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talesofstyles · 3 years

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fics #harry styles ff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #husband!harry #doctor!harry #surgeon!harry

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fauvestictragedy · 2 years

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I’m still in love with Fireproof Games’ The Room series. I’ve become concerningly attached to all of the characters, so here’s some old art I did of them, and how I think they look!

Concept of The Protagonist.

This is quite literally just Trevor Pinerod. However, I’ve become attached to this design of The Doctor! The protagonist of The Room has no image, and no name, so I kinda just said “Hey what about Trevor?” It works.

Collector Hydrus

Collector Hydrus is the protagonist of The Room: Old Sins, and we do see him in the end of the game! I beleive he is played by a designer at Fireproof Games, Jeremy Linares! (According to The Room’s Wiki.)

(From Fireproof Games Flickr.)

The Enigmatic Scientist… A.S

A.S, Poor, Poor A.S. I miss him. I miss him so much. A.S is your lovely note leaver throughout The Room 1 and 2, I was unaware of Fireproof’s Flickr account when I designed A.S, and he most definitely does NOT look like the canon version. This A.S is based on a joke a few pals of mine had, saying that A.S was actually Augustine Sycamore (From Pokémon X & Y), which also spawned the use of Trevor for the Protagonist.

A.S is played by Lyndon Munt, a senior artist at Fireproof Games (according to the wiki.)

(From Fireproof Games’ Flickr.)

Simon Grayson, The Great Khan

Simon Grayson… Funny Magic man. Simon used to be a magician who stumbled upon the Null, and (probably) didn’t know any better than to use it in his magic acts. Peepaw Craftsman put him in a paper stage, so that there’s no more magic man, There are no canon images of his face, so I just kinda came up with something. He’s also the mentor of Margaret Cox! It is assumed his soul may be in one of artifacts that The Protagonist uses to escape Grey Holm in The Room 3.

Margaret Cox, The Mystical Maggy!

The Mystical Maggy, (Or Maggie, according to the Craftsman…) the understudy of Simon Grayson, and a close friend of A.S as well as a mysterious tarot reader/psychic, who also used the Null in her readings, and The Craftsman didn’t like that, so he stuck her soul in a mechanical tarot/fortune telling machine. It is assumed that her soul is possibly in one of the artifacts used for The Protagonist to escape Grey Holm in The Room 3. We don’t know who plays her, but presumably another Fireproof Employee.

We don’t really know any of the other characters in this image, other than Maggy, and Lyndon trying to get into costume for A.S. (He looks like he’s having so much fun playing A.S in every image I’ve ever seen of him on the Flickr pages, it’s a shame what happened to A.S.)

Check out Fireproof’s Flickr.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/fireproofgames/albums/with/72157643253151385

Thank you for taking the time to check out this post, the art was made a few months ago, and I just forgot to post it! I intend to draw some more characters from Old Sins and A Dark Matter!

#the room game #collector hydrus #Simon Grayson #The Great Khan #Margaret Cox #The Room AS #The Room Protagonist #Mystical Maggy

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athenasbloodyspear · 3 years

Photo

Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby : MASTERLIST

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Thank you @st-brigids-brew for beta reading and listening to all of my screaming about these boys and this fic.

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

** I anticipate this fic being well longer than 10 chapters at least, so we’ll see!

Chapter 1 - Edge of Darkness

Chapter 2 - Watching Over

Chapter 3 - Safari Song

Chapter 4 - Lover, Leaver

Chapter 5 - Highway Tune

Chapter 6 - Talk on the Street

Chapter 7 - Flower Power

Chapter 8 - Weight of Dreams

Chapter 9 - A Change Is Gonna Come

Other Works by Me

Find me on Ao3

#jake kiszka #jake gvf #jake fic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta fan fleet fic #greta fic #peaceful army

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blackmissfrizzle · 3 years

Text

Just Right (3)

Part 2

Characters: Angel Reyes x black!plussized!reader

Chapter Summary: Someone throws a wrench in the plans.

Chapter Warning: Footbal AU. Don’t hate me please 😬 angst, implied smut, and some very petty behavior.

If you want to read more here’s my masterlist and you want to be notified when I post here’s my taglist

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

The next morning, you had a pep in your step. Angel left you in bed with breakfast and a note saying he went on a run.

Coming downstairs you heard Angel’s voice, you assumed he was on the phone and not talking to the devil herself.

“Adelita, this is a surprise.” Angel backed away from her when he heard your voice.

“Y/N,” she smiled and pulled you into a hug. Backing away she twirled your hair around your finger. “I see the drought is over. Who’s the lucky guy?” If Adelita wasn’t so damn conceited she would’ve smelled Angel on you. But of course, you wouldn’t be able to bag a guy like Angel.

Angel cleared his throat and stepped in between the two of you, grabbing onto Adelita’s hips. “Uhh, let’s leave Y/N alone. I’m sure she’s not the kiss and tell type.”

“Not around you.” She joked, patting Angel’s chest. “Once we’re done talking me and you can have some girl talk like old times. Just you’ll be the one sharing stories this time.”

The nerve. This is the second time in your life that you wanted to knock Adelita out. “Yeah sure.” You gave her a tight smile over your shoulder and went back to your room.

While walking you could hear the hushed whispers and the sounds of lips kissing. As soon as you knew you were out of sight you ran to your room and immediately started packing.

“What are you doing?” Right after Adelita left, Angel ran to you. “What does it look like Angel?”

Tugging your pants out of your hands, Angel stopped you. “You don’t have to leave.”

“And what?!” You screamed in his face. “Stay here with you and Adelita?!”

He tried to hug you, but you pushed him away. “You really must be crazy. How are you just gonna take her back?”

“She was my fiancée, she deserves the benefit of the doubt.” Angel explained like it was a one size fits all reason.

“Oh, the same fiancée that dumped you once your future was unsure.” You scrunched your face up. “The same fiancée that told you it was over through a letter? The same fiancée that was all over social media hanging out and partying while you were in rehab? The same fiancée that so happens to ‘coincidentally’ come back into your life after you just made the biggest comeback ever?” You brushed past him went out the door. “Yeah, you can miss me with that bullshit.”

Angel trailed behind you, hoping he could amend things with you. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

Whipping around you shoved him. “Yeah, you are. You know honestly, I don’t feel bad for myself as much as I do for you. I pray to God that he never makes me as pathetic as you. Have a nice life, Angel Reyes.”

Opening the front door revealed a sympathetic Mr. Felipe and an angry EZ. They both tried to stop you, but you kissed each man goodbye promising to keep in touch.

EZ waited until he saw you drive away to attack his brother. “What the fuck did you do?” Angel blocked some of his brother’s punches, but EZ managed to get some in.

Felipe was able to pull his youngest off his eldest. “EZ that’s enough!”

“Nah, Pop! You saw her. She practically ran out in tears.”

“It’s none of your damn business, Ezekiel!” Angel tried to walk away from them, but Felipe stopped him. “Explain yourself, son.”

“Adelita.” Both his father and brother groaned at that name. Now they knew why you ran out like that.

EZ didn’t have time for whatever excuse that his brother had. “You two deserve each other. And I hope when you come to your senses it’s too late.” He slammed the door on the way out, too disgusted with Angel to stay.

A few moments later Felipe followed his son out. “Pop,” Angel cried out, hoping to gain some sort of sympathy. “Not right now, Angel.” He stopped at the door and looked back at his son. “Unlike your brother I hope it won’t be too late for you to come to your senses. When you stick your head out of your ass, you and Y/N are perfect for each other.”

Once he was alone, Angel sat on the staircase wondering if he made the right decision.

Losing Angel just wasn’t about your heart breaking, but also losing your best friend. Those months spent with him was probably the best time of your life. The only thing that got you through the days were work and Rio.

At first, he assured you that he could just be your friend but someway somehow, he wormed his way into something more. You told him that you didn’t want him as some rebound, but he cockily said, “Ain’t no way I’m a rebound.” So, you stayed and started dating him.

You were reading a book when Rio came and laid his head in your lap. “Mamaaaa,” he sung kissing the little bit of your exposed fupa. “What do you want?” He was only this adorable when he wanted something like that extra cookie that would mess up his diet. “Nothing extra. Just go to dinner with me.”

“That’s it?” You closed your book and set it down to look at him curiously. “Yeah, I got a dress picked out, hairstylist and makeup artist on the way.”

“Wait, what kind of dinner is this?” Dinners with Rio never required all the hoopla. “The league always hosts a dinner for all the teams in the semifinals.”

“I know, I know, I know,” Rio trampled over your words, not letting you get a word in. “I know that dumbass is gonna be there, but I think it would be the perfect place to show him what he’s missing out on.”

If you went this would be the first time you saw Angel and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that. Last time he made you look like a fool. “I don’t know Rio.”

Sitting up, Rio picked you up and sat you down in your lap. “But mama,” he attacked your neck with his lips, adding a little bite every now and then. “I’ll be bored without you. And who am I gonna shove in a closet and fuck her like a dirty girl?”

“You’ll be fine without me for a couple of hours.”

“Alright, time for the big guns.” Rio led you to his bedroom with a covered mannequin in the center. Unveiling the mannequin, he revealed the most beautiful dress. You would be crazy to not wear that dress.

“Ok, I’ll go!” Rio pulled you by your hips against him. “Good, I thought I would have to use my other negotiation methods.”

“Nah, I still need convincing.” Rio backed you into the bed and pulled off your shorts. “Okay, but you got 15 minutes to cum two times before the stylist gets here.”

Angel was doing his best at trying to keep his cool. Adelita was making her way through all the owners, sponsors, and players ‘networking’ to gain traction for her cause. It wasn’t that he didn’t support, actually he was very supportive of it, but this night was in celebration of him and the other players. And he couldn’t ask her to quit it without looking like a complete douchebag.

“Are you two seriously making bets?” Angel wasn’t paying that much attention to Coco and Gilly until they said Adelita’s name. They were betting on when she would corner their team owner, Miguel Galindo. “How else are we gonna pass the time? Ain’t like there’s scintillating conversation.” Coco collected money from Riz and put it in his breast pocket.

“Pendejo,” Angel ordered another drink and while waiting for it he heard Coco whistle. Turning around to see what made Coco speechless, Angel was glad that he already set his old glass on the bar top, because he would’ve dropped it. There you were in the most beautiful dress looking like a goddess, but his mood soured when he saw that it was Rio escorting you.

Bishop walked up beside him and smacked him in the back of the head. “Fucking dumbass. Now she’s with that asshole.” Angel opened his mouth to say something, but Bishop held up his hand. “I don’t wanna hear it. And you better leaver her alone, she looks happy.” His coach pointed his chin towards you and Rio kissing. Angel slammed back his drink and ordered another one. This was about to be a long night.

“I’m gonna go say hi to Bishop and the guys.” Rio looked for your friends and saw that Angel was right there next to them. “You sure? You want me to go with you?” It warmed your heart that Rio was so protective over you. It was unfamiliar territory for you. Usually, you were the one protecting others. “No, you stay here with your team, I’ll be okay.” Rio quirked his eyebrow, questioning you. He was trying to break you out of the habit of you masking your feelings, pretending you’re fine when you’re really not. “Rio, I promise. I’ll be good.” You patted his chest and started to walk away, but then he caught Angel staring at the two of you real hard and he couldn’t help but give him a show.

Spinning you around into his arms, Rio smashed his lips against yours. His still taste a little bit of yourself from when he wanted to make you his meal. Rio’s hands drifted to your ass and you did little to stop him. Ending the kiss, he tugged your bottom lip slowly releasing it and ending your connection. “Go say hi to your friends.” He whispered in your ear, fixing some of your lipstick that got under your lips.

Angel wanted to knock Rio the clean the fuck out. Who the fuck did he think he was practically dry humping you in public like that? “You better keep your mouth shut. You lost your privileges to be mad.” Coach Hank warned Angel as he saw you approach the group.

“Hey guys!” You were genuinely happy to see all of them. Since, you cut off contact with Angel you haven’t talked to any of them at all.

They all lined up to hug you, almost fighting each other to be the first one. But Angel waited his turn. He had a lot more to say than just hi.

It was a bit awkward at first. Neither one of you made the first move. Eventually, you threw yourself in his arms and you were almost a goner. You did not know that hugging him would bring back all those feelings you tried to bury deep down.

“You look beautiful.” He kept a hand around your wrist, his thumb stroking the inside of it. “Thank you.”

His eyes kept dipping to your dress. There were some cut out pieces revealing more skin than he cared for. “Where’s the rest of your dress?”

Snatching your wrist away, you crossed your arms over your chest to keep yourself from slapping the shit out of Angel. “Rio doesn’t seem to mind.”

Angel invaded your space and glared down at you. “Do I look like Rio?”

“Do I look like Adelita?”

Angel bit the inside of his cheek. He knew he had no reason to question you. You weren’t his, but damn it he wanted you to be.

“This was a mistake coming over here. Go back and talk to your fiancée.”

“She’s not my fiancée.”

Skrtt, you stopped your retreat. “Say what?”

“I said she’s not my fiancée.” Angel wasn’t able to explain further. Adelita finally came and graced you with her presence. She didn’t pay any attention to Angel. All her attention was on you. Adelita was actually pulling you away to talk to one of the other coaches about joining their staff.

This was almost as torturous as talking to Angel. Adelita barely let you get a word in. She was acting like she was your damn agent. Luckily, Rio came and saved the day.

“Where are we going?” You whispered as he pulled you into the hallway. “Don’t worry about it.” He jiggled each door until he found an unlocked door and pushed you through.

“Rio no,” you weakly protested clutching onto his tux. “What? You don’t wanna give daddy a little something something?” He pouted, knowing it was your weakness.

“Okay, but it has to be fast.” Rio kissed you some more knowing how turned you got by simply making out.

Due to your combined breaths getting heavier neither one of you heard the turning of the doorknob. It wasn’t until the light from the hallway shone on you and Rio, exposing your dirty deed.

“Oh shit, my bad dawg!” Angel lifted his head from Adelita’s neck and apologized to the other couple. He didn’t mean it all. Angel saw Rio lead you to the hallway and by the mischievous look he had on his face, he knew his opponent was up to no good.

The little smirk on Angel’s face told you that none of it was an accident. “It’s okay, I wasn’t feeling well anyway. I think we should go home.” You smirked back at Angel. He wasn’t the only one that can play games.

“C’mon Angel, they need to get home.” Adelita winked at you and led an unwilling Angel back to the party.

You were almost out until you got stopped by Mr. Galindo. He was the only team owner you hadn’t talked to that night.

With Miguel Galindo trying to convince you to join his staff and Adelita standing next to you patiently waiting for her chance, Angel and Rio were left alone with each other.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but stay the fuck away from Y/N. You’re no good for her.” Angel had to refrain from snatching up Rio as he laughed. “You got jokes man.” Rio stepped closer to him, they were basically nose to nose. “At least when I make her cry it’s from my dick and not from being a dickwad.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you kept watch on Rio and Angel. Those two couldn’t be alone without trying to fight in the first 30 seconds.

The scene before you was getting to be too much, but you couldn’t do anything without being disrespectful towards Miguel. Thankfully, Coco and Gilly were watching them too and were able to pull Angel away.

Somehow Miguel talked you into staying for the entire dinner. And because the universe loved you so much you and Rio were assigned to the same table as Angel and Adelita.

After Adelita formally introduced herself to him. And you didn’t know if it was the alcohol or not, but it seemed that she was flirting with Rio. Not that you had anything to worry about. Rio wasn’t entertaining her at all.

“She take my money when I’m in need. Yeah, she’s a trifling’ friend indeed.” As soon as you recognized the notes, you tried to stomp Rio’s foot, but he was too quick.

“Huh, what was that?” Adelita didn’t quite catch what Rio was saying. “Oh nothing, I just got a song stuck in my head. Now I ain’t saying she a gold digger. But she ain’t messing’ with no broke bro.”

Angel had to admit to himself that was funny, but ain’t no way he’ll let Rio know that.

“Stop it!” You whispered in Rio’s ear. Even if Adelita was oblivious to him making fun of her, everyone else surrounding them wasn’t. “Now you know you always tell me that but we both know you don’t mean it hear or at home.” Heat crept up your face and all you could do was hide your face in the crook of Rio’s neck. Rio slightly turned to kiss your forehead while fingering the bracelet he got you.

Once the glint of the bracelet caught Adelita’s eye she snatched your wrist from Rio. You didn’t mind though because you and Rio were off in your own little world. Not even the harsh stare from Angel could tear your eyes away from Angel.

“Ouch! What the fuck, Angel?” Adelita rubbed at her ankle. “My bad.” He frowned as Rio smirked at him knowing full well he was the intended target.

As the night went on, Rio’s and Angel’s antics went up. You don’t know what you did, but you had two petty kings arguing over you. And at times it was funny but also stressful.

The little innuendos concerning you flew over Adelita’s head but everyone else was getting them. They were getting so vicious that Coco and Gilly started another bet on who would swing first.

The event was concluding when things got downright ugly. Angel once again voiced his concerns of Rio dating you. Rio had enough and went for the low blow. “You’re just mad because I already took your girl and I’m about to take your city and your ring.”

Coco and Gilly’s bet was long forgotten as Angel went for Rio. “Don’t be mad, Reyes. I’m just spitting facts. If I’m wanna keep it hunnid, if I threw the right amount of cash, I could have your other girl too.”

“RIO!” You scolded him trying to pull him away. Thank god, Adelita was nowhere near to hear that little bit.

“Nah, babe fuck that.” Rio shrugged you off of him and stood toe to toe to Angel. “You ain’t on top no more big dawg. Get use to it.”

Angel just shook his head and turned around like a wounded animal. “Coco, give Gilly his money.”

“What?” Coco asks too late because Angel threw the first punch at Rio. And once they started fighting it was hard to get them to stop. Even Gilly couldn’t hold Angel. It wasn’t until you did something that they stopped.

Bishop tried to stop you once he noticed what you were attempting to do, but you slipped right past him. The boys were in between blows giving you the perfect opportunity to step in the middle of them. As soon as you became an obstacle each man lowered their fist.

Angel actually started to cower some when he saw your face. This was like your training face but a thousand times worse. Rio never saw you this pissed and he was beginning to get scared to breath the wrong way. Either way both men knew to shut the hell up.

Facing Angel first, you shoved him in the chest. “Angel Ignacio Reyes, I know you were raised better than this.”

“I’m sorry.” Angel mumbled, his eyes downcasted.

“And you!” You faced Rio, pointing a finger in his face. “I’ll deal with you when we get home.”

“Next time leave your petty bullshit for the football field.” You told the both of them before heading out without even waiting for Rio.

Damn, you knew you should’ve stayed your behind at home.

Tagging: @tashawar @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @starrynite7114 @sambucky8 @mygirlrenee @richonne4life @readsalot73 @chaneajoyyy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @jassydwill11 @otomefromtheheart @miss-nori85 @xsweetdellzx @cocogodess15 @ljstraightnochaser @my-rosegold-soul @angrythingstarlight @brattyfics @lovebennycolon @langiinspirations @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @spookys-girl @sesamepancakes @literaturefeen @brownsugarcoffy @thesandbeneathmytoes @fvckthisbxtchup @theartisticqueen @vsfavs @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @angelreyesgirl @woahitslucyylu @marvelmaree @blessedboo

#black!reader #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes x plussized!reader #angel reyes x black!plussized!reader #Mayans mc #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic #frizzlewrites #angel reyes

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stopeatingwhales · 4 years

Text

“dance with me,” x noel gallagher

this was one of my earliest requests and i’m so unbelievably sorry it’s so overdue! i honestly went all out with writing this (it’s the longest fic i’ve ever written from this date). my honest face by inhaler helped me write the ending/the last part to this, so thank you inhaler anons ;) x

Pairing: high school noel x reader

Warnings: low form of assault, but it’s very brief (from another character - not noel) + A LOT of softness :)

Word count: 4.772

Requested by anon, I’m so sorry it’s so late <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“No, I want you, she’s so heavy is the best song!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air, a repulsive look plastered on my face. “Imagine thinking that Polythene Pam was the best,” I added, my loathsome expression increasing in disgust.

I was at Noel’s house, sitting on his bed in his shared room, accompanied by his younger brother Liam as Abbey Road by the Beatles blasted out of his record player. The atmosphere of the space was extremely calming - Noel sometimes joining in on Oh! Darling as it spun around on the player, his guitar strumming the notes lightly projecting the song louder, whilst his knee bounced up and down to measure the beat. I laid down on his bed, adorning his scent whiffed all over the sheets as I played with a few of my hair strands, humming along to Paul McCartney’s voice quietly, not interrupting the soothing sounds escaping from Noel’s guitar. The occasional curse word slipped out of Liam’s mouth - his eyes pinned on the simple question written on his homework sheet. He hadn’t done any of his work for the past two weeks, receiving multiple detentions - to which he didn’t attend - until the headteacher of our school decided to threaten him with an expulsion. During the time I was with them, I had slightly helped on a few of the questions littering his maths sheet, hinting at the answers so he would be able to properly figure them out himself. However, trying to teach a naughty 12-year-old how to do long division was exactly like being able to balance a spoon on your nose whilst laughing. Completely and utterly impossible.

Me going over to Noel’s place wasn’t unknown; I tended to go over to theirs once or twice during the week, most times after school because I had nothing better to do. We usually hung out in his room, mainly because we were both drained from how exhausting school always was, and plus, we didn’t need to go anywhere to have a laugh together, we always did. No matter where we were, we somehow found a way to brighten everything up - perhaps by smoking a joint together in a plain field, watching the sunset as we impatiently waited for another rave to pass by us, or by spending our evenings in relaxing moments like these, listening to our favourite albums without a care in the world, the occasional argument slipping out of our mouths about which was the best song - usually ending up in Noel ignoring me for the sum of 10 minutes before I gave in and apologised for my stupid remark. There’s no best song by The Beatles, they’re legendary for a reason.

“Shut it, otherwise I’m ignoring you again,” Noel replied, staring at me with both his eyes squinted together. I lifted my head up from his pillow, scoffing. Knowing this was going to happen, I didn’t reply to his silly remark, dropping my head back down onto his pillow once again. Despite the groggy feeling partnering in the room due to the heater being on, his scent was sweet. He smelt like a packet of heavy Marlboro cigarettes, whisked in with cheap aftershave from the shop down the road because he’s skint from buying too many cigarettes and ‘forgot to buy one the other day’. Nevertheless, it was alluring. I adored his scent, mainly because it reminded me of how the littlest things in life can mean the most to you. It continuously reminded me that doing simple things like these add to the empowering lifestyle of being a teenager in a dying city; Manchester was left to rot due to the prime minister focusing all her time and dedication to unimportant things, rather than helping the poor and lower class. It gave us a sense of freedom, that without the higher class evoking their worry in our troubles, they forgot about everything and let us be. We could do whatever we desired now, whether it be partying until you’re unable to walk for three days, or skipping school because you can’t be bothered to see people that only retaliate at you for petty reasons. It was the bittersweet rivers of life, we were poor but we had fun with it, dancing until our last breath before dawn.

“Noel,” Liam said, lifting his head up from his crinkled worksheet. “Don’t you have that school dance soon?” he added, the temperature of the room now feeling like it was upped one hundred degrees due to my cheeks reddening. Since me and Noel didn’t have that big of a friendship group, and both of us having somewhat a troubled love life for our age, our minds never brushed past the thought of going to the leavers dance. It was itching towards the end of the school year, meaning that we were going to leave school, so going and taking part in the fun of a last dance was quite hyped up. My mind sometimes brushed the idea of me and Noel going together, but we were only friends. Plus, wouldn’t that just be weird?

I tried to subtly raise my head to look at Noel, my eyes trailing from the plain white ceiling to his slim-structured body. The neck of his acoustic guitar was gripped gently by his left hand, his right caressing the strings softly as his playing came to a close from the question hanging in the air. He shifted around in his seat a bit, adjusting where the guitar sat, before clearing his throat and answering the question. I was tempted to ask him the same thing too, my curiosity over the subject now being the only thing pitted in my mind. “Well, yeah but I haven’t got no one to go with, init?” He said, staring straight at Liam, then the piece of paper lying in front of him on his bed. My heart sank a little as that sentence launched out of his mouth abruptly, my thoughts now following on with unspeakable things of what I could’ve answered to that. I knew he really wanted to go with someone, but there wasn’t anyone who would be willing to go out with him, even for just one night.

“Couldn’t you just go with Y/N?” Liam asked, turning his head to look at me. My eyes widened expeditiously, my crimson cheeks now turning to fire as I chewed on my bottom lip. The heat bubbling in my body caused me to feel a slight tingle at my lower back, the feeling of sweat beginning to form on all the spots that weren’t visible to both boys - the skin I owned underneath. “Unless you’ve got someone to go with, but I doubt that,” Liam added, chuckling after his words.

Ignoring his comment, I stayed silent for a few seconds, my eyes darting to my fingers as I fiddled with them - figuring out what to answer. “I mean, we could just go as friends I guess?” I said, now staring straight at Noel. He stared back at me, his eyebrows shifting around a bit, contemplating the idea that was now punctured in his brain. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” I added, reassuring that I did feel the same way at first - friends shouldn’t be going together - when it’s no harm dressing up and having a couple drinks with your best friend, we do that all the time anyways.

“I suppose so,” He replied, nodding his head as he darted his head back to the record player, reaching out for the opened water bottle placed by the record player - taking a short sip of it before carrying on his sentence. “But you have to admit Polythene Pam is the best song,”

~~~

As I walked through the school gates I was for once welcomed with a feeling which wasn’t dread. I gazed around the mundane, dimmed colours of the school’s front whilst anticipation filled my veins whole, adoring my body like a little child, after begging and begging for minutes on end for their guardian to buy them a treat they had been eyeing at for what felt like a year, their carer gives in from the child’s immediate persistence, causing the kid to be on a cloud-nine-level of euphoria and exhilaration. For once, I felt excited; apprehension for the tales ahead buzzed through my body, for my usual, stale state taking a departure once my eyes made contact with the known building for once. Tonight I was going to enjoy myself, even if I despised the majority of the people who were attending. This was one of the last chances I got to enjoy myself at school - and since we’re going for the its-the-last-day-of-the-world vibe - I might as well make the most of it while it lasts.

Walking up to the main building, I saw bright, flashy colours being projected from inside the large hall, reminiscing me of the many raves I had hazily attended with Noel whilst we were drunk off of our heads. The sparkling lights, the huge domes of crowded, drunken teenagers - just like me and him - trying to find a place to fit in, accidentally stumbling into an open, warm embrace to another dimension crammed with unknown faces, an introduction to the exact same embrace they’d be entangled in when they go back home to their parents in the middle of the night - whom were sick to their stomach in worry because they didn’t know where their child was. You belonged to your families, but you refused to believe that life was as bland as it had become; there’s more to life than studying for exams, everyone says. You don’t want to end up like the small percentage of people who refuse to live their lives because it's the only one they’ve got. You want to live your life because it is the only one you’ve got.

My shoes echoed a light tap on the concrete as I paced slowly, my mind entranced in thought, wondering the crowds I’d be exposed to once I set foot inside the chattering room. As I made my way to the glass door, I stared at my reflection briefly, adjusting my hair a little bit due to it falling out of place from the small gusts of wind that had accompanied me on my way to the school. A rush of nervousness focused on my mind until I gripped on the handle, pushing the door open, revealing the view of teenagers dancing about, drinking, laughing or slobbering on each other's faces. My anxieties were cleared when I saw every girl dolled up in dresses; the one I was currently engulfed in wasn’t that nice - it being the only dress I’ve had in my wardrobe for a couple years (since I wholeheartedly have a brutal hate for dresses). I was forced to keep it in my closet in case there was a time and a place I needed it, for unexpected times like these, a leavers disco, my date being my one and only best friend Noel Gallagher. I was astounded to realise it actually sat on me the same as it used to, only a little bit shorter due to me growing in height. I was the same height as Noel, yet we would always have arguments over who was taller - always being shushed by Liam as he was figuring how to write a paragraph describing what happens in Act 5 of Macbeth. Get a room, you two.

Wandering on the sidelines of the grand hall, I picked up on the little decorations which had been ripped off the walls from careless students. The colour of the room was a simple blue, making it quite hard to study everything from the human eyes. Bits of what seemed to be silky red ribbon - the flashing lights of the room making it quite hard to figure out what shade it was - ripped up tissue paper, and a few bursted balloons. Music was playing, blasting out of huge Marshall amps, stacked upon each other on the main stage, where years worth of plays and performances were repetitively played almost every half term, my mind reminiscing on the first play I did in year 7 as a side character. The many screams that escaped people’s mouths as the chorus of Boys Don’t Cry by the Cure, prevented me from living out the memories for the last time as I set foot in the hall. Humming along to the melody, I waved my arms around in the air - not too far out, in case I accidentally come into contact with someone rushing past me - my fingers twiddling together as I spun myself around slightly. The ambience of the room felt very uplifting, reminding me of, yet again, those fun times I had experienced with Noel on the many late nights of the summer holidays.

My eyes briefly caught contact with a table as I was walking - the drinks stand. It sat straight ahead of me, yet it was positioned facing the crowds of people mingling about singing along to the new song that began playing. As each step began bringing me closer to it, I attempted to analyse what was suited up for options, squinted my eyes together. There were four fish-bowl-like tubs, with nothing but flavoured beverage inside them, all of them being a different shade - one lighter than the other, one darker than the other. Once I made it to the table, I continued to vary my choice, my eyes completely enthralled by the options. Bowls were left almost empty, some fully empty. As I placed my finger on the one which had the most drink in it, I squinted my eyes together again, wondering if it was the best choice.

“You come here alone?” chirped up a voice in front of me, behind the table. As I raised my head up, I met eyes with the person, noticing that it was one of mine and Noel’s mates. There were stacks of paper cups lined up behind him, along with one small stack sat on the wooden table beside his stood body - for easy access when having a lot of customers, especially at the start of the dance, when all the people attending want is a drink to murder the awkward atmosphere building up in the place.

Laughing lightly, I smiled. “Well, I’m supposed to be here with Noel,” I said, quickly scanning the room after to see if he had made it yet - clearly not. “But he doesn’t seem to have arrived here yet,”

I heard a laugh escape the boy's mouth. “You and Noel?” he asked, grabbing a spoonful of the drink I was eyeing merely seconds previous, snatching a paper cup from the pile lined up perfectly beside him, gathering some of the drink before splashing the liquid into the cup. “I was wondering when that was going to happen,” he added, more or so mumbled, as if he was trying to hide it from me. I noticed he rolled his eyes slightly, his eyebrows furrowing together as he dropped the spoon he was pouring the drink with back into its original position - inserted into the bowl.

“Sorry?” I asked, confused by his comment. He handed me the drink after swishing it around in his hand a couple times - perhaps to check if there was enough to the point it wouldn’t spill, or maybe because he was stunned by my upfront approach against his words, mustering responses in his head before spitting back at me. It felt like there was a lot on his mind - a lot he wanted to say, most likely things to me.

His eyes wandered around the table separating us. Fixating both his palms on the table, keeping it steady, he sighed, sucking in one side of his mouth before exhaling. “Well, he’s more of a pretentious twat if I’m honest,”

I was shocked. My jaw was practically on its way to drop to the ground and smash at full force - as if it were being thrown off the tallest tower in the world. Why did he say that? “Plus, he’s your best mate, are you that lonely not to go with anyone else?” he scoffed, clearly aiming the question towards why I hadn’t gone with him. There was speculation of him liking me between conversations I had with our small friend group at school, but I tended to avoid bringing it up in conversation; I got too uncomfortable. We weren’t close, he was always there simply whenever we hung out at school. Apart from that, we barely ever saw him, let alone know anything about him.

“Come on Y/N, let’s dance,” he said, circling the table, walking round to where I was standing, my eyes facing the bowls. He grabbed my arm roughly - turning me to look directly at him. “You deserve better than that fucker!” he exclaimed, attempting to drag me closer to him, as he pulled us to the middle of the room, where everyone was dancing. Gripping onto the beverage tightly in my free hand, I pulled it close to me, in case I’d manage to spill anything on the floor, becoming the cause of someone’s injury from slipping and ripping their clothes. His body language seemingly began to turn more aggressive as we made it to the centre of the room, the pressure being put on my wrist getting more and more tight. The idea of me and Noel dancing in the room played on his mind as it did with mine too, noticing the amount of people dancing with their significant others. Perhaps the reason he kept adding so much strength was because he was jealous, the same sort of jealousy when you find out two of your supposed best friends had gone out together and forgot to ask you to come - when without a doubt deliberately did it since they didn’t want you attending. His grip was slowly seeming out more pain in my body.

My hand began to ache; the force he was pushing onto my wrist was causing my hand to tingle from the lack of blood circulation. The idea of throwing my drink at him, knowing I wouldn’t drink it anymore due to what he was doing to me, “Get off of me, you bitch!” I shrieked, jittering my hand around in all ways possible, causing him to turn his face to look at me, scold me perhaps, until I took the chance and threw my drink straight at him - aiming for the eyes like pepper spray gauging to the root of your eyes, blinding you in immediate pain. I heard him shout, instantly releasing his hold from my hand, as I headed to leave the room straight away. Practically everyone had their eyes glued to the pair of us, staring both of us questioningly, the sound of my heels clanking against the wooden floor ringing through my ears painfully as I exited the immensely tensed stiff room.

~~~

Walking outside of the building, I made my way towards the gate I once entered, couching to lean against the wall that was placed beside it. The aged wall felt cold, the little bumps of hardened cement sticking out of the bricks digging into my dress, eventually into my back. The contrast of my heated body against the freezing wall brought a feeling of relaxation - the stressful situation that had previously occurred just moments ago finally began departing from its connection to my thoughts. I held my face in my hands, slowly feeling my wrist go from its numbed state to a softened feeling of fuzz; I moved it around a little bit, noticing I had somewhat control of it now. The past tingly feeling I felt on my hand had come to my head instead, as I started to weave myself into thoughts about what people would take and think from the situation. I was almost certain someone was going to mention it to everyone and everywhere imaginable - casual teenager gossip, a girl got assaulted, spread it around!

As the skies unfolded newer, darker shades, welcoming the night, the stale breeze picked up on itself, cluttering my hair, throwing it to other parts of my face - like how it was before I had entered the building, this time as if I had rolled down a mountain and stood up injury free. Collecting my arms in an embrace to warm me up, I leaned my head back against the brick wall, staring at the twinkling night sky. It was surprising how much light the moon emitted. You didn’t need that many lamp posts at all, unless you were walking in an area where the moon was unable to shimmer its colours: a dull alleyway, where there's only one small light hanging on the wall, basically broken, a flickering light flashing out of it, just managing you to get through the dust and dirt cascaded around you. Almost telling you that, you’ll be able to survive your hardships, as long as you believe in the light to keep shining.

Staring at my shoes, I admired the little sparkles glimmering from my shoes. They were small, short-cut heels that I put on to make myself look fit for the part of a schoolgirl ready to depart from her beautiful teenage life and enter a world of womanhood. I was growing up, and I just hoped that the future that was slowly unravelling itself to me was going to be better than I anticipated it to be. Tonight went to shit, though.

“Y/N?” a voice said, speaking up as it walked through the gate’s entrance. Straight away I was able to know who it was. Noel.

Moving my head from the view of the night sky, I locked eyes with Noel - who was standing in front of me, concern miffed on his eyes. He was clothed in a cheap looking suit, perhaps one he found in his mother's closet which belonged to his father previously, or maybe one he stole from a friend. It fit him perfectly, as if the brand tailored to his bodily structure. His hair looked as if he had done it properly for once, rather than having it in its usual, worn down state. “Why are you sitting alone, and outside in the freezing cold?”

I scoffed, recalling the situation. However, I avoided mentioning it; it would only make the rest of the evening more dreadful to experience. “Rough night,” I mumbled, turning my head to the glowing skies again. “Where were you?” I asked, attempting to change the subject expeditiously. Thankfully, it worked.

“Thought it started at ten,” he replied, walking to lean on the wall beside me, but not sitting like I was. He shuffled his feet a little bit, small, minuscule rocks causing a scraping sound to ripple out from underneath. It was a soothing sound at first, the coarse scratches against the floor reminding me of walking in the middle of a sea of leaves in a park in autumn, completely emptied, without a soul to be seen when there's not a single tree alive and blooming anymore. A ghost town, when in summer would be compressed with thousands of people trying to get past the sweaty, sticky air causing you to cough a couple times. You walk through, stomping on whatever leaf your shoe comes into contact with, a crisp, crunchy sound mounting from it. You slow your pace, wanting to breathe in the cool air, capture the moment before it’s too late and you’re getting your keys to unlock your front door. “Guess not,”

Sighing, I shook my head. “It’s fine, don’t worry, really,” I answered, my eyes trailing to the school building once again. “It’s not like you missed out on anything,”

As if on cue, once my eyes made contact with the place, the loud music that was being projected out of it came to a halt - cutting off mid song, forming goose bumps on my arm out of frustration. You don’t cut off a song halfway, patience, please. I’d always say to Noel, when he got sick and tired of listening to I want you (She’s so heavy) for the fourth time. We’ve listened to it four times! Regardless, you twat. You don’t cut off good music.

I heard Noel snicker lightly, knowing I would get bothered - even if I didn’t physically show it. What was replaced with the rasp, echoing sounds of some random dance song, was the music I was silently waiting for all night. The slow dancing song. The most memorable moment of the night. In all honesty, the song that was playing was bad - but that’s not the point.

As the music progressed on, I imagined myself in the hall, slow dancing with Noel. Tonight made me realise something: over the past year and a bit of mine and his friendship blossoming, he became someone that I needed in my life, in my future. Like how tea needs its milk and sugar. Like how to write you need a pen. You couldn’t take one or the other out of the equation; it wouldn’t make sense - at all. It was weird enough knowing we used to hate each other in class, not because someone said something to the other to piss them off, neither of us really didn’t know. We just hated each other’s presence - until we both shared a spliff together one morning before school; I had forgotten my last cigarette at home, and him - not exactly knowing why he did it - offered to have a hit of his.

“Dance with me,” he said, lifting his body off off the wall, once again standing right in front of me.

“What?”

“Every girl deserves a dance,” he started grabbing my hand, preparing himself to pull me up. Our eyes made stale contact, his brunette eyes interlocking with mine. They had a certain shine to them under the moonlight, a certain twinkle I was never able to notice before. “Especially you,” he added, dragging me up from the icy, dirty floor.

My heart fluttered as he pulled my body close to his, his hand adorning my hip as his other held my hand and pulled it closely to his chest. My grin was as wide as the sun in 360 degree view, heating up my face in a light blush, not noticeable in the dark. A part of me felt as if he noticed; his small smile widened slightly when the rush of warmth embraced my skin. I placed my free hand on his shoulder, allowing my fingers to feel the cheap fabric he was wearing. I didn’t care how expensive or how low-priced, all I needed was Noel, no one else. He knew me like no one else did.

Pulling Noel closer to my body, we began swaying, the soft sounds of the music playing in the background. I’m sure everyone else in the town would be able to hear the music at one point; they used an unreasonable amount of amps for the songs. I hugged his body, adoring his scent once again. The same, cheap, worn down smell, whiffed with what smelt like a hit of weed, perhaps to calm himself down. He looked quite nervous when I first saw him. He was nervous, for me.

“Y/N,” he said, causing me to lift my head from his shoulder. I stared into his obscure, enthralling orbs, my heart softening. His pupils were dilated, his bottom lip sank into his mouth. He seemed anxious, worried about what was happening, until he exhaled his breath, a breath seeming like it was meant to escape decades ago, and cocked his head to the side, leaning in.

Heart pounding, I did the same, as our lips brushed against one another's. The kiss felt extremely overdue, as if it was meant to happen on the morning we first bonded on our new knowledge of our shared habit. He tasted exactly like how I imagined: sweet. Sweet with a hint of honey. Sweet with a hint of hunger, as if this was needed far, far long ago. This kiss was a response to every conversation we ever had, every lock of the eyes, every embrace. We continued swaying whilst our lips adventured on the feeling of something new. Love.

So when you ask me, how was your school dance? Because you like to push your nose into everyone else’s business, I’ll tell you, it was the best night of my life, like the end of all things usually is.

#noel gallagher x reader #liam gallagher #noel gallagher #oasis #britpop #music #90s #imagine #bandimagines #bands #fluff #smut #angst #writing #my writing

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beni-draw-ikemen-please · 3 years

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Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold

Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold ◆ Ikemen Vampire Fanfiction ◆

CHAPTER 1 - DON’T TELL ANYONE

Words: 2,063

TW: Angst and Hurt ◆ References to Depression ◆ Mental Instability ◆ Mental Health Issues ◆ Implied/Referenced Suicide ◆ Suicidal Thoughts ◆ Graphic Depictions of Sex/Intercourse ◆ Vaginal Sex/Fingering ◆ Rough Sex ◆ Non-con

Pairings: M/F Leonardo Da Vinci x Seiya Amanogawa [OC] / Comte de Saint-Germain x Seiya Amanogawa [OC]

Chapter Index [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

A/N: This is a work of fiction. This is fan fiction for Ikemen Vampire, character designs are owned by Cybird. My story however, features my own OC/MC Seiya Amanogawa who is from Modern Japan/Europe, who travelled to the Louvre for inspiration.

Seiya is female so I will be using she/her as her pronouns. I will also be describing her accordingly. I designed Seiya and she is my Original Character. If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

KINTSUGI - CHAPTER 1

Don’t tell anyone

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

His golden locks fell beautifully in place, like a masterpiece set within the confines of an ornate golden frame. Right there, in the middle of the museum. The spotlight is carefully placed to highlight the gold that accentuated the piece. And there, in front of it all, with just the right amount of distance, is a lone bench.

That’s how Seiya saw him. A figure to be admired from afar. A treasure, so valuable and so bright, she steps back, almost instinctively, it made her feel smaller and smaller.

She would open her leather-bound book. And very carefully, she would write short letters. They weren’t really addressed to anyone in particular. Maybe they were addressed to her future self, who knows? But she wrote them, every single day. It wasn’t her journal either - no - it was far more complex than that.

Seiya knew in her heart, she wouldn’t be able to bear it, if he ever found out. How much she loved sitting just by the balcony of Vincent’s room during afternoon tea time, so she has the perfect view of the his hands as he gracefully pours tea into the day’s chosen china.

Viridian, with golden leaves and soft speckles of purple, almost white. She knew they were one of his favourites. Wedgewood. She took mental notes every time Sebastian gave her a pointer not to miss, especially when it came to afternoon tea.

She would duck her head, ever so slightly, and she would catch a glimpse of his lips, almost looking like they were kissing the fine things and smiling, so perfectly, complimenting the blend Sebastian had carefully prepared.

It was one of her guilty pleasures. And, it was only after she had shown Vincent what she really drew in her sketchbook that the angel allowed her to use his balcony.

Vincent noticed her when she first arrived. She was this scared, trembling frail little creature, and he wanted to make her feel more at home. Which turned out easier than expected. She spoke modern Dutch, at the very least the sounds were similar to the older variant. Sometimes, Seiya would hear him speak words that made her head tilt in confusion. But she enjoyed his company. And Vincent felt the same.

They would often draw together. Vincent with his easel and brushes, and his apron that’s stubbornly stained with paint, and her with ink and paper. She told him how she hated it when her hands stained of charcoal, or anything, so she stuck with inks. She would often grumble, how she missed modern pens and this thing called a brush pen. And Vincent wondered about it often.

They threw the case towards the makers of the mansion, first, Isaac - who felt comfortable around her, enough to actually draw and fiddle with objects around so vulnerably. Isaac asked for more time, maybe even more materials to create different prototypes. Then, the trio approached Leonardo. And they were able to make something similar to the modern brush pen in about a week’s time.

And so she drew more and more and more with the brush pen. Funny how she thought, she was using another man’s present to draw another man. And those two men happened to be best of friends. For over a century. Maybe, even more.

Seiya kept her notebook to herself. The red leather stood out, so she would often wrap it with a soft lace handkerchief that was too big to be folded and tucked into her pocket. She would keep it in her tray whenever she assembled the residents’ meals or changed sheets. Her notebook never leaves her sight.

Vincent grew curiouser and curiouser every time he would catch a glimpse of the red leather peeking through the black lace. For someone who looked like her, her choice of colour would almost be too bold for a maiden in 19th century Paris. Always black, she would say. Or, if black wasn’t an option, wine red. Or the darkest violet possible.

Vincent remembered the first time he accompanied her to shop for a new dress with Leonardo. They picked up a white dress, made from the finest leavers lace, that she wore with a frown on her face. She covered herself with her arms and asked to change immediately.

“It’s too bright for me,” she said, and Vincent couldn’t make out if she softly cursed in Dutch, or in Japanese, or a mixture of the two. She would, however, hum in satisfaction whenever she saw black velvet chokers, or black leather gloves, and thinking of that contrast made him smile.

He noticed how intently she would spend on each of her drawings. And Vincent would hear the silent flicks of her brush. It would be a long steady stroke for a while, and then flicks of texture. And then she would stop, and sigh, wait for the ink to dry and she would close her sketchbook ever so quietly.

“What are you drawing, Seiya?” he wouldn’t be so bold as to peek over her shoulder as she worked, unlike how Arthur had attempted so many times. Seiya didn’t say much and it was rare to hear her raise her voice even just for a bit, but when it came to her sketchbook, she was vocal and protective. Arthur attempted many times to uncover the mystery of that book, but Seiya never let anyone, not even Vincent take a peek inside.

Maybe it’s her diary? He thought about this many times.

Maybe it’s some sort of visual diary where she draws her feelings instead of writing them down.

Thinking about it like that, Vincent stopped asking her and instead, just enjoyed the tranquility and meditative togetherness of their afternoon painting sessions.

The only person he thought knew about the notebook’s contents would be Leonardo. They spend an awful lot of time together, after all. Comte had assigned the man to be Seiya’s caretaker, and Leonardo took that duty to heart, sometimes too seriously.

Sometimes, during their drawing afternoons, Leonardo would suddenly just pop out of nowhere, grab her notebook and throw it in the grass. The first time he did that, Vincent was so shocked his hands stopped painting, his paintbrush falling on the grass unnoticed.

There was only the sound of the wind, and the shifting of fabric as Seiya smoothed her skirt and walked towards her notebook. She would have a pained expression on her face, and she would wipe her book clean with the hem of her skirt. And Leonardo would just stand there, puffing his cigarrillo in, and blowing it all out with a heavy sigh.

“Fanculo,” she whispered. And Vincent froze. His neck slowly guided his eyes toward Leonardo, who now looked more annoyed than when he first walked in.

Vincent usually did not know how to respond to situations like these. Their silence made it impossible for him to intervene. Leonardo was not violent, no, and he wasn’t the type to insult women. But Seiya didn’t appreciate it when someone ordered her around.

Dealing with Theo at first proved to be one of the hurdles she had to overcome before making the mansion her home, too. Vincent would always remember the face she made when Theo called her a ‘hondje’. And the long road it took for them to actually make an effort to sit down, have an actual conversation and eventually get to know each other.

But with Leonardo, it was something different.

Seiya was composed, and usually calm - at least Vincent thought so - he always felt relaxed whenever they were together. Seiya would often say something and he would apologise for not listening carefully to what she had to say. In the end though, they both agreed that it was more that she spoke too softly, rather than him spacing out and not listening.

Vincent knew that feeling too well. And maybe, it was one of the reasons why they enjoyed each other’s company. Soft souls, his little brother called them.

But with Leonardo, it was different.

Seiya acted more like a child around him. She would pout, call him names and he would let her. And then they would retreat to his room. Sometimes the library. Sometimes, her room, very late into the night.

“I told you. You should stop these silly doodles,” When Leonardo finally spoke, it sounded more like a request than actual lecturing. Seiya would look away, and she would hold her dear treasure closer to her chest.

Vincent, without a word, held out his hands to both of them, as if trying to stop the eruption that was about to happen. Seiya would whisper, that it was none of his business. That made Vincent realise that her notebook was something more valuable than they all deem it to be. And that it was very personal. And, for whatever reason and content it held, Leonardo was against it.

He hated it. Vincent could see it. Enough for him to go out of his way to get it off her hands and into the dirt.

This would happen every now and then, and oddly enough, Vincent knew he should get used to it.

That evening, Vincent brought her a pot of flowers. Hoping she would calm down. Vincent knew his friend did not like cut flowers so whenever he wanted to cheer her up, he would pick a small pot from their growing collection, and walk it to her room.

That day, he could remember she argued with Leonardo again. She was upset that he did what he did during their good days. Vincent felt great earlier in the day and wanted to paint, and she too, felt inspiration course through her hands. And Leonardo just shattered that moment.

Vincent frowned a bit as he leaned against the wall a little further away from the door of Seiya’s room. He could now understand why she was so upset and his heart ached for her. But what he didn’t understand was why Leonardo hated her notebook. Did he dislike that she drew? He couldn’t put his mind around it.

Seiya stormed out, and ran to the opposite direction in tears. After a while, he found her behind the lush greens of the Gazebo. Almost how a little kid would hide themselves after a fight after an afternoon at the sandbox. He remembered how quietly she cried. And how warm her hand was when he helped her out of the grass.

They sat underneath the stars, a bench near the gate of the mansion. And there, she showed him. He didn’t really say anything, no, Vincent just sat with her. Hoping his presence would alleviate the stress and agitation she felt. Seiya felt like she needed to tell Vincent what was happening.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Her voice was always soft, like a silent prayer you hear inside a church. You should make out the words, but they would always sound like some foreign incantation made to sound familiar.

Vincent would often lean in and apologise. Asking her to repeat herself one more time, for his sake. Seiya would chuckle a bit and she would take a deep breath and would speak a little louder.

“Do you dislike Leonardo?” He asked her one time. And she looked at him with the strangest expression on her face. It was as if it was obvious that she did, but she also looked like she was shocked to hear him ask this question. It was hard for Vincent to understand her, most of the time.

Seiya did not say anything, but she gave him her notebook. Vincent’s eyes widened with interest and curiosity. He was excited and Seiya chuckled when she saw the eagerness in his blue eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asked just to be sure. It was dark, but he could still see the pink on Seiya’s cheeks. Her hair looked like starlight illuminating her from the nipping dark of dusk.

Vincent never felt like this before. The build up curiosity all stemming from the enigma that was her notebook, made the first look inside the pages of this mysterious book all the more exciting. He felt like a pirate, opening the treasure chest, seeing the valuable contents for the very first time.

And then, he stopped.

“You can’t tell anyone. Please?”

-To be continued-

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen leonardo #Onibeni Seiya #ikemen comte

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sayingthesamethings · 4 years

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Magic Shop (Part 4)

Pairing: Poly!BTS x Witch!Fem!Reader

Summary: Underneath the concrete and pavement, between the towering buildings, Seoul is thrumming with magic. Too much magic. It’s become a hot spot for magical beings seeking to feed off of such intense energy. BTS is unaware of such dangers until they come across a witch trying to manage the mischief of other magical creatures while creating her own trouble.

Warnings: Depictions of death, mentions of blood

Author’s Note: No one had said anything, but I just want to clarify that this does not take place during a specific era. These are the hair colors for the boys:

A bit of a longer chapter this time. Thank you for reading!!

A few days after they wrapped up shooting for their newest muster, Namjoon had decided to take Taehyung out for a small celebration since the two had finished up their individual photo shoots before the others. The vocalist had teased Jimin up until their departure, leaving the other 95 liner pouting on set as the photographer tried to regain his attention.

“We should go get japchae!” Taehyung had suggested as he practically danced around Namjoon. The older male chuckled as he affectionately ruffled his boyfriend’s carefully styled hair, though the vocal had no qualms and took the gesture in stride.

Namjoon commented, “Jin just cooked japchae two days ago.”

Taehyung huffed, “So? I want it again.” He pulled out his best aegyo, the one Hoseok and Jimin always had a hard time saying no to, and tugged on the bottom hem of Namjoon’s shirt. “Please? I’ll even do the dishes tonight!” he pleaded. Namjoon shook his head with a quirked brow.

“I thought we agreed on just getting some snacks,” Namjoon said while leading Taehyung towards the convenience store just a few buildings down. Even though it was only 11 o’clock on a Tuesday, Sejin insisted that they at least take one bodyguard with them down the street.

Taehyung continued to moan about japchae and just food in general even as Namjoon languidly pulled him closer towards the entrance to the store with their bodyguard not too far behind. Namjoon was almost to the automatic sliding doors when Taehyung firmly planted his feet and yanked the rapper to an alarming stop.

Frowning, Namjoon began to scold the young male, “Taehyung, I get that you want japchae but that doesn’t mean you can just-”

“YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!” The two idols eyes trained on the frazzled business man screaming at a young woman not too far from the entrance to the store.

With his arms spread, he continued to cut off every escape attempt the female made. His eyes held a crazed look, and his breathing was ragged.

Meanwhile, the (H/C)-haired female stared back at the man before her with a stale gaze. The furry creature resting on her shoulders hissed viciously at the man with its hackles raised.

“Let’s go, Taehyung,” Namjoon urged, but the words felt like cotton in his mouth. “Come on.”

Taehyung firmly shook his head and yanked on Namjoon’s arm. “We can’t just leaver her, hyung! She needs help,” he protested as he tried to pull his boyfriend over towards the commotion.

Sternly, Namjoon replied, “No, Taehyung. We can’t cause a scene.” His eyes couldn’t resist trailing over to the woman despite his best efforts to avoid staring. Taehyung frowned at his hyung’s answer and looked back in time to see the strange man grab at the woman’s shoulders.

Namjoon cried out his boyfriend’s name and watched Taehyung dash towards the two strangers. The silver-haired idol quickly but carefully removed the (H/C)-haired stranger from the hold the business man had on her before stepping between the two.

“Please stop making trouble, ahjusshi,” Taehyung demanded. The man looked about ready to lash out at Taehyung but when his eyes met the idol’s, the stranger froze, and his jaw fell slack. His eyes then darted immediately to Namjoon, who was frozen in place.

“Y-You, you,” he stuttered and began stumbling backwards with his eyes trained on the woman standing behind Taehyung with a grim expression. His whole arm shook as he pointed an accusing finger at the female. She moved past Taehyung but at the sign of her getting close, the man bolted the opposite direction and disappeared into one of the many alleyways.

(Name) swore under her breath and considered running after the man but quickly remembered that she had an audience. Furious, she spun around only for her anger to suddenly resolve when she met Taehyung’s concerned gaze.

“Are you okay?” He gave her a very quick and modest once over before meeting her eyes again.

(Name) could feel her resolve to scold him soften, and she heaved a long sigh.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she mumbled and ran a hand down one side of her face. Taehyung tilted his head to the side, and his brows furrowed.

He replied, “He looked like he wouldn’t leave you alone.” (Name) scratched the back of her neck with a small shrug.

“You’re not entirely wrong.” (Name) eventually felt a smile tug at her lips, and she couldn’t help but gaze at the young male affectionately. “Well, I supposed I should thank you for getting me out of that situation as quickly as you did.”

A large grin took over Taehyung’s handsome features, and (Name) had to laugh a little bit at the visible pride in the idol.

It was at that moment Namjoon decided to snap out of his shocked stupor and rush over to Taehyung and (Name). He grasped Taehyung by his shoulder and slightly shook the younger man as he began his lecture.

“Taehyung! What were you thinking? You could’ve gotten hurt!” the blonde scolded. Taehyung frowned and visibly deflated. (Name) stared at the saddened idol for a moment.

“Ah, I’m sorry for the trouble I may have caused,” (Name) intervened. The two looked to the witch in mild surprise. (Name) felt herself flush a little bit under their intense gazes, but shook it off. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to treat him for helping me out,” she offered. Before Namjoon could protest, (Name) grabbed an eager Taehyung’s hand and pulled him into the store.

The two grown adults giggled uncontrollably at the sound of Namjoon yelling. They ducked into the snack aisle and smothered their laughter behind their hands. Taehyung pulled (Name) behind a fairly big soda display just as Namjoon rushed by.

“So what’s a world famous idol doing at a convenience store?” (Name) inquired in hushed tones as she and Taehyung emerged from their hiding place.

Taehyung stiffened, and his gaze focused on the ground. (Name) smiled softly and held a finger up to her lips.

“I won’t tell, promise,” she said. Taehyung shrugged, knowing full well that he should leave and find Namjoon, but he froze when he glanced up. Slowly, he raised a finger and pointed at the air above (Name)’s head. The witch frowned and glanced behind her.

Taehyung shook his head and swallowed before he stated, “There’s a rat on your head.”

(Name) jumped in alarm and quickly reached up to pat her head, and her hand collided with something firm and fluffy. (Name) could feel her eye twitch when she heard Jaewon let out a short yowl. She plucked the ferret from her hair and dangled the rodent before her face so that she could glare directly into the odd eyes of her familiar.

“I thought I told you to stay hidden,” she hissed and rolled her eyes when Jaewon scrambled out of the woman’s hold to scramble into the depths of her large cardigan. Her eyes met Taehyung’s curious gaze, and she flashed the male idol a bashful grin. “Uh, sorry.”

Taehyung grinned and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” (Name) blinked at him owlishly before nodding.

“I mean, I wasn’t planning on it, but whatever makes you feel better,” (Name) mumbled as Jaewon curled up around her shoulders. (Name) scanned the aisle before grabbing a small bag of chips off the shelf. “So what are you two doing here?” she asked as she walked further down the aisle. Taehyung followed closely and began piling up snacks in his arms.

“Hyung and I just finished up our schedule for the day so we’re getting treats for everyone,” Taehyung explained as his eyes scanned the rows of mineral water. (Name) hummed in acknowledgement and pick up a one of the bottles to read the packaging. “Why was that man yelling at noona?” Taehyung asked as he balanced a third bottle of mineral water in his arms.

(Name) furiously shook her head as she pulled a stray shopping cart close to them so they could dump their snacks in.

“Ah, you don’t have to call me that,” (Name) sputtered. Taehyung tilted his head to the side cutely.

“But I don’t know noona’s name,” Taehyung pouted. (Name) stared at the idol and suddenly burst into a fit of laughter.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and took a shaky breath. All the while, Taehyung watched her, mesmerized.

(Name) settled and said knowingly, “You’re right, you don’t know my name.” Taehyung snapped his fingers, breaking (Name)’s amused state.

“Oh! You’re the owner of the coffee shop we filmed at!” Taehyung exclaimed. (Name) mentally exhaled out of pure relief as she pulled a tight-lipped smile.

“Wow! I’m surprised you recognized me,” (Name) commented offhandedly as she and Taehyung began to walk down the snack aisle. “Well, Taehyung. You can call me (Name).”

Taehyung smiled his signature boxy grin just as Namjoon, looking frazzled, rushed down the aisle towards them.

“There you are!” Namjoon exhaled with a frown. Jaewon jumped from his resting spot and hid inside (Name)’s large cardigan. “I can’t find Beomsoo anywhere. He didn’t follow us in, and I checked outside the store but he wasn’t there. We should head back,” he explained.

Feeling discouraged and guilty for worrying his hyung, Taehyung nodded slowly before casting a longing glance towards the snack pile in the cart he and (Name) had shared.

Easily reading the sulking idol, (Name) smiled sympathetically and began pushing the cart towards checkout. Taehyung instantly lit up and began practically bouncing after the witch. Namjoon, speechless over the fact the witch had brushed him off so easily, took a moment before he followed.

“...your favorite type of coffee? I don’t like dark coffee at all, it’s too bitter. Jiminie and I like to get these caramel flavored ones from this one cafe in Busan-do you think you can make something like that?”

Namjoon overheard Taehyung as he assaulted poor (Name) with his endless excitement, but she didn’t seem to mind. She allowed him to ramble as she loaded the snacks onto the counter for the cashier to scan.

(Name) shook her head with an apologetic smile and replied, “Sorry, Taehyung, but I actually don’t know how to make coffee. It’s my friend that’s in charge of that.” Once all the items were out of the cart, she turned to the male right beside her and offered, “I’m sure I can convince her to put a caramel drink like the one in Busan on the menu.”

Taehyung clapped his hands and chirped, “You’d really ask her? Really really?” (Name) laughed while nodding, not noticing Namjoon slip behind her with his personal debit card in hand.

Namjoon quietly paid for the two’s snacks as they happily moved from chatting about coffee to how Jin had cooked japchae for the whole group. He went on about how delicious it had been and how he was craving it again but would also settle for some street pot stickers he and the others had tried when they toured in Japan.

It was only when Namjoon had reluctantly cleared his throat, he had been too amused by Taehyung to break up their friendly interaction, that (Name) realized the leader of BTS had stolen her idea of paying for all the snacks.

“Wait, my snacks were in there too,” (Name) stated with a frown, reaching for her wallet. Namjoon shook his head with a genuine as he and Taehyung grabbed all the bags and bid the store employee farewell.

“Consider this my thanks for the coffee the other day,” Namjoon insisted as they walked out through the automatic sliding doors. The three came to a slow stop as Namjoon paused to continue looking for their bodyguard, Beomsoo.

(Name) took a moment before she mumbled, “You recognized me?” Namjoon nodded.

“Yeah. You’re the coffee shop owner, right?” (Name) nodded dumbly, obviously taken aback by both males remembering her from the brief moments they shared after she had wiped their memories. “I recognized you while you were talking to Taehyung at the checkout,” he said.

Namjoon dug out the bag of chips and mineral water Taehyung had identified as (Name)’s and handed them over. She graciously accepted them. Then, she noticed the concern on Namjoon’s face and questioned him.

Namjoon scratched at his jaw and with one last glance around before answering, “I can’t find our bodyguard, Beomsoo. He was with us when we walked here, but I haven’t seen him since we entered the convenience store.”

(Name) hummed and furrowed her brows.

“Will you two be okay walking back by yourselves?” (Name) inquired. Namjoon pursed his lips and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Yes, but manager-hyung wouldn’t like us walking back by ourselves,” Namjoon said. (Name) hummed in understanding and sipped at her flavored mineral water, but she discreetly scrunched her face in disgust as Namjoon and Taehyung stood together, hovering over the elder’s phone.

As (Name) wiped the corner of her mouth, she looked to the two men accompanying her and paused to tilt her head to the side.

(Name) eyed the way the two pressed close together. Taehyung would rest his head against Namjoon’s shoulder but gently nudged it against the latter’s affectionately. Their fingers would brush together carelessly without pulling away as they scrolled through Namjoon’s phone.

I see. (Name) cracked a small smile, but it quickly dissipated when she felt Jaewon stir in beneath the cardigan. She looked back to the alley where the man from before ran off, and an intense feeling of unease enveloped her. Jaewon. Go check it out.

Thankfully, the two were on the phone with who (Name) assumed was their manager. This was the ferret’s chance to slip from his owner’s form and slip into the alleyway unnoticed. (Name) quickly turned back to Namjoon and Taehyung at the sound of her name.

“The others finished their shoots. They’re on their way to come pick us up with manager-hyung,” Namjoon explained. (Name) hummed in understanding as she took another reluctant sip from her mineral water. Taehyung noticed her distaste for the drink and teased her for her explicit disgust.

(Name) capped the bottle, deciding she couldn’t bear drinking any more of the water out of kindness, and slipped it into the large burlap purse she had slung across her body. Her fingers brushed across her spell book, and her mind wandered back to the man that had stopped her earlier.

(Name) found herself glancing back towards the alleyway Jaewon had entered not too long ago, but her attention unconsciously trailed back to the two idols next to her.

“I’ll stay with you until they get here,” (Name) proposed as she slowly pulled her hand away from her spell book to dig further into the bag. “In the meantime, let me give you this, Taehyung.”

Taehyung tilted his head to the side and watched (Name) curiously as she pulled out a pendant from her bag. She let the silver pendant rest in her palm so that the two men could get a closer look.

A long black cord hung from the silver bear pendant that took up most of the space in (Name)’s palm. The bear seemed to smile happily in its position curled up around a small ruby and appeared to be asleep.

Taehyung nearly squealed, “Aww it’s so cute! It’s a little bear!” He cupped his hands and was nearly vibrating as (Name) gently dropped the pendant into his awaiting hold. “I can have it?” he asked in disbelief as he looked more closely at the small bear.

(Name) nodded with a soft smile, enjoying the idol’s excitement. Even Namjoon couldn’t contain his fondness for his second youngest boyfriend.

“Yes. I wasn’t planning on ever really wearing this one, so I’ll give it to you as thanks for helping me out earlier,” she answered. A hint of a knowing smirk crossed (Name)’s lips before she commented, “I had a feeling you’d really want a necklace.”

“Thank you. I’ll treasure it forever!” Taehyung declared as he hurriedly slipped the cord over his head. As he continued to marvel at the pendant, he chimed, “It matches your ring, hyung.” Namjoon’s happy expression was suddenly marred with a slight frown and furrowed brows.

Namjoon echoed, “My ring?” His eyes darted to the silver band wrapped around his right ring finger and focused on the small ruby. “Oh, yeah. I guess it does,” he agreed reluctantly.

With full confidence, Namjoon could say that he didn’t remember putting on the piece of jewelry that morning, let alone owning it.

Taehyung giggled and as he was about to speak, his eye caught movement further up the street. He shouted in delight and rushed to meet a very concerned Jin. (Name) couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she could tell from the stern expression Jin wore that the young idol was being scolded by the eldest.

But then she noticed everything else.

The way Jungkook coolly let Jimin link arms together and how Hoseok affectionately ruffled Taehyung’s hair in greeting. When Hoseok moved back to Yoongi to huddle close to the older rapper, Yoongi feigned irritation but allowed Hoseok to rest his head on his shoulder as the polar opposite pressed closer.

(Name) tilted her head to one side. She smiled politely when the others’ eyes fell on her, and she offered a small wave as well.

Huh. Maybe I don’t. (Name) shuffled around as she watched the group greet each other lovingly while constantly checking over Namjoon and Taehyung.

Just as Taehyung motioned for (Name) to join him and his boyfriends, Sejin and the group’s bodyguards ushered for them to return to the van so that they could drive back to the company and wrap up the day.

Taehyung frowned as Jimin tried to pull him along, and looked back to (Name). The witch smiled with a shrug and waved goodbye to the idol.

“Wait, hyung,” Taehyung protested to his manager. “Can’t we spend a little time here and hang out?” Sejin sighed without looking back at the young member.

Sejin replied, “You can do that later tonight. I want you boys back at the company for now while we try to figure out what happened with Beomsoo.”

Taehyung huffed and fell silent. He glanced over his shoulder as he allowed himself to be pulled along by Jimin and Jin, and he waved wholeheartedly to (Name) as she watched them all leave.

Once they were out of hearing range, (Name) murmured, “Just when things were getting interesting.” The idol group was out of sight when (Name) turned her attention back towards the alleyway. Pulling her spell book out of her bag and allowing it to float in her hand, (Name) slowly entered the alley.

!! WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT DEPICTED BELOW !!

(Name) would've reeled back at the foul copper stench, but it wasn’t the first time she was near a fresh corpse. Jaewon sat patiently beside the body, waiting for the witch to approach.

I knew I would be too late. (Name) mentally chided herself as she kneeled down next to the man’s bloodied corpse.

(Name) observed gnarly bite marks all over his upper torso, stemming from his neck down to his waist. She grimaced at the sight and hovered her hand above the wounds as if searching.

The witch noted aloud, “So you were right, Jaewon. That goblin wasn’t alone.” The ferret remained still and silent, but (Name) could feel a thrum of agreement deep within. “Well, it looks like they scattered once they sensed us leaving the store. Let’s look around for the well,” (Name) said as she raised from her lowered position.

Jaewon led her deeper down the alley until they reached a manhole cover. Oddly enough, there was no sewer odor emitting from the small holes in the metal lid.

(Name) waved her book out of the way, and it hovered off to the side. (Name) fished out from her large bag a long silver chain that almost rivaled her height. She took a few steps back from the manhole and held the chain out in front of her.

A chant in a language long lost flowed from between her lips, and the silver chain unraveled itself from her hands and formed a loop above the manhole lid. (Name)’s spell book floated back in front of her.

In the center of the loop, a small gem began to form out of the energy coming from the well. Once it grew to the size of her fingertip, (Name) was satisfied with her work and finished her incantation. She observed the tiny gem floating in the air and gestured for her book to return to the depths of her bag.

“Did you already set up a ward, Jaewon?” (Name) asked her familiar. The ferret hopped up and crept up the witch’s cardigan to wrap himself around her shoulders. Another familiar thrum inside her chest answered her question. “We’ll head to the next well this weekend. For now, we’ll just patrol the others,” (Name) announced.

(Name) waited for Jaewon to get comfortable before traveling back over to the dead body. A tired sigh escaped her as she looked more closely at the deceased’s face.

The boys’ bodyguard from earlier. They must’ve caught him when Taehyung, Namjoon, and I rushed into the store. (Name) assumed as she pulled her cardigan closer to her body. She straightened herself out and cleared her throat.

“The pixies will eventually take care of him. Let’s go back home,” (Name) said as she walked towards the exit of the alleyway.

Leaving behind the corpse of Beomsoo.

#bts x reader #bts x female reader #poly bts #poly bts x reader #poly bts x fem reader #fem!reader #fem reader #fem!witch!reader #bts x witch!reader #poly!bts #poly!bts x reader #poly!bts x fem!reader

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

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Master list of my Carry On fanfic

I’ve seen this done recently and decided maybe it would be a good idea for me to organize my fics a bit, now that I’ve got more than 20 of them posted! Sometimes people are in a mood for a one shot, sometimes a multi-chapter fic, sometimes both. Here’s my master list of all my fics at ao3 including my WIPs.

One shots:

Friday I’m in Love Post canon fluff where Baz has a post exam surprise for Simon but Penny comes home first. I like to imagine Fiona has nurtured a love of 80's alternative music in Baz. Particularly bands like The Cure, The Smiths, Joy Division, Duran Duran, Siouxsie and the Banshees, hence the title. Idea came to me as I was baking my first batch of cherry scones.

Stay to the End A post canon late night conversation between Baz and Simon. Some fluff, some angst. Lots of talk about vampires and the long term.

You Make Me Feel Like I Am Home Again Leavers Ball fic. Simon and Baz at Watford for Baz's last night. What happens after their dance at the ball. Conversations, late night snacks, pilgrimages around Watford and a return to Mummer's House. Soft moments, much needed conversations and flustered Baz. Glorious and brilliant art by the inimitable @vkelleyart https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/image/180908698942

Play the Game Simon and Baz are unexpectedly snowed in for the weekend. They find plenty of activities to occupy their time. A domestic, fluffy Simon and Baz fic set post-canon. This is a gift fic for @vkelleyart as a thank you for her glorious art and a shout out to her love of board games.

Just Another Kiss A one shot where SImon and Baz visit Penny during her term abroad in Chicago. Fluff, boyfriends, arctic weather, and an unexpected kiss-cam. Written as a birthday gift fic for @penpanoply who requested a giggling, laughing kiss.

In Between Days Baz visits Simon at Penny’s on the weekends during his last term at Watford. Simon isn't himself and Baz is focused on distracting him. Soft boys, protective Baz, clothes shopping, curry, and conversation. Written for @vkelleyart based on the prompt she liked “being unable to open their eyes for a few moments after a kiss.”

I Couldn’t Love You More Simon and Baz at a posh evening event, set post canon. Pure self-indulgent fluff. Boys in love. Inspired by the gorgeous art posted by @dancingwithdinosaurs on Instagram. Written as a gift for @dancingwdinosaurs I found myself writing this fic immediately after viewing the art.

Let Your Laughter Fill the Room Snowbaz prompt: Simon and Baz laughing their asses off. Like, falling down, snorting, clapping each other on the back, tears in their eyes where they can’t catch their breath-hilarity. Where things quiet down and they look at whatever set them off and then Baz snorts and Simon laughs and they just start cracking up all over again. Prompt from @fight-surrender

nb: the autocorrect fails in this fic have some nsfw words

A series of one shots written for the Carry On Countdown:

Love is Like the Flowers Flower shop AU for Carry On Countdown 2018 first day prompt. A two chapter fic. Simon works in a flower shop. A handsome reticent young man makes repeat visits to the shop and piques Simon's interest. Little does he know Baz isn't there for just the flowers. Chapter two written as a gift for @fight-surrender from the kiss prompt she gave me for “kissing, then staying so close that you’re murmuring into each other’s mouth.”

Always Something There to Remind Me Written for the Nostalgia prompt for Carry On Countdown on Tumblr. Baz and Simon at Pitch Manor before setting out to find Nicodemus. The scene where Simon ends up wearing Baz's jumper and how that happened. Simon stumbles on a box in Baz's closet and snoops a bit.

Home Is Wherever I’m With You Written for the Carry On Countdown 2018 Nov. 27 prompt Abroad. Simon and Baz are spending their first summer together in London. Baz plans a weekend getaway for Simon but things don't go quite as he planned.

As You Wish Written for the Nov 28 Carry On Countdown prompt Fluff. Simon and Baz on a weekend night at home. Simon has some work to do to get Baz appropriately caught up on pop culture. He's also dealing with an underfed vampire. A night in at home fluff for these two boys.

Lead Me Into Your Darkness Written for the Carry On Countdown 2018 November 29 prompt Mythology. Simon and Baz are Persephone and Hades but with a twist on the original story.

With A Little Help From My Friends Written for the Carry On Countdown 2018 Nov 30 prompt Hogwarts AU. Simon and Baz first meet on the Hogwarts Express and bond over the Sorting Hat experience. An early meeting and early friendship.

Here Comes the Sun Written for the Carry On Countdown 2018. Dec 3 prompt Sunset/Sunrise. Except this fic starts with early morning musings at sunrise for Simon and ends with a shared sunset back at Watford for them both. Soft in love Baz and Simon. Post canon setting.

You Can Read Me Anything Written for the Carry On Countdown prompt Bookstore AU. Baz and Simon are university students. Baz works in a bookstore. Simon's looking for a gift for Penny. Misunderstandings, embarrassing situations, spilled coffee and unexpected gift wrap. A story of love that starts under awkward circumstances but manages to move on from there. Any opportunity to throw shade on the Mage taken.

Multi chapter fics:

Close to Me A collection of Simon and Baz stories. Each chapter is a one-shot. A series of ficlets written based on a Tumblr OTP question prompt list I posted on tumblr. Chapters are based on the individual asks I received. Story title is the Cure song. Because you know Baz likes angsty 80's music.

Can’t Find My Way Home Former school roommates Baz and Simon run into each other at an airport when their flight is cancelled due to inclement weather. They team up to try to get home for the holiday but luck is not on their side. A Carry On Travel AU with planes, trains, automobiles, snowstorms, road trip mishaps, and mutual pining. Expect oblivious boys, bickering and banter, gratuitous use of tropes, and quite a bit of romance. A non-magical AU.

Behind Closed Doors Non-magical AU. Baz is doing his best to keep his mother's beloved Watford afloat but CEO David Mage is making that more difficult with each passing day. The finances are what Baz needs to focus on but Mage's personal assistant, the devastatingly attractive Simon Snow, is becoming more and more of a distraction. The annual company Christmas party unexpectedly throws them together and their mutual pining results in a clandestine relationship that could threaten both of their careers and break their hearts. Miscommunication, misunderstandings, nosy coworkers, overbearing bosses, and the challenges of speaking from the heart create mayhem for them both. Of note this is starting as a T rating but may well go up to an M. Originally conceived as a one-shot gift fic for @krisrix that has now burgeoned into a full blown multi-chapter fic. WIP

Never Tear Us Apart Simon and Baz have comfortably settled into their relationship and their university studies. Summer is here and with Penny visiting Micah in America they can finally indulge in the relaxing summer holidays together. But then a bewildering letter arrives for Simon and they find themselves following a trail of clues that might lead them to discovering Simon's true parentage. Soft boys in love, road trips, misunderstandings, uncomfortable conversations around the dinner table--Simon and Baz discover more than they expected about each other and about Simon's mysterious past. Written for the Carry On Big Bang 2018/2019. WIP

Dance the Night Away Dev and Niall have their suspicions about why Baz is being such a prick this summer. Or rather more of a prick than usual. Their idea of a night on the town to get him to confide in them doesn't quite go as planned. Featuring Dev and Niall POV, Baz being evasive, and dancing. Takes place the summer before eighth year and then about a year post canon. Written for @basic-banshee

Written as a companion piece to my fic Never Tear Us Apart, taking place just after chapter 10.

Chapter written for the Carry On Round Robin:

3) Frozen Baz has been avoiding Simon. Simon's not having it. Tempers are lost, things chill out, morning brings some interesting revelations.

#carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #My writing #my fics #tbazzsnow

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lantern-inthenight · 5 years

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Playing the Vocals (series)

Chapter One: Two to Tango

Pairing: Josh x fem!Reader Word Count: 1430 Warnings: none, for now... A/N: This is the first in a series that I’m doing! There will be smut in future chapters, as this is an enemies-to-lovers story, so hang in there! Things will get steamy soon :) Eternal thanks to @lover--leaver for essentially co-creating this series <3

Summary: Josh and Reader are competing vocalists at a music college. They are each trying to win a competition as soloists, but their advisor tells them they can only win as a duo. They begrudgingly become partners, and wind up biting off more than they can chew.

You heard him singing before you even rounded the corner to the hallway that led to the rehearsal room. Of course. That prick wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit him on the ass.

You didn’t realize it, but you had voiced that last part out loud. Your friend sniggered next to you, raising her eyebrows.

“Okay, but have you seen his ass? It might be the only part of him stronger than his voice.”

You rolled your eyes, unwilling to give your competitor anything even close to a compliment.

“His voice is not strong. Just because he’s loud, doesn’t mean it’s strong,” you pointed out, pouting. But Emily ignored this, giggling to herself. When the two of you reached the end of the hallway, she adjusted her guitar case, hanging from her shoulder.

“Are you sure this is where Michaels said to meet? It sounds like this room is being used,” she added with a giggle. You rolled your eyes.

“Room 136. This is the one.”

“Alright, well, good luck with… whatever it is,” Emily told you.

“Thanks. I’ll see you after?”

“Yep!”

After watching Emily depart, you turned back to the heavy wooden door in front of you. The singing had stopped, but your annoyance lingered. It was accompanied by a strong feeling of confusion-- your advisor had given you no explanation for today’s last-minute meeting.

The email you got that morning from Mrs. Michaels simply instructed you to meet her in one of the private rehearsal rooms. No reason was listed.

So you pushed against the door with a sigh, the heavy wood creaking with the movement. It was a room you had been in many times over your first two years at music college. Many late nights were spent there, and in similar rooms, practicing solos and arias and generally just perfecting your practice.

Singing was your life, and the only thing that made you feel like something special. Like something bigger than yourself. A hobby, a profession, and a passion all in one, inspiring a feeling of hope and happiness in you.

The exact opposite of the feeling you had when you walked into the rehearsal room, to find the owner of the obnoxious voice. And his equally obnoxious face.

Josh looked surprised to see you, a glimmer of annoyance moving across his expression. But your advisor-- who happened to also be his advisor-- turned around on the piano bench and waved you over.

“Oh, good, you’re here. Come on over, Miss YLN.”

You did as Mrs. Michaels said, and crossed the empty room to stand next to the piano. You left a few feet between yourself and Josh, who looked just as reluctant to be there as you felt.

Michaels sat sideways on the bench, looking at her students with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sure you’re both wondering why I called you here. I figured this would be better said in person, than over email.”

You frowned. What on earth was she about to tell you?

“Am I correct in guessing that each of you have entered the Bell-Hawkins Grant competition?”

Both you and Josh nodded silently. Mrs. Michaels adjusted her glasses on her nose, and continued.

“Right. As soloists, correct?”

Once again, you and Josh nodded. You could have sworn you saw your instructor roll her eyes.

“Of course you did,” she muttered, looking tired. You scoffed, and Josh opened his mouth to speak.

“Now, now,” she interrupted him. “This topic is why I wanted to meet with you. I hope you both know by now how honored I am to be your faculty advisor. And I hope you know that I consider both of you to be immensely talented musicians.”

You smiled, appreciating the rare compliment from your usually-stoic mentor. Then--

“That being said, you’re both going to lose.”

For once, you and Josh were on the same page as you exchanged confused glances. And you were both more than a little offended. Mrs. Michaels was rarely wrong in making a point, but it sometimes took her a while to get there. She gave this declaration a moment to sink in before resuming.

“Renee Murphy is going to beat both of you in the singles competition. The judging committee always favors operatic solos over rock solos. Bastards,” she added, under her breath. You and Josh frowned at each other again, surprised at her admission.

“I’m sure you’re aware that the winner of each category receives a considerable grant? As well as, uh… what do you call it… bragging rights?”

“Yes,” you answered. Josh hummed in agreement next to you. Mrs. Michaels stood up, and moved in front of you. She had a terribly threatening presence, despite being five feet tall and round.

“As much as I would love for one of my students to stick it to the Classical department in the solo category, I know that’s not going to happen.”

“So what do we do?” You asked, crossing your arms. Josh spoke up.

“We can’t just not compete,” he reasoned. Mrs. Michaels narrowed her eyes and squinted at both of you for a moment before answering. It seemed that she was waiting for you to draw the conclusion yourselves, but when that didn’t happen, she exhaled.

“Well, it’s a good thing neither of you went into academia.”

Before Josh’s reply even left his mouth, Mrs. Michaels held up a hand. It effectively silenced him, and you made a mental note to remember that.

“I’m not telling you not to compete, Mr. Kiszka. I’m telling you not to compete in the solo category…”

Again, she waited for you to put the pieces together. But still, it seemed that neither you nor Josh could fathom what she was implying. The two of you squinted in thought, your brows furrowing.

“Oh my god, a duet--do a duet,” Mrs. Michaels finally said, exasperated. “Enter the pairs competition.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Your voice was laced with incredulity, and Josh couldn’t come up with a reply other than to just laugh.

“I’m not sure why you’re laughing, Mr. Kiszka. As I’ve made clear, neither of you are likely to win in the solo category due to predispositioned judges. However… I think the two of you, together, could stand a more-than-decent chance in the pairs competition.”

“You want us,” you gestured between Josh and yourself, “To sing together? As a pair? Like, in a collaboration?”

“Yes, that is what ‘duet’ means,” was Mrs. Michaels’ dry response. Josh’s disbelieving look had turned into a scowl.

“We have completely different styles. And completely different voices, thank God--”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You rounded on him, hands placed firmly on your hips. Josh laughed without humor, and was about to tell you exactly what it meant, when Mrs. Michaels cleared her throat. This temporarily suspended the fight that was about to happen, drawing both of your gazes back to the woman in front of you.

“Stop it, both of you. Now, I know you two have your differences, for whatever reasons,” she said, holding up a hand to silence you as you opened your mouth to protest again.

“But there’s a real opportunity here for the two of you to expand your horizons and grow as musicians. As well as winning this competition and making those nerds in Classics look bad.”

The look on Mrs. Michaels’ face made it clear you had no choice. You glanced sideways at Josh. He looked frustrated, but defeated. The new information was begging the question:

What would you do to win?

And one thing you and Josh had in common, despite your many, many artistic and personal differences, was a complete disdain for the Classical Music Department.

“Fine.”

Josh had spoken the word at the same time as you, and you looked at him in surprise. Mrs. Michaels looked surprised, too, but pleasantly so, and nodded to herself.

“Alright, then. Very well. I’m glad you two can agree that this is the best thing to do.”

She stood, picking up her bag from the floor as you and Josh looked anywhere but each other.

“Besides,” Mrs. Michaels added, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “If nothing else, this’ll at least be entertaining.”

And she left you standing there, with your male counterpart, in the empty piano room.

“Oh, and meet here tomorrow at the same time for your first practice!” She called, as the door swung shut. You looked at Josh in disbelief, and his expression mirrored your own. It appeared that you could agree on one thing:

It was going to be a long semester.

Taglist: @kissthesun-fightthefire, @lover--leaver, @myownparadise96, @satans-helper, @songbirdkisses, @bluewillowmom, @sparrowof-thedawn

#josh kiszka #gvf #greta van fleet #writing #series #playing the vocals

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sagesiren · 4 years

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I got tagged by @caleysteggy! Thanks for the tag!!! :) Rules: tag 9 people you want to know more about

Top 3 ships:

1: Steve/Peggy! I always loved their story but now knowing they find each other again, and then are able to fall in love with the new people they are? that just gets me

2: Emma Swan/Regina Mils from Once Upon a Time--I will never not be bitter about them (or about the queerbaiting or about the fact that their magic, when combined, was the show-established color of True Love or that they shared a CHILD and coparented or how this show that showed us love broke all curses and showed that Emma’s faith in Regina, and then Regina’s faith in Emma was what brought them both back from darkness didn’t naturally conclude with them together... etc etc etc)

3. The Doctor/Rose from Doctor Who! They were one of the first couples I really shipped and I’m still not over it. Waiting for Rose to come back with the current doctor tbh (and on that note: The Doctor/Yaz)

Lipstick or chapstick: I love the way I look with lipstick, but wear chapstick more

Last song: My Oh My by Camila Cabello! I’ve been putting together a playlist to help me write the Rest for the Wicked fic, and that’s the latest to make it on

Last Movie: Rocketman! I’m so late to this party but it was sooooo good.

Reading: A few weeks ago I finished The Leavers by Lisa Ko which was incredible, and right now I’m working through a collection of Mary Oliver poetry.

3 random things that make me happy:

1: buying candles. it’s a problem.

2: the first time you go to get a snack after you come home from the grocery store and you have all your favorite foods that you get to choose from mmm

3: reading a fic where the characters are written even better than in canon!

—

I tag: @beautifulwhensarcastic, @littlereyofsunlight, @wedonttradelives, @dorrinverrakai1, @rachlovesligers, @bug-a-bean, @geekynerddemon, @theawkwardterrier

#just went with some people i've interacted with or seen around in the fandom!#no pressure to do it though!!!#answers #personal #tag meme #thanks caleysteggy :)

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eabhaalynn · 5 years

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Your Local A-Level Survival Guide

If you’re reading this, I’m sorry.

It probably means you’re doing a-levels. That is… unfortunate.

Everyone has a different experience of their a-level years. For me, they were the most enjoyable two years of my school career. I found some of the best friends in the world and honestly learned so much, both in and out of school. However even I have to say that the exams were the WORST. There were too many tears, tantrums and existential crisis’ to count.

And yet, I survived them. And I have so many friends who survived them too. And if I can get through them in one piece, anyone can.

So; here’s a little advice on how to survive the stresses of sixth form, both in school and out, and maybe even get a few a-levels along the way. I’ve split them into revision tips, school life and social life because this post is a fairly hefty read. (sorry again!)

STU(DYING)

1. Make notes as you go along.

You will LOVE yourself for this in June. A-Level content isn’t anything close to GCSE content, and you simply will not have time to start writing notes and learn them all around exam time.

Try to keep within a day of your class with your own notes and if you fall behind during the week, try to get caught up that weekend.

Find a note-taking style that fits how you learn. I personally realised in my upper sixth year – just a tiny bit late - that I loved making and learning off of summary posters. Trying out different ways of note taking will do no harm.

2. Ask if you need help

Your teachers and friends are all on your side. You are not a burden for asking them to explain an idea to you again, or to reword something. Your teachers are literally being paid to help you, and your mates are in exactly the same position you are. Ask them for help if you need it, because a-levels really are very hard – and they only get harder if you try to go it alone.

3. Find somewhere you can bare to study in

In school, if you have a choice of study rooms, spend your free time in ones you like – okay, maybe tolerate – being in. At GCSE we only had one study and I hated it, but at A-Level I had the choice of two, with a definite favourite, and it really makes the difference.

Make friends with your study supervisors, they have the power to make or break your a-level years.

At home, study where you’re comfortable. But not too comfortable. Your leavers hoodie will become your wearable hug over study leave and I also highly recommend investing in comfy tracksuit bottoms. You get used to looking like a tent most of the time

My favourite places to study were the public library and various coffee shops around the town I studied in. They were less strict than school, but still required more discipline than trying to study in my bedroom. Just try not to develop a caffeine dependency over the next two years because I certainly did.

4. Don’t compare yourself to others.

You are not your friends. You are different people, you probably have different ways of making your tea, and you almost certainly will have different ways of studying.

I remember around repeat season seeing my friend sit and do a booklet of twelve past papers all day. To her credit, she did them all. I, on the other hand, did a total of one past paper over three repeat exams. We put the same hours in. We got the same grades in the end.

Other peoples work doesn't invalidate your own. Everyone is working with their own skills and capabilities.

5. Repeat everything you need to.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with repeating modules in upper sixth. There’s also absolutely nothing wrong with repeating upper or lower sixth.

The extended exam period (seven (!!) weeks) is awful; it is genuinely very difficult to avoid burnout, but your understanding of modules is so much better second time around and repeats almost always pay off.

You will meet a whole new group of friends through repeating modules, purely because it is so difficult that you have no choice but to cling on to the people that are going through it with you

6. Don’t do an unnecessary hard one

All A-Levels are hard. Some a-levels (chemistry and biology for me, also twitter tells me further maths) are very hard. Unless your Uni course requires those traditional, exceptionally hard subjects, don’t do them.

Pick your subjects around your interests, because your whole life is going to revolve around them for two years. Two years of interesting impossible exams beat two years of boring impossible exams any day.

No matter how much you love that fourth subject, don’t take it – and don’t keep it on – unless you absolutely have to. Your grades may suffer, your already limited free time will suffer, and there are very few cases where you will ever need it. I loved AS History with every fibre of my being, but for my course I didn’t need four subjects past AS and so it would have been unsustainable and unnecessary to keep on yet another academically challenging subject

7. Make use of the resources available to you.

Ask your older friends for their notes, borrow and buy textbooks, read relevant articles online.

My school was especially good for this, if you like making notes on a certain kind of paper (like A3 or squared for example) ask your teachers to get you some.

Use the free printing credits your school gives you! The internet is full of additional notes and papers and worksheets that are free and quite literally a click away.

SKOOL LIFE

1. You are the most important

No a-level is more important than you and your wellbeing. Take care of your mental and physical health throughout your studies. Nothing in this world is more important than that.

If you are suffering, tell someone! A-Levels can feel so lonely and sixth form can be a very high-pressure environment, but every adult in your school has a duty of care over you, and there is always someone to help you through it all; be it a friend, family member, teacher or youth worker.

2. Be nice!

- Schools are inherently toxic environments. Everyone is loaded with hormones and there are few things in this world scarier than a building full of stressed teenagers.Be nice to everyone you come across, no one loves a levels and most will really struggle through them. You only ever know a tiny bit of what is going on in someones life, so do try not to make anyone’s life any harder.

3. Take every opportunity that comes to you

- Take part in any extra curricular you can. You probably will learn more from them than you do in class, and you get the chance to make friends with people you’d never come across otherwise. I did debate, public speaking and the rotary award during my sixth form, and they all helped me so much to develop the soft skills and time management that eventually got me into my degree.

4. Set aside time for careers/admin

- It might not be a-level important, but you’ll find yourself with a lot of sorting out of your life to do throughout sixth form – especially if you’re applying to medicine or similar courses that require multi-step application processes.

5. There’s no right or wrong way to do sixth form

- A-Levels aren’t a one-way street. You may have to change subjects, you may have to take time out, you may end up sitting your courses at two different schools, over one or two or three years, and that is all okay. No matter what way you do it, you’re doing alright.

6. UCAS will ruin your life.

- UCAS is the sixth form version of the wee guy on the bus who would pick on you incessantly, and even though he was never that important, he’d always be there and never do anything worthwhile for your life.

- It’s not the worst thing in the world, but it is another thing to worry about, when you really don’t need it to be.

- Try to keep on top of it and get your application over with early. The emails from track will keep giving you the fear forever, even after you’ve had 3 straight up rejections, missed an offer, declined two different offers and confirmed your place.

SOCIAL LIFE (trust me it does exist)

1. Balance is everything

It is not normal to have your life be so centred around one place as much as it is during a-levels. As well as this, being 16 – 18 is literally the best time to be alive and make memories in your whole life. Spend lots of time on schoolwork, but not all of it.

2. You’re not going out too much

You work so unbelievably hard all week. You do deserve to go out sometimes.

My upper sixth was framed by panicking and feeling wracked with guilt every time I left my house or went on any night out. This is no way to feel There is more to life than a-levels and upper sixth is the last time in your life where all your school mates will be all together all the time. Make the most of it! (Just, also make notes)

3. Take a day off

Like literally, take a day off a week

I took Sundays off schoolwork in upper sixth, when I usually worked in the afternoon, had the morning to myself and the evening as a time to rest. This will keep you sane.

4. Make time for the friends you don’t see everyday

You won’t have a lot of free time, but if you make a conscious effort to see your far away friends every couple of weeks it always gives you something to look forward to.

5. Don’t give in to peer pressure

I promise it is so much fun to go out and not drink excessively. Don’t do hard drugs, don’t drink more than you can handle, especially not over term time. It’s just not worth it. Showing up to school hungover is not a good look, or any fun at all – no matter what your mates say. A-Levels are a stressful enough two years without losing all this extra time to hangovers and come downs.

6. Make good habits

If you have a spare evening during the week, go for a walk. Take the bus and walk one day a week instead of driving. Maybe even join a gym. As well as a distraction, exercise and a generally healthy lifestyle will get your endorphins flowing and you will notice a huge difference to your stress levels within a few weeks.

You’re going to need comfort food – trust me on that one. But if you’re going to substitute a healthy lunch for a chicken box and squashies, at least have a banana for breakfast. And never skip breakfast, it will make you a hangry, hanxious, horrible person.

Congratulations! You made it to the end. I really hope you’ve found at least some of this advice helpful, and that you get through sixth form with all of your sanity intact.

(I’d like to thank Julia Anusiak, Alexandra Rosbotham, Aoife Donaghy, Maeve Denver, Gabrielle Carland, Caitriona Fitzpatrick, Grace Craig and Jack Worrall for their contributions to this blog post)

#study #a level chemistry #a level #a level exams #study tips

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shazyloren · 5 years

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At The Bar, We Meet

Summary: Dany's had three bad first dates in February alone, perhaps she was only meant for her pink vibrator after all. That's until someone else arrives at the bar having an equally bad time of it.

Notes: As you know, I am taking part in a challenge on tumblr by user @jonerysfics and @mhysaofdragons in which for seven days from Valentines day I am uploading a new one shot. The prompts have been provided and the stories have all been written and I gotta say you're in for a lot of Jonerys content. So Day 3, 16th February, which is when I'm uploading this, the prompt I chose was 'Bad First Date'. This is my spin on a situation many of us find ourselves in on Valentine's day.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812064

-----

“What’s wrong with me, Viz?” She sighs as she swirls the content of her glass in her hand. “Am I just some sort of freak magnet?”

Daenerys Targaryen had just returned from her third bad date of the month and given it was Valentine’s Day tomorrow it was safe to say she’d be spending it alone with a bottle of Rose and her pink vibrator.

“Nothing is wrong with you, Dany” He implored from the other side of the bar, filling her drink to the brim again. “You’re gonna meet the man of your dreams one day, I promise you. None of these men deserve the average woman let alone you. Your my sister, the best a man could get, I got your back don't worry about it!”

“Thanks” She puts a smile on, thankful for the niceties but in all honesty she just wanted to sit and wonder what had gone wrong.

One of them, had worked at a pet shop, which was fine, until he’d said that he takes the python to bed every night so it gets used to him. There was no way this side of hell she’d get in a bed with a snake that wasn’t attached to a man.

Fucking weirdo.

She shuddered to just think about it.

Another only wanted sex and told her outright from the minute they sat down in a fancy restaurant, turned out she’d arranged a date with a sugar daddy who was willing to give her £3000 for sleeping with him. Not the man to bring home to Rhaella Targaryen.

And then the one she’d just ran from, offered her a gift of his fingernail clippings and a Manchester United shirt. Daenerys didn’t know which one she was more disgusted by, her father never speak to her again if she wore the shirt and the nail clippings was just outright gross.

One day, I’ll date someone normal.

“Scotch, neat please” She hears a northern accent sound from the seat next to her, a sound which she associated with a bad day. At least she wasn’t the only one.

“Coming right up, sir” Her brother nods and fixes the man up with one. Dany turns sideways to glance at the man who has just decided to sit next to her and when she does, her eyes widen with feint recognition.

I know you…

“Jon?” She asks, unsure if it really is him. He turns and looks at her, his eyes confused for a moment while he sips his drink. Then, it clicks into place.

“Daenerys Targaryen?” He becomes nervous, shakily putting his glass down, and they both know why that is. Time flies, this was a blast from the past she had not been expecting.

Damn, he looks like a right snack … she thinks to herself. Jon Snow, she used to go to High school with him over ten years ago. He was a lot smaller then, in terms of muscle, but she could see his arms and torso almost pulsating through the shirt he had on now.

“How have you been? You look great” She almost smiles suggestively, sipping her own drink. She was eighteen when she last looked into those eyes. I sucked his dick in the school toilets in year 10, 15 years old and way inexperienced . Her luck with men clearly hadn’t changed that much. He says he's been good and thanks her for the compliment. “I haven’t seen you in what, twelve years?”

“About that, I just turned 30” He confirms, a look of reminiscing present on his face.

“What you doing in town anyways? Last I heard you’d flown to New York to work” She asked interested more so in his sudden reappearance in town than the lame dates she’d been on. Anything to stop being traumatised by fingernail clippings...

“Oh, I came back years ago” He said with a chuckle, gruff and causing a slight tingling in Dany's ears. “It was a great experience but, I missed home. My sister Sansa fell pregnant with her partner at the age of 20 and I just decided to come home and work and be a good uncle”

“I get that, my friend Missandei is always travelling the world, comes home every few months. Nothing like the comforts of home, she says” She sighed, looking into her once again empty glass. It was strange how the conversation seemed easy.

“You want a refill, Dany?” Viz asks.

“Go on then, brother. Give Jon one too, put it on my tab” She asks and Jon nods in appreciation. “So why you at the bar then? You haven’t happened to finish up a bad date like me? Or should I say I got the hell out of there as quickly as possible”

“Actually, yes” He laughs to her surprise. Maybe today was the day the universe turned on decent people . “Redhead, nice girl or at least I thought so, she wanted me to do the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp with her at Hotel Paris on Baelor’s street”

“Gods above” Dany’s wide eyed response got Jon laughing. “I thought mine was bad”

“Let me guess, hair strands given as a gift?” Jon snorted.

“Close, nail clippings” The laugh on his face dropped as if he was going to be sick. He asks her if she was being serious, she nodded. “He also gave me a Manchester United Shirt so I had to dip on him, I should’ve known something was off when he didn’t want gravy on a roast dinner, what kind of moron doesn’t want that?”

“There are some strange folk around” Jon agreed, both of them kinda silent for a moment. However, Jon instigates the conversation once again. “How about yourself, what have you been up to?”

He’s hot…

Really fucking hot...

Like bend me over your knee and fist me like I'm nothing hot...

Daenerys, behave yourself…

“I run a non-profit” Dany replies, trying to temper her feelings. “It’s for helping women who’s been apart of domestic abuse get their life back on track, help with hygiene and food and school for their children, other than that I work on my father’s board of executives for his solar company which develop more economical ways to create electricity”

“So long story short, everything you wanted to do in high-school didn’t happen” He laughs, they both have to. A familiar memory of her dancing outside the school toilets to entice Jon in, ringing through their minds. What a wild and free-spirited individual she was then...

“I did not become a dancer, no” Daenerys found it really easy to talk to him, perhaps it was his familiarity. “Instead I just become a woman who has every aspect of her life going accept the one she has an interest in working”

“Pah, relationships are shit anyways” He grumbles and Dany can't help but chuckle at him. The distant memory of a redheaded girl leaving him for some other hotshot man came into her mind.

“You're not still upset about her, are you? Ygritte?” She giggles. His solemn silence answers it all. “Jon, that was Year 12”

“Still hurts” He shrugged, striking her as the type to never get over something truly. “Never met anyone like her since”

“Yes, the lying and cheating type is hard to come by” She cackles before gulping the last of her drink. If she wasn’t careful she’d fall off of her chair. “Look, there’s someone out there, bad dates just mean you’re getting through that shit to find them. Optimism!”

“Urgh, I hate that word” Well at least he’s honest…

“Jon” Dany stated plainly. “You do realise you’re a bit of a snack, yeah?”

“I’m a bit of a what?” He blinks, unaware of what is about to come out of Daenerys mouth.

“A snack” She nods. “Look at you, that curly hair still looks as well maintained as it did at our Leavers ball, your eyes are deep and mysterious, you clearly work out, your accent is gruff and sexy and you smile like a child who just found a stash of cupcakes, you’re a total snack”

“Here we go” She hears her brother mumble and walk off to serve other customers. Shut your face, Viz.

“Okay, that’s a lot to process” Jon chortles, but he knows it’s meant in good fun.

“It’s suppose to be a compliment” Dany speaks sincerely, a hand placed on his knee to show her sincerity. “Any girl who acts a fool, or turns you down, or cheats on you, is a fucking moron”

Well done, Daenerys, just open your legs why don’t you, cut to the chase .

Daenerys wasn’t finished. “And anyways, last week I went on a date with a guy who wanted to put me in his bed with his pet Python, so it can’t ever be that bad”

“People are indeed strange” He agrees once more. Fucking hell if he smoulders at me one more time I'm taking my knickers of now and he can fuck me against the bar .

They were quiet after that, just a small groaning of the jukebox behind them playing tunes and the sounds of snooker cues hitting balls. Dany looked around, anywhere but Jon while she collected her thoughts.

Why not?

That’s all she can find herself to say. So what if she sucked his dick once all those years ago, so what if it’s only because they’ve both had bad dates and they were just looking for a bit of human contact. It’s just sex right, she should at least ask or she won’t get.

“Hey Jon”

“-Dany”

They both realised they’d spoke at the same time.

“Sorry, you go first” Jon offered.

“Oh, okay” She nodded, her eyebrow rising as a little smirk appeared on her face. “You wanna get out of here?”

If there’s any justice in the world, you will say yes, Jon Snow.

There’s a moment where she thinks she’s fucked up, but when the same smirking expression is sent back to her, she knows there’s only one place she’s going tonight, and that was the backseat of her car.

“Depends” He shrugs before stepping off of his seat and whispering in her ear. “Are you going to be a bad girl for me?”

Dany starts giggling, completely surprised that her evening was going to be not all bad and actually looked like quite a promising night. The prospect of showing Jon Snow how she'd improved since the blowie in the school toilets days filling her with fire and want. “Is the sky blue?”

"Excellent" Jon grins, gulping his drink and smashing it on the table. He hops off of his bar stool, guides Dany off of hers and smacks her behind with glee when she begins to lead him out the door, a wave goodbye to her brother.

Now this was going to be a good evening...

#Jon snow #daenerys targaryen #jon x daenerys #jonerys #fanfic #jonerysvalentine #mhysaofdragons #game of thrones

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overwatchleaguereport · 6 years

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Overwatch: I Made a Smurf Account For An Experiment

As OWL takes a breather, I thought I would write about some topics I rarely touch. As I wrote them, I realized they all shared a common theme.

As such, I now officially declare this “Finding Peace In Overwatch” Week. I hope you enjoy this, the first of three installments!

To begin with, I’d like to talk about Overwatch’s competitive mode and the experiment I ran regarding SR.

A General History

For the last three seasons, I have hovered in the low platinum range. No matter how much I’ve flexed, no matter how much I’ve one-tricked, I have not been able to rise in the ranks.

Initially, I blamed myself. But no matter how well I played, my teams would often contain toxic players, unskilled players, poorly positioned players, or even players who obviously didn’t understand counters. While I admit I was sometimes the potato of my team, for most games, I played my role and played it well.

I felt extremely frustrated the longer this went on. I began to doubt the effectiveness of the ranking system around the same time everyone else in the fandom did.

As Season 9 wore on, and my SR hovered just above Gold, I started thinking more about the theory that my MMR had something to do with my struggles.

The Idea

MMR, short for Matchmaking Rating, is a statistical value many video games use to determine player skill. In Overwatch, MMR is a secret, hidden number, and is usually only lost or gained by playing modes like Quick Play.

A popular theory regarding Overwatch’s SR system is that it is intricately linked with the hidden MMR system. In essence, if you have high MMR, it is hypothetically easier to rise in the ranks because the game secretly thinks you deserve to be in those ranks. If you have low MMR, the game won’t award you as much SR if you start to climb above that secret MMR.

For me, this made a lot of sense. When I picked up Overwatch on its launch week, I hadn’t played many shooters in my life. Whenever my friends watched me play Quick Play, they would literally double over laughing at how bad my aim was. I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with Symmetra’s primary fire. It was only after consistent, dedicated play that my aim started to improve. Shortly after I felt confident in my own abilities, I switched from Quick Play over to Competitive and rarely went back.

Because I was such a garbage player at the beginning, it made sense to me that my Overwatch MMR was low. It made sense that I could have been held back by my own noobish gameplay from the early days. But I wanted to be sure. I wanted to know. Was my invisible MMR potentially holding me back?

So I decided to test the MMR/SR theory.

I decided to create a Smurf.

My Background

I play Overwatch primarily on console, specifically the PS4. My main account is called AmasWatch, which you can view here. I named the account after the novel I self-published.

For further reference, I wanted to outline my specific history in every season of Overwatch. Note that I did not participate in Season 1, as I didn’t even want to know how bad I was at the time.

My Rankings for Each Season

Season 2

High: 2223

Final: 1994

Season 3

High: 2404

Final: 2404

Season 4

High: 2435

Final: 2259

Season 5

High: 2500

Final: 2500

Season 6

High: 2893

Final: 2589

Season 7

High: 2503

Final: 2197

Season 8

High: 2633

Final: 2502

Season 9

High: 2650

Final: 2517

The Smurf

Because I was playing on console, it was easy for me to create a Smurf. All I had to do was make another free Playstation account and log into Overwatch. I named this Smurf OWLERGuy.

My goal was to play my very best. I didn’t want to take advantage of less-skilled players, like the fifty-eliminations-per-match Widowmakers that prey upon my wife down in Bronze. I wanted to be matched with players of my same skill.

It took me the better part of a month, but I leveled up OWLERGuy to the necessary Level 25 about a week before the end of Season 9. I took a break from that account for a while, instead enjoying Retribution and other arcade games on the AmasWatch account. Then, once Season 10 began, I began my placement matches.

Placements

My goal was to do my placements first for the Smurf (OWLERGuy) and then for my main (AmasWatch). I did all twenty matches over the course of a week and a half. The results went as follows.

OWLERGuy:

Win – Win – Tie – Loss – Win – Win – Loss – Win – Win – Win

Final SR after placement matches: 2969

Top Three Heroes (According to Career Profile)

Moira – 1 Hour

Junkrat – 15 minutes

Reinhardt – 6 minutes

AmasWatch:

Win – Win – Loss – Loss* – Loss – Loss – Win – Loss – Loss – Loss

Final SR after placement matches: 2442

Top Three Heroes (According to Career Profile)

Moira – 1 Hour

Orisa – 20 minutes

Reinhardt – 11 minutes

*Our team had a leaver after the first round.

My Initial Conclusion

Aha! I thought to myself. My MMR was holding me back on my main account!

I was very pleased. I was only one or two wins away from my first ever Diamond rank. With my excellent winning streak, I was sure I would reach it in no time.

So I played five more games. The first match, someone left ten seconds in, and the game was cancelled. The same thing happened in the second match.

My third game resulted in a loss. My team picked poor counters, and I wasn’t surprised by how it turned out. What I was surprised by was my SR loss. In a single game, I went from 2969 SR to a 2918 SR, a 51 point drop. This was in stark contrast to my main account, where I never gain or lose more than 25 SR at a time. What was even more surprising to me was that I had 20,000 healing on Dorado as Moira. I felt a performance like that should cushion the loss in SR a bit.

For my fourth game, I saw a similar outcome. I had about 16,000 healing on King’s Row with Moira. We lost the game. I went from 2918 to 2865 SR. I didn’t perform nearly as well for my fifth game, where I only had about 5,000 healing on Moira. We also had a guy who was raging before the game even started, and I think that brought the whole team down. Either way, it didn’t matter. My SR was now at 2818, far below my main account’s career best, the 2893 SR I achieved in Season 6.

I knew I could go and play more games on the Smurf account, see if wins award me the same amount of SR as losses take away. At the same time, I believe I have my answer to the MMR question, at least according to my personal experience.

My Final Conclusion …

There’s a saying that Overwatch placement matches are simply normal competitive matches where you can’t see your SR gains and losses. I had quite the collection of wins for my Smurf’s placement matches, and I’ll admit, I was hard carried for a few of those matches. I think those wins alone helped bump me up to that high platinum rank, but the game knew I wasn’t performing at the level I should have been. As such, when the losses came, I really felt the hit.

Had I continued playing in like manner, I’m sure my Smurf’s SR would have stabilized in the low platinum range, just like where my main account usually lies. And honestly, now that I’ve done this experiment and looked at my skill from a more objective mindset, I’m not surprised.

… I Deserve My Rank

Compared to most people, I am a hardcore gamer. Sony sent me an email at the end of this last year, telling me I spent 1500 hours on my console over the course of 2017. That’s nearly 30 hours a week, almost another full time job. Over a fifth of that time was spent just playing Overwatch.

But 300 hours over the course of a single year is barely any time at all compared to the amount of time Overwatch’s Grandmasters, Masters, and even Diamond players put into the game.

Though I sometimes take breaks from the game, I’m currently averaging about 7-12 hours of Overwatch a week. In contrast, the Overwatch pros put more than forty hours a week into the game. Anyone wanting to rise toward their level has to be putting in a comparable amount of time.

And I, simply, am not.

Where I Found My Peace

I have a family, I work more than forty hours a week, and I write these blogs on the side.

In that light, I should be proud of my rank. I may not be among the top 15% of all players, but I’m doing pretty well for someone who barely puts any time into the game, comparatively. And I bet your rank reflects the amount of time you’ve put into the game, too. So own it!

I hope this post was helpful, and I hope it helps you be proud of your rank.

Zachary out!

Hey! If you like esports, be sure to visit my other blog, Clash Royale League Report! Today’s latest post should be out now!

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