who knows, maybe not be annoyed by the infamous pirate.

However, when they finally answered on the other end of the line, she didn't expect Nico Robin's voice.

"Hello, Captain Tashigi. What can I do for you?", the pirate's calm voice still made her feel shivers down her spine since the confrontation at Alabasta.

"N-Nico R-robin! I-I-I just called-"

"To talk to our swordsman?"

The captain suddenly shut up.

Great. Give your feelings in a silver platter to the clever Nico Robin, Tashigi.

"I'll take the silence as a yes. He's not here at the moment. The den den mushi is always at the little table next to his bed, so when he comes back from the shower, he can call you back. Want to leave a message?"

Tashigi heard no malice in the archaeologist's voice and she seemed genuinely solicitous. But Tashigi was surprised to feel genuinely uncomfortable. "Y-Y-You-are in his b-bed?"

"If you stutter more than that, I won't be able to understand you, Captain. But yes, I am. Do you have any problem?"

"N-n-no!!", Tashigi got a little more worked up than she should have.

I don't know.

"Fufufu. Anyway, I'll have to go now, Captain-san, but I'll let him know. Have a good night!"

Maybe I won't have it anymore.

"R-Right! G-Good n-night!"

Tashigi hung up, but continued to stare at the den den mushi as if he could miraculously explain what she was feeling. Because the captain herself had no idea.

Nico Robin in the boys' room.

Nico Robin near the den den mushi that was in the hands of Roronoa.

In Roronoa's bed.

What… can that possibly mean?

Tashigi was convinced that Zoro wouldn't return the call, because, during these past few months, the girl had been the one who initiated any interaction since every week she contacted the crew in order to take the den den mushi back. But deep down… the snail was no longer the main reason.

In the first few weeks, she could easily recite, without stuttering or thinking twice, the reasons why she would call week after week. But over time, Roronoa's baritone voice became a sweet lullaby every time they spoke and Tashigi always slept very well on those nights, but until now she still couldn't understand why.

The only thing that Tashigi was able to realize was the fact that, in the vast majority of situations, she is able to remain calm in the same way that peaceful waves crash in the ocean on a sunny day. But when his voice answers on the other side, for some reason, the waves seem to become uncontrollable and unpredictable.

The captain had also talked to most of the Sunny's crew - Nami, Sanji, the cutest reindeer of all the seas, even Luffy (she remembers that it was one of the funniest conversations she had in her life since the boy didn't have a serious bone in his body) and every time, the waves remained calm.

Perhaps the water has been static because all these times, these people on the other end were never in his bed.

This is none of your concern, Tashigi. Just forget it.

But she couldn't because the girl kept going through all the conversations she had with Zoro through den den mushi until then. There weren't many of them to the point that Tashigi could say she knew him very well as if they were longtime friends, but in general, they were… good. Occasionally, Zoro would offer pieces of his thoughts and Tashigi always imagined that these conversations were like small wrapped papers spread on a table. Depending on the subject or the mood, he would open a random one and share it with her.

However, it wasn't always like that. Initially, the two would just fight with each other through the snail...

"How the hell do you have such a bad sense of direction, Roronoa? You are so clueless!!"

"Haaaa? And you're a pain in the ass, woman!!",

Or calling each other stupid names ...

"You sword nerd!!"

"Marimo."

"HAAA? REPEAT THAT, FOUR-EYES!!"

...or competing for the most foolish things.

"I am sure that if I throw you in a maze, you will die there because you will never be able to find your way out!!"

"Whaat?? You insufferable, are you challenging me??"

"My God, you are so thick-headed."

Until one day, when she passed by Zoro's wanted poster, she had a huge urge to know where he was and what he could be doing. It was so incredibly sudden that Tashigi thought she had been hit by a bolt of lightning because of the shock that ran from her hair to the tip of her toes.

She stopped dead on her tracks. Her heart sped up without warning.

Maybe he was… kicking Sanji? Calling Nami a witch? Giving attention to Chopper? Training? Drinking sake? Sleeping?

Thinking about her?

No. Impossible. He has said over and over that he hates me.

Even though she knew that, she called him at night on the pretext of trying, once again, to persuade them to return the snail. Zoro just laughed smugly and said no, Tashigi snorted, but after a certain silence, the swordsman asked how her hunts for the Meito swords were going. She was astonished because, judging by the complicated relationship they have, the captain thought the swordsman would have already erased any relevant information about her from his mind. Especially a lost memory at a sword store in Loguetown.

Although he realized that my rank has changed.

But after the astonishment passed, she happily told about some successful operations.

That day, they talked until midnight. That day, she realized that something about her had changed.

Since then, Tashigi seemed to be always living inside her own mind, always replaying that night. The conversation, his voice calm and low, an almost silent laugh that didn't seem pretentious at all. She was constantly thinking about how, at least for that short time, their relationship seemed to be more friendly.

And how she had liked that.

プルルル purururu

She almost threw the den den mushi on the floor when it ringed.

"H-Hello?"

"Oe, madam cap'n. Robin said you called…"

She thought she was either imagining things or he was talking to someone close because she heard a whisper that sounded a lot like "after two months...".

Two months. Sixty-one days and twenty-two hours (it was coming to sixty-two days now). She knew it was two months because she counted every day and fought against herself to not call. It's impossible that Roronoa Zoro would have bothered to count too.

Impossible. He must be talking to someone else.

"A-Ah y-y-yes. Y-Yeah."

"Why the hell are you stuttering so much?"

"F-For n-nothing!!"

"Something happened because you're really stuttering."

"I already said it's nothing, damn it!!"

"Great, you stopped. So what do you want?"

She wasn't going to lie that she was surprised that he pissed her off just so she would stop stuttering. Annoying each other is something that came naturally due to the eccentricity of their relationship, but knowing that doing that could also be used for another purpose like getting her to stop stuttering?

And why the hell did she stutter so much?

Tashigi was stunned for a few seconds and thought about it in silence.

"Four eyes?"

His voice seemed to awaken her from any spiral of thoughts she was having and she remembered why she called. And, just for now, she would let herself be taken once again by the illusion of companionship between them.

"I won today."

"Congratulations.", Zoro simply replied.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about, you blockhead."

"Yes, I do know."

How? How do you know?

For some reason, the two had this strange connection that was completely inexplicable and Zoro usually managed to understand it somehow. Tashigi always found it very curious because… what could that mean? Maybe they were always doomed to know each other? A connection between rivals? A connection from friends in another life?

Or maybe... a connection in the form of a very imperceptible red line tied to her pinky?

Yeah, right. Don't be stupid, Tashigi, she thought.

Anyway, she always forced herself to never think about it because he most certainly did not.

"Why did you call that night?"

Once again. The inexplicable connection. She knew what night he was referring to because she thought about it every day and, for a second, she thought about denying it and saying she didn't know what he was talking about. But as she couldn't explain the connection and she knew he would be able to pinpoint the lie the moment it'd leave her mouth, so there was no reason to run. If she is going to live this false camaraderie just for today, then what is wrong with speaking the truth?

An illusion. Only for today. Don't stutter.

"Because I lost and wanted to talk to someone."

"And you called me.", Zoro didn't ask, he just spoke as a matter of fact.

"Yes. I usually… don't have many people to talk to, so I thought you could listen to me. At least once... without caring about the issue of navy and pirates. But... it's completely wrong and silly of me. I mean, I'm a marine and I shouldn't-"

"You didn't call for two months.", Zoro totally ignored Tashigi's last words.

So he had actually whispered that, but... either he read her thoughts or the snail had some way of seeing the last call. It's not possible that he had counted the days and weeks. How did he know then?

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Don't say it was because of him.

"Ah yes. I was busy working on the G-5 and after Smoker-san found out, we ended up leaving the den den mushi with you guys once and for all, so I didn't have to call-"

"Liar.", Zoro cut her off once again.

"Liar?! I'm not a liar, you madcap!", Tashigi was already snorting with the pirate's audacity. It was amazing how easily he managed to get her worked up.

"Liar."

"Roronoa-!"

"If you're going to keep lying, I'll hang up."

"Then hang up! I don’t care!"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

Why couldn't she be honest with him? Why couldn't she act right around him? Maybe… because she didn't want him to think she was weaker than he already does? Because she didn't want him to have an advantage over her in any way? Because she didn't want him to find out that his opinion has become important to her?

Give in just once, Tashigi.

Then she swallowed her embarrassment and pride and answered in an almost inaudible voice.

"I don't like being a nuisance. I never liked. But anyway... what difference does it make whether I called or not?"

"Haa? Wasn't you who said you would be my conscience since I told you about my fight against Mihawk?

"Yes, but because that was stupidly stupid!! I still can't believe you were stupid to that extent. I honestly can't understand how your crew lets you do these stupid things.", Tashigi exclaimed once more. Yeah, it looks like Zoro was really skilled at getting her to act that way.

"Oee, there were many 'stupid' there!!"

"Anyway. It's not like you need me for something, so it makes no difference."

"But you called today. So… does that mean it's you who needs me?", Zoro replied in the blink of an eye and his deep tone momentarily stunned Tashigi.

Silence.

She could almost see his cocky grin as if he himself was in front of her. She could hear her own heart beating frantically.

Perhaps.

"W-W-what ?? W-What are y-you talking about???!!!"

Tashigi knew that he had no way of seeing her through the den den mushi, but the action of hiding her completely red face with her arms was totally involuntary. Zoro just laughed out loud and she could hear Sanji's voice in the background (“Oe shitty marimo, shut up! Hey… are you talking to Tashigi-chan?!? You bastard, let me talk to her!!”).

"You're always so uptight. I'm just kidding, four-eyes."

But somehow... you nailed it.

She couldn't speak anymore because, apparently, Sanji had decided to take the den den mushi from Zoro's hand and now the two were fighting. In the midst of so much insult, Tashigi could make out just a few sentences - the cook asked how she was doing, how the children were doing and the swordsman shouted at him telling him to leave because “she called to talk to me and not the pervert of this crew!”. Soon, Luffy, Chopper, and Usopp joined the chorus and everything became a mess.

She just laughed and calmly called the cook.

"Sanji-san."

"Yeeees, Tashigi-chaaan!?"

"I will hang up soon. Can I say one last thing to Roronoa?"

She heard Zoro mocking Sanji, but couldn't understand what it was. Tashigi laughed softly because she always thought their relationship was funny and was always impressed to see Zoro so free when they argued. Nami said that the cook was one of the few able to get on the swordsman's nerve, but that Tashigi was not far behind.

In the end, Sanji accepted, cursed Zoro once more and said goodbye to her. Apparently, the others did the same - all saying good night to the captain. And with the cook's departure, the silence returned. It was an old friend of theirs - at times it was suffocating and unbearable, but at times it was welcoming.

 "Sorry for the mess."

"It's okay."

A heartbeat. Tashigi decided to muster courage. She couldn't sleep with that question stuck in her throat.

"Roronoa."

"Hm?"

"Why was Robin-san in your bed earlier?", she asked on an impulse but regretted it right after. What kind of question was that, Tashigi??

"What?? What kind of question is that??"

"I just wanted to know."

"Don't you think you wanna know too much?", Zoro sounded really uncomfortable.

"Right. Forgive me.", she knew she shouldn't have asked that because it was none of her business, but she couldn't help it. Robin's voice and Roronoa's bed echoed in her head over and over until he called. The waves were very violent in that short time.

Then she forced herself to remember the reason for the call. "Roronoa."

"What."

"I'll get stronger.", Tashigi spoke with determination because giving up was not in her nature.

"I'm waiting for that.", and Zoro replied as if he understood the meaning behind her stern voice.

"Thanks and good night."

"Yeah. You too."

Tashigi did not call for the next two weeks because it was only now that she began to have a vague idea of ​​what had changed since the day they talked until midnight.

The legend of The Red Thread of Fate says that everyone is born with a red thread tied to his finger that would be linked to someone else.

I really think it applies to Zoro and Tashigi - something that may have to do with destiny, whether they believe it or not. :)

#roronoa zoro #tashigi #zoro x tashigi #zotash #opfanfic #fanfiction

[dear-wormwoods]

--> Playlist: Eddie Kaspbrak Makes a Change <--

All of this new content inspired me to finish fine tuning the Eddie playlist that accompanies the Richie one I posted last week. I’m super excited about this one because it has some incredibly meaningful songs on it and Eddie is REALLY hard to make cohesive playlists for because he’s so complex. This is like, the 6th incarnation of ‘my Eddie playlist’, but it’s by far the most cohesive one.

So, as with the Richie one, this follows the plot of IT as is, except that Reddie happens. Which... may not be as canon divergent as we all thought, now! The narrative here follows Eddie’s attachment to Bill, realizing the truth about his mother, falling for Richie, moving and regressing into mom dependency and sedative abuse, then returning to Derry and ultimately dying in Richie’s arms.

Detailed explanations underneath. Spoiler alert: shit gets depressing.

1. Intro: Like I said in the Richie playlist, I like to start out with an instrumental that sets the right tone for the story that follows it. Intro has a really whimsical, dreamy vibe, which is how Eddie’s chapters always read, to me. 

2. Like the Dawn: This song is... so Eddie. It represents Eddie meeting Bill, his idolization of him, and the feeling that Bill can give him the world and therefore his world depends on Bill. It contains a lot of biblical imagery, which I love when it comes to Eddie songs. Most meta lyric: “and you will surely be the death of me, but how could I have known?”

3. Futile Devices: This one is also about Bill, but at this point Eddie is trying to figure out what category his feelings for Bill fall under. He grapples with the idea of it being romantic, but ultimately he realizes it’s familial - brotherly/fatherly. 

4. Glass Ceiling: This one represents Eddie’s gradual separation from his mother throughout his time with the Losers. At first it’s just, I only know what I’m told, I only do what I’m told. He says what Sonia tells him to say and acts the way she wants him to act. But as time goes on, he feels trapped and starts breaking out of this mold - and what’s more, he realizes this is something he has to do for himself, not something he will be saved from by a third party (no knight in silver armor shining). Most meta lyric: mention of losing an arm, rip.

5. Secrets and Lies: OOF. This song. This is after Eddie finds out about the placebos, when he’s in the hospital with his cast, channeling Maturin to fully and sternly stand up to his mother. At least for now, he knows exactly what she’s done and who she is, and he’s not going to take it anymore. 

6. breathin: Self explanatory. Eddie has an anxiety disorder and the Losers help him deal with it and keep going, even while he’s freaking out. This song also signals the beginnings of a shift in how he feels about Richie, who is the most adept at distracting Eddie from his panic and getting him to just breathe. Most meta lyric: “How do I know if this shit's fabricated?”

7. Meet Me in the Woods: This one represents the sewers and the first battle with IT. “There ain't language for the things I've seen, and the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams.” There’s also a reference to Holy darkness, which connects Eddie’s experience with IT to his issues with religion and spirituality.

8. Cigarettes in the Theatre: After that summer is over and things go back to normal, Eddie and Richie’s relationship spends the next couple of years changing. This song mirrors ‘Rules Don’t Stop’ on Richie’s list. It’s that initial excitement of starting something new, a trip to the movies that doesn’t feel the same as it used to, and quiet conversations under the stars that one day just seem deeper. My favorite line is ‘tell me your favorite things’ because of how invested Eddie is in Richie’s interests in the novel. 

9. Fire in My Bones: This song mirrors Richie’s ‘American Money’, but has a much more uncertain, anxious, Eddie feel to it. While Richie spends their brief teenage relationship thinking nothing can go wrong, Eddie is continuing to battle with his fear. Both songs are full of whimsical references to weather, geography, and open hearts, painting this exciting picture of that specific brand of young, idealistic love where it feels like the world is yours. Both songs also reference flying kites, which represent their newfound freedom to be open with each other. In Richie’s song American Money, the kite comes from Eddie (”you started flying a kite, at the end was the key to my heart”), who has always given him the freedom to be himself. However, for Eddie, the kite is waiting for him at the end of a tunnel - it exists in a bright light, representing the freedom Richie could give him, but the tunnel represents his mother, still attempting to close him off. 

10. Don’t Forget About Me: Richie moves out of Derry before Eddie does. Although he swears they’ll get through the separation, Eddie isn’t so sure - after all, Bev left, and then Bill, and they hardly heard from either of them again. In this, he’s begging Richie not to forget him, not to leave him behind for good. We all know how that turned out. 

11. Mother: Once Eddie is left with only his mother to turn to, and once his memories start to fade when they move to New York, he regresses quickly. This song represents Eddie’s repeated attempts to exist outside of Sonia’s security blanket and his repeated choice to return to her. He can depend on her to protect him, make him into what she thinks will be best, etc. There’s also some religious reference here, sort of implying that ‘Lord’ and ‘Mother’ are on equal footing - which, to Eddie, they always have been. 

12. Numbers: Over time, Eddie grows more and more dependent on prescription pills to get him through life. At some point he has to turn into the guy at the beginning of the novel who has every sedative in the book in his medicine cabinet and actively muses on how great those highs are, so I imagine that habit would begin in his 20′s. During this time period, he’s also seeking out sexual relationships with men who he thinks will make him feel better, or feel something, but they never do. At this point he doesn’t realize how big the hole in his heart is because he doesn’t remember who Richie is. 

13. Cough Syrup: As time goes on, Eddie starts feeling restless within this numb, sedentary, safe life he’s stuck in. He dreams of running away and doing what he actually desires, but he still stays put, and stays “sick”, because he’s always too afraid to take a chance. 

14. Wake Up: He gets Mike’s phone call and starts to see things clearly again. Memories start to come back, he starts to open his eyes to what has become of his life, and how it didn’t have to be that way. This is Eddie figuratively throwing off the shackles and eagerly running back to Derry.

15. Home: Pretty much self explanatory. More so than most of the other Losers, besides maybe Bev, Eddie is the most eager to go back ‘home’, to his childhood friends, and the memories there. 

16. Dear Wormwood: Ohhhh Dear Wormwood... my old friend. I’ll just summarize what I’ve said about this song before: this represents the moment when, as an adult down in the sewers, Eddie is able to overthrow his mother’s voice in his head for good. Now that he’s back in Derry and his memories have returned, he can see her for what she was, what she did to him and still continues doing to him even after her death. He understands her and pities her, but he’s not going to fall into that trap anymore. Her voice no longer matters. Most meta lyric: “I have always known you, you have always been there in my mind... But now I understand you, and I will not be part of your designs.”

17. Blur: Okay so THIS song is literally about IT and literally about Eddie. At first it talks about IT coming back, and then ends with the iconic ‘we all float down here’, but this is the verse that matters: “My throat's cracked and beaten, my back's whipped and torn. The glasses you once wore won't have a use anymore. Where do we go? What will we eat? The only promise I can keep is the one where I say ‘I'll meet you again’, reborn from the sand. The glasses you once wore don't have a use anymore.” So breaking this down, the first part refers to Eddie’s anxiety, his throat tightening. The ‘my back’s whipped and torn’ is a reference to when they fought IT as kids and he was attacked by Mike’s bird (when IT was targeting Eddie for beating the crawling eye for Richie) - his shirt and back were torn by its claws. Then obviously the glasses part is a reference to Richie, now an adult, having switched to contacts. Then the ‘promise’ he can keep is a reference to his own death. All he can do is promise to meet Richie again in the afterlife, or in the next life.

18. The River: This one is like, the beginning of Eddie’s death scene, when Richie stumbles to him. Eddie’s encouraging him to let his emotions out instead of bottling them up, because he knows that’s Richie’s coping mechanism and he knows how unhealthy it is. He wants to make sure Richie is going to be okay, and continue to be himself after this.  

19. Yes I’m Changing: FUCK. THIS SONG IS MY FAVORITE, IT’S SO FUCKING TRAGIC IN THIS CONTEXT AND I LIVE FOR THIS SHIT. Okay so this song is like, technically about a break up - whatever. It fits so much better as a death song. Specifically Eddie’s death song. This song fully represents his moment of self acceptance at the very end, and how at peace he felt as he died. The saddest yet most graceful death ever.

“I felt the strangest emotion but it wasn't hate, for once” - a glorious representation of Eddie feeling okay with himself for the first time in his known memory. 

“There's no future left for you and me. I was holding and I was searching endlessly, but baby, now there's nothing left that I can do, so don't be blue. There is another future waiting there for you.” - He needs Richie to accept that this is it, but he shouldn’t be sad, because Eddie is okay with it and knows Richie will lead a full life after this is over. 

“Yes I'm changing, can't stop it now, and even if I wanted I wouldn't know how. Another version of myself I think I found, at last.” - He’s changing in death to this cleansed, spiritually light version of himself he’d like to preach upon if he could. He’s been so miserable for basically his entire life, and dying isn’t so bad.

Repeating that the world is calling Richie’s name, as in he needs Richie to go on without him and not get stuck on this grief. “Arise and walk, come through. A world beyond that door is calling out for you.” - I love this outro especially because in this context, it acts as a reference to the door to ITs lair. There is a world outside of this place and that’s where Richie needs to be, he can’t stay here. 

20. The Trapeze Swinger: Okay. :) I don’t even know where to begin. This song has everything, it’s full of childhood references, biblical imagery, and visuals that inexplicably connect to even the most obscure parts of Eddie’s character. Plus the added layer of irony that he’s begging to be remembered in the afterlife, while Richie is desperate to forget, which makes it extra tragic. I’ve wanted to write a full meta about this song in particular for a very long time, but I’ll settle for a breakdown of some of the lyrics:

“Please, remember me, happily, by the rosebush laughing. with bruises on my chin” - Refers to the rosebushes by the house on Neibolt street where Eddie got entangled escaping from the leper, as well as his tendency to find humor and excitement in pain. 

“Someone caught us in the kitchen with maps, a mountain range, a piggy bank, a vision too removed to mention” - Refers to Eddie’s constant daydreaming about running away, his navigational skills, and the fear and guilt he feels whenever he let himself think about doing this. 

“The pearly gates had some eloquent graffiti, like 'We'll meet again', and 'Fuck the man', and 'Tell my mother not to worry'” - Refers to eventually reuniting with the Losers, his desire to rebel, and his continuous habit of putting his mother’s feelings and needs above his own as a child.

“And when the morning came, I was ashamed, only now it seems so silly.” - Refers to the shame he felt about his sexuality throughout his life, and then the clarity and acceptance he felt as he died. 

“And now you're lit up by the city, so please, remember me, mistakenly, in the window of the tallest tower.” - Refers to Richie now living in the city, and hoping he will remember him sometimes as life goes on, even by accident. Also lowkey refers to Bev seeing his ghost in their window reflection along with Stan’s.

“Just like the gates around the holy kingdom, with words like 'Lost and Found' and 'Don't Look Down', and 'Someone Save Temptation'” - Refers to his lifelong fear of being locked out of heaven. The phrases each refer to losing/finding the Losers, facing his fears, and accepting his “temptation” (aka his sexuality). 

“Please, remember me, as in the dream we had as rug-burned babies among the fallen trees.” - Refers to exchanging secret goals and aspirations with Richie as kids while playing in the Barrens. He wants Richie to remember that. 

“A fleeting chance to see a trapeze swing as high as any savior.” - Throughout this song, the trapeze swinger symbolizes love/relationships. Richie and Eddie’s window of opportunity to be together was fleeting, but it was more meaningful than anything else they’d experienced. 

“Please, remember me, my misery, and how it lost me all I wanted.” - Eddie spent his life being scared and stagnant, always miserable but never having the guts to change his situation on his own, which ultimately cost him a fulfilling life. He wants Richie to remember that and avoid making the same mistake. 

“... and chasing trains, the colored birds above there, running in circles ‘round the well...” - Refers to Eddie’s obsession with traintracks and freedom, the birds he watched fly away from Derry that brought tears to his eyes, and the cyclical nature of his life that he could never escape. 

“You turn from me and said 'The trapeze act was wonderful, but never meant to last.'” - Again, the trapeze act symbolizes love/the relationship. Richie and Eddie’s time together was limited and exciting, but couldn’t last forever due to the circumstances of their lives.   

“The clown that passed saw me just come up with anger.” - lmao I can’t even deal with this line. Self explanatory. IT is what tore them apart, both times. 

“Please, remember me, finally, and all my uphill clawing.” - He doesn’t want to be remembered for his previous failure, but for his determination and how he ultimately overcame the things that were holding him back. 

“My dear, but if I make the pearly gates, I’ll do my best to make a drawing of God and Lucifer, a boy and girl, an angel kissing on a sinner, a monkey and a man, a marching band... all around the frightened trapeze swingers.” - Eddie never thought he would go to heaven or ‘make the pearly gates’, but in his dying moments he finally feels like it’s possible. If he gets there, he’s going to preserve the memory of the Losers and their experience in the afterlife (the ‘drawing’). God and Lucifer represent Maturin and IT, the boy and girl represent Ben and Beverly, the angel kissing on a sinner represents he and Richie (who is who? Eddie would say he’s the sinner, but Richie would say the opposite). The monkey and the man refer to ITs timelessness - that the entity was here long before the evolution of man and witnessed all of human history unfold - it’s also a reference to Mike and Richie’s experience in the smokehouse. The marching band refers to the Losers as a group, working together as a unit. The frightened trapeze swingers again symbolize the relationships, how scary and thrilling love is, and that “love and desire” are stronger forces than memory. 

YIKES that was so much. I expect virtually no one to read all that, but I hope y’all enjoy the playlist!

#stephen king's IT #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #my playlists #it meta #my meta #music #meta #eddie spaghet tea #my shit #eddiecore #it hcs #top tier #reddiecore

[wbtylerbooks]

Children’s Book Author Stories – Darryl Silver – Poppi the Okapi

About the Author:

Darryl Silver is a TV Producer/Writer/ Creator. Darryl is the owner of The Idea Factory (www.tiftv.com), a production company. I also own a Brand of Tequila called Calavera Tequila. www.calaveratequila.com

Creative Process:

I have always been a creative person and have had some great success in the past and still do today.

This is actually my first entrance into writing children's books and it has been an adventure to say the least.

In my early career I was blessed to have great mentors. One in particular told me, "write what you know about better than life itself." What this means is write about what you know and it will come out honest and real. I truly believe this.

When my kids were little I used to take them to the zoo almost every weekend. I did this to give my wife a break as she took care of the kids during the weekdays. It was at this time that I became fascinated by the okapi. I was actually more obsessed with the word and I created a rhyming game that my children and I used to play when we would go there. This game continues even today as they are all grown up. I always knew that this would make a great children's book and one day I just had to get it out of my head and down on paper.  

About two years ago I finally decided to sit down and write it. The writing process took me about three months and I got a great response from friends, family and educators that I had shown the work too. Since I am a TV producer/writer, I am represented by an agent. It was at this time that she submitted the manuscript to several children's book publishers. We instantly got a great response. However, during the phone calls that I had with the publishers I found experience to be creatively stifling.

My book is long. It's 48 pages long, and, when publishers looked at the manuscript their notes were, "the book is too long", "the book needs to be half the length", "there are too many words on the page" and "some of the words are too big". Being someone who is in control of my creative work in my other business I did not respond very well to these notes. The nail in the coffin for me was actually when I asked them what they thought about an illustrator and they informed me that that would not be my choice – publishers would assign an illustrator to the project.

I decided that If was going to write I book I wanted it to be how I wanted it and not someone else's vision. This is not to say I did not listen to others when they gave me notes, this just means that if your creative vision is going to be decimated then what is the point in writing the book.

It was at this time but I decided that I would go at it by myself and that I would self-publish via Kickstarter.

But, first things first. I had to find an illustrator. I met with a bunch of illustrators domestically and I wasn't overwhelmed with any of their art. The one person that I did think was just okay wanted $170 a page. To spend $8,000 on art, for a first time book writer, was too big of a risk for me to take.  I had had great experiences with my other businesses working with fiverr.com and thought that maybe I could find somebody somewhere else in the world who might be more reasonably priced.

I put out an audition and found about a dozen artists and sent them one page of the book and all I asked them to do was illustrate the page with their style of artwork. I was blown away by the level of quality that was sent to me and the person I finally settled upon was a woman named Mary who lived in Pakistan. I can tell you that her art was far more superior than anyone I had seen stateside. It was then that I hired her to do the artwork for the book at a fraction of the price.

The way I approached her was we started with a few pages at a time and then as we went along I would pay her for between 5 to 10 pages at a time to ensure that she would actually finish the project as sometimes people on this platform either don't finish the work or disappear. I made sure that she sent me the masters with each group of pages so that I always had all the work in my possession.

Because of my inexperience I had no idea that it would take another year-and-a-half to finish the art, but in retrospect 48 fully Illustrated pages done in a year-and-a-half isn't too bad. I was very lucky that Mary was so great because as we went along there were a lot of changes to the book not only the illustrations but with the words. It is amazing how you realize what works and what doesn't as the process moves along.  Mary was amazing and even though there was a slight language barrier we got the job done.

Once the book was finished (or what I thought was finished), it was time to print a sample of the book. It was at this time that I realized that the formatting that Mary had done was completely wrong. This was not her fault nor my fault but just both of our lack of experience. It was during this time that I started speaking with printers in China. I used www.Alibaba.com and had conversations with over 20 different book printers. I settled upon a couple different printers who gave me amazing help in understanding how to format a book. They were extremely patient with me and we just kept going back and forth via Alibaba and Skype until the actual formatting was done correctly.

I'm very lucky that I have a great friend of mine and somebody has worked for me for years Andrew who knows how use Adobe in such a professional way that he was able to sit with me and we were able to go frame by frame word by word and make changes to the small artwork and formatting issues until the book was actually properly formatted. This was NOT an easy process.

I believe it's important for independent book writers and publishers to figure out the most financially responsible ways to get the job done. We are taking on all the risk to achieve our goals.

I also think it is super important for the writers to understand the process from beginning to end. Each time you hire someone to figure out something for you is one less thing that you understand in this very complex process.

A great resource that I believe every independent writer should join is https://www.ibpa-online.org/. This organization was a godsend in helping me in getting the project done and done correctly.

There are no shortcuts to learning how all this is done it is HARD work.

During this process I wasn't afraid to ask for help. I asked family. I asked friends. I went online and asked strangers for help. You would be shocked at how many people are willing to share their experience and their skills with you.

I am now at the point that I am launching the book. I chose to do it on Kickstarter because I have a great social media network due to my television background. I am relying on lots of friends and associates to help me drive sales of the book. I spent a lot of time looking at how other people were launching their books on Kickstarter and found the most successful ones. I am trying to emulate what they did. But there is no easy shortcut. I know that going forward this is going to take a lot of work and the only person who can do that work is me since I am the best advocate for my own work.

The first thing I did when the formatting was done was print one book via www.bookbaby.com. The reason I did this was that in theory you think you know how the books going to look when it's printed but only once you get a copy in your hand are you able to truly understand the nature of what you've done. I would say at this point my book is about 90% done and when it goes to the final printing we are going to be making the final changes.

I've actually partnered with a charity https://www.okapiconservation.org/ and I have found that they have been super helpful and promoting my book as well as connecting me with lots of people in the Okapi community.  They have even connected me with our local zoo who are also going to help me promote the book. I even had the opportunity to meet an Okapi and many other animals in a VIP behind the scenes tour. During all these events I filmed myself to use in my social media for the launch of the book. The Okapi zookeeper even gave me a stellar book review. The more people on camera and in print who give your book a great review, the better it will be for your launch.

I have also spent a lot of time on social media pre-promoting my book. When you settle on a title it is imperative that you get all your usernames locked down for your social media. Well before you launch the book you should be promoting the book and creating a social media community that you think would be interested in the book. As of today I have not sold one book and my Instagram is over 700 people.  It is crucial to create a buzz for your book well before you launch your Kickstarter pre-launch and your final launch page.

I've also been using my television contacts and there's an opportunity for my book to be featured on a children’s show this summer.

I always tell my kids if you are going to do something you should do it right.

You only have one shot to launch a book the first time and you should put all your effort energy and resources into launching that book.

I also believe that it's very important to have great focus groups. Within days of getting my first copy printed I met with teachers, friends and children of my friends to read them the book. I've had the great opportunity to read it to several kindergartens to see what reaction they had. It is never too late to figure out what you did wrong so you can change things before the final printing. I will always consider this book a work in progress and anytime I can make it better I will.

I'm cautiously optimistic for the launch of my book but you never know what's going to happen. I could sell 100 books or 100,000 books. You never know until you try.

I believe that it is important to pay it forward so if anyone reading this needs help...

Find me:

Here is the Kickstarter page for my book: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/darrylsilver/poppi-the-okapi

E-Mail: [email protected] Website: www.poppitheokapi.com Instagram: @poppitheokapi Twitter: @poppitheokapi Facebook: www.facebook.com/poppitheokapi

#okapiconservation #kickstarter #kickstartercampaign #booksforkids #childrensbooks #childrensbookauthor #creativeprocess #conservation #zoo #picturebook #okapi

[fallintosanity]

cloud has no idea who specs is but if they’re the one who normally wakes up noctis, he has a newfound admiration for their determination

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10

That night, Cloud dreamed of Aeris dying, over and over again, the silver blade sliding through her chest, the way she folded, the peace on her face despite the agony in his heart. 

Until a deep voice called his name, and then he slept; and when he woke up in the morning Sephiroth was leaning against his desk again.

* * *

“So,” Noctis said. “What was that about yesterday? You kinda… freaked out.” 

Cloud and Noctis were in the elevator on the way to Noctis’s first mission of the day. Cloud looked away, watching the numbers tick down to the ground floor. “Bad memories,” he said. “Sorry.” 

“Oh.” Noctis touched a hand to his lower back, the same place he’d been massaging after yesterday’s sparring match. “I know how that goes.” 

Cloud shrugged. The elevator doors opened to the building lobby and he led the way out, deliberately changing the subject. “Where’d you learn how to fight so well against a Buster sword?”

“My, uh… The guy who taught me how to fight,” Noctis said. “He uses a sword like that.” 

“Is he from Banora?” Cloud asked as they emerged onto the streets of Sector 4. Angeal had been the original owner of the Buster, and Angeal was from Banora; maybe it was some kind of heritage design. 

But Noctis shook his head. “His family is from… from the east. Like mine.” 

“The Mideel area?” 

Noctis started to answer, then stopped short, his attention caught by something off to one side between a pair of neat little penthouses. Following his gaze, Cloud saw a golden snout poking up over the edge of a fence. Noctis ran over, breaking into a delighted smile as a floppy-eared dog reared up to put its front paws on the fence. “Hey there,” Noctis murmured, offering a hand for the dog to sniff. “How are you, buddy?” 

The dog woofed and licked at Noctis’s hand, and Noctis began petting its ears. Cloud followed him over, amused, and leaned on the fence while Noctis cooed and fawned over the dog. After five minutes or so, Cloud cleared his throat pointedly. Noctis looked up, a flush of red coloring his cheeks. “Sorry,” he said. Giving the dog one last scratch behind the ears, he started walking again. 

It wasn’t until later, while he was watching Noctis dispatch yet another tangle of razorweed, that Cloud realized he’d never actually answered the question about where he was from.

* * *

Without Noctis to babysit, no missions or classes of his own, and Kunsel and Zack still out on their mission, Wednesday was yet another dull day. Cloud found himself drifting around the ShinRa building, aimless and unsure what to do with himself. Hojo was dead, Jenova’s remains destroyed. Sephiroth still needed watching, but that was a passive task: when the general wasn’t being paraded around the continent by the President as a reminder of ShinRa’s might, he was stuck in endless meetings about the future of the SOLDIER program. 

There was an irony there, Cloud knew; ShinRa executives and scientists dancing around the subject of Jenova and the truth of Sephiroth’s origins as though he hadn’t learned the whole story in Nibelheim months ago. But Sephiroth hadn’t told the Turks just how much he’d found out, and if the Turks suspected he knew more than he was letting on, they weren't saying - so everyone was playing a little game of don’t say anything that might upset the super-soldier. 

Sephiroth thought it was funny, his amusement leaking through their connection occasionally. Cloud could sense how much he enjoyed the word games, the challenge of seeing how far he could push the scientists and the Turks without revealing just how much he knew. It added a bit of interest to the otherwise painfully long and boring meetings. Cloud, on the other hand, was just nervous about the whole thing. Sephiroth probably wouldn’t go insane from anything they’d say in one of those meetings, but then, no one had thought he would the first time around, either. But Cloud couldn’t do anything about it, which left him with nothing to do at all. 

He was considering wandering down to visit the church again - even if Aerith wasn’t there, he could tend the flowers - when his PHS beeped. Flipping it open, he saw a request from Lazard to report to the Briefing Room immediately for a mission. 

Cloud frowned as he tucked the PHS away and headed for the elevator. Ever since that one dangerous meeting, months ago before Nibelheim when Lazard had casually suggested a coup against the President and Cloud had turned him down, Lazard had been strictly business with Cloud. But there wasn't any business to be had today that Cloud knew of. He thought about how Lazard had watched him last week after Noctis’s first mission. Was Lazard going to try suggesting sedition again? He knew the gist of what had happened in Nibelheim; did he think Cloud would be more open to joining him in a revolt after that?

But when Cloud reached the Briefing Room, Lazard was on his PHS, harried and waving an arm as he spoke. His expression turned relieved when he saw Cloud and he ended the call. “Commander, good, I’m glad I caught you,” he said. “We received an urgent request for help from Rocket Town, on the northwest coast of the West Continent. A pride of coeurls was spotted yesterday just outside the town. They’ve apparently taken over a partially-built barn on the town’s outskirts.”

He scooped a mission briefing packet from the table and handed it to Cloud. “This is yesterday’s report. The barn is intended as storage and operational facilities for ShinRa’s rocket program, so the presence of the coeurls has brought the program to a halt. We're getting the details into the mission system now, but considering the situation, we wanted to deploy someone right away.”

Cloud skimmed the packet. At least six coeurls had been spotted, which meant there were likely several more that hadn't been seen. Still… “Coeurls are usually handled by a team,” he said carefully. It was possible to fight coeurls solo - he’d done it before - but with how fast the beasts were, it was safest to have someone covering your back. Especially for a group this large.

“I know, but this is beyond the abilities of most Thirds, and we don't have enough Seconds available,” Lazard admitted. “The increase in monster activity near the reactors has stretched them thin. I’d like you to take Caelum with you - from what I've been hearing, he’s going to rival your ascension through the ranks. If he’s as qualified as everyone seems to think, this will be a good test for him.”

Cloud glanced up at Lazard. The director sighed, pushing his glasses back into place. “If I could spare Commander Rhapsodos or General Sephiroth, I would. But the President is…” He broke off, frowned, and tried again, in the stilted voice of someone attempting to avoid saying things they shouldn’t. “The President has requested that one of the two of them accompany him at all times, and both when he’s traveling. I could send Commander Hewley with you, but I understand you would prefer a different partner.” 

He wasn’t wrong about that. And if Lazard wanted to use this as an opportunity to see if Noctis was ready to be promoted to Second, it wasn’t a bad mission to choose. What was more intriguing was that comment about the President - but Cloud doubted Lazard would say anything further on that. Maybe he could ask Genesis later. He said to Lazard, “All right, I’ll do it.” 

“Good,” Lazard said, looking relieved. “Thank you. I’ve arranged a helicopter to leave in an hour. You’ll have to track Caelum down - I sent him a message at the same time I contacted you, but haven’t heard back yet.” 

Cloud nodded and left, heading down to the floor that housed the Third Class barracks. He might not know Noctis that well yet, but he knew enough to guess the man was likely to still be in his room. Sure enough, when he asked a Third hurrying through the hall where to find Noctis, the boy said dourly, “Just listen for the alarm clock. I don’t know how Salim hasn’t murdered him yet.” 

Salim must be Noctis’s bunkmate. Cloud found the bunk with the alarm blaring through the door and used his First Class access code to override the room’s lock. It was nearly ten AM, but the room was pitch-black thanks to the lack of windows, and even Cloud’s mako-enhanced vision could make out little more than a lump on the lower bunk. He flipped on the light, but if Noctis was under those blankets, he was so thoroughly buried that not even a lock of hair showed. 

Cloud turned off the alarm, then cautiously prodded the lump. “Noctis?”

His hand found a shoulder and he shook it, but got no response. He shook again, harder. Still nothing, so he tugged the blankets back until he found Noctis curled up underneath, face buried in the pillow. If Noctis noticed the sudden lack of covers, he gave no sign; if his chest hadn’t been rising and falling steadily Cloud would have worried he was dead. Apparently he hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Lazard a louder alarm wouldn’t help. 

A wash of homesickness rushed over Cloud as he shook Noctis again, harder - he’d used to wake up Denzel like this. Though unlike Noctis, Denzel usually at least showed some sign of life by now. He kept shaking until Noctis stirred and made a vague unhappy noise. 

Encouraged, Cloud said, “Noctis. Wake up,” and nudged him again. 

Noctis groaned, one arm untucking from beneath him to flail blindly in Cloud’s direction. “Fuck off, Specs!” 

Cloud caught his arm and hauled on it, dragging Noctis half-upright. Only then did one grey eye slit open behind messy black hair. Noctis glared blearily at him, recognition finally dawning. “You’re not Specs.”

“No,” Cloud agreed. “We have a mission. We’re leaving in forty minutes.” 

Noctis yanked against Cloud’s grip on his arm, though he still wasn’t awake enough to be effective. “Lemme sleep,” he muttered. “I already did my five.” 

“Five is the minimum,” Cloud said. “You can do up to twenty every five days before they’ll stop you.” He pulled Noctis further upright, dragging him half off the bed and forcing Noctis to put a foot on the floor or dangle from Cloud’s grip on his arm. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you at the helicopter pad in thirty-five minutes.” 

Noctis whined - actually whined, a drawn-out nasal sound like a child, and didn’t move. Cloud hauled Noctis fully off the bed and shoved him toward the room’s tiny bathroom, waiting until Noctis staggered inside and the shower came on before leaving to head back upstairs. 

Forty minutes later, Cloud was waiting next to the empty helicopter, more than half expecting to have to go back downstairs to retrieve Noctis. But the elevator dinged and Noctis stepped out, followed by the Turk Reno. Noctis was awake, more or less, in uniform with his broadsword slung across his back alongside a standard-issue ShinRa trooper assault rifle.

“A gun?” Cloud asked, surprised, as Noctis approached. 

Noctis held up his PHS. “Mission briefing said coeurls,” he said around a yawn. “They’re too fast to fight at close range.” Cloud’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Noctis’s eyes narrowed. “Something wrong with guns?” he asked.

“No,” Cloud said. Noctis wasn’t wrong, exactly - the coeurls’ speed was exactly why ShinRa usually sent a whole team. “But SOLDIERs don’t normally use guns.” 

“The footsoldiers do,” Noctis pointed out. “And one of the best fighters I know uses guns.” 

Cloud shrugged. He didn’t really care what weapon Noctis used, as long as it was effective. Guns weren’t Cloud’s first choice against coeurls, but Noctis had demonstrated remarkable skill with a variety of blades. If he was as good with a gun as he was with swords, it should be fine.

Noctis threw a sharp glance at Reno, as if expecting him to comment, but Reno held up a hand lazily. “I’m with you,” he drawled, and flipped open his suit jacket to reveal the sleek black pistol tucked into a shoulder holster next to his truncheon. “Melee’s great ‘n all, but whatever tool you gotta use to get the job done.”

“Exactly.” Noctis said. He brushed past Cloud and climbed into the helicopter. 

Reno followed, sliding into the pilot’s seat. “You comin’, Strife?” 

Cloud nodded. “Let’s go.”

#final fantasy vii #ffvii #final fantasy xv #ffxv #sanity's final fantasy crossover fic #fanfiction