#I was SO tempted to add more humour to this than what I already have | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wackulart · 1 year

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It'd be interesting to see you try your hand at horror themed "Philip meets monster belos" sort of thing, a bit of "look at what you will become in the future"

ITS BEEN A MINUTE

Let's see if I can finally get these requests done

[Philip Wittebane]

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall ----------------------------

Philip believed he had earned a proper night's sleep.

After such a horrid week, all he wanted was to shut his eyes and drift off into the night. He tossed down his satchel and sat on the floor. He began to rifle through it, pulling out a jacket he had stolen and placing it down on the cave floor. He laid onto the ground, shutting his eyes and sighing.

As he began to settle himself, he heard the sounds of muffled annoyance.

With a sigh, his eyes fluttered open. He reached for the satchel to pull out the round glass disc adorned with a moon symbol. The second he had, the shadow child flew around the room.

"Another cave? Aww man, can't we go to a waterfall or something next time?" The collector whined.

Philip pinched his nose bridge in frustration. "Collector, please. I am looking to get some rest as of right now."

The child pouted and their shadow bounced onto the floor in front of where the human sat. They tapped the tips of their fingers together as they tried to makeshift large adorable eyes.

They made sure to add a dramatic sniff. "But I'll be so bored if you sleep now, can't we play at least one game?"

It took all of the human's strength to not shatter the disc right then and there. Philip had no desire to sit there and entertain this child, he wanted to sleep on the cave floor and push through the next day like any other. Looking down at the shadow, a simple no almost left him before he groaned.

Philip lifted one finger up, the collector immediately understood the sign as permission, spinning around a few times before crying out excitedly and rambling about a list of games that could be played.

"In exchange," The human began. "You will teach me another spell."

The collector hummed for a moment, shrugging right after. "Mmm, okay! First we play though!"

Unfortunately they had played a game of hide and seek, Philip of course having to find Collector in a dark cave. His only source of light being from the torch he brought to find the cave in the first place.

He had to look for a shadow in a dark cave with nothing but a dim flame.

Why did he ever agree to this?

No longer wanting to waste any more time than he had to, he began walking through the cave.

Philip moved the torch as he stepped, lighting up hidden cracks and crevices of the cave. There wasn't much effort as the human had already been rather exhausted.

A few more steps and he already found himself tempted to simply ask if they could do this in the morning. The only thing preventing it was his desperate need for knowledge, he couldn't help his pursuit. When there was so much to learn, how could one simply close their mind to it?

Perhaps he could receive a hint.

He opened up his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it as he heard loud thumping a few feet back from where he had been. Philip turned to it and realized that the landscape had somehow changed. The entrance where he walked had disappeared into a much longer path that was shrouded in darkness.

Confusion took hold as he ran to the wall of the cave and lit up the path. His light seemed to have no effect however as if it were a magical sort of darkness. The man stumbled backwards as he felt completely disoriented by what was going on.

Before he could think any longer, the thumping returned this time from the other side of the cave. Panic setting in finally, he whipped around and held the torch in front of him defensively. The flame nearly flickered out from the speed of his turn, but rekindled after a moment.

What was going on?

"Collector?" Philip called out with a nervous wavering in his voice. "I don't appreciate this sort of humour if this is what you believe is a joke!"

His voice merely echoed throughout the cave, returning back to him. Though he could have sworn he heard another voice just beneath the echo. Something deeper, something ragged and aged.

Something monstrous.

A loud growl rumbled from behind him and he fell forward, immediately rotating himself to see the creature as he crawled away.

In the depths of the dark cave, two glowing blue eyes gradually grew bigger as it approached. It let out that sickening wet roar and Philip moved to get to his feet. The second he tried, a large hand grabbed him by his ankle and dragged him back to the ground.

He tried to grab at the rocks on the ground to get this creature off of him. Philip tried to scream yet his mouth made no noise, no matter how much force he put onto his lungs.

The monster's green and brown skull adorned with large antlers and matted, greying hair leaned down to face Philip. His heart was beating so hard that he imagined it would jump from his chest at any moment.

With a horrible shaken noise, the demon took a long breath before it cried out a single sentence with all of its might.

"YOU CANNOT DIE!"

Finally, Philip yelled as loud as he could and it had been enough to jolt him from his sleep. His body shot upwards as he woke up screaming, his hands clawing at his chest as he felt his entire body shake.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked around, desperately trying to make sure the monster hadn't returned. He stood up and ran to the cave entrance, falling to his knees as he saw the night sky.

His breathing slowly calmed yet his body did not cease to shake.

What a dreadful nightmare.

#its so late i hope this is good DSBHFGDD #cross fingers i can at least get a few more done #toh writing #the owl house writing #philip wittebane #monster belos #belos #emperor belos #my writing #the collector #the owl house #toh

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pingutats · 3 years

Text

wake up in some promised land

despite his best efforts to keep their relationship out of the public eye, harry & y/n are photographed together as they leave a party one night —and harry has an interview the very next morning.

warnings: a little bit of angst about trying to navigate fame and a relationship. harry has a foul mouth. but there’s a happy ending!

word count: 2.2k

. . . . .

Harry was decidedly not in a good mood.

It had been a late night. He’d had a few more drinks than he usually did. In his defence it was earned—he’d just released an album, it was soaring to great heights on iTunes charts all over the world and already receiving overwhelmingly positive reviews—so sue him if he indulged in some expensive champagne, a couple fancy cocktails, too many rounds of shots for him to remember clearly… It was a good night all around.

The headache he has right now though, brought on by the sudden blare of his alarm (far earlier than he would have preferred), threatens to tarnish the memory. He even considers swearing off drinking forever so he’ll never suffer like this again.

When he voices this intention to a dozing Y/N as he pulls a shirt on, his only feedback is a pillow-muffled, “You’re such an old man, H.”

He leans over the bed and kisses the small part of her forehead that’s exposed between the pillow and the blanket. “Come on, love. Time to get up.”

“You can get up. I don’t have a radio appearance to make.” She jerks the blanket up to cover her head entirely. “I’ll stay here, thank you very much.”

He manages to drag her downstairs with him anyway, with promises of making her coffee and a hot breakfast. In the kitchen she yawns and stretches, the over-sized sleep shirt opening like bat wings as she raises her arms above her head. He has to force his fond gaze away to concentrate on turning the coffee machine on and pulling eggs out of the fridge.

“This is a really ungodly hour,” she comments, watching him rummage around in a cupboard for a frying pan.

“No such thing as a good night’s sleep when you’re as successful as I am,” he tells her wisely.

She doesn’t even indulge him with a laugh, which tells him exactly how tired she is.

The coffee’s done quickly—Harry is so addicted to the stuff he could probably make it in his sleep with all the practise he’s had—and she grabs the cup from him with greedy fingers, closing her eyes and sipping as she’s perched up on the counter.

Harry nearly lets out a moan when the caffeine hits his lips. It surely can’t work that quickly, but already he’s starting to feel alive again. He turns to the stovetop and cracks the eggs in the frypan with one hand, using his other hand to cling to his cup for dear life.

His phone starts ringing and the sound pierces through his head. His manager’s name is displayed, which is a good thing because if it was anyone else calling right now Harry would probably be tempted to kill them, and even if no publicity is bad publicity, he’s not sure a murder charge would be good for his album sales. He slides his finger across the screen to answer it and tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder while he adjusts the heat on the stove.

“Hey, Jeff,” he says.

Jeff laughs on the other end. “You sound fucked.”

“Big night,” Harry grumbles. “You don’t sound to pretty yourself.”

“All I’m saying is you better get yourself set in the next half hour, ‘cause a voice like that on the radio isn’t going to help you sell records.”

“I’m makin’ breakfast,” Harry retorts. “Got a coffee, I’ll be fine—oh, shit—fuck!” He’s mixed up his hands as he tried to flip the eggs, and poured coffee in the frypan. “Give me a second.”

He sets his coffee down on the counter and unsticks his phone from his cheek, turning it on speaker and placing it next to his cup. He stares at mess in the frypan and decides he’s going to have to try drain the liquid into the sink, without losing the eggs. He accepts this challenge with humility and grace, because he knows it’s his own stupid fault.

Y/N is cackling behind him. On any other day he might have been annoyed, but her laughter this morning just means that she’s in a better mood than earlier. He’d give anything to keep her happy, so if it takes fucking up their breakfast to have her smiling—so be it.

“Okay,” Harry says to Jeff once he’s secured the situation.

“Is everything okay over there?” Jeff’s voice is slightly tinny through the phone speaker, but his stress is evident in his tone.

“Yeah, we’re just—“ he looks at the eggs, dyed brown by the coffee, and glances over his shoulder apologetically at Y/N. “We’re having caffeinated eggs. You’re on speaker. Y/N’s here too. Say hi, baby.”

“Hey, Jeff,” Y/N chirps.

Jeff sighs. “Hi. Listen, it‘s probably good that you both hear this anyway. There are a couple of photos of the two of you from last night that are doing the rounds on Twitter this morning.”

Harry stiffens. “What?”

Here’s the thing: Harry and Y/N are definitely an item. It’s happened pretty quickly. They’ve been dating for a few months and now whenever they’re in the same city they’re practically living together. They’ve said “I love you” to each other often enough that its utterance isn’t a special occasion anymore. So, sure, they’re boyfriend-girlfriend, and if all goes to Harry’s plan, they’ll be more than that soon enough.

But in the meantime, she’s also his best-kept secret. There have been rumours, of course. They’ve been spotted having lunch together or going on walks. Anyone paying attention knows they’re good friends, but Harry has been careful not to let the other dimension of their relationship slip out into public yet. He conducts himself on public outings (secretly dates) like a Victorian gentleman, constantly vigilant that his affection never goes beyond what’s appropriate between friends.

“They’re not bad,” Jeff says quickly. “It’s just pretty obvious what’s going on. I’ll send them to you, hang on.”

Y/N slides off the bench and comes to stand right behind Harry, leaning around him to stare at the phone. The minute of waiting for the photos to come through feels like forever. Y/N must sense his tension, because she puts her hands on his shoulders and squeezes.

A notification pops up at the top of his screen: from Jeff, 8 images attached. He taps it quickly and frowns at the photos.

They must have been taken as they were leaving the bar that the album release party was at. He notices Jeff and others also crowded on the pavement outside, lit by the orange glow of streetlights. The focus, however, is of course on Harry and Y/N, who were putting on something of a show for all their friends—and, apparently, the rest of the world.

The first couple are okay. There Harry is, his arm slung around Y/N, clearly not sober as he bellows something up to the sky with a massive grin on his face and closed eyes. They were singing, he vaguely remembers, the karaoke they were doing inside the bar spilling over the rest of their night. Y/N is laughing at him, clapping her hands together.

Harry drags his finger up the screen to scroll to the next photos in Jeff’s chain. These ones start to reveal the two of them as much more than just friends. The arm around her dropped to her waist, pulling her into his body. And then he was bending his head down. And then he was kissing her.

He scrolls down even further.

In this one, he’s groping her ass in full view of the camera.

“Harry, you lecher!” Y/N scolds, smacking his arm in good humour.

He just shakes his head, staring at the photo. “There’s no plausible deniability, is there?”

“There isn’t,” Jeff says over the phone. He laughs weakly. “You two put on a real show.” He must sense the panic that Harry’s feeling, because he adds, “Listen, Harry, I can blacklist questions about it if you want. Just tell me what you want to do.”

Harry looks at Y/N, chewing on his lip. He feels like a teenager again, out of control of his narrative and at the mercy of the media. He’s meticulously developed his skills of privacy for years, now, and one night of insobriety and bad luck undid it all.

Jeff clears his throat. “The thing with blacklisting is that it might raise more questions. And even if you don’t talk about it, you’ve gotta remember that everyone else will be.”

“Yeah.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Look—“

Y/N puts her hand on his cheek, patting him. “Hey,” she says gently. “It’s okay.”

He sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth and holds it in for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says finally with a sigh.

She scoffs. “You’re not the only one in these photos.”

He frowns. She doesn’t get that he’s apologising for more than just the photos. It’s the fact that they have to deal with this at all, that it’s such a big deal for them to simply act like a normal couple. It’s the fact that it’s him, and he is who he is.

“H,” she presses further. “It’s up to you. Your decision. But I want you to know that I’m happy whichever way you choose.”

He searches her eyes for any hint of doubt. She didn’t manage to clean off all her make-up last night, and there’s a smear of glitter on her temple and dark smudges of mascara underneath her eyes. She looks tired, but she’s definitely serious about what she’s saying.

“You get what it means to be public with me, though,” he says at last. He hesitates. “It’s… intense.”

She shrugs and gives him a cocky grin. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” She’s holding his head in her hands, her fingers smoothing his unruly curls off his face. “It’s just a few photos. It isn’t everything.”

It isn’t everything. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then leans down to kiss her gently. It’s just an innocent peck, but the feel of her soft lips against his is enough to ground him.

Jeff clears his throat awkwardly.

They break apart with embarrassed smiles. “Sorry,” Harry says, but he isn’t really.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, sounding uncomfortable. “You’re going to have to make a decision soon, because we’re really cutting it fine.”

Harry looks at Y/N, who nods.

He turns back to the phone. “Don’t worry about it,” Harry says. “Let them ask the questions.”

“Yeah?” Jeff asks. “Okay then, that saves me a load of trouble. Good luck, man. Enjoy it.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, hanging up with a sharp tap on the screen. He turns around to Y/N with a grin on his face. “Where were we…”

Y/N giggles as he gathers her into his arms, pulling her in close for a kiss that no one else can see or hear, a kiss just for them. When she pulls back to breath, he peppers his lips all over her face until she’s squirming away—“Harry, that tickles!”

He lands one last kiss on her cheek before his gaze lands on the time display on the oven behind her, which tells him he has ten minutes before he needs to be on the Zoom call for the interview.

She notices the sudden shift in his demeanour and glances behind her to see what caused it. She turns back around. “I’ll sit with you.”

He nods. “Yeah, okay, I’d like that.”

“It’s Harry Styles!” the presenter cries.

“It’s me! Hello, hello,” he says, waving at the screen. The laptop is set on the coffee table and he’s sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he grins at the screen. “How are ya?”

“Oh, we’re wonderful,” the presenter replies. “More importantly, how are you? Looks like you had a big night last night, judging by these photos we’re seeing!”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Big night,” he echoes, dragging out the word.

The presenter laughs. “Sounds like a great time. Well deserved after this masterpiece of an album. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re quite close with somebody there. Would you explain what’s going on here, Harry?”

Harry peers at the photo displayed on his computer screen, even though he knows exactly what it will be. The one they chose is a sweet one, with Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck and kiss that he seems to be melting into. He can’t suppress his smile at that. “Oh, well,” he says. “That’s my friend Y/N.”

The presenter raises his eyebrows at that. “Good friend, is she?”

Harry glances up over the laptop to look at Y/N, sitting on the other couch, her cheeks pink and round from her smile. Harry surreptitiously reaches his arm towards her, out of frame, and she leans forward to hold his hand.

“She is. She’s a lovely girl.” He squeezes her hand. “Yeah, we’re very good friends.”

. . . . .

thank you so much for reading! this fic is based on a request from @kissmyaxe140 — i really intended this to be a shorter blurb of a few hundred words, but i’m incapable of brevity. apparently. this grew into a little monster but i rlly had fun writing it!! the title is a lyric from secret life by bleachers.

if you liked this fic, a reblog and/or any kind of feedback would be very much appreciated. my masterlist can be found here and you can send me messages here. have a gorgeous day!

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #fic

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jaespresso · 3 years

Text

make a wish - j.jh

pairing:: father’s business partner!jaehyun x reader

word count:: 1.7k

summary:: having a crush on your dad’s best friend and business partner and finally fucking him on your birthday, while you parents are attending a business meeting across the world.

warnings:: off-limits crush, implication of riding, getting fucked by your dad’s best friend and business partner, unprotected sex (please use protection!)

Mr Jung Jaehyun, the CEO of Jung Group Incorporation. A massive, multinational, family owned business that offered pretty much anything, from over-the-counter medication and electronics to flights and even had an upper hand in the telecommunications industry. It really did offer pretty much anything.

He was also a close friend of your father’s, one of his best business partners and your long time off-limits crush, for obvious reasons. He was twice your age and your dad’s work friend as you had described to your best friend.

You hadn’t expected to be in his company for your own eighteenth birthday but you were more than happy to be spending a week before Christmas in his villa. You were determined to make a move, at least show him how you felt but he seemed very busy with his work in his office upstairs so you returned to the living room where the fireplace was on, cuddling up onto the sofa with one of the books that piqued your interest from his bookcase. If Mr Jung had work to be getting on with, so did you.

The large windows of the villa looked over a beautiful snowy landscape. Mr Jung didn’t live here, he had an apartment in the city too but occasionally came to his villa to get a break from the fast city life.

You were half way through the book when the man himself came to join you with a cake in his hands. “Happy birthday, angel.” Mr Jung speaks, his dimples appearing when he smiles and your face lights up.

So, he did remember.

“Oh, Mr Jung, thank you.” You place your book down, before clasp your hands together as you stand up to admire the cake. It’s a cookies and cream themed, with a few Oreos placed on swirls of cream.

“Quick. Make a wish.”

You close your eyes, thinking of something you really wanted which was to be dicked down by your father’s best friend and then blow out the candles. Soon, the two of you are both seated on his couch, side by side and devouring the Oreo cake. Jaehyun finishes his slice first, placing the plate on the glass coffee table with the remaining cake.

“So, you’re eighteen now?” He asks, turning his figure to face you and resting his head on his hand. He’s still wearing his work shirt, but his navy blue blazer is hung on his chair back in his office and you’ll admit, Mr Jung looks awful good in navy blue.

“Yeah.” You hum, taking another spoonful of the cake before meeting his gaze. “Can’t believe that I’m an adult now.” You add with the intention to make it obvious that now you were just like him and no longer a child.

To your dismay, Jaehyun doesn’t seem to catch onto the actual meaning of your words and your brain goes into overtime to come up with another way to confess to him. “Mr Jung?”

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N?” He asks with humour present in his tone.

“Have you ever liked anyone?”

“Well, o-of course.” Jaehyun watches you lick the cream off the spoon as you maintain eye contact with him and not so subtly grabs a cushion to cover his lap. It’s an innocent movement but it’s got all the blood rushing to his lower region.

“What’s wrong, Mr Jung?” You ask in a soft tone and Jaehyun turns his head, finding the snow covered scenery outside his window more interesting. His ears are also turning a deep shade of red and you know you’ve cornered him. Placing your empty plate next to his on the table before settling yourself on his knee and Jaehyun looks at you, speechless.

“Was it something I said?” You ask in a child-like tone, though your position might suggest otherwise. You pull back the white cushion from Jaehyun’s grip to be met by a wonderful sight and Jaehyun chuckles, rather embarrassed. “You’re a curious thing aren’t you?”

“Did I do that?” You ask in a naïve tone, knowing the answer already.

“Yes, baby- Oh, Y/N!” Mr Jung gasps when you apply light pressure to the tip of his cock, giving it a light squeeze and he grabs your wrist. “Don’t start something you can’t stop.”

His tone is daring and you take it as a challenge. “Or what?” You scoot closer to him on his lap, the feeling of his hard dick making your core excited and you just want Mr Jung to yank off your leggings, before shoving his dick inside you. As you bring your lips to his ears, to whisper something to him, despite you two being the only two in the whole house.

“Will you fuck me if I misbehave? Until I’m sobbing? What if that’s exactly what I want? Hmm? Will you give me what I want, Mr Jung?” Your own face seems to be heating up and you definitely don’t know where all this is coming from. You’re never been this bluntly honest with anyone, not even your best friend but it’s something most CEO’s had and if you were going to follow your father’s footsteps, you had to begin somewhere.

“Your mouth sure does run, doesn’t it, princess?” He asks, his confidence making a reappearance and his hand lets go of your wrist, allowing you to hold onto his broad shoulders. His hands go up to settle themselves onto your hips and you melt into his grip. “Might as well give you what you want. It’s your birthday after all.”

Jaehyun lifts you up, helping you yank off your leggings and unzipping his own navy blue trousers, pushing his boxers down before bringing out his large cock. He’s planned on fingering your first on the couch, then maybe take you up to his room and finish there but you are too impatient to wait. You drip your fingers down to your core and push your underwear aside, spreading your wet lips before sliding himself inside you, earning a low grunt from Mr Jung.

You moan aloud, sinking down onto the rest of his length and oh, god you realise just how big he is.

“Y/N, con-condom. I need to go-oh fuck, get a condom.” Jaehyun feels you clenching around him as you adjust to his length and you whine. You feel like you’re going to be split in half if Mr Jung moves so you experimentally and lightly bounce around to gain some sort of friction that’ll distract you from the pain.

“I’m, I’m on the pill, Mr Jung.” You inform him, your eyes squeezed shut and your body feels as if it is on fire. “Mr Jung, you’re so big.” You breathe out and Jaehyun pushes your back, letting your back hit the couch as he draws himself out of you.

“That’s because I need to prepare you tight cunt for my big cock.” He traces circles on your centre with his finger, rubbing your clit with his thumb and making you squirm.

Desperate for his touch, you push the oversized jumper you were wearing to reveal the blue lace bra you were wearing. It matched your underwear and you wore it for him, truth be told.

“This for me, princess?” He asks with curiosity, admiring the delicate fabric on your figure and he carefully removes your underwear. He doesn’t want to rip it, you look so pretty in it and he might get you to wear it again if you were willing to.

“Yes, daddy. Just for you.”

“Oh, baby.” He inserts two fingers inside your dripping cunt. “I think you deserve a good fucking.”

You whine, still desperate despite having two of his fingers inside you and decide to push the bra up, giving him a nice view of our bare breasts.

Mr Jung leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your nipples and you bury one of your hands in his thick, dark brown hair. He then let’s his tongue swirl around the bud before taking the thing into his mouth and sucking on it.

You gasped, loving the sensation and began grinding on his palm. “Oh-Oh, Mr Jung!”

He feels your tug at his hair encouragingly and makes himself busy sucking and kissing the other nipple. Mr Jung curls up his fingers to reach that spot and a familiar knot begins to form. “Right-right there, Mr Jung!” You nearly scream, thrusting yourself up into him with your heels buried in the couch and Mr Jung rubs the tips of his fingers over the sponge-y spot again, making your body tremble with pleasure.

“Here, Princess?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes-” You swear would’ve nearly cried at Mr Jung’s teasing tone but the man registers you desperate cries and returns back to stretching you out with his fingers.

“Mr-Mr Jung, I-I...I’m close-so close.” You sob out as the sweet burning pleasure makes the knot in your stomach tighten and you begin to grind more harshly on his hand. The mixture of Mr Jung’s mouth around your nipple, his fingers deep inside you and his thumb toying with your clit are all the factors that push you over the edge. When you orgasm, you squeeze your eyes shut and your mouth is open in a ‘o’ shape as Mr Jung’s messy and harsh movements assist you in your orgasm.

You exhale deeply, only realising just then that your eyes have teared up and Mr Jung moves back, a string of saliva connecting his mouth with your nipple.

He lets out a deep sigh before chuckling at your dishevelled figure on the couch, underneath his towering body. “Shall we take round two in my bedroom?” He offers in a tempting tone and who could decline such a pleasant offer?

Mr Jung gave you your birthday wish and the following days fell into a similar pattern which consisted of you two fuck nearly on every available surface before your parents arrived for Christmas. Indeed, you couldn’t walk the next day because of the good fucking as Mr Jung had referred to, but gladly you were spending most days in his bed, in his company and being the gentleman he was, he looked after you.

Oh, what an unexpected and great way to celebrate your birthday.

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glofigs · 3 years

Link

With the German Film Festival currently underway across all major Australian cities (even Melbourne is getting an extended season), our own Peter Gray was fortunate enough to sit in on a roundtable event with writer/director Maria Schrader about her comedic and contemplative feature I’m Your Man (read our review here), where she discussed the unique casting of Dan Stevens as a German-speaking robot and how it was to subvert the “girl meets boy” narrative trope.

I appreciated going into this film knowing very little about it and that you took this “girl meets boy” trope and really turned it on its head. Was the point essentially to exaggerate that trope with this movie?

It only really occurred to me (then) how used to those types of stories we are. We’re used to growing up where women are more objectified than men. It’s great fun to add narratives or visuals which we are not so used to seeing. It was already fun writing (the script) and playing with male and female perception. Seeing it in front of me was when I realised that we aren’t used to that. A female asking a very good looking, Cary Grant-like protagonist “Please pull down your pants and let me see your dick!”

The casting of Dan Stevens is interesting. Was he cast due to him being able to speak German? Was he somehow your “perfect man”?

During the writing of the script I asked myself “Who can that be?” This is my first pure German language movie and I’ve always worked with various casts and various languages. Here, I was with a German script, and I thought let’s look abroad for (the character of) Tom. Let’s find someone who’s not so present in the German-speaking region. Let’s find someone who brings a foreign element with this character. Since this is almost a fairytale set-up, it’s like an agreement between me and (the audience) that Tom is a robot. I thought it would be nice to have an actor that German audiences don’t immediately recognise.

There was so much to ask of this actor, so I needed him to be very good looking. Someone who everyone agreed that he was good looking, a classical appearance. As well, someone who was capable of speaking these very complicated German sentences. Tom’s dialogue is very elevated that even a native speaker would have had problems delivering those lines as fast as he did. I couldn’t be happier with Dan Stevens.

When you are directing actors such as those you worked with and asking them to play artificial intelligent robots, what direction do you give them?

It started from our very first meeting – and we met (on a Zoom call) – and our first question was “Do we want to see the machine?” Is it all in our heads or all naturalistic? Because you could read the script like that. I loved the idea that the machine is visible, because that is the big hurdle (for the lead character). It’s so interesting, I could talk about this forever. We had many ideas. It was like ping pong, like sparring partners.

What is too much? What is suitable? What is he doing with the eyes? These are my favourite moments because you see the humour and the irony that Dan Stevens brings to the story. He enjoys having Tom completely disorientated. We created a selection of material, and when it came to shooting I could ask (Dan) to elevate the machine element. He was a wonderful partner for this. He’s such a controlled and precise actor. It was pure joy.

I felt like this story could have been treated with a horror mentality. Was it deliberate to diverge from that?

We are all so used to that, right? That narrative of man creating artificial (life) and that gets out of control. I only really realised this when I was on set, the interesting thing is that (the character of) Alma is used to that story. She’s seen those movies. Even though she detests the whole concept of Tom, she gives him so much attention. He is unpredictable to her. I’m sorry I’m not really answering the questions (laughs).

It was tempting to not lead this story in the usual path of the machine develops ambition, the machine develops the call for freedom…it was tempting. Maybe Alma is threatened by someone like Tom because he’s so far ahead. They might be able to create a society that’s much more peaceful, that’s not driven by egotism. They might be the better human than we are. This is a crazy thought for people.

I’m Your Man is screening as part of this year’s German Film Festival, which is running across major Australian cities between May 25th and July 4th, 2021.

#dan stevens #I'm Your Man #maria schrader

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

A Night in Heaven

A/N: I have no idea why I thought that using my own doodling and handwriting in the banner is a good idea but, um, adds some texture to it I guess?

(Much thanks to @leeswritingworld for making the masterlist for this collab! Go read the masterpost before you carry on so you would know what is happening^^)

Word count: 3022

Warning: nsfw below cut

Taking the box in your hand, you tilted your head at how it weighted barely anything considering the size of the card box it came in. Carefully sliding the cutter into the seal at the edges, you sighed when you opened it to see bubble wraps stuffed to the brim.

You groaned as you hold onto the box for support and stab the blade in there. Whatever it was in there, it better be something worth all this hustle.

You weren’t sure if you were underwhelmed or amused when you finally got to the Center if the parcel to find a quaint ornament of a Portuguese rooster. It was colourful, carefully carved out on a small piece of wood with paint dotting on the vibrant patterns on the rooster’s body. The tiny statue was small enough to be placed in your palm and as you inspected it, you wondered if it was supposed to hint at anything.

Was it supposed to be a play on words or did you overthink too much and steered the wheel towards the dirtiest direction you could think of?

Looking into the box once more, you held it upside down to see if there was anything else in there. Reaching into the depths of the box and rummaging your hand in there, you paused when the tips of your finger touched a sharp line.

It was a card. A small card stuck under the pile of bubble wrap, very easy to just throw away with the rest of the trash if you didn’t look for it specifically. You were expecting an address or at least a room number, but there was none of those among the line of scribbled letters in black marker on the plain white card.

Was this really the right place? We’re you really going to meet up with a stranger who presumably you would really, and like really, “get to know” each other at this place? There? You pondered as you read it once again, but the fact that it only told you to go to the rooftop of a nearby office building this weekend at 6 in the evening didn’t change as the words stared back at you.

You sighed as you placed the card on your table and put the rooster on it as a paperweight. Fine, you would go, you thought to yourself as you looked as the rooster now standing happily at a corner, it was not like there was anything else you could do this weekend anyway.

To say that you were nervous would not exactly be far from the truth but in all honesty, you were more doubtful and confused as to whether this was legit or not. Climbing up the back stairs from the emergency exit, your heart beat faster and faster as the number on each floor increased until there were no more stairs ahead of you.

Putting your hand on the railing of the heavy-duty metal door, you took your phone out to check the time, your hand brushing past the small wooden ornament as you reached into your pocket. You were equal part relieved and anxious when you saw that you were a few minutes early from the supposed time.

You waited as time passed, your hand froze in place as you stood there. You were afraid of looking too desperate by waiting for the person to show up even for just a few minutes when you weren’t even sure if they would show up at all. You sighed when the number on the clock finally jumped, showing the glowing 1800 on your screen.

Taking a deep breath before pushing the door open with a sudden force, the cold evening wind hit your face as you stepped out, a sharp contrast to the stuffy stairway. You looked around the empty rooftop, the unsettling idea of being alone started to stir up inside you.

Should you wait? Part of you wanted to give whoever you were supposed to be waiting for the benefit of the doubt, but another part of you was already contemplating at what point should you assume that you had been stood up on and go home.

You took the rooster out of your pocket and mindlessly traced the smooth edges of the polished wood. To be quite honest, you had grown to be rather fond of having this little fella at the corner of your home, staring at you with those big eyes as you carried out your errands. If no one showed up by the end of this, does that mean that you got to keep the rooster as a compensation?

“Seems like you quite like that thing.”

You jumped at the sudden voice, feeling slightly embarrassed by how squirmish you were after regaining your senses as the person laughed. Your jaw hung open when you looked up to see who was standing in front of you. No, not standing, mid-air in front of you. The man smirked as you stared at him with wide e the s and a dumbfounded expression, his red wings flapping leisurely as he landed on the edge with ease.

If there was anyone you were expecting to see, the number two hero of the nation would be ag the very, very back of the list.

“I would say I’m growing attached.” Still processing the situation you were in, you tried your best to calm yourself down and responded like you would had it been anyone else that showed up, swallowing the nerve of talking to someone who was basically a celebrity and smiled.

The corner of Hawks’ lips tilted up to form a crooked smile. He did not know what he was expecting when he signed up for that sketchy looking website. There were people lining up just for a chance to spend time with him. If it was just the company he wanted, he probably didn’t need to go through all the risk. An urge for a thrill maybe, or perhaps it had been a long time since he had met someone new outside of his professional relations that he was willing to give it a go just for a chance for some good fun.

He flew to the rooftop he would pass by every day after patrol that evening, fully prepared to fake his exit if whoever he was paired with happened to be one of those people who would make a big deal over who he was. But seeing that you at least had a sense of humour, there seemed to be no need for his fake “emergency phone call” after all.

"Ready to go?"

"Go where?" You asked as you shook his extended hand, his finger soothing over the skin at your wrist as he didn’t seem to have any intention to let go.

He chuckled. "You wouldn’t think that this," he motioned to your surroundings, "is where we’re spending this little ‘night in heaven’ of ours, will you?"

You shrugged, heat slowly creeping onto your face at how he held onto your hand. A smirk danced across his handsome features. Taking your hand, he pulled you closer to him so that you could reach your arm to his back and you instinctively hooked it around his neck. Goosebumps rose on your skin as his hand sneaked onto your waist and the other at your thigh.

You knew you were in for a wild night when he took off, but not before sending shivers down your spine when he leaned down and whispered into your ear, telling you to hold on tight.

When you signed up for this, you were fully expecting to meet up with a random soneone and just get down to business right away. To say that you were pleasantly surprised when you saw a table nicely set up inside of the hotel room when you leaped in through the window was an understatement.

“Classy.” You grinned when he pulled out a chair for you, leaning your jaw on your hand as he took out the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket at the side.

“I might have wings, but I’m no animal.” He said as he handed you one of the thin glasses, “Cheers.”

You smiled, taking the glass before clinking it against his. “Cheers.”

Hawks was charming, more charming when he was sitting in front of you laughing along something you said than he was on tv, which really said something about the hero. You were hoping that it was more than the glasses of champagne you poured down your throat, but this was the most fun you have had with a guy in a very long while, and you could swear that he was getting flirtier and flirtier as you talked, and the excitement of what that could mean bubbled up inside of you.

You watched in anticipation when he got up, his eyes never leaving you as he walked over to your side. Leaning down, his fingers brushed against yours as he took the empty champagne glass from your hand and placed it on the table. You could feel his warm breath against your face with how close he was, the scent of the wine in his breath still apparent and it added to the intoxication he was already putting you through with his close proximity. You smiled as you toyed with the hair at his neck. If you had moved any closer, your lips would touch.

“I hope that I’m living up to your expectations so far?”

“You’ve exceeded all of them,” you whispered, very tempted to just close the bit of painful distant left between the two of you. The way you could feel every vibration of his voice was sending heat down your core, and you were not sure how much longer you could endure being under his presence without embarrassing yourself. “all except one--”

Your words were cut short when he slammed his lips against yours. You kissed him back, your hand hanging around his neck as you welcomed the way his tongue invaded your mouth. He pulled you up with a hand around your waist, his lips never stop as he pressed you against the wall. A gasp escaped your lips when he trailed down, leaving wet kisses along your jaw and the sensitive skin of your neck.

Breath hitched at the back of your throat when his hand hiked up your dress until it was around your waist, exposing the thin lace that covered your most intimate areas before reaching further up and pushed your bra to the side. Hearing how your whimpering got louder as his soft lips ghosted across that one particular spot, he groaned at how you shuddered when he sucked at the spot all while teasingly circling your nipple with the pad of his finger.

“You were promised heaven," you were holding onto his arms desperately as the hand that wasn’t toying with your chest moved down the side of your waist, a loud moan echoed off the walls when his finger dipped into the band of your panties and found its way to your crotch that was already slick with arousal. “and I won’t stop until I give you what you came for.”

Your mind was clouded over with a haze as he pushed two slender fingers inside of your pussy with ease. Still standing, it took you all your might to stop yourself from wobbling. His face was buried at the nape of your neck as he started moving those digits inside your velvet walls, his breathes and soft murmurs only served to fuel you further. He was moving agonizingly slow as if he was trying to drive you off the walls deliberately, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do to get more friction.

He didn’t stop you when you started grinding down in response to the rhythm he was setting, desperate to get more of the painfully little he allowed you to have inside you to relieve your burning ache. You gripped onto his shoulders, your whimpering growing louder and louder as you rocked your hips against his fingers.

Your voice nearly broke when he added another finger in there, the sudden stretch prompted your movements to get even wilder. Piercing at your face with his golden eyes, the way your lips parted and eyes struggling to stay open from the pleasure making his erection straining against the fabric even more. You could feel how his chuckles reached your ears from his throat when he nibbled at your earlobes, a soft yelp escaping your lips when he suddenly held onto you and forced you to stand still.

“I can watch you get off on my fingers all day,” you mewled when his fingers were replaced by a sudden emptiness. He made a show to lick off the evidence of your lust that was dripping on his fingers, sucking on the tip and releasing with a soft pop. His lips curled up at how you were gripping onto his shirt, eyes flooded with wanton lust and begging for more. You gasped when he pushed you onto the bed in the center of the room, the sound of belt buckle rattling made tingles sparked across your exposed skin.

Your back arched off the mattress when he pulled your panties off, the ventilated air hitting your wet folds. Your breaths were rigid when you felt him sliding his length against your lips, the tip nudging at your clit that was puffy from stimulation with each roll of his hips. He gripped at your knees, hooking your legs at either side of his pelvis for a better angle. Each push had you yearning for more, and with the way he applied the pressure to your folds in a languish pace, it didn’t seem like he would give him to you just so easily.

“Please...”

You whined when he pushed the tip and only the tip in, the stretch that was barely there did not do anything but pushing you to the edge.

“Please what?” He smirked, tilting his head cockily and arching his brows to encourage you to keep going.

“Please put it in-” you moaned when he pulled back just to bury his cock deep inside you with one swift motion, the stretch made you claw at the sheets and he groaned. You were hanging on the edge of the back as he thrust up in an erratic pace, his balls slapping against your cheeks as he bottomed out of your every single time. The sound of your slick along with his heavy huffs with each motion rang in your ears, making your face heated up and the coil in you tightened.

You could not control yourself, erotic noises slipping past your lips as your mouth gapped and your eyes rolling back from how his head rubbed against your walls, the vein along his shaft adding to the friction.

“Hawks-”

“Keigo,” he gritted his teeth, keeping himself from breaking apart at how good you felt all wrapped up against him and your body shaking against his riling. “Say my name, remember who is making you feel so good.”

His name rolled off of your tongue like a mantra, the bed shaking under his rough movements as you got closer and closer to your high. You lids were heavy with lust, but you managed to force them open to look at the man who was making you see stars. His brows locked together, his lips that he was biting down on now parted as rumbled moans slipped out. His wings, those glorious plumages spasming and each feather ruffling as its owner approached his own edge.

With one hard push, his tip brushing past your cervix was the final step to breaking you apart as your walls contracted around him, your toes curling at the sensation as your orgasm washed over you. The way you clamped down on him had him throwing his head back, thick spurts of his release painting your insides as he came crashing down.

With your body still buzzing with numbness from your high, you used your arms to push yourself up against the mattress and get under the covers. You were still heaving as Keigo flopped down next to you, throwing an arm across your waist as he looked at you.

You snuggled closer to him, your thumb running along his jawline as you stared into his eyes, a soft smile finding its way onto your lips.

“Rest,” he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, pushing your hair out of your face in an affectionate manner that shocked even himself. You hummed as you buried your face into his neck, letting your lids dropped and for slumber to take over your worn out body.

Blinking to accustomed to the light, it took you a quick second to remember where you were at when you woke up the next morning to a strange bed and sheets so crisp that there was no way it could be yours. Moments from the night before flashed in front of your eyes as you slowly picked up on where you were and you could feel your face heating up at the delicious details. You looked to your side to find the other side of the bed empty, with nothing but the ruffled sheets reminding you that there was someone lying here next to you last night.

Getting up to retrieve your scattered clothing from the floor, a vibrant shade of red on the writing desk at a corner caught your eye. It was one of Hawk’s feathers, pining on a torn out piece of paper from the notepad with the tiny ornament of the rooster on top. You smiled at the familiar handwriting, the same as the one on the small white card in your dress pocket. This time, instead of telling you to go to a rooftop, it was a string of numbers.

“Heaven does not need to be a one time thing. Call me?;)”

Cocky bastard. You chuckled as you took out your phone to put in his contacts.

#hawks x reader #hawks smut #hawks imagine #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo smut #takami keigo imagine #bnha imagines #bnha smut #bnha x reader #bnha imagine

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notimefics · 4 years

Text

Meeting the Parents - H.C.

Word Count: 2.1K

Requested? Still no, I’m still waiting

Warnings: I didn’t proof read it because exam season is here and I should actually be studying instead of doing this - so it’ll probably be messy! Apart from that, not much!

A/N: Super sorry it took me this long to write this but I’m having exams so time is not on my side! Today’s piece is v fluffy! I hope you like it and if you do don’t forget to show it with a like, a comment or a reblog! Because I didn’t proof read it I might read it tomorrow and edit some stuff out!

Henry’s POV “I can’t believe we are bringing 3 cakes,” I say laughing as we get out of the car in front of my parents house and start walking towards their door.

“We’re not bringing 3 different cakes!” She complains. “We’re brining muffins, a banana bread and a chocolate cake. So it’s only one cake. Plus I’m staying there for the weekend, so if we count today we’re really only bringing one thing per day,”

“Plus the flowers,” I say with a chuckle.

“The flowers obviously don’t count!” She says, but at least now that we’re joking she doesn’t look as nervous as she did in the car.

“Obviously,” I say with a laugh. “Why would they? They’re not even edible,”

“Well... they’re pansies so technically you can eat them. They make salads look beautiful and I used them once and it was quite good!”

“And did people survive that culinary experience?” I ask with a laughter.

“Well, I’m here and alive ain’t I?”

“How long was this? Because you are looking a bit pale,” I joke as we get to their porch and I ring the door bell.

“What?!” She asks me concerned. “Are you serious? I knew should’ve... put some bronzer on or something,”

“I was joking! You look wonderful as always,” I tell her and lean in to kiss her cheek. “They’ll love you,”

“Once you explain that you’re not dating a ghost,” she says with a smirk as I pull away.

I’m still laughing when my mum opens the door.

“Henry! Love! Aw, I missed you so much, sweetheart!” She says and gives me a tight hug. “Oh, and this must be Y/N, I’m so glad you could come this weekend,”

“Oh! Thank you so much for inviting me,” Y/N says with a big smile. I knew mum and dad would love her, the only problem would be my brothers. It’s not that they wouldn’t love me, it’s just that they would tease me about her the whole weekend and tease her because of me too. But Y/N was tough, she’d get along with them.

“We come bearing gifts,” I tell my mum holding the basket higher so she could see it.

“You shouldn’t have!” My mum reprimands us quickly.

“Oh, it’s nothing! They’re not really gifts. I just had some free time on my hands” woke up at 6 this morning “and thought I’d get my hands on some recipes I’ve been dying to try,”

“Thank you so much,” My mum tells her and steps aside from the door. “Come on in, come on in! Your dad is somewhere around the corner, but go ahead and put your things in your bedroom while I put these lovely cakes in the kitchen and look for your father. Don’t forget to show Y/N around!” She says and takes the basket from my hands before walking towards the kitchen.

“Come on, you’ve heard my mum, I’ve got to show you around,” I say and hold her hand showing her the way, first to our bedroom and then around the house.

“I guess it’s a good thing she didn’t ask why you were dating a ghost,” Y/N says as we go up the stairs and I chuckle and shake my head. “She was probably just being polite though,”

“Or maybe she was afraid she’d get the species wrong. Like maybe you were a vampire or a ghoul or something along those lines,” I try and she laughs.

“Well, when she saw me I was standing in the sun so if she thinks I’m a vampire she’s a little misinformed. And aren’t ghost and ghouls kind of the same thing?”

“Well, I think ghouls are evil spirits or something,”

“Oh, do you think that from our 5 second exchange she could see how evil I truly am?”

“Yeah, the flower pot present gave it away,” I tell her and she laughs again. That laugh... It was how I knew I had to bring her here. I just figured I would never get tired of it and, more than that, I would like to be the reason of that laughter for as long as I can.

“Ok, so 1 parent down. 1 to go,” She says as we put our bags in the bedroom.

“It doesn’t help that you’re talking about them like you’re a sniper and they’re targets, just saying,”

“Come one, pick a lane mate, am I a sniper or a ghoul?” She asks and then takes a seat on the bed and looks around. “Your bedroom is nice,”

“Yeah, it was renovated a few years ago,” I tell her as I sit next to her.

“Oh noooo, I wanted to see child or teenage-Henry’s bedroom!” She whines, letting her back fall on the bed. How easy she could make me laugh also made me sure that I wanted to bring her here.

“You really don’t,” I tell her with a laughter thinking about all the posters and crap I had in my bedroom back then.

“I beg to disagree, let’s just hope your parents have some terrible pictures of you as a kid to make up for it,”

“Well, they do, but you won’t come anywhere near them if I have anything to do with them,” I tell her and lay down next to her, our legs dangling on the edge of the bed.

“What? Why do you think I came here this weekend? It was for the ammunition against you!” She says looking at me sideways, with a big goofy smile.

“And the nerves about meeting my parents?” I ask, my cheek laying on the bed to look at her. “If this is only for you to see embarrassing pictures of me as a kid, why were you nervous?”

“Isn’t it obvious? If they didn’t like me they might not want to show me the pictures! It has nothing to do with the fact that I want to impress them so that they don’t hate me when they see me in the future,”

“When they see you in the future, eh?” I ask her.

“Exactly, it has nothing to do with that,” She says and then quickly stands up. “Come on! I want to meet the rest of your family!”

I shake my head but stand up and gladly take her to meet the rest of my family.

*The next day*

I am standing in the kitchen table looking outside where Y/N passed back and forth talking on the phone. There had been an emergency at work and she had to take this call and solve problems only she could solve. She apologized about a thousand times even though it was so early no one but me would even know probably.

“So,” I hear behind me startling me. “No need to jump!” My brother says with a laugh, he had clearly done it on purpose.

“You’re up already?”

“The kids woke me up,” he explains. “But I put them in front of the tv, like the responsible dad I am, and came here to ask you why you were up already,”

“Y/N had a work call and I woke up as well,”

“Look at you being a supportive husband,” He jokes.

“I’m no one’s husband,” I tell him, shaking my head.

“Yet, eh?” He says raising his eyebrows.

“Stop it,” I chuckle.

“So is it a work call or was she so freaked out by us that she had to get some emotional support from her friends or therapist this morning?”

“Surprisingly enough it’s actually work. Though knowing you guys I should probably have a therapist on speed dial,” I laugh.

“Nonsense.” He says dismissing it. “If she has a sense of humour she’ll be alright! And she looked ok last night,”

“You barely talked to her last night, but thanks,” I tell him.

“That’s true,” He admits, “But I did see you drooling over her when she was playing with my kids,” He makes fun of me.

“I’m pretty sure you should be watching your kids not me, but again, thanks,” before he can say anything else Y/N is heading inside again.

“Hey! Good morning! I hope I didn’t wake you up,” She says to my brother.

“No, no! The kids beat you to it,” He tells her with a smile.

“They seem to beat me at everything, first it was last night winning at hide and seek, now this?” She says and my brother chuckles. I knew he’d love her.

“Did you manage to solve it?” I ask her, talking about the phone call.

“Yeah, thanks,” she says leaning on me, and because I am sitting and she is standing, her hip is against my side and at the perfect place for me to wrap my arm around her. “It was a bit messy and, but 5 phone calls later, it’s handled! Do you want to help me make breakfast because I don’t know where anything is?” She asks me.

“Well, I’m gonna go see some idiotic cartoon with my kids so I don’t have to help with breakfast too!” My brother says before leaving the kitchen. I take the opportunity of being alone with her to quickly stand up and kiss her.

“Come on,” she says pulling away with a smile. “your parents could come in any moment. You’re very tempting but...”

“They already love you can’t we just enjoy that and be comfortable?”

“No,” she says with a laugh. “I am not so sure that they like me and, if they do, I want to keep it that way!”

“You’re not sure if they like you? My mum was sharing recipes with you and you were talking with my dad for god knows how long about business! They love you! Even if they accidentally bore you to death,” That gains mea laughter.

“Don’t be daft, they were not boring me. They were super interesting actually!”

“Super interesting?” I ask her skeptically.

“Yes! Your mom’s salted caramel recipes is wild!” I tell him. “Now come on, I’m starving!” She says and takes a step back.

A few minutes later, while she is cutting some bread to toast and I am scrambling some eggs my brother gets back in the kitchen.

“Hey, H, could you do me a favour and keep and eye on the kids every now and then so I could go back to sleep for a few more minutes?”

“Of course,” I nod and my brother smiles and happily goes back to bed.

“I guess you should add a few eggs for your nephews,” She tells me and I nod.

“You know I could get used to this,” I tell her nonchalantly. “You and me making breakfast, kids in the next room,”

“Oh,” she says slightly surprised. I’m trying to act cool and not at all nervous that we’re not on the same page. “I guess it wouldn’t be the worse thing in th world,” she says cooly as well, a big smile and a blush on her cheeks giving her away. Oh, I hope I never lose the ability to make her blush.

I can’t help it, I put the bowl and the fork down, turn to her, wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her.

“Come on,” She tells me with a smile. “I want kids too, but now might not be the right moment to try to have one,” she says with a wiggle of her eyebrows. I am still laughing when my mum comes in the kitchen a few moments later.

“Good morning to you two,” She says merrily. “You’re in a good mood,” She tells me with a smile.

“I got some good news,” I tell her and, from the corner of my eyes I see Y/N blushing some more.

“Oh, if you’re making breakfast you wouldn’t mind if I spent some time with the children, would you?” She asks us barely even registering what I told her.

“Of course not!” Y/N tells her.

“Thank you, you’re a sweetheart,” My mum says before walking away. I immediately turn my attention back to Y/N, one arm around her again.

“Your mom is in the next room!” She whispers to me.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll stop with the PDA in front of my family, but it’s very hard when you tell me things like you just said,”

“Me? You said it to me!” She argues, but she’s smiling.

“Yeah, but... ok, we’ll talk about it when we’re back home yeah?” I ask and she nods. She quickly gets on her tiptoes and kisses me before getting away and back to the counter.

“You’re right, it’s very hard not to kiss you when we’re talking about this,”

#henry cavill fluff #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill x reader

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 149

149

Picking up dessert, Lance selecting by sniffing the air outside the bakery rather than coming in, something Keith wasn’t going to question, they headed back to the apartment. Krolia was there. As was a suspicious looking container on the beach. Putting her beer down, his mother rushed over to Lance. Keith mentally agreeing with his boyfriend as Lance drew closer to him. Krolia ignoring the action as she wrapped her arms around Lance. His mother was a crazy woman. Keith had half a mind to pull her off Lance

“Lance! Look at you! You’re positively glowing in an undead kind of way!”

“Mum!”

“Oh, hush you. I’m allowed to have missed him”

“You don’t need to tease him”

“I’m not. Look how round you’re getting! Hello, my grandbabies! How are you feeling? Any weird cravings? I had such weird cravings when I was pregnant with Keith. Have you felt them moving?”

Pulling Krolia off Lance, Keith moved between the pair. The dessert box nearly squashed as he did

“Mum, leave him alone. We only just got home”

“No need to be so jumpy. It’s not like you’ve got a head in the box. Sooo. What’s in the box?”

A what now? Why would he have a head in a box? Okay. The idea sounded somewhat familiar, but who went to a bakery to bring home a head?

“Dessert?”

Keith didn’t know why Krolia laughed, or why Shiro let out a bark of laughter before covering his mouth

“Oh, I brought dessert with me! I baked it myself as a little thank you to Lance for having me over for dinner. Here, come take a look”

Krolia took the dessert box from him, Keith looking to Lance as he whispered

“Whatever it is, I wouldn’t recommend eating it”

Krolia calling back over her shoulder

“I heard that! Talk about rude! I baked it according to the recipe”

“And where did you get the recipe?”

“Mostly online”

It was clear that “mostly online” actually meant “hardly on line and mostly from her head”. So proud of her creation that was more an abomination, Keith nearly cried as the cheesecake inside the box went into the bin untouched. Lance looked ready to weep for the poor dessert. Binning it was definitely far too extreme as Lance had chosen something that hadn’t made him feel nauseous and had thought of everyone in his selection. Goodbye lemon cheesecake with lemon curd. They’d hardly known you, but you were missed in the face of the lump in the container.

Maybe lump wasn’t quite fair, yet Lance was trying to figure it out still, so something had to be wrong with the round frosted dessert

“It’s an apple tea cake”

Oh lord. That didn’t sound like a dessert should. “Apple” sounded too healthy

“I steeped the apples in Earl Grey. I mean, why call it a “tea cake”, if there’s no hint of tea in it?”

That... kind of made sense. A quick glance at Lance’s face told him that it shouldn’t

“Uh. Right. I might check on dinner”

“No need. I noticed the lack of vegetables in the dish so I added some frozen ones from the freezer. I expected you boys to be eating healthier, and not just those cans of beans I found in the cupboard”

With each word, Lance looked closer and closer to crying. Ropa Vieja had just the right amount of “fuck all vegetables” to “lots of meat and sauce”. Sure, there were beans and fried things that were like bananas yet weren’t, but Keith could distinctly remember that there weren’t things like frozen vegetables in there. No mixed peas and corn. No carrot. No broccoli. No beans. Lance made them get the proper mixed frozen vegetable packs “as they insisted on being heathens in the kitchen”.

“Ah, Krolia. What vegetables did you add?”

Lance was brave to ask

“Just what was laying around. You boys need to eat healthy and keep those babies healthy. Did I do so something wrong?”

“No. No. I’m sure it’ll be okay. I’m just going to grab some blood before dinner”

His boyfriend didn’t think it’d be okay at all. Krolia clearly didn’t know how to cook. Shiro and Curtis too spineless to stop her. The pair of them on the sofa with Kosmo, watching this train wreck happen right in front of them

“Alright. You put your feet up and relax, though you haven’t answered any of my questions and I want to see all your photos. I promised Miriam I’d look out for you. I’m so sorry she’s passed. She was such an amazing woman. Very funny. I saw a lot of myself in her great sense of humour. I enjoyed her company very much”

Lance seemed a little dazed as he wandered off to their room, rather than the sofa. Keith trailing after him, expecting tears. Sitting on their bed, Lance was holding the latest images of their twins, blood bag sitting on the bed next to him

“Don’t let mum get to you”

Lance snorted, still staring at their twins

“I’m that obvious?”

“A little. She didn’t mess up too much, did she?”

“Nah. I mean, I would have waited if i was adding vegetables so there’d be some crunch instead of mush, but the meat flavour should still be there”

Lance had the whole dinner planned in his head. Keith knew it. He’d prepped early to have a chance to clear his mind and build up facing a full dinner table... not that they really had the space for everyone to sit at the dinner table as they would have at Lance’s

“You okay? She kind of bombarded you with questions”

“I noticed. I’m... kind of not sure what I’m feeling but I think I feel a little better seeing her. She seemed excited about all of this”

“She’s too excitable”

“Nah. I mean. Your mum spent decades fighting against vampires and werewolves. I know she says she accepts me... her excitement... I guess it makes me feel maybe that she does. And that makes me feel better”

“Babe, she’s slightly crazy. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten your first meeting”

“I haven’t. Do you get what I’m saying, though?”

That Lance felt he didn’t have to fear being killed the moment their twins were born, or killed before the birth to stop the spread of vampirism. He hadn’t thought of that. Other than Kolivan, Krolia was the highest Blade member that he’d met. Coran was biased, he helped far more than he harmed. So if Krolia wasn’t going after him, than that meant he could settle that lot of internal worry.

“I do now that I think about it. That reminds me, what was Luis on about? That was weird as hell”

Lance sighed deeply

“Mami’s ring was a family heirloom. She got my grandmothers wedding ring and her sister got the engagement ring when my grandmother passed. Instead of passing it on, as it should have been, I took it once she’d passed. Coran stayed by my side as we viewed Mami until the very last moment before the lid the was slid onto the coffin. I slipped her rings back on where they belong. Seeing you, he’d have to tell Nadia and Sylvio that I’m still around and dating a guy. I wish I could have seen his face when you told him to “shoo”. Thank you for not hitting him...”

“It was tempting... I didn’t want to upset you by starting a fight. And... he had lost Mami too”

“It’s easy to get caught up in what I’m going through, but us kids all adored her. Thank you for being there with me. It made it easier to remember the better times than simply focusing on her being in the cold ground”

“If mum is too much. I can talk to her”

Lance placed the photos down beside him, holding his arm out. Coming over, Keith sank to kneel in front of him, Lance hugging him as he rested his head against his boyfriend’s belly

“She’s fine. Honestly. It’s refreshing that she isn’t acting like I’m made of glass”

“As long as you’re okay. You’re okay, aren’t you?”

“I’m okay. Our twins are okay. I know you can’t feel them, but I was looking at the photos as I felt them move. They’ve been moving a little more”

Keith didn’t feel anything

“Are they moving now?”

“A bit”

“Maybe they don’t like me”

Patting his head, Keith’s chin dug in lightly as he looked up to Lance

“It’s fine, babe. They know you’re here and they love you. Google said it might take a bit before you feel them”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like nothing I can explain. It started like bubbles at first. I totally thought it was indigestion or gas. Pregnancy farts are no joke. Mami told me. She didn’t feel then move though”

Keith pouted. He wasn’t sure he’d handle the pregnant part, but he wanted to feel their babies move

“I want to feel them”

“You will. They already hear you. They hear every time you tell them you love them. I’m sure it won’t be long. I’ve been trying not to say anything but I definitely felt them moving. I don’t know I was being punched or kicked”

Lance’s tone held a lot of pout. Keith was pouting too. For all Lance was going through, he could feel their twins inside of him, as living human beings. Them moving felt as Lance was being rewards for working so hard. He wanted to be rewarded too. He’s contributed, even if he wasn’t doing the heavy lifting

“They’re picking on you already”

Lance sounded proud. Normally someone wouldn’t seem so proud of being hit, before his tone started to shift

“Yep. My two fighters showing off that they’ve inherited their daddy’s moved. I’m honestly okay, babe. Dinner might be... an event. The reason it’s called a “tea” cake is generally because you have it during afternoon tea. Not because there’s tea in it... I was looking forward to cheesecake”

“I was too. I don’t know what to make of her icing it”

“At least she tried?”

Keith didn’t know much, yet he was sure he was right about this. Lance’s fingers against his hair felt nice as he leaned into the touch

“She’s super trying. You don’t have to answer her questions if you don’t want to”

“No. I meant it when I said it was relieving having her be herself. Like a little taste of normality”

Keith snorted. Lance was deluded

“I don’t think that word factors into our lives”

“Maybe not. We should head back out”

“I don’t want to”

Lance ruffled his hair, not caring that he was being whiny. He wanted tonight to go the way Lance had planned so Lance could see he really was more capable than his depressed state was making him feel. Normality really didn’t exist in their lives. Going back to Garrison meant living with two werewolves and stolen cow. How was that normal? And how was it that he was actually looking forward to it. To seeing Lance putter around and mumble about the lawn. The lawn at the cemetery must be like total goals once you hit a certain age. It was rather impressive and Keith really couldn’t care less about lawn. Maybe he should have bought Lance a new lawnmower for Christmas? It probably wasn’t too late, but was it safe to let his pregnant boyfriend loose with a lawnmower? Maybe he’d make it this years Christmas present, for after the twins were born? Wait. Was he really thinking about the lawn...? What was wrong with him?

Krolia hadn’t stopped talking. Keith was fairly certain she’d only raised her voice when she’d gone to use the toilet instead of shutting up. She’d asked Lance all kinds of questions about his pregnancy and Cuba. Lance had shown her photos, Krolia taking photos of the photos with her phone. By the time Coran knocked at the door at 6:30pm, both Shiro and Curtis seemed as relieved as Keith was that there was finally someone else Krolia could focus on. Standing up mid-conversation, Lance went opened the door. Keith stifling his laugh. His boyfriend had the best manners of all of them, but clearly he too had had enough of Krolia.

“Allura?! What are you doing back?!”

“Lance!”

Keith blinked in shock. He didn’t think Allura would be back so soon. Lance hadn’t said he’d heard two sets of footsteps and Kosmo hadn’t barked. Hugging each other, the pair were acting like reunited siblings as they wrapped their arms around each other. Both of them trying to tell each other how good they looked, Keith suspecting Lance was teary eyed and happy about the surprise. Coran seemed especially pleased with his part in this surprise, eyeing the pair happily, moustache corner in his fingers as he beamed. Drawing away, Allura looked Lance up and down

“Oh, Lance. You’re positively glowing with pregnancy. May I?”

“Yeah. Thanks for asking. It still feels a little weird. I’m... so happy you’re back. Rome agreed with you. You’re more vibrant and stunningly beautiful than ever”

Allura drew Lance away from the doorway with a giggle, Keith may have kind of hated the lingering touch of her hand on Lance’s arm. And what was Allura asking permission for? She’d already hugged Lance. That was enough physical contact. And why was she giggling?

“Hush, you. It’s wonderful to see you. I’ve missed you very much, and being diplomatic is simply tedious! Oh...”

Allura grew distant, looking past Lance as she continued in a vacant tone. Keith cautious over her expression

“A boy and a girl... Oh, Lance. I’m so sorry, oh... I’m so sorry. but he’ll be okay. You’ll see. The agony will turn to happiness again”

Allura blinked half a dozen times, perhaps she was unaware of what she’d said. A boy and a girl? Did she just... tell them the sexes from a touch? A girl... and a boy... They were having a boy and a girl? Lance stood frozen, Coran’s smile had slipped. Sliding off the arm of the sofa, Keith strode over to Lance, taking Allura’s hand off his boyfriend. Lance had wanted to wait. To be surprised. Now Allura was telling them there was something wrong with their little boy? And what was this agony?

Pulling out her handkerchief, Allura dabbed at her nose

“Sorry. My mind went right away. Oh, it’s so wonderful to see you. I have so much to tell you. I’m so sorry Miriam passed. I adored her so much. She treated me like a daughter for all these years. I have such fond memories of her over a cup of tea and a biscuit in the middle of the night”

Allura seemed a bit old to be acting as if it’d been one of Mami’s secrets. She didn’t exactly say it was, but the tone was wistful. Genuine sadness over something that’d never happen again. Lance stammering slightly as he said

“Me... uh... yeah... me too.. uh. Come in. Dinner’ll be ready in a little bit, provided that the rice hasn’t started sticking. Keith, can you give me a hand? Shiro will get you and Coran a glass of wine. Krolia made a cake and dinner is Americanised Ropa Vieja. You have to tell all about what you’ve been up to”

His boyfriend was doing a good job of hiding his upset. Keith’s heart was racing as he tried not to snap at Allura. Lance hadn’t noticed her visions all that much in their time together, now it was the third time? that she’d experienced some kind of foresight in front of them. What was this agony? Lance wasn’t going to go through any kind of agony if Keith could help it. If the boy and the girl weren’t their twins, then who? Did they know them? We’re the kids going to be hurt? Was their son going to be hurt?

“Is no one going to ask what the hell was that? Or am I going to have to?”

Thank god for Krolia and bluntness. Keith didn’t have the words to be polite

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I do something?”

Coran cleared his throat, Allura seemed confused by Krolia’s outburst

“Allura, my dear, your foresight popped up again. Do you remember what you saw?”

“Flashes. I’m sorry. I saw Lance holding two beautiful children, and him giving birth, but it’s already fading away”

“You said someone about a boy and girl. And someone hurt. That’s pretty serious to be coming in and saying things about my grandchildren with no idea what you’ve said”

Whelp. Keith was glad not to be in Allura’s shoes. His mother sounded ready to shoot Allura or hold her prisoner and torture her until she revealed everything. Allura stared at her feet, downcast as she replied

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I remember what I see. Sometimes it fades away. Sometimes it’s a feeling more than anything. Sometimes I don’t notice. And sometimes I speak”

Reaching, Lance took Allura by the hand

“It’s okay, Allura. You didn’t mean to. What you said could mean any number of things and not everything you see happens... right?”

“This is true. There have been times when I’ve had such intense feelings for them to fade in a moment of felt déjà vu with no real conclusion. Perhaps it’s the change in your quintessence? Being with Keith has mellowed it muchly. You’ve always had such a soft feeling, but now I feel Keith’s energy in yours. He’s very soothing and compliments your quintessence so well. Maybe I detected an underlying fear? I’m afraid I’m not much use”

Allura tried to laugh it off. Keith feeling a bit of a douche for wanting to yell at her

“You’re plenty of use. You’re practically my sister. You’ve been a beautiful person since the first day I met you”

Allura giggled, raising her head as she covered her mouth

“I remember that. I remember the first time I came to your house. You asked if I was angel... Coran brought me to see you. I seem to remembered you hadn’t spoke in some time”

“Mami called him because of the nightmares. I couldn’t sleep and I was seeing things because of it. Then you showed up and were the prettiest girl I’ve ever met”

“And you asked if I wanted to hide in your closest from the monsters”

“Yeah. I don’t know why, but sometimes I miss the closest”

“Until Veronica and Luis locked you in there”

Allura was teasing, Lance going tense as she stepped on a bad memory. Their friend clearly waiting for a reply, Keith butting in

“Babe, we should check dinner and get that wine organised. Allura, Krolia’s the got the scan photos if you want to take a look”

“Oh, yes please! You have no idea how much I missed you. I would love to see how much these precious ones have grown”

Sacrificing Allura to Krolia, Allura was happy to let Krolia brag about the twins. Coran followed them into the kitchen area, leaving Keith without the opportunity to ask Lance how he felt about what Allura had said. Sighing deeply as he checked the slow cooker, Lance poked at the contents, then let out another sigh

“Babe?”

“I hope you feel like mush. It’s mush for dinner”

Coming up behind Lance, Keith peered over his boyfriend’s shoulder at their dinner

“That’s doesn’t look right. I mean... that’s not how I remember it”

“Nope. The vegetables have lost all structure. Can you get out the blender and hand me a fork? I’ll try fishing out what’s mostly intact then I’ll blend it and stir back into the sauce. If we’re lucky the wine and the taste of the beef would have gotten rid of most of the vegetable taste”

Ignoring the old rule that “Two’s company and three’s a crowd”, Coran moved to peer into the slow cooker from Lance’s right side

“I’m afraid I don’t know what to say about this. I remember less of those pesky vegetables when Miriam cooked”

Lance sighed at Coran as Keith mentally adjusted his rating of Coran. The man going up with his dislike of “pesky vegetables” where they didn’t belong. He’d gone down a fraction due to Allura’s foresight nearly killing their dinner plans by upsetting Lance internally.

Poking at the remains of broccoli, Lance shook his head at the mess in the pot

“Krolia added mixed vegetables while Keith and I were out. She’s made an apple tea cake for dessert”

Coran hesitant in asking

“And how did that go?”

“It was nice knowing you all... and I’d like to remind everyone that I get first dibs on the bathroom”

Lance was being brutal. Brutally hilarious. Mami would have been appalled, but Keith loved it. He didn’t want to try Krolia’s cake either... and her trying to feed him broccoli, this wouldn’t be forgotten or forgiven anytime soon. That his mother would bake left him clueless. Maybe one day they’d meet someone who wasn’t as weird as the rest of them, yet Keith highly doubted that possible.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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intruality-overlord · 4 years

Text

Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: Excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humour, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @ibroken-butterflyi @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall

Let me know do you want to be added or removed from the taglist! Updates every Wednesday/Thursday. Don’t worry I’m posting the second half of this chapter later today cause it’s too long all in one part and Tumblr doesn’t seem to like it when I post stuff too close together. So have the fun with the fluffy part!

Chapter Three 1/2: Duck

Loosen Up

May 26th, 2017.

Tiny little sips did Patton take, swishing the liquid around before swallowing each drop. Cautious. Procrastinating. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Why are you so embarrassed? I’ve seen you so drunk that if you weren’t a figment of imagination, the police could have been outlining your dead body in chalk the next morning. You don’t have anything to be shy about,” he said. Patton glared at him. “That’s exactly what’s so embarrassing!” He shrieked. “It’s bad enough knowing that happened! I don’t want a repeat!”

“That’s the whole point of this, Pat. I’m here so you don’t get completely pissed like that again. And if you do, I’ll stop you from being stupid.”

…

“I’m always stupid,” Patton mumbled into his next sip. Albeit, it was a slightly bigger sip. Remus would have argued with Patton, but he hadn’t planned a heart to heart and felt rather unprepared. At least he knew Patton had already drunk enough to not think too hard about what he was saying. Baby steps.

Turned out the snowball effect settled in soon after that. The more Patton drank the less he thought to regulate himself so he drank more. Remus discovered that night that Patton became efficiently, drunkenly relaxed at five cans of… whatever collection of concoctions Patton had mixed up.

“Wait Wait Wait Wait Wait! If I’m a figment of Thomas’s imagination, but you’re Thomas’s imagination, does that mean you could, like, make me,” Patton made a charade of what would have resembled an explosion if he still had his fine motor skills intact, “poof? If you wanted?”

Patton had had six cans and was on his seventh.

Remus blinked at him. There was some semblance of sense in that thinking, and Remus did love a good “what if?” question. “I don’t know...” he said. “Why don’t you try?!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. Remus for a split second thought of how adorable Patton’s excitement was—

“Hell no!” He snapped. Patton whined. Sulking, he flopped back down in his chair like a voodoo doll that had just been angrily launched into a wall. “You’re s’posed to be fun!” Patton chugged the rest of his can and didn’t bother to put it down. Instead, it just toppled and rolled out of his lax grasp.

“If it worked then you wouldn’t exist anymore!”

“So?”

Remus also discovered that Patton’s attitude was just as bad as Virgil’s. At least Remus knew his limits now for future reference.

“Well if you stopped existing you wouldn’t know if it worked or not because you wouldn’t exist,” Remus reasoned, and he wanted to scrub his tongue with soapy sandpaper.

“...What if we tried it on Roman?”

“Damn you, that’s tempting.”

Multimedia

August 30th, 2017.

“Heya Remus—” Out of all the anarchy encapsulated in the room, Patton instantly fixated on the razor. The blade devilishly glinted. Patton glared at the offending mustache slayer.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Patton! I was just—“

“Leave the moustache alone!” Patton pounced, lunging for the shaver, and Remus shrieked a very manly shriek. Plumes of white flew free from Remus’s fringe in the kerfuffle. “Your mustache is special and perfect just the way it is!” Patton said. Wrestling the razor from Remus’s grip, which on further inspection was definitely for shaving your legs and not facial hair, and confiscated it.

“I know!”

What?

“That’s why I need it for my self portrait!”

What?

What looked like very grainy flour caught in Remus’s fringe made it appear silver, enhancing the pearly whites that split his lips into a beaming grin. Patton swore his teeth looked slightly pointier than usual. Each syllable rolled around Remus’s tongue exaggeratedly long before he spat it out. And the crazed look in his eyes looked especially crazed, circled in red like a big mistake.

Oh, he’s high.

Wait, what?

Hooking an arm around Patton’s, a stark gentlemanly contrast to Remus’s distinctly wild hair, bloodshot eyes and suddenly apparent absence of a three piece suit, and yanked Patton to stand before his work in progress.

“I’d ask what you think, but it’s not quite finished,” he said, giddy.

Paint was splattered all across the canvas.

And across the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling, and after spending five minutes in the room Patton somehow had some too. (Remus was always more of a catcher than a thrower. Terrible aim.) Focusing on an individual area, it looked like a nonsensical mess. There were handprints, globs of textured brush strokes, and scratch marks. Acrylic and watercolour paints with salt adding texture. Swatches of silk, sprinkles of glitter. The only orderly aspect of the piece was the fact it stuck strictly to a dominantly green colour pallet with accents of blue. Even so, there were hints of pinks, yellows, and purple. Tasteful hints, mind you. Oh, there’s some red, too—

“Is that blood?”

“A happy little accident involving a blunt pallet knife. That’s all.”

As a whole, though, when you stepped back it clearly was Remus’s self portrait. Amongst all the chaos, his outline was clear and confident. Insane smile and all. (Except for his moustache, which seemed to be the final missing piece.)

Patton looked closer. Woven in were more intricate details. Passages from Alice In Wonderland and Little Shop Of Horrors (“You love her madly, don’t you, shmuck” was one he picked out)— other books, musicals, and movies Patton couldn’t name— fit seamlessly into the collage. Everything was written in different, swirly fonts or magazine clippings.

Then he looked even closer. Patton squinted.

“Is that fucking dick glitter?”

“Green and blue duochrome dick glitter!”

It was the most accurate self portrait Patton had ever seen (or ever would). A massacre of common sense. It was his internal tumultuous frenzy in a visual medium. A celebration of self love in a uniquely Remus way.

“I’d frame that and put it on the fridge,” Patton said genuinely. Remus preened. “It’s… exceptional, really.”

But did Remus really have to sacrifice his adorable face caterpillar for it?

“I can’t wait to add the finishing touches!”

“Are you really going to put your own moustache on it?”

Remus burst into rambling only a select few could comprehend. Sentences clumsily overlapped each other as Remus spilled the direct translation of his thought process. And within that mess, the words were crushed like a Pepsi can (Yes, Remus could taste the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Yes, he purposefully drinks only Pepsi), squishing the vowels out of existence. In Patton’s case, though, he was able to translate the garbled soup of consonants roughly to, “One does not simply soil the sacred authenticity of multimedia!”

“Can’t you just...” Patton shrugged. “I don’t know— use some fake fur or something instead?” He argued.

“Ugh,” Remus grunted, “That sounds like something Roman would do. His art is so flat and boring! Always so play it safe, never experiments,” He ranted passionately, throwing his arms in all directions. “And there’s never enough glitter!” He scoffed. Pent up energy drove him in stomping circles. “Too much glitter makes it look childish,” he said, tone swinging into a mock impression. “There’s no such thing as too much glitter! I don’t care if it gets everywhere. I’d happily leave glitter stuck in my teeth rather than some stupid, diet of the week salad! And Roman wants to claim he’s the gayer one?! Huh, bullshit.”

Patton checked if his ears hadn’t conked out. They screeched like microphone feedback. (His ears and Remus.)

“Roman’s such a bitch— I fucking hate him so goddamn fucking much, the cunt.” Remus thrust his hand into the nearest paint can, and readied the colourful grenade.

Patton grabbed his wrist, hastily. Globs of acrylic paint slipped from his fist, reuniting with a green puddle soaked into the carpet.

“Uh-um,” Patton cut in, improvising a distraction, “Why don’t we have a drink and watch, uh... ah, um— Ratatouille?” Fizzing with nerves, Patton cracked a hopeful smile. One Remus couldn’t help mimicking. “A drink of water!” Patton quickly corrected, “and Ratatouille.”

(“Giggle water?”

“Emu, no.”)

“I love that movie!” Remus said, clapping his hands. More green sprayed them in Remus’s brazen excitement.

It worked. Patton breathed a quick sigh of relief.

Beaming, he cupped Patton’s face in his cold, sticky, stained hands. “You always have such good ideas!” Remus gushed. That was a rare, rare compliment. Patton's face blazed. For a second he was sure the paint would evaporate from his skin.

No, his wine red complexion was hidden.

Green handprints drying on his cheeks, Patton watched the movie with Remus just like that. After, Remus finished the painting properly. Instant grief followed shaving his moustache. But when he grew it back, he was ultimately happy with the results.

Next Chapter:

#WAW(B)F?#sander sides #thomas sanders #ts sander sides #sanders sides #patton sanders #ts patton #remus sanders #ts remus #intruality #moduke

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thetimelesscycle · 3 years

Text

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 8

Douxie receives a much needed reprieve.

A/N: Happy holidays, everyone. I hope you have all had an enjoyable time catching up with family/friends as you are able and that you are all staying safe.

This particular chapter had no less than six different versions. Not different edits, six entirely different 2,000-3,000 word scenes that I went back and forth between like a ping pong ball before deciding we needed a low-action option and using the original. Hopefully the rest of that stuff will be worked in somewhere else, or it's just 10,000 words or so of change that can sit in the drafts portion and stare at me accusingly as it never sees the light of day.

I also just want to give everyone a heads up that I am on vacation for the next few weeks. That will either mean I get extra chapters done in my newfound free time, or I will be swallowed by the void that is catching up on everything you can't do when working and there will be no writing done at all. Just in case I disappear off the planet for a few weeks. ;-)

Chapter 8

And After the Apocalypse, it's Nap Time

Douxie awoke and immediately regretted doing so. He had apparently offended every single muscle in his body before tumbling into bed the night before, and there was not an inch of him that did not hurt with a vengeance. He hadn’t felt this terrible since… well, the last time he died, he supposed, which was really not something one should be making a habit out of. At least he’d found somewhere decent to sleep. If he hurt this much after lying on a soft mattress all night, he could only imagine how painful today would have been with a couch spring or three digging into his back.

“Douxie?” A careful weight settled on his stomach. “Are you awake?”

“No.” He croaked and winced. Even his throat was sore. “That seems like a terrible idea right now.”

Archie chuckled softly, settling more firmly into place. “At least your sense of humour is intact.”

“I wasn’t joking.” Squinting his eyes open, he glared half-heartedly into Archie’s inescapable gaze. There was something there that made him pause, the intimate knowledge of centuries spent together, and he swallowed painfully before asking. “How long?”

“About a day,” the dragon’s response was subdued, thick with concern. “You’ve been drifting in and out. I think you had the old man worried.”

For a terrifying moment, that sentence was entirely incomprehensible to the young wizard. The memories reasserted themselves with a vengeance before he could blankly ask his familiar what he was talking about, and he felt his blood run cold as his hand crept unwittingly to rest against his chest, breath escaping him in a soft ‘oh’.

“How do you feel?” Archie moved his paws to rest atop his wizard’s hand. “Any pain at all?”

“No, I...” His body hurt, yes, like he’d gone three rounds with the enchanted broom and then tripped down the stairs. That wasn’t what Archie meant, though. “I’m alright. A little shaky maybe, but then I guess I haven’t eaten, so—”

“Please, don’t.” He stopped abruptly at hearing the reproach in those words, Archie’s round eyes looking at him with a wounded expression. “Don’t make light. You scared me, Douxie. I didn’t know what was happening or how to help.”

“I’m sorry.” An apology probably wasn’t what Archie was looking for. The words were habitual enough he said them anyway, reaching to lay both hands against the dragon’s back in way of comfort. “I really am alright, though, I promise.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Master!” In retrospect, sitting bolt upright in response to Merlin’s entrance into the room probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done. Not the stupidest, either, but it definitely ranked up there. “Oooh, buckets.”

Hands, not paws, grabbed a hold of him before he could join the room in its wild spinning, and he spent a good few seconds being absurdly grateful he hadn’t eaten anything. He very much doubted Merlin would have appreciated his stomach’s reaction to the movement otherwise.

“Careful, Hisirdoux!” the Master Wizard admonished, easing him back to rest against the wall in a semi-upright position. Archie had taken the opportunity to stack pillows behind him, and settled in his lap again as soon as he was stable. Merlin’s hands lingered a little longer than they needed to, the fleeting touch of gentle magic preceding his withdrawal.

“You never do things the easy way, do you?” He turned away before Douxie could figure out whether he was supposed to be apologising for the trouble, returning almost immediately with a chalice that was pressed firmly into his unsteady hands. “Sip this. Slowly. We’ll talk when you’re done.”

For once, it seemed easier to simply do as he was told. Under Archie’s watchful eye, he took a mouthful of the cup’s contents, realising as soon as it passed his lips that it was more than just water. There was a sweet aftertaste, followed almost at once by the easing of the more immediate aches and pains. Unable to hold back a sigh of relief, he settled a little further into the pillows, finishing the rest of the potion whilst watching his master rifle through the various tomes spread across his desk.

The Master Wizard was mumbling discontentedly to himself, a sure sign of his agitation. Cringing inwardly at the thought of the lecture that was surely brewing, he was almost tempted to pretend he was still drinking. Unfortunately, Merlin’s gaze landed on him again as soon as he’d taken the last sip, his master bustling back to the bedside to loom in judgement.

Archie must have felt him tensing, for he glanced up at Merlin in irritation. “Must you?”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin liberated the empty cup from Douxie’s lax fingers, setting it aside before pulling up a chair that made his presence a little less intimidating. Douxie caught himself fidgeting with his empty hands, a bad habit he really should have broken after all this time, and swiftly moved to stroke Archie’s back instead.

“So…” Best to get it over and done with. This wasn’t the Merlin who had learned to trust him, for better or for worse. “How much trouble am I in, then?”

“Trouble?” Merlin gave him an incredulous look. “You just spent two days on your deathbed, and another completely unresponsive as your own magic tried to piece you back together. Given the circumstances, I hardly think a lecture from me is going to help.”

“It might.” He probably shouldn’t have said that. Too late to take it back now. “You never know.”

“I will keep that in mind.” The words were so dry you could have used them as tinder. “How are you feeling? And don’t spin me the same story you just did your dragon friend. It may have been nine hundred years for you, but you are still as terrible a liar as you ever were.”

“Yes, well, some people might consider that a good thing.”

“Hisirdoux.”

He hadn’t realised until now how much he had missed his old master. They had had their disagreements, polarising views that had only grown worse after Merlin’s slumber and all those years on his own to fend for himself. The old wizard was still the closest thing he had to a father, and his absence had been felt in every successive catastrophe that had followed his death.

“I feel like I let you down.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he didn’t really have any choice from there but to continue. “You trusted me to protect Nari, but she’s the one who ended up saving me. I don’t even know if the rest of my friends made it out alive. Skrael and Bellroc have probably already opened the Seals in the future, and by the time I figure out how to get back there everyone I know will already be gone.”

“Hmm.” That was all he got for a long moment, which was neither particularly helpful nor reassuring. “Given up already, have you?”

“What? No! I mean, of course I want to fix it, I just don’t see how.”

“Good.” Merlin nodded as though a decision had been reached. “Once we have exhausted all possible avenues of action and find we cannot undo this calamity of yours, then, and only then, will we talk about your failures. For now, I suggest you focus on regaining your strength.”

“Really?” Zoe would have slapped him upside the head if she’d found him fishing for criticism, but he was finding it hard to believe Merlin had nothing to say on the matter. Merlin always had something to say. “That’s it?”

“Hisirdoux...” Merlin sighed, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. It dawned on his apprentice that the Master Wizard actually looked tired. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that before, battles with Morgana and centuries of slumber notwithstanding. Before he could open his mouth to express his concern, Merlin had reached out in a rare display to lay a hand on his shoulder. “What has happened has happened. After what you went through to end up here, I hardly think there is anything I can add that you haven’t already figured out for yourself. The important thing is to decide what we are going to do next. For that, we need to get you back on your feet.”

The urge was there to close the distance between them. It had been a terrible last few days, on top of a terrible last few months, and the worn down, exhausted part of him just wanted to reclaim the comfort of that brief embrace they had shared whilst lingering on the edge of the afterlife. But this wasn’t that Merlin; No matter how much Douxie might have wished otherwise, his master was gone. He was just borrowing the body and the life of his younger self, ruining his own childhood in new and exciting ways. He really hoped he didn’t remember any of this later. At the rate he was going, he’d be lucky if he wasn’t a raving lunatic by the time he made it back to the future.

“Alright.” Realising Merlin was still awaiting a verbal response, he stuffed that urge and the distracting lump in his throat back down as far as they would go. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Rest.” Merlin squeezed his shoulder before moving his hand away. “Recover. The damage the Arcane Order caused has been halted in its tracks for now, but the cracks remain. You will need to be careful not to overexert yourself, and extremely cautious in how you use your magic. Morgana has already managed one miracle; I will not risk needing another.”

“Where is Morgana?” He was almost afraid to ask. In hindsight, telling the pair of them as much as he had about the future was probably not the wisest thing he could have done in his situation. He was humble enough to admit that. At the time — shock thrumming through his veins and fresh from the adrenaline of being torn apart and put back together — he hadn’t really been in a good frame of mind for rational decision making. That was no excuse for dropping the sorceress in the deep end, though. Not when he knew how Merlin could be. “I owe her a ‘thank you’ for saving my life.”

“She has not been cast into the dungeon, if that is what you are afraid of.” Merlin gave him a knowing look. “Seeing the future is a dangerous business, and anyone who acts on that knowledge without proper forethought is a fool. I will admit you caught me off guard — the time map has never so much as hinted at Morgana’s fate — but she has nothing to fear from me until she chooses to make herself a threat.”

“Good.” It was a weight off his shoulders, if only one of the smallest burdens resting there. “Because I have a feeling we are going to need her help.”

“As do I,” Merlin agreed. “We will discuss it further when I return. I have a meeting with Arthur I have already delayed too long. The servants will bring you up something to eat in a little while. Do not leave the tower without either myself or Morgana accompanying you. Do you understand?”

“But, Master—”

“Don’t, Hisirdoux.” It was not the customary response, stern and reinforced by the expression on the elder wizard’s face. He flinched slightly in spite of himself; Merlin was not yet done. “Arthur is still furious over what happened. It is best you stay well out of sight until things have calmed down. We also have no way of knowing if any of the Arcane Order accompanied you on your little trip through time. If that conglomeration of magic sent you back, they might have followed, and they will be hunting you. Stay in the tower. That is an order.”

He didn’t wait for an acknowledgement before making his exit, closing the door firmly behind him and plunging the room into a brief silence.

Archie broke it with a sigh. “I suspect he didn’t mean that to sound quite as angry as it did. You gave us all a fright.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” At least Archie had never minded being used as a living, breathing teddy bear. He let himself indulge in that weakness for a moment, closing his eyes as he held the familiar as tightly as was comfortable for them both. “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

He was expecting the usual, quick response. What he got instead was a subdued, “Douxie…”

Surprised, he opened his eyes to meet his familiar’s gaze. He knew that look, and he wasn’t standing for it. “It wasn’t your fault, Arch.”

“I saw what happened.” Archie shook his head. “You were holding your own until I went and got careless. I’m your familiar, I’m supposed to help you, not nearly get you killed.”

“We’re supposed to help each other, Arch. If that’s the way we’re measuring it, I let you down first.”

“Douxie—”

“No. It wasn’t your fault. You’re not allowed to think that it is.”

The dragon huffed at him, not looking wholly convinced, but at least a little less guilty. That transformed into alarm a moment later when Douxie started peeling back the blanket.

“What are you doing?”

Freezing halfway through the motion, he blinked at his familiar. “Um... Getting out of bed?”

“Merlin said—”

“Not to leave the tower. And I’m not. I just want to get up.”

“The last time you did that you destroyed Merlin’s stock of potions,” Archie moved aside to let him rise, but not without comment. “And the time before you nearly cracked your skull open whilst rearranging all the furniture in our room.”

He touched his head on instinct, frowning when his fingers brushed against the healing lump there. He had been hoping Archie was exaggerating. “Extenuating circumstances?”

“Such as your soul being scattered across time?” Archie dropped to the floor as Douxie sat up on his own, watching him warily as he rested a hand against the bedpost and eased himself slowly to his feet. “I suppose I can allow it. You’re going to have to come up with a better excuse than that for all the other messes you caused, though.”

“Fuzzbuckets. What else did I do?” His legs were slightly wobbly, but they held. He transferred his hand from the bed to the wall before cautiously taking a step, Archie shadowing him.

“I’m not sure you really want to know.”

He managed another three steps without falling on his face, though it was taking more effort than he felt it should. “That sounds bad.”

“Somewhat.” Satisfied he was steady enough to remain upright, Archie took to the air so he could open the door into the workshop, saving Douxie the effort of juggling himself and the latch. “At least you didn’t accidentally turn anyone into a toad, I suppose.”

Belatedly catching on to the teasing note in his familiar’s voice, Douxie cast the smug dragon a dark glare. “You’re an ass, Arch.”

Archie chuckled quietly, and Douxie finished his unsteady march across the bedchamber in silence, slipping into the workshop and sitting on the nearest pile of books he could find.

“I told you you should have stayed in bed,” Archie grumbled, settling at his feet. “It’s not like we have anywhere we need to be.”

That was true, technically. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that sitting still was a mistake. That he should be doing something, anything besides lazing about his master’s quarters all day. Unfortunately, Merlin wasn’t likely to set him loose when he couldn’t even make it across a room without feeling like he needed another nap, so whatever it was would have to wait for now.

Glancing about the workshop in an effort to look more alert than he really was, he froze as he caught sight of the worn lute propped in the corner. Archie followed his gaze, not needing an uttered word to dart across the room and retrieve it for him. His voice only wobbled slightly as he thanked his familiar, waiting for Archie to shift forms and settle into place on his lap before positioning the instrument and letting his fingers wander across the strings.

He was a little rusty; It was a long time since he’d owned a lute, more familiar now with the instruments of the 21st Century than the 12th, but the weight was comforting nonetheless, and it only took a few minutes for his fingers to remember the old patterns. The melody filled the otherwise quiet space of Merlin’s workshop, Archie adding a gentle rumble to what was a softer tune than he would normally have chosen. It seemed right for this moment; A much needed chance to pause and regain his breath before diving back into the fray.

#Hisirdoux Casperan #TOA Merlin #TOA Archie #Tales of Arcadia Fanfiction #TOA Wizards #Hurt/Comfort #Found Family #The reprieve chapter #Because we needed one

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thedaughterofkings · 4 years

Text

An American Werewolf ...

Written for @sterekweek2019 Day Six: Canon Highlights, 2k of re-imagining what might have happened after that pool scene!

Once the lizard creature - a Kanima according to Derek, whatever that might mean in detail - is dealt with and Scott disappears, very apologetic and nevertheless very quickly gone, Stiles stands in the parking lot and drips.

Next to him, Derek shifts and when Stiles turns to look at him, he looks ready to run away. And drips.

After a moment, he says: “Thank you.” Stiles has never been thanked so reluctantly. It’s almost hilarious how uncomfortable Derek looks - like a grumpy, wet cat. Stiles has to bite his lip to stop a grin spreading across his face that would surely get him slapped or punched right now. Derek does not look in a very witty mood right now.

Also he’s still dripping.

As is Stiles.

Stiles wrinkles his nose when a drop of pool water slides down it and then sighs.

“Alright, jump in.”

“What.”

Derek's aversion against inflection strikes again.

"Do you have a shower in your secret lair? Stiles asks and doesn't even give Derek a chance to answer before he continues: "Thought so. Now jump in; I'll let you use ours out of the goodness of my heart. Can’t have you die on me from pneumonia after I saved your life.”

“I’m a werewolf. I’m not going to die of pneumonia,” Derek says, rolling his eyes, and Stiles rolls his eyes right back at him.

“Your werewolfiness didn’t prevent you from drowning, did it? Nope, I, Stiles Stilinski, measly human that I am, did. So you are going to honour my heroic actions and get your furry ass into my car and then into my shower.”

He pulls open the passenger door of the Jeep and to his eternal surprise, Derek stops arguing and gets in.

The ride home is uncomfortable - not because of Derek, who is quiet, but not awkwardly so. It’s uncomfortable because Stiles sits in a pool of, well, pool water, his shoes make strange squelching noises with every movement and the stray drop sliding down his neck makes him shudder intermittently. Despite all of this, when they arrive Stiles takes one look at Derek, who looks like a drowned cat, or perhaps like a very grumpy drowned puppy, and sighs.

“The bathroom’s up on the first floor, first on the left. Towels are in the cabinet, I’ll get you some sweats or something. No stripes, I promise.”

When Derek doesn’t even show his teeth, Stiles knows he made the right decision in not just letting him slip away into the shadows. Or drip away into the shadows. Stiles puts on some hot water and digs around in the freezer for the one pizza he has hidden there for emergencies. If this doesn’t count as an emergency, then what does.

By the time the water shuts off in the bathroom, Stiles has the biggest pair of sweatpants he owns and an old police academy shirt that used to belong to his dad ready for Derek. He dithers over whether to add boxers, and then quickly grabs the least embarrassing pair and adds it to the pile as the door creaks open.

Derek has a towel wrapped around his waist and Stiles does his best not to ogle his shoulders or chest or the hint of thighs under the towel.

“Here you go,” he says, and hurriedly shoves the clothes into Derek’s hands. “When you’re ready, go check the pizza isn’t burning downstairs, would you?”

Then he turns away from Derek, hopefully before his flaming cheeks got too obvious and starts walking away when he realises he completely forgot to pick up some dry clothes for himself. But when he turns back to grab a shirt and some sweats, Derek has already dropped his towel. Stiles stares at his back, eyes travelling down from the spiral between his shoulder blades despite Stiles’ best efforts, over the dips at the bottom of his spine and finally across the curve of his ass. Then Stiles lets out what can only be called a squeak, decides dry clothes are overrated, and flees from the room.

After a brief attempt to drown himself in the shower, Stiles tells himself to man up and carefully peeks through the bathroom door. Some noise from downstairs gives him enough courage to slip into his thankfully empty room and quickly pull on some hopefully clean clothes from the pile on the foot of his bed.

He almost expects Derek to be gone when he gets down, but to his surprise, he hasn’t escaped while Stiles was in the shower. Instead he’s standing in Stiles’ kitchen, cursing softly under his breath as he attempts to get the pizza off the tray and onto a plate. While Stiles is watching, he gives up on waiting for gravity to do its job and just pulls the pizza off with his hand, hissing when his palm touches the hot tray.

“Dude, what the hell!”

Stiles hurries forwards and almost burns himself as well when he grabs Derek’s hand. But as he watches, the wound heals until just a faint red streak remains and they end up simply holding hands. When Stiles realises that, he hurriedly drops Derek’s hand and busies himself with grabbing some cutlery and plates, willing down the colour in his cheeks. Behind him Derek puts away the tray and grabs the pizza, following Stiles when he leads them out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“Get comfy, I’m going to get some hot tea - or would you prefer hot chocolate? I think we might still have some instant stuff somewhere. Not as good as made from scratch, but we definitely don’t have that in the house, my dad would sniff it out immediately. I’m surprised he didn’t find the pizza! Or would you like anything else, coffee, warm milk, water, a beer? We don’t have anything harder and we really shouldn’t even have the beer, but I think it’s Dad’s proof to himself and me that he’s not fallen off the wagon, so the beer is probably really old, but perhaps it’s still good. Does beer go off?”

He’d probably have kept on rambling if Derek hadn’t interrupted him: “Tea is fine, Stiles.”

“Tea it is!” Stiles replies brightly and escapes into the kitchen where he first bangs his head against the fridge. God, what is wrong with him! Then he sighs, drags a hand down his face and finally fills up a cup of tea for both of them. It’s not the drink he’d usually go for, especially not with pizza, but the shower has only done so much to warm him up, so tea it is.

When he comes back into the living room, walking carefully to make sure nothing spills - they’ve had enough of both water and burns for one day, he thinks, Derek has cut the pizza into slices and sat down. To Stiles’ surprise he didn’t choose the armchair, but the couch, so now Stiles has to decide whether he’s going to take the armchair or sit down next to Derek. He hesitates and then sits down on the couch as well, reasoning to himself that it’s easier to get at the pizza that way.

He promptly grabs a slice and shoves it into his mouth, mumbling: “Help yourself, dude,” when Derek doesn’t move to take a slice as well. Ignoring Derek’s disgusted look, he chews contentedly and switches on the TV, zapping through the channels until he ends up on something that looks familiar.

Stiles swallows and then says excitedly: “Dude, An American Werewolf in Paris!”

But to his surprise, Derek just furrows his brows in question.

“You’ve not seen it?” Stiles asks, confused. When Scott had first been bitten, Stiles had watched every single werewolf movie he could find, ostensibly in the name of research, but also just because most of them were hilarious, especially as he figured out this lycanthropy thing.

“I am a werewolf, Stiles, I don’t have to watch crappy werewolf movies,” Derek says, sounding particularly disdainful.

“Dude, that’s the best part!” Stiles exclaims. “You get to make fun of all the things they get wrong! Crappy werewolf movies are the best movies now!” He gestures towards the TV. “Like look at the cannibalism here - not too closely, though, they really went all out - isn’t it absurd!” He stop and narrows his eyes when a worrying thought crosses his mind. “The cannibalism is absurd, isn’t it?”

“No, Stiles, I’d much prefer to eat you than this pizza,” Derek deadpans and Stiles’ tea goes down the wrong pipe when his mind offers up decidedly un-cannibalistic images for that. He waves off Derek’s suddenly concerned look and croaks after he’s gotten his cough under control: “Let’s just stick to pizza for now, shall we?”

“I didn’t mean -” Derek stutters, his cheeks flaming, and Stiles ignores the pang in his chest at that admission and quickly says: “Nevermind, look, here’s their cure - killing the one that bit you, so far, so good, but then also eating their heart. I don’t think Scott would have been able to eat Peter’s heart, even if he’d have managed to kill him. Thanks for that by the way; I know Scott probably doesn’t agree, but I’m glad you killed Peter. Imagine if the stories about the cure were just that - stories - and we’d have ended up with Scott as the Alpha! That would have definitely ended in tears. Not that you’re all fun and smiles, mind, but we’ll get you there yet. First of all, laughing at crappy werewolf movies. Eat up and then settle in, we’re going to enjoy this.”

Derek looks as though he wants to say something, but then he gives into Stiles’ obviously superior commands and snags the last piece of pizza.

It takes a while, but about half way through the film he starts relaxing and, to Stiles’ surprise, even gets really into slagging off about all the inaccuracies. When it turns out the channel is having a werewolf night, it’s not even a question that they’re going to keep watching. Stiles just makes a dash up the stairs to raid his secret stash of unhealthy goodies, and then they settle in to watch the next film. And then the one after that.

Thankfully Stiles’ dad has the nightshift, otherwise this might be hard to explain.

Watching horrible movies with Derek is fun, way more than Stiles would have ever expected, and he even learns something, to the point where he’s tempted to write it all down. It’s valuable information after all! Derek’s humour is sharp and biting, but Stiles also forms a new appreciation for his trademark deadpan, which is hilarious in the right context. With every film they both sink deeper into the cushions, until Stiles’ side is pressed entirely against Derek, who is one hot line next to him. Thoughts already turning sluggish, Stiles wonders whether that’s a sign Derek is running a fever or whether he’s just naturally a supernatural furnace. Before he can ask him that though, he nods off, head sinking to rest on Derek’s shoulder and only wakes up hours later.

The TV has been turned off, but Derek is still there, sound asleep next to Stiles, or rather, half under him, as they’ve both slid down in slumber. He looks far younger with his face slack and not caught in a frown and Stiles pushes himself up on his elbows so he can study him properly. Even the eyebrows look less intimidating like this, instead they look more, well, sad. Stiles bites his lip and ever so carefully brushes away a curl of hair that has fallen into Derek’s eyes. There’s faint lines at their corners and Stiles remembers them crinkling up as Derek had laughed at one of Stiles’ stupid jokes. He can’t remember having seen Derek properly laugh ever before. Smile, sure, though most of those had been fake as shit, but laugh? A full belly, throw his head back laugh? Never.

And it’s a shame.

Stiles resolves there and then that he’s going to fix that. He’s going to make Derek Hale laugh and be happy, if it’s the last thing he does.

Starting tomorrow. There’s a vampire movie marathon on tomorrow night, surely that will offer some hilarity. Certainly if they show Twilight - Stiles can’t wait to hear Derek’s comments on Jacob and the whole imprinting business.

If they are really lucky, there might even be a Kanima movie marathon in their future, but Stiles isn’t placing any bets on that. Vampires will do for now and they’ll figure out the Kanima thing separately.

But for now sleep beckons him again. He considers moving upstairs into his bed, but Derek is warm and the stairs are cold and who’s to stop Derek from escaping without breakfast in the morning if Stiles does not literally lie on him, so with that reasoning in mind, he wriggles carefully until he’s found a more comfortable position and then closes his eyes again, letting himself be lulled in by the calm rhythm of Derek’s slow breaths.

Tomorrow can deal with all the inevitable questions. For now they sleep.

You can find the rest of my Sterekweek fic (also from years past) here!

#Sterekweek2019 #sterekcanon #Sterek #teen wolf #eternalsterek #my fic #my Sterek fic #my Sterekweek fic #fair warning: I've never seen An American Werewolf in Paris #or London #or wherever else they roam #so I claim no accuracy #nevertheless:#happy reading!

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dvp95 · 5 years

Text

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 10

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 4,286 for this chapter (45,795 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"Daniel?"

Dan blinks. He blinks again, zoning back into the conversation he's supposed to be a part of.

"Er," he says, sheepish. "What was the question?"

"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Daniel?" the woman asks - the interviewer asks, fuck, this is like the sixth time he's asked her to repeat herself. "I heard you were ill yesterday, weren't you?"

He wasn't. But that is what Jaime and Patrick had sworn up and down to anyone who asked, because they're good partners in crime like that. They look like they regret it now.

"Yeah, Daniel," Jaime says, stressing his name in a way that makes Dan think she's one more fuckup from smacking him in the back of the head. He'd probably deserve it, at this point. He can't remember being this scatterbrained in his whole life, and that's saying something. "You sure you're okay being out of bed?"

The word 'bed' gets stressed too, just a bit, and Dan feels a flush creeping up his neck.

It's honestly unreasonable how he can't seem to focus on the task at hand, which is answering softball questions about the show he's worked on for three years, because his mind keeps drifting back to Phil.

Phil, who he'd left in bed with Thor, all sleepy noises and grumpiness at Dan needing to leave. Phil, who has the day off and might still be mostly naked and lazy while he waits for Dan to come back. Phil, who he only has three days left with.

Three more days in London. Two sleeps. And Dan has shit to do every single goddamn day of it.

This is a work trip, technically. They've got a handful of interviews the next two days that couldn't be scheduled for their first London stretch, and then they're going to France. That's exciting, it is, a mark of success that Dan never expected for himself, but right now he's frustrated by anything that cuts into the time he could be using to kiss Phil.

Dan is so busy remembering how Phil's mouth had felt against his that he forgets to answer the question. He can practically feel his eyes glaze over.

"Daniel," Patrick says, audibly exasperated.

It takes a lot to get Patrick to that point, so Dan ducks his head and mumbles another apology.

"He's fine," Jaime tells the very nice and concerned interviewer whose name Dan has long forgotten. "He's just got a lot on his mind right now and he's really shit at multitasking."

"Hey," says Dan. It's a weak protest.

The interviewer is a tall woman with kind eyes that crinkle into laughter lines when she smiles at him. She's dressed casually, has a denim jacket with patches and pins all over it, and Dan feels his eyes linger at the rainbow on her pocket.

What is that like? To be so certain and so confident that you can wear it on your sleeve even in a professional environment? Dan doesn't know that he'll be able to get there.

He wants to compliment her on it. It's the same urge he had in the restaurant with Phil's family, vocalizing that he wishes he could wear more nail polish. The same swirling anxiety of being judged for it follows quickly, but this time it's amplified by the recording device in the interviewer's hand, the knowledge that anything he says right now will be analyzed to death later.

Dan wants to live authentically, and he wants to get to a place where he doesn't need to hide, but he's frustrated by the reality of how much progress that's going to take. It's not going to be easy, it already hasn't been, and it's never going to stop.

Even with making a name for himself and having an audience, Dan knows that coming out publicly still won't stop strangers from making assumptions about him or demanding an explanation for the women he's been seen with. He'll have to come out over and over and - it's scary. It's really scary.

The compliment catches in his throat. He can't say it to someone recording him, no matter how kind her eyes are. He hasn't even told his grandma yet.

"I like your jacket," he says instead. He feels like a coward for it.

"Thanks," the woman says brightly, looking down at herself and tapping one of her bigger patches. "Customized it myself, obviously. It's a wee bit more colourful than you like to be seen in, right?"

The casual chirping helps Dan relax, reminds him that this is a laid-back interview with easy questions. Nobody is shining a heat lamp on him and asking for an expose on how he spent part of last night inside of another man.

He grins and shrugs. "Yeah, alright, I wear a lot of black. Sue me. I can still think colours look nice on some people."

Great. Now he's thinking about Phil again.

"Like Jaime," Patrick offers, tugging at one of Jaime's bubblegum braids. Dan still can't tell if it's a wig or not, but she smacks Patrick's hand away like it's her own hair.

"That's true," says Dan. "Jaime wears as much black as I do, though, I dunno that she's the best example."

Patrick nods, solemn. "At least her hair is interesting."

"Oi, fuck you. Sorry," Dan adds sheepishly. Even though this is an online print interview, he still feels a little bit of shame whenever he slips up and curses during an interview.

The woman - Cara? Catherine? Camilla? Ca-something? - just laughs and waves his apology off.

With an ease that Dan can't help but notice isn't quite as practised as Phil's, the interviewer moves on to questions about their other cast members. While they don't have any trouble making fun of each other, it's even more fun to exaggerate stories of people who aren't here to defend themselves.

Dan tries so hard to participate. He does. He laughs in all the right places and gives Jaime grief for not remembering something right, because he's given this poor interviewer nothing of substance. The thing is that Jaime is better at telling stories and Patrick is so dry and stoic with interrupting jokes that Dan knows he isn't needed for this. He lets them bicker over a story detail that he's long forgotten and feels himself start to zone back out.

He listens to Patrick's slow timbre, Jaime's trill of a laugh, and lets his mind drift back to where it wants to be.

Even though it's tempting, Dan isn't stupid enough to text Phil in the middle of doing his fucking job. He has to resort to checking his phone between interviews and pictures, getting more and more pouty about the lack of response to the things he's sending throughout the morning. Phil must be having a lie-in, because it takes him a couple of hours to even see Dan's texts.

ugh i should have just stayed in bed

pls send thor pics

and you pics but like give me a heads up if your dick is out im at work

i dropped my coffee on jaimes lap fml shes gonna kill me

im just so distracted lmaooo

canft believe youre just asleep thats so rude

Oh nooooooo. I always cry over spilt coffee :( you want me to bring you one? I can come hang out for lunch!

The sweet text is accompanied by a photo of Thor asleep on the sofa, his little head pillowed on Phil's knee. Phil is wearing Dan's pyjama pants and - it's hard to tell for sure, with the way the photo is angled, but Dan thinks he's got the Friends shirt on. Frankly, that should be gross. Dan wore that shirt for way too long for it not to smell like, well, his sweat, and that is objectively not sexy.

Dan feels gooey warmth spread from his stomach outwards, anyway. Maybe it is gross, but it makes him happy to think about Phil's shirt smelling like him the way that his own Yeezy shirt still faintly smells like Phil. He covers his mouth with a hand so nobody milling around will see him grinning like an idiot.

thats ok, Dan texts back one-handed. yall look comfy you should stay. i'll b back for dinner and snuggles ok?

Ok! ^_^

God, but Dan wants to be there now. He wants to be the one cuddled up with his head in Phil's lap. He recognises that it's very stupid to be jealous of a dog, but he isn't going to let that stop him.

"Hey, Howell." Patrick's voice interrupts the daydream of slender fingers carding through Dan's hair.

Dan blinks. He blinks again, looks up.

"I didn't even see you sit down," Dan tells him, bemused. They're sharing a bench in the building's lobby, not wanting to go too far in case they need to go back upstairs for more photos during the short break in their day.

"Yeah, you're on another planet," says Patrick. Dan wishes he could argue that fact. "Things went well with your whole Love Actually emergency, then?"

The reference pulls Dan up short. He feels his brow furrow as he walks through the entire film in his head. "What are you talking about? None of this happened in Love Actually."

"It's British, isn't it," Patrick says nonsensically.

"I don't," Dan starts, but then he gives up. He and Patrick are close as coworkers - friends, even - but Dan never quite understands the links that Patrick's brain makes. "It went well. It went really well. I don't know if Jaime told you everything I texted her, but I like... fully ended up meeting the family."

Patrick's eyebrows raise slightly. That's quite a reaction, from him. "You met the parents? Bro. You just started dating."

They're not in an overly crowded area, but people keep waking by them on their way in or out of the building, so Dan is pleasantly surprised to discover that Patrick can play the pronoun game, too.

"Yeah," says Dan. He doesn't want to get into the mix-up right now. He's sure that Patrick will have another incomprehensible reference when he hears about it. "But it just feels... I dunno. Right? In a way other people haven't? Maybe that's obvious."

"It's not obvious," says Patrick. He's snapping a hair elastic around his wrist idly, the gesture something Dan had thought was an expression of annoyance or frustration when they first met. Dan knows now that it means Patrick is tired, that he wants to shove his hair off his shoulders and stop it from tickling his neck. They're only halfway through their day, though, still a couple of photoshoots to get through, so he can't put his hair up just yet.

Dan knows so much about these people. He's learned it all from such close proximity for the past three years, but he also genuinely likes spending time with them. He feels, suddenly, very guilty for wishing cancellation on this thing they've all worked so hard for.

"Sorry," Dan says.

"For what?"

He doesn't really know how to voice it. He shrugs. "For being a shit coworker right now."

Patrick gives him an indecipherable look and shakes his head. "Daniel," he says, "you're not being a shit coworker."

"I kind of am, though," says Dan. "Like I can't focus at all, I'm missing interviews, and I... I don't know how much I want to go back to Atlanta. Is that bad?"

"Why would that be bad?" Patrick hums. "This is your home."

Home isn't an easy concept for Dan to wrap his head around. He hadn't had a happy one for most of his life, hadn't been able to find somewhere that felt quite right ever since he escaped that. So it's a little disconcerting when Patrick's words settle into his chest and feel like indisputable truth.

"London is home," Dan echoes, wondering it it feels just as right coming out of his own mouth. It does. His head is spinning, a bit.

"Yeah," Patrick says, like it's that easy.

Dan gives himself a little shake back into the present. He smiles, wry. "Still, I probably shouldn't be crossing my fingers under tables for the producers to shut us down."

For a moment, Patrick looks confused. Dan is all ready to apologise again, shove those feelings down, but Patrick just says, "So negotiate your contract. You know that you aren't required by law to see the show through to the end, right? You can just not come back for season four, or only come back for a couple episodes instead of a full season."

They're sat in a fairly public area, with other people walking about, but Dan could hear a pin drop in the shattering silence that rings in his ears at Patrick's use of logic.

"I," says Dan, "did not think of that."

Patrick nods. "You kind of tunnel-vision sometimes, has anyone ever told you that?"

By the time Dan returns to Phil's building, he's talked himself into and back out of quitting his job a dozen times. It's a dumb decision, but not much dumber than simply waiting for someone else to make the decision for him.

He decides to call Amy when he's in France and talk the options through with her. She's already looking for potential gigs in the UK for him, so hopefully the conversation isn't going to come as much of a surprise to her. The last thing he needs is for his agent to get upset with him over making changes in his life.

Dan's head is buzzing with it, loud enough to give him a headache. He texts Phil that he's outside and waits to be let in. He gets an intrusive domestic fantasy of letting himself in with his own key, and reminds himself to rein in this U-Haul bullshit.

"Hey!" Phil beams as he opens the door and steps back for Dan to come in. Other people live on the other floors, but Phil still leans in for a long kiss the moment the door closes behind Dan.

It sends sparks up Dan's spine and quiets some of the unending noise in his head. He sighs, leans into the kiss, wraps his arms around Phil's waist to pull him even closer.

He's cognizant of where they are, though, so he pulls back to rest their foreheads together after a moment. "Hey yourself."

"Did you have a good day?" Phil asks, his tri-coloured eyes bright and unguarded.

"Yeah, but it's better now," says Dan. He's parroting what Phil said to him yesterday, and he can tell that Phil recognises it from the little smile on his face. "You look nice. You showered just for me?"

Phil laughs and tugs at Dan's wrist, pulling him down the stairs. They've got four left feet between them, honestly, so it's a miracle nobody takes a nosedive.

"Yeah," he says as they narrowly avoid any number of broken bones. He presses Dan against the wall next to his front door and grins at him. "But it was also for the judgey moms at the dog park. You look nicer, you didn't take the makeup off?"

To be honest, Dan had forgotten it was even on his face. He settles his hands on Phil's hips and smiles. "They made me look like the best version of me, why would I erase all their hard work?"

"Mm, you do look pretty," Phil says, and Dan is lucky to have his back against a wall. His knees might have actually buckled at the praise if he was unsupported.

"Pretty, huh?" Dan asks. He tries to keep his tone dry, like it's a big joke, but Phil's big eyes just see too much.

"Very pretty," says Phil. Dan doesn't know how to handle being complimented by Phil's deep, sincere voice, but he isn't given much of a chance to react before Phil is speaking again. "But I don't know that I'd call this the best version of you. You looked really nice when you came, y'know."

"Fuck, Phil," Dan laughs, a little breathless. "I was literally gone for ten hours."

"Ten hours too many," Phil grumbles.

Dan laughs again, but he has to admit that Phil has a point. The day had absolutely dragged on with the knowledge that his probably-boyfriend was waiting for him.

"You wanna go inside, then?" Dan suggests, running his thumbs just under the hem of Phil's clean shirt. "I'll do a lot of things, but this floor is cement, mate. I'm not blowing you out here."

The giggle that's surprised out of Phil makes Dan smile so wide it hurts his cheeks. He smacks the center of Dan's chest lightly and steps back to let them both into his flat. "I was thinking we could, like, order dinner first or whatever, but I'm not going to complain if you want to switch up the itinerary."

"The itinerary," Dan mocks, looking around for a ball of fluff running directly at them as he struggles with his shoes. "Uh, where's Thor?"

"Uh," says Phil. There's colour high in his cheeks that he tries to hide by flopping onto the sofa. The sweats he stole off of Dan don't really leave much to the imagination at all, not when he's sitting like that, and Dan almost loses his balance when he stands up straight. The pink doesn't leave Phil's face, but a knowing smirk joins it. "He's in the bathroom."

Dan's heart skips like an old CD player and he laughs to mask just how fond he is. "Uh huh, and here you are acting like you were really ordering food first."

"Well," Phil says, his smirk growing, "we could still order first, it'd be at least twenty."

"Sounds like a challenge," Dan hums, coming around the sofa to sit on the other end and lean forward, kissing the sliver of skin where Phil's shirt is riding up. "Why don't you do that, and I'll go get a bloody condom."

Phil blushes, proper blushes, and pulls a packet out of his pocket. "Ta-da," he jokes, weakly. "For my next trick -"

"If you say you're going to make your penis disappear," Dan says, flat, "then I'm walking out."

They just look at each other for a long moment, like a staring contest neither of them initiated, and then Phil snorts. That sets them both off and soon enough they're laughing, Dan's nose tucked against Phil's hipbone and Phil's hand over his mouth.

"I wasn't going to say that," Phil insists, still giggling. "I wasn't."

"Sure you weren't." Dan grins up at him and slides up his body, a little less graceful than he'd imagined it in his head. He presses their smiles together and licks into Phil's mouth. A little noise passes between them when Phil's hands find their way into Dan's hair, but Dan isn't sure which of them it comes from.

The giddy feeling of laughter doesn't leave Dan's chest. He lets it make a home there as he trails kisses all over Phil's long, pale neck. He doesn't need to guess when Phil likes something - he squirms and makes these little huffs of noises, grip on Dan's curls tightening just a bit before it loosens again. It feels impossibly powerful to learn how to take Phil apart like this, like they're teenagers snogging on the sofa in their first relationship.

It's strange that this does feel like a first relationship for Dan, in a lot of ways. He loved his first girlfriend and cared about other women he's dated, but it's not the same at all.

Finally, Dan is allowed to feel all the things he's supposed to have felt when he was younger. He's allowed to let budding affection and lust and friendship all wrap up in one person.

"So, the piercings," Dan murmurs, letting his hand slide up Phil's shirt to toy with one of them.

"What about them?" Phil asks. He already sounds impatient and needy, like he had last night, and the sound of it goes straight to Dan's dick.

Dan laughs and sits up, helping Phil get his shirt off over his head. "I mean, do they do things for you? Do they feel good when I touch them? How do you want me to touch them to make them feel good?"

"Do you always ask this many questions during sex?" Phil asks, dry.

There's no point in lying. "Yeah, I tend to babble." Dan gives him a winning smile and taps at Phil's hips, a silent request for him to lift up. Phil does happily, arching up for Dan and letting his stolen sweats get tugged off. "Guess you'll have to shut me up somehow."

Phil laughs, muffling the sound of it with his palm, and shakes his head. He looks so fucking gorgeous like this, giggly and naked and starting to get hard against his thigh. Dan has no idea how he got this lucky.

"That's such a terrible line," Phil informs him, grinning wide. He doesn't seem bothered by Dan being dressed when he isn't. He just settles back against the cushions and wiggles a bit, either trying to get comfortable or just teasing Dan. Either is possible at this point.

"It's not a line," Dan protests, shrugging his jacket off and settling back between Phil's legs. He presses his mouth to Phil's soft tummy and, unable to help himself, blows a raspberry.

Phil kicks out at him, instinctive, and his tongue is trapped between his teeth as he tries to hold back giggles.

"My nipples aren't sensitive," Phil tells him, voice wavering with some combination of amusement and arousal. He drops a hand to wrap around his own cock, thumbing at the metal on the tip of it. "This is. It, like, tugs. It's nice."

Biting back a groan at the sight, Dan digs around for the condom. He impatiently knocks Phil's hand out of the way to get him hard enough that he can roll it on. The piercing just above his balls settles nicely at the bottom of the latex, almost like it's holding it in place. Dan rolls it between his fingers, watches Phil's eyes flutter closed. "And this one?"

"Not as much. Still good, though." Phil's tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Dan grins at the unconscious reminder of what he's meant to be doing.

It's not the most comfortable for them to be laid out on the sofa like this, lanky as they are, but Dan isn't nineteen anymore. His knees do not hold up the way they used to. He wraps his hand around the base of Phil's cock and lets the tips of his fingers idly play with the metal bar as he finally gets his mouth on Phil.

Dan isn't used to the taste of latex accompanying a blowjob, but it isn't unpleasant. He gives Phil a couple of long licks and then sucks lightly at the head, not sure how much pressure Phil likes yet.

That's something he thinks he'd love to learn. He wants to know everything about Phil's body, wants to make him tremble with it.

Dan is extremely offended when he glances up and sees that Phil is tapping something on his phone, but the offense settles when Phil huffs a laugh and says, "Put in for takeaway. All yours, now."

The phone gets put down and Dan tongues at the bump of Phil's Prince Albert ring through the condom. That makes Phil's breath hitch, his hips jerk just a bit.

It's been years since Dan has had a cock in his mouth, but he likes to think it's like riding a bike. He takes Phil deep, hollows out his cheeks, repeats any motion that makes Phil let out soft groans. He forgot how much he likes this, fuck.

Much like everything else, it's somehow impossibly better with Phil.

Phil keeps a hand in Dan's hair and braces the other on the back of the sofa, breathing hard, and Dan doesn't want to close his eyes and miss a fucking moment of this.

"Fuck," Phil breathes, and Dan responds with an answering moan around his dick. "Yeah, alright, that's - fuck, Dan, you feel so good, look so pretty like that."

The praise still makes Dan shudder. He sucks Phil harder, feeling the weight of Phil's cock on his tongue as he speeds up his movements.

Dan remembers blowjobs to be pretty fast. He also never gave one to a man older than twenty, though, and his jaw starts to ache once he realises that Phil isn't going to be pushed over the edge as quickly as he's used to.

He pulls off to give his jaw a break, stroking Phil and pressing his open mouth along the side of him.

"You think I feel nice?" Dan laughs, pleased by the way the gust of air makes Phil's cock twitch. "Fucking, forgot how good this feels."

"Yeah?" Phil prompts, his voice deep and breathy and so, so nice to listen to. No wonder he's so successful on the radio. "You like sucking cock?"

Dan shivers. "Yeah," he says. He's unashamed, because he feels safe here with Phil. He can admit to liking a cock in his mouth, a hand in his hair, being called pretty. "Yours specifically, though."

Phil laughs. "That's good. I like specifically your cock, too." He looks over at his kitchen for a moment and raises his eyebrows. "I'll get dressed and answer the door when the pizza gets here if you can make me come in the next five minutes."

Well. Never let it be said that Dan Howell backs down from a challenge.

#phanfic #phan #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words #can't breathe when you touch my sleeve

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hollandsmoose · 5 years

Text

ruin my life

A/N: Based on “Ruin My Life” by Zara Larsson. I don’t know what I think of this, to be honest, but you’re getting it anyway. So here you go, sweeties, here’s 2.7k of kinda angsty post-breakup stuff with some fluff in the end (because I’m not a monster lmao)!

—————–

It had been your idea to break up. Shawn had protested, but you had persisted. There just wasn’t space for you in his life, and there wasn’t space for his life in yours. He wasn’t able to stay in Toronto all the time, and you weren’t able to fly around the world all the time either.

It sucks, though. It really fucking sucks. You can’t turn on the radio without hearing his voice, you can’t go on YouTube without being recommended 50 different videos of him, and you can’t spend a day without thinking about him.

You miss him now, especially. Now when you’re here on the couch on a Saturday night, wrapped up in a blanket, watching Friends on Netflix. Shawn should be here too, nestled into your side or with his head on your lap. He should be here to complain about what a prick Ross really is. He should be here to laugh at the same jokes he’s already laughed at a thousand times before. He should be here.

Your apartment is littered with memories of Shawn. Some are just the memories of what he’s done here. Standing in the shower reminds you of all the times you’ve heard him sing in it, always belting out some 90’s jam. Cooking in the kitchen reminds you of when you got into a dishwater fight with each other, eventually having to stop because you were laughing too much to breathe. Sleeping in your bed reminds you of the first time you slept together, making love all sweet and gentle.

There are the more tangible, physical memories of him as well. The blanket you’re under now is the same one he used to wear around the apartment like a cape on cold days. The photo frame with the picture of the two of you, which is currently facing downwards on the windowsill, is one he bought for you. The baby pink hoodie you’re wearing is one of his too.

Maybe it’s wrong to wallow in the sadness. It only enforces it, really. It’s just hard not to. You sigh to yourself while you watch Monica and Richard break up on the screen. They had incompatible lives, you think, and so did Shawn and I.

You tear away your eyes from the television screen to look at another screen - your phone. It buzzes, and it catches your attention. Your heart drops when you see what the buzz is about. A message.

Shawn: Are you home?

You put down your phone, then you pick it up. You do this about four times before you gather the strength to answer.

You: Yes.

A short reply to what you hope is going to be a short conversation.

Shawn: Can I come over?

You gulp. This is not going to be a short conversation.

You: Why?

Shawn: We need to talk.

You: It’s getting late, Shawn. You can come by tomorrow.

Shawn: What if I told you I’m already outside?

Shit.

You: What are you doing?! It’s too cold to be outside!

Shawn: Then let me in.

You know you shouldn’t. You know that you really, really shouldn’t. It’s still what you do, though.

You: Fine.

You buzz him in, and then it’s just a matter of waiting. It’ll take Shawn a few minutes to reach your floor, having to take the stairs because this old building has no elevator. You use the minutes to tidy up a bit, clearing the coffee table and putting the blanket back in place.

It’s only when the doorbell rings that you consider tidying up yourself. It’s not that you look appalling, but you are wearing one of his hoodies. Maybe it’s not exactly the best outfit for this situation.

You walk over to the door, and your hand lingers on the handle for a second. You feel a bit like a cartoon character with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The angel is the voice of reason, telling you to open the door and tell him to go back home. The devil is the voice of emotion, telling you to open the door and let him in. Is there really any question about which one you side with?

“Hi,” is all you greet Shawn with, trying to act a little cold, even though your insides are ablaze at the sight of him. “Come in,” He just stands there - almost like he’s awestruck. “Shawn?”

“I’m sorry,” he answers, breathing shakily. “It’s just seeing you again… it’s, uh…” He doesn’t finish that sentence. “Thank you.” He steps over the threshold with red cheeks, and you’re aware they’re not just from the cold outside.

Watching Shawn hang up his coat and kick off his boots is almost a smidge nostalgic. You can’t count how many times you’ve seen that before. It takes a couple of moments before you realize that you’ve not yet closed the door again, and then your cheeks flush red too, having been too mesmerized by him to notice. You finally do it, and you turn to face him.

You clear your throat. “You want anything? Tea, coffee?”

Shawn shakes his head. “I'm good,”

You stand there for a while not knowing what to do. None of you say a word, just awkwardly staring at each other. Ultimately, you go to sit on the couch and tell him to join you. Shawn sits down - but at a respectable distance from you. He smiles at the TV, paused on a frame of Phoebe.

“Friends, huh?”

“Yeah,”

“Which episode?”

“Uh, it’s the first episode of season 3. The one with Princess Leia and the fantasy, you know?”

“Oh, of course,”

Then another silence fills the room. It’s almost laughable, to be honest. He’s the one showing up at your door at 10pm, wanting to talk, and here he is, not saying a damn thing. It takes a few more moments before he speaks.

“I’ve missed you,” Shawn says, and he might as well have stabbed you in the fucking heart because it hurts just the same. Not that you’ve ever been stabbed in the heart, but you imagine it must feel like this. “I’ve missed this place. Missed you the most, though.” You don’t know how to respond, so you resort to your wit.

“I would hope so,” you add drily, kicking gently at the leg of the coffee table. Shawn has always enjoyed your humour, but now he is not very amused, so you budge. “I’ve missed you too,” His eyes light up, and you just pray it’s not with hope. Because he shouldn’t hope. It’s over. You were very clear about that. “It’s not quite the same without you.”

But who are you kidding? When Shawn smiles at you, scooting closer, and he takes your hand in his, then you know it’s not really over. How could it ever be?

Shawn squeezes your hand. “Nothing’s the same without you, baby,”

Regardless of your feelings, you persist, withdrawing your hand. “Shawn, don’t do this,”

“Do what?”

“This! Don’t say stuff like that!”

“Stuff like what?” Shawn asks. “Like that I miss you? That I can’t live without you? That I’m still hopelessly in love with you?” You can’t bear to look at him, so you get up from the couch and look out the window instead. “Because it’s the truth, Y/N. And you know what? I think you still love me too.” Busted, you say to yourself.

“It’s not about that!” you retort, the volume of your voice having increased. When you turn around again, he’s staring at you intently. “You know it’s not about that. It’s never been,” You sigh heavily, frustrated. “It’s not about whether or not I love you because of course I fucking do. It’s about us. Our lives are incompatible, Shawn.”

Now he gets up as well and goes to you, grabbing both your hands. “How? How are they incompatible? Because they used to work together pretty well,”

“We don’t have time for each other!”

“Then we’ll make time!”

“Oh, Shawn, it’s not that simple! We can’t just do that,”

“I’ll make time for you, then,” Shawn counters, his eyes large and pleading. “I’ll take a break. I’ve got a month left of tour, and then I’m off,” You can’t help but be a little taken aback. Shawn has never been one to consider taking breaks, always needing to be doing something. “I’ll take a year off, maybe two. I can just chill and write and be with you.”

It’s tempting to throw yourself into his arms upon hearing those words. It’s a strong temptation, but you still have your angel of reason on your shoulder.

“That’s not realistic,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Shawn, but I know you. You’ll get bored after two weeks, and then you’ll plan a tour or some shit like that.”

Shawn lets go of your hands, cupping your cheeks instead. “Yes, I’ll get bored, but I need to learn how to be bored again. I’ve been on the road for so long that I’ve forgotten how,”

You want to give in, yet you still struggle. “You’re just saying this in the heat of the moment! Come morning, you won’t feel the same,”

“That’s not true! It’s always been my plan to take a break after this tour,”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never let me! You just ran at the first sign of trouble,”

“Hey! That’s not true either,” you protest. It most definitely wasn’t the first sign of trouble. “You were about to go on tour for ten months, and I barely would’ve been able to visit you,” You reach up and push off his hands from your face. “How could we have made that work?”

“It would’ve been hard, but we could have made it work!” Shawn says, his tone desperate. “God, Y/N, don’t you see? I would do anything for you,” He swallows. “I was even going to propose!”

It’s like a punch to the gut. It’s not what you expect him to say at all. You had never thought such a thing was even on his mind. Sure, Shawn and you had talked about marriage, but it had always been this distant thing that would happen someday in the faraway future. You’d only been together for a little more than a year and a half when you broke up, and you had never suspected a proposal to come that early.

“You were?” you croak out, feeling the tears starting to press.

He gives a careful nod. “I’d even bought the ring and everything. I still have it,”

You bite your bottom lip which is starting to quiver. “I, uh, I didn’t know that,”

“Well, it was gonna be a surprise,”

It’s at this point that you start to cry - like really bawl your eyes out. You can’t really tell why you cry. It’s like a mixture of happiness and sadness, frustration and relief, and it’s just... overwhelming.

Shawn instantly notices, wrapping you up in his arms, and when your knees threaten to buckle under you, he’s quick to sweep you off your feet and carry you back to the couch. He sits down, leaving you to sit in his lap, your face buried in the soft fabric of his sweater. You’re getting it wet, yet he doesn’t seem to mind, comfortingly stroking your back.

It feels so natural to be back in his arms. You can’t help but wonder why you ever left them. Of course, you know the reason, but it occurs to you now that it might not have been enough of one.

You hadn’t run at the first sign of trouble as he had claimed because there had been many troubles over your time together, and you had always resolved them. However, you had run the moment the going got a little too tough; the moment you got scared. You hadn’t let Shawn try to make you stay; you hadn’t let him fight for you. You had just left.

“I’m sorry,” you sob into the blue knitted sweater, now complete with a dark patch of moisture. “I’m sorry.”

He shushes you, still rubbing your back. “It’s okay,” You know he’s only trying to make it better, but it only makes it worse. Instead of calming down, you let out a loud wail, clinging onto him even tighter than before. Shawn attempts shushing you again, but this time you draw back and look at his face,

“It’s not okay,” you spit out, although your voice is raspy and strangled. “It’s not fucking okay, Shawn. Don’t say that,” His hazel eyes are wide, obviously surprised at the change of tone. You just hope he doesn’t mistake your anger at yourself for anger at him. “I broke your heart! For no reason!” You lip quivers again, and another onset of sobbing strikes you.

Shawn doesn’t speak. He just sticks to holding you close, letting you cry on his shoulder. It feels a bit ridiculous that you’re the one weeping, considering that you were the one who did this to yourself and that he’s the one who had his heart broken.

It’s only when you finally start to relax that Shawn lets go of you, leaning back to get a look at you. His eyes linger on your probably very puffy and tear-stained face before they travel downwards.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he whispers so quietly that you’re not sure at first if you were supposed to hear. “How didn’t I notice that before?” You snort at his inobservance, not being able to hold it in, and he grins at you. “You still wear my hoodie.”

“Yes,”

“Why?”

Shawn reaches up, tucking some of your hair, a bit unkempt, behind your ear. It’s such a tender gesture, and it has you reeling, incapable of finding words to tell him. Speechless, you reach for him too, using the back of your hand to caress his cheek. However much you want to kiss him right now, you refrain from it. It doesn’t feel right.

“Because it reminds me of you,” you say, voice still a little uncertain and wrecked from all the weeping. “Because I miss you too. Because I can’t live without you either,” His grin becomes impossibly wider, his eyes lighting up, and your heart might just actually skip an actual beat at the sight. “Because I’m still hopelessly in love with you too.”

This is all that matters, you think to yourself when Shawn leans into your touch, nothing else. You have a man who loves you, who supports you and who wants to marry you. Whatever life throws at you, you can handle it. Yes, it's going to be a hell of a lot of work, but it's worth it.

Shawn leans forward and places his lips on yours, something you have not experienced in far too long. Eagerly, you return his kiss, moving closer so that your bodies are pressed together. You melt into Shawn, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands grab your hips, though his right one quickly strays to the small of your back.

When you pull away for air, his eyes are still closed, and you watch as a content smile forms on his mouth, his eyes slowly opening. Shawn studies you for a moment, biting his lip, and then he speaks.

“Marry me,” Shawn says in a breath, grinning again. “I’m not gonna get mad if you say no, but please, please marry me,” Your heart is pounding so hard you’re afraid it might burst out of your chest, and you can’t hide your joy, smiling so much that it almost hurts. “I don’t have the ring on me, but I-”

“Shawn, shut up,” you say, laughing before you press a short kiss to his lips. “Of course, I’ll fucking marry you, you idiot!” He giggles then, not caring how it sounds, and he starts kissing your face all over. “Shawn!” You can’t stop the giggles either.

He sits back and chuckles. “You know, I always thought I’d do the perfect proposal and everything. I’m sorry if this is a letdown, baby,”

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “This is perfect, Shawn. More than perfect,”

—————–

@sauveteen @flickershawn @peachnpomegranate @yellowitsmendes @me-a-hopeless-romantic @couple100miles @rishlo @wdwisperfect @shawn-mendes-thirst @fallininyou @bluerroses @nervousroses @carlaimberlain

#mine #text #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 5 years

Text

Fowl Ending

This is for @valfraeyja I am sorry it took a while to get to your prompt, my dear. I hope this makes you giggle.

Prompt was to use her original OC Akane, chickens, Mitsuhide and a funny misunderstanding.

Warning: No chicken was harmed during the making of this tale. light humour.

---

Fowl Ending

For what felt like months Akane had been having talks with Mitsuhide and telling him that she would at least like him to eat breakfast even if he was to then somehow forget about food until dinner later that day. She found it amazing that such an intelligent man could be so lacking in his own ability to comprehend the importance of the first meal of the day.

She had even gone so far as to ask his manor’s staff if they were aware of any dish that Mitsuhide might have been more inclined to eat if it was served to him at breakfast. Anything to tempt the man into actually following her idea. They had all failed to give her a satisfactory answer, the only thing they could say was their lord tended to eat whatever was put in front of him and always blended it together in one bowl.

The trouble with Mitsuhide was he had no sense of taste and he also didn’t particularly enjoy food at all. Food was fuel and that was all it ever was too him. In the end, Akane was left sitting in his manicured garden looking up at the branches of a tree above her as if searching the branches of it for the answer to her little problem. A Pair of wagtails flew into the tree landing in their nest. The feathered couple were busy tending their small home preparing no doubt for the eggs that would soon come.

“That’s it!” She cried out. After apologising to the two birds she left Mitsuhide’s manor and set about turning her new idea into a workable plan.

---

A week had passed and it ended up feeling like much longer. She had tried to keep herself busy around the castle and even offered to help a younger maid with some learning. However, the usual routine of the work around the castle which once held a lot of comfort to her only seemed to serve as a marker for the time that was slowly passing.

He was supposed to be returning soon. Nobunaga had sent him to investigate some rumours near the far border. It was a long trek and that was before you took into account that it was dangerously close to Kenshin’s province. The trusted vassal was used to such dangers and had chuckled at her look of concern when she saw him off at the gate before he left Azuchi.

“Come now little mouse. There are far greater men than me that are far more deserving of such a look. I shall return in a few days.” Mitsuhide had his trademark grin firmly in place when he turned to her after securing his bags to his horse. He was to ride with only a handful of men, it was a small investigative operation after all.

“But Mitsuhide –”

“Hush.” He placed a long cool finger to her lips, its light pressure just enough to silence her. His golden eyes gazing into her green ones as he continued to speak. “Do you think I am such a fool that I would get myself captured on such a minor errand as this?” She shook her head lightly in response. Mitsuhide smiled and removed his hand from her. The lingering sensation of his finger on her lips felt like a spell. How often did he do such a thing in lieu of an actual kiss in public? It was like their own secret code and it made her smile. “Run along back to the castle Princess. Hideyoshi will start to panic if you are not there when he arrives to greet you.”

The last she had seen of him was his shrinking white silhouette on horseback as it rode further towards the horizon away from her. She knew it was a silly thing to feel when you took into account all the other things that they had been through. Parting ways for a handful of days was nothing, right?

It was early morning and whilst a few members of the castle staff had already been up and about since the break of dawn performing their duties, as usual, one solitary figure was making their way out to one of the manors in Azuchi. A small basket was hooked on to her arm as she weaved through the streets past the traders who were busy preparing for another day at market.

Finally, the gates of the last manor came into view and Akane let out a small sigh. Coming here always seemed to give her the feeling of coming home, not that she would tell the Lord of the small palace that of course. She crossed the threshold into building pausing to remove her sandals in the genkan, picking them up in her free hand before moving through the polished wood hallways to the garden in stocking feet.

“Good Morning Lady Akane.” The happy and cheerful voice of the senior staff called out to her. They had been overjoyed at the idea that the Princess had taken such an interest in their lord and had been instrumental in a lot of ways in helping to procure the items Akane had asked for.

“Good Morning. He isn’t back yet, is he?”

“No, not yet. Although we did receive word that we should make preparations to receive him later today.”

“I see. Thank you.” Akane smiled whilst trying to think of exactly how much time it was likely to give her to do what she was planning. It had been a while since school and probably even longer since she had attempted to do anything like this.

“I made sure the items you asked for were left outside my lady. If there is anything else you require, I will gladly fetch it for you.” Smiling happily at her the Senior staff member was starting to acquire a number of younger staff at their side each one nodding in agreement at the offer of further assistance. Say what you like about their lord and master but he had friendly and kind staff.

“Oh, no thank you everything I need should already be there.”

Giving them all a friendly goodbye Akane left the smiling faces of the staff behind carrying her basket outside, slipping her feet back into her sandals.

True to their word Akane found a small pile of different sized wooden planks, a pot of lacquer and a couple of feathered creatures resting in an upturned basket. Placing her own luggage down it gave a metallic clunk. Now it was time to get to work.

Akane laid out the planks on the ground looking at them as if they were flat pack furniture she had just purchased from a store. This was actually not that far from the truth. Except whilst with a lot of modern-day flat pack you often became confused by the bits of paper giving you the construction details wondering why you even had them in the first place. In this case naturally, you didn’t. Minutes turning into hours and eventually, she had what she had thought of built. It looked like a small more oblong dog house but it had roosting areas inside it that raised the birds up off from the floor and provided space under the birds so the eggs could be accessed through a moveable back panel without causing any distress.

“Now all I have to do is cover the wood with this paint and it should be weatherproof.”

Reaching over to grab the pot of lacquer Akane didn’t notice that the two occupants of the upturned basket were now not asleep. She also had failed to notice Mitsunari’s cat Kitty who was playfully stalking them. A few dips of the brush into the paint and it was all over… literally.

“Eek!”

It was difficult to tell what hit her first the chickens, paint or the cat but what was certain was it was a sticky disaster. What was left of the paint in the pot was left as she scurried around the garden to try to grab the two chickens in their bid to outrun the playful Kitty. After finally managing to grab the two birds she had one under each arm when she finally noticed she was no longer alone.

Standing in the open doorway of his manor was a wide-eyed warlord looking as if he was both shocked and struggling to hold back peals of laughter. He slipped outside carefully avoiding the patches of red lacquer splodged on the ground and joined her.

“It isn’t what it looks like.” She had feathers everywhere including in her long dark brown hair that seemed to add to the white highlights in it. The red paint was smeared over her hands, arms, face kimono, actually, it was a little difficult to find a patch on her that had remained untouched by the crimson shade. The fowls tucked under her arms were equally stained in red. If pictures were worth a thousand words then this one would have been telling the tale of how not to surprise your boyfriend in 10 easy to blunder steps.

“Well now. I know you were rather insistent on me taking more of an interest in food my dear but I did not think you would go so far as to attempt to perform an actual sacrifice to achieve it.” Mitsuhide chuckled as he looked her over from head to toe.

---

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pi-cat000 · 5 years

Text

MSA time travel idea (part 21)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV.2

Part 22: here

“We’ll be fine,” Vivi reassures Arthur for a third time, spinning to face him, backing up past the assortment of haphazardly constructed ‘keep out’ and ‘danger!’ signage. Behind her looms the cave’s gaping entrance.

“We’ve been through a ton of caves. The worst thing that could happen? We, maybe, get swarmed by some bats,” She continues upon seeing Arthur’s continued hesitation.

“Ah, how about a cave in?” He points out leerily, eyeing jagged stone formations framing the entryway.

“No seismic activity in the area, I checked,” Vivi declares, whirling to march forward, glancing back to call, “You boys coming or what.”

Mystery bounds off after Vivi, leaving him to shoot an apprehensive glance at Lewis. The larger man shrugs, putting a comforting hand across Arthur's shoulder blades, “If this has you really worried we can always wait out here while Vivi takes her supernatural readings.”

Arthur sighs, tempted to take him up on offer, “No. It’s fine. Probably best not to let Vivi go spelunking with only Mystery as back up.”

“Probably,” Lewis laughs, patting his shoulder once then stepping forward, “Just stick behind me. I’m sure this will be just as boring as all the other caves we’ve walked through.”

“Yeah. ‘Boring’…Sure. That’s not the word I’d use but, whatever, let’s go with boring,” Arthur grumbles, shadowing Lewis up to the entrance. The ground underfoot transitions sharply from spotted green to dead twigs and dusty rock.

“Creepy,” Arthur eyes the unnaturally straight line, cutting the cave off from its surroundings. Lewis snorts, amused by his muttering-at least someone is having a good time-walking into the dark like this isn’t the most unnerving place they’ve been to so far.

Just inside the dimly lit opening, he spots Vivi, who’s wrestling with a wrought iron canister holding what appeared to be old-style wooden torches.

“Hey guys, check these out! Mood lighting! ” She calls with apparent gusto. Better make that two people having a good time.

“Lewis. You still have those matches on you, right? I think there’s still oil on these.”

Lewis trades his box of matches for the wooden torch, holding it out while Vivi grapples around attempting to light it. Arthur is surprised the old torch has lasted this long. They can’t have been the only ones dumb enough to explore a ‘haunted’ cave at night. Surely, some other idiot would have used them up before now.

“Can’t we just use the flashlights?” Arthur comments in conjunction with Vivi’s resounding "YES" of triumph. The stone walls around them come to life with a flickering orange glow. High, arched ceilings, almost two stories tall, provide an abundance of space. Arthur can now see several meters down a long tunnel before darkness overtakes it again. He shivers, peering at the many cracks and holes dotting the roof and walls. Everything is coated in a thin layer of green moss which catches the torchlight, giving a green tint. In other words, it looks freaky and unnatural.

“Well, this just went up several points on the Creepy-O-Meter,” He laments, resigning himself to an evening of jumping at pebbles coming loose from the ceiling, gusts of wind, and his own shadow.

“I know! It’s great isn’t it?” Vivi twists, grinning ridiculously, now holding a torch in each hand.

“Watch where you wave those Viv,” Lewis dodges back and avoids a face full of fire, reaching out and plucking the nearest torch from Vivi, “You almost got my hair with that one.”

“Whoops sorry,” A sheepish Vivi shoots Lewis an apologetic glance before carefully lifting her remaining torch to get a better look at the cavernous structures around them. A few seconds of fascinated gawking pass, while both his friends take in their strange new environment.

“You have to admit, this is a lot cooler than a graveyard or an old house,” Vivi voices in awe, moving deeper into the tunnel. She’s got an energetic spring to her step mirrored by Mystery trotting at her heels. No attention is afforded to the spooky shadows, shrinking away from the torchlight, rushing to close in behind them. It’s admirable.

“Maybe there’ll be an actual ghost this time and not a dude playing dress up?” Lewis adds, glancing about, holding his torch higher, “Definitely has the ambience for it.”

Arthur shuffles closer to Vivi, so he’s sandwiched between the two of them. This way he’ll have plenty of warning when the freaky cave monster leaps out to get them.

“One can only hope,” Vivi laments loudly. Her voice echoes, bouncing along the slimy green walls until it’s swallowed up by the dark. Arthur shudders. Is it just him or does it feel like the cave is listening?

“Ah. Objection,” He interjects, lowering his voice, so it doesn’t jump around like Vivi’s, “A dude in a sheet is plenty scary, thanks. No need for anything esle.”

Lewis laughs from behind, also lowering his voice to a whisper, “Like weird-scary or scary-scary?”

Arthur throws a half-serious glare over his shoulder, retorting, “Both.”

Further conversation is put on pause when they hit a fork in the otherwise straightforward tunnel. The two passageways are significantly smaller, a foot higher than Lewis, and narrower, twisting away from the central shaft. Both are equally uninviting, ghostly, glowing a poisonous green in the torchlight. His shadowed silhouette, elongated in the firelight, appears to shift unnaturally, skittering away into the gloom. Arthur blinks, focusing attention on the spot. There’s nothing there but ordinary rock.

“Let’s split up,” Vivi’s announcement draws Arthur’s concentration away from studying the walls for shadow creatures.

“What?”

Lewis is nodding along, considering both passageways seriously.

“No way,” Arthur waves his arms to catch their attention, wincing at his own volume, then whispering, “Splitting up is a terrible idea. When has splitting up ever worked well for anyone.”

“If we split up we’ll cover more ground and get through the cave system faster,” Vivi points out, already searching through her small rucksack.

“Just remember to take lots of photos. Here have my spare EMF meter,” She shoves the ‘totally legit’ ghost detection devise, an audio recorder, and notepad into Lewis’s free hand, “Don’t forget to actually press record this time when stuff happens, and write a note, so we know to cross check it later.”

"Sure," Lewis pockets the equipment with a laugh,

Arthur slaps a hand over his eyes, groaning. Why are his friends a pair of walking clichés?

“Lewis. You go with Arthur. He’ll need the moral support more than I will.”

“Hey,” His protest is half-hearted.

“I’ll take Mystery down that tunnel. Let’s meet up in, say, an hour and report our findings.”

Vivi walks purposefully forward before pausing to add, “Oh and if it gets too maze-like come back here, so you don’t get lost,” Another step, “And don’t fall down any holes.”

“We’ll be fine,” Lewis reassures, amused, slinging an arm out and catching Arthur before he can duck away, “Arthur’s got my back.”

Arthur suffers the semi-headlock with crossed arms and a stony expression. It’s not that he really believes they’ll run into trouble it’s more a matter of principle at this point. All it does is make Vivi snort in good humour then hide a grin behind her hand.

“See you boys in an hour,” A cheery wave and Vivi marches away, looking for all the world like a person having the time of their life.

“You okay there Arthur,” Lewis loosens his arm, glancing down. There is genuine concern in his tone now, eyes scanning Arthur for signs of discomfort. Arthur forcibly shelves his exasperation. No need to bring down the mood. Not when this is the first time in weeks he’s been exclusively in either Lewis or Vivi’s company.

A long exhale, and he ducks to disentangle himself from the larger man’s arm, “Yeah. Come on. Let’s go poke around a dark, damp, tunnel some more.” He injects as much enthusiasm as he can muster, but it ends up more sarcastic.

Lewis hits him with a knowing smile, offering, “Here I’ll go first.”

His friend takes a confident step forward, holding the torch high to provide them with maximum visibility. Arthur follows close behind, trying not to get too freaked out at the way the cave walls seem to shift unnaturally in the uneven light. It’s just his overactive mind seeing familiar patterns where there were none. That was all.

Down the gloomy stone tunnel, they go, flickering fire illuminating Lewis’s silhouette and the narrow walls enclosing them. Nervously, Arthur picks up his pace, tailing as close to Lewis’s back as he can get. Occasionally, he bumps into the other man when Lewis stops abruptly to examine part to the scenery. Lewis doesn’t appear to mind, being more interested in sporadic wooden support beams which arise from time to time. Everything is pretty much identical until the narrow tunnel opens suddenly to reveal a spacious cavern.

It’s huge. Dotted with wicked sharp stalagmites and stalactites which both hang from the ceiling and raise up from the ground like clawed fingers, it dwarfs them both.

Lewis immediately steps out of the tunnel onto a narrow ledge extending into empty space, transfixed by the stunning view. Arthur makes to follow. Distracted, he stumbles, hand brushing against the cave walls for support. Pain shoots through the limb, and Arthur stops, staring at the appendage, confused. Had he cut himself? He doesn’t appear to be injured.

“Hey, Arthur! Come check out this view!”

Lewis is now standing near the end of the wedge-shaped platform, peering down at the steep drop. Cautiously, Arthur inches out after him, eyeing the pointed rock formations far below. The way they catch and reflect the torchlight is almost menacing.

Would be such a shame if someone were to fall.

His left leg twitches, and he almost stumbles right into Lewis. Arthur finds himself unfocussed, and he hesitates behind the larger man. What is he doing again? Why is Lewis so close all of a sudden?

His arm is completely numb. It’s tuned an unnatural sickly green colour. The same colour as the walls. That's not normal. A twitch. Arthur watches, confused when his limb jerks up. A second too late he realises that he’s not the one moving it. In an action almost too quick to follow the arm lashes out.

“Lew…” The words of warning are choked off. Lewis turns, too slow to prevent the shove but quick enough that Arthur sees his shocked, betrayed expression. Lewis tumbles backward, face frozen in confusion.

A surprised yell.

Gravity rips Lewis from where he seems to hover mid-air, dragging him down.

He drops.

His friend’s panicked horror is the last of him Arthur sees. A wet thump. The yell is cut abruptly.

Silence.

“Ouch. Right through the chest. That’s never fun,” The foreign words vibrate in Arthur's chest, accompanied by an unpleasant laugh.

Down, far below on the cavern floor, is Lewis. Unmoving. Arthur wants to scream. He needs to scream, but his jaw is locked shut. Part of his vision goes dark. With his remaining good eye, he can see his arm moving, squirming about like it’s got a mind of its own.

No. No. No. This isn’t him. IT’S NOT HIM!!!

A jaw filled with rows of shiny white teeth clamps down on the writhing appendage. A flash of bright red. His arm is twisting, being ripped away. The force of the impact spins him around, putting him face-to-face with a giant canine creature. Red. There’s lots of red. His vision is failing. A warm haze gathers over his thoughts, mercifully pulling him from reality.

“Ah Shit,” He hears himself swear over the oppressive throbbing in his head and the growls of the monster above.

“...And STOP...”

The world freezes. Arthur freezes. It’s like someone’s hit the pause button on reality. Suspended, frozen halfway between falling to his knees and standing, Arthur hangs in place. Vaguely, he recognises Mystery looming over him, also frozen, green-hued arm between his teeth. Arthur’s disembodied arm.

“Sloppy. Very sloppy.”

The voice doesn’t echo like sound should in this stone, cavernous environment. It’s detached. Footsteps dull and artificial, mismatched on the rock floor, draw closer. A shadowed figure walks around from behind. Arthur, still immobile, tracks the progress of a lanky man, sporting spiked yellow hair, a familiar orange vest and flat running shoes. Aside from the sickly, off green, skin tone, it looks like him. Another him.

The doppelganger moves up to examine Mystery and the arm dangling from his jaws, shaking its head in disappointment, “Should have known there was something weird about the dog. It’s always the pets.”

Arthur doesn’t care for whatever this creature is saying because, down below, just behind him, is Lewis body. He’d just pushed Lewis off the cliff.

“To think, that could have been me, stuck in some rotting limb. Ugh. Gross.”

He killed Lewis.

NOTE: It’s the obligatory flashback episode. It only took 30 000 + words, but Arthur finally remembers. Hope I did The Cave scene justice.

Part 22: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur kingsmen #the demon #graphic descriptions of violence #possible disturbing imagery #mind control #posession #dark #coarse language #flashback #canon character death #angst #yeah arthur's definitely in trouble

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faunusrights · 5 years

Text

‘AFTER THE FALL’ - LIVEREAD

I say ‘liveread’ but there’s a pretty decent chance this’ll turn into a RWDEread.

So, After The Fall is finally out in the UK and my copy has landed arse-first on my desk, so I’m gonna read it and post my observations here so that you can experience it with me! And also experience whichever stages of grief I go through as we go!

I will preface this with a warning: as much as I love the characters of RWBY, canon is currently the target of all of my spite, so I’m approaching this novel with HANDFULS of wariness and also salt! Most people who follow me already know I don’t pay attention to canon, nor care for it, nor listen to it, and most of you also know I headcanon Velvet as a 6ft+ trans and queer beefcake who can bend your spine into a pretzel, so I’m already at odds here. As such, if it seems like I’m not approaching this liveblog with the benefit of the doubt: that’s because I’m not!!! Yay!!!

So with that said, let’s enjoy Murphy Wishing Velvet Were Big, But Isn’t, And So Suffering Never Ends:

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Firstly, this book is thicker than I expected, whilst the font is bigger than I’d have thought. I know it’s for teens so it’s not as if this was gonna be, like, 1000 pages in a size 10 font, but this probably won’t take me long to read (although it’ll take longer by virtue of me adding to this as we go). There doesn’t seem to be a chapter list, though, so I have no clue how long each chapter is. Guess we’ll find that out when we get there.

Secondly, the cover of this book sure is, uh, a Thing. What’s going on with Velvet’s face?

Thirdly, the cover is Not Nice to Touch. This is a weird observation, but trust me, I’m tempted to laminate the cover just so it doesn’t feel so... dusty.

PROLOGUE

Velvet’s the narrator, and Murphy isn’t surprised! Velvet’s such a fan favourite that having her not be the narrator (at least for some of this book) would have been an absolute crime.

Okay, halfway through the first page and I did laugh at ‘a terrible place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there’. I may pass that line along to my dad, because it’s a, how you say, big mood.

Fox’s Semblance is Telepathy, which is... a thing, I guess? I’ve seen some pretty creative thoughts on what Fox might have, and this seems kinda lackluster, but the phrase ‘special teamspeak’ IS funny and I love the concept of them acting like it’s a voice channel on Discord. That’s good, and for that I accept this.

(I will note I trust the author of this novel. He seems neat and I already like the humour. I don’t trust M+K but we already knew that.)

‘As [Yatsu] stepped onto [Velvet’s] linked hands, she heaved upwards and stood, boosting his jump as he catapulted high over her head.’

Velvet, bridal-carrying Yatsu: idk he weighs the same as a couple of grapes

I will say, it’s nice having CFVY content at all. They might be Fools but I do love them,

‘[Velvet] pressed the stitched heart emblem to open it and then removed Anesidora, her high-tech camera that used special Dust--’

Anesidora???? That’s the name of her camera??? Of all the things I expected, that was probably the LAST thing I expected. What??? Wikipedia says it’s Greek for sender of gifts, but why that’s the name I am, Not Sure,

‘Combined with her Semblance--photographic memory--Velvet could wield these 3-D replicas with skills and moves that otherwise would have taken years of training to master.’

That’s no surprise, really (and I did already write a short about Exactly That) but I probably wouldn’t have called it photographic memory. Muscle memory, more like? But yeah, that’s pretty expected.

REESE GOT MENTIONED ILU REESE,,,, when will my gay child return from the WAR. LITERALLY. WHERE IS SHE.

Velvet’s thinking abt Weiss dustbun confirmed!!!!!!!!!!! But seriously when will Velvet kiss a small gay Schnee??? What must I do. Whomst must I kill.

OUGH VELVET LOSING THE PHOTOS OF FRIENDS SHE ISN’T SURE HAVE SURVIVED,,,, OWIE. THAT HURT MY FEELIES MR MYERS,,,, but I AM enjoying this angst and that I shall not lie about.

Ruby and Coco, leaders in arms... I will say that the moment of them kinda regarding each other as equals would have landed considerably better had they ever really, uh, interacted in the show. I tend to write Ruby being Coco’s little protege, but we don’t actually have a ton of canon evidence of that really being a thing? So even though I’m enjoying this li’l tidbit, it’s really lacking some foundation, alas.

Fox’s tonfas (is it tonfa time? I think it’s tonfa time) are called Sharp Retribution. Which MMORPG did he get that from?

“We’re Shade Academy’s newest star pupils.”

The sheer cockiness of it all. Ilu Coco.

Okay so, y’all know that Murphy’s about to say: I HATE that Velvet gets treated like a goddamn marshmallow. I’m trying my BEST, I SWEAR, not to complain abt canon Velvet because everyone knows this is my biggest sticking point, but god I hate that she’s written to have such a specific semblance and be so squishy. Aaaaaaaaaaaaa--

Also: we’re having a case of a jumpy POV, particularly with the conversation with Glynda. I know this tends to be something that happens with writing for younger audience, but woof am I noticing it.

I’m liking Yatsu!!!! He had like, no lines (at all) in the show, but he’s actually more of a smartass than I had dared hope for, so that Something.

Oh yeah, Fox is a Vacuan boye! I do like that he’s very chill with everything whilst Velvet is begging for seven different types of death (but could I make a comment abt my Velvet here? Yes. Am I going to? I’m trying not to).

CHAPTER ONE

Owie wowie this is already gettin’ kinda long. If chapter one causes a lot of commentary, I may have to add on in a reblog so the people don’t have to suffer.

Coco is our narrator now! Let’s see how many times the word ‘sunglasses’ comes up (hint: probably enough times that if I took a shot for every one I’d be very dead).

/sees the name Alabaster YOU aren’t a big chunky polar bear Faunus! Leave!

“Who’s your tribe?” “I’m from Kenyte,” Fox said. “But it’s been a long time.”

Vacuan tribes, baby! I’m tempted to see how I could work this into anything, but my lore is pretty stick-stuck so I’m probably just gonna jot this down as a ‘cool thing’. Oh, wait, they’re tribal nomads, which means it DOES fit the lore!!! Nice!!! Murphy guessed it!!! Cool!!

‘A perky Faunus waitress with a pig snout came over.’

With a what. Canon, where are we with traits? Also, like, I feel there are multiple childhood movies that scared the crap out of me with people getting pig snouts so I’m making the executive decision to ignore this line. Never happened.

Racism incoming, so I’m getting a cup of tea.

And we’re back! This guy also has a mace and a mohawk and is he just the combination of team CRDL or what?

‘Coco couldn’t take her eyes off the fit, dark-skinned woman.’

I presume they mean fit as in physically fit but my BritBrain is like ‘hell yeah shes fit’ and now I’m envisioning Coco as, like, maybe a scouser. Can you imagine her with a beehive? Anyway, moving SWIFTLY on.

‘--chain mail crop top--’

I’ve never seen a worse combination of words, which is impressive when I wrote Velvet as wearing bright yellow boardshorts with a neon-blue tank top that one time. And by one time, I mean, every time,

I’ve seen this outfit in pictures ‘cause of Amity Arena but god it sounds even worse in words like. Nobody is hot enough to pull off this absolute jumble of clothes. Nobody is.

I do enjoy big lesbian Coco though, so there’s that.

People have already mentioned the ‘could you picture me in a uniform’ line w/ Thirsty Coco so I won’t give it more screentime but it is a mood, and now we know coco has a uniform kink,

“We’re doing this for school credit,”

fox: i do not want money i want an a+

Velvet POPPIN OFF for Mysterious Reasons... is this gonna be like Qrow’s bad luck Semblance only someone has the Semblance of ‘Will Piss Everyone Off In Vicnity’? I think we call those anons,

CHAPTER TWO

I think I’ll stop after this chapter since this chapter’s a little bigger, and this liveblog is already too dang long. It’s a flashback!

‘Vale has been [Coco’s] home all her life.’

I’m quietly ignoring this line in favour of Atlesian Coco. You cannot stop me. But Coco does have a younger brother, so that’s neat! Kinda! IDK what to do with this information but it sure is there existing!

‘And to top it off, [Glynda] was also hot--’

This is the only bit of canon I will accept, because it’s true and Coco should say it.

‘[Velvet and Coco had] both come from Pharos Combat School--’

Another tidbit ignored because I favour Menagerie-born-and-bred Velvet, but I do like hearing the names of other combat schools outside of Signal. Looooooore.

OH there’s a GOOD PARAGRAPH HERE that I don’t really wanna type out, but Velvet is mentioning how she doesn’t like bunny jokes or puns (’hop to it’, she classifies as ‘harmless-but-hurtful’) and THANK YOU, oh my GOD. I’ve written about this before but if I see one more person have Coco make a bunny joke in a fic I will fight Them Myself,

Oh, Fox’s Scroll has an ‘Accessibility Dialogue Assistant’ (ADA)! That’s quite cool, actually. I’ve been wondering how tech might have functioned for Fox, so we have some confirmation about a Scroll’s use for accessibility stuff! That’s neat! I like that! Also, his telepathy also lets him sense people -- pinpointing them exactly the better he knows them -- so that’s a cool little side-effect, too. Although, I swear these Semblances are getting more poorly named by the minute.

Coco’s weapon is called Gianduja, which is... a type of chocolate! Unsurprisingly.

‘Besides, Coco wasn’t looking for a girlfriend--’

yet.

Coco and Fox have a fun dynamic, and I enjoy it immensely. They’re bros...

Also, how does Velvet procure this very expensive Dust for her weapon, anyway? I wonder if we’ll find out later.

“You’re from Mistral,” she said. Yatsuhashi blinked. “So?” “Your people don’t tend to like my people.”

That’s an interesting tidbit that Mistral as a whole has a reputation. I suppose they mean the Kingdom and not the continent (of Anima), but still.

“Don’t worry,” Velvet smirked. “I’ll protect you.”

ah, that is, how the kids say, hott,

“So it’s a Death Stalker den. Only an idiot would go in there.”

Jaune found dead from a sneezing fit.

Awh, I like Coco describing the temple bit. Already she’s looking out for her Best Boye. Also, playing cards are a cool thing, and they’re the King of Hearts! That’s ‘cause they’re gonna win a lot, too,

Okay, I now understand Coco’s Hype Semblance. It’s interesting! I’m curious how else it can be used, aka how versatile it is, but it’s a neat concept.

Velvet dabbled in fortune-telling when she was younger and I am enamoured with this idea. Also, picking the Queen of Hearts ‘cause it’s the only one w/ good vibes? Love it.

Okay, end of chapter! RIP Velvet who constantly looks like a squishy baby, and even though that still Irks Me As a Person And A Gay, at least it’s. Maybe gonna be a plot point or smthng idk. Anyway, I’m stopping here for now because this is slow going when I’m adding commentary, so I’ll probably reblog this and add onto it later. Less RWDE than expected, but it’s still early chapters yet.

#after the fall #rwby #after the fall spoilers #liveblog #liveread

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