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fell-in-love-didnt-you · 4 years

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Carry Me Away With You: SnowBaz Fanfic

Simon Snow doesn't expect much from life. His father has drilled into him from the beginning two things: work alone and never trust vampires. Simon breaks both rules in a matter of days. After he collapses at the doorstop of an unknown house, he's pulled into a world he has no idea how to escape from. The question is: does he want to?

...

AH! This is my Carry On Big Bang 2020 fic. I'm so excited to have finally posted it. It also comes with AMAZING artwork by the extremely talented @thehoneyedhufflepuff on tumblr (who's also a fantastic writer on Ao3 with the @ The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff - I'd definitely recommend the Fire-verse fics). Please, please, PLEASE show them some love both on here and tumblr. The artwork is magnificent and exactly as I envisioned Simon and Baz in this time period. (scene from fic) (title scene-isn't is beautiful?!)

Here’s the link to the tumblr post!

Thank you @carry-on-big-bang for giving me the opportunity to work with such an amazing artist and fellow fic writer and for putting on such a wonderful collaboration project. I have truly enjoyed every interaction I had with @thehoneyedhufflepuff and encourage everyone reading this to go give them a follow and read their amazing work on Ao3.

As always, here’s the link to the Ao3 version in case you prefer to read that way: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150491/chapters/63625177

On to the fic!

Lover.

The word felt foreign on Simon’s tongue, like a heavy alcohol or a long-rusted coin that played on the tip of the tongue. There was nothing else, though. ‘Fling’ felt like a small blanket: it covered the important parts (the lovemaking, the flirtatious smiles, the sharing of a bed), but it also left out the parts that made Simon’s legs turn to jelly (the deep conversations, the sweet cheek kisses, the touches that lingered for hours afterwards).

Partner, however, did not fit either. Partner implied official courting, and this…was not that. Official courting entailed walks in the park with a supervisor, love letters sent in perfumed envelopes, and an eventual proposal of marriage.

It did not entail laying bed together with only centimeters of space between, breaths mingled in the shared space. It certainly did not entail what had occurred a mere half-hour before now. ‘Partners’ did not entail premarital relations, and those relations certainly did not occur between a supernatural creature of nightmares and a boy raised to kill such creatures.

Simon placed his hand tentatively on the side of Baz’s face. His eyes were closed, but Simon knew better; sharing a bed for the past month had taught him when Baz was truly gone to the world. The pounding pulse point and flickering of eyes gave the vampire away. He was resting, but not out.

“Darling,” Baz drawled, and it made Simon flush (not that he wasn’t already red from head-to-toe; Baz had that effect on him). Baz’s eyes cracked open, and he flashed a smile that forced Simon to see what made vampires so alluring to the regular eye. “Darling, do you have any idea what time it is?”

A laugh bubbled out of Simon’s chest, and he looked past Baz’s head to stare at the grandfather clock that stood ominously in the corner of the room. It was one of Simon’s favorite objects: dark blue, a sun and moon facing opposite each other, stars sliding past as did the hours of the day. Baz had bought it for him a mere three months ago, placing it in their shared chambers so Simon knew the time.

Baz was weird like in the sense that there were no clocks beside this in the manor. Time is cyclical, he had explained to Simon once. He hated it because it reminded him that of what he was: stuck moving forward in his mind while his body remained in the past. Simon progressed forward, though, and he had been adamant about having at least one way of telling time. He’d even withheld himself from Baz until the vampire had conceded, a glare on his face the entire time.

Simon often stared at that clock as they made love.

The clock read slightly past two in the morning, and Simon told Baz as such. Baz hummed in response and placed his hand on Simon’s neck, thumbing a mole that rested above his pulse point. Often, that mole would have a ring of purpled bruises around it after nights like this, and the very thought had Simon suppressing a smile. Baz, however, did not conceal his affection, and he placed a long, slow kiss to Simon’s lips.

Simon had long ago (give or take three months) begun to categorize the kisses they shared. The most common were the ones shared in private that would have the public outraged: brushes of lips against cheeks and foreheads even though they were not married. What a scandal, Simon thought distantly. Those kisses occurred in passing when one of them would be running to the study or just about to leave the house for some reason or another. Simon adored these brushes of affection that had no real bite; it meant whatever this thing that was happening was more than sex.

Simon ached for the bruising crush of lips that occurred when they fell into bed. He yearned for the swelling of lips and clashing of teeth and maybe the accidental cut of a fang-on-lip. Even the tiniest bit of venom would set his body aflame, and Simon likened it to the fever, only where Death had touched him before, Baz now did.

The ones Simon treasured above all others were these kisses: no heat, no bite, but also not something entirely platonic. A feather-light kiss on the cheek could be taken romantically if it were between a man and a woman, but Simon knew that, if ever caught, Baz would claim brotherly affection for Simon, explain that that’s how his Parisian family acted, that physical affection was common between two friends. These kisses, on the other hand, would have them thrown in jail. Simon would be forced to flee over the crime of homosexuality, and Baz would pay his way out of a scandal.

There was no denying that these kisses that occurred in this bed were of the utmost romantic quality and kind and would put many husbands and wives to shame.

Baz drew back and smiled, his eyes still pleasantly closed. He sighed through his nose, and Simon allowed himself to steal a glance. This was so new, and he was afraid that one wrong look would shatter the beautiful bubble he’d surrounded himself in. Baz had probably done this with many people before. He was…older. That’s all Simon knew. There was no discernable year or century to pin him down in, but Simon realized months ago that Baz had seen the sun rise on this Earth possibly over one-hundred-thousand times.

Baz had probably been in love before. The thought made Simon blue. Baz was his first everything; Simon was Baz’s first nothing.

It is probably love, Simon thought as Baz slowly peeled his eyes opened. There was no explanation other than a spell of sorts (not like a witch’s spell, but like a spell of sickness) that Baz’s vampiric charm had placed Simon under. His father used to warn him that vampires were excellent charmers and that the only way to save oneself from their grasp was to remain alert at all times.

Simon’s father would be rolling in his premature grave right about now.

The sheets shifted between Simon’s legs as he pressed closer to the lukewarm body across from him. Baz never ran hot; his skin was usually cold to the touch. Nights like these, however, coerced the little blood in Baz’s body to rise to the surface, turn him a color like the living, and make him vampirically burn up (though vampirically burning up meant room temperature for humans).

Baz pressed his lips into the mop of curls atop Simon’s head and breathed in deeply. His arms came to wrap around Simon’s back, and his hands splayed across Simon’s shoulder blades. He said something, though it was muffled by Simon’s hair.

“Hm?” Simon asked, turning his face upward to look directly at Baz. He pushed the raven hair out of Baz’s eyes. “What did you say?”

Baz subconsciously turned his cheek into Simon’s touch, and Simon bit at his lip to keep in a smile. “I said,” Baz murmured, turning back to Simon, “that we are spending Christmas in the Surrey House this year. I forgot to tell you this morning.”

Simon giggled at that, and Baz lightly slapped his side. Of course Baz had forgotten to say that this morning; other…happenings had occurred. Simon had also giggled because calling it the Surrey House put the building to shame. In Dorking, the manor (as it should be called) sat on acres of sprawling land that included part of a natural river, a small section of local woods, and a large field. Baz’s family’s business was still a mystery to Simon, but he at least knew how Baz made his money. Wine was apparently very expensive in large quantities, and the cellar of the manor could hold the worth of an entire village.

The manor itself was no laughing matter. Crafted with the finest cobblestone, it had stayed in Baz’s family for centuries, and even with what little Simon actually knew of Baz’s family, the amount of rooms in all the property Baz inherited gave away enough to know that many children had been born. Because Baz was the eldest (cue laughter) and had lived the longest (cue even more laughter), all the property had been passed to him.

And now Simon reveled in it. The large London townhouse they occupied for the majority of the year was Simon’s favorite. The memories here were richer than any fine chocolate or wine that Baz could procure.

“Why can’t we spend Christmas here?” Simon asked quietly, his fingers idly playing with the long strands of Baz’s hair. “We’ve never just stayed-“ Simon stopped himself prematurely. He wanted to say ‘home’ but couldn’t let that word slip from his mouth. He’d stayed with Baz in this house for almost three years, and he’d never left to live elsewhere, but the word ‘home’ insinuated something Simon would not admit to himself. He started again: “We’ve never had Christmas here.”

Goosepimples raised on his arms as Baz’s hands drew nonsensical lines across his back. Baz lowered his head down, and his lips were pressed against Simon’s forehead as he explained, “We’ve never done a lot of things, darling.” The pet name caused Simon to blush and stutter, and he could feel Baz’s smile against forehead. “We always spent Christmases in our other properties when I was little.”

Simon thought about that for a moment. He did not have very memorable Christmases growing up. His greatest gift as a child had been a stocking with three ripe oranges in it. Simon had known the money his father had sacrificed to buy such fruit. With Baz, however…he’d never had such wonderful gifts in his entire life, and they hadn’t even been given to him for celebrations.

Simon recalled one morning where he’d complained of his weathering shoes, and not even four hours later, Baz had presented him with the nicest pair of leather boots he’d ever seen. Sure, they were not to be worn in public (Simon had received an entire outfit from Baz’s…sister? ...for going out in), but they were gorgeous and, no doubt, expensive.

Then there was the jewelry - the gorgeous amethyst ring that sat on the bedside table had been a birthday present last year. In truth, Simon had not expected anything from Baz in any capacity when they’d decided he could stay in the house for an indefinite amount of time. He’d not expected that, in the middle of the hottest summer in a long time, Baz would nonchalantly pass him the most expensive thing Simon had ever set eyes on and insist he keep it. He’d not expected Baz to tell him it was an heirloom dating back at least one-hundred years, and he’d not expected to later cradle it to his chest and cry.

As if to add to their conversation about Christmas, Simon looked over towards the window and saw snow falling outside. The snow had been coming down steadily over the last few months, but it had only begun to stick recently. He smiled to himself as he watched the windowsill become more and more covered. Snow had brought him here in the first place; it was only natural he be thankful for it now.

…

He was almost dead; that Simon Snow was sure of.

He could not feel his toes, and the crystalline breath puffing out from his mouth was becoming smaller by the minute. He was dizzy, hungry, and more tired than he’d even been in his short life. A cut on his forehead trickled blood into the snow beneath his feet, and he barely had time to register why or where he was bleeding before he fell onto the pavement beneath him.

Thank Christ he was in an alleyway. Had he been in the street, feet would have stepped over and onto him, and he might crack a rib. Although, Simon thought to himself, this was a fate worse than death. Perhaps he should let the Lord have Their way with him. If this was to be his death, then why not welcome it?

Simon could not go home. His father would never accept a defeat like this. Simon could practically hear the frustration that would be present if he tried to make his way back to their little house on the outskirts of town. How was it that Simon had been out hunting vampires for three months and not caught a single one? How was it that Simon had left a strong, capable, young man with fervor in his eyes and returned a skeleton of his former self?

The truth was simple: Simon was very nearly dead. He knew he’d caught the scarlet fever, and Simon also knew it would kill him like it had killed thousands of other.

Simon dragged himself to his feet and rounded out of the alleyway, turning onto a dimly lit street lined with houses. This is not such a bad place to die, he thought to himself. Maybe no one would pilfer his body for the money that did not exist or the jewelry that was absent. Perhaps he’d retain some dignity in his death.

Simon stumbled barely two meters in front of himself before he fell down against the door of a nice house. He could feel the warmth through the door. It was almost sad to die on such a lovely doorstep. Telling by the clickity-clack of footsteps from behind the door, he’d probably disturbed the lady of the house. Somehow, Simon could not find it in himself to care as he slid into what must be death.

But it was not death. Indeed, Simon had lapsed into a comatose state, but he awoke to the sounds of a plate clattering onto a table. The room was warm, and when Simon tried to move his hands, he found himself between a lovely down comforter and an even lovelier mattress. A fire burned brightly in the corner of the room, and he watched as a silhouette of a man moved in front of the flame.

“Am I dead?” Simon asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.

The man laughed, and he sat down beside the bed. His face came into view, and Simon saw the most beautiful person God had ever created. Then the beautiful man brought a cool washcloth down on Simon’s forehead, and Simon then realized how much he was burning up.

“Lord above, no,” the man answered. His touch was gentle across Simon’s aching head, and he placed the towel down a moment later to instead bring a glass of water to Simon’s lips. Simon arched into it, and a pained noise escaped his lips as the water slid down his throat. When was the last time he’d had water? Did brown snow count?

After the glass was drained, Simon began to take in his surroundings. The room looked to be one of a rich man: the walls were lined in beautiful wallpaper, plush rugs were laid down across the wood floor, and the size of the room was larger than the house Simon had grown up in. The man wore a waistcoat with a gold pocket watch, and his hair was swept back neatly from his face, though a piece was falling into his eyes. Could Simon even call him a man? Upon further inspection, he could not be older than his mid-twenties, and even that was a stretch. There were no wrinkles or stress lines, and his eyes held a kind light.

“Are we,” Simon started, his voice cracking on the second word. A second glass of cold water was placed to his lips, and Simon began again. “Are we sure I am not dead?”

The man smiled. “Who are you?” he asked, brushing back matted curls from Simon’s head. Simon internally hoped he did not look too worse for wear. “How did you come to be on the streets?” the man continued.

Simon did not know how to answer that. His name would be a good place to start, though he wouldn’t give his full name. “I am Simon.”

…

The packing for the Surrey manor proved to be more difficult for Simon than he’d originally anticipated. They’d be gone for the second half of December and a little into January, and the capacity of Simon’s suitcase was being tested to the highest degree because of his coats (courtesy of Baz’s…sister?). Baz had not said to pack lightly, but Simon didn’t like the idea of bogging down the carriage with an extra suitcase. Plus, Baz had already sent ahead a few trunks of clothes and other things to the manor earlier in the week.

Speaking of the devil, Simon nearly leapt out of his skin as cool arms surrounded his middle. Of course, there was no need to be frightened. Simon had long since been used to both the temperature of Baz’s skin and Baz’s ability to be deathly silent.

Baz’s chapped lips brushed against the nape of Simon’s neck, and he pressed a chaste kiss there. “Packing?” he asked, as though he did not see the myriad of clothing strewn about the room. The wardrobe was open haphazardly, revealing Simon’s messy side. He never put away his clothes with care like Baz did. They were clothes. Why did they deserve such high care?

Simon placed his arms over Baz’s and leaned into the embrace, closing his eyes and resting his head atop Baz’s shoulder. The fact that Baz was a behemoth had once bothered Simon, but now it made lounging together easier. Simon could always fit his head neatly onto Baz’s shoulder, and Baz’s hands fit perfectly in the dip of Simon’s lower back.

“Unsuccessfully,” Simon replied, sighing through his nose. “If we were not going for so long, I would not require so much clothing.” Baz chuckled behind him, and Simon smiled to the ceiling. He ran his hands idly over Baz’s exposed forearms. Today, Baz had stayed inside the house and, therefore, had not changed into any outerwear or even bothered to keep his long sleeves down to his wrists. Truly, it was a state of undress Simon had never expected of the wine merchant to be capable of. Simon had expected the ‘young’ business tycoon to always be dressed in a matching frock and waistcoat and buttoned up to the nines, but formalities had long since disappeared between them.

“Is there also business to attend to in Surrey?” Simon wondered aloud, pulling himself away from Baz and turning in his embrace. When they were this close, Simon had to tip his head up to look Baz in the eye. Baz nodded, and Simon sighed. Work plagued the both of them.

“Not on Christmas,” Baz reassured, bringing up a hand to tip Simon’s chin up. “Not in the whole week before or after Christmas. I cleared all of it for us.”

Us. The word made Simon swallow thickly. He nodded, walking away from the warmth of Baz’s hold (that he got from Simon’s body heat) and rummaging through the wardrobe. Simon heard Baz sigh, and after a few moments of silence, he assumed Baz had left. However, a whisper only a hair’s width away surprised him.

“Pack what I brought you from France,” Baz whispered, pressing another chaste kiss to that mole on Simon’s neck. Then he was gone.

A furious blush ravaged Simon’s cheeks, and he needed a few moments to steady himself. France. Baz’s purchase in France. That trip alone turned Simon’s internal temperature up a few notches. It seemed like ages ago, but it had really only been two months since France. The French had strange ideas of erotica, and Baz had seemed to be in line with all of them. Pack what I bought you from France. Christ, Simon hadn’t looked at it since France for a reason. It embarrassed him, and the fact that he liked that embarrassment made him even redder.

Simon opened a small (locked) drawer on his side of the wardrobe meant for expensive jewelry and priceless cufflinks and pins, and he pulled out what Baz had bought him in France.

…

The paperwork piled nearly a meter high from the floor. Baz entrusted the various receipts, warehouse reports, and paperwork tracking of the wine to Simon. Officially, Simon was brought into Baz’s household to deal with the paperwork that accumulated at the end of each month. Unofficially, Simon had been brought into the house to die.

Simon admitted to himself that this was a much better outcome. When he’d fallen against the door five months ago, who could have known he’d end up with a well-paying job? So well-paying, in fact, that Simon was able to send lumpsums of money back to his father under the pretense that it was payment for hired slayings. His father was none the wiser as to the actual situation of Simon’s employment.

As Simon crossed some ‘t’s and dotted some ‘i’s, his thoughts ran to Baz. They had been doing that more often as of late, and while Simon had once been able to pin it down on acquainting himself with his employer (friend), he could no longer fall under that umbrella. The thoughts (once just about the upkeep of Baz’s hair and the price of his clothing) now turned to running his hands through that hair and peeling away that expensive clothing until it lay on the floor beneath them.

Simon cleared his throat and refocused on the task ahead. He’d lost track of a sentence concerning a shipment of sherry to a port in Boston. As Simon read about a spilled barrel, a hand on his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts.

Baz’s chuckle reassured Simon, and he looked up from the candlelit paperwork ahead of him. The stack on the floor had to be completed and filed within the week. An entire day of Simon sitting at the desk had already elapsed, and he could guess why Baz had entered this small study that had been given to him.

“Have I missed supper?” Simon asked, looking back at the death certificate of the sherry. Baz’s hand lingered a moment longer before falling away, and Simon missed the cool touch through his thin shirt.

Baz came to lean over him and stare at the document in front of Simon. “No,” he replied, his breath ghosting over the shell of Simon’s ear. Simon’s eyes flicked to the side, and he was met with a Baz deep in thought. “I’ll have to speak to my Boston warehouse manager. Sherry is too expensive to be wasted.” Baz turned to look at Simon, and the close proximity of their lips had Simon’s face heating up. Hopefully the candlelight covered the flush of Simon’s neck and face.

Simon turned away and pulled a separate document out, and responded, “You were compensated with the price of a barrel and a half for the ruined barrel.” He pointed to the line in question where the price was brought up, and Baz hummed noncommittedly in his ear.

Very suddenly Baz was standing behind Simon, and Simon floundered to turn in his chair and face him. Baz was still deep in thought, though Simon couldn’t imagine why. Sherry was not Baz’s largest exports if the receipts were to be believed, and even if it was, why would it give him such a headache? A single barrel in six months was nothing compared to what some other merchants lost in a single day.

“Something on your mind?” Simon asked. Baz’s eyes slowly ghosted over to Simon, and Simon had the distinct feeling of being seen but in a distant sort. Like Baz had recognized a version of Simon that existed before and was instead remembering that Simon.

After a moment of silence, Baz regained composure and smiled. His canines flickered in the light, and Simon fought the urge to cover his neck. Of course, there was no reason for alarm. Growing up with his father, however, left some stones Simon was willing to leave unturned, at least where it concerned Baz.

Who was not a creature of evil.

“We should eat,” Baz suggested, looking towards the door of the study. “It should be about time.” As if on cue, the bell signaling supper rang, and Baz smiled again. “Join me?” he asked, as though Simon could deny.

Simon had picked up on the habits of his employer (friend) in the first few weeks of living together, but they seemed to become stranger as time went on. Baz hardly ate, and when he did, it was only a few bites. Most of his diet (in front of Simon, at least) consisted of wines and cheeses. No substantial food ever made its way into Baz in front of Simon. That was not to say that Baz could not eat sometimes later when Simon was not around, but it made no sense to Simon that Baz would invite him to eat in the dining room only to actually eat later.

Unless…

Simon shook the thought from his head, and it was soon replaced with images of a rather biblical sense.

…

The Surrey manor was alive and bustling when they arrived. The snow had nearly postponed the trip, but it had let up in time for the carriage to safely carry Baz and Simon to the manor. The Surrey manor had more servants than their normal lodgings did, and when Simon had first asked why years ago, Baz had not answered.

Simon partially knew why now. The part he knew was that Baz kept his more expensive wines in the cellars beneath the manor. That answer used to satisfy Simon, but now it caused him to wonder more and more. They had promised honesty once after Baz’s nature had been revealed. The promise had been broken only once, and it had been by Simon, so he didn’t have a right to question Baz’s extra patrolling of this particular property.

The trunks were carried to the room by two men Simon had met briefly last year at the manor, and then Baz was swept away into work. Tonight, a key investor was scheduled to dine with Baz, and while Baz hadn’t directly said it, Simon was to remain scarce throughout the night. At least he’d brought a few packets of paperwork that needed doing.

The room he’d previously occupied here was locked, and a servant instead directed Simon to a room he knew Baz had occupied the last time they were here. The bed, while not as comfortable as the one back in London, welcomed Simon comfortably, and he laid down to rest for a few moments. As it often happened when Simon was left alone with his thoughts, they turned to Baz. The investor coming over tonight both invested in and bought the most wine from Baz. That was the only reason Simon had to be scarce tonight. Usually, Baz showboated him until Simon’s feet grew tired, but with the higherups, a previous street boy who did the paperwork usually set them on edge. How could they trust their money with a boy of no more than twenty-one who only knew basic economics and had not studied traditionally a day in his life?

A soft knock at the door had Simon sitting up, and a servant walked in carrying a tray of supper. Simon then noticed the lighting had changed significantly and realized he had fallen asleep while thinking about wine investors. He thanked the servant and ate in silence, staring around the room. An ornate, golden clock stood in the corner, and Simon laughed quietly. A floor length mirror occupied another corner, and a dark wood wardrobe already filled with their clothing sat against the wall. Overall, it was a plain room in comparison to their normal lodgings, but Simon felt the hints of Baz in the room. The comforter was a deep, wine red, and the bedframe was made of cherry wood. Ornate carvings decorated the tops of the posters of the bed.

The Surrey manor deserved to be a real home, Simon thought. He and Baz used it for maybe a month out of an entire year, and it sat empty for the rest of the time. About every two weeks, Baz would send a few servants to tidy the place, but other than that, these two weeks were the longest anyone lived here. Simon had to wonder if this had once been Baz’s childhood home. It was simply too large and too grand for it to be a getaway or a vacation home. The location was optimal, the plot of land was supreme, and the aura exuded warmth. This had to have been something to Baz. Otherwise, he’d have sold the property long before Simon came into the picture.

A servant came to collect his plates, and Simon was once again left in silence. The bustle of London - people shouting, carts rolling by, factories churning - usually lulled Simon and comforted his always anxious mind. Now, there was only the occasional laugh from downstairs and the chirping of a bird here and there. The silence chilled him to the bone.

Simon set to work on the stack of papers before him, deciding that the scratching of pen on paper would soothe his weary soul. The monotonous chore that was paperwork left Simon feeling purposeful. If Baz trusted him enough with finances, then he would do a damn good job at it. Of course, this was a far cry from what his father would have wanted.

Simon’s mind often turned to his father these days. If Simon remembered the date correctly, his father’s birthday had just passed. They’d never celebrated when Simon lived with him; there was too much training and prepping to be done. At the end of the night, maybe his father would allow Simon to have a sip of port, but that had happened perhaps three times over the years. Celebrations just were not important when there were vampires to hunt and kill. His father had instilled the idea that vampires were virgin defilers into Simon’s mind, and while true for the situation between Baz and himself, Simon had come to realize that most vampires simply wanted to be left alone.

His vampire just so happened to want the opposite of that. A hand at the back of his neck caused Simon to nearly spill his inkpot, and perhaps doing paperwork on the bed was stupid. Baz laughed as Simon carefully closed the inkpot, placed the wet paperwork on the bedside table, did away with the pen, and finally looked up.

Baz’s tense face seemed alight when he looked down at Simon, and Simon smiled as he rose up on his knees. The mattress only added to their already obvious height difference. Simon came to rest at Baz’s shoulders, his knees sinking into the duvet. He did not mind, however, as it was the perfect height for him to place his hands atop Baz’s shoulders and rub. The muscles there seemed knotted with stress, and Simon sighed.

“Are you ever not wound up like a clock?” Simon asked, dragging Baz onto the mattress. As tonight’s outfit included a three-piece suit, the act of stripping Baz took longer than Simon would have liked. Finally, pale skin exposed itself, and Simon kept his shudder at the sight of Baz’s back to himself. They had spoken of it once before: the scars had been from a brutal whipping exactly once in his childhood, but his vampire skin had not healed properly because of what he was whipped with. Now, scars littered the expanse of his broad shoulders, and Simon pressed chaste kisses to each. It was routine now.

“You know how I hate clocks,” Baz replied. Simon laughed and pressed one last kiss to Baz’s back, lingering for only a few extra seconds. Luckily, someone had placed oil in the bedside table, and Simon slowly warmed it between his hands as he sat on Baz’s thighs. At the first press of Simon’s hands into Baz’s lower back, Baz let out a groan loud enough to shake the house.

“How was supper?” Simon asked, working a knot in the lower of Baz’s back until it loosened. This was his absolute favorite (non-sexual) thing to do to Baz. It was another way of being useful, and Simon prided himself on the fact that only he could provide this relief to Baz.

“Long,” Baz replied, groaning again at the pressure of Simon’s palms. “He wanted to withdraw his investment because of that fucking barrel of sherry.” Simon dug the heel of his palm into the middle of Baz’s back, and the crack that sounded through the room caused Baz to let out an orgasmic sound. “Fuck, I love it when you do that.”

Simon’s face flushed, and he coughed as he continued rubbing circles into Baz’s back. The silence did not stretch on uncomfortably, but there was something in the air neither of them were able to address. “So, he wanted to leave because one of my fucking stupid warehouse managers dropped a barrel. I told him about the price for breaking a contract, and he still seemed to want to leave. Thank God for whiskey, because I think that’s what got him to stay.”

As Simon lazily rubbed the excess oil into Baz’s skin, he found himself listening to Baz’s sherry problems and not even being bothered by how boring they were. He logically knew that if someone else was telling him about the trials and tribulations of shipping sherry, he’d fall asleep, and the realization made his stomach lurch. He knew what this was, and Baz knew, too. When would one of them say it, though?

…

They had fought before. Once, Simon had forgotten to do a few pieces of paperwork that nearly cost Baz a key investor, and they had dished it out for a good half-hour before both going out for some time to decompress. Simon apologized, and Baz did, too. Simon had been tired during that round of paperwork; Baz had been stressed all day before finding out about Simon’s mistake.

But this was different. This wasn’t about paperwork or investors or wine. This was about Simon and Baz. This was about feelings, and Simon sucked at feelings. He’d inherited it from his father. Being raised to be a vampire slayer could do that.

This was also, coincidentally, about vampires.

“You lied to me!” Simon shouted, hastily packing his belongings into a trunk. Granted, there were not many things to be gathered. It was more for show than anything else. “I’ve lived with you for nearly two years, and you’ve lied to me the entire time!”

Baz stood in front of the fireplace, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists. He was strangely composed for such an explosive conversation. Simon wanted to throw something at him, punch him, make him respond, make him yell. It wasn’t fair that he was the only person angry. This wasn’t going to be a one-sided argument.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Simon demanded, finally stopping his movements and just…standing there. His shoulders slumped. There were tears in his eyes.

Baz turned slowly on his heels. Finally, Simon saw his face. It gave away nothing; Baz was always stoic during moments of high tensions. When Simon had nearly died those first few weeks, Baz’s face had remained a blank sheet. When his…sister? ...had died in childbirth and the letter had been delivered, Baz had said nothing and simply locked himself away. Now, though, there was no room to separate the two of them. There was no veil of death that cleaved them apart. There was only three meters of wooden floor and carpet.

Baz closed his eyes, and Simon watched as a few tears slipped down his cheeks. “You lied to me, too, Simon,” Baz finally murmured. The orange light of the fire made him look like a statue on fire. His eyes seemed to be ablaze, though that could be literal given the circumstances of his humanity. “I’ve lived with someone raised to be my murderer for nearly two years. How do you think I feel?”

Honestly, Simon had not thought of it that way. However, the part of his brain that his father had trained screamed at Simon that Baz killed innocents to live and that he was probably more than a few lifetimes older than Simon. It unfortunately cast everything into a clearer light: why Baz did not eat in front of Simon, why he left for days at a time on ‘trips’, why he had so much property and no living family.

“Have you killed people, Baz?” Simon asked. He desperately wanted to leave the house and never turn back. He should have listened to his gut. It had screamed at him for over a year that Baz was not human. Simon should have taken his father’s lessons to heart. He could be dead now. It was only a miracle that Baz had spared him.

“How dare you!” Baz snarled stomping away from the fireplace. Finally, Simon thought. Finally, this anger could be mutual. He stopped just a foot short of Simon, hand pointing directly at Simon’s face. “You don’t know shit, Simon Snow! How dare you say that! How dare you!” Up close, Simon saw more tears gather in Baz’s eyes. “Are you asking yourself why I haven’t killed you yet?”

“Fuck you!” Simon retorted, pushing Baz’s hand out of his face. “You’re a fucking liar, Baz Pitch!” Simon didn’t know why he was crying so suddenly. Well, he did know why. He’d just thought that Baz would be honest with him concerning everything, and this felt like a betrayal of the deepest kind. “You…you lied to me!”

Simon covered his face with his hands, feeling the dampness soak the sleeves of his shirt. Damnit, he thought. Why couldn’t he keep it together for ten minutes?

His hands were pulled away from his face, and before Simon could curse Baz for it, cold lips were pressed against his own. He vaguely understood that this was a kiss. Simon had never kissed anyone before. Training to kill vampires ruined any chance of his social life. Baz’s hands, still holding his wrists, slowly travelled down to Simon’s waist, holding him steady as he pulled back.

Simon was still crying, though no choked noises were escaping his lips anymore. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, because he really didn’t. Simon was not a product of fine breeding. He did not have status or wealth. He was human. He was male. But Baz’s lips on his own had felt realer than anything else in his life prior had ever felt. Simon rested his hands on Baz’s biceps, feeling the warmth leave his fingertips. “I don’t understand,” he repeated, looking up at Baz through clumped lashes and tears.

In response, Baz smiled down at him softly. There was no malice, and while Simon did see canines, he was not afraid. “Do you really believe I would have kept you here if I did not care for you?” Baz asked, running a soothing hand through Simon’s hair. “Even just a little bit?”

Simon burrowed into the space where Baz’s shoulder met his neck and hiccupped, feeling fresh tears spill down his cheek. Baz’s hand stalled in Simon’s hair, and he hastily began to apologize, which made Simon cry heavier.

Hours later, with the candles extinguished and the anger from the day gone, Simon realized Baz had never truly answered any of his questions.

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #rainbow rowell #carry on #carry on big bang 2020 #regency era #fanfic #love confessions #vampire!baz #vampire hunter!simon #mordelia grimm #simon works for baz #wine merchant!baz #enjoy!

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Convenient Groom: 8/13

I can’t believe it took me almost a month to finish this chapter, but here it is! None of this was even in my outline, lol. However, I like where the muse took me, and there’s more "oh shoot, we HAVE to kiss”, so that’s always good. Hopefully that all makes up for the long wait - especially for the girl this was a gift for to begin with. I hope you enjoy this, @spartanguard!

I also realized that I accidentally posted two chapters labeled as chapter six here on Tumblr. The chapter count is correct on Ao3. This is chapter 8. I fixed the “second chapter six” on my tumblr blog as well. Sorry for the confusion!

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard .

Rating: M

Words: almost 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan

“This dress is absolutely gorgeous,” Anna gushed as she helped Emma zip it up.

“Thank you,” Emma told her sincerely, “but I really didn’t have to wear it again. A simple sundress would have been fine.”

“Excuse me?” Anna snapped with an arch of her brows and a hand on her hip. Behind her, Elsa chuckled.

“Anna, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not!” she retorted, and Emma could easily imagine these two as kids. “I simply want to get the full effect of this wedding, okay? We didn’t get to be there, so today better be the next best thing.”

Elsa shook her head and caught Emma’s eye in the mirror as she adjusted the baby’s breath woven through the loose braids crowning Emma’s waves. It wasn’t the style she would have gone with personally, but she had to admit that Elsa had done a gorgeous job with her hair.

“It’s fine,” Emma assured the other blonde, “your sister has a point. And I don’t really mind recreating the wedding - in a smaller version, of course.”

The door leading from the basement out to the backyard rattled, followed by a frustrated shout from Killian. Anna shrieked as she raced for the door.

“You can’t see the bride before the ceremony, Kil!”

“We’re already married, A! This is ridiculous!”

“Humor a pregnant woman!” she barked, and Emma and Elsa couldn’t contain their laughter any longer.

“Fine,” Killian snapped back, “I’m just here to tell you that Liam and Kristoff want to eat soon, so we better do this.”

“Men and their stomachs,” Anna grumbled with a roll of her eyes.

“Look up,” Elsa told Emma, and she complied. Elsa gave her eyelashes one more swipe of mascara. “There, you’re perfect.”

Emma picked up her small bouquet of forget-me-nots (that matched Killian’s eyes, Anna had pointed out), and lifted the bottom of her dress so her heels wouldn’t get tangled.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

Anna nodded, then turned back to the door. “Are you still out there, Kil?’

“Yes.”

“Well, go take your place under the arbor!”

Killian mumbled something about bossy women, but did as he was told. Anna peeked out, just to be sure the groom was where he was supposed to be, then she flung the door open. She and her sister went out first, walking out to strands of Canon in D. When the classical music faded out, Emma stepped out of the door. She almost burst out laughing when the music for her processional began.

You’re in an all-girl band, your futon is second-hand . . .

The arbor, which had been moved to Liam and Elsa’s backyard, wasn’t that far away from the basement door, and Emma was close enough already to see Killian’s wink. Emma couldn’t suppress the grin on her face, and Anna couldn’t suppress her glare.

“What kind of bridal song is this,” the redhead hissed as she smacked Killian with her bouquet.

Killian ignored her and waggled his eyebrows at Emma.

“It’s perfect actually, Anna,” Emma assured her, “let’s just say that it’s an inside joke.”

“Fine,” Anna huffed, “and we need to stop talking! This is a wedding.”

“A fake wedding with a grand total of seven people,” Killian muttered.

Anna smacked him with her bouquet again. At this rate, there wouldn’t be any petals left on the thing.

“Dearly beloved,” the officiant intoned as Emma turned to face Killian. She glanced in surprise at the elderly man, then whispered to Killian.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Can you two please take this seriously?” Anna exclaimed. “This is Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie.”

“Is he even ordained?” Killian asked.

“I’m standing right here,” the old man said dryly, “and I suggest you let me continue. You’re getting married.”

“We’re already married.”

“Then who cares if I’m ordained?”

Killian and Emma shared a look and then shrugged. The man cleared his throat pointedly.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here today to join these two in holy matrimony. If anyone knows why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Had the officiant said that at the first ceremony? She didn’t think so, but then again, everything that day passed in a blur. Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie paused . . . and paused . . . and paused some more. Killian narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Emma gave a small shake of her head.

“Oh my God,” Anna exclaimed in exasperation, “no one objects! Just get on with it!”

“Well,” Grand Pabbie said slowly, his bushy eyebrows moving expressively across his forehead, “Kristoff had mentioned a concerned brother, and I just -”

“Liam,” Killian growled.

“Have I said a word?” his brother countered, both hands raised in surrender.

“You can get on with it, Grand Pabbie,” Kristoff told the elderly man, his face flaming red.

“Okay then, where was I . . . “ the old man narrowed his eyes as he shuffled the papers in his hands. Emma’s eyes met Killian’s, and they couldn’t help bursting out with laughter. Emma could hear Anna huffing in frustration behind her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to get herself back under control. Killian cleared his throat and clenched his jaw, though she could still see the merriment in his eyes.

“Ah yes, here we are . . . Marriage is a sacred union in which two hearts are joined as one. Emma and Killian, repeat after me . . . “

Emma was more aware during this second ceremony, which made sense. She wasn’t in shock like she had been the first time around. Yet she also was surprised to realize that this wedding was more suited to her personality than the one she had spent a year planning - and this wasn’t even real. There was just something about the simplicity of it and the small crowd who was there because they were emotionally invested, not so they could get free food and an open bar.

Then they were pronounced man and wife for the second time in a month, and Killian was told he could kiss his bride. He hadn’t kissed her since that day on the beach with the paparazzi. She hadn’t forgotten what a good kisser he was, but somehow it felt different. It was a simple kiss - more than a brush of lips, yet far less heated than the one he had laid on her at their first wedding. It probably had something to do with his brother glaring at them two feet away. Yet for some reason, Emma felt light headed when he pulled away, and she swayed towards him like he was a magnet she was drawn to. Or like a moth to a flame? Or being pulled out with the tide? It was some sort of romance novel cliche like that, and what made it twice as embarrassing was that she didn’t open her eyes until she almost lost her balance.

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asked as he grasped her by the shoulders to steady her.

“Yeah,” she hurriedly assured him as she gave her head a quick shake.

He tilted his head, and his lips parted on a breath. Before he could question her further, Anna clapped her hands and made an announcement.

“Now the bride and groom will have their first dance!”

“What?” Kristoff blurted out. “I thought we were eating!”

“Not until after their first dance; that’s how it’s done.”

“But I’m hungry!”

Anna leveled her husband with a look that could melt ice. “You don’t think the pregnant woman is hungry? We won’t starve while they dance!”

“Fine!” Kristoff muttered, throwing up his hands. Then he grumbled under his breath, “Isn’t even their first dance since it isn’t their first wedding.”

Killian shrugged at Emma, and she laughed. Elsa pulled up the song they had selected on her phone which was hooked up to the outdoor speakers. Killian set his hands at Emma’s waist as Paul McCartney began to sing, and Emma slid her arms around his neck.

“Are you sure you were alright a minute ago?”

His face looked so concerned that Emma told him the truth. “It just felt different kissing you this time, that’s all.” Her face burned as Killian’s eyes widened. “I mean - not like that or anything. It’s just that we . . . I mean, I . . . I know what pickles you like now.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Pickles.”

“Yeah, pickles.”

He tilted his head and studied her. “I see. I wasn’t aware pickle preferences were such a sign of growing intimacy.”

The way his accent rolled over the words made the whole thing sound far more serious than Emma intended. She let out an indelicate snort. “You know what I mean. I know you better now. Like . . . like the pickles -”

“So we’ve established.”

“And . . . what you watch on Netflix . . . and . . . I’ve seen you . . . sweaty.”

Killian arched one brow and quirked his lips into an absolutely sinful, crooked smile. She swore she could see his eyes darken slowly under those stupid thick eyelashes of his.

“Don’t say it!” she warned him.

“Whatever do you mean?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and she swore he must have worked for some sex phone line thing to be able to make syllables drip like that.

“Whatever dirty innuendo you were about to make,” she told him through gritted teeth. “Just. Don’t.”

He nodded but gave her a smug look. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Killian leaned closer, his nose in her hair and his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. He whispered in that low timbre of his, “I don’t need to say it, love, because you’re already thinking it.”

******************************************************

Emma watched the flames in the backyard fire pit lick at the marshmallow on the end of her stick. It caught and was engulfed, and Emma smiled as it charred.

“You burned it,” Anna observed as Emma pulled it out and blew on it.

“Nope,” Emma said, spinning it and admiring its black crust, “it’s perfect.” She gestured to the slightly browned marshmallow Anna had just slid onto a slab of chocolate. “Yours is still raw.”

Anna sandwiched the treat between two graham crackers, then replied around a messy bite. “I guess everyone makes their s’mores differently.”

Emma watched her catch a glob of marshmallow with her pinkie, and was relieved to see that her table manners didn’t matter with this crowd. Walsh had elegant tastes and took her places where you had to know which fork to use with what course. It had been exhausting.

Emma’s gaze flitted to Killian, who was laughing over beers with Kristoff. Behind them, Elsa was talking to Liam with a bundle of sparklers in one hand and a lighter in the other. Her brow was furrowed as she asked her husband something, and Liam looked intense with his arms crossed over his chest. Emma thought about her agreement with Killian and thought now was as good a time as any to do a little recon about his brother’s marriage.

“So . . . “ she said slowly and casually to Anna, “is Liam just as bossy with your sister as he is to everyone else?”

Anna literally snorted and almost choked on her s’more. “Are you kidding? Liam would walk on broken glass for Elsa if he had to.”

“Really?” Emma asked incredulously. Her gaze landed back on the couple. A gentle smile broke across Liam’s face as his hand closed over Elsa’s where she grasped the lighter. Elsa laughed, her eyes sparkling, as Liam pulled her to his chest and kissed her tenderly. Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“But they’re both opinionated.”

“Well yeah,” Anna said with a shrug, “but so are you and Killian, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

Anna gave Emma a little nudge with her elbow. “Paul McCartney was a great choice. Especially since The Beatles were Alice’s favorite.”

“Alice?”

“Yeah, their mom.”

“Oh, of course,” Emma replied hurriedly, her face burning, but Anna seemed more interested in the messy chocolate that was dripping down her wrist.

“God, I’m a mess,” she chuckled.

“I’m not much better,” Emma laughed, trying to lick sticky marshmallow off her thumb.

“I really have never seen anyone love someone the way Liam loves my sister,” Anna said with a smile. “I mean, not that Kristoff doesn’t love me in an amazing way, he totally does, and he’s - like, super supportive, it’s just . . . Well, Elsa was closed off for so long. She got hurt really badly when we were in high school. To say her heart was broken is a huge understatement. Anyways, I didn’t think she would trust anyone with her heart until Liam came along. Of course, you know from personal experience how Jones men are.”

“How so?” Emma asked before she could stop herself.

Anna tilted her head and looked at her like she was completely dense. “They love completely and fiercely. When they commit to something, they’re all in.”

“Oh . . . “ Emma trailed off and quickly stuffed more dessert in her mouth. She hoped the chatterbox would move on to a different topic, but for once the woman was silent. Emma swallowed and gave her a nervous smile. “Guess that’s why he’s into rom-coms, huh? When we were picking out a wedding song, he seemed to know the plot of most of them.”

Anna’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Killian Jones watches sci-fi and fantasy. The only reason he knows those rom-coms is because of me. I had a horrible break up before Kristoff, and Killian asked me how he could help. I said ice cream and rom coms, not really taking him seriously. He was over within an hour with a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough and While You Were Sleeping.”

“Really,” Emma said thoughtfully, her eyes landing on Killian once again.

“Yeah, he came over every night for like a week.”

************************************************

Emma wrapped her sweater around her shoulders tighter as she made her way across the dunes. It was dark now, and almost time for the fireworks over Storybrooke harbor. They wouldn’t have the best view in town, but the privacy was worth the trade off. Killian came up next to her with unlit sparklers in his hands.

“The wedding coordinator demands our presence once again. Something about kissing with sparklers all around us. Very popular Instagram pose, apparently.”

Emma laughed as she turned to face him. “How are we supposed to kiss and hold sparklers at the same time?”

“Very carefully?”

She took the metal stick he offered her, but the jolt she felt was attraction, not electricity. She could admit it now. She was attracted to him. Honestly, who wouldn’t be? He fit the bill of tall, dark, and handsome to perfection. And then . . .

“Anna told me about the rom coms.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowed. “The what?”

She made a circling motion with her hand. “You know. The reason you know all those cheesy rom coms is because you binge watched them with Anna. To cheer her up after a break up?”

“Oh,” he said, his hand going straight to that favored spot behind his ear, “um, yes. It was the least I could do, really. That Hans was an absolute git. No, worse, a complete and utter narcissist.”

His jaw was clenched now, his eyes narrow, and Emma’s heart flipped over how angry he still seemed on Anna’s behalf. You know from personal experience how Jones men are . . . They love completely and fiercely. Emma realized her gaze had dropped to his lips, and she shook herself out of the stupor she’d fallen into.

“Anyways,” Killian shrugged, “my heart just broke for her, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It was sweet, and far more than most men would do. Unless they wanted to get in a woman’s pants.”

Killian wrinkled his nose in offense. “Please don’t even hint at me and Anna’s pants. She’s like the kid sister I never had. It just sounds . . . wrong.”

Emma smiled up at him, tapping his chest with the tip of her sparkler. “Exactly. That’s what makes it so wonderful.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Anna shouted from the edge of the yard. “Get over here and act romantic for the camera!”

It turned out the Instagram shots consisted first of Emma and Killian holding the sparklers out in front of them while they kissed, then Killian dipping her and kissing her while his family held up sparklers behind them.

They were starting to get really good at this kissing thing. Emma was getting a little bolder in her response, and tonight she could taste the mixture of sweet and smoky from the s’mores on his tongue.

When he righted her, his brows were lifted, and she braced herself for a quip about her new enthusiasm when he kissed her. Instead, he merely smiled that crooked grin of his. She narrowed her eyes and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“It has to look real for Instagram.”

He moved his lips to her ear so he could whisper back, “Who said I was complaining, love?”

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs marriage of convenience #slow burn #humor #and some angst #for spartanguard

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rushingheadlong · 4 years

Text

Dear Friend, We’ll Carry On - A Brian/trans-m!Reader fic

Summary: You’ve known Brian since the early days of Queen, but when he comes to New Haven on his solo tour you haven’t seen him in years. You’re both different people now but, as the saying goes, the more things change the more they stay the same...

Wordcount: ~9.5k

Tags/Warnings: Trans-m!Reader/Brian, some light angst and H/C, eventual smut (fingering & oral, Reader receiving, and some light cumplay)

Notes: This is, I think, officially the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written. I know I say that a lot but the entire fic takes place around Brian’s October 1993 New Haven concert (the one with the Yale tank top) so that should really tell you everything you need to know. I might write a follow-up fic, or just a shorter epilogue as well - but we’ll see if I ever actually get around to that.

The only other thing I’ll note is that is the Reader is American, so American terms have been used over British ones (i.e. “pants” instead of “trousers”) and this is cross-posted to AO3 here.

It’s only been a few years since you last saw Brian, but when he first walks into the diner you almost don’t recognize him. If it wasn’t for that same wild halo of curls around his head you’d think you were looking at a stranger, because there’s a tightness in his shoulders and a stiffness in his frame that you’ve never seen before.

Even the other patrons around you seem uncertain of him, casting double-takes in his direction as if they aren’t really sure if they recognize him or not. There was a time when Queen couldn’t step foot in America without being mobbed, but too much has changed in a decade and now Brian looks more like a lost child than a world-famous rockstar.

You wave to catch his attention and Brian spots you immediately. He smiles, bright and wide and so familiar that it makes your chest ache, and he finally looks almost like himself again.

He quickly crosses the small room and you stand up to greet him. Brian pulls you into a tight hug and this is achingly familiar too, the way your shorter frame fits against his, the gentle nuzzle against the top of your head as Brian curls around you, the soft sigh as Brian relaxes into the embrace and some of the tightness starts to bleed out of his body.

“I’ve missed you,” Brian says when he finally pulls away and the two of you take your seats at the table. “You look…” His voice trails off for a moment and you brace yourself for the word that you know is coming next: Different. It’s what everyone says these days, after all, not that you can blame them. Five years on testosterone and nearly eleven months since your surgery have radically changed your appearance - and you haven’t seen Brian in person since your transition started, having been out-of-town when he last performed in New Haven back in March.

But Brian smiles and the word he goes with, to your surprise, is simply, “Good. You look really good, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” you say, with a smile of your own. “And you look…”

Sad.

There’s still grief in the depths of Brian’s eyes, a slightly haunted look that wasn’t there before Freddie’s death and the end of Queen tore his world apart. He’s allowed his grief, of course he is, but it still tears at your heart to see Brian’s kind face marred with anguish, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

You know better than to tell him any of that, though, no matter how true it may be, so you find yourself settling for a different adjective as well. “Tired. Tour getting to you, is it?”

Brian laughs, the smallest huff of amusement and admits, “It’s been rough at times, yeah. Been too long since I’ve done this, and it’s different from what it was with- with Queen.”

He busies himself with the menu for a moment, and you graciously don’t comment on the slight stumble at the mention of the band that was his entire world for two decades. “Anyway, it’s been good though,” Brian finally says. “Nice to be playing again, and the new group is great.”

“I’m sorry I missed your show the last time you were in Connecticut,” you tell him.

“Nah, don’t be. We were only a support act then, you’re getting the full performance tonight,” Brian says. A small, uncertain look crosses his face and he asks, “You are coming tonight, aren’t you?”

“Bought my ticket the moment they went on sale,” you assure him, and Brian smiles in relief.

Your conversation is briefly interrupted by the arrival of your waitress, and once when she leaves with your orders Brian says, “I have a backstage pass for you, if you want it. You can hang out before the show, watch from out front, and security will let you backstage again before the encore so you don’t have to deal with trying to leave with the crowd when it’s all over.”

“Really? That would be great!” It would certainly give you more time to spend with Brian, though you know from the many Queen concerts where you were able to get backstage that it’s likely to be in somewhat of a state of pandemonium leading up to the start of the show. “Hey, is there anyone in your road crew that I might remember?”

You know not to tack on from the Queen days, though it’s obvious that’s what you mean. Another sad look crosses Brian’s face and you know you’ve still made a mistake, even before Brian says, “Ah, not really, no. Jobby left, so my guitar tech is new, and Ratty and Crystal obviously aren’t around… Oh, Spike’s touring with me, though!” You give him a blank, apologetic look and he sighs and adds, hopeful, “Keyboard player? He played with Queen back in the 80s too…”

“You had someone different on the Hot Space tour, I think,” you tell Brian.

“God, has it really been that long since we played the US?” Brian shakes his head. “Seems crazy, doesn’t it? How quickly a decade passes…”

“And how much changes in that time,” you say without thinking. Another pained look crosses Brian’s face and you quickly try to steer the conversation towards less depressing territory. “I mean, I’m surprised you recognized me at all today!” you say with a small laugh.

“Well, of course I recognized you! Why wouldn’t I?” Brian asks, just as your waitress returns with your drinks.

You wait until she stops fussing over Brian and leaves again before saying, “I don’t know, Bri, why would you recognize me? I look pretty different than I did before…”

“Oh, yeah,” Brian says. “That.”

You didn’t really want to bring the topic up but Brian’s response, no matter how casual, is exactly why you knew you had to. You met Brian when you were still going by your dead name, before you had even comes to terms with your gender and back when you two were still hooking up every time Queen came to the US. He was one of the first people you came out to, because you saw him so rarely that if he reacted poorly it’s not like it would have impacted your normal daily life.

Brian didn’t react poorly though. No one in Queen did, and if any of the roadies had a different opinion you at least never had to hear it. Brian easily adjusted to calling you “Y/N” and “he” during your increasingly infrequent meetings in the 80s, those rare weekends when you could afford to fly to LA or he had the time to meet you somewhere on the East Coast, but this is still the first time that he’s seeing you since your transition - the first time he’s had to see you present fully as a man, without binders and baggy clothes and uncomfortably short hair to hide behind.

And you know all too well how much of a difference that can make, to some people.

But not, apparently, to Brian. He smiles and offers you a small shrug and just says, “You’re still Y/N - I mean, yeah, you look different but… Well, like I said before, you look good. You look more like yourself, if that makes any sense at all. Like you’re just a better version of who you always were.” He shakes his head and adds, “Sorry, that probably sounds ridiculous…”

“It really doesn’t,” you tell him. “That’s exactly how it feels to me.” Your whole chest feels warm with affection, and even though you’re reassuring him in the moment you feel incredibly comforted by his easy acceptance and understanding of a topic that not very many others in your life have embraced.

Brian’s smile brightens a little, and your stomach swoops at the sight. You’ve never been in love with Brian, not romantically anyway, but sometimes you still find yourself getting overwhelmed with how much you love having him in your life - as a friend and, in the past, as an occasional bed partner.

Only it seems like today your libido missed the message that the two of you aren’t hooking up anymore. You thought you had gotten past the initial spike to your sex drive that happened when you first started T, but looking at Brian now - with his wide smile and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his shirt half unbuttoned to expose most of his chest - makes you almost squirm with how badly you want him again.

It doesn’t help that Brian once admitted to you, years ago when you were both far too drunk for your own good, that the occasional man does catch (and hold) his interest. It doesn’t help that you know Brian was always enthusiastic about hooking up with you, at least when you used to do that before you came out and started transitioning. And it doesn’t help that, when you look across the table at him, his earlier sadness has been replaced with a familiar glint in his eye that makes you wonder if his repeated “You look good” comments might hold a little more meaning than you originally thought.

You want to test the waters, see if Brian is thinking of your previous hook-ups like you now are… and you almost do, before you remember what it could cost Brian to be seen flirting with another man in public. Even the hug he had given you in greeting was risky, nevermind that that’s how he’s always greeted you before you transitioned. So you settle instead for only asking, “How long are you in town?”

Brian grimaces. “We got in late yesterday, and we’re only here for one more night. We’re driving over to Providence in the morning for tomorrow’s show, then there’s a day off so we can head out to Chicago. And then…” He thinks about it for a moment, before laughing and shaking his head. “For the life of me, I can’t remember where we go from there. But we only have seven or eight more shows in the States, and then we have some time off before we go to Japan at the beginning of November.”

At one point, you would have followed him around to all those stops on the tour - or at least spent a week or two in Queen’s bus, curled up by Brian’s side during the day and spending your evenings watching their shows from wherever you could find a spot, before eventually catching a flight home from some random city halfway across the country.

But those days are long behind you now.

“Well, you should come back to Connecticut during that break and visit me some more,” you say, and you can’t help the slight teasing note that creeps into your voice.

What you’re not expecting, though, is for Brian to give you a knowing smirk and say, “Maybe I’ll do just that.”

Your mouth drops open in a small “o” of surprise, but before you can respond your waitress comes over with your food - and when she leaves Brian launches into a story from one of his shows earlier in the year, and you let the moment pass.

No matter how much time accidentally passes between your meetings, it’s always easy to fall back into conversation with Brian. His story reminds you of a different rock show you had been to a year ago, and then Brian tells you about some festival he found himself at, which happens to be in the same area where you’re planning an upcoming vacation, and the resulting travel talk branches out into any topic imaginable, until Brian catches a glimpse at the time and swears under his breath.

“Shit, I’m needed over at the theatre.” He stands up and starts to pull out his wallet, but you stop him.

“No, Bri, I’ve got this,” you say, throwing enough bills down onto the table to cover the check (and a large enough tip to make up for how long the two lingered around just chatting). “Any time in particular I should plan on getting to the theatre myself?”

“You can head over with me now, if you want,” Brian says as he leads the way out of the diner, holding the door open for you behind him.

“Nah, I need to change into something more fitting for a rock concert,” you say, gesturing to your suitable - but certainly plain - outfit.

“You look-”

“Brian May, if you tell me that I look good again I’ll kick you!” you interrupt with a laugh. “No, give me a chance to pretty myself up for you and then I’ll head over.”

It doesn’t quite register that the “for you” slipped out until you see a look of surprise cross Brian’s face, a look that settles into something a little more amused as he smirks and says, “Well, I’ll definitely be looking forward to seeing you soon, then.”

He pulls you into another quick hug and your face is hot with embarrassment, and you can feel yourself get redder when Brian murmurs in your ear, “Don’t take too long now, Y/N.”

You know he’s teasing but there’s a note of arousal in his voice as well, and you feel your dick start to stir with interest even through your lingering embarrassment. “I’ll get changed and hurry right over,” you promise in a low voice, and you can’t help but feel smug when you see Brian’s eyes darken in hunger.

You don’t live in New Haven proper and today even the quick drive back to your apartment feels like it takes too long, when all you want to do is still be with Brian… but you’re hoping, if you play your cards right, that you’ll be spending a lot more time with Brian tonight than you had ever originally planned.

Picking out clothes feels less like a daily battle than it ever did before you started transitioning but you still take some time to consider what to wear over to the theatre, finally settling on skinny jeans and a Yale shirt. You’re considerably older than most of the university’s students but you’re still cursed with a babyface that T hasn’t aged quite enough yet, and you figure that faking some school pride can’t hurt when you’re going to be mere blocks away from the university itself.

You grab a pair of rolled-up socks and hesitate for a moment before discarding them, and tying a flannel shirt around your waist to hide the lack of bulge in your pants. An old leather jacket and a few swipes of eyeliner finish off the look, and even if you hadn’t already been flirting with Brian you’re pretty sure you’d win an invite back to his hotel room now anyway.

You take the bus back over to New Haven, rather than worrying about finding parking near the venue, and although security gives you an uncomfortable once-over as you show him your badge it isn’t long before you’re inside the theatre and looking for Brian once more.

Soundcheck is just wrapping up and you let the sound of Brian’s voice lead you towards the stage. He’s engrossed in his work and you watch him from the wings as he talks about some technical detail with one of the roadies. He seems relaxed enough, at a quick glance, but you can see his fingers tapping anxiously against the front of the Red Special and tension starting to gather in his shoulders again.

It’s a far cry from how he was before the Queen shows of old. Back then, even if he was a bit on edge or the band had fought during soundcheck, Brian retained a certain amount of confident ease - something which is noticeably absent in his demeanor now. You wonder if it’s due to the lack of Queen and the stability that Brian had based his routines around, or if it’s because of the added pressure of his role in this new band… though, truthfully, it’s probably a little bit of both.

You wonder if you still have a right to meddle, if you can ask Brian how he’s really doing and still expect an honest answer from him after all these years. Then Brian spots you out of the corner of his eye and his face lights up with happiness again and the tension starts to bleed out of his frame, and you decide to let sleeping dogs lie - at least for now anyway, because you have more important (or at least more fun) things to focus on.

Because Brian isn’t nearly as subtle as he thinks he is as he gives you a lingering once-over, before he passes over his Old Lady to a tech that you don’t recognize and crosses the stage to pull you into a hug. This one isn’t as intimate as the one at the diner, more of a quick one-armed embrace that he might give to any of his male friends, but he still whispers in your ear, “You look good, Y/N.”

You pull back, gearing up to poke fun at Brian for saying that yet again, only to see the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and the glint in his eyes that tells you that he’s teasing you. That doesn’t stop you from huffing a little and saying, “Excuse you, I think I look damn good in fact.”

Brian laughs, the sound catching the attention of the rest of his bandmates. If he notices, though, that doesn’t stop him from murmuring a quiet, “You do look damn good. Gonna make it hard for me to get through the show, knowing that you’re-”

“Hey, Brian!” the other guitarist calls out. “The pizza for the crew just got here, we good on the soundcheck?”

“Yeah sorry, we’re all set!” Brian yells back. He shakes his head and says to you, “Sorry about that.”

You shrugs. “Not the first time your work has ruined the moment.” It used to be Roger banging on the dressing room door while the two of you were in the middle of things, but you’re still used to the interruptions.

“Well, we’re not likely to get many moments in private until after the show,” Brian says, his voice pitched low so no one can overhear the two of you.

“I was thinking that we’re getting a bit too old to disappear into a supply closet together,” you joke, though you keep your voice low as well.

Brian snorts. “Yeah, I don’t need Spike or Jamie finding me in flagrante when there’s a perfectly good hotel bed waiting for us at the end of this.” He hesitates for a moment, biting his bottom lip, and finally asks, “That is where all this flirting is heading, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I was hoping.” You grin wickedly at Brian and add, “I didn’t dress up nice just for the hell of it, you know.”

“Good to know,” Brian says, with a wide grin. “C’mon, I wanna introduce you to the band.”

Brian does have a full, proper band touring with him. Jamie is the guitarist who had interrupted Brian greeting you, Neil is the bass player, and Spike is the keyboard player that Brian had mentioned during your lunch earlier. The backing vocalists are Catherine and Shelley, and the last you’re introduced to is Cozy, the drummer. You don’t recognize him at all but clearly Brian is expecting you to, judging by his slightly exasperated sigh when you don’t react to his name.

“Oh, leave it be, Brian. Not like my pride’s hurt at all,” Cozy says before Brian can gear up for his explanation. “I’m just glad to finally be meeting Y/N.”

“Finally?” you echo, giving Brian a sideways glance.

“I may have mentioned you once or twice…”

“Or three or four or forty times,” Spike says dryly.

“You can’t count times I’ve mentioned him in passing over the last decade!” Brian tries to defend himself.

“Decade? Try the last day,” Jamie says as he too joins in the conversation. “If the drive down here yesterday had been any longer we were going to draw straws to see which one of us was going to knock you out just to get some peace and quiet!"

“I was not that bad!” Brian protests but he’s laughing, and so is everyone else, and it’s not quite Queen but you can see the niche that Brian has carved out with this new group of people and it makes you smile to listen to the friendly ribbing and jokes.

“We tried to get him to call you when we stopped so maybe he’d shut up for a bit, but he refused,” Cozy says to you.

You were at work yesterday so Brian wouldn’t have been able to reach you anyway but instead of pointing that out you join in with the teasing yourself. “Well I wish you had, so I could’ve pointed you in the direction of the right pizza to order…”

Brian groans at the familiar argument and says, “You complain about this every time I come to New Haven!”

“Well, start ordering from Frank Pepe’s instead of Sally’s and we wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation!” you tell him.

“I didn’t know pizza was that big of a deal in Connecticut,” Neil says with a laugh.

“It’s not, not unless you’re a New Haven local,” Brian says, with the tone of someone who has been forced to listen to this lecture more times than he cares to remember.

“Are you a local then, Y/N?” Shelley asks. “Or did you come down to meet up with Brian?”

“Nah, I’m a local - well, local enough, I live over in West Haven.” You pluck at your shirt and add, “Didn’t go to Yale, but I’ll pretend to support the university while I’m practically on their campus.”

“I think that’s Brian’s plan for tonight too,” Jamie says, giving Brian a friendly nudge with his elbow as he passes him. “First thing he did when we got in yesterday was have someone run out to get him an appropriately local tank top for the encore.”

“A tank top?” You can’t help but laugh. “In all the years I’ve known Brian I have never known him to wear a tank top! I’ll believe that when I see it!”

You keep chatting with the band for a little while longer but eventually everyone splits up to double-check their instruments, get changed, and take care of the thousand little things that always seem to get left for the last minute.

“You should probably head out front,” Brian tells you eventually. He still needs to get changed into his own stage outfit, even though you’ve been listening to the audience trickle in for the last ten minutes.

“Yeah, probably,” you agree. You want to lean up and kiss him but even here, in the doorway to the dressing room, you know better than to risk it. Some of Brian’s bandmates seem to have an inkling of what’s really going on, but the last thing you need is for anyone else to see the two of you like that. “I’ll catch you later then?”

“I’ve already told security to let you backstage before the encore,” Brian says. He looks like he wants to kiss you too, but he settles for giving you a bright smile and another quick hug. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

“I’ll be seeing you soon enough at least,” you joke and you let the echo of Brian’s laugh follow you out.

You hadn’t bought a floor ticket originally, but security finds you a spot by the stage where it’ll be easy for you to duck out again later. A few people near you give you curious looks, but luckily none of the double-takes that you’ve come to dread, and no one asks you about the backstage pass still hanging around your neck as the theatre fills up around you.

When the lights finally dim the audience roars and cheers, almost enough to drown out the opening bars of what you can barely make out as The Dark - before the lights slowly come on and Brian is standing center-stage, singing the title track from his debut solo album.

Brian’s voice is amazing. You’ve always known that, even if Brian has never really considered himself to be much of a singer, but you’re spellbound at his performance - the way he balances the guitar with the vocals, the gorgeous harmony of a full band supporting him, his backing vocalists providing a depth that takes you by surprise. It’s not Queen, none of it is, but it’s good, and Brian owns the stage like he was born to do this.

You’re so taken by Brian’s performance that it’s not until Brian sheds the long coat that he initially wore out on stage that you take in the outfit he’s wearing: A loose white shirt with an ornate vest, paired with a pair of tight pants that you think have buttons sewn all over them… until Brian wanders closer to where you’re standing and you realize that they’re actually grommets. You can’t tell if there’s a lining to them or not, but the possibility that that’s Brian’s bare skin peeking through the tiny holes makes your mouth go dry with want.

Brian’s solo material is as excellent as it sounded on the album. You never doubted that it would be, not for a second, but you’re taken a bit by surprise by how well the Queen songs work in the setlist as well. It’s not Freddie singing, or Roger on the drums, or John on bass… but with Brian still on guitar, and Spike clearly knowing his way around the keyboard parts, it all works. The crowd cheers as loud for Tie Your Mother Down as they do for Love Token, and your heart swells with pride for everything Brian has achieved with this album and this tour.

And then Brian grabs an acoustic, and sits down on a stool by himself towards the front of the stage, and you know what is coming even before Brian asks the audience if they’re ready to sing.

“There's a special reason for this song. I didn't write this song, so by right I don't have- I don't have much of a right to be singing it,” Brian says. “But I'm going to do it anyway, because this is in memory of just about the best singer the world has ever seen.”

Everyone around you is cheering but you think you’re going to cry. You want to jump onstage, pull Brian out from under the bright lights and somewhere quiet and private, where you can wrap yourself around him and reassure him that Freddie wouldn’t care that Brian was singing his song at all. You want to take Brian and steal him away from the world, from everyone who still demands Queen from him and everyone who won’t let him grieve in peace.

You want to find somewhere that the two of you can hide away together, until you never have to see this sort of open anguish on Brian’s face again.

The song is as gorgeous as it ever was when Freddie sang it, and the concert continues from there with Brian giving no indication that he had bared his heart and left it bleeding on the stage while the audience sang and cheered him on.

Brian loses the vest eventually, and you’re close enough to the stage that you can see the sweat starting to bead along Brian’s temple and the column of his throat. It’s a strange sort of whiplash, going from the emotional devastation of Love of My Life to feeling like you’re going to die if you don’t get your hands on Brian this very second. He’s always looked damn fine while playing the guitar, but seeing him fully in control of the stage and belting his heart out on every song - when he remembers to get back to his mic in time - is driving you crazy with want.

We Will Rock You doesn’t dovetail into We Are the Champions, like you were half-expecting it to, but even after the band leaves the stage you’re left stunned and entirely captivated by their performance.

“Hey!” A security guard taps you on the shoulder. “You’re the one who’s supposed to head backstage again, yeah?”

You nod. You had almost forgotten about that, and you follow the guard through the crowd to the backstage door, which he opens and motions for you to go through. You walk back, finding yourself in the wings near the stage where the band is quickly toweling off and grabbing a drink before heading back out for the encore.

Brian is quickly shucking off his sweat-drenched shirt and pulling on the tank top that had been mentioned earlier. It’s a simple white with YALE printed across the chest and it hangs loose on Brian’s slim frame, leaving his arms and a good portion of the sides of his torso exposed to the world. You’ve seen Brian naked before but somehow this feels more sinful, and you can feel your dick start to twitch and and your core throb with interest, especially when you realize that Brian is still wearing the same pants as before.

“Please tell me there’s a lining in those,” you say in a slightly strangled voice, motioning towards Brian’s legs and the grommet holes that have been teasing you all evening.

Brian wipes his face with a towel, and only gives you a wicked smirk and a knowing wink in response. “Catch you after the show,” he says, as he’s handed a guitar - an acoustic, you notice belatedly, not his Red Special - and he walks back onstage with the rest of the band.

You’re still distracted by the sight of Brian in an honest-to-god tank top, his sinewy arms on full display, that you almost miss Brian saying, “You might think this is a sad song, but it ain’t.”

And for the second time that evening you find yourself caught off-guard by the genuine, heart-wrenching emotion in Brian’s singing - but the pain that was there during Love Of My Life is now nowhere to be seen. Maybe it’s because you can’t see Brian’s face, or maybe it’s just the warning he gave at the beginning of the song to let everyone know that it wasn’t supposed to be sad… but for the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand how Brian is starting to move on. You think you can see the ways in which sharing his grief with the world like this is healing for him, in a way that you never would have expected.

It still hurts to hear Brian sing, “I don’t believe in being Queen anymore - I just believe in me. Just you guys and me.” But it’s a hurt that’s tempered by the memory of Brian laughing with his new bandmates backstage, the genuine happiness you’ve seen on his face despite the moments of grief that still come through, and you know that even if Brian might not be entirely okay… at least he’s getting there.

And then the song ends and Brian launches into the familiar opening riff of Hammer to Fall, and you let yourself get swept away by the energy and the music.

Your heart races at the sight of Brian rocking out to the heavy Queen tune, your arousal simmering again with every flash of the stage lights that catch on those grommets or cast dark shadows along the lines of the wiry muscles in Brian’s arms. There’s a strangeness to it still, a part of you that’s still a little turned around from the sudden change in mood in the theatre, but that part quickly fades when Brian glances your way and gives you a wink, before sidling up to Jamie to keep rocking out on the guitar part.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan and wonder if Brian is dragging this song out for longer than normal just to torment you. It’s just not fair, none of it is - not the tank top and grommets leaving Brian lewdly on display, not the hot stage lights making sweat bead along his brow, not his quick fingers flying over the strings of his guitar as the song finally, fucking finally, comes to an end and the band takes their bows one last time.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Brian asks you as he hands off his guitar. The question is innocent enough but the look in his eyes is anything but, and for a moment you feel an irrational burst of hatred that this isn’t a Queen show and you no longer present as female because all you want to do is push Brian against the closest wall and kiss him breathless.

Instead you grit your teeth and say, “Loved it, it was great... Please tell me you don’t have to stick around for long.”

Brian throws his head back and laughs, and you have to stamp down the urge to bite at the column of this throat. “Nah, no interviews or meet-and-greet’s tonight. Just have to get changed and-”

“Don’t change,” you interrupt.

“Oh?” Brian raises an eyebrow and smirks at you. You huff at him, hating that you can’t tell him exactly what he’s doing to you in that outfit, and you’re about two seconds from deciding that you don’t care who sees or overhears you when Brian says, “Alright. Let me just grab my wallet and we’ll head out.”

It doesn’t end up being quite that easy. Brian still has to check in with a few people about the travel plans for tomorrow, and it takes some time for the crowds to disperse and a car to arrive to take you two back to the hotel. But luckily the rest of the band just waves Brian off, some with knowing smiles, and none of them hop in the car with you or ask Brian to stick around backstage for any longer than he already has.

It’s torture having to keep your hands to yourself, and after a few minutes you decide, screw it, it’s dark enough that the driver won’t be able to see anything - so you reach out and trace around one of the grommet holes, dipping your finger in to tease at the delicate skin of Brian’s thigh. “These are more than a little indecent, you know,” you murmur in a low undertone as your hand creeps further up Brian’s leg.

Brian catches your hand and laces his fingers with yours, which is fair because you can hide your arousal when you get to the hotel far easier than Brian can. “Indecent is going a bit far, I think,” Brian counters.

“Mm, well, they’re giving me indecent thoughts, at least…”

“Care to share some of them?” Brian asks, and even though the question is quiet you can hear the heat behind the words.

You shrug and glance at the driver, who - if he can hear your conversation - at least doesn’t give any sign of it. “Been wondering if I could get some laces between those grommets, tie you up in a pretty little package…”

Brian inhales sharply and you smile, all teeth and wicked intentions, as he shifts next to you and says, “Didn’t think you liked being the one doing the tying. You always used to want to be the one getting tied up.”

“Oh, I still do. But I can’t help it if those pants start giving me ideas…” you say, and Brian’s quiet groan of frustration feels like music to your ears.

You’re grateful that Brian is already checked in so you don’t have to stop by the front desk, but you still struggle to keep your hands to yourself as Brian leads the way up to his room and unlocks the door. Once you’re inside, though, both of you are on each other in an instant as Brian crowds you against the wall and you finally, finally get to kiss him.

It’s just as perfect as you remember. Brian’s lips are soft but he kisses you with the same passion that you remember from years ago, fierce and demanding and just the right side of rough. He nips at your bottom lip, a move that’s always gotten your blood racing, and when you groan he slips his tongue into your mouth to plunder every inch of you.

You’re so much shorter than Brian and you know that it has to be uncomfortable for him to lean down so far to kiss you, so when you finally pull back to catch your breath you loop your fingers through the grommets on his pants and start tugging him towards the bed.

“Oh, I definitely love these pants,” you tell him, and Brian just laughs and tries to kiss you again. You push him down so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and that puts you at a much more equal height, making it easy for you to tangle one hand in his curls and slide the other along the bare skin of his arm and shoulder. “And this tank top too, fucking christ…”

Brian is still laughing as he finally captures your lips with his again and yeah, that’s a much better use of your time than continuing to talk about his admittedly excellent wardrobe choices. You think you could spend the rest of your life kissing Brian and die happily at the end of it all but you’re still craving more, so you nudge Brian’s legs apart and move in closer to him.

“Wait, wait-” Brian says, breaking the kiss before you can press fully up against him. He’s breathing heavily and his lips are red and kiss-swollen, and you want to lean back in and keep kissing him senseless, until both of you are breathless and desperate for more.

But you know Brian wouldn’t pull the brake unless it was important so you swallow down the impulse to keep touching him and instead ask, “What is it, Bri?”

“We haven’t done this since you’ve… Well I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Brian says. There’s a flush rising on his cheeks that is no longer entirely due to arousal and his embarrassment is palpable in the room.

You know what Brian is trying to ask, even though it’s been a while since you’ve had to have this conversation with a partner. You untangle your hand from his hair and let go of his shoulder so you don’t get distracted as you tell him, “I’m fine being penetrated, if you want to go that far, but we’re gonna need lube. I don’t get as wet as I did before starting testosterone. And I have a dick. Don’t call it a clit.”

“Okay,” Brian says with a nod. He looks serious, and that’s actually a little comforting for you to see. “What about… I mean, if I, er, penetrate you, what do I call…?”

“Don’t,” you tell him. “There’s not really any term I’m comfortable with yet.”

Brian frowns. “If you’re not comfortable, I can get you off without touching that part-”

“No. I’m fine with you penetrating me, honestly I am, just don’t try to talk dirty about what you’re doing,” you say.

“Okay,” Brian says again. “Anything else I should know?”

You hesitate for a moment, because you don’t really want to talk about this… but you’d rather talk about it now rather than have it come up when you’re both naked and more in the moment. “I had chest reconstruction surgery. I don’t have much feeling up there but there’s- there’s scars, and you don’t have to touch them-”

“Do you not want me to touch them?” Brian asks, gently cutting into your nervous rambling before it can really build momentum.

“They’re… not pretty. They didn’t heal up nicely,” you admit, and getting those words out is hard. You still feel ashamed to admit that your surgical results only look good when you have a shirt covering it all up, and you’ve had more than one hookup where you kept your chest covered the entire time.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Brian says, with a small smile to soften his words and help put you at ease once again. “Do you not want me to touch your scars?”

You have to think about that, and the only answer you can give Brian is, “I don’t know. I don’t like touching them and no one else ever has. If you want to you can, and I’ll tell you to stop if I need to?”

You don’t mean for that to come out as a question but it does anyway, and Brian doesn’t hesitate to nod in agreement. “That sounds good. Anything else?”

You shake your head. “No, that’s everything. Can we just get back to making out now?”

Brian laughs but gently pulls you back in close, keeping one hand on your waist as the other gently cups your face. “Yeah,” he breathes, and then his mouth is on yours again.

You kiss him back fiercely, tangling one of your hands in Brian’s curls again as you lean up and lick into his mouth. You rock against Brian and his legs are spread wide enough that your hips meet his. You moan at the feeling of his bulge rubbing against you and Brian groans at friction against his hardening cock. Brian’s hand that was on your face drifts down, trailing along your side before snaking between the two of you and popping the button on your jeans.

“This okay?” he asks, fingers just teasing along the waistband of your boxers.

“Yeah,” you breathe against his mouth, and as Brian’s hand slips into your underwear you deepen the kiss to distract yourself. Brian’s touch feels good and you don’t want him to stop, but there’s still a nervousness to being intimate with another person - even if that other person is Brian, who you trust implicitly and who has touched you before.

You moan as Brian’s fingers find your dick and brush teasingly along the head, but you’re surprised to hear Brian groan again as well. “Fuck, you’re big,” he breathes as he rubs over your dick, feeling out the shape of it as you harden beneath his fingers.

You can’t hold back a laugh at Brian’s comment. “I’m really not. Just grew a little, that’s all.”

“Grew a lot you mean,” Brian mumbles against your lips, but your retort is lost in another whimper as Brian slides his fingers along your dick again.

It feels so good, his nimble fingers tracing along the exposed head of your dick and trailing down to gather what little slickness they can to smooth the glide of his calloused fingertips along your most sensitive parts. Neither the years nor your transition have not dulled his familiarity with your body and all you can do is cling tightly to his shoulders and pant and whine against his mouth as Brian brings you close to your climax at a frightening speed.

“Wait, stop,” you manage to get out, and Brian’s hand is pulled out of your pants at a lightning speed. You laugh at the look of worry on his face and quickly assure him, “I‘m gonna come too soon if you keep that up.”

“So? You look gorgeous falling apart for me,” Brian says.

He starts kissing down your neck and you tilt your head back to give him more room even as you tell him, “Yeah, but I can’t go more than once now. Get too sensitive, and not in a good way.”

“Ah, well then,” Brian mumbles against the hollow of your throat. He nips at that spot and then soothes it with his tongue, before pulling back and saying, “C’mon, get up on the bed, let’s do this properly then.”

You snort but pull away and quickly start stripping down and Brian stands up to do the same. You watch, mouth watering, as Brian throws the tank top to the side and shimmies out of his tight pants. His cock is hard and precome is already beading at the tip, and you want to drop to your knees and take Brian deep into your throat until he’s coming undone around you - but you’re startled from your thoughts as Brian gently pushes at the hem of your shirt and asks, “Will you take this off too?”

You hadn't quite realized that it was still on and you hesitate for a moment, before pulling it over your head and tossing it aside as well, and then you’re left fully exposed before Brian. You’ve been in this position before but never quite like this - never with a beard and so much body hair and scars across your chest and your dick just barely poking out from your surrounding folds.

Brian takes a step closer and kisses you again, as hot and harsh as ever. “God, how are you still so fucking beautiful?” he says as he pulls away.

You laugh, your moment of insecurity forgotten as you retort, “I could ask you the same thing, Brian May.”

Brian laughs and shakes his head, and pushes you back towards the bed. You lie down and Brian follows you, covering your body with his, his cock rubbing against your hip as he kisses you once on the mouth, then down your neck and chest, and finally across both of your scars as well. “So beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin and you shudder at the feeling of this part of you being touched for the first time.

“I can’t feel that,” you admit to him when he licks experimentally over one of your nipples. “They don’t have feeling, and the scars don’t either.”

“Mm, well what about here?” Brian asks, kissing further down your torso. “Or here?” Another kiss, just above your belly button. “Or here?” Another, just above your dick, and you’re laughing and arching against him, trying to get his mouth where you need it.

And then Brian’s mouth closes around your dick and your laughter is lost in a loud moan as Brian gives a small, experimental suck and pleasure overwhelms your senses. “Bri- oh, fuck, Bri-” you pant, hands clawing at the sheets and pawing over Brian’s head as he pulls back to kitten-lick around the head of your dick.

It’s almost too much, too intense, and luckily Brian seems to figure that out on his own because you’re pretty sure you’ve lost the ability to speak. He moves away from your dick for a moment, moving down further to lick around your core. It’s messy and sloppy wet but you only realize what Brian is doing when you see him suck a finger into mouth to wet it, before bringing it towards your entrance.

“This okay?” he asks, rubbing along the outside for now. “I don’t have lube, and I don’t want to hurt you…”

“‘s fine,” you manage to get out and then Brian is pressing his finger inside of you. You whine as he starts to move it and you can feel yourself starting to get a little bit wetter with every thrust.

Brian pushes a second finger inside as he leans back down to lick a stripe along the underside of your dick, and the almost-uncomfortable fullness is a welcome contrast to the lightning of pleasure that skitters up your spine as Brian’s mouth reduces you to wordless moans and whines. He’s always been good at this, with his wickedly clever tongue and long fingers moving deep inside you, but it’s so much more now that you’re on T - more sensitive, more overwhelming, physically more of you for him to work over.

“Bri, Bri, Bri-” you moan, and his name and a tug on his hair is the only warning you can give before your orgasm crashes over you. You arch against his mouth and writhe on the bed as he keeps his mouth over your dick, his tongue flicking against the head over and over, his fingers still trying to move inside you even though you’re clenched so tightly around them that it almost hurts.

The whole thing is almost painful but in the best way possible, pleasure racing through your entire body, your dick and core throbbing as overstimulation sets in. Your loud moans turn into high-pitched whines that cause your voice to crack and you don’t know if you want to tell Brian to stop or keeping going forever because it’s too much and you’re in ecstasy but god, it’s too much-

When Brian finally moves away all you can do is lie underneath him and try to catch your breath, even as your dick still twitches with the final aftershocks of your orgasm. You came so hard that you’re nearly crying, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your brain so scrambled that you don’t know if you want to laugh or sob but you’re boneless and riding high on endorphins as Brian kneels over you, one hand quickly stripping his cock.

“I can-” you mumble, trying to reach down to help him with a hand that doesn’t quite want to cooperate with you, but Brian uses his free hand to pin yours down, lacing your fingers together.

“Next time. ‘m not gonna last long,” Brian admits. “Fuck, you’re amazing, Y/N, do you have any idea what you look like now?”

“I’d look better with your cum on me,” you say, and where that came from you have no clue - some deep part of your sex-fried brain dredging up that idea without any conscious involvement from you. You can barely even speak and the words come out more as a mumble than anything remotely sexy, but it’s still enough for Brian to groan loudly and fall over the edge of his own climax.

His cum hits your chest, covering your scars and landing across your belly, and it’s a little gross but it’s also a little hot. It’s not something Brian ever did to you before and with how easy it was to fall back into having sex with him after all these years, there’s a part of you that lights up in happiness at finding something new to it all - even something as unexpected as this.

Brian collapses next to you on the bed, also panting heavily, and it’s quiet in the room for several long moments. “I need a shower,” you eventually mumble to break the silence. “Before this dries in my body hair.”

Brian snorts. He has one hand flung over his face as he catches his breath, but he moves it as he rolls over onto his side to look at you. “Sorry about that. I can get you a washcloth-”

“I can get it myself,” you say, though you’re not actually sure that your legs are working yet. “Especially since I didn’t even get you off myself.”

“Didn’t need you to,” Brian says. “Seeing you fall apart like that nearly did me in completely.”

“Still.” You don’t like not reciprocating for your partners, even if Brian doesn’t care. “I’ll blow you in the morning to make up for it.”

That gets Brian laughing, and he stands up and stretches out. “Well, I’m not gonna say no to that,” he says as he walks into the bathroom. You listen as he wets a washcloth in the sink, and when he emerges you motion for him to throw it to you so you can take care of the mess yourself.

He does, and as you wipe yourself down you ask, “What time do you have to leave in the morning?”

“Not that early. Noon, one o’clock - somewhere around there,” Brian says as he lies back down on the bed. “Think it’s only a two hour drive over to Providence.”

“Mm, that sounds about right, yeah.” You toss the washcloth aside and flop back down with a comfortable sigh. You look over at Brian, who’s propped up on one elbow so he can face you properly, and you grin. “If we run out for lube and condoms in the morning, you can fuck me properly before you go.”

You’re expecting Brian to laugh and he sort of does. There’s a small huff of amusement from him, but there’s also a furrow starting to form between his brows that makes you a little worried. But before you can ask if everything is alright, Brian says, “I have a better idea. Come to Providence with me.”

Out of everything that Brian could have said, you never would have expected that. “What?” you say with a small laugh. “Brian, I can’t!”

“Why not?” Brian asks. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Well, no,” you admit. You knew that you weren’t going to be in any shape to go into work in the morning after the concert, so you had taken the day off to give yourself a proper long weekend.

“Then come to Providence,” Brian says again. “Come to the show tomorrow night, and then we’ll drop you off in New Haven on our way back through on Saturday.”

It’s a tempting thought, and you’re a little scared by how much you want to say yes. You sit up, scrubbing a hand over your face with a small sigh. “Brian, I…”

Brian sits up as well and keeps a respectable distance between the two of you - and that helps, knowing that the two of you can have a serious conversation about this even though you’re both sitting in bed together. “You’re thinking too hard, Y/N,” he says softly. “What’s on your mind?”

“That I’m not in my 20s and I can’t go on tour with a rock band on a whim anymore,” you say. “And that I don’t care, and I want to go anyway. And I’m-" And you decide, to hell with it, you can't keep dancing around this any longer. "I’m worried about you, Brian. You get this sad look in your eyes, sometimes, that scares me a little to see. And I’m trying to figure out if sticking around for longer will make things better, or if postponing our goodbyes will just make everything worse in the end.”

Brian doesn’t say anything immediately. You glance at him, a bit nervous, worried that your honesty may have been crossing the line - but Brian doesn’t look upset or angry, merely thoughtful, and you stay quiet to give him the space he needs to think over his response.

“After Freddie… passed,” Brian says slowly, “I didn’t want anything to do with Queen. It hurt too much and I just wanted to move on. And this new band, and this tour… None of it is like Queen was, and when we first set out that’s exactly what I needed. But seeing you again… having that bit of the past come back to life… It’s made me realize that I think I’m ready to face Queen again. The band may be over but it’ll always be a part of my life, and I think I’m alright with that now.”

He smiles at you and it’s small but completely genuine, and there’s no hint of sadness in his eyes as he says, “I want you to come to Providence because I’ve missed you. I liked having you backstage, and I liked performing knowing that you were waiting for me at the end of it all like you always did before. But if you don’t want to come with me, you don’t have to. I’ll still visit at the end of the US tour leg, if that offer still stands.”

“Of course it still stands,” you say, because that’s the easiest part of Brian’s response to address.

This isn’t 1978 and you aren’t 29 anymore, and maybe you shouldn’t run off with a rockstar for the weekend. But this is Brian, and despite the years that have passed and the ways in which both of you are now different, maybe not everything has to change.

“Is it going to be a problem with the band if I tag along?” you ask.

Brian’s smile brightens a little. “Nah, the band’s not going to mind - and I won’t let the roadies say anything about it, even if they want to.”

That doesn’t mean it won’t be risky, and it’s definitely more than a little impulsive - but there’s a familiarity in the spontaneity, a flashback to years past when you never hesitated to put your life on hold to follow Brian on the road. And you find yourself starting to grin a little as well at the idea of having that again, even if it’s only for a day or two.

“Alright then. Yeah, I’ll go to Providence with you,” you say and Brian, laughing and grinning madly, leans forward to kiss you in delight.

#brian may x reader #brian may x trans reader #brian may fic #brian may fanfic #queen band fic #my fic #brian #(I am really proud of this one and writing it was a wonderful distraction while I was away so I hope you all enjoy it too!!)

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w-k-smith · 4 years

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Welcome to “Don’t Go to the Netherworld!” a Beetlejuice the Musical the Musical the Musical AU.

Beetlejuice - half-ghost, half-demon - has spent his entire afterlife in the Netherworld and works as the beleaguered assistant to Juno, his demonic bureaucrat mother. He thinks he’ll be stuck and miserable until doomsday, then a living girl breaks into the Netherworld in search of her dead mom. Beetlejuice promises to help Lydia Deetz, so long as she summons him to the living world once they’re done. Unfortunately, the best-laid plans of goths and ghosts often go downhill toward sandworms, dead boy bands, family drama, and worst of all, introspection.

It’s showtime!

Hey - feel free to check this out on AO3, where I’m w_k_smith. The original version of this post included links, but tumblr hides all my posts that have links in them, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Chapter One: “It’s a Wonderful Afterlife” (6/19/20) Chapter Two: “Worm Welcome” (upcoming) Chapter Three: “Ghost to Ghost” (upcoming) Chapter Four: “To Beetle or not to Beetle?” (upcoming)

Warning: This story contains depictions of, references to, and discussion of topics like suicide, untimely death, abuse, and body horror - you know, like the musical does (though this probably has more). Know your boundaries, and stay safe.

First chapter under keep reading!

He was so relieved when the red alert exploded through the office, making every demon caseworker jump. He’d spent the past few hours cutting up the files Juno had given him into paper dolls, but even yards upon yards of multiheaded creatures got boring after a while. He magicked the dolls into running out of Juno’s office into the caseworker bullpen, and when that got no reaction, he’d made the dolls stand in crude positions and then cannibalize each other, but even that barely got a few snarls of “Get back to your own work, Beetlejuice.”

But red alerts were like fire alarms. Not only did they break up the day, but you also got to look at a fire.

“What asshole let the living person in?” he yelled, walking out of Juno’s office. He got his own too-small desk in a little reception area in front of her inner office. Officially, he was the Assistant to the Director of Netherworld Customs and Processing, but he was a glorified secretary. Most of his days were spent spinning his wheels or making the whiners who came to see Juno sit and wait until they gave up and went away.

He guessed his position as Juno’s half-demon assistant should have felt like a privilege, if he didn’t otherwise hate every aspect of the Netherworld. He got a desk and walls, while the full-demon caseworkers crammed their knife-fingers, pumpkin heads, flippers, and musty burlap bodies filled with bugs into an open-plan workspace. And the dead people who hung around had to make themselves busy wherever they found the space.

Right now everybody, demon and human alike, had scattered

“Out of the way, Beetlejuice!” the receptionist snapped, sprinting by in the high heels she’d died in, making them her only footwear from now until doomsday. She’d had another name once, but the MISS ARGENTINA sash across her torso had become a nametag a long time ago.

“Yeah, Miss A, better get to ’em before Juno does!” he said, yanking up his sagging pants.

“Care to help?” she snapped before rounding the corner.

He didn’t bother to respond. She’d asked knowing the answer would be “no.” Even if he thought it would make a difference, why should he? Sure, the living didn’t know crossing into the Netherworld meant they’d be chased down and probably killed by a screechy demon with a neck slit and horrible fashion sense. But hey. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

He didn’t see Juno around. Not yet, anyway. He was sure he’d hear her, once things went south for the trespasser.

Someone he didn’t recognize crept around the corner Miss Argentina hadn’t turned. The living girl stuck out like a raw steak at a vegan salad bar. Her face was flushed, and sweat glued her bangs to her forehead. Geez, he missed sweating. She walked without the weight of the underworld on her shoulders. And she was goth, with a dyed black bob, a black dress, and chunky black boots – very overdressed. Most of the recently deceased turned up in hospital gowns, sweatpants, Greek life t-shirts, or, best/worst, nothing at all. Few had the right combination of luck and irony to die in funeral garb.

He ducked behind a pillar in the bullpen before the living girl saw him. She licked her lips, looked left and right and left again, obviously no plan in mind…

And she ran into Juno’s office.

Oh. Oh oh oh this was just too good. Today was not going to be boring. Today might be his luckiest day of all.

He strode to Juno’s office door, walked through, and slammed it shut behind him.

“Do you have a death wish?” he asked the kid.

He was aware of the effect he had on living people…and a lot of dead people…and anyone and anything with even the memory of a digestive system. Today his hair was a dark green that verged on purple, his moss and stubble blended together nicely, and the caterpillar behind his right ear was busy spinning a cocoon.

The kid didn’t act freaked out or disgusted. She straightened her shoulders and said: “You have to hide me.”

He leaned against the door. “Do my ears deceive me?” He pulled his left ear out to arm’s length, and let it snap back like a rubber band. “Or is the girl running for her life making demands?”

“I came here for my mom. I can’t leave until I find her.”

“She isn’t here, Siouxsie Sioux. You’re the first living person who’s snuck in for the past decade.”

“My mom is dead. She died a few months ago. I have to find her, and bring her home. Well, to Connecticut, because my dad made us move to Connecticut, but then when he sees her, he’ll snap out of it, and we’ll go back to our actual home!” Desperation, denial. Maybe she was prepared to blend in with the newlydeads.

“Lemme get this straight – you, still alive and kicking, jumped into hell to find someone who has been dead for a while and bring them home with you? And you thought you could just do that? That this kind of violation of the natural order wasn’t going to rain down all kinds of shitfire and brimstone?”

“I knew there might be trouble.” She set her jaw. “I just didn’t care.”

He grinned. “Ah. Moxie. You’re pretty luck you decided to hide in my office.” He floated over his desk, crossed his legs, and pressed his fingers together. “I have a proposition. Quid pro quo, if you will.”

The kid gave him an extremely skeptical look. “You want me to make a deal with a demon?”

“Half demon, and what I’m asking for is a favor. Just a little, bitty thing.” He held his fingers a millimeter apart. “I’ll hide you. Keep the heat off. Distract the fuzz and frame your dog for eating your homework and tell the collection agents you aren’t home. And then, when you get back to the world of the living…you’ll say my name. Three times.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I’ll…what?”

“It’ll summon me. So I can be a part of the living world! At least for a while. And not be stuck in this trash fire.” He grimaced. “No, that’s not fair. Sometimes trash fires are fun. I should know; I’ve set a lot of them.”

Her frown deepened. “I don’t know…”

“Beetlejuice!” came a familiar roar. “Get out here right now!”

“Under the desk!” he told the kid, jumping to his feet.

“Don’t talk to me like –!”

“UNDER THE DESK!” he roared, drawing himself up a few extra feet, and opening his mouth to show multiple rows of teeth.

That did the trick. The kid dove under the desk, and he was glad her dress was black, because it blended in with the shadows and the dark stone of the floor.

Juno opened the door a second later, smoke and steam trickling from her neck slit. Her beehive quivered. Per usual, her red skirtsuit hung off her like loose skin, and she was pushing the walker she didn’t need ahead of her.

“Lawrence Beetlejuice Shoggoth, do you have anything to do with this?” she growled.

“To do with what?” he asked. “The red alert? It sure brightened up my total lack of morning. I won’t name names, but someone in the bullpen jumped out their skin. Literally, the scales are still on the floor.”

A bony finger was extended his way. “I know about your little obsession with the living world. Why do you think I watch you so closely? You are one more misstep from being banished between life and death, how do ya like that? Do you want to spend eternity watching your precious breathers without anyone able to hear or see you?”

Ah. That old chestnut. “No, Ma,” he said, settling onto the floor.

“If I hear that this was your handiwork…”

“…My entrails will decorate the lobby. Yeah, yeah, heard it all before.”

She flicked her wrist, and knocked him over the desk. He tumbled head over heels, and landed on his face. It goddam hurt, because his mother could always hurt him. He made sure he hit the ground with a comical splat sound so the kid wouldn’t panic and give the game away. When he looked up, the girl’s eyes were wide and fearful.

“How about this?” He stood up, and brushed his sleeves off. “That red alert was because some dumbass living human came into the Netherworld, right? And I can tell you didn’t catch them, because there’s more steam coming out of you than usual. I’ll go looking for the human. I’ll prove to you I didn’t do it.”

She crossed her arms, and drummed her fingers on her elbows. “Hmm…when you put it that way…this would be an excellent way for you to demonstrate the potential for more responsibility, and – I DON’T CARE. Just stay out of the way.”

Coming from Juno, that was a sappy “I love you.” She stormed out of the office, and he waited until the rattling of her heels faded out of earshot before he bent down to check on the kid.

“You have to get the hell out of here,” he told the goth girl curled up under his desk.

“That was your mother?” she asked.

“She’s my boss, too. She’s a demon; she doesn’t get me. I’d take my considerable skills elsewhere, but, y’know, it’s toe the line or get wedged between life and death forever. How did a living twelve-year-old wind up in the Netherworld, anyway?”

“I’m fifteen!” she said, standing up. “And that’s none of your business.”

“It is so my business, if we’re going to get you to the land of the living so you can take me with you. What did you do? Black magic? Séance?”

“I, um…” She gave him a hard look before continuing. “I found a book.”

“A book? Really? Which book?” Most living world books wouldn’t tell you jack about the Netherworld. Concepts like limbo or the bardo came close, but…

“Handbook for the Recently Deceased,” the kid said.

For several seconds, all he could do was stare at her. Her expression became grossly fascinated.

“Your eyeballs are falling out of their sockets,” she said.

He shoved them back in, and shook his head to clear it. “How did you get the Handbook, kid?”

She crossed her arms. “My name is Lydia. And I found it.”

“Found it where?”

“Your sister’s sock drawer.” She glared at him. “Look, it doesn’t matter where I found it, but I found it, and the first chapter said you could get to the land of the dead by drawing a door and knocking three times. So I did that, and I tried to blend in by joining this line of dead people, but we went through a metal detector or something, and all these alarms started going off, so I ran.”

Her story had a gaping hole in it in the shape of the fact that she couldn’t have opened the Handbook unless she was recently deceased, which she wasn’t. A ghost had to have shown her the book and let her through the door, which was a big no-no. Obviously, she wasn’t going to give up her source.

He didn’t care. In fact, he was delighted that they were still teaching living teenagers that snitches got stitches.

“Fine,” he said. “I can get you back, but when you do –”

“I have to say your name three times?”

“You have to say my name three times.”

She sat on his desk. “Which name? That Juno lady called you a lot of things.”

And Juno had cursed him so he couldn’t say it. For the same reason people on house arrest couldn’t unlock their ankle bracelets.

“I’ve got a card somewhere,” he muttered. He reached into his jacket, and handed her the little business card.

“ ‘2nd Street Dermatology – You’ve Got Us Under Your Skin’?” she read.

“Wrong card!” He grabbed it back, and plunged his hands deep in his pants pockets. There was so much junk in the way. “Hold this,” he said, handing Lydia a skull, a xylophone, a planchette – “Here!”

He took his stuff back, and she read the card. “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice?”

He nodded.

“If I say this in the living world, it’ll bring you there?”

“In two shakes.”

“So you’re like a demon.”

“Half demon, half ghost.”

“Have you been here a long time?”

He nodded.

“Then you know how to find my mom!” she said. “You can be my guide! And as soon as we’re back in the living world, I promise I’ll say your name. And you won’t have to deal with your terrible mother ever again!”

It was a nice thought.

“You can’t get your mom,” he said. “That’s just a no-go.”

Her expression soured. “No-go with you, you mean,” she said. “You don’t really want to help me? Fine. I’ll manage by myself, I guess. That’s all I’ve been doing since my mom died, anyway.” She went for the door.

He scurried after her. “Lydia, wait! We can make a deal!”

Juno would kill her. That death wouldn’t be clean or fast. And then Juno could spend as long as she wanted punishing the newlydead girl for breaking the rules.

It wasn’t pleasant to discover there were still ideas that could make him want to vomit. Besides, if she went out by herself, he’d be losing his ticket to the living world. Another few centuries slogging around the office until the next stupid, lucky teenager came by. There was no point in not seeing this through as long as he could.

He forced a grin. “OK. I’ll be your guide.”

“You’ll help me find my mom?” she asked. “That’s really possible?”

“It’s really possible.”

It really wasn’t. He could try to argue with her, and eventually, she might listen and just go home. But if he was the one who burst her bubble, she’d be less inclined to do him a favor.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll help you find your mom. And I know exactly where to head. But first – we have to make you blend in.”

He smuggled the tiny goth out the back way, into the empty, rocky fields where the newlydeads lined up to head into the infinite Abyss that awaited them. No poor, unfortunate souls were hanging around just then, though you had to figure that people died about every second in the living room. He had given up trying to figure out the Netherworld’s relationship with time.

He made the tiny goth sit on a crag so they’d be eye-to-eye, and started rooting around his jacket for supplies. She looked skeptical, and he couldn’t blame her.

“How do I blend in?” Lydia asked.

“You have to look dead,” he said. “If you don’t go through the sensors – nice job, by the way, hopping right in the nearest line, very subtle – no one will automatically be able to tell you’re alive. But! If anyone gets within arm’s length, you’ll get caught. You have to stop flaunting your beating heart and functioning liver.”

“So I have to look recently deceased…” she said, and chewed on her bottom lip. “Should I put fake blood all over my face? Pretend I got poisoned?” She made a choking sound. “Maybe a noose?” She yanked one hand over her shoulder and let her head loll forward.

He tried not to flinch. She didn’t know that she’d just punched below the belt. Especially since he was wearing suspenders.

“Only newlydeads carry their wounds around,” he said. “That’s a good way to tell someone’s inexperienced. Have you seen the receptionist? She acts like she knows everything, but she’s still got those slit wrists, and the carbon monoxide skin.” He snorted. “Suicides.”

“I was going to jump off the roof of our new house,” Lydia said, very quietly. “Just yesterday. I wrote a note and everything.”

“Well, then, congratulations,” he said.

“For what?”

“For outdoing yourself. Running into hell wasn’t the dumbest idea you had this week. Have some grave dirt.” He tossed a handful of mud in her face.

She coughed, and tried to brush the dirt away, but just ended up smearing it across her forehead and cheeks. “What the HELL?”

“You have to make people believe you’ve been in the ground a long time. Get some of that under your fingernails, there you go. Now slouch!” he ordered. Her shoulders sagged. “Lower! Everything in your previous life is gone! No one cried at your funeral! Stoners are making out behind your head stone!”

“I’m deeeeead,” she said, stretching out the word and adding some vocal fry. She slid off the crag, and raised her arms like a zombie. Her eyes were half-closed. “Woe is me. How I long for one more breath.”

“Very nice.” He considered, then reached out and messed up her hair. “There. Dial it back by 30% and you’re golden.”

Her eyes lit up with a fervor only living teenagers had. “Does that mean we can go?”

“Yes. But you have to follow my lead, capeesh?”

“Capeesh,” she said, and he didn’t believe her.

He snapped his suspenders. “It’s showtime! Let’s go to Saturn!”

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice fanfiction #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #lydia deetz

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boywizardscanbecute · 5 years

Text

A Slow Burn- part 1

Hey guys! Here’s a loooong theseus x reader fic, part 1 of 2. Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger :) Hope you enjoy and as always my requests are open!

*Not my gif*

taglist: @bowtrucklescamander, @clockworkherondale

word count: 17,000

Summary: Post CoG by about 9 months. Newt reluctantly lets Bunty go when he figures out how in love with him she is. You’re Newt’s new assistant and illustrator of the new editions of his book. Him and Tina are in an established relationship and you’re close friends with both of them. Newt made you come to ministry events because if him and Tina had to go, then so did you. Newt’s primary purpose was the new edition of his book, but he helped out the ministry in regards to Grindelwald, sort of a volunteer auror. You had only met Newt after the events of CoG, when Dumbledore recommended you. Slowly, you begin to fall in love with Newt’s older brother Theseus.

Two weeks after you started working for Newt.

“Accio niffler!” you call, pulling Einstein the baby niffler into your arms and returning him to his locked habitat. “Well done,” Newt pats you on the back. Feeding the nifflers you ask, “Where’s Tina?” Newt immediately smiles and says, “She’s at the ministry, working on her transfer paperwork. Should be back soon.” You nod and continue your rounds around the case, feeding the animals. “Who do you need me to sketch next?” you ask Newt. He replies, “The illustrated edition isn’t due to come out for a year so you don’t have to go in order y/n. Sketch whoever you’d like.” So you grab your sketchbook and immediately head for the mooncalves, a personal favorite of yours. Losing yourself in the illustration, you jump when Tina and Newt come up behind you. “Merlin’s beard you scared me! What’s going on?” Newt replies, “There’s a ministry event tonight. Travers’s 20th anniversary of the head of the department.” “What does that have to do with me?” you ask him. He tells you, “Tina and I want you to come with!” You immediately blush saying, “Newt I’m just your assistant. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” He shrugs your comment off, “Nonsense. You’re my friend, and you’re the illustrator of the new edition of my book. People will want to meet you.” “An illustrator isn’t nearly as important as the author,” you counter. Tina interjects, “Y/n, you are terribly talented. You should come and meet everyone. Besides, Newt is constantly being pulled away by important ministry employees and I could use someone to keep me from getting bored.” You laugh, “Me at a ministry event? Does that sound like me at all?” Newt chuckles, “No it doesn’t. But it doesn’t sound like me either. If we have to go you do too.” You groan, “Fine. Now just how fancy is this thing?” Newt returns your frown and says, “It’s a banquet, so pretty fancy.” “And when is this event?” you ask. “In 2 hours,” Tina returns. “Bloody hell that’s barely enough time to get ready,” you say, jumping up and turning to run upstairs. Tina follows you.

“What are you wearing?” you ask Tina, the woman notorious for pantsuits. “I’m not sure. I was thinking just a beaded dress with capped sleeves. I’ve got this real nice navy blue one,” she comments. “That will look fantastic on you,” you tell her. “What will you wear?” she asks, changing into her dress. Pulling out one of the only fancy dresses in your wardrobe, you show it to Tina. It was a tea length dress that had wide straps that covered your shoulders, made of satin material and colored black. The material plunged to a somewhat appropriate depth on your chest. Pairing it with matching black, open toed high heels, you wore your hair in a soft, low bun and added dangly, tear drop shaped diamond earrings. Wisps of your hair fell out and framed your face but you didn’t care. On your face you only wore a light gold eyeshadow and red lipstick. You finished off the look by extending your eyelashes. “You look gorgeous. I’m jealous,” Tina tells you. Laughing, you reply, “Tina. You’re with a man who only has eyes for you. Trust me.” Newt appeared in the doorway and just as you had predicted, Newt’s eyes immediately went to Tina. He stepped over to her and lightly kissed her on the cheek. “You look beautiful,” he tells her. Tina blushes and says, “Thanks.” After gazing at her one last time Newt asks, “Ready to go?” You reluctantly nod. So Newt takes Tina’s hand and you take Tina’s as well.

Arriving at what you can only assume is Travers’s house, you’re shocked at how big it is. Releasing Tina’s hand, you walk behind the happy couple feeling oddly out of place. Everyone was with someone. Everyone except you. It bothered you to be seen without a companion. It wasn’t completely outrageous, you were only 26, but nevertheless it still embarrassed you.

The first person to approach the three of you is one of the publishers at Obscurus Books, someone you recognized as Mr. Ethan Virgil. “Ah Mr. Scamander, Ms. Goldstein, Ms. l/n, how are you all this evening?” “Just fine,” Newt replies. Turning to you, the executive asks, “And how are the illustrations coming?” You eagerly jump into detail about your artwork, something you were extremely passionate about along with magical creatures. “They sound marvelous. Would you mind sending me over a small sample? No particular reason, I’m just quite eager to see more of your work. Your reputation precedes you,” he tells you. Blushing, you reply, “Of course Mr. Virgil. I’ll send them over as quickly as possible.” He turns back to Newt and says, “Where is that brother of yours?” You’d heard of Newt’s brother Theseus, everyone had. He fought alongside the muggles in the war, he was considered a war hero and was head auror. He was also a man who, almost a year ago, lost his fiance. You’d never met him. Newt answers, “I’m not sure where Theseus has gone off to. I know that he was gone, sent to try and follow a trail that's gone cold.” Mr. Virgil replies, “Yes, everyone does seem to be on edge with the fact that Grindelwald cannot be found.” More people arrived and soon the publisher announced that he had to leave.

Lingering around the refreshments table, you watched as Newt was dragged away by a ministry official. Even nearly 10 months later, people still wanted to hear Newt recalling the events of Paris. He, however, was able to talk about it, because even though Leta died, he had Tina. “This is extremely boring,” you say to Tina through bites of food. “I agree. But what are you gonna do? Newt and I were apart of the events that happened that night. And since Grindelwald hasn’t been spotted since, everyone is extremely on edge,” Tina says. You sigh, “It’s not only that. Newt’s book is becoming more and more famous and people want to know about him. I’ve already had people interested in me anyways.” “Why?” Tina asks curiously. You bite your lip, considering if you should tell her or not. “Well?” Tina implores you. You huff, “I’ve done more illustrations for the public before.” “Like what?” she asks eagerly. “Like…. Maybe the illustrations of the reprint of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.” Her jaw drops. She babbles, “Okay I know that that book isn’t really famous in America but even I have heard of it. That’s amazing!” You blush and look down, “It’s not a super big deal.” She scoffs, “Yeah okay.” After a beat she adds, “But that edition came out like three years ago. You mean to tell me that you became a published illustrator at age 23?” “I guess, yeah,” you whisper. “So why are you working as Newt’s assistant?” she questions. “Because. I like illustrating but I also am passionate about magical creatures. Combining them brings me the most happiness,” you comment. Tina just hugs you and breathes, “You’re brilliant.”

Newt soon walks back over, a tall man in tow behind him. Studying the man, you realize just how similar he looks to Newt. He had dark auburn hair with the same curls as Newt. Freckles covered his face, but instead of Newt’s green, this man had stunningly blue eyes. He walks with his head down. Gracing Tina’s cheek with a swift kiss, Newt says, “Y/n, I’d like to introduce you to my older brother, Theseus Scamander, head auror for the Ministry of Magic.” You smiled at the tall man and held your hand out for him to shake. His eyes studied your face closely, and you felt yourself blush under his gaze. Shaking his hand you tell him, “I’m y/n l/n, Newt’s new assistant.” He gives you a soft smile, his hand lingering briefly in yours. Then he shoves his hands in his pockets. Turning to Newt he asks, “What happened to Bunty?” Newt awkwardly rubs his neck and replies, “Bunty was…. Infatuated with me. It didn’t seem fair to her especially now that I’m with Tina. Besides, y/n is not just my assistant. She’s illustrating the next version of my book.” At the last comment, Theseus looks back at you and studies you again. You return his gaze and say, “It’s really an honor to meet you Theseus. You’ve done so many great things.” Theseus, a man who has never once blushed in public, blushes and mumbled, “Thanks.” Tina speaks up, “Y/n also illustrated the new edition of the Tales of Beedle the Bard that came out three years ago.” Theseus’s eyes widen in surprise. “You’re really talented,” he compliments you. “Thank you Mr. Scamander,” you answer. “Please call me Theseus,” he tells you. Theseus then includes his brother in the conversation once again and claps him on the back, saying, “Hopefully my baby brother doesn’t work you too hard.” You look at Newt, someone who hated being called a baby brother. Smiling you say, “No he doesn’t. Besides, I love the work.” “Are you a magizoologist then as well?” Theseus asks you. Considering the thought you say, “Aspiring. Maybe.”

Dinner is served and you can’t ignore the pleasant feeling in your stomach at the fact that your name card sits next to one that’s labeled T. Scamander. You quickly find yourself lost when you sit down and look at what must be at least 12 different utensils. “Merlin’s beard what are these all for?” you hiss under your breath to Tina. She just shook her head, “You think I would know?” Theseus gracefully sits down next to you. It’s then that you look and appreciate just how great he looks in his tux. The first course is served, a salad, and you reach for one of the various forks in front of you. Theseus leans over to you and whispers, “That’s not the salad fork.” Setting the larger fork back down you turn, looking into his big blue eyes, and ask, “What’s a salad fork.” Theseus struggles to not burst out laughing as he takes a sip of water. It results in him coughing profusely, trying to cover up his laugh. Your face turns beet red and you ask, “Are you okay?” Recovering, he says politely, “Yes I’m fine, thank you.” Leaning closer again he whispers, “Just follow my lead and you’ll survive.” His breath tickles your ear and you force out a reply, “Thank you.” Tina and Newt are unaware of this interaction, lost in their own little world of new love. Following Theseus’s lead, you pick up a rather small fork and eat your salad.

After dinner, the dancing begins, much to your distress. Newt asks Tina to dance right away. Before she’s swept onto the dance floor Tina tells you, “Don’t worry, I’m sure someone will ask you to dance. I’ve seen so many sets of eyes on you tonight. Just try to relax.” You give Tina a pouty look. “Oh come on don’t look at me like that,” she stomps her foot. Rolling your eyes you huff, “Oh just go dance.” She smiles and walks away, towards Newt. You slowly saunter over to the refreshment table, picking up a glass of champagne. Sipping on it slowly, you watch the couples around you swirl on the dance floor. A tall figure gradually walks over, and stands beside you. Turning and looking up at him, you realize it’s Theseus. Immediately you gush, “Thank you again for helping me at dinner Theseus.” He smiles, “I haven’t truly laughed like that in a long time. I should be thanking you.” “Well in that case I’m glad I could help,” you respond. Theseus picks up a glass of champagne and drinks half of it in one gulp. Your eyes travel back to the couples on the dancefloor. Unbeknownst to you, Theseus watches you carefully. His eyes take in the figure you cut in your black satin dress and he took in the fact that even though you wore heels, you were still at least 6 inches shorter than him. You stand in an awkward silence.

Not much later, a young girl with a perky attitude approaches Theseus. “Would you like to dance Mr. Scamander?” she asks hopefully. Theseus looks at her with pity and sighs, “I’m sorry Cynthia, I don’t dance. Not anymore.” The phrase Not anymore, pulled you back from your daze. You recalled that Theseus was engaged, and that his fiance died in Paris. The young girl walks away, looking crushed. Theseus finishes his drink and automatically reaches for another. Your eyes travel back to Newt and Tina spinning across the room. You couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart for wanting what they had. You’d never went on more than three dates with someone. Taking another sip of champagne you tell Theseus, “I’m sorry about your fiance.” You have the good grace to not look at Theseus as he struggles to compose himself. “Thank you,” he manages to say. Trying to distract him you ask, “Do you like working for Travers?” Theseus lightly chuckles, “I don’t think anyone likes working for Travers. But he’s got such a hold on the department you’ve got no choice but to pretend to like him.” You agree, “He doesn’t seem like a very nice man.” Theseus finally turns to you and says, “Oh, he's not.” Theseus looks down at you with a small smile on his face. Looking up at him with a rather large grin you tell him, “Well I’m sorry you have to work for him then. Seems like you should be running the department.” For the second time that night, Theseus blushes. “That’s really too kind of you,” Theseus says properly. “Maybe it’s the truth,” you offer the statement to him. There’s a grateful look on his face, as he graciously accepts your compliment.

A tall man approaches the two of you and clears his throat, which pulls your gaze away from Theseus. “Pardon me for interrupting, but I couldn’t help but notice a beautiful lady such as yourself standing on the side and not on the dance floor. Would you care to dance?” he asks you. You’re not sure why, but you look to Theseus first, wondering if he knew the man. Turning back to the man you ask, “And you are?” He’s immediately embarrassed and says, “Merlin’s beard I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Colin Clarke, I work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.” “That must be terribly interesting,” you reply, somewhat intrigued. Holding out a hand again, he says, “I’d love to tell you about it over a dance.” “Well okay then,” you take his hand and let him lead you out onto the center of the floor. Theseus watches as your pulled away from him. A slow pulling feeling forms in his chest, and for a moment he wishes he had asked you to dance. Because maybe he could dance with you. You made him laugh, a real laugh. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were the only person that night that didn’t look at him with complete and utter pity. In fact, you hadn’t even asked him about the night, instead you form new memories with him, making him feel alive again, if only for a moment.

The man called Colin twirled you delicately in a proper waltz. He gushes, “Your illustrations in The Tales of Beedle the Bard were quite lovely. I’m so excited to see the work you’ve done on Mr. Scamander’s book.” You blush at his compliment. “Well thank you Mr. Clarke that’s very kind of you,” you tell him. He says nervously, “And I must tell you that you look extremely beautiful tonight.” “Thank you again,” you say, looking down at your feet. The dance continues and he proceeds to tell you about the craziest cases of misuse of muggle artifacts. “I’m sure you’re never bored,” you tell him. He chuckles, “Never. I never catch a break either.” “That’s unfortunate,” you reply, “But as long as you enjoy the work.” He nods at the comment.

Across the room a pair of piercing dark blue eyes stare at your form dancing around. Theseus watches as your dress twirls gracefully around you. Newt and Tina stop at the refreshment table. “Enjoying yourself Theseus?” Newt asks, somehow miraculously not noticing his brother’s longing gaze as his assistant. “I suppose so. And you?” Theseus responds. Newt smiles, “For once I can actually say I did enjoy this night. Having someone with you makes the event much more enjoyable.” He squeezes Tina’s hand. Theseus finally looks at his brother, holding the young American auror’s hand. Tina speaks up, “I’m still sorry about how our first meeting went Theseus.” Theseus laughs, “Think nothing of it. You were doing what you thought was right.” That answer surprises both Tina and Newt. Continuing Theseus says, “I never congratulated the two of you on your courtship. Newt, you’re lucky to have someone as strong as Tina. And Tina, I’m so happy you’ve decided to work as an auror with me.” Theseus says these words, and while he is happy for his brother, he feels a pang of jealousy for what him and Tina have. Even when he was with Leta, he could admit that they were never head over heels in love like Newt and Tina were. The couple begins conversing again and Theseus indulges himself in watching your delicate form dance again. When the song ends, Theseus watches as the young man Colin presses a lingering kiss to your small hand. Then you walk back over.

“There you are,” Tina squeals at you, “Told you someone would ask you to dance.” You sigh, “Yes I suppose you were right.” Tina continues, “Was it a love connection?” You splutter, “Gods no Tina! Just because you dance with someone doesn’t mean you’re interested in them. Besides he’s just a kid.” Tina argues, “What is he? 23, 24?” You sigh, “23.” “That’s only 3 years younger than you!” Tina urges. Before he can stop himself Theseus gasps, “You’re 26?” Turning to the tall auror you laugh, “Yes Theseus I’m 26. But don’t start treating me like a baby.” Theseus gives you a small smile, “I won’t.” Newt glances at his watch and says, “It’s getting really late. We should probably go.” “Goodbye Theseus, good to see you as always,” Newt hugs his brother briefly. Theseus nods, “Goodbye Newt, Tina.” Then he turns to you. “It was really quite a pleasure meeting you, Theseus,” you confess, holding out your hand for him to shake. He takes your hand in his and bites back a gasp at how tiny and delicate it felt on your skin. Blood pumping in his ears, he replies, “I hope to see you again soon y/n.” Gazing into his eyes you say, “And I you.” You let yourself briefly get lost in the big blue beneath his eyelashes before dropping your hand from his. Tearing your gaze away from him, you turn and depart with Newt and Tina. Theseus Scamander stands, watching you go, feeling his chest pumped full with emotions he hadn’t felt in a long while. Helpless to it, he lets himself begin to think about you, every delicate detail of the new woman that just took his breath away.

Later that night, you worked at your desk in Newt’s basement, pouring over some of your illustrations. You’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind you. Newt walks into view. “Hello Newt,” you greet him. Yawning, he smiles at you, “Awfully late for you to be up isn’t it?” You shrug, “I couldn’t sleep.” Newt sits across from you and asks, “Did you at least enjoy yourself tonight?” A knowing smile plays across your lips as you say, “Perhaps.” “Meet anyone interesting?” Newt implores you. You sigh, “Gods, no. The only person remotely interesting was your brother.” Newt laughs, “I wouldn’t exactly call Theseus interesting.” “To each his own,” you reply vaguely. Newt studies you for a moment, wondering why you would respond that way. Changing the subject you ask, “What illustrations do you think I should send Mr. Virgil to preview?” Newt scoots his stool closer to you and pours over the drawings with you. Thoughtfully he comments, “Well this drawing of the mooncalves is quite perceptive. You capture their eyes perfectly. And of course you have dozens of sketches of the nifflers so I’m sure you could spare one or two of those.” You nod along. Newt yawns, “I am much too tired, however, to continue sitting here and I suggest that we both get some rest. Day after next we have to be photographed for the Daily Prophet, for the announcement of the second edition.” “I suppose you’re right,” you reply, following him up the stairs and back to your room.

The Daily Prophet photographer wanted to photograph you and Newt working together and as a result, decided to visit the home you shared with him and Tina. She particularly focused on photos of you and Newt dealing with the kelpie, while Tina looked on. “These pictures are great. Now I’ll just need a single head shot of each of you and we should be good,” the photographer asks. Pulling you to the side, she asks you to stand against the wall and takes your headshot. Your smile was small, nerves evident. You wore your hair down, tucked behind one ear. Tina’s style had rubbed off on you and you wore a pair of wide-legged black slacks and a long sleeve white button up blouse, no makeup. “Thank you Mr. Scamander, Ms. l/n, that’s it!” she announces, dismissing herself. You eat lunch silently with Tina and Newt when there’s a knock on the door. “Are you expecting anyone?” Tina asks Newt. He shakes his head. “Are you?” Tina asks you in turn. “Not at all. But let’s not leave them waiting,” you reply. Standing up, you walk over to the door and open it to see Theseus Scamander standing there.

Theseus’s blue eyes widen when you swing the door open. “Theseus what a surprise,” you say, instinctively brushing your hair out of your face. He stands, still in the doorway, staring at you. “What is there something on my face?” you ask, suddenly beet red under Theseus’s stare. He’s pulled from his daze and says, “No, your face is fine, sorry. I got a little distracted, can I come in?” “Of course,” you stand aside, leaving him an opening. He walks into the kitchen.

“Theseus, this is quite the surprise,” Newt stands, offering his brother a small hug. “What brings you by?” Newt asks. Theseus says, “I’m not sure what you did Newt, but you were the hit of Travers’s banquet. Everyone expects you to be at the minister’s dinner on Saturday. Will you be attending?” Newt groans, “As much as I want to say no, the executives at Obscurus Books are requiring that I attend as many ministry events as possible. That way the book is promoted.” This catches your attention. “Does that mean I have to go too?” you moan in frustration. Newt laughs, “If I have to go, so do you.” You shoot him a glare before taking another bite of your sandwich. Theseus casually slips in, “Well at least if y/n’s there I won’t be bored out of my mind.” You immediately blush and look down, responding, “Happy to help.” Theseus watches you pick at your lunch and he suppressed his thoughts of how cute you are flustered, a thought completely and uncharacteristically not like him. Newt interrupts Theseus thoughts saying, “Is that all you came to tell us Thes?” Theseus clears his throat, “What? Oh yes, I suppose that’s it. How did that interview for the Daily Prophet go?” Newt responds, “It was alright I suppose. Was a bit distracting from work though.” You immediately agree, “Yes. She wanted to get pictures of the kelpie which I thought was outrageous. The kelpie takes two people to handle and is much too fast to capture an image of.” Theseus nods like he knows what you were talking about. Then he glances at his watch and mutters, “Bloody hell, better get back to the ministry. So I’ll see you all on Saturday then. Goodbye.” His eyes linger on you.

As soon as Theseus leaves, you fall into a tizzy. “I barely have any fancy attire is this going to become a regular occurence?” you babble. Tina groans, “This means we’ll have to go shopping.” “God I hadn’t even thought about that,” you moan in displeasure. Newt laughs, “Has anyone ever told the two of you that you’re women?” He immediately shuts up when you and Tina glare daggers at him. “I’ll be downstairs,” he mumbled, clearing his plate.

You and Tina did your reluctant shopping, finding appropriate attire for every sort of ministry event imaginable. The next day the Daily Prophet comes out with an article about you and Newt. It focused on the new talents you brought to the table, as well as the fact that you now worked as his assistant. You hated the headshot the photographer took of you. You looked timid, almost scared, and you had no makeup on. “I want to burn this picture,” you complain, sitting down at Newt’s workstation. He chuckles, “Y/n, it’s not a bad picture of you at all.” You roll your eyes at him. “I wish I had more time to prepare. This is sure to push away any men in my future,” you laugh sarcastically. Newt shrugs, “The eyes see what they want to see,” and dives back into his work, picking up a bucket of feed and walking off.

Theseus Scamander sits on his desk, mindlessly flipping through the Daily Prophet. His eyes stop on an article entitled, “Youngest Scamander and Illustrator Turned Assistant Magizoologist To Release Second Edition of Book.” He immediately flips to the page of the article and his gaze freezes on the headshot of you. Your eyes briefly glanced at the camera and then looked down shyly. Your hair was down and you wore a white button up dress shirt with no makeup on. A small hand, your own hand, briefly entered the frame, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Theseus studied the way your lips turned up at the corners of your mouth. Before he even knew what he was doing, Theseus reaches in his desk drawer and pulls out scissors. Cutting hastily, Theseus takes your picture from the newspaper. Setting the rest of the paper back down, he smiles at the picture of you, to which the picture of you immediately blushes. There’s a knock on the door and someone enters. Theseus immediately shoves the picture of you in his desk drawer, a guilty look on his face.

Saturday came around and you reluctantly got ready with Tina, putting on one of your new dresses. It being the minister’s dinner, you felt you had to dress fancier. So you wore a mermaid style ball gown, with wide straps that covered your shoulders. The material was silk and it was a beautiful maroon color. “I don’t know about this Tina,” you tell her, suddenly nervous about your dress choice. Tina wore a gown with similar straps, though it was A-line and didn’t hug her curves as much as your dress did. “Y/n you look amazing. You have to wear it,” Tina replies. “Fine,” you groan, putting on a pair of nude heels. You finished the look with simple makeup, just some light gold eyeshadow and nude lipstick. Tina learned to have a knack for hair in Queenie’s absence, and she curled yours gently. She pinned the side strands of your hair back, securing them with a beautiful ivory hair pin. The dress was extremely fancy so the only jewelry you wore was a dangly, silver charm bracelet. Newt tells you and Tina, “You both look amazing.” “Thanks Newt,” you casually reply. Tina is blushing profusely under Newt’s lingering eyes. “Shall we go?” you ask them. Newt reluctantly tears his gaze from Tina’s and says, “Yes.” Taking each of their arms, you depart for the minister’s mansion.

You’re immediately swept away by random ministry employees that you don’t recognize. They eagerly questioned you and Newt about the new edition of the book. Mr. Virgil quickly approaches, planting a kiss to your cheek. “Y/n darling I got your preview of drawings and I must say they were marvelous! I look forward to seeing more of your work in Newt’s book,” he gushes admirably. “Well thank you Mr. Virgil, you’re too kind,” you tell him. People then begin to focus on Newt and Tina again, which you’re very okay with. Excusing yourself, you go looking for a glass of champagne. Standing at the table of drinks, you sip your champagne slowly, studying the people around you. The minister’s house was gigantic, his dinner’s a regular event that grew more extravagant each week it got closer to Christmas.

Theseus was bored out of his mind. He searched for you, but he couldn’t find you amongst the party guests. Cursing himself, he walks over to the refreshment table. His breathing stops when he sees you. Your silk dress hugged your body in all the right places, the purple-ish material accentuating everything that made you a woman. Theseus couldn’t help but study you closely, your back to him. Your perfume gradually floated over to him and he immediately felt intoxicated. Theseus audibly gulps, mentally preparing himself to trip over his words and make a fool of himself. He gently taps you on the shoulder, his fingers softly brushing against your h/c curled hair.

There was a soft tap on your shoulder and you turned around to see the older Scamander brother, red in the face, looking down at you. “Theseus there you are! I was looking for you,” you let slip. “You were?” he asks, surprised. Blushing, you look down at your feet and say, “Yeah.” He laughs at your shyness. You tease, “I was hoping you would sit next to me at dinner again. I don’t think I remembered completely how to use all of those utensils.”He laughs, “I’d be happy to help you again.” “You’re a lifesaver,” you breathe a sigh of relief. Theseus smiles down at you, a smile that crinkled the corner of his big blue eyes. Instinctively, he felt a pang of guilt for letting himself admire you so openly in public, when it had barely been a full year since Leta passed. Nevertheless, he was helpless to admiring everything about you. Your beauty, your grace, and everything in between. The eager Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office employee, Colin, makes his way to you and once again presses an eager kiss to your hand. “How are you Colin?” you ask him kindly. He responds, “Better now that I am seeing you. You look so beautiful tonight.” You laugh at his flirtiness but inside you hope that he backs off. “Would you allow me to steal you for a dance once more later in the evening?” he asks. You smile politely, “Perhaps, though I felt quite bad leaving Theseus alone to be bored the other night. It’d be quite rude of me to do it again.” Colin looks between the two of you, appearing slightly confused. He bids you goodnight and leaves to talk to someone else. “Sorry about that,” you hastily apologize to Theseus. Theseus shakes off your apology, replying softly, “You know you really do look beautiful tonight.” Your eyes shoot up to his and meet an intense starry blue gaze. “Thank you,” you whisper, managing to hold his eye contact. Dinner is announced and Theseus says, “Shall we?” Properly offering his arm to you like a perfect gentleman. You smile and hook your arm in his, letting him lead you to the table. Theseus felt like a sleeze, the way he was gushing over someone 13 years younger than him. You felt the opposite, like a dooey eyed school girl pining over a teacher. You felt the situation you wanted to unfold would never happen. Theseus found himself wanting the same thing.

You followed Theseus’s lead again as you made your way through yet another fancy dinner. “Theseus, how is the department doing now with smaller numbers?” the minister asks Theseus thoughtfully. Theseus replies politely, “I won’t lie minister, it’s not easy. But we’ll manage. We’ve got every man working over time and every new face that comes into the department is triple checked for any ties with Grindelwald or his followers.” The minister compliments, “You do great work my boy, you’re doing the ministry proud.” Theseus gushes, “Thank you minister.” To your complete and utter horror the minister then turns to you and comments, “And what a lucky man Theseus is to be sat next to such a talented woman.” Theseus says quietly, “Very lucky.” Not hearing Theseus’s comment, you turn to the minister and blush, “Thank you minister you’re too kind.” He replies, “Nonsense. I’ve seen your work. My children love The Tales of Beedle the Bard and your illustrations in the new edition fascinated them.” “Well thank you,” you say politely. The minister then turns to Newt and asks him more about Paris. Theseus’s reaction is to immediately look down at his plate and push his food around, not eating it. You whisper to him, “How much are they going to ask about that night before it becomes old news?” Theseus shrugs, “Dunno. You’d think they’d get the picture by now. That and the hundreds of reports they have on it.” You nod. Whispering softly you tell him, “I’m sorry they keep making you relive that night.” “Thanks,” Theseus gulps.

There’s dancing once again and Newt asks you, “Tina’s getting her ear talked off by the minister. He’s very interested in President Piquery and her policies. In the meantime, would you like to dance?” You grin widely, “Now that sounds like a fantastic idea.” Newt takes your hand and leads you to the dance floor, leaving Theseus to stand alone and watch. As Newt twirls you around you ask, “Do you think the ministry will ever stop asking about Paris?” Newt responds, “I don’t know. It does seem to get quite irritating though doesn’t it?” You shake your head, “It’s not that. It’s the toll it’s clearly taking on Theseus.” Newt’s eyes widen and he looks over at his older brother, who in turn, is already staring at the two of you. “You think it does?” Newt asks. You immediately respond, “Yes. It clearly does Newt. And I feel bad. I mean imagine if you’d lost Tina, and then everyone kept making you relive the night it happened.” Newt looks thoughtful. “I didn’t think about it that way,” he admits. When the song ends you make your way back over to Theseus. “Sorry to leave you fending for yourself,” you tease him. He laughs, “I managed.” Newt comments, “Brother I watched at least three women approach you during that song alone, surely you could indulge one of them?” Theseus looks at his brother, a sadness lingering in his eyes. “Not tonight Newt. Maybe some other time,” he responds. Newt picks up on the somber mood and leaves you to cheer his brother up, announcing, “I better go find Tina.”

You stood with Theseus nearly the whole night, the fast friendship between the two of you continuing to form. “I saw the article about you and Newt in the paper,” Theseus says. “Oh geez. That was probably my worst interview. And my first, so there’s that,” you reply. Theseus eyes you, “That was your first interview? But what about when you illustrated The Tales of Beedle the Bard?” Shrugging, you reply, “I declined to be interviewed. I was only 23, I didn’t want all the attention. Even now all the attention makes me really uncomfortable.” “Really?” Theseus is surprised. “Really,” you pause, your eyes spying Colin who was searching the room for you. Downing your drink, you toss it aside and hide behind Theseus, who is frozen in surprise. “Colin is looking for me. God, I hate letting people down, just hide me. That way he can’t find me,” you plead, shrinking behind his tall form. Theseus laughs wholeheartedly at your reaction, all the while standing taller to block you from sight. “I’m sorry. I just can’t deal with this right now,” you breathe against Theseus’s shoulder, pressed close to his back, your hands absentmindedly gripping his suit jacket tightly. Theseus feels a chill run down his spine as your warm body is pressed against the back of his. For a moment he closes his eyes, inhaling your scent and your presence. Leaning his head back, Theseus whispers, “Don’t worry. He can’t see you.” You cautiously place a hand on Theseus’s broad shoulder and stand on your tiptoes, peering over him. You breathe a sigh of relief when you don’t see Colin, the rush of air from your mouth washing over Theseus’s neck. The hair on his skin stands straight up. Theseus now visibly shivers, the breath you left on his skin making him squirm, his mind wandering to a dark place full of inappropriate thoughts. Theseus turns around to face you. You stare up at him sheepishly, embarrassed at your reaction. “Sorry, you must think me pathetic,” you mumble. He stares down at you, perplexed by your comment. “Not at all,” he reassures you, “I think it just makes me appreciate your kindness more.” You play with a strand of your hair and mutter, “Thanks, I guess.” Theseus says reluctantly, “Now I hate to leave your side but I have to go to the restroom. I’ll be back shortly.” He departs. No sooner does he depart then does one eager young ministry employee approach you; Colin.

Plastering the biggest fake smile you could muster you say, “Hello Colin.” He’s nearly hopping on his feet as he says, “Y/n. Can I have that dance now?” It was just your luck that the moment Theseus left your side, Colin showed up to ask you to dance. You sigh, “Sure Colin,” rather unenthusiastically. He doesn’t seem to notice your tone and practically drags you to the dance floor. Colin tried to hold you as close to him as possible, and you let him while your mind wandered to Theseus, praying for him to appear in front of you.

Theseus emerges from one of the minister’s mansions various bathrooms and is stopped by a fellow auror; Yaxley. “Spending an awful lot of time with your brother’s new assistant I see,” he smirks at Theseus. Theseus tries to keep a straight face as he says, “She’s pleasant company.” “Yes and easy on the eyes too,” Yaxley comments. Theseus struggles to keep his composure as he lies, “I hadn’t thought about her that way.” Yaxley grossly smiles, “Well you should. I hear talks of aurors wanting to lock her down before anyone else.” This catches Theseus’s attention. Before Yaxley can turn to go he asks urgently, “What?” Yaxley responds, “Oh yes, she’s quite a beautiful woman who many men want on their arm. She’d make the perfect companion.” “Oh,” is all Theseus can manage to say. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Theseus,” Yaxley says, departing. Theseus stands briefly frozen, considering the words that Yaxley said. A new feeling filled his chest. A feeling he had never experienced with Leta, Theseus lets the newfound jealousy course through his veins. Then he remembers he left you alone, and he had no doubt that Colin had found you. He was right.

Before he could figure out what he was doing, Theseus marched straight back into the Minister’s ballroom, his eyes searching for you. He spies an eager Colin spinning you around rather frantically on the dancefloor. And while the fear in Theseus’s chest made him want to stay put, his feet had a mind of their own and they carried him swiftly over to you.

Your eyes traveled up to Theseus’s tall form that sauntered quickly over to you. Frozen in complete shock, you watched as Theseus tapped Colin on the shoulder. Colin turned around and jumped at the sight of the tall, fearsome head auror. “May I cut in?” Theseus’s voice comes out smooth. Colin looks to you and sees as you stare up at Theseus, a gigantic grin on your face. “Of course,” Colin’s voice falls, and he releases your hands, slowly walking away. Then Theseus’s eyes fall to you and you gaze into the familiar deep blue. “Thank you,” you whisper softly. Theseus holds his large hand out to you. Your mouth suddenly goes completely dry. Theseus was going to dance with you. So you laid your hand in his, and took in how tiny your hand looked cradled in his own. A new boldness moved through the eldest Scamander when he felt you take his hand. And as a new waltz started, he places his hand on your waist and pulls you into him, knocking all your breath away. “Your other hand is supposed to go on my shoulder, or do I have to teach you this as well?” Theseus teases. You gulp audibly and place your hand on his shoulder. And when the music begins, Theseus whisks you smoothly across the floor, managing to hold you a little too close than deemed necessary for a waltz. “You’re so light on your feet,” you breathe into Theseus’s chest. He chuckles, “I’ve had practice, you know with all the ministry events we have to attend.” You laugh, “I’ve had less practice. I wouldn’t want to make a fool of your good dancing reputation.” Theseus lets slip, “Nonsense. I like dancing with you.” You look up into his eyes and gasp, “Oh.” Theseus blushes, mumbling, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” You smile thoughtfully, “No, you didn’t. I just was surprised to hear you say that is all.” Theseus continues, “How are you surprised? Have you not seen all the men eyeing you tonight?” You turn beet red, saying, “That’s not true.” Theseus shakes his head, “Of course it’s true. Even just now Yaxley was telling me about how the other aurors talk about you and how perfect you are. You could have anyone of them you want, they’re all dying for a shot at you. Take your pick.” You decisively say, “None of them really appeal to me. They’re all really immature and I don’t think they see me as someone you’d want to spend time with. I’m not stupid, I know they only think of me as arm candy.” Theseus comments, “Well they’re idiots.” Your eyes widen and you manage to continue to hold his gaze, the blush traveling to your nose and ears. “Thanks Theseus,” you manage to get out. He merely nods.

A slower ballad begins and while you’re hoping for the dance to continue you offer, “Theseus, we can stop dancing if you want.” His face falls and he asks, “Is that what you want?” You look down, avoiding his eyes as you whisper, “No. I’d like to keep dancing.” And while you can’t see his look, Theseus’s face breaks out into a massive grin. “Me too,” he agrees. Theseus removes his one hand from yours only to place it on your waist, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. His large hands wrapped around your waist, his fingers nearly meeting. You reach up your arms and wrap them around his neck. Theseus mercifully dips his head slightly, so you don’t have to stand on your tiptoes. His face is extremely close to your own and you let yourself get lost in the ocean blue of his pupils. You felt your torso pressed close to him and couldn’t help but smile at the warmth that spread through you. No matter what was going on around you, your eyes stayed glued to Theseus’s. Across the room, Newt and Tina studied the two of you.

Inside his chest, Theseus felt a turmoil of emotion. His heart felt as if it were on fire, a new passion for the woman in front of him forming faster than he could keep up with. Theseus’s arms subconsciously tightened around your waist as he gazed affectionately at you. Then, a biting feeling came back in his chest, this one a familiar one. The familiar sense of self loathing and disgust developing inside of him. Theseus tried to combat the feeling, praying that his heart would just let him enjoy your presence for once, without thinking about how this would look. Theseus’s mind taunted him with images of you slipping out of his grasp, being pulled away by one of your admirer’s asking for your hand. In the meantime you let out a beautifully soft sigh, resting your head on his chest. Theseus’s heart was racing, and he tried desperately to get it to slow down, worried you would feel his heart beating wildly against your cheek resting there. Gently, he rested his head on top of your own, swaying in time with the music, your body held tightly against his. Dark thoughts loomed in his head as he thought about desperately kissing you, holding you all night and showing you just how special you were.

The song ended and switched to a fast paced Charleston, which neither you or Theseus were prepared to dance. Reluctantly, you dropped your hands from Theseus’s neck. His grip on your waist lingered, before he dropped his hands. Realizing you were still standing in the middle of the dancefloor you say, “Maybe we should…..” Theseus answers the question for you, “Yeah. We should get out of the way.” To your delight, Theseus takes your hand in his and leads you back towards the refreshment table. Handing you a glass of champagne, he takes one himself. You sip the bubbly happily, elated with the fact that you just danced with Theseus for two songs. You giggle, “You should have seen the looks of death I was getting from some other girls.” Theseus replies, “I got equally malicious looks from all your potential suitors.” You scoffed, “Please, potential suitors? I couldn’t see myself with any of them. They’re all too young, too immature.” Theseus replies, “But they’re your age.” You shoot back, “What does age have to do with anything?” Theseus is intrigued by your train of thoughts and adds, “Don’t you think it would be inappropriate to be with someone much older or much younger than you?” You look at Theseus and the realization dawns on you; Theseus was implying that whatever was between the two of you, was inappropriate. A brief look of emotional pain flashes across your features. Summoning the last bit of courage you had, you looked into Theseus’s great blue eyes and tell him intently, “Age is not a factor that matters to me. Whenever and whoever I decide to spend my life with, age is never something that crosses my mind.” Theseus watches you with sadness. He easily saw your face fall and your eyes grow somber. More than anything he wanted to tilt your chin up and kiss you and tell you that of course you were right, age is just a number, and he wanted to be with you more than anything. Before he got a chance to articulate his thoughts, you briefly looked up at him and said, “I should go Theseus. It’s getting late.” “Y/n, wait,” he struggles to form what he wants to say to you. “Till the next ministry event. Bye Theseus,” you offer him a small smile and turn to find Newt and Tina. Theseus watches you go, his heart filled with sadness as your form grew farther and farther away. A voice speaks beside him, “You know I’ve never seen her look at anyone like that before.” Theseus looks over to see his younger brother Newt, looking at him concerned. “Newt, I-” Theseus begins but is cut off by his sibling. “Listen, Thes, I know y/n. Sure I haven’t known her for long but she’s a lot like me. Besides Tina, she’s my closest companion. And Theseus I will not lie to you, you didn’t even look at Leta like that when you were together. Don’t let something as trivial as age get between you at least having a close companion. Now I’m going to take her home.” Newt walks away from his brother, finds you and Tina, and takes you back to the house.

The rest of the weekend you stayed in the basement, pouring yourself into various illustrations and treating creatures. Tina and Newt tried to talk to you, to get you to open up about whatever you were feeling, but you wouldn’t budge. On Sunday night Newt walks downstairs, a plate in hand. “Brought you some dinner. You need to eat,” Newt tells you. “I’m busy,” you reply, concentrating on a new sketch. Newt sets the plate on your desk and sits down beside you. “Y/n what happened?” he asks quietly. “What do you mean?” you respond, not taking your eyes from the paper in front of you. Newt rests a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up. He sighs, “I saw the way you looked at Theseus. The way you danced with him. He hasn’t dance with anyone, something he loves, since Leta. I’m not gonna ignore that.” You shake your head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Newt groans, “Well I can’t help you if you won’t admit it to yourself that something’s there.” Turning to your friend, you say, “Newt. Even if there was something there, your brother clearly has an issue with my age and how young I am. So case closed.” Newt grumbles, “Theseus always did have a problem with letting himself be happy.” “Newt can I get back to work please?” you ask him. He sighs, “Fine, I’ll leave you to it. But before I forget, Mr. Virgil wants some more illustrations and in exchange for this preview, he’s agreed to pay for us to travel to eastern Asia, to search for more undiscovered creatures.” You jump up from your stool, “What? Are you serious?” Newt laughs at your excitement, “Deadly serious. Three week expedition, not sure when it’s happening. But I agree it’s very exciting. Anyways he’s having lunch with Yaxley tomorrow and I was hoping you could deliver him some copies?” It slipped your mind that Yaxley was an auror who worked with Theseus, so naturally you reply, “Of course I can do that. I’ll bring them to the ministry tomorrow.” “Thanks y/n, that is a huge help. Not sure how I got along before you,” Newt grins, offering you a hug. “I’m not sure how you did either,” you joke.

The next morning, you meticulously pick out your best sketches, putting them into a file. Donned in your usual black, wide legged trousers, and white button up shirt, you slipped on nude flats and left for the ministry. Stopping at the information desk you say, “Hello, I’m looking for Mr. Virgil, I’m told he’s meeting with Yaxley.” The secretary smiles at you and responds, “Yes, he’s eagerly awaiting your arrival. He’s in a meeting but he asked that you bring them to him directly so you can go to Yaxley’s office. Down the corridor and to the left.” “Are you sure?” you ask her. “Positive. Go ahead,” she responds brightly. Gulping, you follow her directions and knock on the door. “Come in,” a deep male voice calls. So you enter the room, finding Yaxley and Mr. Virgil chatting over a meal. “Hello, I just came to drop off the drawings you requested,” you stand awkwardly in the doorway. Mr. Virgil pipes up, “Y/n my dear thank you very much. I just had to get my hands on some more of your work. Thank you for coming to the ministry.” Handing the file over you respond, “Of course Mr. Virgil. Thank you for providing the funds for Newt and I to continue our research.” He smiles, “I look forward to more of your work. You seem quite the aspiring magizoologist. Together, I’m sure you and Newt will do great things.” “Thank you,” you respond graciously. Yaxley eyes you hungrily throughout this entire conversation and leaves you with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Theseus walks back into the auror department after lunch and asks his secretary, “Any messages, anything important?” She answers, “Nothing important sir. Only y/n l/n, stopped in Yaxley’s office to deliver her new sketches to Mr. Virgil.” His heart stops at the mention of her name. “Very well, thank you,” he says in passing, racing down the hallway. He had no idea what he was going to say, all he knew was that he was dying to see you. He skidded to a stop in front of Yaxley’s doorway, looking at the back of you standing there. There was a slight smile that grew on his face, as he took in the same outfit you wore in the cut out headshot he had of you in his desk drawer. It was the first time he’d ever seen you in non-ministry event attire. He tried to suppress the urge to study you, but failed as his eyes poured over the way your shirt clung tightly to your shoulder blades and your pants fitted so well to your hips.

Bidding Yaxley and Mr. Virgil goodbye, you shut the door and turn around to see Theseus Scamander staring at you. “Bloody hell Theseus you scared me!” you jump at his presence. He laughs profusely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he wheezes in between laughs. You frown at him and say, “Yes, well, I have to get back to work. Goodbye Theseus.” The eldest Scamander reaches out a desperate hand to find yours, gently pulling you back. “Y/n, please wait!” he begs, his hand still pulling you back in his direction. You turn around to face him, looking down. Theseus drops your hand and says, “I’m sorry okay? I didn’t mean to make things weird between us or insult you with my age comment. I’m lucky to have you as a friend and it doesn’t matter how young you are, I wouldn’t trade your friendship for anything. Truthfully, you’ve been great company at these ministry events and I’m lucky that you even spend the night standing with me.” His confession brought tears to your eyes for so many reasons. You were glad to be Theseus’s friend, but what you wanted in your heart was so much more than that.Fighting back your emotion you looked up into his familiar gaze. “It’s fine Theseus, really. I’m glad that you’re my,” you pause, “Friend too. I really enjoy your company.” He visibly relaxes, then says, “Did Yaxley stare you down?” You chuckle, “How did you know?” Theseus responds, “They all talk about how they’d love to make you there permanent piece of arm candy.” A darkness, a fury clouds his face as he continues, “Personally I’d love nothing more than to put them all in their place. If they can’t appreciate you for your talent, intelligence, and grace along with your beauty, then they don’t deserve you.” Your jaw drops at the clear jealousy and protectiveness displayed on Theseus’s face. You manage to croak out, “Theseus that was… very sweet. You’re very sweet.” He blushes and rubs his neck awkwardly. “It’s the truth. Anyone can see that,” he admits. And when asked about it in the future, you’re not sure you could ever say what compelled you to do this, but nevertheless you’re glad you did.

Instinctively, you rush forward into Theseus’s arms, hugging him. Your face was pressed against his chest as you deeply inhaled his cologne. Your fingers intertwined around his neck, standing on your tiptoes you took in everything about the wonderful man in front of you. Theseus is shocked. But as the shock fades, he gracefully dips his head down so you don’t have to keep standing on your tiptoes. His hands meet behind your back and he holds you close to him once more, just like he did last week at the Minister’s dinner. His lips brushed against the top of your head as he cradles you close to your body, so many things being said unspoken between the two of you. You’re not sure how long you stand there, but eventually you lift your head from his chest remove your hands from around his neck, placing them to rest on his arms that were still around your waist. “Theseus I….” your voice falters. He gulps, “I am a coward sometimes. I should have said something earlier.” There’s a noise coming from inside the office and Theseus scrambles to put a phrase together. “What do you mean?” you ask hopefully. You both hear footsteps grow closer. Theseus says quickly, “Look, there’s not enough time right now. Can I stop by Newt’s when I’m done with work and come see you? There’s something we need to talk about.” Your voice shakes, responding, “Of course you can come over. I… I guess I’ll see you tonight.” Theseus beams brightly. He very reluctantly removes his hands from your waist and says, “I look forward to it.” With a new confidence leaping from your heart, you rise up on your toes and plant a lingering kiss on his cheek. Theseus gasps, his eyes fluttering closed as he relishes in the feeling of your lips on his skin, thinking about all the other places you could kiss him. “Until then. Bye Theseus,” you smile at him, turning around and walking away. “Bye y/n,” his voice comes out raspy, a hunger coursing through him. He watches you walk away and gulps, trying to decide just how much he should convey to you the deep feelings he harbored inside for you. Running his hands through his auburn curls, Theseus sighs, falling back against the wall behind him. He resembled a lovestruck teenage boy, but nevertheless he gave in and let his thoughts wander to the way it felt to hold you in his arms.

Arriving back home, you rushed to the menagerie and busied yourself with treating various creatures, a lovesick smile plastered to your face. “Y/n what’s got you smiling like that?” It’s Newt who asks this, wandering up to you. Still dazed, you respond, “I’m not sure what you mean.” Newt laughs, “I know that look. Did you happen to run into Theseus or Tina at the ministry?” You playfully shrugged, “Maybe.” Newt smiles, “Well, I’m glad to see something that makes you smile.” You continue feeding the baby nifflers in your arms and say, “Newt, how do you let Tina go to work everyday? Don’t you miss her terribly?” He responds, “Of course I do. Given a choice I’d much rather spend everyday with Tina doing no work. But Tina does what she loves for a living and I love Tina. I could never take that away from her.” You immediately stand up from your stool, nearly shouting, “Did you just say you love Tina?” Newt turns beet red as he backtracks, “No, I didn’t, I didn’t say that.” Returning the baby nifflers to their cage you laugh, “No! You said you love her! You love Tina!” Newt responds, “So I love her. What’s wrong with that?” You walk up to your friend, taking his hands and respond, “There’s nothing wrong with that Newt, that’s wonderful!” Have you told her yet?” Newt mumbles, “No, I haven’t had the courage.” A plan formulates in your head and you tell him, “Newt, tell Tina. Tonight.” He trips over his words, “Y/n, that’s so soon. These things take time.” You stop him, “No, Newt. Just say how you feel. We’re in times of war okay? You watched your brother’s fiance die in Paris almost a year ago. You can’t let these things linger. You need to tell her. It’s obvious she’s loves you too.” He gulps, “Maybe you’re right. I suppose I could take her for a walk and try to tell her.” You say excitedly, “Yes of course! Newt I’m so happy for you, you and Tina are my best friends.” Newt grins, “You’re my best friend too. Now I’m gonna go check on the baby Occamys. Thanks y/n, you’re the best.” You tease, “I know.”

Later that night, at around 6, there’s a knock on the door and you and Newt exit the basement, going to answer the front door. Opening the door, Newt looks surprised to see Tina and his brother staring back at him. “Theseus, what brings you by?” Newt asks him confused. Theseus looks at you briefly before trying to put together a sentence, “I came to talk to y/n.” Before Newt can continue you butt in, “Newt, didn’t you want to take Tina for a walk?” Newt looks at you and responds, “Oh yes. Tina darling, I’d love to go for a walk with you, let me just grab my coat.” And as he grabs his grey overcoat, Newt shoots you a lingering look before walking out the door with Tina. Theseus stands awkwardly in the doorway.

“Well don’t just stand there silly, come in,” you joke. Theseus whispers, “Okay,” and steps in the door. You make your way towards the basement and a confused Theseus follows. “Where are we going?” he asks you. Looking back, you smile, “I have to finish feeding everyone. I figured you wouldn’t mind, do you?” Theseus beams back at you, “Of course not. I did grow up with Newt after all.” Descending the staircase, you make your way over to the mooncalves and hand a bucket of feed for Theseus to hold. Theseus watches in awe as you’re surrounded by mooncalves, the lot of them nipping at your heels. Theseus chuckles, “These guys were always one of my favorites.” You look back at his comment and smile. The moon of the habitat creates an angelic glow around your figure. “Do you want to help me feed them?” you ask tentatively. Theseus cracks the largest smile at you and says, “I’d love to.” You take his hand and help him reach into the feed bucket, pulling out some beetles to give the mooncalves. He throws them into the air, where they’re happily lapped up by the babies. When he’s done Theseus returns his hand to yours. “Theseus,” you begin, trying to piece together your thoughts. Lucky for you Theseus does the work for you, saying, “I’m sorry we didn’t get enough time to chat in the ministry. What I wanted to say was, well, I’m not really sure how to say it.” Theseus looks at you sheepishly. You smile encouragingly at him and take his hand, leading him to a quieter area of the basement. Stopping in a lush green pasture besides the Kelpie’s habitat, you sit down and motion for Theseus to follow. Theseus sprawls out awkwardly beside you. “I think I know what you’re gonna say,” you encourage. Theseus sighs, “I’m not very good at articulating my thoughts. Here’s the thing though, for the life of me I cannot understand why a beautiful, young, talented woman like you would want to spend her time with me.” You immediately blurted out, “Because I like you Theseus.” His cheeks flush and he looks to you, a longing in his eyes. You continue, “There’s no denying it now, it’s true. I do have feelings for you, but I wasn’t prepared to act on them because I know you need time to heal. And I know the ministry doesn’t make it any easier on you with recalling the events of that night. So I’m happy to just spend time with you.” Theseus beams, “I like you too y/n, quite a lot actually. But I’m torn. I don’t want people thinking the worst of you if you’re with a man 13 years your senior. And it’s not only that I just…. I feel guilty.” You study him thoughtfully and replied softly, “I understand why you feel guilty. But you shouldn’t. You deserve to feel happy. To truly be happy.” Theseus groans, “But it’s not fair for me to make you wait for when I’m ready for that to happen. You could turn around and be engaged within the week at this rate, with all the other ministry men after you.” Taking his hands, you scoot closer to Theseus and say strongly, “Theseus, I don’t care about any of those men. The only person I have feelings for is you. And if you want to take things slow and just see what happens, that sounds great to me. And if you’re not ready for that, that’s okay too. I’m not going to go and run off with someone else just because you’re still grieving.” A single tear falls from his perfect blue starea as he says, “I want to see where this goes. Everything I feel with you is different…. Stronger than before. But my guilt won’t go away overnight.”

You decisively moved closer to Theseus, sitting between his legs. “I will help you through it,” you whisper to him, your breath hitting his lips softly. Suddenly aware of how close you were, Theseus looks down and traces his fingers along the material that covered your knees. “I,” his voice falters, “Thank you, y/n.” “You’ve been through a lot Thes. I just want you to be happy,” you reply, watching as he fiddled nervously with your pant leg. This nervousness was completely out of character for him. Laughing, you leaned forward and went to press a kiss to his cheek. At the same time Theseus made to look up at you, resulting in your lips brushing ever so slightly against his. You immediately jerk back, “I’m sorry, I was just trying to kiss your cheek god I’ve really made a mess of things.” You watch as Theseus stares at your lips, transfixed. Blushing, you look down and mutter more apologies. It’s Theseus who reaches a hand out and lifts your chin up, to look at you in your e/c eyes. Wordlessly he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip. His blue orbs full of unsung emotion, you stare back into them helplessly. “Theseus please-” your voice is cut off by Theseus holding his pointer finger against your lips, silencing you. Inside he feels a somersaulting of emotions, all wrapped in an overwhelmingly desperate need to kiss your lips again. “So beautiful,” he whispers, barely audible, as he leans closer to you. You feel the breath in your chest stop as his lips loom over your own. Closing your eyes, you let the inevitable happen. Theseus’s lips hit yours and you kiss him softly, for real, for the first time. Moving softly against yours, you relish just how soft and smooth Theseus’s lips are. Theseus subconsciously wraps his legs around your form in his lap, pulling you closer to him.

Inside, what Theseus felt was indescribable. In one word; heaven. Theseus tried to fight the hunger, the building lust in his chest, but failed miserably. With a low growl, he places his hands to your waist and pulls you fully into his lap. His hands trailed across your back, aching to feel your bare skin. Your hands found their way to Theseus’s curls and you yanked on them, causing Theseus to open his mouth more to your kisses. Slipping your tongue in his mouth, you let out a slight moan of pleasure as you feel Theseus’s hands squeezing your waist tightly. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you press your body into Theseus’s, aching for more of his touch. From behind the two of you, you hear a loud cough.

Theseus instinctively removes his hands from you and straightens his tie. Turning your head you see Newt and Tina, hand in hand, standing with wide eyes and reddened cheeks as they caught your intimate moment. Turning around in Theseus’s lap, you gracefully sit in front of him on the grass, blocking his arousal. Newt clears his throat, “Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t realize there would be something going on.” Theseus is frozen in embarrassment, leaving you to speak for the both of you. “I didn’t think you’d be back yet. Sorry Newt,” you mumble. He awkwardly laughs, “It’s okay. Tina and I are going to get started on dinner. Theseus you’re welcome to join us.” The couple depart the basement, ascending the stairs.

As soon as they leave you burst out laughing. “That was mortifying,” you breathe in between chuckles. Theseus, the hunger inside him now gone, looks at you laughing, and smiles. “I don’t think I’m ever going to live that down,” he admits. Your laughter slows and you spin around in the grass, facing Theseus. “I’m sorry Thes. I got a bit carried away,” you say sheepishly. Theseus looks at you astounded. Brushing the hair from your face he says softly, “This is not your fault. I couldn’t help myself. Anytime I’m around you, I lose control.” “Well you cover it surprisingly well,” you tease. Theseus stands, and offers you a hand. Taking it, Theseus pulls you up so strongly, your feet momentarily leave the ground. You laugh, stumbling into his arms as he catches your fall. Theseus looks down at you brightly. “I’m so glad Newt hired you,” Theseus gushes. You giggle, “Me too. I wouldn’t have a job otherwise.” Theseus says more seriously, “No. I mean because otherwise I wouldn’t have met you.” You smile, “Theseus I’m equally just as lucky to have met you.” Sighing, you stroll hand in hand back towards the staircase. “I’m sorry for kissing you. Don’t get me wrong I wanted to. But without being in an established relationship, I feel like it’s not fair to you,” Theseus confesses. You briefly brush a finger against his cheek before replying, “Thes. I wanted it just as much, if not more. I’m a big girl. Okay sure I’m only 26, I’m a lot younger than you. But I can take care of myself. And all I care about right now is spending time with you.” Theseus grins like a young school boy and wraps you in a tight hug. “You’re so great,” he says against your hair. “So are you going to stay for dinner?” you ask him. Theseus sighs, “I don’t think so. I’m not going to be able to live it down. Not at least until we are in a relationship. Raincheck it for another time.” Grinning foolishly you say, “Until we’re in a relationship? Theseus Scamander is there something you’ve forgotten to ask me?” He lightly laughs, “Soon darling, soon.” The word darling rolled off his tongue with ease; it felt right. Walking up the stairs, hand in hand, you lead Theseus to the front door. “See you soon?” you phrase the question. “How could I keep myself away,” Theseus chuckles. He looks down at you, pining evident in his gaze. “You can kiss me whenever you know. I promise I won’t mind,” you say softly. That’s all the permission he needs and Theseus leans down, pressing his lips to yours. He reluctantly pulls away after a few lingering seconds and says, “Bye y/n.” Turning he disapparates. “Bye Thes,” you let his name hang in the air.

When you return to the kitchen Tina nearly shouts, “Mercy Lewis what is going on with you two?!” Laughing you say, “I’m not sure yet Tina. I’ll be sure to let you know when I find out.” Newt looks at you curiously. “Are you two dating?” he asks you. You sigh, “Not yet Newt. Theseus needs time, he feels guilty, which I understand. But if I’m honest I’d wait my whole life for someone like your brother. There’s no one else like him.” Newt grins widely at you, “Well next time you’re… preoccupied, give me a warning.” You immediately defend yourself, “I didn’t expect for that to happen, it just did!” Newt and Tina burst out laughing and you realize they’re joking. “We’re happy for you, really,” Tina speaks for both of them. “Well, thanks,” you reply.

The next time you saw Theseus was two days later, on a Wednesday when he stopped by on his lunch break. “Coming!” you call at the sound of the doorbell, bounding up the stairs. Wiping your hands on your navy blue slacks, you swing the door open. Theseus stands in the doorway, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand. “Thes what’s this?” you breathe, surprised. He grins and asks, “Can I come in?” “Of course,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in. Theseus walks into the kitchen and you follow. “These are for you,” he hands you the beautiful batch of flowers. “Oh they’re gorgeous Theseus. Thank you,” you kiss him on the cheek. Busying yourself with cutting the flowers and summoning a vase, you’re oblivious to Theseus watching you intently. Theseus chuckles, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but wide-legged trousers and a white button up.” You turn to him and reply, “Dresses are overrated.” Theseus steps closer and says, “Yes but you always cut quite a figure in one.” His hands find their way to your waist and he kisses you swiftly, a touch too fleeting for your like. He turns away, but you catch his tie. “I wasn’t done,” you tease, pulling his lips back on your own.

Theseus’s heart thumps wildly against his chest. And as he watches you make lunch for the two of you to share, he finds his mind wandering, envisioning a future with you by his side. Bringing him a grilled cheese you ask, “What’s got you daydreaming handsome?” Pulled from his daze he answers, “You.” Your face turns beet red as you exclaim, “Theseus Scamander you sure know how to make a girl blush!” He laughs, “You’re cute when you blush.” Finishing lunch, Theseus prepares to return to the ministry. Theseus asks, “Will I see you at the minister’s dinner tomorrow night?” “Of course, I wouldn’t leave you alone there,” you reply. Theseus looks at you in awe. “You’re so great,” he gushes. You playfully roll your eyes and push him towards the door. “See you tomorrow darling,” Theseus plants a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Until then,” you reply, watching him go.

The next night you get ready for the minister’s dinner and find yourself excited for a ministry event for the first time in your life. “Tina, I’m nervous,” you admit as the two of you get ready. Tina rubs your shoulders comfortingly and reassures you, “Y/n, it’s clear Theseus adores you. You couldn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” “Right, sure,” you reply. Tina laughs, “I mean it. You can see how he looks at you. It was clear to everyone except apparently you two for a while.” You playfully swatted her arm. Emerging from the closet, you ask anxiously, “Do I look okay?” You wore yet another mermaid style evening gown, with wide straps that covered your shoulder blades. The back of the dress plunged dangerously low. The bottom of the skirt was made of a tulle material, the rest of it was satin. This dress was a beautiful shimmering aquamarine color, something surprisingly bright. “You look amazing,” Tina replies immediately. “You look great too Teeny,” you tell her, taking in her own, very similar dress, that was instead a shimmering gold. You had told Theseus you would meet him there, he wasn’t ready to arrive with you yet and be swarmed with questions about the nature of your relationship. “You two look stunning as ever,” Newt comes in, complimenting you both. “Thank you Newt,” you grin at your friend, whose eyes are now glued to Tina, drinking her in. “Alright love birds, let’s go,” you joke, taking one of each of their hands and disapparating.

You were now familiar with the minister’s mansion, and told Newt and Tina that you were going to look for Theseus. You made your way through throngs of people, managing to stumble only twice in your brand new nude pumps. Tonight your hair was pulled up high on your head, nestled in a wispy bun. Wearing the same teardrop earrings you did the first time you met Theseus, you kept your makeup simple, just gold eyeshadow with bronzer and a nude lip. You managed to spy him across the room, talking to Yaxley. Striding over, you tap him on the arm.

Theseus turns at your touch, his jaw visibly dropping. “I think that’s my new favorite color,” he breathes, gesturing to your dress. You planted a quick kiss on his cheek and replied, “So you like it?” All he could manage to do was nod fervently. Finally, he says huskily, “You look ravishing darling.” He eyes you hungrily and you warn, “Watch yourself Theseus. We’re in public.” Taking in your comment, Theseus turns and says to Yaxley, “You remember y/n l/n, my brother’s assistant don’t you?” Yaxley’s eyes are full of lust as he kisses your hand and says, “Of course I do. Y/n is quite unforgettable.” Theseus watches Yaxley’s lips linger on your hand and you see Theseus’s fists tighten by his side. “Mr. Yaxley, how are you this evening?” you ask politely, drawing your hand away. He smiles, “Lovely Ms. l/n and may I say you look beautiful this evening. The belle of the ball.” Blushing, you thank him as you try to ignore his eyes that study your figure in your dress. Theseus interjects, “I’m quite parched. Anyone care for a drink?” Yaxley politely declines but you pipe up, “I’d love one. I’ll come with you.” Theseus grins, satisfied that you caught on, and offers you his arm as he leads you towards the refreshments. You casually sip on champagne and shiver when Theseus whispers in your ear, “Meet me in the study in five minutes. I need to feel your lips.” Wordlessly, you nod. Then Theseus is gone.

The five minutes pass by agonizingly slow and Mr. Yaxley immediately comes back up to you when Theseus leaves. Throughout his monologue, you finally manage to interject, “Mr. Yaxley I must go and use the powder room. It was lovely to see you.” He watches as you race off down the hallway. As you grow farther away from the crowds, you hiss into the air, “Theseus? Where are you?” No answer. Rounding a corner, you go to peek into a room, hoping it’s the study. When you open the door, a hand comes out to meet yours, yanking you through the doorway and into the room, the door shutting behind you.

“Theseus I-” you’re immediately cut off by his lips on yours, the hunger and lust in the kiss evident. Theseus’s hands grip your waist tightly and your palms rest against his chest. In a thirst for more, Theseus pushes you up against the wall, planting his palms against the wall on either side of your head. You helplessly pulled at his tie, small moans escaping your lips. “Thes,” you breathe heavily as his lips fall to your collarbone. In between his sloppy, hunger filled kisses, Theseus sighs, “My god y/n, you’re so sexy.” Too overwhelmed to respond, you simply run your hands through his auburn hair as his lips move to your earlobe. You whimper as he nibbles on your sensitive skin, sending fiery pleasure shooting through your veins. Theseus raises his lips back up to your own and kisses you once more. Outside of the room there’s a sudden scraping of chairs against the ground and dinner was being prepared. Theseus moves his lips against your own, and it takes everything in you to push against his shoulders. “Easy tiger, we’ve got a dinner to attend,” you whisper. Your breathes intermingle with his own as he stands against you, heavily exhaling, trying to pull himself together. Finally Theseus raises his hands to his hair, readjusting his curls back to normal. He has a lingering irritated look on his face so you ask, “Theseus what’s wrong?” Turning to you, Theseus looks at you lovingly before saying, “Next event you’re coming as my date. I couldn’t stand to watch Yaxley shamelessly flirt with you. It’s torture.” You grin stupidly and reply, “I’d love that. To come as your date.” Theseus stares at you in awe and decides right then that he’s going to make the jump. “No, not as my date. My girlfriend. Will you be my girlfriend, please?” he asks decisively. Theseus barely has a chance to catch you in his arms as you squeak, “Yes! Yes! Of course I’ll be your girlfriend!” Theseus lets you pepper him with kisses, laughing at your overload of affection. Reluctantly he says, “They’ll notice us missing at dinner.” You nod. “You first,” Theseus pushes you out the door.

Sitting at the dinner table, you notice Theseus’s name tag next to your spot. Playing dumb you ask a ministry employee seated near you , “Where is Theseus?” “I’m not sure, I haven’t seen him yet,” the man replies. Tina coughs loudly and you look at her, raising your eyebrows. She makes a move, readjusting the strap of her gown, hinting that you should do the same. Looking down, you bite back a gasp as you cover up one of Theseus’s bite marks on your shoulder blade. “Thanks,” you mouth to her. She nods, suppressing a giggle. Newt looks at you with bug eyes in disbelief that you would be so careless. Before you can attempt to mouth an explanation, Theseus enters and sits down next to you. Throughout dinner he is quiet, overcompensating to try to cover up the fact that he just groped you in the minister’s house.

After dinner is long over, Theseus asks you to dance. Smiling, you let him lead you to the dance floor. Your feelings for each other now clear, he doesn’t hesitate to hold you close to him, cradling you against his chest. “I could dance with you forever,” you sigh into his chest. Theseus murmurs into your hair, “I could too. I’d love nothing more than to hold you in my arms forever.” You smile into his chest at his confession. After a moment you look up into those familiar blue eyes and ask, “Thes, when we do come out as a couple, what will people say? I don’t want to ruin your reputation.” Theseus chuckles, “They’ll say lots of things. Probably that I’m a cradle robbing pervert. But for once I don’t care. I don’t think I could imagine my life without you.” You struggle to hold back tears at his sweet statement. Theseus went from worrying about what people would say about the two of you being friends, to wanting you on his arm at the next party as his partner, regardless of how it would look.

The night is soon over and you timedly ask, “Want to come over for some tea?” Theseus nods. Grabbing your coat, you smile at the eldest Scamander brother and take his hand, holding it for a moment .Sighing, you lean against his shoulder as Theseus presses a kiss to the top of your head. Then you disapparate. In your absence stands a seething Yaxley, muttering dozens of curses under his breath at the affection that you and Theseus seemed to share for each other. “Son of a bitch,” he grist through clenched teeth, soon leaving the party himself.

Newt and Tina are almost all too eager to leave the two of you alone, rushing down to the basement for some fun of their own. Theseus hangs up his coat and sits on the couch, patting the spot next to him. You tell him, “Theseus I know you love this dress, but I’ve got to get out of it and into something comfier. I’ll be back in a moment.” He gives you a fake pout as you walk away to your bedroom. You hiss in pain as you take off your tight heels, kicking them under your bed. Shimmying out of your dress, you put your striped pajamas on. Finally, you remove your earrings and let your hair down, the only remnants of the night being your makeup.

You smile at Theseus on the couch and curl up under his arm. “I had a great time,” you whisper. “Me too,” you can hear the grin in his voice. Laughing, you recall, “You left a bite mark on my shoulder.” Theseus stutters, “I may have gotten a little carried away.” Laying your head in his lap, you look up at Theseus, admiring all his features. “You’re so handsome,” you state, running a finger along his jawline. He laughs, leaning into your touch. You yawn sleepily, and you gradually fall asleep gazing at Theseus.

Waking up the next morning, you feel a rush of confusion as you found yourself on the couch, not in your bed. Blinking your eyes open, you see Theseus’s arms around you and realize the two of you were curled up on Newt’s couch. You sit up on your elbows, looking around at the clock. It was 11 am. “Theseus wake up,” you hissed in his ear. He groans, slowly opening his eyes. “What time is it?” he asks groggily. “11 am,” you answer, waiting for his inevitable shock. “I’m late for work!” he shouts, jumping up immediately. You laugh at his reaction. He rushes to the door and then stops when he realizes he hasn’t said goodbye to you. “See you later silly,” you giggle, kissing him sweetly. He smiles, “Goodbye beautiful,” as he rushes out the door and to the ministry.

Not long after Theseus leaves Newt comes traipsing up the stairs and over to you. “What is it Newt?” you ask at the curious look on his face. He responds, “Mr. Virgil wants to meet with us about our upcoming journey. I think he knows when he wants us to go.” “Oh,” is all you can manage. After everything with Theseus, the last thing you wanted to do was leave England. “He wants to meet at 11:30,” Newt adds. “Oh let me go change, be right back,” you respond, rushing off to change out of your pajamas.

Ten minutes later you depart with Newt, clad in a navy blue pantsuit with your white button up underneath your blazer. Entering Obscurus Books, you go to Mr. Virgil’s office. Before you enter, you grab Newt’s hand nervously and ask, “Do you know when he wants us to leave?” Newt gulps, “I have a hunch.” You groan sarcastically, “Great.” Knocking on the door, Mr. Virgil calls for you to enter. “Ahhh my two favorite Magizoologists, please have a seat,” he says. You and Newt sit across from him at his desk. Mr. Virgil begins, “Now I know I’ve gouged you for as many sketches as I can. I want some new material now, so I won’t beat around the bush. I want the two of you to leave right away for your Eastern Asia expedition!” Newt smiles broadly as you ask, “What do you mean right away?” Mr. Virgil responds, “Yes with the holidays coming up I realize the timing is rather inconvenient. I also the impact the two of you are making at ministry events, so of course you must attend the Christmas ball. But you’ll leave on the 1st of the new year!” You nod and manage a small, “Of course.” “Well kids that’s all I have for you. Enjoy your holidays and I’ll see you at the Minister’s Christmas eve ball next week!” he shoos you out of his office. The whole way home you’re silent, your mind floods with worries.

Later that night in the case Newt breaks the silence, “What gives?” You nearly sob out your answer, “Newt! Theseus just asked me to be his girlfriend, he’s finally letting himself be happy and now we have to leave!” “It’s only for three months,” Newt sets a reassuring hand on your back. “Three months,” you choke on your words, “But at the worst time imaginable. I don’t want to leave him.” Newt hugs you, rubbing comforting circles across your back. “I know how you feel,” Newt whispers, “I don’t want to leave Tina either. But this is the opportunity we’ve been looking for.” “I know,” you croak. You stand in Newt’s arms, letting him comfort you. Eventually you ask, “How am I supposed to tell him?” Newt walks over to his desk, and you follow. “I don’t know,” Newt confesses. “Don’t know what?” Tina walks in. You immediately panic and turn to Newt, wordlessly asking him what you should do. Apparently Tina caught on and breathes softly, “You’re leaving aren’t you?” Slowly, you nod. “When?” her voice cracks. “January 1st,” Newt whispers. “Oh god,” Tina gasps. Newt looks at his girlfriend and says, “Tina I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it to be this soon.” She says nothing, but rather she falls into Newt’s arms, softly whimpering. You let them be and walk back up the stairs, giving them a moment.

The next three days you avoid Theseus completely, which he doesn’t appreciate. So one day, around 9 pm, you sat in the basement, pouring over sketches, when you hear footsteps bounding down the stairs. “Newt don’t worry I ate,” you stop your sentence when you look up and see Theseus standing in front of you, breathless. “Thes, I….” your voice trails off, you’re not sure what to say. “Why are you avoiding me?” he asks, the pain evident in his voice. Your voice trembles, “I’m sorry Thes, I really am. I just, I didn’t know how to tell you.” Immediately concerned, Theseus grabs your hands and searches your gaze. “Tell me what y/n?” he asks hurriedly. You avoid his gaze, sputtering, “Newt and I are supposed to leave for our new set of research on January 1st.” “Oh,” he says pained. You look up into his emotional blue eyes, and brushed a hand against his soft cheek. He covers your hand with his own and asks, “How long?” You sigh, “Three months.” Theseus’s face falls, tears threatening to spill over his eyelids. “We can do this,” you try to reassure him. He agrees, “I know we can. But I really don’t like being away from you. You’re kind of special to me.” Instead of replying, you stand on your tiptoes, grabbing Theseus’s cheeks and kiss him passionately, pouring all your emotion into the kiss. The kiss soon grows salty, the tears from both of you mixing on the surface of your lips.

The kiss deepens, and Theseus lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. Theseus carries you over to the green pasture where you first kissed and lays you down gently. Theseus looks to you for permission to continue. You nod, letting out a fluttering sigh as Theseus begins to worship every inch of your skin with his lips. Your mind empties of all thought as Theseus makes love to you. And afterwards, you lay in his arms, overcome with love for this man. Turning to face him you whisper, “Theseus, I want to tell you something.” “What’s that?” he mumbled tiredly. “I don’t want you to feel pressure to say it back, but I want you to know this,” you continue. Theseus raises his eyebrows in question at you. “Theseus, I love you,” you tell him, brushing a curl away from his forehead. He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes combing over you wildly. “I love you too,” he blurts out. Your face breaks out into a huge grin, “Really?” Theseus kisses you briefly, replying, “Really. Really I do.” “It’s gonna be so hard to leave,” you groan in frustration. Theseus nods, kissing you on the nose. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back,” Theseus tells you. “Good,” you reply, kissing him again.

The rest of the week before the ball, Theseus was over constantly whenever he wasn’t at work. The four of you lived in harmony, Theseus and Tina suppressing their sadness of you and Newt leaving. The day of the ball was here and you and Tina pushed Newt and Theseus out. “You can’t watch us get ready!” you laugh, pushing the two men from your bedroom. Theseus pouts at you. “Don’t give me that puppy dog look,” you playfully frown at Theseus. “Fine,” he groans, turning away and shutting the door.

You helped Tina with her hair, delicately pinning it to the side near her shoulder in a low bun. You put gold eyeshadow on her, as well as blush and a deep red lipstick. The dresses you wore were a surprise, they were matching. Each dress had a sweetheart neckline with off the shoulder long sleeves that flowed down in drips of sheer fabric. The rest of the dresses were made of elegant satin with large skirts that billowed around you, the various tulle layers underneath the satin propping the skirts up. Tina’s was navy blue, yours was emerald green. You did your makeup the same way as Tina’s and pinned your hair into a low side bun as well. Putting in your pearl earrings, you slipped into your nude heels, and declared yourself ready.

When the two of you walked out of your bedroom, Newt and Theseus had no words. “Say something won’t you?” you asked Theseus anxiously. Theseus manages to put a phrase together, “My god you look beautiful.” Newt plants an adoring kiss on Tina’s cheek. “Ready?” Theseus offers you his arm. “For anything,” you respond brightly, hooking your arm in his. The four of you depart for the Christmas eve ball.

When you entered the ball on Theseus’s arm, all eyes are on you. “Thes I’m nervous,” you whisper to your boyfriend. He chuckles lightly before he presses a kiss to the side of your head saying, “You can do this.” The first man to approach is none other than the minister himself. “Theseus my boy, I saw you arrive with Ms. l/n, I must say the two of you look quite good together,” he smiles. Theseus responds politely, “Thank you minister. I’ve actually brought y/n as my date tonight.” The minister’s eyes light up as he responds, “Does this mean you’ve struck up a courtship?” Laughing, you answer, “Yes Minister. Theseus and I are dating.” The minister claps Theseus on the back and exclaims, “Well done my boy! Well done! You two look marvelous together I do hope to see her at more auror events!” You smile, “Of course minister.” He soon departs. Across the room, Yaxley approaches, fuming. Plastering a fake smile to his face, Yaxley asks, “Can the rumors be true? Has the older Scamander brother begun dating his younger brother’s assistant?” Before you can respond, Theseus does for you, “Yes, it’s true. I’m quite happy with my y/n, she’s a marvel.” Your brow furrows at hearing Theseus call you ‘his’. Then you notice how Yaxley is looking at you and immediately understand why. Yaxley was mentally undressing you with his eyes and you swallowed your disgust. Turning to look at your beloved, you smile up at him and say, “I’m quite happy to be with Theseus as well. He’s the kindest man I know.” Yaxley manages a, “How nice for you,” and storms off. Now facing Theseus, you grin broadly at him and say, “It could have gone worse.” He nods, agreeing with you. “It feels so nice to be able to kiss you in public,” Theseus adds, planting a small kiss on your lips. Grinning at him you reply, “Yes that’s always nice.”

You and Theseus were questioned throughout dinner, about your relationship. Theseus graciously fielded all the questions for you as you sat next to him smiling. And when dinner was over, Theseus sweeps you onto the dance floor, showing you off like a beautiful flower. During a tender ballad he holds you tightly against him, fighting back his emotions. “I love you,” you murmur into his chest. “I love you too beautiful,” Theseus responds, tilting your chin up and kissing you deeply. Staring into the blue eyes of the only man you’d ever love, you sigh, “I wish I didn’t have to go.” Theseus looks at you thoughtfully, before brushing a strand of hair that got loose behind your ear. “This is a great opportunity for you and Newt, y/n. You have to go. I’ll still be here when you get back, waiting with open arms,” he tells you firmly. “But what if… what if something happens to you?” you let slip your worst fear. Theseus looks at you sadly, realizing just how scared you were. He reassures you, “Hey, hey, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be right here when you get back. Nothing’s gonna happen to me.” A tear spills onto your cheek and Theseus wipes it gently away. “When I come back,” your voice falters, “When I come back from Newt and I’s trip, I want to spend the rest of my days with you, by your side.” Theseus audibly gulps, “I want that too.” You gently smile at him and ask, “Is that something you’re ready for Thes?” In that moment, in his heart, Theseus had never been more sure of anything in his life. “I don’t want a life without you in it. I want you by my side always,” he replies firmly. You stare at Theseus, longing in your eyes. “Can we go now?” your voice is barely audible. Theseus nods, saying, “I’ll get your coat.” When he leaves, you go to find Newt. Tapping him on the shoulder you say, “Newt, I think I’m going to spend the night at Theseus’s. I just need some time with him. I’ll be home before we’re supposed to leave.” Newt smiles and replies, “Of course. Try to be excited y/n. It’s not everyday you get to go on an all expenses paid research trip with your best friend.” You smile softly, “Okay Newt, I’ll try. See you later.” Returning to Theseus, you let him envelope you in his arms and disapparate you to his home.

What was meant to be one night at Theseus’s ended up being nearly a week. Surprisingly, Theseus took the whole week off of work, instead choosing to spend his days laughing with you, crying with you, and making love to you. Theseus returned to Newt’s with you the day of your departure for your trip. Waiting in the living room for Newt to finish explaining to Tina all the treatment his creatures in the basement needed, you looked at Theseus sadly. He sees you studying with him and walks over, wrapping his arms around you. “It’ll be okay y/n. I told you, I’m gonna be here waiting for you when you get back. I’m already counting the days until you return.” Brushing an auburn coil of hair from his forehead you tell him, “I love you Theseus Scamander.” Theseus smiles down at you and responds, “I love you too y/n l/n.” Newt and Tina emerge from the basement, and noticeably, a tearful goodbye. “I love you Newt,” Tina whispers to him. “And I love you Tina Goldstein,” Newt kisses her on the forehead. Newt approaches you and his brother and says, “We’ll try to write when we can.” Tina and Theseus nod. In a last moment of weakness, you throw yourself into Theseus’s arms, kissing him with everything in you. He returns the kiss just as desperately, his insides falling apart at the idea of you leaving for three months. “I love you,” the two of you breathe together. Separating from your love, you take your spot beside Newt and take your friend’s hand. “Be safe,” Tina advises, the worry in her voice clear. You and Newt nod wordlessly. “See you in April,” Newt says, looking at his brother and his girlfriend. Before you disapparate, you let yourself take one last look at Theseus, drinking him in. Then you and Newt are gone.

7 weeks later, Somewhere in the East Asian rainforest

Sitting in Newt’s shed in the case, you smiled, rereading the letter Theseus sent you a few days ago.

My dearest y/n,

I miss you more than words can convey. In your absence, I feel how empty my life is without you. I can’t let another day go by without knowing that you’ll spend your life by my side. Assuming you feel as strongly, y/n, I intend to marry you the day you come back to London. I can’t wait anymore. I want you to be my wife. Take this ring so you remember what we’re fighting for. Hope the research is going well. Stay safe. I love you.

Your fiance,

-Theseus

Glancing away from the letter, you smiled at the glittering sapphire ring that sparkled on your finger. It was risky, sure, but Theseus sent the ring with the letter, wanting it on your finger right away. It was perfect and you couldn’t wait to finish up your research with Newt and return to your waiting fiance. Speaking of Newt, he entered the shed, a grave look on his face. “Newt what is it?” you ask immediately, stepping up to him. He looked like a ghost. He gulps and looks up at you, pausing before saying, “It’s Theseus. He’s gone missing.” Blood rushes in your ears and you’re sure you heard him wrong. “What?” you ask, your heart suddenly pumping very loudly. “Theseus is gone,” Newt repeats. The letter in your hand flutters to the ground and your blood curdling scream fills the night air.

To be continued

#theseus scamander #theseus imagine #theseus x reader #fbcog #newtina #newt x tina #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander imagine

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commander-passiflora · 4 years

Text

Miscommunication

Day 2 of Valentine’s fic week! Today’s prompt is Memorable Dates, so this is kind of a brief history of Toril’s relationship with Erlend, who eventually becomes her husband, but this is like. Early early days kinda thing. This is like awkward baby Toril though, before she was all confidence and swagger. It was really fun to play with that part of her history!!

Again, this is also posted on ao3, so here’s a link for that for anyone who prefers. Thanks for reading! <3

“Hi, um, is this--sorry, I’ve never been to Lion’s Arch before. I’m looking for a blacksmith?”

Erlend sighed from his place behind the counter. Normally at this time of day, he’d have someone else watch for customers while he tended the forge, but right now he was working on a design for a rather expensive axe someone had commissioned, so he had the distinct pleasure of fielding stupid questions from random LA tourists.

“Well, I’m a blacksmith, and this is my shop, but--” he said, turning to face the woman.

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

She was large, tall even for a norn, with silver hair down to the small of her back, held neatly in a braid. She didn’t fit in with the tourist crowd in the slightest--this was a woman on a mission, that he could be certain of. She was clad in heavy, bulky combat armor, with a shabby iron sword strapped to either hip, and her eyes held...something. Something he couldn’t put words to. A power.

“But…?” the woman echoed as he stared at her, wide-eyed.

“But...it’s very dependent on what kind of services you’re looking for,” Erlend said, shaking his head to bring him back to reality. “My prices are a bit steep for the average adventurer.”

“Ah, well, it’s a good thing I’m not the average adventurer then,” she said with a smile that he could’ve sworn stopped his heart for a second or two. “You wouldn’t happen to be Erlend Holgerson?”

“That’d be me,” he said. “I take it you’re here to commission something, then, if you’re seeking me out specifically.”

“That I am,” the woman said, reaching out a hand for him to shake. “Name’s Toril. Tainesdottir. I saw you eyeing my swords, and that is exactly why I’m here. They’re terrible. I need better ones.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Toril Tainesdottir. I’d be happy to help you out, but I have to warn you, it’ll be a few months before I can get to work on any new commissions.”

“I’m willing to wait,” Toril said. “I want the best, and everyone says that’s you. These swords are going to see quite a bit of use; I want something that’ll last.”

“Is that so?” Erlend inquired.

“Yeah, um, I was just recruited to the Vigil. About two weeks ago now, I guess, and my first official mission is soon, so I want to go in ready for whatever they throw at me. Make a good impression, climb the ladder, you know?”

“Sure, but like I said, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to get them done with such a quick turnaround.”

“I understand,” she said. “That’s not what--I mean, joining was what made me want to get--but I--you know what? I am making a terrible first impression here. You must think I’m an idiot.”

“Not at all. I try not to make a point of judging customers in general,” he said, “but honestly, you’re a refreshing change from my usual crowd.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, I became a weaponsmith because I wanted to make weapons, but once you have enough of a reputation, you start getting inundated with orders from rich snobs who want showpieces. It’s a pleasure to have a proper fighter seek me out.”

“Well, I promise your work will see plenty of fights in my hands. I’m going to be a legend, you know,” Toril said.

Erlend laughed heartily.

“I believe it,” he said. “Well, I can go ahead and get started on a design for you, even if it’ll be awhile before I can really get working on it. You have some time to talk shop?”

“Sure, but could we do it over lunch? I’m starved.”

***

“So you’re a revenant?” Erlend said, taking a sip of ale. “I’ve never met a revenant before. I’ve heard of them, o’course, but I sort of thought they were just a tall tale.”

“Well, we’re certainly not a common bunch,” Toril laughed, “but we exist. In my case, I ended up in the Mists because of Bear, and she was the one who set me on the path. I’ve heard all sorts of stories, though, of how other people got started on theirs.”

“What, do you have meet ups or something?” he joked.

“Not exactly, but since there’s so few of us, sometimes we seek each other out to train and swap tips. Personally, I’m a bit more of a ‘figure it out as I go’ type, but I’ve helped out a couple kids who were just getting used to it after an accidental foray into the Mists. It’s hard to cope with. Changes you.”

“Well, I’d love to hear more about it,” Erlend said, “but let’s focus on the swords for now, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, of course, absolutely. Maybe I can tell you about it another time,” she said, and Erlend felt his heart flutter. “What do you need to know to get started?”

“Well, for one thing, what’s your budget look like?”

Toril chuckled and said, “How about you tell me what you think it’ll cost when all is said and done, and I’ll deal with it? Your work is the best. I’ve been saving for months to commission you.”

“Ah, that’s--you’re too kind.”

“No, seriously,” Toril said. “I’ve been planning this for a while.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Mhm. Everything really kicked off for me about a year ago, when I won the Great Hunt by slaying Issormir. After that, I was lucky enough to have Eir Stegalkin take me under her wing, and she recommended that once I was able, I come to you. Been saving every bit of spare change since then.”

“You’re Eir Stegalkin’s new protege?” Erlend asked, eyes wide. “I’ve heard so many great stories, but I never--wow, it’s--it’s an honor.”

“No, no, don’t do that, please. You’re the first norn I’ve met in ages to not lose it when they heard my name.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I can understand that. I’ll let it go, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me your version of some of those stories yourself.”

She smiled, radiant and genuine and world-spinning.

“I’d like that.”

***

A week later and Erlend was meeting her at a practice field on the edge of the city. Turns out, it’s a bit hard to design weapons for a combat style you’ve never seen, and Toril agreed to give a demonstration. He was nervous, honestly, his stomach full of butterflies. Something about her was just...captivating.

“So the basics of how revenants fight are pretty out there,” Toril explained. “We, um, channel energy from the Mists, and it allows us to use a wide variety of skills.”

“So you use Mist energy to improve your combat abilities?”

“It’s...more than that. I channel specific people. Or beings, I guess. Their spirits. And they allow me to use their knowledge and strengths and skills to improve my own abilities in combat. Or, well, they don’t all allow it, per se.” She chuckled. “Sometimes it’s more that I just strongarm them into it.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I understand,” Erlend admitted. “Can you just show me?”

“I can certainly try,” she said. “Be prepared, though. I’ve had some people tell me it’s a little...disturbing.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just shrugged and gestured toward a practice dummy. She smiled at him, winked (he thought he might faint at that), and then closed her eyes and drew her swords. When she opened them, they were glowing with a bright blue fire. It was like nothing he’d ever seen.

The same blue flames licked her wrists as she shadowstepped to a target and sliced it in half with a quick motion, sending sand spilling to the ground. She turned, raised a hand as if calling something down, and a moment later, a brick road--or magic shaped to look like one, anyway--was materializing before her, crushing three of the dummies as it went. She turned to another--the last one, now--and shadowstepped to it, before darting in and out of the Mists, delivering quick strikes faster than he could keep up with. When she stopped moving, she crossed her swords and conjured a chain, sending it flying to wrap around the target. Raising her hand again, she called down--he wasn’t sure he could describe it. It looked like the spirit of a dragon, but that was--that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

It must have been real enough, because when it beat its wings it sent the target flying across the field. After a moment, Toril turned to him, panting, and sheathed her swords with a grin. He watched with fascination as the fire slowly disappeared from her eyes.

“Yeah, I--sorry. I know it’s a little much,” she said, looking down as she approached him.

“No--I--that--” Erlend stammered. He took a deep breath, collected himself, tried again. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. You’re incredible.”

“Oh, um, thanks. I, uh...I’m not used to compliments. Most people seem really creeped out by revenants.”

“People tend to fear things they don’t understand,” Erlend says. “Me, I’ve always liked a good mystery.”

Toril raised a single eyebrow, and for one tense moment, the smith thought he may have overstepped, until her rough facade gave way to a tender smile.

***

They met up a few more times, here and there. It was always at her invitation and under the guise of talking about the swords, about Toril’s combat skills, about what it’s like to be an oddity, what it’s like to forge a legend--anything that could be dismissed as strictly business. Erlend thought that was all it was, really. Business. She was fascinating and wild and dangerous and beautiful, and he was a smith born and raised in Lion’s Arch and distanced from his own culture for so long that every time it came up with Shiverpeaks natives he learned something new.

This time, she’d asked him to dinner, and how on Tyria could he say no to that?

Toril told him about her first mission with the Vigil--a resounding success, of course--and about her mentor, a stern norn Warmaster who had made a point of keeping her ego in check. He told her about some rich bastard who’d stumbled drunk into his shop and demanded Erlend make him a fine greatsword within the fortnight.

“So hey,” Toril said at one point, a little serious to fit within the laughter they’d been sharing, “I wanted to, uh, talk to you about something.”

“About what?” Erlend asked, just a touch nervous.

“Oh it’s--it’s nothing bad!” Toril assured. “I don’t mean to make you worried, it’s just that--well, with where this seems to be going, and seeing as I really, really like you, I think you should probably know that, um, well...I have a girlfriend?”

“You have a girlfriend?” Erlend parroted.

“Yeah, well, see, we have this, uh, arrangement, I guess you could say. We both have other partners. Or, well, can. She’s the only one I have currently. Unless, y’know…”

“I, um--forgive me, please,” Erlend said, “but is there--is there a particular reason you feel I should know this?”

“Oh, um, were you not…? Like, I thought you were maybe interested in me, and I’m more than a little interested in you, and...you know…”

“Are you--has this--have we been going on dates?” Erlend babbled.

“Haven’t we been?” Toril answered, now just as confused.

“I thought this was--I didn’t think you were--I didn’t want to presume anything, but well, you’re so--and just--”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Toril said, holding up a hand in an attempt to calm him, “it’s alright, Erlend. Stuff like this happens. Miscommunication and all. I’ve been asking to see you because I like you. I think you’re sweet, and you understand me, and you have this grounding sort of energy about you that I can’t seem to stay away from. I thought I had communicated that, but I suppose not well enough.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Well, y’see, you walked into my shop and I--” Erlend tried, took a deep breath, started again. “When I saw you, I think my heart stopped for a minute. You’re absolutely, stunningly gorgeous, and funny, and a badass, and just absolutely otherworldly, but I don’t go after customers. It’s rude. I’m not the type for that, bothering a lady just trying to buy a weapon. Too many other assholes out there who like to do that sort of thing. If someone makes the first move, well, I’m not opposed, but...I enjoy spending time with you, but I just assumed someone like you wouldn’t really be interested in...well, me.”

“Why on Tyria would you assume that?” Toril asked.

“Your life is so...I don’t know. Interesting? I’m just me, and you’re, well, you.”

She reached a hand across the table, placing it over one of his that had been fidgeting nervously with the wood.

“Didn’t you hear the part where I said I like you?” she asked with a gentle smile.

“It may have gotten a bit lost in there somewhere,” Erlend admitted.

Toril chuckled and lifted his hand, holding it in both of hers.

“Every bit of time I’ve spent with you, I’ve enjoyed,” she said. “And I’d like to spend more time with you, if you’d like to spend more time with me.”

“I...yeah. I’d like that, too,” the smith said, nodding awkwardly. After a long pause, he added, “So what do we do now?”

“Well,” Toril said, smiling brightly, “how do you feel about ice cream?”

#gw2 #gw2 fanfiction #tyriaslibrary event #valentine's fic week 2020 #fanfic #my fic #verse: toril #toril dragonslayer #erlend holgerson

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lajulie24 · 5 years

Text

The end

You didn’t think I was going to let the last official Scoundress Saturday go without any fic, did you? This turned out a bit silly, but I thought we could have a little fun with post-ROTJ Han and Leia. Also, to be clear, I still have plans for many other Han and Leia fics in the works (some of which were started or continued thanks to Scoundress Saturday), so this is far from the end of writing or posting. Thanks, all, for the wonderful support that has made writing these things each week so much fun.

Leia strode into the apartment, a bit later than her estimate, but well within the time Han had figured into his calculations for dinner.

“Would’ve been earlier,” she said, after kissing him and accepting a glass of Corellian red, “but I had to lose some old friends.”

Old friends used to mean Imperials or bounty hunters; now it meant the paparazzi, who had evidently decided that Leia and Han were much more interesting than they actually were. No less relentless, but at least they were slightly less likely to try to kill you. Unless it would make a good story, Han thought wryly.

“’S okay,” Han said. “Almost ready. How’s your day?” He finished cutting a selection of cured meats and cheeses, offering the plate to Leia.

“Fine,” Leia said, tearing off a hunk of bread and adding a slice of cheese to it. “Met with the Bothan delegation. Your good and close friend Borsk was not there,” she noted at Han’s raised eyebrow.

“Ah, so actually had a prayer of gettin’ something done,” Han said. Borsk Fey’yla, though a valuable asset to the Rebellion, was proving to be something of a perpetual stumbling block as the New Republic worked to move the galaxy from war to governance.

Leia laughed, taking another sip of wine. “A prayer, yes. Actually, it wasn’t that bad. How about you?”

Just then, the timer for the meat rang, and Han went to take it out of the oven. “Oh, y’know. The usual. Oh, yeah,” he said, placing the pan on the counter and then turning to her with a deadly serious look, “almost forgot. It’s over. We’re splitting up.”

“Again?” Leia asked mildly. “Too bad. What’d you do this time?”

“Oh, no, this time I’m leaving you,” he said smugly.

Leia sighed and took another sip of wine. “Well, I guess I can’t hide my baby bump from you forever. You have one really good Crathulian meal—” She shook her head. “Whose love child am I having now?”

“Wedge’s,” Han said. “Apparently I am real pissed off.”

“I can’t imagine Luke is very happy about it either,” she said. “Do you think that will make dinner awkward? Where the hells are they, anyway?”

“Eh,” Han shrugged as he tested the temperature of the meat. “You know the kid. He’s on Jedi time. Just Force-comm him.”

Leia made a face. “He hates it when I do that to remind him he’s late,” she reminded Han. “And then he gets all bitchy with me in my head.”

Luke and Wedge showed up without a reminder just after the meat had finished resting, and after a lively dinner—including ample banter about Leia’s and Wedge’s paparazzi-imagined affair—they settled down in the living room for what promised to be some intriguing after-dinner entertainment.

One of Leia’s secret pleasures was watching the collection of holofilm biopics and television series purporting to portray her friends in the Rebellion—The Courtship of Princess Leia, The Life Day Special, Jedi Ewok Princess, the Last Jedi—and she’d recently converted not only Han but also Wedge and, begrudgingly, Luke to this particular pastime. Their latest viewing party had been a rewatch of Jedi Ewok Princess, which had some of the worst production values they had ever seen (“I think they just bought a few houseplants and called it Endor,” Wedge had noted incredulously) as well as some entertaining dialogue.

Tonight’s selection was a rare feature, a bootleg copy of which was obtained not by the former smuggler in the group, but by Luke. Well, technically, by R2D2, but with Luke’s help.

“You owe me,” Luke said gravely as he handed over the disc. “Big time. Do you even know how many porn versions of your relationship are out there?”

Leia turned to Han. “Eight? Nine?”

“Nine,” Han said with confidence.

“Thirteen,” Luke corrected. “And Artoo downloaded them all when he was looking for this show.” He shuddered slightly.

“Huh, some new ones,” Han said. “Maybe they got a new guy to play me. That other guy was way too short.”

“Don’t think that was the dimension they were casting for,” Leia said dryly.

Wedge, who had started laughing quietly at this exchange a few minutes ago, fell over on the couch, no longer able to hold it in. “Just start it,” he said. “I wanna see how bad it is.”

The new show was called Days of our Rebellion, and it was a limited holoseries purporting to tell “the true stories of the lives and loves of the heroes of the Rebel Alliance.” It was supposed to have come out six months ago already, but apparently the network airing it was still skittish about releasing something that could cast the current political leadership in an unfavorable light, likely based on the memory of Palpatine’s frequent crackdowns on such things. But never estimate the power of an astromech droid to help them snag their very own copy of the series.

“Okay, this looks promising,” Wedge said as the opening credits began. “Obviously not a houseplants in Endor production situation here.”

The Luke was an up-and-coming actor who had recently been cast in a superhero movie, and he actually sort of looked like Luke. “Or Luke’s younger brother,” Han joked, as Luke elbowed him in the ribs.

“Aw, my baby daddy made the credits,” Leia said, as the actor playing Wedge showed up on screen. Wedge had gotten written out of The Courtship of Princess Leia with the exception of some generic fight scenes, and wasn’t even named in some of the other holos.

Leia’s double was an actress who had played a Padmé Amidala-like senator in another miniseries. “Oh, she’s good,” said Wedge.

They kept showing the Han actor in wide-angle shots, and when they finally showed him in a close-up both Leia and Luke gasped.

“That’s not—“ Han said.

“Go back and freeze-frame,” Leia directed, and when Han did, Luke was the one who collapsed with laughter this time.

“Oh my goddess that’s Porn Han. They cast Porn Han!” Leia exclaimed.

“Naw, they wouldn’t—“ Han began to insist.

“They did,” Leia said again.

“You’re right, he is way too short. He doesn’t really look like you, except that he’s wearing your outfit,” Wedge pointed out. “And there’s a Wookiee with him. Did they get real Wookiee actors?”

“Yeah,” Han confirmed. “Wouldn’t give ‘em the rights if they didn’t.”

The first episode opened on Yavin, but spent all of five minutes there before moving to a familiar-looking winter landscape.

“We’re going to Hoth already?” Luke asked.

The designers had managed to make a pretty convincing set that really did remind Han of Hoth, He shivered a little to think of it.

Porn Han and Not-Senator-Amidala were having an argument in the hallway, as personnel squeezed past them on their way somewhere else.

“Ha, look at all those people just walking by while we argue,” Han said, laughing.

“I know,” Leia said. “Right in the hallway! ‘Don’t mind us, we’re just going to have incredible amounts of sexual tension while you try to go about your daily lives,’” she continued.

Luke and Wedge exchanged a look. Oblivious to the end, these two.

“Releasing tension, huh. I think that’s what Porn Han is for,“ Wedge quipped.

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #hanleia #star wars #myfic #han solo #leia organa #luke skywalker #wedge antilles #luke x wedge #the gffa paparazzi

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thearkhound · 5 years

Text

1998 Metal Gear Solid art commentary from Yoji Shinkawa (revised translation)

Source:http://web.archive.org/web/20050109031649/http://www.konamijpn.com:80/products/metalgear/art/index.html

The following is a translation of various artwork commentary by Metal Gear Solid illustrator Yoji Shinkawa that were posted on the game’s official Japanese website on July 9, 1998. These pages remained online until 2008, when Konami decided to relaunch the website in order to promote the digital download release of the game on the PlayStation Store.

I posted an earlier translation of these blog posts on March 8 of this year (2019) that was missing most of the illustrations being described, since the image files were not archived. I’ve since found the missing image files on another website and took the liberty of revising my translation to fix mistakes or clarify certain statements. I’ve tried to edit the original blog post, but for some reason tumblr didn’t allow me to upload any new images, so I decided to delete it and post the revision as a new blog post.

I’ve also found the images of the scratch Metal Gear REX model sculpted by Yoji Shinkawa that were uploaded on the official site, but unfortunately they were watermarked by a fansite that copied them back in the day. With that said, it’s still better than nothing, so I added them at the end of this blog poster.

Unfortunately, I still haven’t found any of the photos used on the seventh blog post, so that will still remain untranslated for the time being.

Interviewer: First of all, it’s a pleasure to talk to you Mr. Shinkawa.

Shinkawa: Please to meet you too.

Interviewer: I’ll start by asking about the game’s protagonist Solid Snake. What kind of details were you paying attention to when designing his character.

Shinkawa: Well I talked about this before in Konami Magazine Vol. 2, but there were two Metal Gear games prior to this one, so I struggled to find a balance between them. The Snake in the original Metal Gear looked like a young musclebound guy, while in Metal Gear 2 he was more of a bitter middle-aged man. This time Mr. Kojima’s image of Snake was one of having a tough and athletic body like Jean-Claude Van Damme combined with the middle-aged nature of someone like Christopher Walken. As a result, he became something of a middle ground between the two.

Interviewer: I see. What was your work after Snake’s image was decided on?

Shinkawa: The truth is I had trouble designing his costume. At the beginning I was thinking of a conventional military uniform in blue urban camo. But then I thought it might had been a bit too careless to have Snake swim underwater wearing such a uniform. Since the story takes place in the near future, he ended up wearing a costume made of leather and waterproof material.

Interviewer: It’s an amazing attention to detail that you kept in mind Snake’s infiltration route when designing his costume. So there’s a scene where Snake is underwater? What happens if the Ninja lands in a pond or something?

Shinkawa: What would happen? Huh... He would spark up and then yell something like “Water! My weakness!” (laugh) Just kidding.

Interviewer: (laughs) I guess not.

Shinkawa: It’s hard to know when it comes to Mr. Kojima though...

Interviewer: Don’t worry about it. By the way, is there any behind-the-scenes stories about the game’s development.

Shinkawa: Yes. It’s not much of an inside story, but I drew Ninja in a train.

Interviewer: During a train ride?

Shinkawa: Yes, I drew him while riding a commuter train. I was stationed at Osaka at the time. Most of the people there not friendly, so I would spent time observing the college girls.

Interviewer: That’s pretty nice.

Shinkawa:I guess so. But the friendliness here is good though. But Tokyo doesn’t have such a thing, so it feels a bit lonely. How I should say this, but there’s something that could be described as “enjoying the reaction of people watching in my direction” that could be seen not just over there, but here too.

Interviewer: So that’s how you train your sense of observation!

Shinkawa: No, that’s not what I meant. (laughs)

Interviewer: Is there a type of woman that you like?

Shinkawa: I wonder about that.

Interviewer: I’m sorry, that was such a trite question. Let me rephrase that. Is there a particular celebrity that you like?

Shinkawa: I guess I have no choice. My type would be someone like Shinobu Nakayama.

Interviewer: Is that so? Personally I’m a fan of Yuki Uchida if you’re curious to know...

Shinkawa: Yeah, she’s not bad.

Interviewer: Ah!

Shinkawa: Well, let’s put that subject aside. The truth is that the character of Mei-Ling was actually modeled after Nakayama herself. I used to watch her drama series.

Interviewer: Ah! That’s such an interesting thing to learn. Now that you say that, Mei-Ling really does resemble Nakayama looking at her closely, doesn’t she?

Shinkawa: Mei-Ling was written to be a bubbly college girl. She tends heavily to my taste, since she’s in the right age range and has my ideal image.

Interviewer: That’s nice. Having your preferences tied directly to your job.

Shinkawa: It’s not just mine. The character of Dr. Naomi Hunter was made to suit Mr. Kojima’s preferences too.

Interviewer: I see. Huh? At this rate, will you have a type for everyone?

Shinkawa: That wasn’t the intention, but... (laughs)

Interviewer: When was this drawn?

Shinkawa: I think it was around the end of last year. Huh? Around six months ago. Time sure fly quickly! I drew it for a magazine ad.

Interviewer: I heard the Ninja was your idea.

Shinkawa:That’s right. But originally there was a trio. They would say something like “Worya! Trinity Attack!” and they were going to have random kanji characters on their backs such as flame (炎) or horse (馬) without any particular significance.

Interviewer: “Fire” doesn’t seem so unreasonable, but why “horse”?

Shinkawa: I’ve mentioned “horse” as a joke, but that sort of thing happens very often, doesn’t it? When it comes to the image of Japan from a foreign perspective, while the outline is the same, the finer details differ. I like that kind of thing. The finalized design of the Ninja is and isn’t a ninja. If nobody told you he was a ninja, you wouldn’t think of him as one. But if someone points out that he must be a ninja because he has some ninja-like parts if you look at him closely, then you might think of him as one.

Interviewer: Is that so? That’s the Shinkawa magic!

Shinkawa: (laughs) What’s that?

Interviewer: I think I’ve seen this artwork a long time ago.

Shinkawa: It was first published around a year ago.

Interviewer: I see. So why did you draw it like an American comic book?

Shinkawa: Well, in reality I was going for a BD-style. Doesn’t it look like that?

Interviewer: I’m sorry, but what does BD mean?

Shinkawa: It stands for bande dessinée, which is the term for graphic novels in France. It means “sequential art”.

Interviewer: Huh, I did not know. So, is there a particular reason why you chose the BD-style?

Shinkawa: Of course! There is a reason. While talking to Mr. Kojima during the early stages, he said “Alright! Let’s turn Metal Gear into B.D” as a conceptual image. So I drew a few illustrations like that. This one was used as promotional art.

Interviewer: I see. So that’s the reason. And this one was perfect for a promotional artwork. Huh! Why is Gatse Becker [the BCPD chief from Policenauts] there?

Shinkawa: That’s not him. (laughs) It’s the Secretary of Defense [Jim Houseman]... Jeez... (While saying this, Shinkawa’s mouse keeps hovering on Mei-Ling for some reason.)

Interviewer: (nervous face) Uhh... Mei-Ling’s skirt seems awfully short... By the way, will you be able to shake the female characters’ breasts like in Policenauts?

Shinkawa:...That’s classified information!

Interviewer: Well, here’s REX. Is there anything particularly different about this Metal Gear model?

Shinkawa: The Metal Gears in the previous two games had weak legs, so this new version has a strengthened lower body. During the initial planning I came up with several illustrations and settings, but the finalized version was settled pretty quickly.

Interviewer: How so?

Shinkawa: Since it was going to be turned into a polygon model, I made it into an actual model in order to solidify its conceptual image and verify its functions.

Interviewer: Is that so? Please show the model to me.

Shinkawa: Of course! REX was designed purely as a weapon, so it’s not exactly a heroic mecha. I decided on a dinosaur-like design like this one, since it conveyed a scary and grim image.

Shinkawa: There are three types of enemy soldiers shown here. From left to right: we have the light infantry, the heavy infantry and the arctic warfare soldier (nicknamed Yukinko by the developers). There’s also a gas mask-wearing fourth type.

Interviewer: Were you given any sort of references to use?

Shinkawa: I had books and photos that were given to me by Mr. Motosada Mori (MGS’s military advisor).

Interviewer: All the enemy soldiers have their faces covered up. Was that decided because they were terrorists?

Shinkawa: That’s certainly something that could be think of, but there’s actually more important reasons.

Interviewer: Huh? Explain!

Shinkawa: Simply put, we needed to reduce the number of polygons.

Interviewer: Is that really the reason?

Shinkawa: If you want to draw faces on your characters, you have to use quite a few polygons to get them to a satisfactory level, which ends up consuming too much resources. When taking into consideration the game as a whole, you got no choice but to trim certain parts. It’s a shame, but in the end I think the finalized designs suit the enemy soldiers better.

Interviewer: It’s a matter of balancing supply and demand. By the way, I really like the helmet worm by the Heavily Armed Troops. You don’t see them often in the game though.

Shinkawa: Well that helmet is an original design. Like everything, I try to keep things intuitive for game-playing purposes. The enemy soldiers are color-coded from left to right: brown, green and white, plus yellow for the gas mask-wearing soldiers.

Interviewer: There are indeed a variety of schemes. By the way, the arctic warfare soldiers are layered with clothing. Snake spends most of the game in arctic environments, but he isn’t wearing that much. Why is that?

Shinkawa: He’s wearing a high-tech suit.

Interviewer: You said it so bluntly... (laughs) One last nitpicky question. Who does the laundry in the base?

Shinkawa: They use a laundry machine. (laughs)

Metal Gear REX Model Photos

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legobiwan · 5 years

Text

A little post-Zygerria ficlet appears from nowhere! Based off my meta the other day about Obi-wan being down with murder. Rex and Obi-wan, with a short mention of Anakin. As is usual for me, Obi-wan angst mixed with some humor.

Intro here, rest under the cut.

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

*Knock knock knock.*

No answer. Rangir. Rex stretched his neck to one side, then the other. The strip of raw, tender skin beneath his chin protested at the movement. Tucking the datapad in his hand under his arm, Rex reached into his utility belt, pulling out a small, unmarked tube.

“It’ll help,” the General had said, his gaze drifting towards the inflamed, seeping ring around Rex’s neck. “And try to…” Skywalker scanned the hangar, frowning as he spotted the ragged, ash-stained tunics hanging off a barely-upright General Kenobi, who was in the middle of doing damage assessment with Cody and General Koon.

“Nevermind,” Skywalker had muttered, placing a hand on Rex’s shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll send Kix in a little later.”

The cooling balm tingled, radiating from the base of his neck. The clone let out a small sigh of pleasure as the almost-minty sensation traveled through his upper-body, dancing across skin and muscle. It was some kind of miracle stuff, this cream - probably some kind of Jedi secret locked away in that massive tower. Kix had had no idea what the light-pink substance actually was, had never seen anything like it before. Sniffing at the tube, he had finally declared with a dubious look that it seemed to contain some kind of herb native to desert planets, and was definitely not on any official Republic medical supplies list.

Rex didn’t care if it was colored bantha poodoo. The stuff worked, relieving the maddening, near-constant chafe and itch.

“General Kenobi?” Rex called through the door, returning the little tube to his utility belt, rubbing the excess residue on his pants. “Are you there? I have that report.”

And I also have orders from Kix to haul your ass down to medical, at blaster-point, if necessary. Not that Rex thought he was going to have much success on that front.

It had been two days since he and the General had emerged from that hellish caldera on Kadavo, two days since Republic forces had demolished the Zygerrian slave center, sending both the mining facility and a not small number of Zygerrians to a flaming, explosive demise.

Good. Those skanahs deserved nothing less.

Especially considering what they did to the man who was standing on the other side of the now-open door.

“Ah. Good, you’re here. Come in.”

Obi-wan gestured inside, walking over to a desk piled high with teetering stacks of flimsis and datapads. Rex did not comment on the General’s disheveled hair, nor on the way he rubbed at his wrists when he thought Rex wasn’t looking, which were buried under the sleeves of a high-collared, long-sleeved tunic.

Rex took a seat opposite the General, careful not to disturb the arrangement of starmaps near the edge of the desk.

“Back to work already, sir?”

“I don’t think I ever stopped,” Obi-wan replied with a sardonic grin, clearing an empty space in the metropolis of paperwork for two glasses and a bottle of colorless liquid.

“You know, sir, the shirt is not exactly your usual brand of subtlety.“

Obi-wan barked out a laugh, tihaar nearly spilling over the side of the glass with the movement. “Tell Kix I’ll be down sometime before we reach Coruscant.”

“I’ll tell him, but he won’t believe me,” Rex replied, taking the offered glass in hand. “He wanted me to escort you at blaster-point.”

Obi-wan picked up his own drink, eyeing Rex over the rim of his glass. “I’d like to see him - or you - try,” Obi-wan smiled, the barest edge creeping into his voice.

Rex stifled a sigh. Kix was going to be livid - again. But Rex knew that tone in the General’s voice - the one that told you to shove it with a smile and a polite bow. The General would visit medical when he saw fit, or, more likely, when he was being hauled in, unconscious and bleeding.

Not wanting to contemplate Kix’s inevitable tongue-lashing on his return, Rex lifted his glass to meet Obi-wan’s, sharing a silent toast, absent the clinking of glasses, hearty shouts, or bawdy songs that normally accompanied a bottle of the vod’s finest tihaar. It had evolved into a bit of a ritual between him and the General, this quiet acknowledgment of their hardships, of the terrible things they had seen, kriff, had done in the course of a mission.

Obi-wan downed his drink in one go, taking a moment to inspect his empty glass in the harsh fluorescent lighting before returning it to the table with uncharacteristic roughness.

Rex sipped at his own drink in an almost cautious fashion that would have been the butt of a hundred insults had he been with the other vode. But Rex enjoyed the sensation, the feel of the warm fire that spread through his chest, down into his gut.

He was also stalling, trying to pinpoint what, exactly, was wrong with the General.

“It’s nothing, Rex,” Obi-wan croaked, hand floating halfway to his neck. Rex calculated the likelihood of some kind of internal damage of the esophagus due to the combination of smoke inhalation and that damned collar.

“Anyway, that’s not why I asked you here.”

Rex polished off his own glass, setting it down gently between a map of the Sertar System and a series of inventory reports.

“Then what is it, sir?”

Obi-wan folded his hands on the table. “The report. I’d like to take a quick look at it before it’s sent to the Senate.”

“Doubting my grammar, sir?” Rex responded, holding out the datapad for Obi-wan to inspect.

“Never, Rex. I trained that out of you months ago,” Obi-wan replied with a smile, perching the device on his knee.

Rex chuckled at the memory of both he and General Skywalker being hauled in by Obi-wan time and again for “shoddy, nearly unreadable prose.”

“Gentlemen,” Obi-wan had said gravely, “I realize we are fighting a war, but our combat objectives do not extend to the decimation of the Basic dialect.”

It had taken Rex a few instances to realize the General was joking - mostly. But the usual small signs of Obi-wan’s peculiar sense of humor were absent now, the man having taken his chin with one hand, stroking his beard in what the all the vod had come to know as the General’s “thinking pose.”

After a minute, Obi-wan’s hand drifted to his neck, kneading at the area just above the collarbone. The high collar of the tunic prevented Rex from seeing just how bad it had gotten, but if his own experience was anything to go by, the General was probably in a fair amount of pain.

“You know, sir, I’ve got this cream General Skywalker gave me. I thought you might have some if it. Kix calls it the ‘Jedi Bantha Osik Miracle Drug’.”

Obi-wan looked up from the datapad, arching an eyebrow. “An inventive name. But no, what you’re describing is likely Anakin’s personal concoction, and being so, I am certain of both its efficacy and dubious origins.”

Rex peered again at the General. His collar had shifted, revealing a bright red shock near his throat.

“You know, General,” Rex began tentatively, “it might be a Jedi Bullshit Miracle Drug, but it does work.”

Obi-wan frowned, pulling his collar over the exposed wound. “I’ll be fine, Rex.”

“No offense, sir, but that didn’t look fine.”

“It’s not of any consequence,” was the terse response, leaving no room for argument. Rex knew better than to push - the General could be more stubborn than a dozen gundarks and Rex was not about the test that right now.

“Rewriting history?” Rex asked, hoping to steer the conversation towards less dangerous ground as Obi-wan’s fingers flew over the datapad keys in a series of haphazard clacks, sounding all too similar to an approaching army of battledroids. Rex shivered.

“Just editing some of the more lurid details.” Obi-wan glanced up at Rex through his bangs, punching in one more quick series of keys before handing the datapad back to the clone. “I’ve heard Orn Fre Taa’s stomach for such things isn’t what it once was, and it wasn’t much to begin with.”

Rex scanned the document. Most of what he wrote remained unchanged, although certain phrases such as, “Kenobi incapacitated by Zygerrians” jumped out at him like a freighter in hyperspace. Chissk, General, bit of an understatement, don’t you think?

But it was the last paragraph that caught Rex’s attention, his eyebrows steadily rising upwards as he read the bit aloud.

“After the assault by Generals Skywalker and Koon on the base, General Kenobi and Commander Rex dropped their guise as prisoners, escaping through the south entrance of the facility. Shortly after, an explosion of approximately 87,4 magnitude blew out the last supports of the observation deck, where it dropped into the caldera of Kadavo’s major volcano. The facility foreman, Arguss was incapacitated before the explosion and assumed to have perished in the demolition.”

Rex brought the datapad down, furrowing his brow as he weighed his options. He was close with General Kenobi - not close the way he was with Skywalker or Tano, but still, he considered him a fellow vod. But the General was still the General, and Rex was not one to commit rank insubordination. If this was the version of events Obi-wan wanted to be the truth, then he wouldn’t stand in the way.

Obi-wan sighed. “You did nothing wrong, Rex. You…” The General played with the empty glass on the table, rubbing his finger around the edge. “You just followed orders.”

The glass began to vibrate, emitting a high, jagged crystalline pitch. Obi-wan allowed the sound to resonate, to buzz in Rex’s ear uncomfortably before dampening the object with his hand.

“Anyway, if you would be so kind to send that off, we can rid ourselves of this whole ordeal and I can get back to - ” Obi-wan made a grand, sarcastic gesture at the chaotic piles of paperwork on the table.

Rex frowned at the array of invoices, maps, and troop deployment schedules.

“You might want to take a break, General.”

Obi-wan snorted. “And I can’t imagine where that might take place. The med wing, perhaps?”

Rex gave the General a sly smile. “Kix will do up a room all nice, just for you. I’ll even get Jesse to do the interior decorating.”

“And here I thought you were trying to heal me,” Obi-wan retorted, eyes crinkling. Jesse’s taste in design was...unique, to be certain. Rex never wanted to quash his men’s expression of their individuality outside the battlefield, but the series of clashing patterns and colors adorning the clone’s bunk was enough to blind a man.

“General,” Rex steeled himself, hoping to take advantage of the lighter tone of conversation. “I might be speaking out of turn here, but you should consider the offer, minus Jesse’s decorating. You’re not looking any better, and that ring around your neck is going to scar real bad if you don’t do something about it.”

“And Force forbid I look anything less than dashing for the holonews cameras,” Obi-wan spat, a shadow forming on his features.

Rex blew out a harsh breath, biting his lip. Well, he could tell Kix he tried.

The General leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his forehead. “I apologize, Rex. I mean it when I say you did nothing wrong. In fact, you followed my orders to the letter.”

Obi-wan brought his hand back to his neck, grimacing as he rubbed the sensitive area where the Zygerrian collar had been attached to his body.

“I knew exactly what I was asking of you. And...‘A Jedi does not seek revenge, does not find pleasure in the pain of others, does not spill blood unless they have exhausted every other option.’” Obi-wan quoted.

Rex met the General’s dark stare.

“The dark side is slippery, seductive. We cannot let our guard down, cannot allow ourselves to listen to its whispers, its false promises. No matter how right, how good they may feel.”

Obi-wan pulled at his collar, grimacing at the movement as he stood, motioning Rex towards the open door.

“Sometimes, some of us need that reminder.”

“Of course, General. I understand,” Rex responded, not understanding at all.

#obi wan kenobi #rex #welp #this happened #sorry i just picked jesse out of a hat to have bad interior design taste #ANYWAY #obes you're not dealing well #also anakin's cream?#yeah...he had that recipe from tatooine because bad times at the watto corral #gods i should write something funny #one of these days #maybe #hahahahahaha #writing

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northernrainforest · 6 years

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Off the rock

Like Harry and Meghan on their Australian tour, Flo and I jetsetted this weekend, baby bump on full display. A few minor differences: we had an almost five-year-old with us, we flew coach, and we only made it as far as Seattle. Also, I’m six months pregnant but I look like I’m about to give birth on the light rail, so the breathless coverage of wardrobe choices reserved for Meghan wouldn’t be quite as interesting in my case (read: a lot of leggings.) Lastly, we weren’t on a diplomatic mission: there’s no dermatologist in Ketchikan so we were in Seattle for a yearly skin check. Yes, it’s as sexy as it sounds.

Shortly after we moved to Ketchikan, I heard several people talk to each other in passing about “getting off the rock.” In Brooklyn in the late eighties (still my main reference point for everything) this would have meant kicking a crack habit. But I quickly figured out it’s island speak for “going anywhere but here.” Having just arrived, and with gorgeous weather at that, I couldn’t appreciate what that might mean to some people. It’s now been three months, and though Flo and I have both left town for very short work trips, this was the first time the three of us went to the airport together and headed down to the Lower 48. I have to say: it was kind of magical.

First, Ketchikan International Airport, or KTN. It took us three minutes to drive down the hill in the still dark morning, past the Alaska Marine Highway terminal, the post office and A&P (Alaskan and Proud, our local-est grocery store) and park in the airport ferry lot. It’s a dollar a day to park there. A dollar. A day. If you’ve ever driven to and parked at an airport in a major city, you’ll appreciate how complete giddy it can make a recent transplant to spend three minutes and four dollars and be done with the process. Ah but wait: the process was not quite done. After parking and paying, we boarded the 7:45 ferry and arrived at the airport at maybe… 7:48? A motivated person could swim the Tongass Narrows in about the same time it takes to cross it by ferry – not because the ferry is slow, but because the waterway is so, well, narrow. We have TSA pre-check, a product of a particularly bad hour I spent alone at JFK with a two-year-old who delighted in running away from me as the security line crept forward. It was a lifesaver whenever we left New York or LA, but in Ketchikan all it means is you don’t have to take off your shoes. There’s one security line, and even if it’s slow there’s little danger of missing your flight: once you get through security you’re already at your gate – because there are only two, and they’re next to each other.

Wasn’t that a fascinating explanation of small town airports? Aren’t you so glad you’re keeping up with my blog? Okay, so if you’ve flown through a lot of small airports none of this is interesting for you. But for me, it’s pretty mind boggling. I’ve told several people since we moved how much lower my stress level is, and sometimes I wonder if it’s hyperbole – I still run at an eleven most of the time, elevating the making of school lunch to a federal case – but it’s situations like the airport run that remind me how true it is. Life is easier when there’s no traffic, and minimal driving in the first place; when lines are short; and when there are simply fewer people everywhere you go.

So it was interesting to be back in a big city after some time away. As long as Flo and I have lived on the west coast – and combined we’ve logged about fifty years – neither of us had ever been to Seattle (unless you count the Alaska Airlines terminal at SeaTac.) Several people in Ketchikan asked if we’d be renting a car, so I second guessed our decision not to; but the minute we arrived I realized with relief that, like almost every big city I’ve ever been to, it’s easier notto have a car than to have one. (Dallas is the exception that springs to mind. And, obviously, Los Angeles.) SeaTac’s version of the AirTrain is free, and it took us directly to the light rail station; $6 and 35 minutes later, we were walking up Broadway on Capitol Hill, taking in the restaurants, the rain-soaked leaves and the preponderance of rainbows.

“It’s not pride week, is it?” I said, trying to remember what month we were in.

“No,” said Flo. “I think this is all the time.” As far as I know, there’s no gay neighborhood in Ketchikan; we were officially back in the city.

Capitol Hill is epically cool, in the best sense of the word: it’s not completely gentrified yet (although I’m sure longtime locals would disagree with me), so there’s an interesting mix of people, stores and architecture that reflect the changing face of a city. It was the perfect launch pad for three and a half days of walking adventures. We walked down to Swedish, the big hospital complex, for our dermatology appointments and got epic views of the Puget Sound from the sweeping 14thfloor windows (while partially disrobed – take that, Harry and Meghan!) From there we wandered down Pike (Pine? I’ve been told they’re basically the same street), stopped for perfect coffee at Victrola, ate Mediterranean from a food truck next to a little park, took the monorail up to the Space Needle and found an awesome playground. After that was a walk to the flagship REI, which looks like the flagship LL Bean, and I’m honestly not sure who got the idea from whom, since they’re both hella old stores. By the time we hiked up the 45-degree angle that is Denny (Street? Avenue?) and back to our place, we understood why they don’t call it Capitol Valley.

The next two days were more of the same: a combination of walking, kid-oriented fun (hello, Pacific Science Center), and stocking up on provisions. We were like old-timey sailors on shore leave: minus the brothels, plus a massive Trader Joe’s list. And more than anything, we charted our meals like we were navigating the stars to find the promised land. With only so many meals, we had to be careful not to waste them. Thai, pizza, dumplings, sockeye, and delicious bakery bread all made the cut. Indian and sushi are on the agenda for the next trip. (And yes, I recognize that it may seem strange to leave the Salmon Capital of the World for three days only to get salmon elsewhere. It’s basically a combination of being boat-less, friends-with-boats-less, and the grocery stores in Ketchikan not selling local fish. The whole fishing thing here is a bit bewildering to a newcomer: a post for another day.)

I asked Flo if he missed this aspect of city life: stepping outside and just walking, with stops along the way to run all sorts of errands (we all got very mediocre haircuts at a walk-in place; the price one pays for speed, convenience, and cheapness.) We agreed that we missed it, except having come most recently from Los Angeles, that feeling is almost like being homesick for a place you’ve never been; it’s been a long time since we’ve really lived that kind of life. What we both love about the city as a construct is not endemic to life in So Cal. It’s why we loved living in Amsterdam, and why we’ve often talked about packing it up and going back to New York. Certain cities have a vibrancy that can be felt from the minute you step off the light rail and out into the rainy evening, and Seattle is one of those places. But there’s magic and beauty in the quiet too, in the slowness of small town life on a distant island. The bushes in our yard have finally stopped producing those big juicy blackberries, replacing them with hard little ones that take a lot longer to ripen, and possibly never will. The season is nearly over, and another season is here. This is how seasons work, of course, but it can be easy to miss when life is moving quickly and every falling leaf lands on concrete.

When we landed in Ketchikan, fewer than half the passengers got off the plane; everyone else was headed for Juneau. Alaska Airlines operates like Greyhound up here – they make a few stops and you get off when you need to. We stepped off the jetway and into the tiny terminal, then down the gangway towards the ferry. The lights of the town lit our dark passage across the Narrows. One small passenger had a new puppy she’d gotten in Portland. There was a group of laughing boys, a basketball team flying home from a game. High school athletes in Southeast Alaska (and I’m pretty sure the rest of the state) rack up a lot of air miles flying from game to game; members of the visiting team often stay at the homes of the local team, like foreign exchange students from a few hundred miles away. There’s something collegial about being an Alaskan. As independent as everyone is, there’s a spirit of generosity that runs through this place. An hour after we borrowed that sander a few weeks ago, pulled from the well-stocked basement of a friend, she knocked on our front door. She had mentioned the sander-lending to her husband and he told her it wasn’t working very well – so she ran to the hardware store at dinnertime, bought a new one and dropped it at our house. We’re all in this together.

We flew back from Seattle three months to the day from when we first arrived here. I mentioned to the same friend’s ten-year-old that we’d only been here for three months and she looked at me with big eyes. “Really?” she said. “It seems like you’ve been here for so long.” In many ways, it seems that way to me too. Sometimes you arrive somewhere you’ve never been and realize it’s a place you’ve been homesick for your whole life.

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gutterdreams · 6 years

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Split Second

Jeff Atkins & Zach Dempsey & Reader fluff/drama. Used the prompt: “I’ve been thinking of you.”

People who didn't like Zach, you often told yourself, were people who didn't really know him. If you were just going off of the tall guy walking around the halls in his favourite grey joggers, hair perfect, smile crooked, and letterman jacket undone then it was easy to assume he was another run-of-the-mill basketball asshole. Those who considered Zach a friend knew that he was the dictionary definition of nice. He had his flaws. He was immature, he didn't handle criticism or conflict well, and he didn't really have his finger on the pulse, but where it counted, Zach was kind, patient, and loyal. Sometimes, you laid awake with your head falling between two pillows and wondered why he had taken up with you. He had such a good heart and you rarely felt deserving of it, but yet, Zach was falling more and more in love with you every passing weekend. Your school schedules didn't leave much room to hang out with the exception of lunch break, but every weekend, he made a point of spending time with you whether it was in his basement watching a movie, out on the beach, or surprising you with tickets to a concert or a sushi date night.

This Friday night had been in the making for a long time. Exams were finished, it was one week away from holiday break, and everyone was piling into Sherri Holland's house to celebrate. After showing up with Zach, Justin, and Jess, you pulled away from your boyfriend's chest and left the kitchen where the keg was to find your other friends, people you were close to before Zach asked you to be more than just the girl he liked all of two months ago. You had barely left the kitchen when you found your eyes locked with Jeff Atkins. He nodded at you casually, chin pointed right at you, and then your cheeks were suddenly sore from the stupid smile such a simple gesture from the gorgeous guy could create. He took your grin as an invitation and excused himself from his group of friends, pushing off the wall he was leaning on and coming over. Jeff licked his lips and laughed as you made room for yourself on the arm of the closest couch, letting him stay standing once he was close enough to say 'hey'.

“I don't recognize you when you aren't under Zach's arm anymore.” He teased. Jeff tried to sound casual, but he genuinely meant what he said and he trusted that you knew that.

“Is that a height joke or do you just miss our ten second chats in the hallway?” With your lockers having been beside each other's for years, you and Jeff had your fair share of morning conversations. There were few days that didn't start without one of you making the other laugh with an anecdote about the night before or the weekend.

“The second one.” Bashfully, he chuckled while glancing down at his clean white sneakers. They were in mint condition. “I feel like when we do get to talk now, it's just five seconds and then Zach's there, eating your face...”

Somewhat dramatically you rolled your eyes back so hard that your head leaned with them, but you felt it was warranted with the comment he made.

“I can tell him to wait until you leave to eat my face.”

“I'd appreciate that. It's always right after breakfast and one of these days I might throw up my cereal all over you.”

“So, this is for my own protection, right? You're so nice.” Joking along with him, you reached out and very softly knocked your knuckles into his shoulder. His eyes followed your fist and smiled at the touch. He had to nibble on his bottom lip, sucking on it to make the grin fade.

“Where is Zach anyway?” Jeff checked over his shoulder. With your boyfriend being so tall, it was generally hard to not spot him in a crowded room. Plus, Jeff hadn't really been kidding. You two were always attached at the hip now. He wasn't used to seeing one of you without the other within ear shot.

“He was in the kitchen last time I saw him.” You shrugged. “I was actually looking for Lola.” She had been your best friend since grade school and it didn't feel like exams were actually done without a 'we did it' hug from her, her candy sweet perfume filling your nose whenever you embraced. You swore she sprayed it on all her clothes and through her space buns.

“She was in the basement playing flip cup last I saw her.” Jeff mentioned back.

“Thank you.” With both palms, you pushed off the couch to go see if she was still down there and not a complete liquored mess yet, but Jeff sidestepped and stopped you. “Hey, how serious are you and Zach?” He knew the answer, but he still asked. Jeff wanted an in. If you weren't as interested in his friend as he knew Zach was in you, he felt like, maybe, it would be okay for him to ask you out. Maybe, he wasn't a complete dick for wanting a chance with the girl with the huge smile he saw every morning before first period.

“Um...” The question caught you completely off guard. “Pretty serious.”

“It's been, like, a month?”

“Two.” You squinted to remember, but that sounded about right. “We only made it official a month ago, I guess.” Zach had been so nervous and struggled to fumble out the question in the backseat of his car, you still straddling his lap after a post-practice handsy make out session.

“Shit.” Jeff tried to play it cool. He nodded and hoped he didn't make you feel bad, but he would have regretted it if he never asked. “I missed my chance.”

“What?” Your eyebrows fell over your eyes and covered them slightly as they narrowed into him. While you had only been at Sherri's party for a grand total of seventeen minutes, you hadn't had a sip of alcohol yet, but your head felt cloudy from the conversation. Jeff, one of the most constant people in your life, had thrown you for a total loop. “What are you talking about?” He had never asked you out. You two never saw one another outside of school unless at an away game or at a party that Zach drove you to. If Jeff had feelings for you, he hid them like it was his career.

“It's not a big deal.” Now he was starting to peel away, not about to embarrass himself in the middle of a stuffed living room and underneath a dance song that he passionately disliked. “Have fun. I'll catch you in a bit.”

“No.” The conversation wasn't over now. You followed him as he weaved through a few bodies and headed down the hardwood hallway, heading back for the basement he had been in before. A round of beer pong or flip cup was sure to take his mind off of how ridiculous he currently felt. “Jeff, what was that?” You reached for his elbow and prodded him to continue. The hallway right before the basement door felt more private at least in comparison to the living room where people were everywhere. “You said you missed your chance...”

“Look, I'm not about to hit on my buddy's girlfriend. Zach's the best...” Everybody always gave him shit for his bad moves with girls, so Jeff sincerely was happy that the star basketball player had found someone he really cared about and who actually wanted him in return. “I just thought we had a thing. We always talk before class and at the end of the day, but I was wrong...”

Inhaling deeply, you fought with your mouth not to overpower your brain. There were words packed behind your painted pink lips, but you knew better than to let them out. Your brain screaming at you to simply tell Jeff that you were flattered, give him a hug, and then walk away to find Zach, but your mouth had other plans.

“We did.” In a whisper, you admitted. “I thought so too.” There had definitely been flirtatious banter that bounced between you both too easily. “Just...I thought it was just me and then Zach asked me to go to that concert and...”

“I know how the story goes.” He had heard a version from you, from your boyfriend, and from a couple other people in the hallways. “You guys are happy and I'm not trying to fuck with that...just...I've been thinking of you.” He admitted with a fast nod and then slid his hands into his jeans. There was a silence and you hated yourself for wishing he would fill it with a touch or a kiss or something. Both your eyes were glued to one another and if it wasn't for the shadow that fell between you both, you weren't sure what would have happened next. Jeff was the first to pull his eyes away, spotting Zach at the end of the hall with a happy, but confused expression wearing his face. “Hey, man! There you are.”

“Yeah, I was just looking for [Y/N].” He pointed to you and cocked his head to one side, silently asking what he had just walked in on.

“Ah, I was looking for you.” Jeff played it cool, walking away from the warm wall he was up against and going in to greet his buddy, raising an open palm to clap Zach's hand. “When I saw [Y/N], I knew you'd be around.” He teased to Zach, turning around to see over his shoulder how stunned you still looked. “What kind of boyfriend are you, man? Your girl doesn't have a drink.” Acting like the goofy friend he liked to be, Jeff shoved Zach in the gut and started to lead both of you into the kitchen, Zach's arm stretched out for you to take his hand.

Reluctantly, you slip your palm into his and followed suit, suddenly feeling less sure about what you wanted than you had all of five minutes before.

#zach dempsey au #zach dempsey imagine #jeff atkins imagine #jeff atkins #jeff atkins au #13rw imagine #13rw

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flow-green · 3 years

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Crafted earrings, cooked and danced around the room

I should write more often already because this way I get my fingers all nicely warmed up. Can’t complain though, I cannot remember when Estonia had this crispy cold winters with huge snowpiles up to your bellybutton. At least inside it is so nice to be mesmerized by the rising sun rays over sparkling snow fields, all while curled up under a blanket with a hot cup of coffee. Not really into spending more than half an hour outside with this cold, as my skii trousers have mysteriously disappeared after not needing them for years.

After those coffee and meditation mornings I have a whole hour to enjoy online fitness classes held by all of my favourite trainers. So thankful they have released online platform. Yes, Youtube channels for work outs are good, but they cannot even comprehend with community and people I have worked out with for years.

Oh, I love Fridays. Mostly because, of course, it marks the end of the workweek and all the stress load on my shoulder gets a decent relief. The end of last year started to go crucially out of hands regarding to work hours. I believed I am extra productive and a good asset for the company with my over-hours after 6 PM, and weekends when I assisted translators with their issues, replied to clients’ and colleagues’ e-mails; I started my workdays right after waking up at 7 AM. I felt so proud. That until I got a note that I have spent shorter AFK periods in our office communication platform and I should work more harder, and that I have to stay available all the time. I awarded myself with a few longer and frequent stretching moments away from keyboards so I wouldn’t completely lose my mind. That comment made me realize that my over-hours benefited no one and they will be left unnoticed. So from this moment on I stayed strictly in my official office hours. And it has paid off at maximum. I am more productive and motivated, more enthusiastic. At the end of the year the times were extremely busy and I was overflown with work, burning out was only a stretch away, but following the working hours and taking mandatory lunch breaks every day made it all synchronize and it went so well. I have learned the hard way that personal time and work time have to be separated. My days were starting to mix into a blurry mess. Even Fridays were nothing special for me as I knew I will work on weekends anyway. Needless to say it all started to negatively affect my personal life and escalated in nasty fights.

Now that I have strictly separated my work and personal time, I feel so-o-o good. Fridays are once again one of my favourite days in week and the entire workday flows with a positive vibe. Today is no exception. I am so ready for the weekend!

This week was overally satisfying as the corona restrictions are being eased bit by bit. For example, gyms and fitness classes are again back in business. This means that finally I can get back to one of my primary passions, instructing BodyBalance classes. Every Tuesday and Wednesday I have my BodyBalance classes, Wednesdays being my favourite as then, I have my favourite people in front of me and I realized this week, how much I missed it. I have always thought that I am quite good at coaching, but this Wednesday I got an ultimate compliment that as soon as I step into instructor role, I transform completely into someone else: I glow, am confident, cheerful. This side of me can rarely be seen in other moments. I guess this shows that working as a trainer is an ultimate passion. Sad though that I cannot spread it wider. I try of course. Before initial corona crisis I was almost through the door to Estonia’s biggest fitness club MyFitness. Anyway, this compliment sparked such an inspiring fire in me that I think I performed my best class ever. The energy I get from these hours are crucially needed. For several evenings now I have silly-danced through our rooms, singing loudly to all the pop songs I hear; made silly jokes. And just laughed and laughed. I cannot remember when was the last time I laughed truly from the bottom of my heart so that tears were in my eyes.

One of my goals for this year was picking up a new hobby. For my surprise, I started to follow this goal so early in this year. I got invited to join a workshop for crafting earrings from clay. I am not that artsy and crafty, with a small exception of drawing, in which I am still a complete newbie. Usually I am always excited when an opportunity like this presents itself, but when the actual time comes to show up, I bail. Not this time, I told myself and went for it. Working with clay was a totally unfamiliar area for me, except that one time when I made a really weird looking coffee mug in one of the clay workshops. God forbid I ever show this to anyone...

Anyway, the workshop was the bomb! There were 20 people, most of them already quite experience with clay crafting. I felt really self-aware and awkward but when I got my hands on the first small piece of multicolour clay which I soon crafted into two tiny hearts, I felt so calm. It was like an art therapy. Two hours later I waltzed out with 3 pairs of earrings in my hand. Those butterfly wings came out silly-looking as if the poor butterfly were mauled by a cat or something. But I got an excitement to actually pick it up myself, so I should buy some colour clay, moulds and decorations. Look at me, being all spiritual artsy self-developer ‘n stuff

As it’s Friday, I stepped onto the scale this morning. A decent 500g drop in weight, which made me feel quite neutral, and thus I continued my morning without thinking about it. I am not sure where this complete peace with my weight came, so suddenly, but I feel so free. True, few times a week these demons still haunt me, especially when That Time of the Month is lurking nearby and even a slice of cucumber makes me feel I am fat, but I understand almost instantly that this is just a silly evil entity in my brain, trying to stab me with its knives. This does not make me feel any pain anymore, rather just an annoying poke which I forget almost instantly. There is so much more than that in life, not related to the random number on my scale. I feel strong and more confident than I have felt in years. I am so grateful that I am not a lonely slave to mind anymore, that I have someone I can rely on, that I have a roof over my head, seriously fulfilling healthy foods on my table and a stable working opportunity that does not seem to shrink in its scope anytime soon. Everything else is an additional bonus and my gut is telling me things will get even better.

Ah, right, one of the highlights of this week was me finally getting my long-missed new running steeds: Nike Air Pegasus Shield 37. The only running shoe model which makes me feel like I run on clouds and makes the running even in the craziest monsoons feel like a stroll in the park no matter the temperature outside. I have not yet tested them out yet though, as the roads are insanely slippery and Coach Bennet from NRC is stressing out the strict rule not to run on ice. Thus, I have taken some off-time from running and instead continuing the oh-so amazing workouts from Netfit. Old version of me would have probably drowned in the pool of tears from regrets of not running, but current me doesn’t let it bring me down. I am so active with other things and this is more than enough. Who knows, perhaps the longer break from running actually brings back the long-lost passion for it and kick-starts the activity with a fresh energy.

Now, about food. The second week is almost over filled with foods that I used to fear and now make me happy instead. My morning indulgent is a breakfast with overnight oats that I have tuned up to taste as delicious as ever. Yesterday lunch I got a sudden craving for fresh berry smoothie so I think I made the best smoothie ever out of strawberries, bananas, cinnamon and ginger. The ratio was so on point. Smoothie was also one of my fear foods: is liquid, filled with carb-y calories and will not fill me up. Boy, what was wrong with me?

Yesterday I made another slow-cooker crockpot stew which has become a hero of dinners. I think my newly-discovered passion for cooking has made me test out flavours more confident and thus, this time the stew came out so good I ate Once again I’d like to say how good I physically feel. After a hearty dinner with belly nicely full, I do feel random panic shivers that I probably just gained 4 kg and everyone can see my belly twice the size it was 30 minutes ago, but this idiotic thinking disappears surprisingly fast. Most of the time I feel that my body is happy, I have energy for the entire day from 7 AM I tip my toes onto the floor and until 11 PM when my head finally touches the pillow. Before, I had these eating-triggered depression exhaustions, when I just wanted to sleep off every lunch break, but no, this wasn’t an option so instead, I forced myself into running and I came back, feeling even more exhausted an unhappy.

Netfit workouts in the mornings are like a nectar to my soul. I cannot remember when was the last time I truly ENJOYED my morning work-outs when I did not remind myself every second of it that I NEED to push myself to maximum because yesterday’s dinner calories must be destroyed. It’s amazing how much can your mind-set change the quality of your life.

I have a secret fear that this happiness will be a short-term break. I have had these good periods in the past as well and after a few weeks I am back in my old black corner, but I don’t know... this time I honestly feel that perhaps this here now is permanent and what if the jigsaw pieces are finally starting to come together...

Today, I actually wanted to post my 100 goals for the year. I guess next time then. Don’t want to crash Tumblr in one go.

#ed #eating disoder recovery #ed recovery #weekly #week #self love #self care #blog #food #mindset #peace #calm #My Story

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putschki1969 · 7 years

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2017/07/23 Blog post by Wakana 『夏と言えば…「お台場みんなの夢大陸」!!～今夜は新月☆～』

『Speaking of summer... 「Odaiba Minna no Yume Tairiku」! ～Tonight we’ll see a New Moon ☆～』 This photo is of the full moon taken at midnight when the date changed to the 10th of July (^-^) [* Wakana wrote 11th but I think she made a mistake since the full moon was actually on the 9th] And finally tonight it’s time for the New Moon... The moon probably won’t be visible tonight. If it happens to clear up ... we will be able to see the stars very clearly at night ♪ Hello, this is Wakana (0￣▽￣0)／

Early in the morning on the 21st just before dawn at around 3 o'clock, I was able to catch a glimpse of the waning moon and the shining Venus in the east. The moon was slightly red and the Venus was shining beautifully, it was truly amazing! While scrubbing at my sleepy eyes, I hurriedly opened my shutters ... due to the limitations of my mobile camera I wasn’t able to capture that beautiful moment *laughs* Well, today I’d like to talk about my plants (^-^) The first time I decided I wanted to grow plants was when I moved to Tokyo in the spring 12 years ago. Until this day my greatest wish is to have a greenhouse similar to a “secret cellar” just like the one in 「Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind」. Even though having such a wonderful room is pretty much impossible I decided I wanted to share my life with plants so I started collecting them. From big trees to small succulents, a variety of large and small plants has made its way to my home in the past five months. I am still quite the newbie when it comes to plants. I am struggling to overcome my first summer but thankfully my local plant shop and the internet have been extremely helpful. For example, last week when I travelled to Taiwan, I got a few things that would take care of my little houseplants. Here they are… 「土母 (Doumo)」「Comfortable Watering」「driwater」 “Doumo” was recommended to me by the plant shop, it’s a plant activator which I like to use on a regular basis. Thanks to this, plants that have dried out a little will feel better soon! It’s amazing!! "Comfortable Watering", such a great name!!! It’s a capillary watering system absorbing water from a vessel and transferring it to the plants, a very useful item (and so cheap!) When I came back from Taiwan and checked up on all my plants, the water in the buckets was almost gone (I was using one bucket each for about 2 to 5 plants), they really soaked up all of it! The plant shop also recommended “driwater". When you cut this in half and place it on the soil with the cut line facing downward it’s supposed to provide water for about two weeks but still, as soon as I came home I gave my plants plenty of water. Well, seems like there are various helpful items out there ～(*≧∇≦*) I am safe! Watering my plants during a long absence first became an issue when we started our domestic tour back in April. Back then in early spring it was still quite chilly on most days so it was okay not to water the plants every day, it wasn’t a problem to stay away from home for a few days during the tour, so even if I was gone for most weekends during these two months, my plants stayed pretty much the same. However….Now that it has gradually become warmer, my little plants were all seeking to be out in the sun so I moved them to the veranda. Now all of them are growing really fast since the sun has been becoming stronger and stronger every day!!! (^-^) Every morning I am impressed to see new leaves growing. With all this sunlight, they also take in a lot of water. Whenever I look at them cheerfully growing more leaves I feel like they are saying “I am happy to be alive…” In any case, water and sun are the most important things!! Together with my plants I am enjoying my first summer ever since I moved to my new house ♪ Ah yes, speaking of summer! Today we are going to perform at 「Odaiba Minna no Yume Tairiku 2017 Mezamashi Live」!!! Here are the details ♪ ↓ ↓ ↓ Fuji TV’s 「Odaiba Minna no Yume Tairiku 2017 Mezamashi Live」 ◆ Date: 7/23 (Sunday) ◆ Opening: 16:00 / Start: 17:00 ◆ Venue: Yume Tairiku·Smileland HOT SUMMER Stadium ◆ Nearest stations: Tokyo Rinkai Line’s "Tokyo Teleport" Station, Yurikamome Line’s "Museum of Maritime Science" Station ※ Ticket purchase is necessary for live viewing. For details, please check out the homepage of Odaiba Minna no Yume Tairiku 2017. Odaiba Minna no Yume Tairuku 2017 Official Site www.odaiba.com http://www.fujitv.co.jp/yumetairiku/2017stage/stagedaily.html I feel like it’s a bit cooler today ... But still, please don’t forget to bring things that will help you fight the heat! Handheld fans, folding fans, a wet towel on your head, plenty of water!!! And of course, please come to see us in high spirits ＼(^-^)／♪ (Let’s hope it won’t rain!!) [Of course it ended up raining, Kalafina are the official rain bringers after all] We’ll be awaiting you!! Well then, see you ～☆(*'▽'*)/ *** Wakana ***

Setlist for their Mezamashi Live (they were wearing their 9+ONE encore dresses)

1.Märchen 2. progressive MC 3. Sprinter 4. One Light MC 5. Hyakka Ryouran Encore 1. In your Eyes 2. Blaze

I am most excited for progressive (haven’t seen a live version of that in a LONG time), Hyakka Ryouran (DUH!) and In your Eyes (due to HiKei/WaKei action). Let’s hope they will keep all the songs in the live recording (assuming there will be a broadcast - which is usually the case)!

#kalafina #LINE translations #blog post #wakana #july 2017 #mezamashi live #setlist

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x0401x · 7 years

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Kai-You Interview: Sidu

As promised, here is the english translation of Sidu’s side of the interview from kai-you.net, which was posted a few days after Jin’s. Warning: since this interview is from two months ago, some date-related infos are off, so I had to adapt them in order for them to make sense in the present time. As always, please message me if you have questions or spot any mistakes. Raw here. Jin’s side here.

Here is Sidu-san, an illustrator and video maker that, together with Jin-san – who handles the music, light novels and comic’s script –, is yet another person to have had a major role in the making of “Kagerou Project” (KagePro), which is celebrating its sixth anniversary this year.

Back in 2011, upon meeting Jin through Twitter after watching the video he had posted on NicoNico Douga, Sidu-san was put in charge of making the character designs and MV for “Kagerou Days”, which triggered a lot of attention from the viewers. Later, she was in charge of handling all of the MVs, illustrating the light novel “Kagerou Daze -in a daze-” and making the character designs for the serialization of the manga “Kagerou Daze”.

(T/N: Some of you are probably finding this part weird, but let me clarify. We all know that not all the PVs and character designs were made by Sidu, but when the interviewer says that she “handled” them, he probably means that Sidu had a role in their making, one way or another, even if they weren’t 100% her work.)

With her video composition that relies heavily on unique patterns and high-speed cut-ins, she has become the main person behind the visual image of “Kagerou Project”. Sidu-san also served as animation director for the first time in the production of the exclusive MX4D™ movie “Kagerou Daze -in a day’s-” that was released in November of last year.

Kagerou Daze -in a day’s- Key Visual

This interview discusses in detail about the backstage of this work and the repercussion that followed its release, as well as the different character images of Mekakushi-dan, the interweaving young main group of “Kagerou Project”. Moreover, it discusses how her moves as a creator that has also been supporting “KagePro” have been proceeding, together with how Jin-san has been receiving so much attention from the media.

Kagerou Daze -in a day’s- Scene Shot 1

──It seems that MX4D “Kagerou Daze -in a day’s-” was a work in which there were arrangements being laid out until the very end.

Sidu: Yes. (Laugh) I was editing the alpha in the studio until the afternoon of the final deadline. Until then, I’d spent the days not being able to tell when it was daytime or nighttime.

(T/N: “Alpha” is a term used by animators as short for “alpha channel”. For anyone interested, there’s a small article on its definition here.)

──What part was the most difficult?

Sidu: I’m in the position of a director that has to look after everything, so though the animation director was always present, there were points I had wanted to modify no matter what, and ultimately, I used the software named “After Effects” to work on the so-called “cinematography” by adding effects all on my own.

──The production was in an apparent harsh situation, huh... For starters, what kind of thoughts pushed you to accept being the director of a MX4D movie?

Sidu: It started with the talk about extending the PV. As in connecting all of the BGM, making it into a single track and creating a video for it. I thought, “If it’s something like that, I can do it. If no one else is willing, I can take it on.” and, as the discussion about it went on, the number of things I was put in charge of increased...

In the beginning, there wasn’t even a script, and I was supposed to just deliver to the studio a storyboard consisting only of drawings, but in the end, I also ended up writing down the script myself. However, writing a script all alone was hard, so I planned out the plot together with the novelist Jinzai Aki-san, whose novel, “Bandou Keiko, Nichijou ni Aki Aki” (Shinchou Bunko nex), was illustrated by me.

Kagerou Daze -in a day’s- Scene Shot 2

──How did you make the story?

Sidu: From what I had heard at first, it was supposed to have a 25/30-minute duration. It’s as much as one episode of an anime series, so I wondered if I could create a linear, coherent story from that, but during the actual process of making it, I figured it’s no good if it can’t even fit into 18 minutes. The original story had a slapstick comedy scene with explanations for first-time viewers to understand everything, but I cut it all off. Action scenes, too, were only left in the bits where they were truly necessary.

──This time’s tale feels like it’s set in a parallel world version of a certain incident that happens in the opening of the main story of “KagePro”.

Sidu: That’s right. “If all of the Mekakushi-dan had been in that scene, what would have happened?” is what I imagined when I wrote the plot. Also, this is a MX4D exclusive movie, so I thought I wanted to use the MX4D effects after all, and for such, it had to be that action-packed setting.

Sidu talks about the characters of “KagePro”.

Kagerou Daze -in a day’s- Scene Shot 3

──When making this work, what where the points you were careful with?

Sidu: The personalities of the characters. If it’s Kano, he protects his comrades from the shadows, while Kido sneaks about just like him; things like that. Just like this, I started writing about them by reflecting on what kind of posture each character would take, based off their personalities.

──When you say you were careful with the characters’ personalities, does it mean the images of the characters grew within you while making “KagePro” together with Jin-san?

Sidu: That’s right. This time, Jin-san had to give undivided attention to the music composition while I had to do the same with the movie, so I wrote the story and characters from my own interpretations. That’s why I think it’s become something different from the character images that Jin-san has.

──What part of Sidu-san’s interpretation of the character’s images is different from Jin-san’s, exactly?

Sidu: For example, Kido. When I read the light novel, I get a feeling that Jin-san views her as a pushy character. But, to me, she has the image of a cool young woman that can pull off the role of a confident man.

──I see. I think this is a valuable opportunity for Sidu-san to talk about the characters, so if you would, I’d like to hear about your impressions of all of them.

Sidu: It doesn’t change much regarding Shintarou. I do think he’s got a creepy side, but he also has the aspect of an older brother.

Momo, too, isn’t that different. Just like the image of the songs, I think she’s a bit of an oddball kind of character. Like she’s an idiot but quick-witted.

But... regarding Marry, I feel that there’s quite a gap.

──How big of a gap?

Sidu: Jin-san’s Marry, putting it simply, gives the impression of a psychopath; of someone that isn’t human. Even so, she’s faint-hearted and has a cute side for being an airhead. But within me, she isn’t so much of a scaredy-cat. Since she’d been living by herself for a long time and managed it somehow, she gives me the image of someone who’s got nerve.

Seto hasn’t had enough appearances at all, so I've got no idea about him. Having him there is fun, yet everything is fine even if he’s not around, so he might feel like a character that could run off somewhere anytime. But to me, Seto isn’t the type that moves foward thinking of himself. Similar to Ayano, he gives off the feeling that he’s holding in something dark.

When listening to “Kagerou Days”, the image that I felt of how Hibiya is aloof but doesn’t hesitate to protect the girl he likes was strong in me. But I think the Hibiya that Jin-san writes about is probably Jin-san himself. He’s an elementary schooler that lives in the countryside and is a little gross. (Laugh) Currently, the Hibiya as I see him is the result of this incompatible combination.

──What about Hiyori?

Sidu: Jin-san’s Hiyori is truly a rigid character, huh. Ah, but I don’t know if that’s his taste. (Laugh) The Hiyori as I see her is also the same as her impression from “Kagerou Days”. Though it feels like she’s always pushing others away, it’s not like she’s a character that thinks too ill of anyone.

Ene... is a base character, but she, as Ene, is clearly the number one mascot character as well. Same for the anime. But in the novel, her real character has a strong influence, so it was hard to find a balance.

Though he’s always grinning, Kano is serious when he has to be. Except, Jin-san’s Kano is feminine and feeble. But within me, he has the image of a cool character that hides his dark past and absolutely can’t be understood by others.

──Lastly, what about Konoha?

Sidu: Regarding Konoha, Jin-san and I might be in different vectors. Jin-san’s Konoha is a coward. If I had to compare, Haruka is the active one. The Konoha as I see him is completely detatched from Haruka and doesn’t have any of Haruka’s courage or fears. Konoha’s actions aren’t a result of him thinking; rather, he seems like a character that reciprocates what is given to him.

──I see. Indeed, after listening to this, it does feel like the movie is filled to the brim with Sidu-san’s interpretations.

Sidu: That’s why it might feel different from the light novel to the viewers.

Kagerou Daze -in a day’s- Scene Shot 4

──Jin-san said in his interview that it was something like an “official anthology”.

Sidu: I think that definition hits close to home.

It started out with the Oekaki Keijiban for “Puyo Puyo”.

(T/N: For those unfamiliar with the term, “Oekaki Keijiban” or “Painter Bulletin Board”, also known as PBB and PBBS, are bulletin boards or forums dedicated to drawing pictures by using a paint program that runs in a web browser. For more info, there’s a detailed article on the subject here. And for anyone wondering, Puyo Puyo is a 90′s video game. It seems to be called “Puyo Pop” in Europe and America.)

──I think I should request a retrospective from the viewpoint of Sidu-san, who has been supporting “KagePro” that celebrates six years now with illustrations and videos, if it’s possible. But before that, when was it that Sidu-san started making art and posting it online?

Sidu: I started from the Oekaki Keijiban for “Puyo Puyo”. During those days, I was just a spectator, and believed people drew digital art using the mouse. Then I found out about the existence of tablet pens. (Laugh) Using them to draw became fun, and the first thing I published after that was the Oekaki Keijiban.

──When was that?

Sidu: The time I was in that Keijiban was at around my second or third year of middle school. Either 2007 or 2008. I’d watch MADs and FLASHs a lot on NicoDou.

(T/N: I’m pretty sure that people who watch AMVs are knowledgeable of these terms, but since they are almost exclusively used by the Japanese and were created by them, here we go again. To put it simply, MAD is the Japanese initials for AMV. The letters stand for “music anime douga”, meaning “music anime video”. But, unlike the western fanvideos, they’re mostly mash-ups with lots of effects and heavy editing, so generally leave a more intense impression. The term can also be used to describe the Japanese underground media community. Meanwhile, FLASHs are videos made using Flash Animation, the most popular animation software amongst hobbyists and YouTubers. They could be fanvideos or original creations; mostly the latter. Also, just for the heck of it, “NicoDou” is an abbreviation for NicoNico Douga.)

──Was it also around this time that you made a Pixiv account?

Sidu: Pixiv came a little later. In another Oekaki Keijiban, the word “Pixiv” popped up, so I looked it up and found the site. I had originally made an account just for the sake of viewing and didn’t post anything at all, and that’s the account I’m using until now.

──Looking back, you started using both NicoNico Douga and Pixiv in 2007. Now-a-days, the term “UGC” (User Generated Contents) has become common, but I believe that Sidu-san had been playing around in places like Keijiban as an anonymous creator and threading numerous individual accounts in websites since your teenage years.

Sidu: Thinking about it now, it was amazing. There was actually a popular person in that “Puyo Puyo” Keijiban. I remember finding this person’s art on Pixiv and got emotional while thinking, “That person is still alive!”. It was easy to find them since their art style didn’t change.

Year 2011, where the phenomenon known as “KagePro” overtook a creator.

──And then, four years from there, you discovered “KagePro” in 2011, and three months later, you became its illustrator.

Sidu: Only, I was light-hearted about it back then. After all, every tip I was receiving about how to make the art was via Twitter.

──I think 2011 was an important year, where “Senbonzakura”, “Tell Your World” and “KagePro” debuted together in a contest to become representatives of the 2010 internet’s VOCALOID and NicoNico Douga.

Sidu: It was a lively year. Before “KagePro” started, I’d made acquaintance(s) with VOCALOID song creator(s) through Twitter, but I think that was the time when it truly became lively. I also drew art for their songs.

──Does Sidu-san remember the impression from listening to Jin-san’s musical composition for the first time?

Sidu: Back then, I’d skim over the rankings of VOCALOID songs that came out everyday on NicoNico Douga. KagePro’s first song, “Jinzou Enemy”, was there, and had me going, “This song... is cool,” so I tweeted that. Then came the sudden reply from Jin-san, “Thank you very much”. That was when we had our first interaction.

──What kind of interaction was it?

Sidu: At first, we didn’t talk about songs or art at all, only about games. Then Jin-san saw my Pixiv account’s URL in my profile page and went, “So you were an artist,” then asked, “Could you draw something for my next song?”. From that, we made “Mekakushi Chord” together.

──From this point on, I think the repercussion regarding “KagePro” began to broaden all at once due to the release of “Kagerou Days” four months later, so how did you take it back then?

Sidu: There was a time when all of Pixiv’s rankings were often about “Kagerou Days”. Moreover, everyone was good at drawing. It was a phenomenon full of people that drew the art motifs that I had created better than myself. While I thought, “Amazing~!” I also pondered over things like, “Wouldn’t it be better if I weren’t here? Aren’t I just dragging it down?”.

──It felt like the phenomenon was overtaking you.

Sidu: Right. Everyone had all sorts of interpretations, and there were people who drew accessories and cool Hibiyas. I thought people who thought that far and made that much stuff were amazing.

──By the way, what’s Sidu-san’s image of Jin-san?

Sidu: During that time, I thought he was someone that made cool songs. But as it turns out, all he talked about were damned Otaku subjects, so I started thinking of him like, “This person... is a weird-ass old man, huh...” (Laugh) We also talked about “KagePro”, but half of it was like, “If this person was in a live-action adaptation of it, what role would you want them to play?”

Many adults she didn’t know ended up getting involved.

──“Mekakushi Chord” only contained an illustration, but “Kagerou Days” was fast to be turned into video. Had you wanted to make videos from the start?

Sidu: I had. But at first, the only software to make videos I knew of charged a fee, so I thought I couldn’t handle it and gave up. But upon doing a search, I found countless free softwares. Especially a software named “AviUtl”; I tried it out on intuition and ended up using it a lot.

──The MV of “Kagerou Days” shows stills that move through camerawork like visuals and lyrics that cut in, so an unique style was born from it. Was it inspired by anything?

Sidu: I simply thought, “I want to make a VOCALOID-ish MV” and it turned out like that. There were videos like that since back then. The rest was just the feeling that I “had to create an opening”.

I liked videos with lots of illustrated frames and watched them often, thinking that “it would be great if I could make videos like these, but drawing so many frames is exhausting so it’s impossible”. I believed that “it will be more VOCALOID-ish this way” and made it without enough frames. Although, I don’t know how, I ended up with many frames. (Laugh)

──After that, “KagePro” moved forward as a collaborative work with a particular worldview. How did you feel when the project grew bigger and bigger?

Sidu: During the time of “Headphone Actor”, I had heard about the demo movie of the VOCALOID named “IA”, but back then, I wasn’t co-working with anyone and made everything by myself. Yet, at the time that the CDs, light novels and manga were released, a bunch of adults I didn’t know became involved. “Isn’t this... kind of bad...?” is what I felt.

──Meaning, from 2011 to 2012, the situation was steadily rising to a climax, and the people from companies and labels that keep everything in order became involved.

Sidu: That’s right. At that point, all of the characters had been made. I had suddenly been told by Jin-san, “These characters will come out next, so please make as many prototypes as possible for them” and from then, we made “Konoha no Sekai Jijou”.

The feeling of “Do I feel good about this or not?” doesn’t change from the videos to the anime.

──The phenomenon’s ignition was “Kagerou Days”, and adults started getting involved during the time of “Konoha no Sekai Jijou”. Were there any other songs that Sidu-san feels to have been a turning point?

Sidu: The first time I counted with another animation company and entrusted them with raw materials for the characters and animation was during the time of “Children Record”. It was the first time I’d made a video with someone else, but since it was related to “KagePro”, it was a pain in the beginning.

──What exactly was a pain?

Sidu: I really couldn’t manage to put what I wanted to do into words in a way others would understand. There is also the fact that I’m a taciturn, the type that doesn’t talk much, and the contents of my works are usually messy. Back then, I couldn’t deal well with taking lots of jobs and having to interact with people numberous times, so I thought the proposal of making an anime was terrible.

──Are there any remarkable memories from after that?

Sidu: That would be the opening theme of the TV anime, “daze”. Back then was when I made a video with scarce animation for the first in a long time. I believed I had made a video with an evolution of my old style. Basically, I prefer making videos with motion typography like “daze” rather than animation.

──What does Sidu-san, as a creator, consider a strength in your style?

Sidu: I’m often told I’m not the articulate type, and to tell the truth, I don’t even understand my own style that well. (Laugh) I’m not that conscious of my style; I just think, “I wanna make something like this” when I occasionally see something I consider cool and do it. But my sense of time ─ my way of timing things ─ might have not changed since the past.

──I think it’s a big point for the sound and images to be synchronized. The way of capturing motion in Sidu-san’s videos feels like the motion and the music are in the same session, like it connects with a percussion instrument through a wire.

Sidu: Hoa~, thank you very much. I’ll try to keep that up from now on. (Laugh)

──Is this more of an emotional than a technical thing?

Sidu: That’s right. It’s completely emotional. Whether I’ll “feel good about it or not”.

“Kagerou Daze -in a day’s”, the movie that resonated Jin and Sidu’s music and videos.

Kagerou Daze -in a day’s- Scene Shot 5

──About that feeling, I wonder if it didn’t come to life in the production of this MX4D. I felt something like a connection between the bridging and coordination of this production and the sense of timing of Sidu-san’s videos.

Sidu: I think that success was achieved entirely thanks to the technique of the contributing editors. In the process of making it, I did imagine things like, “I want to put special effects in this bit,” but when the part of adding MD4X effects actually came, it turned out to be fun. So I thought, “Let’s put in a lot of effects,” and it wound up really flashy.

──It flickered a lot; my glasses even got wet. (Laugh)

Sidu: Yes, yes. Makes one feel like, “just shake things up,” huh? (Laugh)

──Was there anything you obsessed over in the coordination of the animation or the MX4D?

Sidu: There are scenes in Shintarou’s point of view, and I thought that, since it was a subjective viewpoint, we couldn’t just halt them, so I made them oscilate all the time. While imagining them, I felt we should just make them flashy.

──This movie’s main point is the subjective viewpoint, huh? Within 20 minutes, the point of view is often switched. The opening scene with the terrorists also starts with a subjective viewpoint in first person. It became a form of narration similar to a virtual reality type of self-insertion.

Sidu: That’s right. We referenced that genre of video games named FPS rather than making it like a regular anime. I thought the MX4D effects were very compatible with that.

──Seeing the feedbacks, there were several positive ones like “they move so much when the frames are put together” or “the water and scents were amazing”, and it gave me the impression that many people enjoyed the aspect of self-insertion provided by the MX4D. I believe you have come across various different feedbacks as well, so how did you take them?

Sidu: I’m extremely grateful to the people who said it was fun. But there are also negative opinions. To be honest, even I think there were things I couldn’t manage to do, so I symphathize with them like, “So you think the same as me, huh?”.

It ended up being a short story, but it started out from a PV-like form of storytelling, so it felt like an omake. That’s why the people who said it was enjoyable (personally) make me the happiest.

──Is that to say that the story and the personal experience were memorable?

Sidu: Yes. However, for the story, “Kagerou Daze -in a day’s-” actually has a sequel, “Route-2”. I won’t go into details yet, but I can say there will be a connection with it through the use of this first-person subjective viewpoint.

──In Jin-san’s interview, he also talked about the pleasure of personal experience, and the keywords were “feeling of immersion”. The opening “RED” expressed a feeling of dizziness from being inside a whirlpool with its fast tempo. He said that, this time, he worked on the song for the movie completely separated from you, but in the end, I believe your feelings wound up linked to one another. Lastly, in retrospect of these six years, what was “KagePro” for Sidu-san?

Sidu: It was a school. I learned a lot of things through “Kagerou Days”. I learned a lot of bad things too. My art simply became better and I became better at making videos as well. I learned how to worldbuild and make videos and anime. I always had to greet lot of people at work, so I also became more sociable. It really felt like a school.

──Meaning you grew together with “KagePro”.

Sidu: That’s right. I also got to eat some delicious stuff. (Laugh)

──Hahaha. By the way, Jin-san said that “KagePro” was “meant to seriously deceive children”. And that “it wasn’t made to please adults”.

Sidu: That’s right. Lately, I have often heard people commenting with disdain, “that thing is aimed at children”. But I believe that everyone makes stories influenced by things they liked as children or animes they watched and mangas they read. That’s why I think childhood is important. It’s okay for it to be a work that adults can also enjoy, but what meaning would it bear if children couldn’t stand it? Is what I feel.

#kagerou project #kagepro #mekakucity actors #kagerou daze #kagerou daze in a day's #sidu #jin #anime #my translation

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