#Delphiniums in a Window Box | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fadingdaggerr · 2 years ago

Note

Hey can I request a melissa schemmenti x femreader based on season two episode 1.where maybe the reader is rlly stressed out and maybe she can’t park bc Ava is using her parking spot to celebrate the eagles game and maybe mr Johnson comes into to tell the reader her is getting toed away so her,Melissa and the other teachers run outside and maybe the reader is getting angry and shouting at the man,melissa is begging her to calm down.and then she does what Janine did in the actual episode and she gets in the car and try’s to drive off and everyone is telling her to stop and Melissa try’s to get her out the car and out of rage she kicks the car and hurts her foot and then maybe the reader storms back into the school and melissa goes to find her when the school day is over and the reader has a panic attack and Melissa comforts her. Tysm ❤️

delphinium blooms

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: request above! i made little changes, mostly just so i wasn’t just rewriting janine’s scene but with r and mel but i hope you still like it :)

warnings: hurt/comfort, r has a morning of unfortunate events, r is kinda mean (to a man so it’s fine), stress/anxiety crying

note: i rewrote so much of this because i kept thinking of things and creating nonsense lmao but i had a lot of fun writing

development week has always been the calm before the storm. you had everything planned already: each month’s separate decor to keep a lively room, the giant drawing paper for the wall so students could doodle during free time (and you could proudly display their art), and even the seating chart was done. everything was perfect and in order, everything just needed to be set up.

but sometimes the storm comes before the calm, or the calm packs its things and jumps out of the moving car.

the coffee maker in your apartment died on you, only about half a cup of watery coffee in the bottom of the pot. you didn’t have the money, nor the time, to stop that the cafe one block over. rent’s more important, we can get coffee at work, you tell yourself. you soon found that it was nearly unbearable to eat breakfast without your coffee and splash of oat milk creamer. coffee and maybe breakfast at work, i guess.

at nine in the morning, there is a full-on barbecue in the parking lot of abbott elementary. janine’s parking spot was a grill station. your spot, which was two down from janine’s, was currently being used as a blow-up pool splash zone. you roll down your window when you see ava close by.

“ava! what the hell is this?” you yelled out your window.

“it’s a development day party!” the principal responded with a big, happy grin.

you sighed, “your party’s in my parking spot.”

“pay valet or park somewhere else, i have a party to host,” she waves you off as she turns to talk to whoever approached her. after a, give-or-take, nine hundred point turn, you parked your car on the street. you prayed to the meter-maid goddesses that you’d have time to move it before someone came and ticketed you.

you pulled box after box out of the backseat, stacking them in your arms, creating the leaning tower of heavy-as-shit. as you slowly walk towards the fourth grade classrooms, you top few boxes get lifted away, easing the load significantly. you look to see who it was, expecting gregory, but instead you’re met with jade green eyes and fiery hair.

“trynna show off carrying all these?” she says with a laugh.

you laugh with her, “oh, of course. how else am i going to impress the ladies?” melissa snorts a laugh at this, opening the door to your classroom and letting you in ahead of her.

“and who are these ladies?” she jests.

you look at her, taking in the smirk on her face before answering, “we both know it’s just the one.”

she helps you spread out the boxes and get everything open before asking, “ready to head to the opening meeting?”

“you mean the ava show?”

she laughs, “yeah, come on.”

—

you half-listen to ava’s little speech and flirts to gregory, your eyes trained on melissa’s rings instead of ava’s vacation photos. you only perked your head up when janine mentioned donuts at her little mixer.

“and why would i wanna go to that?” melissa answered janine, barbara nodding in agreement beside her.

“you said donuts?” you ask janine, she nods eagerly, “then count me in teagues, but if there’s no strawberry frosted i’m leaving.”

there was no strawberry frosted. you dropped into a seat next to melissa, who was happily eating a chocolate frosted donut. she sees your pout and offers you a bite, which you accept with a smile. she wiped a blue sprinkle that managed to land on your cheek, the action is enough to make you smile a bit, warmth spreading through your cheeks.

just when you think the worst part of the morning is over, the tried and true mr. johnson walks into the library.

“anyone drive a beat up sedan?” all the hands in the room rise up. “who drives a silver one?” less hands, but still a good amount. “one with a sticker that says ‘if you see this, thank a teacher’ on the bumper?”

janine pipes up, “oh that’s mine!”

“you’re getting boot on your car, young lady,” he answers, and janine immediately is running out with jacob, gregory, and barbara behind her.

“oh and anyone got a green sedan? little cat bobble head on the dash?” mr. johnson speaks up.

melissa turns to look at you before you say, “don’t tell me it’s being booted.”

“course not,” you sigh in minor relief, “you’re about to get towed.”

you’re immediately running out to your car, melissa hot on your trail. you get outside to see a boot placed on janine’s car and the tow guy is rigging your car to the truck.

“aye, back off the car! what are you doing?” you yell, getting close to the tow operator, eric.

“no parking zone, can you read? it’s for the buses. we’re pulling ya,” he says as he continues his work. you groan in anger, walking closer to the car where he had already hooked it up.

“what fucking buses? school hasn’t started yet,” you counter.

“it’s still a bus zone, and you’re still getting towed,” eric says.

before you start throwing hands with the guy, melissa steps in, “how much to not tow the car?”

he laughs, “you can get it back at the lot, should be two hundred. might be three for wasting my time. you’re not getting it back now, it’s parked illegally.”

you see red when he mentions raising the cost, you couldn’t even afford the original one, “wasting your time? your time?! i’m supposed to be in that building making lesson plans for children who will be here next week, and i’m wasting your time?”

“yeah, you are. now move your ass or i’ll move you,” the man answers angrily.

you bravely taunt him, “try then.”

“sweetheart…” melissa tries to reach for your arm, but you step just out of reach.

barbara and gregory say your name at the same time, both of their tones advising caution. melissa is stuck between wanting to help and letting you just handle it. she wearily watches as you squat down and start undoing clasps and hooks, taking the chains off the car. you’re movements are fast, getting two wheels free from the rigs.

“hey! you can’t be touching that!” eric yells once he hears the disconnect. he stomps over to you and grabs your arm, harshly yanking you away from the car with a tight grip. “stupid little shit,” he mutters.

“touch me again and i’ll break your fingers,” you threaten, and by the look on your face, melissa knows you’re serious. now is when she has to step in, she knows that much.

“twenty bucks says our scrappy-doo over here wins!” ava yells over, holding her phone up, ready to record if you followed through.

“not helping ava!” barbara and melissa shout at the same time.

melissa moves to gently wrap her arms around you from behind, pulling you away from your car and away from the tow guy. when you try to pull away, she tightens her hold, muttering to you to calm down and slow your breathing. you’re irritated, and melissa can feel you shaking against her. she knows you’re using your anger to coverup how much you want to cry.

once the car is all set, the man speaks to melissa only, “here’s the address of where to pick it up. and thanks for keeping your dog,” he pointedly looks at you, “on its leash.”

once he drives off with your car, melissa releases you slowly. your chest rises and drops with every unsteady breath, and you groan loudly. immediately, and without much thought, you repeatedly kick the stone wall around the entrance, even when pain strikes after the first one.

“sweetheart. baby, stop…” melissa grabs you again, “you’re going to hurt yourself.” barbara ushers away everyone else, giving the the redhead space to calm you.

it took a few moments for your breathing to slow, but when it stuttered, melissa turned you in her arms and hugged you tightly. your face instinctively tucked itself away in the junction of her neck and shoulder, your arms firm around her waist. you could feel her arm around your shoulders, the other rubbing soothing circles on your back and she swayed from side to side, in hopes the motion would help you focus your breathing.

“baby?” melissa asks with a hushed tone.

you pull away from her to sniffle but tuck back into her skin before answering, “i can’t afford a cup of coffee. i can’t afford a new coffee maker. i haven’t eaten since we had dinner last night. and this half-wit just stole my car and put it up for ransom, because there was a pool in my parking spot.”

the accumulation of everything from today being said aloud made fresh tears fall from your eyes. melissa held you tighter, whispering soothing words to you even if they fell on deaf ears. after you’ve calmed down again, she coaxes you back so you can see your face. her hands hold your face delicately, thumbs stroking away left behind tears.

“i will hand deliver you coffee every morning until you find a new coffee maker,” she says making you huff through your nose, “and i’ll buy you lunch, maybe make you dinner too, if you want,” she sees you perk up at the offer, “and i’ll stab a hole in the pool.” you laugh for real this time, making melissa smile. these days, she found that making you laugh was her favorite thing to do.

“what abo-” you start, but melissa cuts you off.

“oh, you’re not paying a dime,” you go to tell her not to pay it, but she’s ahead of you. “and neither am i, trust me. i could pull a uncle carlo and get them to give me three hundred bucks, for my time.”

you shake your head, “you bringing the bat or just that cute face?”

melissa cheeks grew rosy at your words, “you were crying five minutes ago and now you’re flirting?” you nod, biting your lip, but still waiting for an answer. she gives in, “the bat will be stay in the car unless they really deserve it. scout’s honor.”

you laugh and press a kiss to her cheek, mumbling against her skin, “thank you.”

she turns her face, pressing her forehead against yours with her eyes closed. she leans in and presses a sound, loving kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then the other, a final one placed on your forehead. she holds your face once more, “you needed me, and i was there. you don’t have to thank me, i love you. it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

you kiss her again, very quickly, then say, “i love you, too.”

—

after she bought you lunch, she didn’t drive you straight back to abbott. no, melissa was parked in front of market street towing company. she wordlessly got out of the car, but motioned for you to stay when you went to undo your seatbelt. you just watched her walk away nervously until she disappeared inside.

two songs and one radio ad later, you see your car pulling out of the fenced lot, melissa behind the wheel. you jumped out of the car as she got out of yours, grabbing her tightly.

“oh my god, thank you, thank you, thank you,” you say excitedly, only hearing her laugh a bit.

“no one was harmed, except maybe a couple egos,” she says before pulling back to drop your keys in your hands. “we still on for dinner?”

you grab her chin between your forefinger and thumb, bringing her lips to yours in a slow kiss. when you pull away, you revel in her stunned look, and it’s just too tempting to kiss her again, but she beats you to do. she breaks the kiss for air, and you speak quietly in the small space between you, “dessert, too.”

i hope u like this anon and i hope i did ur vision justice <3 feedback appreciated as always

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary

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oddaodd · 4 years ago

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· July’s Official Birthday Flower ·

Summary: When the reader suffers yet another miscarriage, Tommy is there for her. Time helps them heal, but there’s always a little reminder of what they’ve lost.

Warnings: Detailed descriptions of miscarriage, grief, blood , sadness and pain.

Author’s note: I Think this is one of the angstiest fics I’ve ever written and I do think that I should put a disclaimer out there that if any of the warnings that I wrote up there tigger you, please don't read ahead.

A sharp pain awoke Y/n in a particularly warm summer night. Having been too familiar, more than anyone would like to be, with the particular pain she was feeling, she wasted no time in sitting up and getting out of bed, barely granting her significantly stained sheets a glance before she rushed to the bathroom, where the pains became more and more severe. She must have been spotting for hours before the pain woke her up.

Tommy was still sleeping on his side of the bed and for a reason Y/n didn’t want to make a sound. She carefully closed the bathroom door and took a few more steps until another wave of pain flowed through her body. Placing her hand over her mouth to buff the whimpers her throat couldn’t stop from escaping into her mouth, the pain increased. She began to feel blood quickly dripping down her legs but she couldn’t bring herself to look down, instead looking up at the small chandelier hanging from the bathroom’s ceiling as she took big breaths and tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.

It couldn’t be happening again. But it was. Y/n confirmed it when she saw the amount of blood that had pooled under her, a minuscule silhouette in violent contrast with the pearly white tiles. She couldn’t handle it then and let out a pained sob at the sight. Her legs trembled and she let herself fall to the cold hard floor. She could hear the violent thud her contact with the floor caused ringing through the bathroom’s walls as she rested her head against the tub and began sobbing silently. Suddenly the pain that woke her up, the one that she had to buffer out mere seconds ago felt like nothing. She wanted it to hurt more so it matched what the sight of the blood caused her to feel.

She then heard an array of hurried footsteps that stopped for a second in front of the door. Three soft knocks ran through the bathroom followed by Tommy’s voice calling Y/n’s name. Y/n couldn’t answer. She didn’t want to be alone, but at the same time she didn’t want anyone else to see.

“I’m coming in, Y/n” Tommy’s voice ran again and Y/n realized she didn’t want to be alone when she didn’t protest against it, not even when he gave her a few seconds to do so before turning the knob and pushing the door open.

He was by Y/n’s side in a trice. Color drained from his cheeks when he saw the blood before he crouched next to her and began rubbing her back soothingly with one hand as the other one went to the bathtub faucet.

“It won’t be necessary, love” she remembered telling him when he suggested for his aunt to go and stay with her when he left to London on a business trip a week ago “I have a good feeling about this one and I think it’s a boy”. She remembered the feeling that erupted inside her when he came back and nothing bad had happened, foolishly thinking that if nothing had happened by then nothing could happen at all.

The recollection caused her sobs to become louder, composing the most harrowing melody with the sound of the hot water filling the bathtub.

“Let it all out, Love” Tommy suggested before engulfing Y/n in a hug, his hand still rubbing circles on her back.

Y/n sank into his embrace and clung to him as if she was clinging to dear life. Her tears soaking through tommy’s cotton shirt until he felt his skin damp broke his heart. But instead of crying he continued to hold Y/n, telling her how much he loved her until the bath was full. He then helped her up, out of her stained silk night gown and into the warm water. After pressing a kiss to her forehead, he grabbed a towel and carefully picked up the promise that laid on the floor as if it was made of glass before leaving the bathroom with it in hands.

By then Y/n felt she had no more tears. Her face and throat ached. But a few more tears did roll down her face when she began scrubbing the blood from her inner thighs.

After that everything became blurry, her head airy and nauseous. Brief flashes of Tommy joining her in the bath, then carrying her to another room. Frances taking with her the bloody sheets, a doctor shaking his head sorrowfully at a mournful looking Tommy, a young toddler with her hair and tommy’s eyes, laughing, Tommy crying at the end of the bed and then darkness.

She woke up the next day with a headache, Tommy was sitting at the end of the bed and immediately turned to look at her when she stirred. Again he was by her side in a trice, taking her hand in his, looking at her with bloodshot eyes into her puffy ones.

“I’m so sorry, love” Y/n croaked out, her voice raspy, traces of the unfortunate previous night evident in it.

Tommy quickly hushed her “ey, It’s not your fault”

Y/n’s eyes began watering again “But I was so sure”

“I know” he said, his own voice breaking as he got in bed next to her

“we can try again” he murmured into her ear as he pulled her closer to him.

“I don’t know if I can take it, Tom. A bit of me dies each time” she mumbled burying herself into his chest. “I don’t think I can have children”

“it’s alright, love” he whispered pressing a kiss to her forehead “I’ve got you”

“Can we buy delphiniums?” she remembered asking him just before she fell into a deep slumber and out of consciousness, she did so for two days. Tommy only woke her up sporadically when she needed to take the tablets the doctor had prescribed.

On the third day, she woke up with Tommy’s arms around her, she took a minute to observe his face, even as he slept he looked restless. She didn’t want to wake him, but she couldn’t bear to be in bed a minute longer. Her whole body felt sore as she carefully got out of his grasp and attempted to get up, but as soon as her feet hit the hardwood floors it seemed like she forgot how to walk. Her body screaming at her for even attempting. The sigh that escaped her lips at her effort, as small and quiet as it was, arouse Tommy.

“Don’t get up, love” he said in a worried raspy morning voice getting up and walking around the bed so he was in front of her “what do you need?”

“I can’t bear to be in this bed any longer, Tommy” she sniffed.

“Where do you want to go?” he said in a tender voice accepting her unwillingness to stay in bed.

“Can you take me to the garden?”

Color drained from Tommy’s face once again before he nodded softly and helped Y/n down the stairs after making a detour to the nursery to get a small ornate wooden box.

The morning air was crisp, uncharacteristic of a July morning. Y/n wouldn’t have preferred it any other way. It felt like a million of tiny cold hands soothing her warm taut skin. She stood for a moment just taking it in, the small box in her hands as Tommy went to get a shovel. The ghost of a smile painted her lips when she saw him walking back towards her, with the shovel in one hand and a delphinium plant on the other.

The pair then walked to a secluded part of their garden that most visitors didn’t get to see. After helping Y/n kneel down on the grass, Tommy began digging a hole next to the other two plants that lived in that part of their garden. A yellow rose and a lavender. Y/n’s fingers began tracing the carvings of the wooden box as she watched her husband dig. She could swear a few tears fell into the dirt before he turned to her telling her it was deep enough.

Together they set the box, in the bottom before putting the delphinium plant on top and covering it up with dirt. Y/n never minded the feeling of dirt on her hands, but she was tired of burying ghostly promises. They sat in front of it for a while until hunger called them to the kitchen where Tommy prepared some mint tea.

Months passed turning grieving weeks into days and then just moments. By then Tommy had familiarized himself with the things that transported Y/n to that dreadful night and avoided them as much as possible just like she had done with the ones that did the same to him.

Y/n for instance couldn't bare to wear white nightgowns to sleep anymore and Tommy couldn't stand the smell of mint tea.

One December afternoon as Y/n was visiting one of the orphanages the Shelby’s funded, to see if everything was running smoothly, she found a small toy horse on a small bed next to the window. She picked it up and as she observed it carefully she remembered when she walked into the nursery to find Tommy crying a few months’ prior, a small horse just like the one Y/n just had found, clutched tightly in his hands. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, it was the first time she saw him crying after that dreadful July night.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

Y/n turned around with a jump and saw a small girl dressed in a yellow dress. Her hair was just as curly as Y/n's and her eyes were as pulchritudinous as Tommy’s as she looked at Y/n with a curious gaze.

“Yeah” Y/n smiled wiping her tears “is this yours?” she then asked looking at the girl as she handed her the horse.

“Yes, Her name is Rose!”

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz @lilymurphy03 @slytherinicequeen

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby one shot #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinder x reader #peaky blinder one shot #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder angst #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader

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skzsauce01 · 4 years ago

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The Student Council President Reads Shoujo Manga?!

Synopsis: You discover that the student council president, who claims to hate romance, reads shoujo manga. Slight influence from Kaguya-Sama: Love Is War.

Warning: none

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairing: fem student council vice president!reader x student council president!Hyunjin

After forgetting your textbook in the classroom, you expect to be the last person to arrive to the student council room, but it appears that you’re actually the second.

“Vice President, you left your manga here last night,” Secretary Kim greets. He glances at you momentarily before returning to his paperwork.

You shut the door behind you. “My manga? I don’t remember— Oh.”

Sitting on the mahogany desk is a tote bag that you recognize is the president’s. You loaned President Hwang the first five volumes of The Life of A Dragon and Its Rider two weeks ago. When you peer inside the bag, you find that he forgot to take off his manga protectors. You keep telling him that he doesn’t need to take such a precaution since you trust him, but he always does so anyway. Even your old battered copies are wrapped in plastic.

You take the topmost one and hold it to the light streaming through the window. Not even the outline of the title can be seen. You voiced your confusion at his choice of using opaque protectors before; how would he be able to differentiate between different volumes or different mangas? His answer made you laugh: it was how he got away with reading during class. The image of the student council president doing such an illicit thing seemed ridiculous, and he pushed his hair back in embarrassment as he recounted the time the teacher almost caught him. Then you stopped laughing and wondered what the symptoms of a heart attack were. Your rib cage felt like it was going to smash open.

Now as you peel off the protector, the same feeling returns. The corner of Dragon Rider is blue and purple, not dark red. Did he spill something? No, none of the pages are wrinkled with water damage, and he would never be so careless so what exactly—

“Oh my goodness!”

Secretary Kim, pen twirling in his hand, looks at you curiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes!” you squeak out, hiding out the manga behind your back. “I just… I just… it’s nothing! Everything is okay!”

“Alright then.”

While he goes back to his papers, you hurriedly turn around and check the book. It’s the same as it was a few seconds ago. Instead of a fearsome dragon and its hardworking rider on the cover, there is a teenage girl flanked by two boys with wolf ears. The title reads Tsukiko of the Wolves. You flip through, discovering with both amusement and disbelief that it’s a shoujo manga. There is nothing wrong with reading shoujo — you’ve read a fair share yourself when you were younger — but President Hwang is the least likely person you would expect to have a secret love for them. You regularly loan him your shounens to read, and he eagerly discusses each volume with you. He frequently complains about the romance, saying he’s reading it for the adventure, not for the love triangles.

This has to be a mistake. He has a younger sister who you’ve seen at the bookstore occasionally. It’s possible that they share a bookshelf and that he accidentally grabbed hers on accident. You put the protector back on, set it aside, and reach for the next book on the stack.

You have no real idea if it’s another shoujo or not, but NecRomancer sounds like one. The summary on the back describes a girl panicking about her newfound powers of resurrection and the attractive man she just brought back to life. You open to the middle of the manga and let out a squeak when you see the naked corpse on the page. It’s just another accident, it has to be. President Hwang is close with his sister, so it’s only natural that his manga would be close to hers. You try the next book in the stack, hoping that it’s one of yours.

The corner reveals a dark red cover, and you hold your breath, keeping an eye on Secretary Kim. He is still preoccupied with his work, muttering sentences and scribbling things down. You fully peel back the protector, and Why Do I Not Remember You? is written across the cover in glitter. Could this be his sister’s bag? No, she doesn’t use protectors.

You mindlessly thumb through the pages, seeing but not really seeing the crying woman being comforted by a stranger. Then at the flashbacks of broken beer bottles and a ring. The chances of this being a mistake are lessening. Once is a coincidence, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern. Does this mean that…

The student council president reads shoujo manga?

You quickly replace the protector. Your heart pounds, and possibilities swim in front of you. At the very best, he will be mortified if he knows that you found out. At the very worst, the entire school will find out. President Hwang’s reputation will be tainted, and with the upcoming reelections, his reputation is of the utmost importance. If he’s not president, you might still be vice president, but what’s the point then? It’ll be no fun without him.

No one can find out about this.

Suddenly the double doors to the student council room burst open, and you drop Why Do I Not Remember You? onto the desk. President Hwang slouches in the doorframe, resting his hands on the handles, completely out of breath. A Blueprint Books bag hangs in his grasp. That must be the one containing your manga.

He looks up from the floor, and you realize you are directly in his line of sight. Your hands fly to the ribbon around your neck, and you begin to untie and retie it.

“President, are you alright?” you distantly hear Secretary Kim ask. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I’m alright.” President Hwang’s voice comes out strained as he notices you standing behind his desk, three books out in the open. “Vice President, I see you discovered the manga as expected.”

“I was just counting to make sure I got all five back,” you reply with a fake smile. He can’t know that you know because he will never speak to you again out of embarrassment. “You left the protectors on, by the way.”

He walks toward you. You are the perfect picture of innocence. He will not know. “Did you… check them?”

“No, I was in the middle of counting them. Why?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, but you can hear the relief. “I left the wrong bag for you last night. Working late must be getting to me, haha. Here you go. The Life of A Dragon and Its Rider.”

You peek inside, and sure enough, the volumes are there with no opaque protector to obscure the title on the spine. You clutch the bag in front of you like you can use it to hide the truth you have just uncovered. President Hwang stacks his shoujo manga back into his bag and tucks it underneath the desk. His face has gone pink, and he fans himself with the latest edition of the school newspaper.

“What did you think of it?” you ask to distract him. “Isn’t the artwork amazing?”

Mission successful. President Hwang’s eyes go glassy as he recalls the story in his head, and he stops his fanning. “It is. And the worldbuilding too! The academy is so different from the usual school settings, and the dragon breeds are so cool. Also, Hirajima is such a tsundere. He’s going to end up falling in love with Kimi, isn’t he? Ugh.”

“I won’t spoil it for you,” you cryptically reply. The president is holding tightly onto his facade, which you need him to do. “I’ll lend you the next five volumes tomorrow. Just wait until you get to the tournament arc. You’re going to love it.”

He groans and leans back into his chair. “Was that sarcasm?”

“No! Tournament arc is always the best arc! That’s why Feast of the Gods is so popular. Every arc is pretty much a tournament arc.”

President Hwang lights up even more at the mention of the fantasy cooking-themed manga. He borrowed it from you last month and loved it so much that he bought matching keychains for the entire council. “Secretary Kim is the bird's milk, Treasurer Lee is the silkworm flour, you’re the delphinium rose syrup, and I’m the volcanic pepper,” he explained.

“Why are you the pepper?” Treasurer Lee complained. “You can’t even handle spice.”

“Because I’m hot.”

While both the secretary and treasurer cackled and while the president grew increasingly embarrassed by his own claims, you did your best to focus on your new keychain and not him. He looked too attractive loosening his tie and running his fingers through his hair. He looked like a manga character come to life.

President Hwang’s comment snaps you out of your daydream. “The ending is good! I can’t believe that Ryuzaki actually—”

“Shouldn’t you two be working?” interrupts Secretary Kim’s flat voice. He peers at the two of you over his glasses and flicks his eyes towards the suggestion box he must have brought in earlier. “Especially with reelections coming up soon.”

“We’ll talk later,” President Hwang whispers to you. “I want to discuss my theory about Kimi and Bando with you.”

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go through the suggestions now before Secretary Kim gets mad.”

You walk over to the door and grab the suggestion box. It’s heavier than expected, and you hold it flush against your chest to keep it from slipping out of your grasp. President Hwang notices your struggling and meets you halfway. He nearly makes you drop it as his fingers brush yours while he takes it from you.

“Thanks,” you stammer out. Your hands are empty, so you toy with your ribbon again as you follow him back to the desk.

“No problem,” he says. He lifts open the lid and takes out the first paper on top. “Shin Ryujin is asking for more funding for the Tennis Club again. Speaking of tennis, have you seen the animations for Bleeding Heart? It’s so good.”

Though Bleeding Heart starts off like a shoujo, it devolves into a mystery. If it weren’t for the knowledge you have now, you would have teased President Hwang for watching it. Instead, you enthusiastically nod. “They play croquet, not tennis, but yes! They’re so smooth!”

“President, Vice President.”

You and President Hwang exchange sheepish smiles. He softly sighs and scans through the paper, playing with a lock of hair. You imagine him doing the same as he reads. Why is the image of him secretly reading shoujo manga so charming? You shouldn’t find it so when he has this much at stake. He needs to be reelected.

“What do you think?” he asks, pointing at a proposal that you should have been reading with him, interrupting your thoughts. He edges closer to you, and breathing is suddenly difficult. He smells like laundry detergent. “Are new uniforms justifiable?”

“Yes, I think so,” you choke out. “Excuse me for a minute.”

You practically run out of the student council room, stopping only when you reach a small alcove in the hall. It’s dim and quiet, and you can hear your heart trying to break out. You press your hand over it, trying to push it back inside. Heart attacks don’t feel like this, or so says the medical website you consulted. Your heart thunders against your wrist, and its beat perfectly matches your pulse.

Steady.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It eventually slows, and you return back to the room with more composure than you had earlier. Treasurer Lee has finally shown up, and you decide to help him with calculations instead of reviewing proposals with President Hwang. It’s better this way.

During the weekend, you head to Blueprint Books and wander down the aisles, trying to find the manga President Hwang reads. You know what he likes for shounens, so what is it for shoujos? You mindlessly swing your tote bag back and forth as you scan the shelves. He Doesn’t Know My Secret, Steampunked!, Squirrel Princess. It’s been some time since you visited this section of the store. As you look to the next shelf, you notice a familiar keychain hanging from someone’s pocket. When you do a double-take, to your surprise and horror, President Hwang is standing at the end of the aisle. He looks different when out of uniform. Good different.

Maybe you made a noise of some sort because before you can turn around and leave, he glances up from the book he holds. His eyes meet yours.

Disbelief. Confusion. Panic.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he shakily asks as he slides the manga back into place. He’s mostly calm, that’s good. If he can lie to you about it, surely the entire school will be a simple feat. “Is there a new release?”

You shake your head. “Just browsing. Are you buying something for your sister? I know you don’t like romance that much.”

The relief in his voice is palpable when he says, “Yeah. Do you have any recommendations?”

“What does she like?”

“What do you like? You read a lot of manga.”

The question makes you pause, and you recount all the conversations you’ve overheard during lunch. Shounens are more of your thing now, but you're not above shoujos. “I’ve heard good things about Best Friend Boyfriend and I Wouldn’t Change A Thing.”

“Have you read them?”

“Not yet, but I always hear people talking about them.” You shift from foot to foot. A change of subject is much needed. “How’s the campaign going?”

“It’s going well, I think. Yeji and her friends are asking everyone in their year to vote for me, so that’s cool. The Japanese Culture Club is apparently doing the same,” he answers. He thumbs his pepper keychain, and you instinctively reach for your complementing one. The tiny syrup bottle is cool on your skin. “What about you? You’re still going to be my vice president, right?”

‘My’ makes you warm. “Of course! Just worry about yourself. Han Jisung really wants your spot.”

“I’m not letting that happen. Trust me, on Friday, the principal’s going to announce me as president again. And you’re going to be vice president. Secretary Kim and Treasurer Lee are going to be there as well. We’re going to be the student council until graduation.”

He says it with so much determination, you can’t help but laugh. “I really hope so. Hey, I’ll bring you the next five volumes of Dragon Rider on Monday. Just give me six through ten whenever you’re done.”

“Thanks. Do you want to borrow one of—”

“There you are!” President Hwang’s younger sister bounds into the aisle with a shopping basket filled with stationery. She furrows her eyebrows when she notices exactly which aisle her brother is in. “Don’t you have enough al—”

“I’m going to be late for dinner!” you interject. You step backwards, nearly bumping into the cardboard cutout of a manga character. “See you in class, President. Have a nice day. Bye.”

As you speed walk in the opposite direction, you hear his sister quietly ask him, “Wait, was that the vice president?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.”

You don’t hear if President Hwang replies anything because once you’ve turned the corner, you sprint out of the bookstore. It’s not until you’re home that you realize that you never found out what kind of shoujos he enjoys.

The days leading up to Friday are fraught with worry. Han Jisung is campaigning hard for the position this year. His small band of dedicated followers pass out flyers at the school gate every morning and trade lollipops for votes. Despite that, the president is unbothered.

“Did you watch the new episode of 00 Daniel?” he asks you on Wednesday.

You place your shoes inside your locker and shut the door. “Today’s the last day of voting, and you’re concerned about that?”

“I think the mission’s going to go badly this time. It’s been like five missions since his last screw up,” he continues like you said nothing. “There’s no way the season is ending without setting up for the next one.”

“President.”

“He’s not going to win, I promise. Treasurer Lee took a survey a few days ago, and I’m in the lead. The Mathematics Club’s survey confirmed the same thing.”

You start heading to your class with a resigned sigh, and President Hwang follows you even though he’s in a different room. He tugs on the sleeve of your blazer.

“You have nothing to worry about, Vice President,” he reassures. He lowers his head down to meet you at eye level. “It’s you and me until graduation, okay?”

You quickly nod and try not to burst into flames right on the spot. He’s too close yet not close enough.

“I think you’re right about 00 Daniel,” you stutter. “They’re taking too long to find the target too. I’ll see you after school then. Class is going to start soon.”

He retracts himself, a bit disappointed that you don’t want to speculate now. “Okay, we can talk later. See you.”

“See you.”

You two head to your respective classrooms. As you slide into your chair, you notice the boy next to you has a red candy wrapper on his desk. The girl in front of him has a purple one.

You really hope the Mathematics Club is right.

When Friday arrives, your stomach is in knots, and you feel ready to pass out at a moment’s notice. The traffic lights are slow today, making your usual stroll to school longer than usual. Students your age all the way down to elementary, pass you by, laughing and chatting with their friends. How can they be so relaxed when the results of the election come out this morning? You bet the paper announcement is already tacked to the bulletin board at the front of the school.

“Good morning,” comes a familiar voice.

“Good morning,” you reply back. President Hwang easily falls into step with you and holds out a tote bag to you. “Oh, you finished all of them?”

“Yeah. That last battle was crazy! I can’t believe it ended like that. And the epilogue! I knew it would happen! I feel so bad for Bando and… You okay? You look a little sick.”

“It’s nothing.” You take the bag from him and hold the books to your chest. You peek inside to make sure the protectors are off and to check that he gave you the right bag. No shoujo manga this time. “Are you nervous?”

He’s surprisingly apprehensive when he asks, “About what?”

“The election?”

“Oh. No, not really. Are you?”

“A little bit,” you lie as the two of you walk through the gate. The bulletin board is surrounded by a crowd, and you’re ready to march through to see what the paper says. Please let President Hwang be on there. “Let’s go.”

But the president is soon stopped by Han Jisung and his followers. Han Jisung holds his hand out, and you hold your breath as he opens his mouth.

“Congratulations on winning, President,” he says with a good-natured smile. He shifts his gaze to you. “And you as well, Vice President.”

You let out an audible sigh and quickly cover it with a cough when everyone looks at you. “Thank you.”

President Hwang shoots you a knowing grin, making you blush, before exchanging pleasantries with his defeated opponent. In the meantime, you push through the crowd to double-check the results. There it is in black ink: Hwang Hyunjin as President. Relief floods through your body, and you happily accept the other students’ congratulations and swap theories about the upcoming season of 00 Daniel with your fellow manga and anime fans.

“Told you,” President Hwang later says after he manages to get away from Han Jisung. He shuts your locker door with one finger. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Hey, are you going home now?” President Hwang asks. With no changes in the student council, everything is business as usual, including Secretary Kim and Treasurer Lee leaving as soon as they can on Fridays.

“Yeah. Are you staying late again?”

“Not today. Want to walk home together?”

“S-sure.”

While he reorganizes the papers on his desk, you fiddle with the strap of the tote bag. It’s not the first time you’ve walked home with the president, but it sends you into a panic every time. The golden sun and orange sky makes everyone look beautiful but him especially so. It’s difficult not to be tongue tied around him when he looks exactly like the lead of a shoujo manga.

Manga. The thing that accelerated your feelings for him in the first place. His good looks and his sweet talking charm were enough for you to notice him, so learning he shared the same hobby as you? Discovering that he adored coming up with theories?

You were smitten.

“You ready?” he interrupts.

“Yeah.”

The two of you make it to the front entrance before he stops and turns to you. “Actually, before we go, can I show you something first? It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Sure. What is it?” You follow him through the school, taking note that he seems to be headed to the courtyard.

“Have you read Limitless?”

As you step over a pile of fallen cherry blossoms, you rack your brain. You read it a long time ago, mostly because it was on every recommendation list online. “The shoujo about the math tutors? It’s been some time, but yes. What about it?”

President Hwang stops in the middle of the courtyard and faces you again. The sun is behind him, the rays of light forming a crown on his head. “Well, there’s a scene near the end that I thought you might like.”

The end of Limitless…

… features a confession scene in the school courtyard.

He gently takes your hands. “Do you remember the first day we were elected? I was the first person in the room, and I was so nervous to meet you because I didn’t know that much about you. Secretary Kim and Treasurer Lee said you were really kind, but I was still nervous. Then you ran into the room with a bunch of manga and almost tripped over the rug. You laughed it off and held out a book for me to shake since your hands were full.”

“It was the first volume of Feast of the Gods,” you whisper. That day is burned in your mind. “Lee Chaeryeong just finished the first ten volumes and gave them back to me.”

“And then I asked you if I could borrow them because I wanted to read them but Blueprint was out of stock. You said yes immediately, and that’s when I knew that you and I would be a great team. When you wanted to listen to me talk about the chapters I read, that’s when I knew I liked you. And when you continued to offer me other series to borrow, that’s when I knew I had to tell you. So,” he breathes, “here it is. I like you, and I want to be with you.”

“I… I like you too.”

He breaks out into a grin and wraps you in a hug. He still smells like laundry detergent, and you bury your nose in the collar of his shirt.

“What do we do now?” he softly laughs as he pulls away. “The shoujo mangas usually stop here and cut to a new scene.”

The words fly out of your mouth without thinking. “So is that why you’ve been reading shoujos? For the confession?”

His smile falters but recovers soon after. “Yeji gave it away last weekend, huh? Ah, I was hoping you hadn’t heard her.”

“Actually… I found out when you gave me back Dragon Rider the first time,” you admit. You twirl the ends of the ribbon around your neck. “I took off the protectors and saw some of them. But there’s nothing wrong with liking shoujo! I was just surprised since you always say you hate romance.”

“I mean, I did. I started reading them for confession tips, but then it turns out some of them are really good. Like Limitless? And then I started reading my sister’s, and I kind of like them now. Is that weird?”

“No. Honestly, it’s kind of cute.”

“Really? You’re not weirded out by that?”

“Not even a little bit. I don’t care what you read as long as you’ll talk to me about it after.”

“Well, I finished Winter Fireworks recently. Have you read it before?” When you shake your head, he takes a step closer and leans down. “It ends like this.”

As it turns out, the story ends with a kiss.

~ ad.gray

None of the mangas/animes mentioned actually exist. They’re just riffs of other fics we’ve written. Was this just a giant ad for them? Yeah, kind of lol. In order of appearance:

The Life of A Dragon and Its Rider ➞ Normal (Hyunjin)

Tsukiko of the Wolves ➞ 42nd Moon (Hyunjin)

NecRomancer ➞ Magic Words (Hyunjin)

Why Do I Not Remember You? ➞ Eternally Yours (Hyunjin)

Feast of the Gods ➞ God’s Menu (Felix)

Bleeding Heart ➞ King of Hearts (Bang Chan)

He Doesn’t Know My Secret ➞ Harmony, Melody (Seungmin)

Steampunked! ➞ Matters of the Head and Heart (Felix)

Squirrel Princess ➞ Squirrel and Wife (Han)

Best Friend Boyfriend ➞ Ruin My Life (Lee Know)

I Wouldn’t Change A Thing ➞ Even if Things Were Different (Han)

00 Daniel ➞ Apologies in Advance (Lee Know)

Limitless ➞ love you to limx (Han)

Winter Fireworks ➞ Ringing in the New Year (Bang Chan)

bonus after credits scene

It’s only when the two of you are crossing the bridge do you realize what he has done. “You just spoiled the ending for me!”

“Sorry, I forgot.” After a few seconds, he asks, “Can I give you more spoilers?”

You reach for the front of his blazer. “Yes.”

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz fanfic #skz imagines #hyunjin scenarios #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin imagines #stray kids au #skz au #20210701

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immabethehero · 4 years ago

Text

Hero Fever

Happy Birthday Jackie! Here’s a little story to celebrate!

CW: Food, small sickness, mention of nausea, ego shipping (if you’re uncomfortable with that)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the sunny backyard of the Septiceyes’ house, Chase and Jameson struggle to hang up the banner reading “Happy Birthday Jackie!” For the third time today, they descend their individual stepladders to move the banner slightly to the left.

In the middle of the backyard, sits a huge cake. Marvin the Magnificent continues switching through photos to put on the top of the cake, squinting against the harsh sun.

An individual picture of Jackie? “So lonely.”

A picture of Jackie and Seán at a convention? “Too blurry.”

A picture of Jackie breaking his nose at said convention? “How the fuck did that get here?” Marvin picks up the offending photo and crumples it up, tossing it aside.

He settles on a family photo of the Septics, taken last year at the beach. He sighs then turns around to sneeze. He has been feeling a bit unwell since he woke up; nose stuffed, head aching, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he gives his boyfriend the best birthday yet.

Chase and Jameson stand back to stare at the banner again.

“I think it’s too far to the left again,” Chase says. Jameson blows a raspberry in frustration.

Marvin sighs as he stands up. “You want me to do it?”

“Please,” Jameson begs.

Marvin snaps his fingers and the banner rearranges itself into the middle. Chase and Jameson sigh in relief and hug their friend. Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein MD, PhD- oh you know the drill- leaves his current job of setting tableware and joins them in the hug.

“Finally we can relax!” Chase exclaims.

Marvin spots a figure out of the corner of his eye and pulls out of the hug. “Robbie, what are you doing?!”

Robbie’s head snaps up as he turns around, his expression similar to a child who got into the cookie jar without permission. His face is covered in icing. “I’m not eating cake.”

“You can’t eat the cake now!” Marvin gently scolds.

“It’s an ice cream cake!” Robbie protests.

“It’s for Jackie,” Marvin reminds him.

“It’s for Jackie” Robbie repeats, glumly.

An alarm on Marvin’s phone goes off, What Is My Life by Schmoyoho and Jacksepticeye playing. Marvin gasps in delight. “It’s time! Jackie should be awake by now!” He runs over to the door, but quickly turns around. “You sure you’ve got this, Henrik?”

Henrik scoffs. “Relax! You can trust the Good Doctor! I’ve faced down demons and evil sorcerers, I can keep the backyard clean until you get home with Jackie!” He puffs his chest out.

“Good! Make sure no one starts eating before he gets here!” Marvin orders as he runs inside.

“Yup!”

“And keep an eye on that cake!” Marvin slams the door closed.

The egos settle down on chairs and tables, relieved from the magician’s dictatorship for now. Robbie takes the time to practice reading. His eyesight has slowly improved for him to begin reading once more, and he takes every opportunity to get lost in a good book again. He reads the banner. “Ha...ppy… birth… day… Jackie!”

He turns to Jameson, who nods in approval before opening his own book. Robbie gets up to join him.

Henrik and Chase take the time to grab some chips from the bowl.

{Didn’t Marvin say not to eat anything before he and Jackie got here?} Jameson asks warily.

“It’s not like he has to know. Plus, we have extras,” Chase reasons.

Jameson sighs and goes back to reading. He has a feeling they’ll be scrambling for food ten minutes before the hero arrives.

Upstairs, Jackie snores loudly, drool hanging from his mouth and hair a wild mess. Marvin tiptoes in and leans over the snoring superhero.

“Jackie… Happy birthday…” he whispers.

“To youuuu….” Jackie mumbles, still somewhat asleep.

“It’s your birthday, Jackie,” Marvin says with a laugh.

“To meeee…” Jackie sings.

Marvin snickers and pulls the covers off. “Get up, lazybones.”

Jackie sits up, startled by the sudden cold. “Morning to you too, Marvin.”

Marvin kisses his cheek. “Happy birthday Jackie! I’ve got a little scavenger hunt for you to celebrate!”

“Scavenger hunt?”

“You always have fun going treasure hunting, so I’ve worked for weeks to get today to happen! There are presents all around town waiting for you to find them!” Marvin continues, bouncing to Jackie’s closet. He flips through the shirts and coats. “Mind if I fix up an older suit of yours?”

Jackie jumps out of bed to do his morning stretches. “Go right ahead.”

Marvin grabs an old suit and throws it to Jackie. Jackie puts it on while Marvin fiddles with the design. He turns the entire outfit a scarlet red, giving it blue lapels, finishing the design with a golden brocade embellishment.

Jackie gasps as he admires himself in the mirror. “Thanks Marvin!”

Marvin winks as he magically changes into his own outfit, adding a similar golden brocade design to his purple vest and turning his cape red in honour of his boyfriend. He conjures two Himalayan blue poppies, clipping one above Jackie’s heart and tucking the other into his hair.

Jackie happily applauds the transformation.

Marvin bows and quickly rises, causing his head to spin. He stumbles and nearly topples into Jackie, who quickly catches him and gently guides him to the bed.

“You alright, Marvin? You look a little pale,” Jackie says. He puts a hand on Marvin's forehead. It feels hot. “Do you have a cold?”

Marvin scoffs. “Please, I don’t get colds. I’ll be fine.” He can’t be getting sick now! Not on his boyfriend’s birthday!

As if to spite him, his nose tickles and Marvin sneezes. Sparkles appear, some of them falling upon Jackie’s copper mantel clock. The clock hops off the desk and skitters out of the room.

“Should we catch that?” Jackie asks.

Marvin waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll get it later. Ready to start?” He holds up a red rope. “Just follow the string!”

Jackie’s eyes light up as he grabs the string and trails through the hallway. Marvin laughs as he watches Jackie crawl under tables and jump over couches to follow the red string’s path.

The first present is in the bathroom, hidden in the far left cupboard: a shiny red stopwatch with the Spiderman design as its signature. Jackie squeals as Marvin slips it on.

The second and third presents sit on Chase’s desk: tickets to a concert for One Republic along with a box of chocolates. Jackie pops one in his mouth and holds the box out to Marvin, who shakes his head. Marvin tries not to breathe in the sweet scent, knowing it will just make him nauseous.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Marvin?” Jackie asks again as they continue through the house.

“Absolutely!” Marvin says, patting his boyfriend on the back. “Now hurry up, we’ve got more presents to find inside this house!”

Meanwhile, the small clock skitters through the house, confused as to wear to go. It senses a breeze and turns to the window over the kitchen counter. It hops up and jumps out the window, landing on its feet and dashing to the backyard.

The clock breezes past Chase, who plays a little game on his phone. Chase looks up, a confused expression on his face. What just went by?

A scream startles Chase out of his seat. The good doctor stands on a wobbly chair, eyes bulging as he stares at the little creature. The creature simply tilts its case, as if it was cocking its head in confusion.

{Henrik, my dear, must you scream so loud?} Jameson snaps, sign trembling. {You almost gave me a heart attack!}

“What is that?!” Henrik demands, pointing downwards.

Chase bends down and holds a hand out for the creature to hop on. To his surprise, it’s a small antique mantel clock. He recognizes the copper hue.

“It looks like Jackie's clock came to life.” Chase chuckles as the clock waves a hand in greeting.

“Scheiße, I thought that was a giant bug!” Henrik groans as he jumps down. Jameson pats his back.

“What should we do about it?” Robbie asks, tentatively holding a hand out. The clock shakes it with its leg.

“It’s not harming anyone,” Chase reasons. “We’ll just let it hang here until Marvin and Jackie show up.”

The clock sits down on the table. The egos stare at each other and shrug before resuming their individual activities.

Jackie struggles to hold onto his new makeshift clock shaped like Septiceye Sam (lovingly made by Jameson), the messy delphinium flower arrangement tied with a red ribbon (lovingly ripped out of Marvin’s garden by Robbie), and a massager wand with the package clumsily decorated with Spiderman stickers (Henrik definitely let his daughter decorate it). He stumbles downstairs and heads into the dining room where a painted portrait of the Septiceye family sits. Jackie marvels at the beautiful painting.

“Jacques Septicart painted that,” Marvin says. “We’ll put it up in the living room later tonight.”

Jackie juggles his presents into one arm and hugs Marvin with the other. “These are all so much… thank you.”

Marvin leans into the hug, sniffing a little. When did his nose get this clogged up?

“Marvin, are you sure you’re not sick?” Jackie asks.

“Just allergies,” Marvin quickly answers, before sneezing. Before Jackie can say anything, he sneezes again.

“They come in threes,” Jackie warns.

“I’m fine- achoo!”

Behind Jackie, Henrik’s comfy armchair waddles over to the back door, where it kicks it open and heads outside. Following it is the fire poker on two spindly legs and five books flying in the air like birds. Marvin gulps.

Jackie turns around, seeing only the open door. “What was that?”

Marvin quickly shuts the door close with magic. “None of your concern, let’s go!”

“Can I at least leave my presents-”

Marvin drags his boyfriend out the front door before Jackie can finish, where a shiny red motorcycle stands in the driveway. Marvin hops into the driver’s seat.

Jackie gulps, knowing the magician’s lack of knowledge on anything public road-related. “Uhh, are you sure that’s safe?”

“I’ve been taking lessons from Chase! Let’s go!” Marvin yells. Jackie has no choice but to hop on.

Marvin drives through the busy town square, eyes focused on the red string hanging from the lights. Jackie holds onto Marvin, clutching onto more gifts; a fuzzy Deadpool onesie, a pair of bluetooth headphones, a red fishing rod and yet another flower arrangement, this time made of bellflowers. The chocolates, delphinium flowers, clock and massage wand are crammed in the new storage compartment. Thank goodness for that.

Marvin suddenly stops to sneeze. Behind him, street signs, construction cones and trash cans grow legs and run off. Marvin yelps in shock and quickly bikes away from the scene. This only causes him to sneeze even more and he slows to a stop to finish the fit. A park bench stirs and skips away.

“Bless you,” Jackie says, ignoring the skipping bench in the background.

“Thanks,” Marvin hoarsely whispers, rubbing his nose with his handkerchief. He looks up and gasps. “Would you look at that! We made it to our next stop!”

He points up to the sign that shows a small man covered in a sticky dark substance. Mud? Ink? No, chocolate! The swirly words read “Shawn Flynn’s Chocolate Factory.” The light-beige, brick wall store sits at the corner of a plaza, dark brown curls painted to give it an inky look. A small folding sign standing near the glass door reads the special for the day: Brownies with Flower Decorations.

Jackie’s eyes light up. “You didn’t!”

“I did! Head inside!” Marvin says with a laugh. Jackie hops off the bike and opens the storage compartment, hoping to put more presents inside.

Marvin’s nose tickles and he tries in vain to stifle another- “Achoo!”

Immediately, Shawn’s sandwich board gallops into the traffic, causing cars to screech to a halt. Marvin flips toward the superhero. Thankfully, Jackie seems more interested in slamming the storage compartment lid closed.

“Marvin, you know we can always finish the scavenger hunt later, right?” Jackie asks.

“Hell no, I’m fine!” Marvin drawls, sniffing loudly. “Go inside before your next present spoils!”

Jackie shrugs and heads inside the store. The interior has blueprints of old-fashioned machines plastered along the walls, all in parchment paper. Shawn Flynn reads a book behind the display case, where various chocolate delights are lined up.

Shawn waves when he sees Jackie bounce up to the counter. “Happy birthday Jackie! Marvin commissioned quite the treat for you!” He pulls out a box of chocolate brownies covered with pastel yellow icing and decorated with a Himalayan blue poppy on each. Jackie’s mouth waters as he takes the box.

“Thank you sir!” Jackie says.

“Have a good day, lad!” Shawn says.

Outside, Marvin basks in the sunlight as it warms his suddenly chilly body. He sighs in content… and sneezes. The lamppost beside the motorcycle suddenly sprouts four new legs and slowly gallops away. Marvin watches it run into the distance. He’ll fix that later.

Jackie bounces out with the box of brownies and sets it in the motorcycle’s basket. “Amazing brownies, Marvin! Thank you!”

Marvin opens his mouth to answer, only to sneeze. The motorcycle stirs to life and whizzes down the street, cars stopping and honking their horns as the bike races away with the treats and half the gifts.

Marvin cries out as the vehicle disappears from their view. Jackie laughs. “Well, that takes care of the brownies, I guess! Seriously though, I think we should head home.”

“Of course not! It’s just allergies!” Marvin snaps. Jackie flinches at his harsh tone.

Marvin shakes his head. “I’m sorry… I just… I don’t want to ruin this day for you. I’ve worked too hard for this to only crumble.”

Jackie smiles. “It’s alright. Shall we continue on foot?” He holds an arm out.

Marvin nods, linking his arm with Jackie’s and heading down the street to their next destination.

By the beach stands a store with a gable roof and stone bricks. A fish net hangs over an Indiana Jones-inspired logo: The Survival Kit. Inside, fishing rods, grappling hooks, bikes, and even ice skates are lined up on shelves and walls, ready for use. Among the outdoor items and the useful emergency supplies are cool little trinkets from different parts of the world.

Marvin kicks the door open, only to sneeze again. Immediately, six pairs of snowshoes at the front door hop off their display case and into the outdoors. Marvin quickly conjures up some new snowshoes to take their place.

“Hey Marvin!” Angus McLoughlin says. “Is the birthday boy with you?”

Jackie enters dragging a sled full of gifts behind him. “Hello, Angus!”

“Top of the morning to you, birthday laddie! I’ve got a little something for you!” Angus fishes underneath the checkout counter and holds out a grappling hook wrapped in a big blue bow.

Jackie gasps in amazement as he takes the new hook. “Awesome! I needed a new one! Thank you, Angus!”

Angus tips his crocodile dundee hat. Over by the trash bin, Marvin blows his nose while fishnets fly off their hooks and out the window.

Jackie sighs when he sees the sniffling magician. “Angus, you wouldn’t happen to have some medical supplies for my boyfriend, would you?”

Angus already has a bottle out. “A cold remedy of my own invention! I used this when I got a fever on Mount Everest!”

“I’m fine!” Marvin calls out. He sneezes once more. A stand full of fishing rods runs off with new legs.

Jackie slams a twenty pound euro on Angus’ desk. “We’ll take it.”

Jameson dries his hand and exits the bathroom. He hears crashing and screaming outside. Worrying for his companions, he quickly runs out and opens the door to a chaotic scene. Chase shrieks as he rides a bucking trash can around the backyard, swatting at a book that seems intent on pecking him. Henrik attempts to guard the cake from a sandwich sign and an armchair with a broom. Robbie stands beside him, roaring at a bicycle and a lamppost. Four more books fly above the crowd. The tiny clock trembles by the back door.

Jameson whistles loudly. Everyone, including the furniture, turns to the wizard.

“Hi Jameson! More guests arrived!” Robbie yells.

{Where did they come from?} Jameson asks, gesturing to the objects.

“Who cares?! HELPPP!!!” Chase screams as the garbage can resumes its bucking. Jameson conjures some magic fireballs and joins the battle to protect the cake.

“Come on, Jackie, now we climb!” Marvin yells as he stumbles toward the clock tower. His head feels even heavier than it did this morning and his clogged nose prevents him from breathing. He sniffs violently.

“Marvin, that’s enough, you need to rest!” Jackie exclaims.

“But we need to get to our birthday chills! I mean thrills!” Marvin protests as he swings the doors open. Jackie pales upon seeing the large staircase. Marvin is already climbing up.

“Marvin?” Jackie squeaks.

“What?! I’m fiiiine!” Marvin shouts, almost tripping on his cape. “Come on! Up to the top!”

Jackie rolls his eyes and begins his climb. “Marvin, you’re going to regret this later.”

“No I’m not!”

“WHERE ARE THE FISHING NETS COMING FROM?!” Henrik screams as he tries to wriggle out.

“I’LL SAVE YOU DOCTOR!” Robbie yells as he yanks away at the fishnet.

“THE MOTORCYCLE HAS THE CAKE!” Chase shrieks as he dangles from the lamppost.

{BLAST IT ALL, HOW ARE WE OUT OF CHIPS?!} Jameson demands as he slaps away the swooping books.

Henrik and Chase point to each other. “HE FINISHED THEM!”

Marvin has no idea how he got to the top with only 10% of his energy, but he isn’t about to question it as he opens the small door in the clock face. He blinks against the harsh light of the sun and turns around. Beautiful colours light up the sunlit room. Crystals dangling from the ceiling reflect the light and cast rainbow colours.

Jackie likes the spectacle, but can’t help but watch worriedly as his boyfriend stumbles around,

Marvin takes a deep breath and spreads his arms out. “Happy, happy, merry, merry, hot, cold, hot birthday Jackie!” He snaps his fingers and firecrackers shoot up. He feels the blood drain from his head and blacks out as the firecrackers explode.

Marvin wakes up to a cushioning object underneath his head. It dawns on him that Jackie is cradling him in his arms. Marvin nuzzles into Jackie’s suit, tears welling up.

“Jackie? I think I’m sick…” Marvin whimpers.

Jackie puts a hand over Marvin’s boiling forehead. “Yup, you’ve definitely caught a fever. Tell you what, let’s put this day on hold and get you to bed. Okay?”

Marvin nods weakly. “Okay.” He sniffles again. “I’m sorry Jackie, I just wanted to give you a perfect birthday… but I ruined it.”

Jackie hugs him. “You didn’t ruin anything. I still had fun today. Besides, we always have next year. For now, let’s just get you to bed.”

As Jackie helps him up, Marvin quickly adds in a weak voice, “As long as we go through the back door.”

Jackie chuckles. “Whatever you say.”

Voices and banging emanate from the back gate as Jackie and Marvin approach. Marvin gulps, a sinking feeling in his gut. He turns to Jackie.

“Uhh, love? If we open the doors and there just happens to be a mess, I’m very sorry.”

Jackie laughs. “No need to apologize. Besides, it sounds like fun.”

The superhero pushes the gate open. Indeed, chaos is amok. Henrik dangles from the lamppost, still entangled in the fishnet, Chase clings onto a spinning trash can, Robbie shields himself from swooping books with the sandwich sign, and Jameson floats above the mess, holding the cake. Jackie’s clock clings to Jameson’s leg. Around them, the other guests have finally arrived, but stand far away from the fight.

Upon seeing the birthday boy walk in, the furniture arranges themselves into a giant tower with the Septiceyes on top, and everyone yells,

“SURPRISE!”

“Wow!” Jackie exclaims with a laugh.

“Wow…” Marvin mumbles in shock.

As they descend from the tower, Chase rouses the party to sing.

We’re making today a perfect day for you! We’re making today a happy day and no feeling blue! For everything you are to us and all you that you do! We’re making today a perfect day, making today a special day, We’re making today a perfect day for you!

“Happy birthday Jackie!” Henrik says.

{Make a wish!} Jameson urges, holding up the birthday cake. Jackie closes his eyes and nods, then blows out the candles. Everyone cheers.

“Marvin, are you okay?” Chase asks, rushing over to the magician. Marvin simply responds by toppling into him.

“He got sick!”

“Of course you did, you’ve been stressing over his birthday for two whole weeks!” Henrik says exasperatedly. “Come on, let the good doctor treat you!”

“I don’t want to miss the party!” Marvin protests weakly as Henrik leads him away.

“We’ll set up a little bed for you!” Chase says. “Let’s go, Jameson!”

Ten minutes later, Marvin lies on a chaise wrapped in blankets while Jackie feeds him some soup. The superhero looks out into the backyard while Marvin rearranges his blankets.

The party continues in full swing, with people eating food and chatting with each other. Jameson performs a juggling trick on the motorcycle for the children, while Chase and Robbie have a chip eating battle. Henrik chats with Shawn on the park bench. Jackie smiles and turns back to Marvin who seems to have fallen asleep, snoring softly.

Jackie laughs and kisses Marvin’s forehead. “Thank you for the best birthday yet, Marvin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@graysun, @florenceisfalling, @miishae, @lonelyseiren, @goldenoceanaart, @egopocalypse, @oasisofgalaxies, @fleecal, @kofi-kiing, @myspatialspace, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @huffletrax, @gemstone6, @dumbasticart, @lunaarmada,@meteorshowersfillthesky, @uhhbeans, @the-pastel-kitsune, @bupine, @climbing-starrs, @the-spawn-of-loki, @jadehowlettthewolf, @obsidiancreates, @rammypaige, @cest-mellow, @randowaffle, @green-protects, @dezi-popp, @badlypostedeverything, @crystalninjaphoenix, @milo-kno, @pixelpixie-pix, @why-killed-markiplier

#writersofjack #writers of jack #apparently i can write #writing #immabethehero #ego shipping #marvelsepticeye #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #jacksepticeye

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sockablock · 5 years ago

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When in sudden need of a place to stay, Caleb Widogast finds a room for rent at a price so low he can’t believe his luck. Ignoring the concerns of his friends, he moves in and quickly finds himself tangled up in the life of one Essek Thelyss, a reclusive scholar who may be even stranger than Caleb himself...

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Chapter 2: A Name to the Face

The sun lanced arcs across Caleb’s face as he set his phone down on the nightstand, and yawned.

He’d gotten used to sleeping in strange places during the last few years of his life, and there was a part of him that missed the coziness of his room back in his and Nott’s apartment. But the other part of him, namely the part comprised of bruises from too-narrow walls—relished in this chance to stretch out a little.

Eventually, he managed to sit up. The mattress did not dip sullenly with his weight, indicative of its newness and quality.

He glanced around. The door was closed, though Frumpkin was nowhere to be seen. Then again, mundane cats were already hard enough to confine; as a feline of the fey persuasion, Frumpkin went where Frumpkin pleased.

Caleb took his sweet time making the bed, adjusting the blinds, peering out the window over quiet streets, before eventually rifling through his cardboard boxes for something proper to wear. He also made a mental note to, at some point, ask Mr. Thelyss how the laundry worked.

Then he straightened his collar, took a deep breath, and wandered out into the kitchen.

—

Jester was nose-deep in a box of cinnamon rolls when Beauregard emerged from the shower. Peals of steam curled past the doorframe and dissipated out into the hallway.

“I thought those were supposed to last us the week,” Beau said when she noticed her roommate. “Didn’t we decide we wouldn’t go back to the bakery until Thursday?”

“Oh, but Beau,” icing shimmered in the corner of Jester’s mouth. “Beau, they’re just so tasty. I can’t resist.”

Beauregard pulled the towel off her head and gave her hair one last muss-up. Then she slung herself backwards into a chair and stole some frosting.

“Fair enough,” she licked a finger. “Just be sure to save something for Yasha when she gets back.”

“Back?” Jester’s cheerful demeanor vanished. “Oh, no, did she leave again? I thought she was done doing that!”

“Oh, no she didn’t run off, I think she just went to some errands, or something?” Beau scratched the side of her head. “She mentioned something about seeing a butcher.”

“Oh.” Jester relaxed. “Well that’s alright, then. Though we don’t really cook much.”

“Maybe she’s trying something new. It’s better than eating rats all the time, right?”

Jester gave this due consideration. “I think she only did that once. And then Fjord threw up, so she decided to stop.”

“Hm,” Beau shrugged. “I guess that’s nice of her. Oh, hey, speaking of stopping, what the hell is up with Caleb? Has he responded? With pictures and actual information?”

Jester groaned. “He’s being a real butt about it. He’s obviously there, but he isn’t sending us anything good.”

Beau raised a cinnamon roll. “The bastard.”

—

In the light of day, Mr. Thelyss’s kitchen gleamed with tidiness and disuse. In fact, it seemed like only the coffeemaker and microwave ever got any attention from their owner.

Caleb added another step to his mental moving day to-do-list: find the nearest grocery store and get some cereal. And coffee. And maybe a loaf of bread, if he was feeling extravagant.

He settled instead for pouring himself a glass of water and vowing that he would at least pick up lunch once he actually ventured outside. He slid into the kitchen, found a neutral-looking glass cup, and filled it up in the sink.

When he turned, he realized that something was different about the counter.

The little box of cheesecake was gone.

There was a note left, however. It read: Thank you very much, Mr. Widogast.

So, Caleb thought to himself. This meant that his mystery landlord had come home at some point in the night. And…as his gaze drifted past the kitchen and over to the front door of the apartment…yes, there in the foyer was a pair of shoes and a fine, but thin, black cloak.

Caleb had never seen anything like it before. It seemed as if the pattern had been designed to almost be worn like some kind of long poncho. Its hem brushed just over the floor.

What kind of person would wear something like this? The amused thought of vampire briefly flickered through his mind, but he shook it off and chalked it up to spending too much time with Jester.

He glanced back at the note. Something in him also registered: charmingly polite.

He shook his head. Speaking of Jester, he still had a promise to fulfill…

—

“Fjord, those are ugly.”

“What? I think they look nice—”

“Nice won’t cut it! I need something amazing! It’s been months since I’ve last seen Yeza. I have to really blow him away.”

“Look, what you see is what we’ve got. And anyway, what’s wrong with Delphiniums—”

Nott was standing on a small turquoise stool that some of the more vertically-challenged customers of the Blooming Grove required to reach the counter. Her finger was swaying dangerously underneath the nose of a long-time friend and even longer-time frenemy, Fjord, currently on register duty.

All around them, the sweet and mellow scent of dozens upon dozens of coastal flowers twirled and trilled and danced through the air. Large windows set into the pale green walls let in sunlight and a view of the gardens out back.

“They’re blue!” Nott screeched. “I don’t want blue, Yeza’s going to think I’m not happy to see him!”

“Everyone likes blue,” Fjord said defensively. “Just look at Jester. She’s practically got a fan club. Fine, fine,” he added, when her expression didn’t change, “I can do you some roses—”

“Roses are cliché.”

“They’re a goddamn symbol of love, Nott.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t just want a symbol of love, I want a symbol of…of passion. Of devotion. Of l—”

“Look, just wait a bit, and Caduceus will be back. He’s the one who actually knows the names of all these things,” Fjord sighed. “He’ll be able to tell you if those even are Delphiniums.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“How have you managed to keep this job, Fjord?”

“I don’t have to help you, you know.”

“Technically, I think you d—"

And then, their phones buzzed.

—

Nott glanced back at Fjord.

“Do you think he doesn’t know?”

Fjord shrugged. “Let’s just see what he says.”

Nott groaned. “It’ll probably be hours until we find out.”

—

“He’s going to die tonight, then,” said Beau, kicking off her sneakers. The front door shut behind her with a click. “That’s, like, the first rule to committing a crime. Don’t let them see your face.”

“I think it’s kind of romantic,” Jester said. Now she was in the living room, sprawled across the couch. “It’s like…a forbidden meeting. Maybe he’ll never find out what Essie looks like. Isn’t that sad?”

“Essek,” Beau corrected, and set her keys aside. “And I don’t see what’s so sad about that.”

“Oh, but it is,” Jester lavished in her sigh. “The saddest and loneliest kind of thing. To never see who you’re living with? If you can’t even put a face to the name, you might as well be sharing your house with a ghost.”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “That’s…a little dramatic, but I see what you mean. Anyway, this is a point against the guy. In my books, that is. And I’m keeping track.”

“Oh? How many points does he have?”

Beau joined her on the couch and crossed her arms. “Not many. He’s mysterious, and weird. Those are negatives. Standoffish, if he didn’t even greet Caleb on the first day. And if he isn’t a criminal, and is actually renting out a place that cheap, he must be a total idiot. Or desperate.”

“For what?” Jester asked.

She shrugged. “Who knows? The company?”

—

Essek was, as a matter of fact, quite desperate. Desperate for another five minutes of sleep.

It was now long after the Mighty Nein had given up on their interrogation, though he was not aware of this. Instead, what was most on his mind was the strange…the odd vibrating right next to his head.

Blindly, he reached out to slap his alarm. His hand connected, but the noise did not stop.

Then he realized that it was coming from the other side of the bed.

He shuffled around to take a peek.

An eye was staring back at him. Large and blue.

“What in the name of the L—”

The cat yawned, and its mouth stretched open to reveal rows of teeth.

Essek hesitated. He rubbed his face.

“How did…what is…”

And then the puzzle pieces slid into place.

He racked his brain for the name.

“F…Fr…Frumpkin?” he guessed.

The cat yawned again. This time, it followed the gesture up with a mrpf, and unfurled its body. And stretched.

“Hm,” said Essek. “He did…warn me, but…I am not sure if I approve of you coming in here like this. Without announcement, especially.”

Frumpkin stared back up at him. He tilted his head and put on his most endearing expression.

“Well,” Essek relented in the onslaught of this, “at least you don’t seem to be the kind that sheds. Actually…”

He leaned in as close as he dared, a pair of icy eyes tracking his every movement.

“…actually, I’m not at all sure what kind of kitty you are. Your ears are…very long. And your markings are…”

And then Essek realized.

“A familiar?”

Frumpkin blinked at him.

—

Caleb had found the grocery store on his second try, and had also made note of a bookstore and bus stop on the way there. Now, after a long day of scouting out the neighborhood, he was back in his bedroom again, sorting clothes. No use in holding off, after all, not even if it made him feel slightly strange to be putting all his things away in someone else’s bedroom.

He picked up a t-shirt and examined the back. STAFF, it read. He had no idea for what. The Broad Barn’s secondhand clothing pile was vague at best and hazardous at worst.

Another part of Caleb, the part not fully consumed by the current task at hand, registered the faintest sound outside. It was ruled out as being not important.

Caleb produced another shirt. This one had a picture of a cat on it, red beams of light shooting out from its eyes. This had been a New Dawn present from—surprising to everyone—Yasha.

It had thus far found a long and happy life as the top half of Caleb’s pajamas. He’d tried to wear it in public once, and been bullied mercilessly by Beauregard.

On the other side of the room, past the drawers and the bed, was a small folding table that had been set up by Essek, likely as a desk. It was the sort of low contraption that eliminated any possibility of chairs, but it made a lot of sense for apartment living and was sized well enough for sitting on the floor. It was miles above Caleb’s old arrangement, a piece of plywood on a milk crate.

Right now, this new desk was covered in reams upon reams of notebook paper. Contrary to expectation, however, this paper was not lined with the standard narrow rule of most academic stationary. Instead, a pattern of lines and circles extended out from the center of the page, covering every inch in an odd spiral. Dozens upon dozens of these sheets were strewn about now, with hasty pencil-markings splattered across the page.

A particularly keen-eyed individual might have noticed that some of the markings were crossed-out. Redoubled, re-arranged, re-placed, or removed.

A particularly keen-eyed individual with the right kind of background would have noticed immediately that many of these runes were transmutative.

Back on his side of the bed, Caleb was humming.

—

When the cat—the familiar, likely a fey one, at that—did not decide to claw Essek’s eyes out, he gingerly picked it up under its forearms and carried it out of his bedroom.

He entered the living room, and saw that it was empty. The curtains were drawn open, however, and at this point the late-summer sun was just beginning to crest low over the horizon.

Essek raised an eyebrow at Frumpkin. “So. Where is your master, hm?”

Frumpkin meowed. It meant absolutely nothing to Essek, but he nodded anyway on principle.

“I understand that you are…well, from what I think I know about ordinary cats, you might like to wander around. But the same rules that apply to your wizard apply to you as well, okay?”

He walked Frumpkin into the living room and put him down on the couch.

“I would appreciate it if you did not enter my bedroom without invitation. The study as well, yes? Meow if you understand.”

Frumpkin stared at him. Frumpkin opened his mouth. Frumpkin closed it again.

It was a vague enough gesture that Essek could not tell if this was a response. He sighed.

“This is why I never bothered with getting one of you, you know. And I’m not even talking about the food bills. Er…do you eat?”

Frumpkin repeated the gesture. Essek repeated it back at the cat in a burst of childish impulse, then caught himself.

Gods, talking to Verin yesterday must have put him in an odd mood. And his brother had kept going on and on about life back in Rosohna, about how wonderful it is, Essek, how much Mother misses you, Essek, how I wish you’d visit, Essek—all that nostalgia couldn’t be good for the mind. Especially when unsolicited.

Still, this did not stop him from checking his messages in the kitchen while he waited for his morning—afternoon—evening—coffee to brew. In the background, Frumpkin rolled over on the sofa. Verin had mentioned something that he’d wanted to talk about, that he’d send over later…

Essek opened up their conversation. Then he scowled.

—

A solitary figure stalked through the dimming streets of Nicodranas. She stretched, working out the knots in her back, upper arms, feeling the scabs on her knuckles and their sting.

She grinned, wide and toothy, in the sunset.

Unconventional, but it worked.

—

Caleb had a perfect memory, and never forget anything. As such, the three core tenets of his tenancy in this apartment were virtually scored into his mind.

Be quiet. Be organized. And do the recycling.

Now he stood outside the apartment complex. The winding streets formed a gentle little plaza where the neighboring buildings all shared an open space, which included the public recycling cans.

There hadn’t actually been that much to take out, aside from an empty carton of ramen, a few cat food tins, and some assorted items that Mr. Thelyss must have left behind last night. Still, Caleb had wanted to prove how serious he was about following the Code of Conduct, and so had made the journey downstairs to be a responsible citizen.

The breeze wound around his ankles. Nearby, a few kids were running around with their mother, and a jogger moseyed past their street. It was a peaceful sight, underscored by the distant call of gulls and a setting sun.

Caleb had just nudged open the lid of the recycling bin when the shouting began.

Actually, it was less of a shouting and more of a heated argument, augmented by the harsh syllables of a language that Caleb did not recognize.

If he had, it would have sounded something like this:

“—impossible! I refuse. I did not give my permission—”

“Permission? Why would she need your permission—”

“Because it is my house! And this is my city—”

“Your city? Brother, you’ve only been there a few months—”

“It’s been a year and a half, Verin. A peaceful year and a half, mind.”

“Really? Well, I am certain it will remain that. And anyway, she’s not even going there for you.”

“Hah! I have a feeling that she is visiting Nicodranas expressly to do so. The gala is just an excuse for her to come here and poke into everything I’m doing—”

“Look, look, don’t shout at me. I am just the messenger. If you’re so upset, go and call Mother—”

Caleb swung the bag into the can. As he closed the lid, his curiosity got the better of him and he found himself surreptitiously scanning the perimeter with the universal creep of eavesdroppers everywhere.

Quickly, he found the source of the sound. There was a figure standing in front of his building, pacing back and forth underneath the awning, waving one hand around in frustration. The shadows prevented him from getting a better look, but the figure seemed lithe, and very annoyed.

Caleb would have to slip past him to get back inside.

Tactically, he pulled out his phone and pretended to be incredibly engrossed with its contents. Luckily, it seemed to work—and out of the corner of his eye he even noticed the figure hastily stepping aside.

Then, unluckily, the figure followed him.

Caleb didn’t dare look up. But he could feel the stranger’s presence trail him all the way into the elevator, then settle down next to him as the doors slid shut.

Caleb went to hit the number four. So did the stranger. Their fingers collided.

“Ah—"

“Scheisse, I am sor—”

And then he stopped.

Caleb Widogast was decidedly not a man of the world. He’d never left the continent of Wildemount, for instance, nor could he claim to have seen everything it had to offer. But he had fancied himself rather well-read, and believed that he perhaps had experienced more than the average person.

This was the first time in his life that he’d seen a dark elf.

He knew that they existed, of course, but in the way that he knew the names of far-off places, as distant trivia irrelevant to his life. He knew, for example, that they were native to Xhorhas, and that many of their societies lived underground. He knew that their closest civilization was ruled by a powerful queen. He also knew that in less-polite circles, some Empire elites still believed them to be backwater savages and monsters.

This one was wearing a green t-shirt. His hair was a messy sweep to one side.

“—ry.” He finished, as quickly as he could.

The dark elf shrugged. His eyes—a pale slate gray—took in Caleb’s appearance, then the number they’d both pressed.

“I do not recall ever seeing you,” the elf said. His voice was still a little strained, as if something from before—that argument, perhaps—was bothering him immensely.

“I, ah, I’m new,” Caleb said.

The elf raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

Then he turned back around to stare at the door. Caleb was more than happy not to engage. He just hoped he hadn’t stared long enough to offend a potential neighbor.

The elevator rose three floors. On the fourth one, it stopped.

He quickly ducked out, sandals pattering on the ground, and it was only once he’d gotten to the door of his apartment and started to punch in the code that he realized the elf was still behind him, still standing there, still annoyed, and so he turned—

—

“Excuse me,” said Essek tetchily. “Why are you entering my home?”

The human blinked.

“Er…this is…where I live.”

“What? But—”

For the second time that day, Essek realized.

“Um,” said Caleb Widogast. “Would your last name...happen to be ‘Thelyss’?”

— — —

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#critical role #critrole #critfic #fic #shadowgast #fanfiction #long post #REALLY LONG POST #im so sorry if the break doesn't work dfhgjk #fanfic #cr2 #the mighty nein #modern au #now what are the chances of that #jay writes #text

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 8: The Light]

Hi y’all! Thank you so much for reading and supporting my writing. Each and every message/reblog/comment/etc makes me smile, and it’s a dream come true to get to share my work with you! 💜

Chapter summary: John shares a secret; Y/N excels at Scrabble; Brian makes peace; Roger suffers a misstep.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, medical stuff, pregnancy (not who you think!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

Medicine teaches you to be fiercely skeptical of things that seem too good to be true. Bodies fail—completely and inevitably, though the timing may differ—and patients lie. Medical records don’t, fingerprints don’t, track marks up the underside of an arm don’t, blood and paternity tests don’t, oftentimes the eyes don’t; but given half a chance, people will lie themselves right into the grave.

Those bruises, doc? Got ‘em from a nasty fall down the stairs. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck!

Nope, never done drugs, not even a joint, I swear on my mother’s life.

I’ll give it up, I’ll go to rehab. Never again. I promise. I don’t want to die.

Doc, I don’t care if the timing doesn’t seem quite right. My husband IS the father. There’s been no one else!

That doting fiancé is flirting with the nurses. Those grown-up children who fluff pillows and dab away tears are asking about the will. That wife is never going to testify against her abusive husband. That addict is going to relapse again...and again...and again. Are there exceptions? Of course. But if you get in the habit of trusting people—of believing all those tantalizingly attractive, hopeful lies—it’ll break your heart six ways to Sunday. There is no perfection in medicine, and there are very rarely miracles.

And so during those first few weeks with Roger—as you watch him from the reeling crowd, from the other side of the tour bus, from across the restaurant table, from the tiny viewfinder of the Canon F-1—you can’t stop searching for the cracks, the shadows, the lies, the dark malignancies breeding beneath the surface. Because everything about Roger Taylor is too good to be true. He’s bright and he’s loud and he’s brilliant and he’s always smiling, always warm. He careens backstage after every show—you keep bracing yourself not to be disappointed when the novelty wears away, when it ends, but it doesn’t—pushing aside roadies and reporters, shouting “Where’s the love of my life? Where’s my Boston babe?” with the most absurd grin you’ve ever seen until he finds you, collides with you, scoops you up and spins you in ungainly circles as your toes skim the floor. Then he cradles your face in his scarred hands and kisses you, breathes you in, tells you everything about the show (even though you were there to see it) in a rush of pure, manic adrenaline. And you stumble into some dressing room together—or a hotel room, or a taxi, or a limousine, or an elevator—and finally it’s your bare thighs his palms are gliding over, your tongue tasting the Heineken and craving on his lips, and it feels impossible for that to ever change. Roger is too good to be true, that’s undeniable; but when you watch him with those doubtful, cautious eyes, you can’t find anything but light.

He wakes up at 6 a.m. to join you on a bayou tour in New Orleans, taps his cigarette over the moss-covered sides of the boat, points out the alligators with leathered skin and ancient yellow irises lurking in the depths. He walks Fremont Street with you in Las Vegas and makes you choose his numbers for the Roulette wheel, for his fate. He snaps photos of you on a sun-drenched balcony in Miami, roaring cobalt waves crashing in the background. He takes you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, the Art Institute of Chicago, the National Aquarium in Baltimore, the Philadelphia Zoo, Myrtle Beach and the Saint Louis Arch and the Santa Monica Pier. Because he was telling the truth when he said he could show you the world all those months ago when Queen was at Top of the Pops; he was telling you the truth about the list that’s etched into the rushing scarlet chambers of his heart.

When the American leg of the tour ends and the band gets a brief reprieve in London, you move into Roger’s paltry, disorganized flat and scrub away all the remnants of his past life: dust and empty cigarette boxes and women’s socks, ashes and copies of Vogue, a tube of lipstick that isn’t yours. You don’t complain, don’t even frown; you’re under no delusions that something eternal can be founded on resentment, on lies. And so you clear out the clutter and open the windows so sunshine and crisp spring air can breathe through the apartment, so you can both start fresh along with the bellflowers and delphiniums and roses and the tawny newborn ducklings scampering behind their mothers. You hang photos from the tour and John’s sketches on the refrigerator, place your Canon F-1 and pink conch shell from Ostia on the nightstand, litter the drawers with your own socks and makeup. You teach Roger how to sew (although he’s not much good at it) and how to treat blisters (although you’ll always be there to do it for him); and in return Roger teaches you how to trust, how to believe, how to stop searching desperately for faults in the light.

On the second day of April, Queen boards their flight to Tokyo. Brian settles into a plushy, billowing blanket and loses himself in an astronomy magazine; he’s an engaged man now, an honest man in the eyes of society at large...and, far more importantly, his parents. Freddie pens lyrics in his notebook, humming disjointedly, napping like a cat when the mood strikes him. Roger snacks constantly and tries to get John chatting, but John is particularly subdued today, preoccupied, prone to gazing unfocusedly at the clouds that drift by outside and wringing his hands.

And you think, as you peer down into the glistening sapphire waters of the East China Sea: Brian’s a willow tree, Freddie’s a lightning storm, Roger is wildfire...but what is John?

Something deep, something beautiful and strong and constant and hidden.

The ocean, you decide as Queen’s private plane soars over the quicksilver waves that conceal the abyss. John is the ocean.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

John is lying on his back under a small grove of cherry blossom trees outside the hotel, sketching grey outlines of petals and arcing branches in a new notebook. He hasn’t given any sign that he heard you coming, doesn’t turn his head to see you. You freeze, startled.

“How’d you know it was me?!”

“You have very distinct footsteps. Dainty, yet purposeful.” He sets aside his notebook and sits up, crossing his long legs. “Why didn’t you go to lunch?”

“Because you didn’t. You turned down ramen, and you never turn down ramen. I was worried. Plus someone has to make sure a roving posse of screaming Japanese girls doesn’t carry you off.”

That makes him laugh. The Japanese fans are inexplicably obsessed with John; or maybe it’s not so inexplicable, maybe they just have a better eye for quiet, unassuming wonders. “Always so thoughtful.”

You sit down beside him, open a pack of chocolate-flavored Pocky and offer John a piece, frown when he lights a cigarette instead. “That’s really bad for you. Seriously. You should quit.”

“At last. One thing you and Brian agree on.” He exhales a gale of smoke and peers up at the cherry blossoms.

“John?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t break up with Veronica, did you?” Chrissie and Mary didn’t mention anything about her tearful devastation, and you suspect they would have had John gone through with it.

He sighs. “I did not.”

“And...are we feeling...okay about that...?”

He twirls the cigarette nervously between his fingers. After a silence, he surrenders. “Look, I haven’t told anybody yet, but I’d tell you first anyway. So here it goes.” He glances over at you guiltily, gloomily, wishing he could disappear. “I didn’t break up with Veronica because she’s pregnant.”

Your jaw falls open. A half-eaten stick of Pocky rolls out of your mouth and onto the grass. She’s what? She’s WHAT?

“Please don’t be disappointed,” John pleads. “I’m disappointed in myself enough for both of us, believe me.”

“I...I...I’m not disappointed, John, I’m just...” You blink at him. “Oh my god.”

He nods, acquiescent. “I’m in complete agreement.”

You shake your head, gaping at him, stunned; and suddenly you don’t like what you’re feeling at all. Because it isn’t just shock and horror, it isn’t just apprehension. You hate the thought of him touching her, of her delicate white hands on him, of innocence stripped away and memories impressed into muscle, into soul.

Because you know she’s not right for him. Because you know he doesn’t love her the way he should. Because you want the best for him and always have.

Oh, there’s a comforting rationale; but is it true?

And then: You fucking hypocrite. Since when do you get an opinion on who anyone sleeps with?

“It must have happened in January,” John says miserably. “Right before we left for the States. She didn’t want to tell me over the phone...I guess maybe she thought if she did I’d never come back. So she told me as soon as I landed in London. And here we all are.”

You stare down at your shoes, trying to compose yourself. “What are you going to do?”

“There’s only one option.”

“Actually, there are quite a few. But I know you’d never consider them.” John’s father died when he was ten, and he never talks about it; which is precisely how you know it’s a wound that can’t ever heal, a gash that goes straight down to the bone. He would never leave his child, never banish them to some dusty, repressed corner of his consciousness while he moves on with a blissfully unencumbered life. You whisper: “I’m so fucking sorry, John.”

That snaps something in him, something he was choking back. He buries his face in his hands. “What the fuck am I doing?” he moans. “I’m twenty-three years old, I’m broke, I turned down loads of jobs, good jobs, as an electrical engineer, I’ve somehow become the bassist in an increasingly famous rock band...I mean, how the hell did this happen? How did any of this happen?”

“It’ll be okay,” you insist with newfound resolve. I have to save him. I have to protect him.

John rolls those soft greyish eyes, hopeless, distraught. “Sure.”

“It will be, I promise you. The tour is going great. I had my doubts about the band when I first met you, I’ll admit it, I didn’t know if there was a future for Queen. But you’ve made me a believer. You’ve made millions of people all over the world believers. The money will keep rolling in, Queen will finally start seeing some of it, you won’t be broke forever. You’ll have two more months on the road and then we’ll be back in London, and it’ll be on to recording the next album, more shows, more money...the hard times are almost over, John. You can do this. And I’ll help you.”

His brow furrows. “You will?”

“Of course. If it’s easier for Veronica, it’ll be easier for you. So I’ll be extra friendly, take her to appointments when you’re busy, help organize the wedding, babysit the littlest Deacon whenever she needs me to. We’ll get through this. I’ll be there to help every step of the way.”

“You’re happy, aren’t you?” he asks suddenly. “You and Roger. You aren’t going anywhere.” He’s reading you closely, sifting through your words and forced smile for something deeper.

“I’m happy,” you assure him. “You don’t need to be concerned about that. I’m staying with the band, I’m staying in London. Whenever Queen is home, that is.”

He nods, but perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. He finally accepts a piece of Pocky from you and takes a bite. “Then I guess we’ll plan for a summer wedding.”

“You could do a double one with Brian and Chrissie.”

He laughs so hard he almost inhales the Pocky, then doubles over coughing. “I think Bri would rather slit his own throat, but a charming thought. Thank you for that. Bravo.”

You smile at John, genuinely this time. “You’re going to be an amazing father. I hope you aren’t worried about that part of it, at least.”

“Will you be their godparent?”

“What? Me?!”

“Yeah. Because, you know...” John averts his gaze. “You’d be the person I would want to raise them if something happened to me and Veronica. You’re the most dedicated, stubborn, capable, nurturing, remarkable person I’ve ever met. You’re my best friend. And maybe Roger’s your best friend and you’re his, and that’s all fine, that’s alright, but you’re still mine.”

“Roger is a lot of incredible things, but he’s not my best friend.” You lie flat on the grass and lace your hands behind your head, tracking the weightless snowy clouds as they float by above. When did we become adults? When did all of these rules catch up to us? “I would be honored to be your child’s godparent.”

John plops down beside you. “Don’t tell the others yet, okay? I want to wait until the tour’s over. I don’t want them to panic and think I’m leaving and try to replace me or anything.”

“They wouldn’t try to replace you, John.”

“No?” he asks doubtfully.

“No. Roger knows it, Fred knows it, I think even Bri knows it.” You reach out and weave a lock of his hair through your fingers as cherry blossom petals tumble in the breeze. “You’re irreplaceable.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sod,” Freddie mocks. “That’s the best you could do? Really? Sod?”

Roger flings up his hands in frustration. “Freddie, I’ve got like a million Cs!”

“You could have done cod,” Brian notes, sipping a cup of hot tea. “Cods, actually.”

Roger glowers down at his Scrabble tiles. “Fuck.”

“And I’m so delighted he didn’t!” You place your tiles, expanding on sod to make rhapsody. John high-fives you and records the points in his notebook. Freddie and Brian groan in defeat.

“What the hell is a rhapsody?!” Roger snatches the Official Scrabble Dictionary off the table and flips through it.

“It’s a, like a...” Freddie waves his cigarette, scattering smoke through the air. “It’s like an epic poem. Or an opera. With lots of bizarre, different parts all pieced together.”

“That sounds made up.”

Freddie cackles. “Darling, it’s a real thing, I swear!”

Roger locates the pertinent page in the Scrabble Dictionary and his shoulders slump. “Goddammit. Fucking...too smart...nerdy...college-educated...girlfriend.” He drags you into his lap and kisses your temple. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I don’t usually tolerate being conquered like this.”

Bri smirks from behind his teacup. “I rather think you conquered her, Rog.”

“Oh, a rare good one from Bri!” Freddie trills as everyone laughs, although John soon busies himself with clearing empty bottles and cigarette butts off the table.

“Yes,” Roger agrees. “Against her superior judgment, I finally won her over. Only took eight months. Which is approximately...wait, let me count...seven and a half months longer than it has ever taken me before.”

You trace your fingertips across his stubbled cheeks, his soft lips, his little dark blond tufts of sideburns. “No one knows how to say no to you, do they?”

“It’s impossible. I’m too charming. Blindingly heroic. Perseus in the flesh.” He kisses your forehead and steadies you, his hands on your waist, as the brakes squeal and the tour bus lurches to a halt.

Freddie leaps to his feet and claps. “Alright, darlings! Off to the new digs we go. Deaky, hand me my shoes, they’re under the table...yes, right there...and toss over Brian’s hideous clogs as well.”

You help the roadies and the band drag luggage into the hotel (no small feat, as the elevator is out of order), unpack your toothbrush and hairbrush and a floral-patterned dress for dinner, giggle as you listen to Roger’s feral, raspy singing in the shower. It’s something about loving a car, how perfectly on-brand for him. Then Roger goes to fetch Freddie and John for dinner while you find Brian. Bri is collapsed on his bed in a striped t-shirt and jeans, freshly-washed and dewy, gazing up at the ceiling in a daze.

You tap gently on the doorframe. “Bri? You want to join us for dinner? There’s a sushi place a few blocks away that’s a local legend, apparently. Lots of veggie options too.”

He looks over at you. You haven’t spoken about the argument since you had it two months ago. Brian sometimes grimaces or smirks or rolls his willowy viridescent eyes, but he never says anything; not to you, and not to Roger as far as you’re aware. “I’m sorry,” he says simply. “I may have been out of line before. Incorrect, even.”

“No need to apologize, Bri. I’ve forgotten all about it.” You haven’t, but there’s no reason for Brian to know that.

“I just want what’s best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I know, Brian.” You cross the room and take his long, moon-white, artful hands in your own. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be in the wedding party, won’t you? I know Chris will ask.”

“Of course. And I’ll proudly wear whatever dreadfully tacky and uncomfortable bridesmaid dresses she picks out.”

“Even if they’re a frightful shimmery green?”

“Oh god.” You swallow noisily. “I’ll still do it. And then burn the photos.”

Brian chuckles as he climbs out of bed. “In a stroke of luck, I suspect she’ll ask you to take the pictures. So you can avoid being in them as much as you’d like. And conveniently lose the unflattering ones.”

You study him thoughtfully. “Are you happy, Brian?”

“I am. Chrissie’s excited, my parents are thrilled, they’ll be sitting in the front row with the proudest smiles you’ve ever seen. Next comes a proper house, and children, and all the rest of it.” But something in those mellow olivey eyes is resigned, melancholy. His words from two months ago echo in your skull: It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.

“Do you still think about New Orleans?” you ask softly. About the woman he’d fallen in love with there before you ever met Queen, about the utopian passion he never quite stops searching for. Everyone has demons, secrets, shadowy trenches like cracks in porcelain; you’ve learned all about Brian’s. What about Roger’s? What about mine?

He shrugs, staring out the window at the dusky skyline of Yokohama. “Maybe I’ll always think about New Orleans. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to grow up and start taking responsibility.”

“Responsibility,” you reply cynically, before you can stop yourself. “Is that all love is about anymore?”

“Not for you. Not for Roger. You both want your freedom, your adventure, your true and uncomplicated love. And you’ll get to keep it.”

For now. But you don’t say that. Instead, you smile appeasingly and gesture for Brian to follow you out into the hallway.

The others are waiting by the door to the stairwell: John in a smart grey suit, Freddie in his black-and-yellow jacket, Roger in sunglasses and a ridiculous leopard-print vest he’d dug out of a trashcan somewhere and precariously tall boots.

“At last, Nurse Nightingale and my darling Brian!” Freddie chirps. “Come on, I’m positively famished, and also I’ve bet five pounds that I can consume more sake shots than Roger and I could really use the dough.”

Roger pushes through the door, leading the way. “Prepare to lose!”

“Roger, please,” you implore. “New livers don’t grow on trees, and I can’t give you half of mine. I’m the wrong blood type.”

Roger laughs as he bounds down the steps, then whirls to grin up at you as he walks backwards. “Relax, Deaks will share! You’re type A, aren’t you John—?”

Roger’s heel slips and he plummets down the flight of stairs. He tumbles as the four of you shriek in horror and bolt after him, slams into the wall of the landing, ricochets off of it and plunges down the next flight as well. There’s blood, you think frenziedly as you descend, screaming Roger’s name. There’s blood all over the steps.

Roger, crumpled on the maroon-streaked landing, slowly unravels and groans. He glances down, appraises himself, then hammers his left fist against the concrete wall of the stairwell, roaring in raw agony and rage. “No no no no no no!”

“Roger—!”

And then you see it.

Roger’s right arm hangs uselessly, unnaturally, his snapped radius bloody and splitting through the skin.

#but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #queen fic #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction

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jflashandclash · 4 years ago

Text

Tales From Mount Othrys

Jack: Silenced II

When he thought about rolling over to see Flynn making her bed, Jack smiled. Her muscular figure would be silhouetted by the rays of dawn coming through the window, a tan blur against the black obsidian of Camp Othrys.

She walked around in her underwear in the morning. Luke said it was invitation. Jack knew it wasn’t. It was a marker of tested trust, Flynn’s willingness to be vulnerable knowing that Jack wouldn’t make the first move or ogle her. At least, that’s what Prometheus said when Jack brought up his concerns.

But, when Jack rolled over, there was no Camp Othrys, no line of Flynn’s weapons against the wall. His electric bass guitars were gone, as were all of his sketches of the Orpheus Metal band posters. (They were terrible—Pax had made better ones.)

A harp and loom lingered against one cavernous wall. There was a built-in fireplace roaring, providing some respite to the chilly air. The ceiling was crystalline, reflecting purple, emerald, and blue against the white bedding. Someone else’s bedding. It smelled like someone else.

Jack sat up, shoving the feather pillow away. He clutched at his hair, finding that someone must have trimmed it. He choked at the gap in his memory.

They had fought the Romans—an aerial attack against the Princess Andromeda. Jack was snatched by an eagle. Screams. Flynn’s roar of fury. He remembered falling in the water…

The clothing he wore was white, baggy, and cotton, too much like his hospital garb from the first time Steve, his step dad, institutionalized him. This prank has gone too far, Steve had said, angry Jack would dare scare Ashton and Shelby by claiming the walls were screaming. Jack’s skinny jeans and band shirt were gone. What if all of it had been a hallucination: Camp Othrys, the Princess Andromeda, the monsters, the gods.

Jack choked back a sob. This. This wasn’t the hospital. Jack dug his nails into his pockets, the material too thin and delicate to keep him from clawing his legs in a panic. No Mr. Sunny. His pillbox, and all of his medication, was gone. How much time did he have? He knew the withdraw symptoms: vomiting, hypersalivation, diarrhea, diaphoresis, insomnia, agitation, and rapid psychosis.

He had woken in a cold sweat, but a cold sweat didn’t always mean withdraws.

Rapid psychosis. Jack’s heartbeat thudded in his head. This felt real, but everything always felt real—that was the problem. There was a distant song—lovely and eerie, just abstract enough to question its authenticity.

His stomach churned with ignored hunger. A platter with tropical fruits, bread, and a mug of water lay beside him. Jack knew enough about mythology and fairy tales not to eat something unless you were directly invited and only if you knew that the owner of the food wasn’t a witch with powers to trap you eternally.

She must have undressed me. That girl with the caramel braid. Unease squeezed away any hunger: a stranger had taken off his boxers while he slept.

When Jack got to his feet, his legs trembled and his head pounded. He slipped a blanket around his shoulders. As he wandered towards the cave entrance, he passed a shelf filled with dried and drying plants that smelled of Alabaster’s laboratory. Several ancient tomes lined a desk beside it. One was open to a page illustrating human anatomy with words in… Minoan, if Jack had to guess. Some of the titans at Camp Othrys wrote in the dead language. Jack turned the page and flinched. There was an inked sketch of him, sleeping. He turned the page back.

Was it him? Or had his brain filled in the gaps?

It’s starting. Monsters. He was going to start to see and hear monsters again. Not the real ones. Not the friendly ones on his ship. Not the ones that came to his monster seminars about how demigods were friends, not food. Innocuous, innocent things would become sinister and comfort would lilt to paranoia.

But there were no monsters outside the cave. Just her.

The sun’s amber and coral hues broke against the ocean’s horizon, bleeding into the water and clouds to unite them into zigzagging, heavenly passageways. Crepuscular rays danced through their holes, making this girl’s hair glow as though one more constant in the coming of dawn. She stood, singing, at the edge of a beach. Her bare feet made lumps in the sand, compounding with each flush of the tide; if she forgot herself for long enough, the earth would reclaim her.

Jack swallowed. In the oncoming lighting, he could see the silhouettes of flowers—so many flowers. There was a maze of roses, larkspur, delphinium, lilies, hollyhock, and sunflowers, all reaching towards the sky and curling about with a careless grace that looked both wild and tamed in their pattern. Some whisper cooed that these flowers didn’t belong together, making Jack fear they’d bow and bury him if he dared to walk through.

But he needed to walk through to get to the beach, to follow the siren call. He hesitantly passed the first rose bush, expecting it to jump into Alice in Wonderland levels of criticism.

“Jack!”

The call made him jump away from the roses. After an exhale, he realized it was the girl, not chatty flora. He rushed past the rest of the flowers.

“You’re already up,” she said when he reached her. The comment sounded more surprised than the disappointment he’d detected last time. Her white, sleeveless dress and braid fluttered in an ocean breeze. The effect made Jack’s blanket feel like an epic cloak.

He gestured to his clothing and back towards the cave. “Thank you for the hospitality, Ms…” He trailed off, frowning. His throat felt worn. He’d have to do his warm up exercises. At least there was plenty of salt water to gargle. “How did you know my name?”

“Ms?” she echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Oh,” she giggled, “You talk in your sleep.”

Jack didn’t—or no one ever said he had before. Pax (and Axel under the guise of worrying over Pax) had slept in his room when they’d had particularly bad nightmares. That sounded like something Pax would abuse, even subconsciously, and would result in Flynn taping both their mouths shut. Morpheus liked to keep a strict record of who talked in their sleep, so he could play with demigods that slept through Alabaster’s lectures.

Jack swallowed. “Um, Ms., I hate to be a bother, but I had a pill box in my pocket—”

“I disposed of it. I don’t allow plastics on my island and the contents had been soiled by the ocean.”

Jack choked. That was the first gift Flynn gave Jack—the first time he realized all his ballads, poems, and offers to carry her books hadn’t just annoyed her. She and Phil had been teaching him to carry it on his own, a marker of independence that made him proud, even if Flynn double checked every hour to assure he hadn’t overdosed on anything. Most people didn’t trust him with important things, but she and Phil were entrusting him with that.

“You won’t need them here. Ogygia itself can soothe you—”

Trembles shook from Jack’s core to his fingertips. “Ogygia,” he whispered, taking a step backwards. The beautiful horizon tilted. His hair felt course as he tugged at it. “You’re—you’re Calypso the Seductress, detainer of men—”

Before the words left his mouth, he turned to flee. The sand slipped under his bare feet. The blanket tumbled from his shoulders, disappearing with the sight of that horizon. Jack ran towards the retreating darkness of the island, away from the sunlight that sparkled in that glowing hair.

Others at camp found Homer and Hesiod’s work boring, but he’d put the Odyssey to proper music and knew most verses. He knew of this nymph-goddess.

Each step made Jack’s body feel leaden. His panic numbed with an encroaching exhaustion. He shouldn’t be this tired—he knew his body. He healed fast. This weakness—how could she—did she—?

Jack’s legs failed him while racing through the gardens. Rose canes loomed over him and curled around in a canopy of thorns. In their sharp and cloy embrace, consciousness hazed to nightmares.[1]

***

Pain pinched Jack’s cheek. He jerked away, expecting to see Pax with a super glue tube and fake mustache to make Jack “look more esteemed.” That prank had not gone well. Turns out, Flynn did not like Jack with a Western train-robber look and she did not like how the fake black hairs tickled when he nuzzled her.

Instead of Pax, he saw Calypso with a small bandage that she must have ripped off his face. There was a tiny, brownish-red scab on the other side.

Jack sat up and jerked back from her. They were back in the cavern, on the mattress made of white fluffiness. She had a basket of tiny bandages at her side.

“Calypso the—”

“Don’t.” She placed her hands on her hips, glaring. Considering how she knelt beside him, her regale stature was impressive. “I get messages from the gods, you know. They call you Jak-Jak the Scourge of New Rome, Jak-Jak the Plague Bringer, Jak-Jak the Corrupted Spawn of Apollo. Need I go one? Shall I assume you’re here to plague me? To give me cancerous sores? Shall I make assumptions of your person off hearsay, like you have done with me? How long ago did Homer and Hesiod write that libel about Odysseus?”

Her eyes watered.

Jack frowned. Had his name really traveled that far?

A tear streaked down her perfect cheek: a raindrop down the smoothness of a statue. Rumor had it that Pax could cry on command. What if she could too?

Or, what if she was a good Samaritan helping out, decried, like many women had been, by the histories written by men?

Jack exhaled, telling himself to relax. He tried counting, the way Axel told him to when he got confused. Axel would be furious at him for this kind of assumption, for upsetting a mythological creature based off hearsay. There were lots of fabled monsters at Camp Othrys that were friendly (when well fed. Jack had to make rules about demigods being in the dining hall during monster feed time).

“I—I’m sorry, Ms. Calypso,” he said, looking down at his hands. There were more little bandages tapped across his forearms. From a quick examination of his skin, the thorn pricks had already healed and scarred over. The base guitar chord was still braided in a bracelet around his wrist. He touched the scars there, finding ridges where he’d healed Lucille and Lou Ellen’s skin by peeling off his own. That new kid, Ethan Naka—something, had joked that Jack’s arms would start to match Flynn’s burned face. Jack gave him a case of chicken pox for that. No one was allowed to talk about Flynn’s face, except Flynn herself and their son, Pax. Pax, only because he was a sweet little munchin and the only person other than Jack that could make Flynn blush.

Calypso gently touched his chin. Jack didn’t flinch back this time. “It is alright.” And, she ripped off another bandage. Some hair came away with it, making Jack wince.

Everything seemed… clearer. Sharper than it had in years. His thoughts raced with a hyper clarity that scared him. “What else was wrong from the myth?” he asked, observing the cavern in a new light. The cool breeze that rustled the white curtains was refreshing, intermixing the gentle sweetness of flowers with the herbs in her cabinet. He frowned at the tomes there. Had he imagined the drawing of him?

She dabbed a cool, wet cloth against his stinging skin. Sadness lined her eyes. She hesitated. “I don’t know what you know of this place, brave one. The island is a phantom island, my imprisonment for helping my father in the first Titan War. Time does not have the same meaning here as it does elsewhere.”

Jack glanced past her, to the roaring fire in the wall’s inset fireplace. There was a pot over the flames, boiling furiously. He swallowed, despite her earlier assurance. “You’re not going to… eat me, are you?”

“Eat you, my sweet?” Her eyes seemed to dance.

“Well, that response reaffirmed every fairytale fear that I had.”

Her laugh was melodious. She must have thought that had been a joke. It was not. “I’m afraid we mostly eat vegetables and fish here. There’s a scarcity of cannibalism on the island.”

Jack nodded, somewhat comforted. That hadn’t been in the original tale, but you never knew with Greek mythology. He didn’t want to be rude (again) but, if this was the Calypso, he had an important question. “How do I get off the island?”

“Jack, a terrible fate awaits you off the island. I cannot, in good consciousness, allow you to leave until you are healed, well-rested, and well.” She gestured to his lanky frame.

Once again, Jack considered pointing out that this was his natural state of stick-figure Jackness. He let the offense slide. In the Odyssey, she said something similar to Odysseus. Staying here would worry Flynn, Luke, and the boys, but he had no way off the island unless he lucked into some abandoned boat or cartoon-barrel. In the Odyssey, Calypso gave Odysseus a bronze axe so he could build his own raft. Jack doubted he could lift an axe over his head without falling backwards let alone build a raft with it. Greeks were master ship-builders. Jack was a master builder of group-therapy sessions for monster support, metal bands, and stories to make Luke, Flynn, and his boys smile.

Besides, Calypso helped Odysseus only after she held him captive for seven years and he provided her a son (or several, depending on the author). There were no sons on the island, unless they were hiding in the cartoon-barrels. Maybe the ancient authors truly had discredited her.

“I can stay,” he said hesitantly, “but only for a few days. Flynn, Luke, and my boys need me.”

Calypso’s lips pursed and her gaze softened, making her look both relieved and troubled. She glanced away. “You’re so young to have children.”

“Oh, we adopted.” Jack beamed. “Luke says they’re too close in age to be my sons, and Axel says I’m not allowed to both be the head of our metal band and his father, but they’ve taken well to it. They haven’t started calling me dad yet, but I’ll work them over.”

Calypso looked confused. “Metal band?” she repeated.

Jack leaned forward excitedly. “We already played once at the HMM—a bar for monsters—er—a tavern.” He scrambled to find words that would translate to ones she would recognize. “The crowd loved us. Clops threw a goat at us!”

“A goat?”

“Yeah! A goat’s this four-legged—” Jack fumbled, realizing that’s not the part that confused her. She repressed a smile at the pause. “It’s a really big deal to have a monster throw a goat at you instead of trying to eat it. Kind of like when people throw their underwear at the stage and about as sanitary. Much lighter impact.”

“What?!” Her face scrunched in disgust. The expression was almost cute. It put Jack at ease. This was the first time he felt like she wasn’t acting or hiding anything. “People have thrown their underwear at you while you’re performing? Is that… normal?”

Jack considered this. “I don’t really know. It never happened to me when I did solos in the church choir—” Well, once after service but that was a little different. One of those instances where the boy denied it happened the next day. “—but Pax—one of my sons—talks about it like it’s a marker of success. I think they’re mostly thrown at Axel. He’s a handsome boy and a hearthrob amongst demigod and monster alike. Plus, he’s the guitarist, and the angsty one, and people always love angsty guitar players.”

The look of confusion deepened. Jack absently tugged a lock of his hair, wishing it was a little longer. “It’s like a lute—oh, wait, that was 13th century. Uh, it’s a fretted stringed instrument—anywhere from four to nine strings though standard is six, and you play it by plucking or strumming with one hand while fretting with the other—or picking. Or bapping the body. Uh—how about I make you one? All I need is a box, a longish piece of wood, some sticks, and some of your uncut harp strings.”

I can make an instrument, but can’t make a boat. Not for the first time, Jack wondered why Luke and Flynn wanted to keep him around. He managed to use his powers to save Axel, Pax, and Alabaster (though, really, he thought it was mostly Flynn. She was so incredible). But he still didn’t feel like he was great at the killing department, regardless of Phil’s continuous encouragement. Even during the interrogations he and Flynn had been conducting on Romans, he flinched and shrieked when someone’s finger was broken. Despite all this time, he hoped Flynn and Luke found him useful.

Calypso nodded slowly. “Will you teach me how to play?”

Jack nodded enthusiastically. “The positioning might seem weird, but you’ll pick it up easily. From what I’ve heard of your singing and harp-playing, you have perfect pitch and a natural grasp on music—”

She tucked a lock behind her ear. “You like my singing?”

He tilted his head quizzically. “Of course. You’re incredibly talented, both naturally with your voice quality and the amount of work you’ve put into perfecting your craft.” Jack supposed that’s what he’d do, too, if he had an eternity to work on anything. An eternity of music—the foundations for paradise. Maybe that’s why God is said to have a choir of angels and how he crafted souls: by singing them to life. “Each word you sing weaves a secondary layer of emotion—both melodious and melancholic, interweaving multiple stories into—” He frowned, feeling his explanation lacked poetic value—ah!

“’Tis sweet, when mournfulness enshrouds

The spirit sorrowing and pale,

And gather round the angry clouds,

To take the harp and tune its wail.

‘Tis sweet, when calmly broods the night,

To wander forth where waters roll,

And, mingling with the waves its voice,

To rouse the passions of the soul!”

When Jack was done, she stared at him, her eyes wide and her expression unreadable. He frowned. “I—sorry—” he said, his insides churning. Had he done something wrong? He didn’t feel confused right now. The world felt so much clearer. An uncomfortable dread settled into him upon realizing something for the first time: not everyone burst into poetry at random. How stupid had he been to not know that before?

“No.” She put a hand on his. Her eyes watered. “I—that was beautiful. Did you—”

Jack blushed and pulled his hand back. “No. It’s by John Rollin Ridge, a famous Native American poet. I was just reciting.”

She cleared her throat and looked away. “I—let’s get you a box. I wish to hear this guitar of which you speak.”

***

Normally, Jack felt such mania for whatever project he focused on, everything else fell in the background. As he twisted the tuning pegs of his guitar (sabotaged off Calypso’s extra harp) his mind scattered with worry.

This newfound clarity was almost overwhelming. There was so much wrong in the world for him to mull over. Each time he stopped singing, it hovered on its peripheral, like a night terror lurking along the receding rays of the sun.

Between each question from Calypso—she enjoyed hearing updates from the outside world—he’d hum or sing the ballads he’d composed about Flynn’s ventures. Calypso would pause her work on the strings and stare at him with that unreadable expression.

After she finished with the sixth string—winding them of her hair—she sat closer to him. They worked in the shade, where the woods met the beach. Some distant whisper warned Jack that more time had passed than the evening angle of the sun, but he couldn’t be sure. The sun was all he had to go off of, and he wasn’t used to the awareness of passing time. Normally, Jack felt the passage of existence through the crystal notes of a song, the annoyed flash of Flynn’s smile, Pax’s giggle, or the upwell of elation at the end of monster help session, measuring life in crescendos and decrescendos of energy and joy. Jack didn’t like wanting to look at a clock, especially now that there were none. That was always someone else’s job.

“Why did you adopt children?” Calypso asked it with the practiced calm of an over-thought question.

“Flynn can’t have children.” Jack had to be gentler with these strings than the metal ones from home. He wondered how their sound would differ, and hoped it would ease the 2,000—4,000 year transition in music for Calypso.

“She’s barren?”

“So says the goddess of childbirth.”

“And this doesn’t bother you?”

Another reason Jack couldn’t stay long: it was almost the weekend before he vanished and he and Flynn would need to go to her Nainia’s apartment to sing to her, as they did every Sunday. The kind grandmother’s health was failing and Jack knew they needed to visit more often. “Why should it?” Jack frowned, repeating the question in his head. “Well, it did when I first found out. I wanted a family. Then, I adopted[2] the boys, and now we have one. And, it wouldn’t matter even if she could. We’re not… physical. Recently, we started curling up without clothing, but nothing else. Just snuggles.”

Jack felt his cheeks flush, both at the memory of Flynn snuggled up in his bunk (she never let him near hers; she wanted a place of her own) and that he’d told Calypso about it. Was that something else people didn’t normally blurt out? To Luke or Phil? Sure. To Calypso the Seductress, the Detainer of Men…

Her cheeks rouged. Shame crept along his awareness. You weren’t supposed to blurt stuff like that. Negative two on the Jack social protocol scoreboard.

“Oh… um… But you’ve already adopted—have you two not been married long?” She struggled to maintain eye contact.

Something pinched in Jack’s chest. “Um… she’s not really into the idea of marriage, but we’ve been dating for…” With no clocks on the island, he didn’t know how many days he had been unconscious. Normally, Jack could recite the length of time down to the minute. The thought of Flynn’s blush when he asked her to prom. The day before he met Luke. The day Jack accidentally killed his whole mortal family with a song.

That memory hadn’t resurfaced in so long, not since he was sobbing into Flynn’s arms over it. How could he banish it from his thoughts? It wasn’t like the thoughts of his half-siblings he killed—the other children of Apollo. No. They deserved it. They had reaped the favor of their father since birth. The cessation of that favoritism brought the world back to order, the way things should be to balance the scale that an unfair god created, like correctly a flat note to perfect harmony. But his family… Had he ever even had a funeral? And did it matter?

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Calypso asked.

The funeral part did bother Jack. It took him a moment to retrace the pieces, sliding his fingers along the guitar string. Flynn. Sex. Marriage.

Flynn would puppet and charmspeak boys into their room to humiliate and toy with them, but, she wouldn’t take Jack. Jack never wanted to pressure her, but icy insecurity crawled through him at the thought. What was wrong with him? It didn’t matter that Prometheus said Jack and Flynn viewed sex differently: Jack, as an expression of love; Flynn, as subjugation. Jack didn’t understand that. All he wanted was to be everything Flynn needed, and he didn’t understand why she could puppet others but wouldn’t puppet him. If that’s what she wanted—

The string snapped and lashed him across the cheek.

He shrieked and jerked backwards. Blood trickled down his skin. A full string wasted—an instrument piece dying before it could sing its first song.

Something cool touched his face. Humming filled his ears. The lashed skin tingled and Jack wondered if this is how others felt when he healed them.

When Jack blinked to clear his vision, Calypso knelt beside him. Her too-perfect face rested in a gentle, knowing smile. The strap of her white dress slid onto her shoulder, tickled by the length of the braid. For the first time, she looked like the goddess of the island—something about the subtle shift in confidence.

Jack flinched when he felt her spider fingers in his hair. She must have put them there to hold him steady for a cheek-cleaning. “You ran from me when you first found out who I was. Do you—did you really think I could make you forget Flynn?” The question could have been rhetorical, but there was enough real curiosity to make Jack tremble.

Fear coiled his confidence, the same fear present when Luke lost himself to Kronos or his anger. If Calypso lost her temper…

“Odysseus never forgot Penelope,” Jack whispered, “So the stories say.”

Could that fear come from the possibility of forgetting Flynn? Do people only experience fear when they’re experiencing doubt or uncertainty?

At the watery glisten of her beautiful almond eyes, an idea made Jack sit up and almost clock foreheads with her. She startled at the sudden movement. “And you never forgot Odysseus!” Jack cried. “Calypso, do you always fall for the people on your island?”

Calypso hesitated. A tear broke from the dam along her eyelashes. “I… I try not to say anything when travelers first come…”

“Have you heard of platonic love?”

Her brow furrowed. Her melancholy faltered to confusion. “Platonic? You mean… relating to Plato? Or the idea that abstract objects are objective, timeless, and are non-physical and non-mental?”

Jack would need to ask Alabaster about that later. “Uh—well, I want to be your friend. You’re really nice, but you don’t need to fall in love with everyone you meet, or at least not romantic love. Let’s be friends! I mean—have you ever heard of a rebound?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you ever fully moved on from Odysseus. So, we should talk about him. Tell me what you loved and hated about him and why you fell for him in the first place.”

Calypso’s expression darkened. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Exactly! You never forgave him for hurting you or yourself for loving him. Both are still hurting you. So, let me be your friend. Let me help you get over him without being a replacement for him. And, after this war is over, we can still be friends! Either we decapitate Zeus and his lackeys and his power no long holds you to the island, or we can keep in touch. I know the myths say I can’t come back twice, but I’ll bet I can Iris Message you. I mean, you have rainbows and Iris can go anywhere rainbows can.”

Her lips cracked to protest. Upon considering his words, she stared off at the coastline. “No one has thought of that before.”

Jack beamed. The fear was gone. He shoved a hand between the two of them (awkward due to the close quarters). “Let’s shake on it?”

Calypso glanced from Jack’s hand back to his face. Curiosity perched her lips. “You’re… one of the oddest men I’ve ever met, Jack Flash.”

Jack blushed. “I get that a lot.”

Cautiously, she shook his hand.

At the time, Jack didn’t think to make her swear on the River Styx.

He should have.

***

author’s note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! This series is going to continue! I’ve just been struggling to focus on writing with some crazy stuff going on at home. ^.^’‘‘‘ Thanks for your patience and continued support!

Footnotes:

[1] So, Homer’s Ogygia is as Riordan described it. I needed to at least alter the flowers so Jack wouldn’t immediately recognize where he was. Also, flowers for symbolism because I’m a tool.

[2] I kept accidentally writing, “kidnapped” here. Not too far off.

#Tales from Mount Othrys #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Heroes of Olympus #TFMO #PJO #HOO #fanfiction #Jack Flash #Calypso #My cat is named after Calypso #Her screams are not siren like #especially not at 4:30 in the morning #I hope you're staying healthy!

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idk-maybe-i-did-it · 5 years ago

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Scars: Year five, Chapter eight

Remus Lupin x reader

Warnings: yelling, fighting, cursing, implied depression and anger issues, abandonment issues, crying, tell me if you find more!

A/N:

Cara- darling, beloved, dear, loved one ————————————————————————

Later the next day Mare decided to take Y/n along to shop for her wedding dress, and of course, Remus tagged along as well.

At first he only agreed because she was going but later realized that they had desperately wanted him to get out of the house and see sunlight for once.

Which meant any means necessary to keep him there. ________________________________

" Wait so Mare, aren't James's parents paying for this? Don't we have to meet them or something?"

Y/n walked beside the older girl as she ran her fingers through stacks of fabrics lying on a back table in the store. She doubled back when Mare stopped.

" No, I'm actually making my own dress. I mean, Euphemia and Fleamont are paying for the fabrics but, I'm going to be making it. And I'm making the bridesmaids dresses too."

Mare turned and winked at Y/n as she grasped her hand and motioned for her to feel the fabric in her's.

Remus rolled his eyes at the blissful smile on his sisters face at the feeling of the fabric and had to hold back a grin at the look of Y/n's face in the sunlight.

He hadn't seen just how magnificent her s/c skin could look in the sunlight recently.

She looked stunning.

Her gorgeous h/c hair was simply sparking in the sun and her beautiful e/c irises looked like crystalline in the ravishing sunlight. The scar on her face was now a thin, yet deep line cutting across her face and the colors were no longer molded together but the skin around it had always stayed pink, as if she were blushing.

The color of it however mixed perfectly together with the rich, titian coloring of the sun light streaming through the tinted, glass stained windows of the boutique and- oh good lord the smile in her face, the sparkle in her eyes.

He hadn't seen her seem so carefree in ages. Her skin glowed with happiness, her face and smile, her grin and smirk, every single one of her expressions showed it. They all showed the brightness bubbling inside her heart and mind, soul and body.

And seeing that sight every single morning when he woke up, simply made him fall in love with her again everyday.

Suddenly a pair of fingers came snapping in front of his eyes and Remus almost dropped the stack of fabrics he'd been carrying for the ladies. Mare stood full height before Remus and shook his shoulders lightly.

" Okay little bro, I get it, your girlfriend looks nice, that doesn't mean you can just stare at her the entire time while we walk around. You're creepin her out Rem."

She glanced back over to where Y/n stood on her tippy-toes next her, her head level with Remus's neck.

Remus glanced over to Y/n and saw her biting her lip again, peering at Remus with a inquisitive, saddened look to her face.

" I heard my name, did I do something wrong?"

Y/n looked between the two and before either could speak a word she began to stammer out a string of words that quickly diminished the light and carefree mood, bringing to light something new Remus hadn't accounted for.

" I mean, if I did do something wrong. I- I mean you can yell at me, o-or you could hit me or anything else you felt fitting."

The girl brought her sleeve up to her mouth and began to chew nervously on it, keeping her eyes low by her feet as if in disappointment, lightly rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

" I- I mean, if you feel the need to punish me I won't backtalk, or blame you or anything. If you see a punishment fitting then I must've done something to deserve it."

The two taller ones stood staring down at the girl in shock, Remus hadn't thought of this new possibility. He had merely assumed that if she hadn't remembered how her mother treated her, then she wouldn't've felt the need to act the same way as before. Yet, standing before her now, he realized just how fucking retarded of an idea that was.

Mare quickly pulled Y/n's tottering figure into her arms and wrapped her arms around her frame, lightly stroking her hair and kissing her head as she stared blankly at Remus.

" No, no baby no, you didn't do anything wrong. And we would, we would never hit you okay. Y/n, I don't- I don't care if you can't remember anything like that ever happening but I can assure you we would never do anything like that honey. We would never raise a hand to you, we would never yell at you either, we would never punish you kid."

Mare pulled back and held Y/n at arms length, looking in her eyes, letting her gaze rake over the younger females frame. At the denim jacket she was wearing, at the f/c tank top under it, at the thin mark over her face, at the glassy look to her eyes.

Mare squeezed her shoulder once and pulled her close to kiss her forehead again, simply wrapping her arms around her tight as they stood there.

" You can remember your parents, can't you Y/n? You remember that your mum used to tell you that, you told James and Peter and Sirius and me about that in fourth year..."

Y/n nodded her head slightly at the taller teens voice and moved her arms upward, wrapping them around Mare's torso as she nuzzled her head into the older girls breastplate.

" I can hear mum's voice sometimes. Well, my auntie really, I can't remember what she did but I hear her voice sometimes and I get nightmares about the bad days at home too. But I can't remember anything in detail."

Mare took a deep inhale and exhaled sharply, pulling Y/n back again, holding her at arms length. Her next words seemed cheery sweet and Remus had been the only of them to tell her anger masked beneath.

" Okay so how about this, why don't you go run off and find some flowers, any kind you want, and bring them back here. Just stay where we can see you okay. When we get back home we can talk about this more okay cara."

Y/n, still biting her lip, quickly swiped her sleeve over her eye and nodded, moving off to find a few flowers for Mare. Remus watched as she left and kept an eye on her as she moved around the store, looking for flowers.

Remus knew the exact kind she had been most likely to pick. Blue Delphiniums, Periwinkle, Lobelia, Lilies (she had always felt that they brought comfort) and Roses.

Y/n had always been the type to do things herself, so she made her own perfume (which she didn't often wear and instead let Kayla have, placing bottles by her sisters grave at times), and her own shampoo and conditioner. She had always used those five flowers and fragrances since they'd known her and if you were to get lucky enough, you could smell the scent of the flowers on her.

Remus knew, he just knew, that Y/n would remember those. She had been using those flowers her whole life, they would be bound to have an imprint on her memory.

Godric be damned if she didn't pick those. ________________________________

" Okay so Y/n, I have to go and meet up with someone. Could you possibly stay here and just, help Remus?"

Mare soon recoiled and came back, using hand gestures to talk.

" You know what I mean Y/n, just, y'know, hang out with him some. You two can chat or goof off or something I don't care really just get him up and moving okay. Get him to take a shower and make him eat breakfast, help him clean his bedroom and do some laundry. Just, You know what I mean Y/-'

The younger girl cut in and placed her hands on the elders shoulders.

" Marabella Louraine Rosa Lupin. Stop stressing, I would've stayed here with Rem anyway. I haven't hung out with him in forever. Now do me a favor and go take your boxes to his car, go to your fiancé's arms and take your things okay. You're coming back here later anyway. Now just breath and trust me."

Y/n watched as Mare walked away, hesitation in her face, before she turned and yelped at the sight of Remus standing behind her, a sad and slightly annoyed look to his face.

" I can take care of myself thank-you-very-much."

Remus scowled and crossed his arms over chest.

" If you have something to do then go ahead and do it Y/n. For all means Y/n, don't let the 'mentally ill man' weigh you down. Go ahead and do your thing Y/n, I dare you to go and do something else, you'll just forget what you did an hour from now."

Snide, Anger, Discretion, Disappointment.

Those are the feelings and emotions that laced his words.

His posture showed as such, his voice showed it even more. But the look of pure rage was what best displayed the extravagant mixture of emotions splayed across his frame.

You'd think that his words and flame would've been enough to silence the girl before him. Yet, it was the meaning behind them that only made her anger worse.

" No, Remus what makes you think you weigh me down? And I bet you think I'm just some daft dimbo who'll just turn around and continue to be ignorant of things for on such."

Her words had twice as much flame, twice as much snide, and so much more passion and caring twisted into them.

She now matched his posture, except her back and shoulders weren't broad as his were, she didn't look stiff and rigid, she didn't have the same scowl coating her features and she definitely didn't have the same raw anger and harshness masking her true feelings.

Remus immediately retaliated, his jawline defined broadly as he began to grind his teeth in an attempt to keep the slur of incandescent and crude curse words from falling his tongue.

" Well, there's the facts that you and my sister talk behind my back about how much of a mess I am, at least I didn't walk up to James and Sirius and Peter and Mum and Dad and Mare and goggle about how messed up your brains were."

He took a daring step closer, she could feel the heat radiating his body.

" And Yeah Y/n, maybe I do think you're a daft dimbo with no brains who can't remember for shit."

His voice was cold and filled with a hatred he didn't mean. Of course Remus didn't mean the words spilling his lips. He was simply upset.

Upset at Mare, upset at his parents for leaving him alone, upset at James for causing this whole mess, upset at Peter for not even being there, upset at Sirius for being at James's house and goofing off while he had been at home barely even eating his food as he struggled not to blade his skin, the only think keeping him from quitting completely being the picture of his loves face laughing and grinning and smiling as he spun her in the air above him.

Y/n's face fell, sadness displayed on her features as realization swam in her e/c irises.

Her posture lost the protective nature it had held beforehand as she stood away from him.

" I get it now. You think I'm some stupid kid who needs saving because I don't have the brain to save myself. You think you can't help the daft dimbo because you're mentally sick and find it hard to even hold yourself up at times."

She paused, wanting to find a reaction from the boy.

She wished he had done something other than talk and retaliate more.

His voice came out as a whisper, filled partially with regret, the other half filled with pain and sadness as he tried to step nearer her.

" That's not what this is about..."

His sentence ended swiftly as she looked him in the eye and moved to grab her backpack from the couch.

" If that's not what this is about then you'll be fine if I leave right. If this isn't what this is about then you would encourage me walking out actually. If that isn't what you think is happening then Remus Lupin would be perfectly fine with me grabbing a bag and calling a cab to take me over to my dad's."

The tension in the air between the two of them started to fade as Y/n moved to drape the bag over her shoulder, gradually making her way to the door where her shoes lay.

" No Y/n, that's not what I meant..."

" But of course Remus, it must be what you meant because it is exactly what you said."

She carefully slipped her shoes on, keeping enough care to keep eye contact with him as his facade broke and she saw the man she'd fallen in love with behind it once more.

" No Y/n,'

He reached up and leaned against the wall for support.

" Y/n that isn't what I meant. I didn't mean any of that..."

She looked him in the eye and gave him the same look he used to give her when sensing lies.

" Stop lying to yourself Remus. You meant all of that. Now I'm about to leave. You can either try and stop me or you can sit back where you are and watch as I walk out."

Her face showed sadness and a certain level of calm that Remus was surprised to find on her face.

" Y/n, no, I don't want you to go. That's not what I intended..."

" Then why don't you try and stop me Remus?"

His posture broke, his shoulder slumped against the wall fully and the tears falling down his face that had once been silent now turned noise-full.

His voice broke, it cracked, it was filled with pain and sadness as regret molded into it in full force like a wave crashing against the hull of a ship. The ship being his heart and body, emotions and feeling.

" Because I'm scared."

" Can't you see that Y/n?"

He paused and gulped down a few breaths, pulling oxygen into his lungs as he refused to meet her saddened gaze.

" I'm scared to lose you again Y/n."

He leaned over and used his free arm to motion at the living room windows.

" I'm scared that I'll wake up in the morning and come to find that I dreamt all this up. That you're still asleep and I'm still at home in bed moping around again. I'm scared that one day you'll decided I'm not good enough for you. Hell, I know I'm not good enough for you Y/n I'm just hoping you don't realize that'

He cut off his sentence with a shaky sob as he sunk to the floor slowly.

" Because I can't live without you Y/n. You don't realize how hard it was to even go to class without you sitting there beside me. You- you take being alive for granted Y/n, but I will never take you for granted that way."

" Because I need you in my life Y/n and you don't even realize it. I'm scared because I know one day someone will see you the way I do."

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, letting the tears slowly cascade down his rosy cheeks as Y/n progressed further towards his figure.

" Y'know Y/n, people ask me what I see in you. But I never respond because I'm afraid if they knew they would fall in love with you too."

The silence between them felt like an eternity and when he next spoke his voice was filled with so many emotions, so much raw pain, that she couldn't even begin to compensate how much of it there was.

" And I wouldn't be able to live with that. Because you would see how much better they were and just go off for them."

He sucked in a huge breath and simply sat there, crying for a moment, before he turned his head to where Y/n was kneeling next him. He briskly grabbed her jaw and leaned her closer to him.

" So yeah, I'm scared and I won't try to stop you from leaving because I know you'll find someone better out there than me."

Remus pulled himself onto an elbow and Y/n found herself going down with him as he stared into her tear-brimmed eyes.

" But I will fight tooth and nail if it means I'll get to see you one more minute of another day. Even if it means I won't be with you."

Y/n let out a sob as Remus pulled her lips to his in a soft, delicate kiss before he let her go.

She dropped next to him on the ground and pulled the boy into her arms as they lay quietly sobbing in the kitchen walkway area beside the living room.

Y/n pulled him closer in his arms and pressed a sloppy kiss to his head as he sobbed into her chest and shoulder.

" I would never leave you Remus, even if you think you're not good enough. Because I love you, and I would miss seeing your smile too much to leave."

Remus would be damned if he said that he knew Mare was still standing outside the house while they fought.

Because he knew Y/n would just try and make him get up and take a shower, clean his room, if he had told her.

But Remus rather preferred their current position on the floor to anything else.

He still got to hold her then, even if there were tears shed. ________________________________ I swear I tried so hard to make it happier- _____________________________ Drop a vote, drink some water, eat some food, take a screen break and remember You Are Loved! ^ - ^

#Remus Lupin #Remus John Lupin #remuslupinxreader #remus lupin x sirius black #jamespotterxreader #James Potter #jamespotter #Lily Evans #Lily Potter #remus lupin x reader #remuslupinxsadreader #remuslupi #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts

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unklarity · 6 years ago

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Critical Role: Jester

“I use Thaumaturgy to open all the windows.”

“Click “keep reading” for more photos and a description of my Jester magic box! :)

First of all, I adore Jester, because who doesn’t? Second, I’ve been wanting to fill a box with glitter and rhinestones and unicorns for ages, so of course I was waiting for the opportunity to make a Jester box. This box was a bit different for me as I usually work with darker wood, and I had to fight my instincts the entire time to sand the whole box and stain it darker, even though I knew that the lighter wood color would fit better.

I decided to try wood burning for the first time on the lid, which was a bit nerve-wracking, but I love how it came out. I wanted it to look a bit unpolished, so I fought my instincts (again) to go over it and make it look perfect. I decided to go with the Traveler symbol because, while it’s not the entirety of her character, her relationship with the Traveler shaped who Jester is in a big way. (Also, the gems are inset, which was another thing I learned for this box and can’t wait to do again!)

The inside lid is definitely a contrast to the simplicity of the outside, with Jester’s spiritual weapon and guardians, plus loads of pink and sparkles.

Three of the big things I knew I wanted to include were Jester’s sketchbook, her Haversack, and a little Traveler statue like the ones she’d made with her paints. The sketchbook, of course, is green, and filled with some of the sketches Jester has done, the Moon tarot card, and a tiny Traveler pamphlet; The tiny Traveler mini has been hand-painted my me, his face hidden as always by his signature green cloak.

The haversack is full of donuts, gold coins, pastries, and perhaps a romance novel, among other things, such as her pearl of power, a charm for Kiri with a black feather, dagger and heart (stamped with “I am very sweet”), a green ribbon from Calianna, and the sapphire necklace from her Mom.

As far as stones go, there aren’t as many in this box as in some of the others. Like Caduceus, I ended up with barely enough room to fit in all the things I wanted, so I left the crystals for last and worked with the tiny amount of space I had remaining. There’s an aqua aura quartz tower (for help processing emotional disturbances, grief and trauma) and a rose quartz tower (for unconditional love), as well as prehnite, a healing stone that focuses on people who heal others, moonstone for mischievousness and illusion, and kunzite for help processing emotional trauma, releasing fear and grief and promoting peace. There’s also pink tourmaline and a rhodonite heart for healing, support, and joy, chalcedony for nurturing and trying to bring harmony to others, amazonite for using creativity and art as a communication device and to help with emotional difficulties.

Now for the potions! These were a ton of fun, and also an interesting challenge. Initially, I came up with themes super quickly (which was blessedly a contrast from Fjord and Caleb, who took FOREVER) but as I worked with them a bit, the things I wanted to convey shifted and I changed directions a few times. Potions 1-3 are in the first photo and potions 4-6 are in the second photo (in order from left to right).

The first potion is meant to signify Jester’s origins. Her loneliness as a child, having to remain hidden as the daughter of a courtesan, and the Traveler or adults being her only “friends.” She was definitely sheltered, but made the best of it and still viewed her childhood as a positive experience that led to her becoming an agent of chaos via the traveler. There’s heather for solitude and loneliness, rosebud for youth, a mix of sea salt & black salt for being sheltered/overprotected, nutmeg for having to stay hidden, bluebell for mischief and laughter/trickery, calendula for joy, and a daisy for innocence, loyal love, faith, and cheer. There’s also forsythia for anticipation/waiting for adventure, peony for happiness in childhood, and purple carnation for whimsy/capriciousness. It is sealed with the symbol of the Traveler.

Potion number two deals with who Jester is as a person and what is important to her. She is many things: a cleric, an artist, an agent of chaos, a follower of the Traveler, but there’s so much we still don’t know about her despite how open she seems to be. In this potion is acorn for power and wisdom despite youth, cinquefoil for wisdom and being on a journey or quest, olive leaf for searching for a home or family, sage for healing, cedar for strength and confidence in abilities, and goldenrod for magic/divination/scrying. There’s also rose for attracting friends, violet and vervain for creativity, sweet pea for attracting adventure and chaos into one’s life, and buttercup, which has a lot of meanings: naivete, cheerfulness, charm, directness, beauty, and “big things come in small packages.” Sealed with a donut stamp and silver wax.

The third potion is about Jester’s struggle with feeling like she has to be happy all the time and smile her sadness away, or always be available to comfort others. It seems to me like she constantly doubts the validity of her negative feelings even though she doesn’t do the same with others - especially when she’s dealing with fear of being alone/abandoned after being kidnapped and after being in the HFB. On the contrary, though, she’s quick to soothe that doubt in others, whether it’s doubt in her god or the M9’s doubt in themselves. This potion contains pansy for love and spreading happiness (which, to me, is Jester’s love language), chrysanthemum for optimism, baby’s breath for comfort and hiding behind simplicity, yarrow for fear and doubt in oneself, amethyst for fear of abandonment. It also contains chamomile for difficulty dealing with trauma, cypress for grief and loss, and rosemary for protection (specifically, trying to protect and heal her friends in battle and prevent any more loss from happening). Sealed with a crystal heart stamp, silver wax and blue pigment.

The fourth potion represents Jester’s experience with love and life as almost an outsider. She is unfamiliar with life outside of the Lavish Chateau, and her experience with romance is almost entirely from books and stories. This obviously creates a pretty large disconnect between her and others, as well as leaving her with a lot of doubts in herself, as well as the motivations and actions of others. For example, she doesn’t know how to deal with her feelings for Fjord when he doesn’t react like storybook characters - and she argues with Caleb because she can’t understand that not everyone grew up as privileged as she did. This potion includes hibiscus for romantic love, red rose for storybook ideas of romance, and vervain for wealth, not having to worry about money, and growing up with “culture.” There’s also basil for confusion, and lilac for for growth, representing her journey from ignorance to knowledge and naivete to wisdom. Sealed with a unicorn stamp and silver wax.

Potion number five deals with Jester’s relationship with her mother. her mom, relationship with mom as a child vs as an adult. As a child, Jester didn’t have much companionship beyond her Mother and the Traveler, so she definitely put her mother up on a pedestal (and still does) and saw her as someone who could do no wrong, but now that she’s an adult and has left home, she starts, bit by bit, to see her mother as a whole person. She compares herself to her mother, and definitely seems to feel inferior to someone she’s held up as an ideal of beauty, grace, talent and kindness - but we see her just beginning to acknowledge Marion’s shortcomings and mistakes as part of her character and accept them, as well as have hopes and dreams for her mother as well as herself. There’s pink carnation for mother’s love, red carnation for admiration and “I miss you,” rose quartz for love, pink sea salt for protection and soothing, and lavender for her mom’s perfume. There’s also gold coins for Marion wanting Jester to be comfortable financially, and mugwort for Jester beginning to worry about her mom as an adult and wanting the best for her/wanting her to not have to work anymore. Written in the bottle is “I send a message to my mama,” for all the messages Jester has sent to Marion. Sealed with a ruby stamp and silver wax with red pigment.

Finally, the sixth potion is about her friends. Jester has always shown incredible loyalty and love for her friends. When she says to her mom, “These are some really good people I’m with,” it’s clear she believes in the rest of the Mighty Nein and their goodness even when they don’t. There’s jasmine for amiability, magnolia for loyalty, zinnia for remembering absent friends (Molly, and Yasha), agrimony for thankfulness, cloves for camaraderie (one for each member of the M9 including Molly). Also included is dogwood for devotion, garnet for familial bonds, and delphinium for levity, fun, big-heartedness, ardent attachment, and joy. Sealed with lollipop stamp and silver wax.

Thanks for reading! Jester had sold. You can check my “magic boxes” tag to see the rest of my CR magic boxes or see them on my website at unklarity (dot) com! <3

#jester lavorre #Critical Role #magic boxes #critical role art #mighty nein #magic box #cr jester #long post #text heavy

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korora12 · 6 years ago

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Ladybug Week Day 3 - Love Letters

Day 2 Day 4

Word Count: 3813

Blake was quickly discovering exactly how much she disliked cows. They were smelly, they were loud, and there was currently an entire herd of them packed into Crescent Rose’s storage bay.

The only relief was that their new passengers were a temporary addition. They’d been hired by a human farmer to ship most of his possessions, as well as his wife and children, from Eltanin to the nearby planet Rastaban. Which meant that their storage bay was filled with cars, tractors, bags of seeds, grain and other stored foods, animal feed, a dog, and 37 of the dumbest animals to ever crawl out of an ocean.

The entire situation might have been a bit more tolerable if Blake hadn’t been stuck in the hold with them, making sure they stayed out of trouble. She sat on the stairwell to the second level and side-eyed the dog she shared a job with. The two had reached a cautious truce, but she still didn’t trust it completely.

Footsteps above her had her turning her head just in time to catch the family’s eldest son begin descending the stairs towards her.

“Evening,” he greeted. “Or, at least, I think it’s evening.” He wrung his hands nervously, but spoke clearly, albeit with an accent. “Mind if I join you?”

Blake waved silently at the empty stairwell. He hesitated, then took a seat. Blake let the silence stretch. This boy had come to her; if he wanted something he’d have to take the initiative himself.

Finally, he spoke. “So, um, you and your captain seem pretty close.”

Blake hadn’t been sure what to expect from her visitor, but that certainly surprised her. Her mind was racing, going back over her interactions with Ruby over the past day and trying to figure out what he’d seen. Synthetic/organic relationships rarely saw any positive treatment so far from the Confederacy capitals, and young men often felt the need to correct perceived wrongs. She was careful not to let any of this show on her face, though. “I don’t see how my relationship with my crewmates is any concern of yours,” she rebuked.

“Of course,” he said, head bowed. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just, well, you don’t see that very often, you know? Between a human and a FAUNIS.”

Part of Blake wanted to remind this kid that he was in her home, on her ship, tens of thousands of miles from the nearest planet, and in walking distance of three different airlocks, which she would throw him out of if he continued to make veiled threats. She very carefully took that part of her psyche and shoved it back in its box, wrapped said box in caution tape, and slapped a “Warning!” label on it.

Instead she asked, “Are you getting any closer to your point?”

He seemed taken aback by her sharp retort. “I apologize. I’m being intrusive, aren’t I? But I have to know, you folks are okay with that sort of thing?”

Blake took a moment to reconsider this boy. She watched how he continued fidget nervously with his hands, how he struggled to meet her gaze, how he kept a comfortable distance between them. Had she misread his intent? She decided to throw him a bone. “No one on this crew has any problems with interspecies relationships, synthetic or otherwise. Why do you want to know?”

“Well,” he started, then cut himself off. He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out an envelope. On the front the word “Foxhill” was written in blue ink. Blake realized she really had misjudged him. “There’s this girl back home. Her name’s Nina Delphinium, but most everyone calls her Foxhill. We’re in love but neither of our families know about it. You see, she’s a FAUNIS, and my parents wouldn’t approve of such a relationship.” From what little interaction she’d had with the family matron, she could easily believe that. “I barely got to say goodbye to her before we loaded onto your ship. I was just wondering, you’re going back to Eltanin at some point, right?” He held out the letter to her. “Could you deliver this for me? I can’t afford to pay much, but it shouldn’t be too far out of your way, right?”

Blake stared at the proffered paper for a moment. “A letter? That’s pretty old-fashioned.”

The boy shrugged. “We’re old-fashioned types out here. Plus, getting a CGT connection is expensive. Pa keeps a close eye on our only connected computer. He can be very controlling. If not, I’d be messaging her every day. Until the mail system sets up a route towards our little valley on Rastaban, you’re my only option.”

Blake only took a moment more to consider the boy who’d come to her so desperately. He was taking a huge risk; the fact that she was a FAUNIS didn’t guarantee she was comfortable with synthetic/organic relationships. “I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Benjamin Brunswick, miss, but you can call me Ben.”

Blake took the letter from Ben and placed it carefully in her coat pocket. “I’ll make sure she gets your letter, Ben.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It had been weeks since Blake had shown them Ben’s letter and led them on a short hunt for its fated recipient. Ruby had adored the idea of a secret exchange between lovers and was glad Blake agreed. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Blake was a secret romantic, especially considering the topics of some of the book she’d spied her reading when she thought no one could see her, but somehow the thought hadn’t crossed her mind before.

Since then, though, thoughts of the couple had faded and nearly slipped from her memory. Then the video came. It was a pre-recorded message sent via the same line that they’d used to conduct business with the Brunswicks previously.

Ben’s face filled most of the screen and the sight wasn’t pretty. A large bruise covered most of his face, his nose was bent at an unsettling angle, and there were heavy bandages on his neck. None of those features had been there last time they’d seen him.

“To the crew of the Crescent Rose: please, you have to help me. If my father hadn’t kept your contact info on file, I’d be out of luck; there’s no one else I can reach out to.

“Foxhill and I’ve been exchanging letters through the hands of spacers, but one of them must have been less discrete than we’d hoped. My family found out about our correspondence.” He hesitated as he gently touched his face. “Pa didn’t take it well.

“Please, you have to get me out of here! I know I should’ve run away with Nina when I had the chance. I never should’ve gone to Rastaban. I’m nearly eighteen now and I don’t want a thing to do with my family anymore, not if they can’t accept that I love her.

“God, I hope you get this.”

It had been enough for Ruby to start firing up the engines before it had even finished playing the first time. Now, as they approached Rastaban once again, Ruby was having a hard time staying still.

“Ruby, breathe.” It was a simple command, whispered in her ear by the remarkable woman who stood at her back, arms on Ruby’s shoulders keeping her pinned in place. “We’re already doing everything we can.”

“I know, Blake,” Ruby said, leaning into her touch. “But what if that’s not enough. You saw how he looked in the video; he could be dead by the time we get to him.”

“Thinking like that is only going to hurt you. Whatever the situation is when we get there, we’ll deal with it. Until then, all we can do is wait.”

“Waiting is hard.”

Blake’s only response was to turn her hold into a gentle massage.

Ruby watched through the cockpit window as they stood together, cataloguing every second of their descent. Rastaban was covered almost entirely with swirls of sickly-green clouds, only the occasional break revealing the ground beneath. It stood in sharp contrast to the planet they’d recently left. Eltanin was a so-called “Paradise Planet”, meaning it had a biosphere when explorers first found it, and atmospheric makeup was already in a comfortable range for all known intelligent species. Rastaban, on the other hand, required extensive terraforming before it could support life. Thus far a few pockets of land had been deemed habitable. They were headed to a wide valley surrounded by high mountains, where airflow in and out was poor enough that an open-air habitat could be supported with minimal filtration in place. The mountains were high enough that they practically had to come in straight-down. Yang was an expert pilot, however, and she had no trouble turning a rapid freefall into a controlled, smooth landing.

Ruby left the cockpit the moment she could pick out Brunswick Farms from the surrounding land. She trusted Yang to land them safely in the best place she could. She intended to be at the exit ramp the moment they stopped moving.

Without a word spoken between them, Blake and Weiss followed at her back. The three armed themselves with weapons from their lockers as the ship settled to the ground and the artificial gravity shut off in favor of the local flavor.

Ben was waiting for them in an open field when the hatch opened, having undoubtedly seen them coming, bag on his back and determination in his eyes. Behind him was a very angry Bartleby Brunswick with a shotgun in hand. Ben’s mother was visible in the distance, but she didn’t approach.

“Where do you think you’re going, boy? Get back here!”

Ruby’s gun was already at her shoulder, her eye aligned with the scope. She announced their presence with a warning shot at the old man’s feet. He looked at her, acting as if he were noticing her for the first time.

“Hi,” she said, injecting as much cheer into her voice as she could, given the circumstances. Ben seemed to be alive and well, even though he was favoring his right leg, so there was more cheer than she expected. “We’re here to kidnap your son!”

The man made a sound like a stalling car engine.

“Sorry we couldn’t give you more notice,” Weiss added, voice coming not from her mouth, but from the translator wrapped around her neck that turned the internal flashing lights of the Atlesian language into audible sounds, “but you know how these things go.”

His shock morphed into rage. “I should’ve known you lot were no good. Boy! I won’t have you cavorting around with talking rocks and machines with delusions of grandeur! You get back to the house now!”

Ben seemed to shrink into himself, clutching the straps of his bag like a lifeline. But, to his credit, he held his ground. “I’m nearly eighteen; I’m not your boy anymore.” He met his father’s eyes. “I was never going to stay forever. I wanted to help you set up this new farm, to get you through the first harvest, but I can’t do that anymore. I’m sorry, but you’ve driven me to this.”

The man shook with rage. “This is all because of that FAUNIS bitch, isn’t it?!”

Ben seemed to finally snap, going from timid to furious in an instant. “Her name is Nina!” he shouted. “Her friends call her Foxhill! Her favorite color is red, she likes action movies and swimming in the lake, and she’s never once hurt me! She’s a far better person than you!”

The man raised his shotgun and pointed it at his son. Ben flinched. The crack of a gunshot filled the air.

Through a faint trail of smoke coming from the end of her rifle, Ruby watched the man clutching at the bloody stump where his trigger finger used to be. His gun was on the ground, unfired.

The scene held frozen for a moment before Ben seemed to gather his wits once again. “Goodbye,” was all he said before he turned and began limping towards Crescent Rose.

Despite having already lost a finger, Ben’s father still hadn’t decided to back off. He moved to give chase, even as blood poured from his hand, when the growing sound of an engine reached Ruby’s ears.

Fun fact about the layout of the Crescent Rose: a spiral staircase directly connects the cockpit on the third level with the hallway between the bedrooms on the second level. From there it’s nearly a straight shot, barring a few slightly curved hallways, to the straight-run staircase that leads to the storage bay on the first level, which itself connects to the main exit ramp that they currently stood at the bottom of.

Fun fact number 2: Yang has a motorcycle named Bumblebee. On a normal day, Bumblebee would remain in storage unless Yang was riding him planetside. On a normal day, Ruby would be furious if she caught Yang riding him through the hallways of their home.

Fun fact the third: today was not a normal day. Ruby was very angry, which made her willing to overlook certain things.

Yang hit the top of the ramp and soared over their heads, airborne for a hot minute. When she landed, tires bouncing and spinning in the dirt, it was directly between Ben and his father.

“Did I miss the fun part?” she asked.

“Afraid so,” Blake said, “but you’re just in time to help clean up.”

Yang turned her bike and revved the engine, grinning as the man behind her was sprayed with gravel and loose dirt.

Ben continued to advance. He stumbled as he hit the lip of the ramp, but Weiss was already there to catch him. She glanced over him, no doubt cataloguing every one of his injuries. She glared up at the man responsible for them, standing dirty, bloody, and humiliated. “How could you? To your own child?”

If he responded, Ruby didn’t hear him. The moment Yang and Bumblebee were back on the ship the ramp began to raise closed. Yang approached the nearest intercom and activated it. “Autopilot. Command: begin takeoff. Follow preset course.”

Crescent Rose shook as the engines activated, and soon they were in space once again.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

They’d broken lightspeed to get to Rastaban quickly, but fuel for the superluminal engines was expensive; Ruby had them take the long way back. That meant 32 hours of travel, during which their passenger had two different panic attacks and, out of a desire to pay the crew back for helping him, scrubbed every floor on the ship.

When they finally returned to Eltanin, the whole crew saw Ben off. Their reunion was heartwarming; Nina hadn’t been expecting him, but the moment they met each other’s eyes she was running towards him.

As the errant lovers reunited, Nina lifting and twirling Ben in circles, Blake shifted her focus to Ruby. She smiled, still caught up in watching the ongoing reunion, practically glowing in the warm light of day. As if noticing she was being watched, her eyes moved to meet Blake’s.

Her pulse skipped a beat. She opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn’t find the words. Instead she just stared, caught in the moment. Later, she’d look back on the moment and realize what she should’ve said, what she wanted to say. That’s how it always worked, the words not coming until after they were needed, after silver eyes and red hair no longer served as barricades to conscious thought.

This time, however, she might have found a solution in the actions of another.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

To my dearest captain,

The air between us of late has been stifling, filled with all the things we aren’t saying, because actually saying them is too great a challenge. Your presence clouds my mind and jumbles my thoughts; it is soma, a drug to which I am gleefully addicted. But I must abstain for a time, because what needs to be said must be done so with a clear head. And, if I am to be completely honest, I’m scared. I dread your reaction when you read the things I haven’t said. Your smile is the most wonderful thing about you, and I couldn’t stand to be the cause of its disappearance. So I pray you’ll forgive me this one cowardly act.

Since the day our paths first crossed, you have continued to impress and amaze me. One crisis after another has arisen, and you’ve faced each with wisdom and aplomb far beyond what is demanded of your station. Your mind and wit are unequaled throughout the stars. Our ship and our lives could not be in safer hands.

You drive me to be a better person, not by force but by example. You make me want to be worthy of your argent light, so that I know I deserve your smile. And yet, you never demand change, accepting every facet of my being I bare to you. It is the greatest contradiction, that you both make me want to be better, and also make me more comfortable with the woman I already am.

But more than anything, being with you has made me hope again. For a long time now hope has been a dangerous animal. It was another stitch in an infinitely repeating pattern where every rising hope is soon crushed by the gravity of despair, and even worse, apathy. The apathy of fools who are too happy to continue living in a sub-par world, and thusly resist any change. But you make hope beautiful again; the despair is less crushing, less prevalent, and the light of a better future manages to shine in spite of it.

I keep my heart locked tight in my chest and don’t open it easily or often. And yet, in a few short months you have plowed through my barriers with the artifice of one who never realized they existed. You’ve made yourself a place there without my knowing consent, and yet having realized the nature of your act, I find myself welcoming your presence with open arms and baited breath.

Yes, baited breath, because I agonize over thoughts of the future. We’ve seen first-hand the struggles we would face if we grow any closer. We could turn two lives into one, and what would that life then look like? Full of new hardships and struggles that neither of us deserve. It’s all but unheard of for me to let the opinions of strangers divert the course of my life, and yet I cannot bring myself to knowingly drag you into this pit with me.

But even were you to leap in after me, and I promise I would catch you with open arms, I wouldn’t be able to give you all the things you deserve. Humans have needs, primal, basic needs, that I, as a FAUNIS, simply do not. And, though it pains me to admit, I cannot reciprocate in this way.

You are everything I could ever ask for. You are caring, compassionate, hopeful, smart, funny, and so much more. You always see first who I am, and never dwell overlong on what I am. But in return, I could never be everything you need. Always there would be something missing between us.

I care for you deeply. I do not wish to leave the crew, nor to cease being your dear friend. But I think it wise if we go no further than this that we have now.

Faithfully yours,

Blake

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Blake,

You’ve got me at a loss for words. Your letter was beautiful, more than anything I could write myself. But what you’ve said warrants a response, so I’ll have to try.

First of all, you’ve done nothing that needs forgiving. Sometimes when I’m around you I find it hard to speak. Other times I can’t stop myself and everything comes out uncontrollably. Writing everything down on paper like this helps me find a middle ground.

We’ve been dancing on the edge of something for a while, carefully feeling out the shape of what we have and who we are. I still don’t know what that is myself, but this is what I do know: my life would be lesser without you in it. I suspect that it’s only a matter of time before the thought becomes unbearable.

I also know this: the dance, the balancing act between too close and too far, is exhausting. The times when I want nothing more than to throw myself into your arms keep growing in number, but I always hold back out of fear. I’m tired of always being afraid to ruin what we have. And I know moving forward in a relationship is scary too, especially so early on, but I’m tired of being afraid by myself. I want to be afraid with you.

You say that being together would be difficult, and I recognize that. But life is difficult. Regardless of who you share it with, life is still an obstacle course with no prize. I want to face these challenges with you, because you make me stronger. You always seem so mature and confident. It makes me want to impress you every time we’re together.

This is the first time I’ve seen you doubt before. I’m glad to be seeing a new side of you, but please, don’t doubt me. Never doubt how much I care, nor how far I’ll go, for you.

And as far as the topic of sex goes, which is what I think you were referring too, you’re making too much of an issue about it. I won’t deny that I enjoy sex, but it’s not the end-all-be-all of life. Spending my life with someone special is far more important than any physical pleasure.

You are special, Blake. You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve met, you always stand up for what you believe is right, you’ve got great taste in books, and you’re an amazing fighter. If I listed everything I like about you I’d run out of paper before I finished.

I too want to stay friends with you, Blake, but I don’t want to stop there. I hope this letter changes your mind. I can’t force you to accept me, though, so the decision is yours now. Please respond soon.

Your friend, and maybe something more,

Ruby

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Three sharp knocks tolled from Ruby’s door. Immediately her stomach churned, her heart soared, her mind raced, and her knees shook. She answered the door and spied the one person she hoped and feared would be behind it. She tried to speak, but her breath caught in her lungs before she could.

Blake stood, Ruby’s letter held in her hands, partially crumpled. She met Ruby’s eyes and spoke first. “‘Something more’ would be nice.”

#rwby #ruby rose #blake belladonna #ladybug #ladybug (rwby)#ladybugweek #fanfiction #my writing #The Last Frontier #space au #Ladybugweek2k19

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villageandcottage · 2 years ago

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Chocolate Box Cottage – Everything You Need To Know

Besides tea and cucumber sandwiches, bulldogs, castles, and royalty, few other things are a major indicator of quintessential Englishness than the chocolate box cottage. Here’s an easy guide to learning more about these gorgeous buildings.

Why the Name Chocolate Box Cottages?

During England’s feudal era, “cottages” were small houses held by villagers on the condition that they provided a service to the Lord of the Manor. Nowadays, the term “cottage” is synonymous with a small and cosy rural idyll.

A “chocolate box cottage” looks just like one of the houses in the charming scenes pictured on the front of Cadbury Milk Tray chocolate boxes throughout the 1950s and 1960s.

Thus the name “chocolate box cottage” was born.

What Makes a Chocolate Box Cottage?

There are a number of distinct qualities that make English chocolate box cottages what they are. The most instantly recognizable features are:

The Thatched Roof

An English chocolate box cottage has a thatched roof. Thatch roofing is an old roofing method using materials like straw, reed, rushes, etc, producing not only excellent insulation, but also a gorgeously rustic aesthetic.

Leadwork Windows

The design of an English chocolate box cottages always includes decorative windows, with stylish leadwork and window seats where anyone could get lost in a daydream. Typically, wooden shutters frame the window that are often painted in soft pastel shades.

Brace and Ledge Doors

Made from vertical planks with a central ledge to hold them in place, Brace and Ledge Doors then have black iron braces fixed on them, top and bottom.

Cast iron black handles and door knockers complete the chocolate box look.

Chimney and Inglenook Fireplace

Open inglenook fireplaces are a staple in chocolate box cottage homes. Nothing quite speaks of a rural idyll than a working fireplace. Chimneys are a necessity, not just an aesthetic in such cases.

An English Country Garden

You won’t see a chocolate box cottage that isn’t surrounded by a host of lovely fragrant flowers. Roses are a must have, but you’ll also usually find:

Wisteria winding up walls: the sweet scent of wisteria is second only to its gorgeous blooms.

Peonies: similar in looks to the Rose and sometimes even mistaken for it, peonies make for big, fluffy, fragrant blossoms.

Fruit trees: the most common types of fruit trees that grow in the UK – apples, apricots, peaches, pears, and plums – are essential features of chocolate box cottage gardens.

You’ll also find mixed beds full of colour, height, and texture packed full of these wonderful flowers:

Lavender

Honeysuckle

Cosmos

Geraniums

Delphiniums

Aquilegia

Phlox

Campanula

Foxglove

Catmint

Rambling Roses

What is a Chocolate Box House?

A chocolate box house in England is the same as a chocolate box cottage, the terms are used interchangeably but they are identical and share the same characteristic.

Chocolate Box House Meaning

A “chocolate box house” looks just like one of the houses in the charming scenes pictured on the front of Cadbury Milk Tray chocolate boxes throughout the 1950s and 1960s. Which created the term – “chocolate box house”

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Why are Thatched Houses Called Chocolate Boxes?

The term “chocolate box” has been used to describe thatched cottages and houses since the 1920s. This is a result of their picturesque and idyllic appearance similar to the images found on vintage chocolate boxes.

The unique texture and warm colour of the thatch, combined with the quaint architecture of these houses, creates a charming and cozy look that is often associated with rustic or countryside living.

What is Chocolate Box Architecture?

Chocolate box architecture simply refers to how the cottage is built. The chocolate box cottage style is typically characterized by a small and cozy design, with an emphasis on charm and character.

The architecture often features small windows with diamond-shaped panes, a low, sloping roof, and a door that is slightly off-center.

The exterior is often painted in soft pastel shades, and there may be a small garden with a picket fence surrounding the property.

What is a Chocolate Box Villages

England has been blessed with numerous unspoiled places of outstanding natural beauty in which lie picturesque villages full of houses with the signature thatched roofs, chimneys, and lush flowers that characterise them as chocolate box cottages.

However, villages with mediaeval half-timbered houses and beautiful Norman churches and duckponds have also become synonymous with the phrase “chocolate box village”: therefore, a chocolate box village does not have to contain cottage box cottages to qualify as being “chocolate box”.

Today, these villages are one of the major tourist attractions of the UK, visited by not just homesick expatriates, but serious artists, and daydreaming novelists.

Which Villages in England have The Best Chocolate Box Cottages?

Here are just a few of the most popular chocolate box villages in the UK:

Shere

Shere in Surrey has beautiful cottages, manor houses, churches, and pubs. Plus, it boasts movie credits, being the setting of famous movies like Four Weddings and a Funeral, Bridget Jones – the Edge of Reason, and A Matter of Life and Death.

Shere is located 35 miles southwest of Central London by car. By train, it’s a one-hour train ride from Waterloo to Gomshall with a change at Guildford.

Lavenham

Lavenham in Suffolk is considered one of England’s best-preserved mediaeval villages and has the interesting historical fact of being one of the boomtowns in the 15th century that processed wool and sent it to the continent. It thus became a very wealthy place and its houses reflect it.

Its brightly-coloured half-timbered houses are widely popular with visitors from all over the world.

Lavenham also has movie credits. The famous De Vere House there starred in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Lavenham is located 76 miles from Central London by car. By train, it’s a one hour and 30-minute ride from Liverpool Street to the nearest station, Sudbury.

Brockenhurst

Besides its chocolate box cottages, this town in Hampshire holds many other attractions. Notably, the animals.

The New Forest is infamous for its ponies and wild boar; lucky visitors have reported catching glimpses of a wild pony or two, deer, cows, and grazing donkeys.

If you don’t catch sight of a boar, there is always the local: ‘The Pig’, where you can also get a spot of lunch.

Another side attraction is Brockenhurst river beach; a small, breathtaking beach on the Lymington River.

Brockenhurst is located 90 miles from London by car. Alternatively, it’s a 90-minute train ride from Waterloo.

Great Missenden

This chocolate box village in Buckinghamshire is on the top of the list for many literature enthusiasts, being the home and workplace of Roald Dahl seventy years ago.

Great Missenden has an easy charm that made it a major stop for coaches even in the late Middle Ages.

And even though it can also claim on-screen credit thanks to ITV’s Midsomer Murders, Great Missenden is a perfectly safe place to explore.

Great Missenden is located 38 miles away from Central London by car. By train, it’s a 45-minute ride from Marylebone.

Chocolate Box Villages Near London

Alfriston

Nestling in the South Downs in East Sussex, Alfriston boasts many beautiful attractions along with its timbered houses: Clergy House, St. Andrew’s church, and Cuckmere River valley are just a few examples.

In fact, Alfriston’s allure was immortalized in the classic hymn, Morning Has Broken.

The village is located 80 miles from Central London by car. Alternatively, it’s a one hour fifteen minutes train ride from London to either Polegate or Lewes.

Conclusion

Chocolate box villages have been a part of not just English history but art, popular culture, and entertainment for a very long time. And now you know why. With such beauty promised, it’s no wonder that thousands visit chocolate box cottages in English chocolate box villages every ear.

source https://villageandcottage.com/cottages/chocolate-box-cottage/

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cielizzydefencesquad · 7 years ago

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Uh... Joanne x Lizzie? Joanne is a cutie pie and deserves more love 💗

Joanne x Lizzy is the ship I didn’t know I needed but am now in love with <3

Who is more likely to catch a cold? Dear sweet Joanne XD he doesn’t have a terribly strong constitution but wanted to try and impress Lizzy by taking her to the Summer Fair in Bath one warm June day. It was probably the most fun Joanne ever had—Lizzy held his hand willingly and together, they visited the various booths and stalls, immersed in the joyous cacophony of sound and color all blurred together in one heady swirl of merriment and summer sky.

But when evening rolled around and the skies darkened from delphinium blue to royal violet, raindrops began to fall from the heavens, soaking them through. Joanne’s cheeks were stained a permanent red from how the diaphanous material of Lizzy’s dress clung to her soft curves, how she laughed cheerfully as they ran to seek shelter under a nearby awning.

It was here that Lizzy turned to Joanne, lips warm and soft as they pressed against his cheek (and he wished, a touch embarrassedly, that she might move her mouth just a tiny bit closer, that he might have the courage to do so himself, so their lips might—just might—brush together). “Thank you for the best time, Joanne.” She murmured against his burning skin.

He could smell summer roses and pink cotton candy on her lips.

(And yes, the fever and cold he got the very next day was absolutely worth it.)

Who hogs the blankets? Joanne—he has a tendency to curl up on himself, sleeping in a fetal position on his side. He didn’t realize he was dragging the blankets with him and the moment he did, he was both embarrassed and horrified. What if…what if Lizzy thought he was lying? That he really did know what he was doing and just didn’t care? Because he did! He didn’t want Lizzy to think him thoughtless or crude or a…a liar like they did but—

“I don’t mind Joanne,” Lizzy began rearranging the comforter so that they both were covered. “It’s better now, isn’t it? We can sleep right next to each other so the blankets cover the both of us!”

Joanne didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare move. “You—I…” he glanced away and then back at Lizzy, who was looking at him as if he…as if he mattered. “Are you sure?” He finally asked, a little afraid, a little hesitant, and so very much in love.

“I am.” She held out her hand, rose palm open. “Come to bed?” She asked, with soft eyes and a secret smile that made him want to dream of summers without end.

Who kills all the flowers? Neither. Joanne brings Lizzy bundles and bouquets of her favorite flowers (pink peonies) and ties them all with a green silk ribbon. He’s terribly insecure about the status of their relationship, constantly worried that Lizzy might leave him so he purchases beautiful and decadent gifts in an attempt to compensate for some invisible imbalance that, in Lizzy’s opinion, simply isn’t there.

Who eats all the candy before Halloween? Lizzy—but only because Joanne buys her her favorite Swiss chocolates by the boxful.

(That and he secretly likes kissing the chocolate off of Lizzy’s lips.)

Who takes the longest showers? Lizzy XD she’s a water babe and loves all forms of aquatic activity—swimming, boating, oceans, lakes, ponds, and yes, showers/baths.

Joanne doesn’t mind either. He loves using the bathroom right after Lizzy because it smells like her—roses and peaches and white sunshine.

Who goes to bed at 5am but wakes up at 8am? Joanne. But recently, the nightmares that used to terrorize him have been occurring less and less frequently.

(Joanne breathes in and the scent of late blooming roses and summer peaches fill his senses. He turns his cheek, lips brushing against the nape of her neck as Lizzy shifts in her sleep, folding herself into him as his arms come to wrap around her body, embracing her fully. It’s so easy to dream, he smiles softly, when she’s here beside me.)

Who makes sure the other has a healthy breakfast? Joanne. A habit he picked up at Weston that he’s never been able to shed.

But truthfully, Lizzy loves breakfast time with Joanne. They sit outside on the terrence balcony, a spread of warm croissants, hot chocolate, fresh cut fruit, soft-boiled eggs, and smoked hickory harm tempting them.

Conversation flows easily and smiles are readily exchanged.

What pets do they have? An Afghan Hound named Lady May and an Irish Setter named Timothy Westmond.

Wedding

Who proposes? Joanne.

“It…it isn’t as if you must say yes,” he tried, cheeks burning as paced back and forth, unable to look her in the eye. “It’s only—you’re wonderful. And beautiful, and—” He swallowed, trying to make some sense of his haphazard thoughts that were all jumbled together in a terrible, desperate array that he seemed unable to express. “You’re dazzling,” he breathed, eyes fixed on her soft parted lips. “Incandescent. You’re light personified and sometimes, when I look at you, it’s agony, Elizabeth. Because I don’t know why you would want to bind yourself to me when there are so many others out there who could adore you twice as well as I do—“

She rose, suddenly, and in three quick strides was standing before him, hands clutching his own as she brought them up to her cheek.

“I don’t want to be adored.” She whispered, eyes a wild fire of love and beauty and all the sweetest things in life. “It’s as mother said: I was born with an enormous need for affection and a terrible need to give it.” She pressed a kiss to his hand, etched with half-moon crescents from how tightly he’d clenched his fists. “And there isn’t a person on this world I want to love more than you.”

Who actually enjoyed the planning? They both do! Lizzy and Joanne are the connoisseurs of color, style, and taste.

Would their wedding be small or grand? Grand! Joanne, heir of the dukedom of Beaufort, and Elizabeth, daughter to the marquess of Scotney getting married would be the social event of the season. Anyone who didn’t receive a creme and gilt colored invitation would turn their noses at the affair all while begging friends and acquaintances who did receive an invite to please take them along.

Which guest was happiest to see them get married? Tough call but most likely Edward. Out of everyone on this earth, Joanne is probably the only one Edward would ever entrust his baby sister’s heart and affection to.

Children

How many children would they have? 5 or 6—a big family because Lizzy has plenty of love to go around and Joanne, who’d been a loner for so long, adores each and every member of his ever expanding family.

Would they adopt or have them naturally? Naturally.

Who is the strictest parent? Surprisingly, Joanne. He wants his children to grow up with morals and values, wants them to honor their commitments, respect their teachers, work hard towards the goals they want to achieve, and always treat others with the same dignity and kindness he wished someone (anyone) would show him at Weston.

Are their children in homeschool or public school? Privately educated by tutors and governesses until they’re old enough to attend Weston.

(Yet when their bold, outspoken daughter Frances Claudia demanded the right to equal education, she cut her hair, stole her older brother’s clothes, and enrolled in Weston as Francis Dalles, a distant maternal cousin of Earl Phantomhive’s.

Joanne, upon discovering this, was more amused than horrified.)

Who is the favorite parent? They both are <3

Who checks on the kids in the middle of the night? They take turns. Some nights it’s Lizzy, other times it’s Joanne.

Who decorated the nursery? Lizzy and Joanne together. Pale blue walls with gold floral patterning, large crystalline windows to let in air and sunshine, gilt cradles with elaborate velvet draping, a collection of all the latest toys and trinkets from Funtom, and a bowl of red roses that Joanne replaces every other day.

#these two would be so cute holy heck #elizabeth midford #joanne harcourt #weston arc #black butler #kuroshitsuji #asks #replies #mod Nina

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twinkluffy · 8 years ago

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[AO3] TodoDeku fanfiction recommendations.

Hi there, this your local shipper trash with a longpost for TodoDeku fanfiction in AO3.

Fanfics with Smut/lemon will be rated with an “T” or “M” beside the tittle. I know we have people under 18 in the fandom and i want it to be a safe space for them (but I also know you little sinners will read it anyway because i was young once too)

all the link + summary under the cut.

Hamartia

She boils a pot of water and blinks away her tears

Oh my, oh my goodness!

He had been too absorbed in his own thoughts to even notice how dangerously close they got, young Todoroki had pushed his student against the wall and they seemed to be whispering, young Midoriya didn't look too freaked out and his face was definitely red. All Might watched as Midoriya's eyes softened and his hands came to rest upon Todoroki's shoulders, gasping when the other only pulled him closer for a warm looking embrace.

Oh my.

Clandestine [Rated M]

These dorms are a double edged sword, especially with the dual consolation and obstruction named Midoriya Izuku.

Crispiness of a fucking nerd

Awkward boyfriends have to practice after their first kiss goes horribly awry.

Passion

When he was young, Shouto knew the meaning of kindness. Then he manifested his Quirk. He became Todoroki after this. He locked his younger, naive self in the strongest safe box his mind could muster. Then he met Midoriya and remembered who he was.

Tie the knot [Rated M]

Todoroki and Midoriya's Bedroom Adventure.

Red Rope [Rated T]

Todoroki takes up an ancient, but beautiful form of art to practice. Midoriya slowly falls into it.

knock it back [Rated M]

Midoriya reads the label and his eyes bug out. "I know he's getting old, but your dad's going to notice this missing."

He grins. "So?"

or they waste some expensive wine.

(nothing really gay about it) [background pairs tsuchako and momojirou + sweet precious Kirishima]

If anyone had asked him what he thought he’d be doing at three that morning, Kirishima probably would have said “playing angry birds” or “making popcorn” or something. Definitely not playing wingman-slash-relationship-counselor to a hopelessly confused Todoroki Shouto.

And yet...

How would you feel

It’s Wednesday morning when Izuku’s mother texts him to remind him about his cousin’s wedding coming up the following weekend, and it’s Wednesday evening, when Izuku’s back in his room after classes and has time to call her, that she tells him she can’t go to the wedding with him.

An arrow to a blunde [AU]

In which Todoroki Enji tries to screw around with Shouto's life (again), but fails to account for the fact that his son's boyfriend has both backup and determination to spare.

Land and sea [AU]

Midoriya Izuku never expected to be the victim of a plane crash. He never expected to be trapped with nineteen other teenagers on a deserted island, either. Izuku also didn't expect to form such a strong relationship with Todoroki Shouto.

Painting the night with the sun

Heroism is not a low-risk occupation. Hospital waiting rooms are not pleasant places. Ochako's clothes are stained with her best friend's blood.

Today has not been a very good day.

Just a fantasy [Rated M]

Todoroki can't help but think about Midoriya even when things start to get hot. He wonders what it would be like if he were around for real to touch him. His imagination just goes wild with the thought of Midoriya being near him.

from somewhere within

Todoroki wants. He always wants.

Lace [Rated T]

“Welcome home, Izuku,” Todoroki says.

His radiance in the dark

In other dreams, the words they pass between them were minimal or at least indecipherable, with only the whisper of each other’s given name over and over. But now, Midoriya looks in Shouto’s eyes, says his name, and says, What are you so afraid of?

fake it till you make it

“Your d-d-d-date?” Izuku swears he’s overheating. He can almost feel the steam coming out of his ears. He’s lucky they’re the only ones in the room, because his face is so red, it could rival Kirishima’s hair.

“Yes. I would like it if you could pretend to be my boyfriend for the duration of the wedding,” Todoroki deadpans. “It would piss off my father.”

Up the wall

He was told love makes you weak.

Well, Todoroki would like to disagree.

I won’t just buy you a rose

Shouto decides to visit his mother for the first time in years, and decides to stop at a flower shop along the way.

He freezes in place, and before he can move again someone is bustling through the door behind the counter, all messy hair and wide green eyes. It’s a teenager, a little shorter than Shouto but probably the same age. He’s got a wide smile and there’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, which instantly draws Shouto’s attention. His fingers itch to rub it off.

Bedroom escapade [Rated M]

The sheets underneath them bundled and creased under the weight of their bodies. Midoriya grasped at the thin, white linens as Todoroki trailed his tongue ever so slowly down the other man's chest. Midoriya's back naturally curled at the feeling, Todoroki's tongue running over his lithe form and prominent ab muscles. Hands clung to Midoriya's waist, squeezing lightly as the younger man squirmed slightly.

I wish i could say all these things to you

Todoroki couldn’t help but want more, knowing his life means more with Midoriya in it. Wishing he could say how complete and whole he feels with him in his life. But willing pushing that aside for Midoriya to stay by his side for as long as possible.

Until one evening, a stinky dumpster cat aggressively entered their lives.

Plum blossoms

Todoroki visits Midoriya after an accident that takes a good chunk of his memory away, specifically his memory of All Might.

Luxury

He knew it wasn’t a good idea, but he just couldn’t help himself.

Study sessions

“My scar. Is it that bad, or something?”

The silence that followed was killer, making him wonder if asking was really worth it. Midoriya looks on at him with a mix of emotions before huffing out a sigh, sagging in his seat, coming to a conclusion. “You’re going to think I’m weird, Todoroki-kun.”

“Try me.”

Fight Club

In his defense, Izuku would mention the fact that they are fifteen and that sparring with an extremely attractive male – it‘s just the adrenaline rush, really - is bound to result in this. Social media had taught him that much, at least.

It‘s just his rotten luck that his 'handsome sparring partner' happens to be his friend Todoroki Shouto. Which is entirely unfair and really bad for Izuku‘s poor rabbit-heart.

(alternatively: Midoriya fights his sexuality, inferiority complex, feelings, and his crush)

a burger and extra salty fries

In his third year at UA, Todoroki Shouto works in a burger place, catches on fire and falls in love. Only two of those things are on purpose.

Or...Todoroki Shouto's exciting adventures in customer service.

Visions

Todoroki sees the glimpses of the future that he yearns for and he finds himself afraid.

contemplation

"If I die first, could you cremate me?"

Or, in which Midoriya has thoughts and Todoroki is a good boyfriend.

Let it go [Villain!Deku]

He’s got him this time. This time for real.

Carnations and delphiniums

The awkward atmosphere had dissipated, and Todoroki felt a bit more vulnerable like that. Just him and Midoriya, hands intertwined, sharing some new unspoken secret that neither of them really knew what it was.

The Earth could have split in half right then and there, and Todoroki wouldn't have ever noticed.

Petals for you [Hanahaki au]

“You’re pretty.”

Shouto’s eyes widened, as he looked at the boy sitting opposite of him. Midoriya was staring at him with such concentration, that he felt overwhelmed.

just like falling asleep (or falling in love)

From the very beginning, Todoroki's always been walking on unsteady ground. He thinks of falling and he thinks of landing, and he isn't sure which he's more terrified of.

I’d fight for you

“What the hell is this?” Todoroki shot up at the voice, causing Midoriya to lose his balance, and tumble off his boyfriend and back onto the couch. It would have been quite comical, had the situation not become deadly in mere seconds.

“You’re not supposed to be back yet.”

Look out your window

“Izuku.” Todoroki placed a kiss on the tip of Midoriya’s nose. “Izuku.” His cheek. “Izuku.” His mouth.

They'd finally decided to call each other by their first names and Todoroki didn't know how he'd survived until now not saying it.

He leaned down and kissed Midoriya again. “Izuku.”

If you’re looking for something more specific send me a message/ask! ❤

#tododeku #midotodo #todoizu #fanfiction #fanfic rec #bnha #bnha fanfiction #longpost #if you write any of those i love you so much #read fanfiction is the only thing i do #((((fuck college vibes))))#also let the tododeku ship set sail

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