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shoutogepi · 5 years

Text

“Fuck You!””I Just Might.”

Bakugou Katsuki

word count : 7.1k holy hecc

[ ✘ (nsfw!) ]

themes : nasty nasties hehe.. choking, angry sex, dom bakugou (what’s new lmao), lots of sexy vengeful teasing, & almost being caught (? idk what to call that haha)

bio : You and Ground Zero are far from getting along in almost every aspect… except for getting off perhaps.

author’s note : wow another smut whodathunkit !!! This isn’t super romantic (Happy VDay my sweets!!) but goddamn if u thirstin today drink tf up bc the SALOON IS OPEN AND HERE’S THE SPECIAL ON DA HOUSE

side note: (Y/H/N) = your hero name, also the sidekick is 100% out my ass not real bc I didn’t feel like doing legit research heheh. also, all characters are aged up to long past UA-grad in this (so everyone is 18+!!)

tagging: @lordexplosionsextra per request -- hope you enjoy bb :) happy vday!

also available on AO3 here

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🄰rms crossed, chest puffing in defiance, your gaze shoots daggers into his stupid smirk. “I’m not your fucking sidekick, Boom-Boy, so you can crawl back into the putrid swamp you came from and take your damn paperwork with you!”

“H-hey now,” Bakugou’s sidekick laughs nervously, hands waving in front of him as he shakes off the jab you just took at him inadvertently.

Bakugou laces his gloved fingers over his lap and kicks back in his chair, straightening his legs so his boots rest on the table across from you. “Listen, Princess, you know the rules. Whoever gets the final blow doesn’t have to do the nitty-gritty shit,” he answers, shrugging nonchalantly.

“You only got the finisher in ‘cuz I was busy doing everything else! You pop in at the last second and get all the credit and no busywork? Fuck off,” you fume, hooking your foot around the leg of his chair and ripping it toward you. Bakugou’s eyes widen as he falls backwards, tumbling onto the hard floor. He grimaces at you from the floor, vermillion eyes ablaze.

“It’s not my fault you’re too stupid to strategize! Don’t start shit you can’t fucking finish yourself!” He barks, voice spiking with fury. Ouch, that one stung your pride a little.

“You’re such an asshole,” you snarl, shoving the stack of papers off the table. The pages swirl in the air and scatter onto the tiled floor, some landing on the instigator’s lap. Bakugou’s palms crackle as his breath is stolen at your audacity. Your sidekick lets out a startled noise, jumping at the sudden popping. Bakugou’s sidekick has his hand on his temple, attempting to rub out the headache forming at this mess.

Why did you two have to hate each other so much?

The two sidekicks stand stiffly against the wall as you shove by them, Bakugou glaring at your ass as your hips swing around the doorway, out of his sight.

It’s late, the purple sky littered with the lights of the lively city. The villain you— or Bakugou, you suppose— had taken down earlier had been the last job of the day and you’re tired of the stupid bullshit he always serves you when the two of you work together.

Usually your agency kept the two of you on opposite boundaries of the patrol area, but you had begrudgingly needed help with this last offender of the day. Your quirk didn’t do incredibly well against villains with close-combat styles, but you could still manage. Unfortunately, the guy that had been causing mayhem earlier was beyond powerful up close, and he had landed a hit that knocked the wind out of you and made you slower than usual. It wasn’t a major injury or anything, but you’d probably have a nasty bruise on your torso after you took off this goddamn gimp-suit of a costume. Luckily, you had visited the in-house, agency healer in the infirmary upon arrival from the job, and they had sucked the nasty welt off your skin and redirected it somewhere else as their quirk allowed. The pain subsided mostly, just a bit sore where the bruise would’ve been.

You close the door to your office gently, a heavy sigh releasing as you make your way toward the desk. It was almost quitting time, but you still had to finish up the paperwork from the other case you had dealt with this morning. Clicking on the desk lamp, you breathe in to calm your frayed nerves, eyes closing briefly as you try to find the energy to finish your work.

The door bursts open, slamming almost immediately and tearing you out of your attempt at meditation. Bakugou stands in there, steam practically billowing from his nose and scarlet eyes flashing with agitation.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He snarls, prowling toward you with an accusatory, gloved finger raised.

“Excuse me?” You quip, irritation revitalized almost instantly. “Who do you think you are, storming into my office after the shit you pulled today?”

He stops in front of you, glowering down at you. You turn your face slightly, your eye level meeting his chest and not wanting to look at that. He was kind of muscular up close like this, you’d never noticed because you’d always created the most distance as possible between you two.

“Oh, you mean me saving your ass? Yeah, my bad, woman,” he growls, letting his gaze linger on the way your eyelashes kiss your cheek bones as you scoff, eyes closed in annoyance.

You glare at him, infuriated. “I didn’t need your fucking help! Did I ask you to come?”

He takes his time to reply, stare holding your attention briefly before he licks his lips. “No, but your sidekick did.”

The sentence is like a cold slap to the face, and you push him backwards with newfound anger. “Don’t fucking lie to me Bakugou,” you seethe, hands clenched into fists. “If you’re gonna lie at least come up with something believable!”

“Tch. She did call me, brat, and she begged me to come to your rescue like you were a goddamn damsel in distress,” he grunts, breaking eye contact with you as he hunches slightly, strong hands shoved into his pockets. Bristling at the refreshed anger rippling off of you, he already knows what you’re going to say. “She said that shitty villain got his hands on you, yeah right you had it under control.”

You don’t know what to say. You can’t really refute that the assailant had managed to hurt you, but you still wish Bakugou hadn’t heard that information. The asshole already thinks he’s the hottest shit in the agency, you really don’t want to give him any evidence of your weaknesses. So you sit on the edge of your desk, sighing once again. “I can handle one hit, dipshit,” you mutter. “It’s already healed anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can take care of yourself,” he grumbles, gaze flickering to your grim expression before he looks intently at the picture on your wall.

The silence that ensues is uncomfortable. You had never really talked to Bakugou before-- usually every time the two of you were together you were having a shouting match, throwing insults back and forth relentlessly. You aren’t really sure how to reply, and you absolutely did not want to acknowledge that he had come to your rescue when you actually needed him.

Bakugou is as silent as you are. He wonders where you’d been hit momentarily, before pushing off the thought because god forbid he show emotions. He’d already had his fill of feelings for the day. He sure as hell would never tell a soul, but the second he had seen your sidekick’s name flash across his phone screen this evening, his stomach dropped like he’d been the one to receive the villain's punch, not you. Shoving away the intrusive thought, his trademark scowl surfaces to his face.

“You know, I still haven’t heard a ‘thank you’.”

His irritating voice slices through the tension in the room, and you bristle at his impudence. “Gee, Ground Zero,” he ruffles at his hero name, a frown bending his thin lips,” thanks so much for stealing my job and taking the credit for it too, and really— thank you so much for the paperwork as well. I’m just so grateful.”

“Tch. Don’t be so bitchy, you know I saved your ass today so just fess up and thank me already. You’ll feel better once you spit it out,” he provokes, thick arms crossing over his chest.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, scowling at his smug face. The snarl that breaks his lips is ignored as your eyes turn to slits directed toward him.

He laughs at your malicious look, mouth transforming into a sleazy grin. He can’t stop himself even though he’s a tad hesitant, but his bold and loud nature wins out and he says cooly, “I just might.”

You gape at him, the smile on his mouth escalating your agitation. “W-What?” You choke out meekly, palms pushing you off the desk to stand upright.

He has the gall to grin, taking a step toward you. His heavy boots clunk against the floor, and you move backwards only to bump into the desk again. You cast a futile glare at the desk, and when you look back at him, he’s looming over you. “I think it’s time we acknowledge this thing we have, (Y/H/N).”

Your lips part in surprise, the blush tainting your cheeks slightly. “I have no idea what you’re referring to,” you stammer. Your arms crossing over your chest, he can’t help but notice how your breasts squish upwards, cleavage visible through your skin-tight costume.

“I think you do,” he chuckles with a low voice, gaze regarding the pink pigment gracing your cheeks. He savors it, lips curling into a smirk. His hands meeting the edge of your desk as he leans in, his body brushes against your arms. You rear back, shock evident on your face with lips parted as he tips his head to the side. He cages you in, an unfamiliar look simmering in his crimson irises. “You can feel the tension between us too. I know it, Princess.”

You’re once again at a loss for words. What the hell is happening right now? You think, mind reeling desperately to change the subject. “I hate it when you call me that,” you spit out, looking up to catch his intense stare. It wasn’t dishonest, you hated his pet name for you. Just because you weren’t as careless as him, he’d tacked the snide nickname to you awhile back because he knew it pissed you off. “It’s a stupid name that only your idiot brain could come up with.”

Take the bait, please take the bait.

“The way you treat me like I’m beneath you, what else can I call you?” His breath fans against your cheek and you hate to admit it’s fresh and minty, not at all as nasty and troll-like as you’d convinced yourself it would be. “But I guess that’s ‘cuz you really wouldn’t mind having me under your lap, right?”

You gasp at his crude suggestion, knees smacking together as your thighs clench automatically. “Fuck off, Bakugou,” your voice trembles slightly, your palms hesitantly landing on his chest. Your attempt to push him is less than half-hearted, and he smiles at your crumbling resolve.

His fingers skim along the small of your back, perching his hand on your waist. You can feel its warmth through your costume and his glove, and your body bends into his hold on its own accord, your ass pushing back while your chest grazes his. He exhales harshly, his other hand docking on the top of your stiffened thigh, thumb falling into the curve between your legs. You wish it was higher up, and the recognition of your craving makes your blush a few shades darker.

“What was that?” He snickers, lips brushing your earlobe as his nose pushes away your cascading hair. He didn’t expect you to smell so good after a long day of fighting crime.

Your fingers grab onto his costume, clawing at the material and you’re not sure if it’s in anger or desire. But Bakugou is sure, his fingers rubbing your waist as he glances at your restless hold on his costume. “Oh, bite me,” you spit out, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

His lips touch your jaw, and you can feel the sneer that rests so prominently there. “Manners, Princess… say please,” he chides, tongue poking out to trace the soft skin there.

A quiet moan escapes you and Bakugou groans loudly in response. He draws his face back to lock eyes with you, stare taught with the tension the two of you have built over all this time.

“You gonna tell me you’ve never thought about us fucking?” He inquires, eyes darting to your lips and returning to your gaze. “All those times we riled each other up, every time we pushed each other’s buttons over and over— you gonna say you never thought about getting me to shut the hell up by any means necessary?”

Your eyes roll in your head, from a combination of lust and disbelief. You cannot believe you're letting him hold you like butter in his hot hands, melting you and licking you up. You glare at him, his lips just close enough to distract you. You weren’t going to let him mould you like putty anymore. “I bet you wanna think that I have, Bakugou,” you whisper, and he looks at you with mild surprise adorning his handsome face. Your blush infects him immediately, a flush spreading over his own cheeks and he’s suddenly very glad his costume has a mask. “You think I haven’t noticed you checking me out every second of the day, Boom-Boy?”

He seems at a loss for words as your wrists wrap around the back of his neck, pulling his face down and level to yours. His brow bursts into a sweat as one of your hand curls around his costume’s throat piece, trailing south and following the delicious line between his pecs down his abs. Your fingernails scraping through his costume, his skin prickles as he gasps. Your lips meet his stubbled jaw, mirroring the action he had performed to you a moment ago. His fingers tighten their hold on you, his body jerking almost invisibly at the contact. “You ogle at me much more, little Miss Priss,” he says cockily even though his voice sounds forced.

It was your turn to curl your lips into a sultry smile, half-lidded eyes regarding his shocked, eager stare. “I thought I told you not to tell your phony lies, Bakugou,” your murmur against his jawline, hand curving around his pelvis and to drag down his outer thigh. “It’s a sin to lie, you know.” Your fingers skim the very ridge of the bulge in his pants, teasingly tracing the outline and watching him close his eyes, his grin seeming strained.

“You know a lot about sins, then?” he pants, sliding his hand down from your waist slowly, fingertips stretching eagerly to push into your plush ass.

You nip at his skin playfully, and he shudders in response. Your raise your head to meet his hungry gaze, your coy smile still beaming. “I might… You want me to demonstrate my knowledge?” Your tongue parts your lips, eyes falling to his slightly agape mouth. Your breath tangles, and his eyelids flutter shut as your lips graze.

The hand on your thigh grips your flesh tighter and you whimper, your mouth tingling at the harder contact of the kiss. His other hand slides south and cups your tailbone, calloused fingers bringing your ass toward him. The sudden movement surprises you, and you grab onto his neck, making his chin dip down as your hips slide into his crotch. You clash into him, your lips colliding as sparks fly through the air.

You both moan into each other’s mouths, the kiss desperate and hot. Your tongue pokes out to probe his bottom lip and he gladly receives your wet muscle with his own. Your legs trapped between his shuffle as you wiggle your hips, savoring his fiery hands gliding over your figure.

Bakugou’s hands are firm but warm, caressing your waist and hips and heating them up. He growls as your hips buck against his, rubbing the tent in his baggy pants. One of his hands slides along the smooth fabric of your hero suit, cupping the swell of your breast in his large palm as his thumb runs over your nipple. You throw your head back, and his lips gladly blaze the trail of your throat with a scorching urgency. Your fingers move to his arm pieces, clamoring at the top of the machinery near his elbows. He gladly slides the gadgets off, placing them in one of the chairs facing your desk while he rips off his black gloves. He hastily throws the neck piece onto the seat as well before he turns and captures your lips once more.

When his fingers return to your hips, you can feel the true heat of his burning palms through your bodysuit, making you arch into him wantonly. His tongue battles yours fiercely, both of you fighting for dominance as his hands glide up to your waist and fumble with your belt. You can feel his rigid muscles through his thin tank top, your hands wandering greedily underneath the right material to touch his smooth skin.

Bakugou smirks as your belt falls onto the desk, hands falling and grabbing onto your ass cheeks eagerly, pulling you closer to his body. You take the chance to shove your tongue into his mouth and he groans at the impact, jaw slackening as he allows your tongue to take control. He grinds into you slowly, making your thighs tremble with apprehension. His mouth detaches from yours, and the string of saliva connecting your tongues is sliced as his shirt flies through the air. You drink in the sight of his naked chest, muscles swelling and flexing, tapering down into a delicious V that disappears underneath his belt.

You grab the belt, yanking his body close to yours again and sighing as your lips meet once more. “You’re really man-handling me Princess,” he comments amusedly into your lips as your fingers grapple with his belt, toying with the latch.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snarl, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and harnessing a moan from him,” and touch me already, pussy.”

His vermillion gaze ignites, mouth crashing onto yours as his fingers slide underneath the swell of your ass. He lifts you like you’re but a paperweight, and you moan as your legs wrap around his hips. His tongue crushing yours, his kisses so intense that your head leans back at the sizzling force. You jump slightly as your ass meets the cushion of your desk chair, eyes opening to see he’d rounded the desk and knelt in front of you. His knees on the ground, he looks up at you haughtily, hands coasting slowly down your legs toward your center. “Is this where you want me?” he feigns innocence and you glare down at him. His thumb hooks the crotch of your leotard, and he shoves the material to the side roughly, making you gasp.

The cool office air greets your cunt, making it throb even more in arousal. “Bakugou,” you whine as he watches your face, shifting your hips in a feeble attempt to catch his attention. He slinks down, lips brushing over your panties softly as he watches you squirm. He grins against the black lace, thumb curling around the skinny part of the thong over your asshole, making you shiver.

“You’re right Princess,” he grumbles, tongue gliding over the wet spot that had leaked through the material, inhaling your scent pervertedly as he closes his eyes in triumph. Your bottom lip is prisoner to your teeth again as you watch his teasing movements, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Sometimes when you’ve got me all riled up, I jerk off thinking about how good your bratty little ass would look bouncing on my dick.” You can’t help but whimper at his confession, rolling your hips against his mouth in desperation.

He smirks up at you, crimson irises glittering with savory mischief. His hands snake around your thighs, clutching onto the junction they meet your hips with vigor. He pushes your body down into the seat so you can’t wriggle any longer, and he feels your cunt clench against his chin when he nips at your panties, teeth dragging along your clit. You wail his name again lowly, harsh breaths ripping through your lungs.

He growls in response, thumb ripping the lace to the side and exhaling at the sight of your swollen cunt, grin broadening at the excessive glaze that he had caused. “Fuck,” he laments, tongue poking out to graze your clit experimentally. Satisfied with the way your hand flies to cover your mouth, he places a teasing kiss there. “You know,” he murmurs against your slick nerve,” More than once I’ve wondered how hot and sweet your cunt must be, hiding underneath this skimpy little leotard.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyebrows cinching as you glower down at him, meeting his pleased gaze. “Why don’t you find out for yourself then?” you hiss, baring your teeth at his infuriatingly proud smirk.

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Princess?” Bakugou’s tongue glides along the side of your slit, making you stiffen and shut your eyes tightly. Of course he’s a fucking tease.

A knock sounds at your door to pull you out of your collapsing mind, and you sit up straight, eyes wide as Bakugou’s sidekick peeks into the room.

Bakugou stills, unsure as to who it is, staying hidden behind your desk and still holding your hips harshly.

“Hey Y/N, have you seen Ground Zero possibly? He’s stormed off as usual and I can’t find him anywhere,” the sidekick says, blinking at you with unsuspecting eyes.

“Oh, H-Hikaru,” you gulp, hesitantly placing your hands on your desk. Bakugou is quiet underneath you but you’re preparing yourself for the little shit to pull something stupid.

And he does.

Bakugou’s tongue slips between your folds suddenly, licking a large stripe from the bottom to the top of your slit, sucking in your clit and rolling his tongue around it brazenly.

“Oh my god!” you yell, hand slapping over your mouth too late. Hikaru looks at you incredulously, regarding your pink cheeks and sweaty forehead. “I can’t believe him! W-what an asshole!” you pant as Bakugou sucks harder, your pussy clenching onto itself. “He probably left so you’d do the paper… mmm, paperwork for h-him.” You abs are flexed so hard, straining in order to restrain the mess of moans that Bakugou is summoning.

Hikaru finds your tone a bit peculiar, but he continues anyway. “Uh, probably… Are you okay Y/N? You look kind of… sick,” he comments, head tilting to the left. “Did you get that jab checked out yet? I can take you to the infirmary if you want. If it’s bad I can drop you off at your place, too.”

Bakugou doesn’t like that suggestion. He doesn’t need to lick his fingers, your drenched core welcomes the digits instantly. Your walls accommodate his middle and ring finger eagerly and he smirks as they sink into you, knuckle-deep.

“Yes!” you shriek, quickly shooting a glare down at the blonde, your hair covering your face from his sidekick. “I mean— yes, I had it checked out and I’m f-fine, thank you for the concern, Hikaru,” you explain, a forced smile on your lips as you silently beg him to leave.

Bakugou stretches his fingers inside you, scissoring them to coat them in your essence before he puts them together again. His wrist strained in the forced position, he flicks the digits back and forth, almost laughing in glee as he recognizes that soft velvety spot deep within you.

Hikaru blinks at you again before he nods half-heartedly. “Okay… Well if you need me, I’ll be in the conference room doing Bakugou’s job,” he laughs, tucking out of the door and closing it finally.

“He wishes he could do my job, fucker,” Bakugou grunts, mouth immediately returning to satiating your needy hole.

You sag into the chair, a quiet moan floating out of you as Bakugou continues to finger you, his lips slurping up your clit once more. Shooting a heated look at him, you bare your teeth at him, and choke out a hiss,” Fuck you!”

Bakugou only chuckles, savoring the way your cunt throbs around his digits. “I didn’t think you were so impatient, brat.” He doesn’t slow his actions though, knuckles ramming against your skin. He enjoys the way you gasp as he moves your thigh over his shoulder, his tidy fingernails pressing into your trembling leg. “You taste pretty good, Y/N. I guess it’s just your personality that’s bitter,” he remarks, smiling against your sex as his fingers slide out of you.

You toss him a pointed look as he wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “Excuse you, Boom-Boy,” you chide,” only my friends get to call me that!”

“Tch, I get to eat your pussy but I can’t call you by your name? You really know how to make a guy work for it,” he scoffs, sounding mock-hurt, and now menacing over you.

You frown in response but it quickly melts into a smirk. “Don’t worry, Katsuki,” you observe how he closes his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching as his hand turns into a fist,” I’ll return the favor.” You tentatively place your hands on his belt, undoing the clasp and resting the heel of your palm against his clothed, hard cock. You gently undo the fastenings around his thick thighs, placing the belt with his grenades onto your desk cautiously. You weren’t trying to be blown up just for some dick.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of both his black pants and underwear, annoyed with you taking your sweet ass time. His bare cock springs free, greeting your hungry gaze with an inviting sheen of sticky precum trailing down his hard length. You gawk at the sight, genuinely surprised to find he was so… well equipped.

“So this is why you’re so cocky, huh?” you state, eyes following the protruding vein running the entirety of his full, flushed member.

He barks out a laugh which dies in his throat as you press a chaste kiss to his weeping pink tip. Your tongue flat against your bottom lip, you slide his cock into your mouth and moan at the salty, provocative taste of him. His length almost as thick as your throat itself, you gag gently as you take him whole into your mouth before quickly pulling back. You place your hand around the base of his now-slick cock, your mouth sucking and bobbing on the top half of him as you jerk your fist at the same tempo.

Bakugou is much louder than you expected him to be, and the way his erotic, serrated breath is tearing from his lungs makes your pussy clench in desire. His chest heaves, the bulging muscles on his torso tense underneath his surprisingly smooth skin. Your other hand wanders up his abs, enjoying the way the ridges between them are so defined. He growls as your finger rubs over his nipple, his hand catching your wrist in a tight grasp but not doing anything to stop the action.

You purr on his cock, slippery hand leaving the base to cup his balls, eliciting a hiss from him as he sucks air in between his gnashing teeth. Confidence torrenting through your veins at his reaction, your jaw drops as wide as you can muster, your mouth gliding further down his length.

Bakugou’s empty hand collects the hair falling around your face, holding it for you as you weave back and forth. His jaw falls slack as the head of his dick rubs the back of your throat, summoning a soft gag that makes your mouth vibrate around him. Your wrist hurts a little from his tight grasp, but the way his fingernails dig into your skin makes your core shiver in delight. “Shit, Y/N.”

You don’t bother to correct him this time, thumb running over his balls just hard enough to make him shake a bit, savoring the way he is panting and quaking before you. The hand grasping your hair nimbly shimmies closer to your skull, his fingers twisting almost too tightly onto the roots of your hair. You allow him to coax your mouth closer, his arm guiding your face to take his length deeply. A low growl tears from the bottom of his lungs as you lock eyes with his impassioned stare. His hips nudge smally against your lips, his tongue poking out to run over his lip as he pulls back and glides back inside your sweltering throat.

You moan forcefully, savoring the the strangled noise that slithers from his now gaping mouth. Taking initiative once more, you begin to jerk your neck back and forth quickly, wincing as his grip tightens on your wrist. Bakugou tries his best to repress his moans but the way your bratty throat welcomes his hard cock makes him see tiny, fizzling explosions when he closes his eyes.

His hips rear back, and you almost fall off the chair as you lean in to close the distance. He catches you easily, hot hands landing on your shoulders as his gaze locks with yours, inexplicable desire sizzling between the two of you. His hands fly down to collect your ass cheeks, and he picks you up just to place the apple of your cheeks on the desk behind him. Teetering on the edge of the wooden furniture, your legs wrap around his waist, and his lips slam onto yours again. His fingers frantically running over your super suit, he snarls in frustration when he can’t find the zipper.

You laugh at him mockingly, catching his eye as you pinch the zipper on the side of your neck, the material shrinking away immediately with elasticity. He watches as your breasts pop out of the silky, neoprene-like fabric, bouncing with hardened, pink nipples standing perkily to greet him.

“No bra?” He reprimands but his time sounds more turned on than accusatory. “Princess, you’re so naughty.” His hands fly to your tits, groping the soft and supple flesh with fervor. You unzip the rest of your side, pulling your arms out of the sleeves and carefully angling your hips so you can slide the suit off into a crumpled pile on the ground. In just your tiny little thong now, Bakugou closes the gap, pressing flush against your clothed center and grinding his wet cock against your damp underwear.

Your head tilts back and you whine, gasping as his mouth slides along your throat, hot tongue caressing the tender skin. “Please, Bakugou,” you wail, his thumbs rubbing your sensitive nipples hastily.

“God, you must be tight if you’re this high-strung,” he purrs next to your ear, enjoying the way your cunt clenches noticeably underneath your panties. Speaking of those… his fingers snatch the delicate lace to the side, his other hand grabbing his dick and running his swollen tip over your slit. He dips the head into your hole but recedes instantly, brushing it over your glistening trove before repeating the action. The teasing has your head spinning, harsh pants falling from you both and mingling in the thin divide between you. He can’t take it any longer, his hips snapping into yours as his dick easily disappears halfway into your steamy, aching cunt. “I fucking knew it,” he grunts, jaw clenching as your velvety walls embrace his girth, your cry of pleasure music to his ears. “Your cunt is so snug around my cock.”

His hips push into your thighs further, only stopping once he’s balls-deep, sunk completely in your flittering sex. Hand leaving your thong to the side of your cunt, he grabs your hip and pulls your ass close. You groan at his cock nestling even deeper into your sopping hole, and your hips jerk against his as his hand curls around your lower back, securing itself so his fingers coil snugly around your waist. You choke on a sob as he thrusts into you again, his thick member prodding you in a very private place.

“You better fuck me already,” you growl at his pace that was testing your nerves, ready to be fucked into submission. Not that you were going to go down without a fight.

He chuckles cockily, a sly grin on his lips. “Your wish is my command.” His hips slam against yours and your teeth sink into his shoulder, muffling a scream of desire. He ruts into you with ease, your arousal making it almost effortless for his cock to spread the tense walls of your desperate pussy. His free hand claps against the swell of your ass, the noise slicing through the air and you scowl at him. It’s like he wants to be caught.

Ragged breaths tumble from the both of you, your saliva trickling down his chest as your teeth are still fastened into his broad shoulder. “F-Fuck, Bakugou,” you keen, each time his pelvis pressing against you tightly forcing your vision to shake.

“Katsuki,” he huffs, his left hand pushing your chin up to capture your half-lidded gaze. “Say it, Princess— fuck, tell me who’s making you feel so good,” he demands, eager to hear his name leave your lips in such an intimate way once more. His hips change tempo from his fast and hard pace to a slower, more sensual rolling motion, milking the desired reaction out of you.

The novel movement pressing deliciously against your clit, your unabashed whimpers fall onto his eager ears. Your fingers raise to pinch the top of his black eye mask, pushing the material up over his forehead so it tucks his ash blonde hair back. Looking into his eyes and admiring his uncovered, handsome features, you shoot him a sinful pout. “Ka— ah! Oh, Katsuki,” you gasp, your hands flying up to claw desperately at his muscular back.

Bakugou relishes in your lewd reply, eyes rolling back into his skull in delight. He lets out a gravely groan, increasing the tempo to a needy, impatient pace. The extra stimulation on your clit makes your legs shiver around him, your heels digging into the plush top of his ass. His hand slides back to grip around the back of your neck, leaning in to take the side of your ear between his teeth. His fingers on your throat press into your skin, his thumb pushed into your racing pulse. Hand squeezing just the right amount, it becomes pleasurably harder to breathe and you pant, tongue poking out as you wanton gaze meets his. “I’m gonna make you cum so hard Y/N,” he growls, almost snarling at you as your body bounces against his, watching your hair dance and shake around the erotic expression on your face.

“Eat shit,” your nose twitches in annoyance,” You’re gonna burst any minute now.” Your cheeks are dusted in a telling flush, your body feeling heat spread throughout. His hand tightens on your throat and you moan, loving the way your breath tears slightly.

“You’ve been clenched down on me this whole time,” he reasons, lips close enough so you can feel his ragged breath. “You can’t deny how your body reacts to me, even if you don’t want it to.”

You roll your eyes. Even buried between your legs at a time like this, he insists on pushing your buttons. “Oh, you want me to clench, Katsuki?” you inquire, tone confident in contrast to the wanton shake of your body.

He shivers as his name leaves your sinful lips, and the breath in his lungs is sucked out of him as you clamp your pussy as tight as you can around him. His hips stutter and you revel in the lustful way his face contorts, his eyes screwing shut temporarily.

When his vermillion eyes open again, his predatory gaze adding wood to the fire between your legs. “Bad girl,” he admonishes, an unruly grin lifting the corners of his mouth. His hips slam against yours, railing into you at an unimaginable speed and harshness. “That’s a cute try, Princess, but you’re gonna cum before me no matter what.”

You can’t even respond as he thrusts into you, your pants ripping through the air and mingling with the quick slapping noise echoing through the room. You hate to let him win but you can’t hold yourself off from your impending orgasm, the pressure in your core multiplying at an alarming rate as each thrust deliciously stimulates your deepest, most secret place.

“Katsuki,” you whimper, your spine arching into his touch while his hand keeps its hold on your throat. “I’m so close, please,” you beg, your toes curling forcefully as your eyes roll back.

Bakugou smiles at your submissive tone, purring out, “That’s better.” His hand leaving your throat to rub his finger on your clit, your body trembles in his hands. He leans into you and his lips conquer yours passionately, tongue darting in between your lips to caress with yours. His tongue pulls back as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, his wolfish stare daring you to follow his ensuing command. “Cum for me, Y/N.”

Your body tenses as you reach your climax, but Bakugou continues to assault your g-spot mercilessly. Your arms shake in euphoria, nails pressing in to form desperate scratches on his skin. It feels like he is snapping you in two, and you absolutely love it. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you wail out, relief washing over your limbs feeling like ice cold lemonade on a torrid summer day.

Pussy fluttering around his cock so deliciously, Bakugou moans at the new intensity. He swears as he keeps going, despite his own orgasm approaching. The image of you squirming in ecstasy underneath him makes him gasp immodestly. His hands clasp down on your hips roughly, making it even easier for him to pound into your soaked cunt as his teeth release your reddened lip. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he huffs, sweat glistening on his built chest as he thrusts into you particularly hard. “So much better than I could’ve ever imagined, holy shit, Princess.” He moans a little loudly, not holding anything back anymore. He is so fucking close.

“Katsuki, please,” you sob, your g-spot still being pummeled relentlessly, never getting a break from his assault and dragging your orgasm out longer than you thought possible. “I want your cum on me so bad!”

Bakugou throws his chin into the air, harsh breaths floating out as the flesh of your hips turns white under his oppressive grip. He grunts as he pulls out, his searing streaks of cum spurting out forcefully, shooting up to lace over your tits and down your stomach. His thighs tremble as he snarls, his first immediately jerking his cock as more of his cum gushes out of the tip. He gasps for breath, and he groans as your lips press to his captivatingly. He leans into your kiss, savoring the feeling of your sweet lips against his.

You shift in his hands, the once-rough palms now sliding over your skin carefully, fondling your body as his lips nibble at your own. You entertain it for a moment, nails trailing down his chest, thumbs rubbing into the ample muscles beneath his skin.

He pulls back, a lazy grin and satisfied eyes regarding you. “Well, that was hot,” he admits, eyebrow quirking upwards as he tries to even his choppy breath. You pull a handful of tissues out of the box on the corner of your desk, handing him a few which he gladly wipes over his drenched member. You sigh in content, head leaning back as you regulate your own breathing.

Bakugou makes you jump in surprise as he runs a new tissue along your torso, cleaning up his mess. You eye him playfully, secretly relishing in the way he is so considerate. He shuffles back a step like he can feel you appreciating his uncharacteristically caring actions, tugging up his underwear and tucking himself in with a smug grin on his lips.

“It was pretty good,” you say casually, sliding off the desk and pausing as your still-tingling core shifts, making you realize how tender you already are.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, handing you your costume from the floor. You snatch it out of his grasp condescendingly, glaring at him as you step into the leotard with quivering legs. “Pretty good?” he barks, eyeing your slow movements. “You’re still shaking, Princess.”

You shoot a glare at him, arms slipping into your costume and tucking your breasts away from his lingering eyes. “Fuck you.”

“You just did.” He replies smugly, and you ponder relieving the sudden urge you have to slap the look off his face.

“Whatever, Boom-Boy,” you quip, zipping up the side of your suit.

Bakugou chortles as he pulls on his shirt, fastening the loops around his thighs. “By the way,” he looks sideways at you with a smirk. “You came first, so I won.”

“You were, like, ten seconds behind me,” you scoff.

“After you, nonetheless,” he almost chirps, savoring in the irritation visibly building in you. He slips on his gloves, sliding his arms into his grenade-looking arm pieces. “Do I get a prize, Princess?”

You glance at his suggestive crimson eyes, pondering the idea of it. “You can choose the place next time,” you wink at him, clipping the belt on your waist with finality.

He seems pleased with the answer, his smirk widening as he steps closer to you. Your fingers pinch the bottom of his mask, dragging the material down to its correct location over his eyes. He shamelessly allows his gaze to rove over your body, recalling how tight and needy you’d been just minutes ago.

“Next time, I’m gonna make you beg,” he warns, opening the door and slipping through, seductive gaze locking with yours. “Can’t wait ‘til then, Y/H/N.”

And after that, working together became a whole lot easier.

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

make sure to shoot me a comment/ask/reblog if you enjoyed ♥︎ I’d love to receive any feedback!!!

thank you so much for reading!! Happy Valentine’s Day sweethearts :)

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

#whewwwww #somebody call the fire departmentttt lawd #lmao not to toot my own horn but this was hot #i finished this ln when i was lit af and was so pleased to find this morning when editing minimal errors and i managed to stay on track woo #ok ok ill get over myself now #bakugou fic #bnha fic #mha fic #ground zero fic #bakugou katsuki fic #bakugou smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugo smut #my fics #my fics katsuki

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theweasleysredhair · 4 years

Text

When Sparks Fly [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 1891

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: “You’re scared of fireworks?” “Scared is an understatement.” In which Fred plans a birthday surprise for his girlfriend without the crucial knowledge that she is terrified of fireworks.

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: I bloody loved this request

also to the requester: I hope I got this right bc I actually adore fireworks so I had to get myself into the mind-frame of being scared of them to write this so fingers crossed I did an okay job. enjoy my love!

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“What are you talking about now?” Ron asked the twins as they were chatting about something loudly.

“It’s my Y/n‘s birthday next week,” Fred announced. “And we’ve got something spectacular planned,” George grinned, folding his arms over his chest.

You smiled at them and shook your head with a laugh, “I’m kinda worried what the two of you are working on to be honest. You’ve both been awfully mysterious about it all.”

“Oh don’t you worry about a thing, love! Things are gonna take off,” Fred replied with a smirk, “Gonna have a cracking-”

“-Absolutely sparkling-“ George added.

“Time,” they finished the sentence simultaneously.

You smiled at them, hearing a few chuckles from the others as they wandered away, heads bowed together as they conspired about something or other.

“Shit,” you said as soon as they were out of ear shot.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked as he grabbed a bar of Honeydukes chocolate he’d left on a nearby table.

You sighed, “Their plan involves fireworks.” “Don’t all their plans involve fireworks?” Hermione asked with a small smile.

“Well yes but... this plan is for me. And from the hints they’ve been dropping, fireworks are a big part of the plan,” you chewed on your lip in thought and nervously clasped and unclasped your hands together.

Harry cleaned his glasses with the bottom of his jumper before returning them to his face, “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Well... usually no. But in this case... I thought I’d be able to go a bit longer without saying anything but... I don’t like fireworks. And by ‘don’t like’ I mean I am curling-into-a-ball-and-freaking-out petrified of them,” you admitted, looking down at your hands and sighing again.

“You’re scared of fireworks?”

“Scared is an understatement. Some people are scared of spiders - Ron - some of snakes, of clowns, of werewolves. My thing is fireworks.”

“But your boyfriend is Fred Weasley,” Ron said incredulously through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Oh yeah, cheers for that, Ron, I had almost forgotten,” you replied sarcastically.

Ron smiled before shaking his head, “No, I know, I just mean... well, how have you gone this long without telling him?”

You shifted in your seat, and avoided looking at any of them, “I just... haven’t. He loves them, doesn’t he? I can’t just tell him to stop using them just for my benefit.”

And that was the truth, really. You would never ask him to stop something he loved, and him and George used fireworks a lot in their pranks and such. It wouldn’t be fair to turn around and ask him to stop.

“Well... how badly are you afraid of them?” Hermione asked, tapping her chin in thought.

“I am more afraid of fireworks than Snape is of shampoo,” you joked, “No but seriously, I’ve had quite a few panic attacks over them - bad ones. I just... I can’t help it. I wish I liked them but I’m just terrified. And now Fred is planning something for my birthday and it’s very obvious that it involves fireworks. I don’t have the heart to tell him but... my heart’s thumping just from thinking about them.”

Hermione reached over to squeeze your hand reassuringly, “I’d speak to him beforehand, I’m sure he’d hate it more to do something that scares you.”

You smiled thankfully at her, “Yeah I’ll um... I’ll try and speak to him.”

***

Your birthday arrived much quicker than you’d hoped, and you’d woken up with an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. You hadn’t gotten the heart or courage to confront Fred about his plans for your birthday - he seemed much too excited any time you saw him - and by any means you didn’t want him to feel as though he had to change everything he’d been working on. You appreciated the effort and adored the lengths he went to to show you how much he cared and didn’t ever want him to know you weren’t as excited as him for what was to happen.

Your day went by quite normally, your friends and other students passing by to wish you a happy birthday. The only oddity was you hadn’t seen the twins all day, and it was nearing evening. The thought put you on edge, as you assumed they were working on whatever it was they’d been planning. Despite this, you couldn’t help but miss them - particularly your boyfriend - and hoped they’d make an appearance soon.

You’d just finished your evening meal when your eyes flickered to the ginger boy entering the Great Hall, a carbon copy of your doting boyfriend however completely different in your eyes.

“Happy Birthday, Y/n!” George grinned as he sat beside you on the bench and gave you a side hug, “Sorry we haven’t seen you all day, must’ve been rubbish without us, eh?” You smiled back, “Thank you Georgie! Yes I suppose it has - potions was definitely more boring than usual. You um... haven’t seen your dear twin at all, have you?”

“Ah, you wouldn’t happen to be referring to Freddie boy there, would you? I have indeed seen him and the main reason I am here is to escort you to him,” George stood you and held his hand out. You shook your head fondly and took it, allowing him to pull you up and out of the hall.

He led you down the main hallway and towards the doors of the castle, then out onto the Hogwarts grounds.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you followed the younger twin across the grass.

“You’ll see! You’re gonna love this, Y/n! Fred has been planning this for ages - with my help, of course,” George boasted as he shot a grin over his shoulder at you.

You faked a smile, hoping it was believable enough to look like excitement as you tried to hide that your heart was trying to escape your chest and you could hear blood rushing in your ears.

“George..?” You began.

“Yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you continued on as you glanced down at your feet, “It’s probably much too late to say anything now but I really don’t like-“

“Happy birthday, darlin’!” A familiar voice interrupted you, halting your sentence in the middle. Your eyes flickered up to rest on the welcome sight of your boyfriend and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw his messy ginger hair and cheeky grin.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a warm hug, one you accepted instantly and happily as you hadn’t seen him all day.

George made himself sparse, leaving you alone with your boyfriend who pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, making up for the fact he’d been gone all day.

As you pulled away, he immediately moved back in to kiss you again, mumbling how much he’d missed you (even though it had only been a day), before finally placing a last chaste kiss to your swollen lips. He then grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the Forbidden Forest, where you noticed lights twinkling in a nearby clearing.

He led you over, his fingers locked around yours as he bit his lip and looked at you, “Surprise, love!”

Your eyes locked on the scene, a blanket laid out with your favourite foods on top, bags of Honeydukes items sitting beside it and a pile of presents - wrapped messily in brown paper and tied with wonky bows - scattered across the grass next to the blanket. Small, glittering lights hung from the tree branches around the clearing, casting a light glow and illuminating both the food and the dozens of pillows that you noticed were also piled around.

“Thought we could spend some time together without anyone interrupting us or anything. Also got some new things we’ve been working on that I want to show you before we show anyone else,” Fred explained, nodding over to a stack of what you assumed were Wizard Wheezes products.

“Oh Merlin... this is beautiful... it’s amazing,” you murmured.

And it was. It was so lovely and thoughtful. You adored it.

Yet, as you were staring at the scene, in awe at how beautiful the fairy lights were, you couldn’t help the voice in the back of your mind reminding you about the fireworks, not knowing when they were going to go off but sure it would be soon.

Suddenly, you heard Fred chuckling beside you and you frowned as you looked over at him. “What’s so funny?” You asked nervously.

“There are no fireworks, love,” he said simply, shoving his hands into his pockets, the hint of a smile resting on his lips.

Your jaw dropped almost comically, “What? What do you- How did you- How could you possibly know I was thinking about them?”

“You keep looking around as if you’re waiting for something. Just letting you know there are no fireworks so you can relax, babe. I know you’re terrified of them so they were never part of the plan. You really think I don’t know you well enough to know that?” He mocked with a playful grin.

Your mouth opened and closed as you stuttered out, “I-I never told you-“

“Didn’t have to, I saw your reaction to the small sparklers me and Georgie made to throw around and realised then. I notice everything about you, love,” he said sincerely.

You turned to him with shock on your features, jabbing him lightly in the chest as you scolded him, “Then why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left ballsack would you make me believe your plan relied on fireworks?!”

“Just like to mess with you, love,” he gave you a cheeky grin, and you wanted to be mad but looking at him, you couldn’t bring yourself to be. Still, you tried to be as you gave him a fake glare, “Fred! I’ve been working myself up over this for days! You’re a right prat!”

However, you couldn’t help the relieved giggle that left your lips as you rested your forehead against his chest and sighed contently now you were back at ease.

“I’m your prat though.”

“Hmm, I suppose so,” you mumbled into his jumper as his hands rested on your waist, him leaning his chin on the top of your head. You stayed stood up, in his arms, for a while before you decided to speak again, “Doesn’t it bother you that you’ll probably never be able to use fireworks in my vicinity?”

Fred pulled away for a moment to look down at you, his features softening as he took in the sight of your nervous demeanour, “Honestly? I’d give up fireworks forever if it meant you’d stick around.”

You smiled wide, blushing as you hid your face again in his chest, “Don’t get too sappy on me, Weasley.”

“Me? Sappy? Never.”

“Hmm..” You hummed, unconvinced. “Just want you to know I love you more than anything, and that includes fireworks,” he said earnestly, the corner of his mouth flicking up into a small smile.

“Stop being so cute,” you grumbled.

“No can do, love, I’m the cutest!” He announced, laughing as you pulled him down by his collar. You smiled and shook your head just as your lips grazed his,

“Well I guess I can’t argue with that.”

#fred #fred weasley #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #hp #harry potter #all queue have to do is follow the spiders

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kuiinncedes · 3 years

Text

relight that spark

jatp au - chapter 1 - part 2/15? - 9,385 words

the prologue/part 1 (tumblr link) if you missed it!! (ao3 link) :D

so obviously this is pretty slowly updating already and it probably willll get worse 🤪 i might post the next part in like a week tho, it's not a full "episode" chapter and i already have it fully written and i'm pretty happy with it 😗✌️

this chapter is pretty long and i apologize for that bc i know i get annoyed when i have to stop in the middle of a long chapter and then my phone like loses my spot or whatever lakdshgjfs but idk how else to do it so .. just have my apology lol sorryyy <3 the next "episode" chapter is looking to be longer tho sdlkhglsj

LASTLY BUT NOT LEASTLY A HUGE MASSIVE FUCKING THANK YOU TO MEG @neversatisfiedwithlife FOR BETA READING THIS FOR MEEEE AND BEING SO SUPPORTIVE AND WONDERFUL LOVE YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SM 💞💖💓💗💕

chapter title and lyrics in this part from "wake up" from the julie and the phantoms soundtrack (whichhh if you haven't heard it... you should listen to it after reading maybe 👀)

plot and a lot of the dialogue from julie and the phantoms so like credit to all those creators and writers 🤪

warnings for this chapter: grief, mentioned character death (regarding kurt's mom)

read below the cut or here on ao3!! <3

2020

There’s a deep-seated weight of dread in Kurt’s stomach that he’s unable to ignore for the entire morning.

His last chance at the music program -- he needs to play again today, for the first time in over a year, or he’s done.

It’s all he can think about all day. He makes it through his first few classes, somehow, walking through the halls almost mindlessly, thoughts far away and only worrying about what he’s going to do, barely paying attention to who he’s almost running into, because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

It almost feels like last year again, when school started and everyone knew and everyone was staring at him in the hallways, even though he knows that they’re not right now and he knows most of these people couldn’t care less about him not being able to play at this point, but in his head it feels like they all know, like they’re all waiting, waiting and watching for him to play again and sing again.

He has been, too, for over a year.

He stops at his locker to wait for Mercedes before going to class.

“We’re gonna get tattoos together,” comes her familiar voice out of nowhere.

Involuntarily, Kurt smiles a little, turning to Mercedes. “Umm…?”

She shrugs and smiles back at him. “You know, when we’re adults and out in New York together or something. Just -- you know, at some point.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, silently saying, where the hell did this come from. Mercedes raises both of hers as if to say, answer the question. “Just curious,” she adds out loud. “Could start planning them now.”

He chuckles. “Of course. I’ll get all the matching tattoos with you.”

Grins and silent agreement pass between them and they both turn toward the lockers, a welcome break in the slowest part of the day, the voices and noises of other students filling the air.

“I know you don’t want me to ask, but…” Mercedes starts slowly after a moment, and Kurt nods his head in acknowledgement; he knows what she’s going to say. “Do you know what you’re going to do today?”

He puts some books in his backpack, mainly for something to do. “I’ll know in the moment,” he says, somewhat truthfully. He could just say what he thinks will happen, which is nothing. But Mercedes can see right through him anyway, so might as well stay somewhat positive until it happens. Or rather, doesn’t happen.

Mercedes sighs a little. “Mrs. Harrison said today is your last chance,” she tries, leaning on her side against the lockers.

“I know, I was there,” Kurt says lightly, letting his eyes scan the contents of his locker a tenth time. Mercedes reaches over and squeezes his hand lightly. Her eyes tell him that she’ll stop talking about it for now, and he squeezes back gratefully.

The conversation with Mercedes has really helped, though; it always does. If he’s going to spectacularly embarrass himself in front of his music class, and probably for the last time, at least he’ll have Mercedes there.

She sees it in his smile, and she sends it back. You always will, is her silent whisper.

A sharp, cheery voice pierces the air and makes them both turn their heads, and the uplifted mood from the conversation with Mercedes disappears when Kurt sees none other than Quinn Fabray, in her Cheerios! uniform, complete with a tight ponytail and perfect smile as she hands out what appears to be flyers to passing students, who are immediately won over by her status, closeness, sweetness. Finn Hudson lingers behind her with his guitar case and his own stack of flyers that he’s not handing out nearly as enthusiastically.

“Spirit rally Friday!” Quinn’s saying as she all but shoves another flyer into the face of a nervous freshman who takes it and scurries away, doing a double-take once they pass her. “Come see the Cheerios! do their new routine, and my group, the Unholy Trinity, perform our brand new original song!”

“What’s she handing out?” Kurt whispers to Mercedes. A corner of his lip quirks up despite the general unpleasantness of seeing Quinn.

“Desperation?” she answers with a small smirk. When Kurt turns back, Quinn is in front of him. He holds back a grimace at her fake smile and cheeriness.

“Hey, guys!” she chirps, as if they’re just any two other students at this school. “Here you go, my group’s performing at the spirit assembly on Friday!”

Kurt flinches back a little as a flyer appears much too close to his face and he takes it instinctively, holding it lightly in his fingertips. It truly looks like something Quinn designed -- perfectly professional, impressive, eye-catching -- and he can’t say it looks bad, as much as he might want to. He eyes Quinn over the top of the flyer.

“I’m sure you guys have nothing better to do,” Quinn continues, that smile still on her face, and there are the claws, Kurt thinks as he resists the urge to rip up the flyer right in front of her.

“Oh, my gosh, Quinn, thank you!” Mercedes says in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, clearly -- or at least clearly to Kurt, and likely Quinn as well -- imitating the specific tone of voice that Quinn takes, and Kurt stifles a laugh.

“Oh my gosh, Cedes, don’t bother coming!” Quinn says with a wide smile, turning away with a whip of her ponytail to continue pushing her flyers.

Kurt looks back at Mercedes, mumbling, “She did not just call you Cedes,” while Mercedes crumples up the flyer in her hands.

“Well, she did,” Mercedes says. Kurt can see the anger behind her eyes and he raises a concerned eyebrow. “I’m fine. She just… you know.” She dismisses his silent question.

“Yeah.” He loops his arm through Mercedes’ and they head down the hallway, almost running into Finn not three steps from Kurt’s locker.

“Oh, hey, sorry guys!” he says with a sheepish but genuine smile that contains all the warmth missing from Quinn’s. “Did you -- I guess Quinn already got -- ”

“Yep, she got to us,” Cedes says quickly, steering Kurt around Finn. “Thanks, Finn, bye!”

“Please tell me you are over him,” Mercedes says when they’re in a quieter area at the end of the row of lockers. Kurt realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away.

“Yeah, I am.” Mercedes looks at him skeptically and he insists, “I am, promise! You just… don’t find a nice jock like him around here that much.”

She nods, satisfied, and raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “You know they’re going to get married and have a bunch of demon babies.”

Kurt’s jaw drops open slightly and he laughs. “You can’t say Finn isn’t a sweetheart.”

“Only one of them has to be a demon to make a demon baby,” Mercedes says matter-of-factly.

“What… it’s a dominant gene?”

“Of course.” Mercedes turns back toward Quinn and raises her voice. “Demon!”

The two of them push against the wall, hiding behind the end of the lockers, when Quinn snaps her gaze back. Kurt can’t hold his laughs in this time, and he feels a little bad about it, but… considering what Quinn’s done to them, he can let himself and Cedes get away with it.

“There’s that smile,” Mercedes says gently as they gather themselves. “Now let’s go prove everybody wrong.” She pulls him toward the music room and slowly but surely, the sickening feeling in his stomach returns. He sits down next to Mercedes and just breathes. She squeezes his hand again.

Mrs. Harrison starts class soon after they arrive, getting into the last of the progress performances which are both a chance for the students to show off to their classmates, and also a checkpoint for participation in the music program, which is the part Kurt’s concerned about.

He barely hears as Finn finishes his drum solo and everyone claps and then Mrs. Harrison is calling his name and he’s standing and walking to the piano and oh god.

“Take your time,” Mrs. Harrison says gently.

That’s all he’s been doing for almost a year, just taking his time, but nothing has come of it. He sits down slowly, opening his music in front of him but it’s like his eyes don’t see the notes and just gloss over the page. He looks down at the keys, sets his fingers in place reluctantly.

It’s been so long that the keys almost feel foreign under his fingers when they once were the most familiar thing in the world. It’s been so long that he barely remembers how the song should go and why did he think he could just do this, it doesn’t matter how good at sightreading he’s always been. It’s been so long of him locking the memories in a chained and padlocked safe in the back of his mind and he’s terrified of playing again being what opens it because playing and singing and music has always always meant Mom, and she’s gone which he still sometimes forgets and it always hurts like hell to remember again, so letting himself remember so much more will only make reality that much worse. It’s been so long and what if he’s forgotten, what if he opens himself to the memories just to find that they don’t exist anymore?

It’s been so long; it’s been over a year, but doesn’t that mean he should be fine by now?

He knows avoiding the memories hasn’t been the best idea, but right now he can’t think of anything he could have done differently, can’t linger and regret his choices because he feels so vulnerable and exposed finally sitting at the piano in front of his whole class for the first time in a year, and the choice is right there and maybe he could do it but not in front of everyone his brain screams, and he can almost feel Quinn’s sharp, judging, so far from friendly gaze fixed on him and that is what breaks it, that is something he definitely can’t take and he pulls his hands back with a short inhale and the whirlwind in his mind stops and he can mostly breathe again.

It’s been so long.

Heart still pounding, he gets up and apologizes to Mrs. Harrison because she really has tried to help him and he appreciates it but he still can’t, and Quinn makes some comment and Mercedes fires something back but he doesn’t hear any of it, he just has to leave.

He knows Mercedes follows him out and she calls out his name when he’s halfway down the stairs. He’s started crying at some point and he doesn’t know when. All of it is just such a mess and so present in his mind; he was so close to music again, to Mom, but he’s not ready. He’s scared.

“Kurt,” Cedes calls again, quieter, her voice soft and choked, pleading. “Come on, please. Come back… and show them you can sing .”

He turns to look at her at the top of the stairs. “I can’t,” he says, voice rough with tears. “I’ve tried, for over a year I’ve tried…. I’ve tried for Dad, I’ve tried for Mrs. Harrison, fuck, I’ve even tried for Quinn.” He gives a short, bitter laugh as more tears spill down his cheeks.

“I’ve tried so hard for you.” He gestures up to her, voice breaking. “I’ve tried for Mom.” He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath. “And I’ve tried for myself.” Mercedes is also crying a little now.

“For over a year, I’ve tried,” Kurt continues weakly. “But I just -- I can’t. Not… not now.”

He runs down the rest of the stairs and out the door, and he knows he just got himself kicked out of music, knows he just ruined everything.

From mercedes 💖, 2:04 pm:

Are you leaving?

From mercedes 💖, 2:06

Tell me when you get home. I love you

To mercedes 💖, 2:08 pm:

i will, at the park for now

From mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

I’ll bring your stuff around later.

To mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

thank you

To mercedes 💖, 2:11 pm:

i love you. i’m sorry

From mercedes 💖, 2:12 pm:

Nothing to be sorry for, just take care of yourself okay?

From mercedes 💖, 2:13 pm:

Give yourself a hug from me until I get there to do it for you

“Hey, kiddo, how was your day?” Burt asks as he walks in, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder who’s doing homework at the kitchen table.

“It was okay,” Kurt responds with a small but hopefully convincing smile to hide the worry eating away at him inside, because if the school’s already contacted his dad about today, about Kurt ruining his last chance…

“I gotta go again in a bit,” Burt says, taking a drink of water. “Some guy really needs a car fix by tomorrow morning, but I’ll be done by dinner.” Kurt nods, some relief flooding his veins. He turns back to his homework.

“Oh, another thing,” Burt says and Kurt stiffens again. “I wanted to come and check in with you -- I talked to a real estate agent today, and they said if we’re serious about selling the house, we need to take some pictures and stuff, clean everything… and I was wondering if you’re up for cleaning Mom’s studio?”

Kurt’s immediate surprise and hesitance must show on his face even as he tries to keep his composure, because Burt quickly assures, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, I promise; we have time. You know I just -- I wouldn’t even know where to start in there.”

Kurt smiles a little. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “I can try tonight.”

“Awesome.” Burt ruffles Kurt’s hair, which from anyone else other than maybe Mercedes would not end particularly well, but Kurt just laughs and tries to brush the loose strands out of his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Kurt. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Kurt exhales slowly as his dad leaves again.

Cleaning out the studio means having to confront exactly what he’s tried to avoid for a year. The disaster that was music class today doesn’t make him feel better about it… but at least this time he’ll be alone -- none of the pressure of having to live up to the standards of well-meaning teachers or aggressive ex-best friends, none of the pressure of having to play at all, especially from the competitive nature at school. And… maybe he needs it.

Moving from here will only help you move on. Kurt’s aunt’s words echo in his mind. A part of him recoils at the idea of leaving his childhood home -- leaving the spaces his mom used to inhabit and her light and energy used to fill to the brim -- and starting over, someplace where there are none of those memories… he can’t tell if that’s a good thing. It feels like more of the running away that he’s been doing for a year, and he wonders if it really will solve anything.

But maybe he does need it. If staying in this house for the last year hasn’t helped, a change would be good, right?

Turning back to his work, he takes a deep breath and starts planning dinner in his head. He’ll tackle the studio after dinner’s ready.

To Dad, 7:39 pm:

dinner’s done, i’ll be in the studio

Kurt takes a slow breath as he opens the doors to the garage.

It’s not that it’s his first time in the studio after his mom died -- someone had to water the plants -- but he kept any interaction with the rest of the room minimal, so it still feels different to take in the full space instead of just rushing to the plants in the back with his head down. It always came with some guilt; it felt like the least he could do to keep some life in the studio when he could barely even bring himself to enter, let alone fill it with music as it needs to be.

He walks in slowly, some apprehension tickling the back of his neck, trying to stay calm. The familiarity is almost overwhelming this time as he looks around, actually taking in the room. The guitars on the wall, the couch and table, all of his mom’s decorations and knick-knacks. The chairs on the ceiling, story told with a fond smile from his dad about his mom wanting to decorate in a fun special way even while 7 months pregnant. The plants in the back, flourishing in front of the wall of windows positioned to let in the sunrise beautifully, not that Kurt has seen it happen recently.

And the grand piano -- in the center of the room, covered with a sheet, neglected for over a year. Kurt pulls it off now absentmindedly, letting the fabric pool over his feet. He takes a deep breath even though he probably just filled the air with dust, and goes over to the bench. He doesn’t open the lid, not yet. Some sheet music is on the seat and he places it on the piano without looking, sits down and gently touches the fallboard, inhaling shakily, not opening it to reveal the keys but just… remembering what it used to be, what it used to -- still means….

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, “that I haven’t been here.”

With his eyes closed against the dark emptiness of the room, he can almost forget. It’s too easy to think that when he opens his eyes, his mom will be there, and she’ll be writing a song with him, or she’ll be playing, or they’ll just be talking…

Before the idea can flood his mind and leave him reeling when he returns to reality, Kurt stands and looks around the room again. There really is a strangeness to the place now. What used to be so comfortable and an extension of home -- sometimes even more home than the main house -- was always warm and brimming with emotion and joy and music and life -- now cold and dark and hollow, quiet. The familiar bones have an unsettling foreign emptiness around them. It feels wrong.

It needs to be filled. But… Kurt can’t do that.

He misses his mom -- always, but it’s amplified in this space that was always hers. He misses the feeling that the studio used to bring, that spirit that is now dimmed and suppressed. Covered, but still there. He can feel it like a gentle heat behind his skin. Not bad, but overwhelming, and he just….

The loft, Kurt decides suddenly. He’ll start with the loft. There aren’t memories and emotions so confusing and thick there that he’s barely able to avoid it, to push his way through with no energy left to untangle and understand. The loft is just full of random old stuff that his mom wouldn’t throw out and his dad teased her about.

So the loft first. And then he can ease into the rest when he’s more ready. After all, his dad did say they have time.

It’s significantly dustier in the loft; old instruments and random bags full of clothes are scattered and piled across the floor, his own electric keyboard propped up against the wall. Kurt stands on the stepladder a few steps below the actual loft floor, looks around a little, his eyes landing on a CD case lying on the ground -- black with a simple stark white word design: Sunset Curve. He picks it up, eyeing it thoughtfully, brings it back down to the main floor and decides to put it into the old CD player.

He doesn’t really know why he has such an urge all of a sudden. He’s listened to some music, but not nearly as much as before, and has actually chosen to listen to music only a handful of times since his mom died.

But… the studio needs music. As an apology for a year of neglect, and as a goodbye, he can let this music redeem the studio’s spirit a little, fill what he’s left hollow.

And he doesn’t want to be alone in the silence with his memories while he’s going through everything, even just in the loft. As something completely unfamiliar and random, this can give him the distraction and none of the pain. At least, that’s the plan.

Stepping down from the loft stairs, he glances at the picture in the CD case as he opens it -- a band of four who all look like teenagers, staring seriously into the camera -- he doesn’t get a good look at them, just slides the disc into the CD player and takes a seat on the couch.

The opening song starts strong with a gritty guitar riff and a 1, 2, 3! counting the band in. Despite himself, Kurt starts nodding along to the beat. It really is a great song, unique and upbeat…

Then some kind of… panicked screaming makes itself heard, first quietly and he thinks it could be part of the song, but it crescendos and gets unbearably loud --

And then there are three strangers appearing out of thin air before his eyes, screaming as they fall to the ground heavily. Kurt would wince at the sound of the impact --

That part’s certainly unlike any CD he’s listened to before.

He’s frozen, heart hammering and eyes widening as he stares at the three strangers picking themselves up off the ground, taking in their surroundings a little…

“How’d we get back here?” the middle one -- a shorter guy with black hair -- says breathlessly.

Kurt screams.

It’s not his finest moment, but three complete strangers just appeared in his mom’s studio, seemingly just popping into the air, and he can’t say he’s never been superstitious in his entire life or that he isn’t drawing immediate conclusions -- supernatural conclusions, fucking ridiculous conclusions. He doesn’t love that he runs into his dad on his way back into the house which may have also involved a little yelling about seeing ghosts (ghosts who screamed back, for the record), but he makes it to the safety of his room and texts Mercedes frantically, who doesn’t respond.

“Come on, Cedes,” he hisses to himself, shooting off another text. “Answer me!”

A knock from his doorway startles him and he just barely manages to hold back a shout, turning to see his dad leaning into his room hesitantly.

“You okay?”

Kurt gives him what must be a hysterical-looking attempt at a reassuring smile, all wide eyes and clenched teeth. “Yeah, no, totally fine, sorry for -- scaring you,” he replies choppily, tone not even convincing to himself. “Just, um, practicing for a school play.”

Burt definitely doesn’t believe him, but nods slowly anyway. “Well, I’m gonna go clean up -- ” He gestures over his shoulder with a grease-covered hand. “Dinner in like, ten minutes?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Kurt says shortly, forcing another smile and a thumbs-up.

As soon as the door closes, Kurt turns back toward his window and tries to get a glance of the studio, but it’s blocked from this angle by the trees in their yard. Apprehensively, he heads back to the garage, thankfully not running into his dad this time, phone in hand and thumb hovering over Mercedes’ phone contact.

When he goes in, it’s empty; no sign of anything out of the ordinary happening.

He scans the space warily, feeling jumpy and nervous, but nothing happens and he mumbles, “I know I saw something, I’m not crazy.”

He hears a soft popping noise and then, “Well, we’re all a little crazy,” from behind him and he turns with a sharp gasp.

“Oh, my god, who are you?” Kurt yells, maybe a little too loud because the black-haired boy winces slightly and all three of them step back a little. “What the hell are you doing in my mom’s studio?”

“Your mom’s studio?” the black-haired guy scoffs. “This is our studio!”

The tall blonde guy bounces forward. “Yeah, like, the piano’s new, but -- ” He looks to the right and his face lights up. “My couch!” he calls, running over and jumping straight onto it.

The girl -- hair black and in braids -- rolls her eyes. “Not your couch, Sam.”

The blonde -- Sam? -- sits up indignantly, stabbing a finger in the cushions. “Hey, I spent more time on this couch than any of you. Pretty sure it’s mine at this point.”

Kurt just watches them with wide eyes, jaw hanging open, with absolutely no idea what to do.

“But these aren’t our instruments,” the black-haired guy says warily, looking around. At some point he and the girl have linked arms, Kurt notices. He watches as they all take in the studio, faces getting increasingly confused and worried. Kurt raises an eyebrow that apparently can go higher than it already is.

“Because… it’s my mom’s studio…” he manages to say again, mind still whirling at the hurricane of new and completely nonsensical information.

“Can you just -- give us a minute?” Sam says, jumping over the coffee table to join his friends. They turn away to talk in a huddle, and Kurt stands awkwardly as they talk in failed attempts at hushed tones.

Tina’s trying to ignore the pounding of her possibly-only-theoretical heart -- she’s dead, how can she even feel a heartbeat -- as she watches Blaine and Sam talk to the… living person in front of them. Sam makes his usual comment about “his couch” and Tina snarks back with her usual response and it gives her some comfort, some familiarity even in this studio which should feel like home, has for so long, and it still does to an extent, but everything here is suddenly different.

The comment does send the strange boy’s attention back to her, though, which she doesn’t really like. Blaine wraps an arm around hers and she squeezes his forearm in gratitude. He did that a lot when they were alive -- knew how and when to offer her his touch to reassure her a little.

At least there’s something that’s still the same.

At least her boys are still the same.

She tries to focus on Blaine’s arm in hers, on Sam’s dumb comments as he comes bounding back to them, hissing, “Guys, what is going on here?”

Tina shrugs. Blaine whispers, “Who is he?”

“He can hear you,” the person in question says pointedly from behind them, but Sam ignores him and says, “Maybe he’s a witch.” He looks up, pointing. “There are chairs on the ceiling.”

“There’s no such thing as witches,” Tina hisses.

“Are you sure?” Sam shoots back. “Because I used to think there was no such thing as ghosts!”

Tina swallows. “That’s fair.”

“So we’re going with witch?” Blaine asks.

“No!” Tina waves her hands at both of them. “No, come on. You guys are just -- he’s probably just overwhelmed, okay? Let someone with a softer touch handle this.”

Maybe “softer touch” wasn’t the right phrase to use in this instance, she thinks, but she really just wants answers and figures she might as well be straightforward. “Why are you in our studio?” she asks, maybe a little too aggressively, stepping up to the alive stranger.

He looks down with a shocked expression and Tina realizes she accidentally got close enough to touch him -- or… pass her hand through his, partially. They both watch as he brings his hand through hers again. It’s a weird feeling -- warm and kind of tingly, or like she’s putting her hand through water.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

Tina raises their eyebrows a little. “Okay, clearly you don’t -- clearly, he doesn’t get it,” she says, addressing the guys behind her. She turns back to the stranger, gesturing to herself and the others as she explains, “We’re ghosts. We’re just three ghosts, and we’re really happy to be home, so… thank you for the flowers; they really brighten up the room.” She tries to smile at him.

“We’re actually in a band called Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up, stepping up to flank her on the left.

“Tell your friends!” chimes Sam on her right.

“Last night was a really big night for us,” Blaine says, a little sadly. “It was gonna change our lives.”

Tina whispers, “Uh, I’m pretty sure it did.” Blaine huffs and elbows her gently.

“This is freaking me out,” the stranger says, shaking his head as he takes something from his pocket.

“What is that; what are you doing?” Blaine asks.

Alive Stranger looks up, fingers still touching the face of the object. “It’s my phone -- nope, stop talking to them! There’s no such thing as cute ghosts,” he says, seemingly to himself.

Sam gasps. “Think we’re cute?” He raises an eyebrow, making one of his insufferable Sam faces; Tina almost laughs.

The boy looks up again with wide eyes, gaze flitting to each of them as if watching for a reaction, swallowing and going back to his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Tina asks, trying to see the side facing him because that doesn’t look like any phone she’s ever seen.

“I’m googling Sunset Swerve.”

“Sunset Curve!” Blaine, Sam, and Tina correct him at the same time, Sam drawing a curve in the air with his finger.

The stranger laughs nervously, staring at them with wide eyes and then back at his phone. “Okay… so there is a Sunset Curve.” He swallows again. “You guys did die. But not last night.” Tina’s stomach drops a little; Blaine and Sam get closer.

“Twenty-five… years ago,” the boy finishes, a confused look in his eyes.

Tina barely has time to register this before Sam says, “That’s impossible. All we did after we floated out of the car was go to that weird dark room where Tina cried.”

Her mouth drops open. “I wasn’t -- I -- we -- ” she squeaks, voice jumping up an octave. “I think we were all pretty upset,” she says, but she supposes Sam is right.

He pats her back and doesn’t have a chance to respond again because Blaine steps in, “That was just for, like, an hour, though. We just showed up here.” Tina and Sam nod.

“Look,” the living one says, finally turning his “phone” toward them. They lean forward to see a screen with a photo of them -- and Artie, Tina thinks distantly; she feels his absence acutely and it spikes through her chest -- taken for their summer tour, and a bunch of small text around it that she can’t read, a bold headline at the top reading, Sunset Curve: A Hollywood Tragedy. “I’m just telling you what my phone says,” he explains. “You guys died in 1995. It’s now 2020.”

“So this is the future?” Sam asks incredulously as the boy pulls his phone back. Something else sticks out in Tina’s mind, though.

“So -- it has been twenty-five years,” she says, pausing to gather her thoughts. “I have been crying for twenty-five years -- how is that possible?!”

“You’re a very emotional person,” Sam reasons.

“I am not!” she insists, but the tears already pressing in the back of her throat want to prove otherwise. Distantly, she reminds herself that she’s with her friends who’ve seen it all and she doesn’t need to hold back, but the presence of this complete stranger also overrides the ease of her relationship with the guys. Sam rubs a comforting hand over her shoulder, and she swallows the tears down.

Alive Stranger shakes his head. “I gotta go… eat dinner,” he says slowly. He turns back around once he’s walked past the three of them and says, “Look, I’m really sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn’t your studio anymore. You have to leave.”

“But we -- ” Blaine starts, starting to go forward but a sharp glare stops him and he clears his throat. “We didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s Kurt,” the stranger snaps.

“Cool, I’m -- Blaine,” Blaine says hesitantly. “And this is…”

“Sam, hey.”

“Tina, how’s it going…”

“Ba-da,” Blaine sings weakly, gesturing his hands in front of them like he’s presenting them to Kurt.

They all watch for Kurt’s reaction, but he just sighs and leaves the studio. He leaves the doors open, probably to remind them that they technically just got kicked out of their studio -- or, Kurt’s mom’s studio -- someone’s studio, but really it’s been their home for so long…

“Kurt seems nice,” Sam says cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Tina turns to him. “Did you miss the part where he kicked us out, or…” she says drily. Sam shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Okay,” Tina mutters, turning to wander around the studio some more. If they’re going to be kicked out, she wants to spend as much more time as she can here.

Kurt’s mind is a storm. He doesn’t know where to start with this new information -- with an evening that took such a sharp turn from reminiscing and sad and somewhat painful into just… something so completely different and unexpected.

Dinner Kurt can do. He can put the craziness of ghosts aside because dinner is easy, dinner is simple; dinner is important.

His dad has already set everything out so Kurt takes his seat across from him, sending a not-completely-true nvm everything’s fine, sorry for worrying you text to Mercedes, who finally got back to him at some point when he was distracted…

Distracted talking to ghosts.

“How’s it going?” Burt asks as he sits down and it takes Kurt a second to remember he must be talking about cleaning the studio, and not actually about ghost musicians.

Ghosts don’t exist. There are no ghosts in the garage. Don’t think about ghosts.

“It’s good,” Kurt says, poking at his food a little. “I’m starting with the loft.”

Burt smiles. “Those old instruments need a home.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, returning the smile. “Mom would like that.”

The instruments probably belong to some ghosts, Kurt realizes, but… nothing he can really do about that. And that’s if the ghosts can even touch objects.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while and then Burt sets down his fork. Kurt looks up apprehensively.

“So I got an email from the school today,” he starts. Kurt fiddles with his fork and drops his gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay, Kurt, I’m not mad,” Burt promises.

You should be, Kurt thinks -- all that money spent for him to audition for and attend the music program, and for private lessons and sheet music and piano maintenance, just for him to throw it all away.

“I know those classes can be hard,” his dad says, and Kurt almost can’t take his gentle tone, feels guilty about it even though he appreciates it. “But… you still like music, don’t you?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“I know the memories are hard, believe me, Kurt. But, every time I see you, I see Mom, you know? And I love that, I really do. Maybe, if you give yourself a chance, you can, too.” Kurt looks up hesitantly to see his dad’s gentle, loving expression and eyes slightly glassy with tears. Looking down again, he swallows, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I will. I’ll try.”

Because what he said to Mercedes earlier on the staircase is true, but… he’ll always try harder for his dad.

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Burt assures him. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Kurt smiles and almost starts eating again, but music suddenly blares from outside, startling both of them, Kurt barely holding back a loud swear.

“What is that?” Burt says, getting up but Kurt rushes to reassure him, saying quickly, “I must have just left the CD player on in the garage! It’s fine, I’ll go get it!”

He runs back to the studio where the ghosts are still there apparently, and have somehow gotten instruments from the loft and set everything up to start playing, and play really loudly -- and it honestly sounds good but Kurt can’t focus on that because they’re going to disturb the entire neighborhood and get the cops called on them for a noise complaint and what is he supposed to say -- no officer, it was just the three ghosts in the garage being idiots, sorry?

Kurt yells for them to stop but it’s useless; he can barely even hear himself over how incredibly loudly they’re playing. Blaine, on an electric guitar that Kurt remembers seeing in the loft, turns and sees Kurt, walking towards him and finally playing one last chord when Kurt makes a horizontal cutting motion with his hand, and Sam, on the bass, follows, Tina playing one last short drum roll, looking up with a wide grin.

They all look… alive, Kurt thinks, despite literally being dead, so different from the confusion he left them with -- relaxed and loose and faces lit up, the energy flowing through them almost visible. If he didn’t know they were ghosts and made of air, he’d expect to be able to reach out and feel them, breaths hot and fast from the exertion and adrenaline, skin warm and slightly sweaty, hearts beating strong like the steady percussion of their band.

It reminds him of how music used to make him feel.

“Cut it out!” Kurt snaps, trying not to raise his voice too much. “The whole neighborhood could hear you! I thought I told you to leave!”

Blaine looks back at his bandmates, bewildered. “People -- people can hear us play?”

“Yes!” Kurt says exasperatedly. “My dad heard you from inside!”

“… What did he think?” Blaine asks after a moment. Kurt opens his mouth for an irritated response --

“Everything okay in here?”

Kurt whips around to see his dad in the doorway and smiles with wide eyes. “Yeah! I just -- had to turn off the CD player,” he lies.

People have told Kurt before that he’s a good liar; he really hopes that’s true after the evening he’s had -- he's having.

Burt’s attention is elsewhere, though, seemingly forgetting about the chaos from just a moment earlier. “Wait, is this the junk that was in the loft?” he says, excitedly eyeing the instruments and… the ghosts that he can’t see.

“Junk?” Blaine exclaims. Tina stands up, her eyes on Burt, drumsticks gripped tightly in one hand.

They all watch apprehensively as Burt weaves through the instruments, even going so far as to rattle Tina’s cymbals and tap the drums, much to her horror. She fixes Kurt with wide, urgent eyes, to which Kurt just shrugs and gives her a helpless look. Hey Dad, actually, the ghost drummer wants you to stop, so…

“Hey, this stuff’s in pretty good shape,” Burt says excitedly. “Maybe we can make a couple bucks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees weakly, mostly just watching as Tina fails to push Burt away from the drums.

“I like the song you had on,” Burt says, finally stepping away from the instruments. Tina rubs down a cymbal with her sleeve.

“Sweet! We’re Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up.

“Tell your friends!” Sam says, to a fond eye-roll from Tina.

“It’s just an old CD I found,” Kurt says, ripping his attention from the ghosts.

“Well, it’s nice that you’re listening to music again,” Burt says sincerely. “Out here, you can play whatever you want, whenever you want.” He waves his hands out on either side for emphasis, going through Sam and Blaine’s bodies. Kurt chuckles weakly.

“Oh,” Sam says, looking down at where Burt’s hand was in his stomach just a moment before. “That’s nice.”

“Stay out of this,” Kurt hisses.

“Sorry, Kurt, I’m just trying to help -- ”

“Oh! No, not you, Dad,” Kurt says quickly. For fuck’s sake -- “Just -- just give me a minute -- ” He starts pulling his dad toward the door. Burt stops him and says, “Hey, we’re gonna figure out this music program thing, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says with a smile, and gestures for him to leave.

Once Burt is out of sight, he turns back to the ghosts.

“Wait -- ” Tina waves her drumsticks around a little. “So -- only you can see us, but everyone can hear us?” Kurt nods in confirmation. “What kind of ghosts are we?” Tina says.

“Who cares, dude!” Sam says, stepping up to Tina’s drum kit with a grin. “People can hear us play!” The three exchange fist-bumps as Blaine says happily, “We might be dead, but our music isn’t.”

“And Kurt’s dad likes our music!” Sam cheers.

“He’s a dad, it doesn’t count,” Tina mumbles, smiling and pushing Sam playfully when he turns to her with an offended look.

Confusion and annoyance bubble up inside Kurt along with something like anger at, just, all of it and he groans and says loudly, “Why can’t you guys just be normal ghosts? You know, go hang out at an old mansion or something! I hear Pasadena’s nice!” and turns to leave, slamming the door on his way out.

He just… has had too much going on today. He needs to -- ignore his homework and the problem with school and maybe just sleep in for the next two days. That would be really nice.

He’s so caught up in his head and he jumps and yells when a ghost appears in front of him with no warning.

“Don’t do that!” Kurt exclaims.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Blaine says quickly. “ -- You do know how rad this is though, right? People -- people can hear us play!”

“Yeah, good for you,” Kurt replies, a little too harshly. “It’s just that I’ve had a really, really, awful day. I’ve gotta go.”

He walks past Blaine just to turn around again when he says, “I’m really sorry you had a bad day.” Kurt nods; he can tell Blaine wants to say more, so he waits.

Blaine continues slowly, “I just… three ghosts just found out they had a bad twenty-five years, and then they find out that the one thing they lived for in the first place, they can still do. So you can kick us out, but -- we’re not giving up music. We can play again; that’s a gift no musician would ever turn down,” he says earnestly, eyes wide and almost pleading.

That hurts in Kurt’s chest a little more than it should and he looks down again to avoid the passion and excitement shining clearly in Blaine’s eyes, in his voice, in his words. He swallows down the feeling that statement unearths inside of him, but suddenly his bad day is at the forefront of his mind again -- his bad year.

That’s a gift no musician would ever turn down … some musician he is, then. But he already knew that.

Blaine says softly, “You’ve gotta know that. Clearly your mom is into music.”

Kurt swallows. “Was,” he says, monotone and quiet. “She passed away.”

He hates that it’s become easier to say; he wants to either spit the words out or break down sobbing but he manages to keep his voice steady. (In the back of his mind, he wonders why he just told that to a random ghost he just met. Maybe he’s just going crazy. He’s literally talking to ghosts, after all.)

Blaine’s face falls. “I -- I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah, we -- we didn’t know,” Sam says quietly. He and Tina have also left the studio, standing on the other side of the low wall separating the garage area from the pathway back to the house. They look up with sympathetic eyes and Kurt looks away from them too -- can’t meet any of their wide, well-meaning gazes right now.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses. “Sorry I got mad.” The ghosts are thankfully looking at each other now, seemingly silent conversation passing between their glances. “You guys are pretty good,” Kurt says, trying to change the subject and lighten the atmosphere.

Blaine raises an eyebrow, turning his gaze back to Kurt. “‘Pretty good’? You know that’s just, like, 25 years of rust being dusted off, right?”

“Do you play, too?” Tina asks.

“No, no, I don’t play.” It’s not exactly a lie anymore but it scrapes in Kurt’s throat with his haste to answer. “That’s all my mom’s stuff in there.”

“She’s an amazing songwriter,” Blaine says.

“Yeah, she was,” Kurt answers. “Wait… how do you know?”

Blaine opens his mouth, glancing at the others for a second. “We found a song on the piano,” he says. “If it’s hers… your mom was really talented.”

Kurt nods. She really, really was.

He feels like he doesn’t have the energy to say it again, so he just stays quiet. Somewhat awkwardly, he turns to leave, sensing the end of the conversation and part of him desperately wanting to just leave and not have to see these ghosts again….

So Kurt surprises even himself when he pauses and turns back to face them. “I guess,” he starts, and their gazes snap back up to him. “If you need a place to stay… you can stay in there.” He nods toward the studio and the ghosts’ faces light up. Kurt can’t help but smile back. “There’s a couch that turns into a bed, and in the back there’s a bathroom with a shower, if you still need any of that stuff.”

“Awesome!” Sam exclaims quietly, earning an elbow in the side and a questioning look from Tina. “What? Dude, I just really like showers,” he defends.

Tina rolls her eyes. Kurt takes a breath, raising his hands to gesture vaguely at the three of them. “This is just… too weird.” He nods to himself, finally leaving this time, leaving the ghosts to… do what they will.

The fact that there are ghosts in his mom’s studio…. Maybe there’s a chance that Mom knows them -- sent them, he thinks… but decides to not get his hopes up. She’s gone and he needs to just keep it at that.

What he really wants is to tell Mercedes, but he doesn’t know how.

What would you say if I told you there were three ghosts living in my mom’s studio? Kurt thinks on his way back to his room.

You’d say I’m crazy.

It’s some point in the night; they figured out that they don’t need to sleep -- can’t sleep, it seems like, which is honestly really annoying in Tina’s opinion because they’re ghosts with literally nothing to do for too many hours at a time -- so they’re just hanging out in the studio, with the lights outside giving them a little visibility through the garage windows, but it’s kind of nice to just sit in the dark.

Tina has been on the couch with Sam, lying on their backs, heads in opposite directions, legs pressed up against each other. Sam’s bass is unplugged, laid on his stomach and extending over Tina’s legs. He plucks out notes and Tina accompanies with a soft beat using just her hands and body parts as instruments. Sometimes it’s a familiar bassline -- a Sunset Curve song rehearsed or performed or recorded before -- and they also hum the harmonies that they know, and sometimes they improvise -- Tina storing the good bits in her mind for a future writing session.

Blaine is in the loft where they hoped a light could be on and maybe go unnoticed. Tina assumes that he’s writing; he always was when they were alive. And of course, now he has 25 years of dark room and relative nothingness to catch up on writing about.

It feels like another quiet night from when they were alive, each of them with an excuse to escape their homes for the night, and they’d all crash here, filling the studio with soft music and noise. Blaine would stay up writing and sometimes singing while Sam and Tina (and Artie) would try to sleep, telling him to stop humming, or, since the main house inhabitants who would care about the noise were rarely there, they would sometimes join along with him and make it a Sunset Curve midnight rehearsal.

They’ve never had the best sleep schedules anyway.

Tina giggles quietly as she and Sam play into nothingness, both parts running uncontrolled and unable to get back on track. They both stop and Sam starts playing a familiar line -- parts they’d worked out before with bass, drums, and both guitars, but never actually put into a song. Tina waits for a moment to come in with her part.

She’s nearly startled off the couch when Blaine poofs down beside the couch with his guitar and starts his part. Tina starts laughing -- probably too loud but they’re pretty sure only their music can be heard anyway -- and slides off the couch to sit on the ground, picking the drumming back up on her legs.

“You guys wanna check out this teleportation thing?” Blaine asks, playing the challenging guitar riff meant for electric guitar messily on his acoustic without a pick.

Sam sits up and puts his bass to the side. “Absolutely,” he says. “Where’re we going?”

“I have an idea,” Blaine says, setting his guitar down. He pulls Tina up and extends a hand out for Sam. “I think I can take you guys with me.”

“What?” Tina squeaks, but a second later, she’s sitting far above the ground, outside, on top of the marquee of the Orpheum. “Oh my god,” she mutters, looking down dizzily at the people passing by on the sidewalk. Her body tingles with a weird uncomfortable energy for just a few seconds before it fades.

“Yes!” Blaine laughs, kicking his legs up excitedly. “I mean, I know being a ghost isn’t our first choice, but it sure is easy getting around!”

“Easy for you, maybe!” Sam cries on Blaine’s other side. “I lost my shirt on that one!”

Tina looks over and sure enough, Sam is shirtless. She stifles a laugh behind her hand. “Like that’s a concern,” she pipes up, but Sam’s shirt appears right as she says it. They all laugh and sit in silence for a moment.

“So why’d you bring us here?” Tina asks, looking out across Hollywood Boulevard, the new and old buildings and shops, the people and cars of the future. The light of the Orpheum’s neon sign shines in her periphery, same as it did on a night twenty-five years ago. “Just another reminder of where we never got to play,” she says wryly, turning to face Blaine on her left, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Blaine.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you guys, it’s not over yet!” Tina reappears on the sidewalk right below them, almost losing her balance and falling through a person walking past. She shoots a glare at Blaine for teleporting them with no warning again, but he just grins back and starts down the sidewalk, Sam following. “Let’s see how many places we can play tonight, yeah? Check out the music scene of the future? And no trouble getting into those clubs anymore!”

Tina laughs, falling into step with them. She watches Sam walk straight through someone going in the opposite direction and doesn’t realize someone is in her way, which shouldn't be a problem, until she bumps into them.

She feels them.

“Hey!” she says involuntarily, turning to see who it was -- another ghost? A tall man with a cape and top hat nods at her with an acknowledging and almost menacing gleam in his eye, then turns again and walks away.

He could see her, he could touch her -- he has to be another ghost, right?

“Tina, you coming?” Sam calls. She swallows and takes one last look, the other ghost having disappeared among the other people on the sidewalk, before turning and running to catch back up with the guys.

“I just ran into someone,” she says, a little breathless -- she doesn’t know if that’s from running, which she doesn’t think she can actually get breathless from, or the fact that she ran into someone.

“Another ghost?” Blaine says.

“I mean, it has to be, right? Uh, Kurt -- Kurt can see us but he can’t touch us…”

“And his dad couldn’t either,” Sam adds.

“It must have been another ghost. He looked like a… performer, or something.” Tina wrinkles their nose a little as she remembers his whole get-up, completely out of place among what she’s seen so far of 21st century street fashion. (But then again, so is she, and her friends.)

“… I guess we’re not alone, then,” Blaine says, breaking a short bewildered silence.

“We’re never alone!” Sam exclaims, walking between them to throw his arms around Blaine and Tina’s shoulders. Tina laughs and grabs his forearm, mystery ghost forgotten for the time being.

Blaine responds with a grin, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Kurt wakes up earlier than usual the next morning. He thinks he still has school -- he doesn’t know how being removed from the music program works, but no one told him not to come and besides, he does have non-music classes to keep up with, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to. He gets ready as usual, leaving breakfast out for his dad, and there’s still half an hour before Mercedes should be getting here.

Perfect. There’s something he needs to try by himself… for himself.

He heads out to the studio with his things, a fluttering feeling in his stomach, but it’s different from the feeling before he tried to play in class yesterday, like the butterflies had turned to stone and were rolling around inside him, weighing him down and making him nauseous. This time it’s promising, hopeful, familiar -- butterflies fluttering normally, peacefully.

The room is empty when Kurt pushes the doors open and drops his backpack by the entrance.

“Guys?” he calls hesitantly, to no response.

He wonders if he should be worried about where the ghosts might be, or relieved for if they really did leave after all, since that is what he wanted… but he realizes relief is not at all what he feels at that possibility.

But if the ghosts aren’t here, then all the better for what he wants to do, so he decides to ignore their absence for now.

Kurt walks up to the grand piano in the middle of the room, thinking. There’s something… something deep loosening in his chest -- something about Blaine and the others and their intense passion for music that is so different from the intense judgment and competition at school that made it so impossible for him to play yesterday.

The way Blaine had talked about music…

The one thing they lived for in the first place -- they can still do.

A gift.

Kurt spreads out the sheet music that he found yesterday, just placed on the piano lid without a glance and it’s still there, so Blaine and the others must have just taken a look at it. He recognizes his mother’s handwriting, achingly familiar and beautiful in a minimalistic way, the neat notes and lyrics, clean and legible even without the help of staff lines. His heart stutters and he gasps a little as he reads some of it -- he recognizes the song. Something his mom told him she was writing when she got sick.

Kurt used to be so involved in her songwriting, but as she got worse and Kurt grew away from the piano (and from his voice), he never asked about this song.

She’d finished it.

Here’s the one thing I want you to know, you got someplace to go…

And he needs to hear it.

His fingers tremble slightly as he places them gingerly on the keys over the starting notes of the song. It feels completely different than it did yesterday; he doesn’t know if it’s the lack of teacher and students watching, the insanity of yesterday evening in between, the song itself… but the stones turned back into butterflies and it almost feels like it did before….

He wants to play, to make music. For the first time in a year, he actually feels like he can. And he needs to.

And if -- when -- it unlocks the memories… he thinks he’s ready.

Kurt takes a deep breath and plays.

#i somehow added like 25 words in my final edit just now lol #idk if anyone really cares but suspend ur disbelief at kurt singing julie's songs XD #i definitely know it probably would not work with her songs as is #they have Very different voices i am aware but i'm also too lazy to do anything about it so . they can be adjusted #to fit his voice right lol i just have no idea how that works 🤪 i just play piano and even then not really 🥴#so just like imagineee lol #i love how in the last part i said what would be endgame in this fic but like #damn i don't have any idea what's happening past what happens in the actual jatp show and #even then idk what's gonna happen within those bc it's not exactly the same 😂#lol but those ships Will probably like #have hints or something if that makes any sense laksdhgdjfs anywayyyy #kurt and the phantoms #my ficsssss #glee fic #glee #idk how i tag things lmao i think that's good enough XD #DRUMMER TINA DRUMMER TINA DRUMMER TINA #oh my god it's finally happening skdghsdhdkghdhjfhgjfgh #i've been working on this since my family went on vacation at the end of june so like two months fuckdghjfdkl #anyway lol hope y'all likeeeee 🥺💖#omg we're at 79 pages of google doc total lol

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wiltingofthewhitelily · 3 years

Text

{Hetalia Platonic Ships Week 2021} Day 7: Free Day - Iceland & Latvia

A/N: Submission #7 for @hetaliaplatonicshipsweek!

Aaaaand the last day! I was originally planning to do Canada and Cuba (a platonic pairing I just adore) for this day until I realized I didn't actually have any solid story ideas for them :')

Sooo I chose Iceland and Latvia instead, because I imagine the two to be pretty good friends. This is just a high school au (bc as many of y'all know I'm a sucker for them) that I came up with one day while sitting in class lol. You can choose to see this as taking place in the same universe as the fic I wrote for family week (the Anko Family submission for Day 5, Embarrassment) if you wish, bc everything lines up pretty much to a T. Also, my demiboy Iceland hc is back, so he/they pronouns again.

Also, here's the reference for human names again (though most of these characters are only briefly mentioned):

Emil - Iceland

Raivis - Latvia

Leon - Hong Kong

Michelle - Seychelles

Mei - Taiwan

Lili - Liechtenstein

Ok, I hope you guys enjoy!

»»————-　➴　————-««

Being a librarian's aide at a high school wasn't nearly as bad as it appeared on the surface—well, at least for Emil it wasn't. It was always nice and quiet (for obvious reasons, since it was a library), and it allowed him to get out of a couple of boring classes which he didn't even need to take since he'd already received all the credits for them. Plus, the librarian herself was always very nice and even gave him free coffee and donuts from the teacher's lounge on most days. So, needless to say, Emil actually liked being her aide very much.

It wasn't even that much work, honestly. Not that much work at all. Usually just stacking returned books back on the bookshelf and taking out papers from the printer and giving them to students and teachers. Emil didn't have to interact with too many other kids as there were only a couple of other aides—a senior girl who was the librarian's secretary, and a boy named Raivis who Emil was pretty sure was a sophomore. Raivis basically did the same tasks as Emil, placing books on the bookshelf and whatnot.

Raivis was a curly-haired brunet who was very short for his age, barely even coming up to Emil's shoulder; he had a round boyish face that added to his middle-schooler look. Though he seemed to be a pretty quiet kid, just like Emil, since the two worked together they evidently had to communicate with each other sometimes—and honestly, Emil really enjoyed talking with him. He seemed to have a lot of the same interests as Emil—video games, indie music, hell, he even liked science fiction novels too—and a similar personality to them. Emil wouldn't exactly consider themselves close enough to Raivis to consider him a friend, probably just a very good acquaintance; however, they definitely saw the potential for friendship. It was there.

Sometimes Emil wondered if Raivis even had any other friends, as they'd never seen the boy really talk to anybody else. They wondered where he sat at lunch and tried to recall countless times if they'd ever seen him at lunch with anybody else (at their school, all juniors and sophomores had the same lunch period, so Emil knew that they had lunch with Raivis).

Anyway, on one Thursday morning Emil and Raivis were in the library, organizing books in the—what do you know—science fiction section. They had set their uneaten donuts and coffee on a nearby table and were just talking and laughing among each other, as well as sharing some of the good books they'd found that they happened to have read in the past. Emil made a mental note of all the reading suggestions Raivis had given him. I'm gonna have to check out those books when Mrs. Newman lets me pick some out again, Emil thought to himself (Mrs. Newman referring to the librarian). Another perk to being a librarian's aide was that they got to pick out more books than the other students, about three to five every other week.

Everything was going okay until these two boys who Emil had never seen in the library before casually walked up to the table that had the two's donuts and coffee and sat in the chairs.

However, Emil just kept their attention on Raivis, who was laughing as he told them about this one dystopian book, holding it up so Emil could see. "Yeah! And the best part is when—" Raivis stopped talking abruptly when he noticed the two boys there; his eyes grew wide and he got a...scared look on his face? Hurriedly, he shoved the book back in its spot on the shelf, averting his eyes from the boys and holding Emil's arm loosely, trying to guide him away from the section they were at. "Um...how about let's go sort out the encyclopedias," Raivis suggested quickly.

Emil cocked his eyebrows, now very confused. "But what about our food?"

However, Raivis didn't respond and instead continued to try to push Emil away from the boys.

"Hey, short stack!"

Raivis visibly cringed at the voice of one of the boys. This prompted him, as well as Emil to lift their heads up. One of the kids was cackling annoyingly, while the other one had carelessly taken a bite out of one of Raivis' donuts.

Seeing this latter action immediately caused Emil to furrow their eyebrows. "Hey, what the heck?" they said sternly. "That's Raivis' food."

The kid who'd eaten Raivis' donut snickered. "Yeah, no shit, Dad."

"Emil, just leave them alone..." Raivis said quietly, still holding onto their arm.

Emil ignored him and, though his heart was pounding nearly out of his chest with nerves, he continued to try to set the two boys straight. "I'm going to tell Mrs. Newman if you two don't stop," he threatened.

The other boy, who'd started to drink Raivis' coffee, set his cup down and made mocking jazz hands. "Ooo—Mrs. Newman. I'm so scared," he said sarcastically.

Emil shot the two one last glare and went up to the front of the library to do what he'd just said he would do—tell Mrs. Newman. As he began to walk, he heard the sounds of pounding footsteps, splashing, and then a high-pitched wail that could only belong to one person. Emil whipped his head around and gasped. The kid with the coffee had dumped the entire beverage onto Raivis' head; it was dripping from his hair, and onto the floor.

Now simmering with anger, Emil stomped up to the two kids—he was about to yell something until he heard one of the boys snort loudly and then run up to place the now-empty cup of coffee into Emil's hand. The ash-blond didn't have time to be too confused; he was much more concerned for Raivis at that moment. He prepared to yell at the two boys to get the hell out (he honestly didn't care at that point that they were in a library) before he heard a voice behind him: "Hey! What are you two doing?"

The teens all looked toward the voice and saw Mrs. Newman standing there, hands on her hips, her expression very angry looking—though not at Emil and Raivis, rather at the boy that'd spilled coffee on Raivis' head, as well as his friend.

The two boys, though they'd just mocked Mrs. Newman a mere few minutes prior, stood there, scared, until they glanced at each other briefly and then dashed out of the large library doors. Emil smirked internally as they saw this. Now they're afraid, huh? they thought to themselves.

Mrs. Newman stared at the boys like a hawk as they ran out into the halls, but once they were out of eyesight she turned to Raivis, her face instantly growing from full of anger to full of concern. She walked up slowly to the boy, gently placing her hand on a part of his arm that'd been untouched by the coffee. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, "I'm so sorry that happened to you."

Raivis shrugged his shoulders slowly, his face looking so solemn, so pitiful. "It's fine..."

The tall blonde woman turned to Emil then. "Honey, will you take him to the office to get a fresh change of clothes?" she asked. "He will probably need to use one of the showers in the gym too...can you walk with him, please?"

Emil nodded instantly. "Yeah. Sure thing."

Mrs. Newman smiled back. "Thank you."

Soon, the two teens were walking off to do just that. Raivis was very quiet all the way to the office—which Emil could understand one hundred percent. Poor kid must've felt so embarrassed. He decided he wouldn't make the situation any worse for him and kept his mouth shut, too. They swiftly went to the office to get some spare clothes and then got the clear to go down to the gym bathroom so Raivis could wash up.

The two got to the gym and were standing in front of the door to the bathroom; Raivis glanced up at Emil, his face a little pink. "Um," he began, holding his hand out a little, "could you give me the clothes?"

"Oh, yeah," Emil replied, handing Raivis the sweatpants and t-shirt.

Raivis nodded his thanks and headed on in. After he shut the door, Emil just decided to sit against the wall and wait for him while he showered and changed.

Nearly thirty minutes later, Raivis finally came back out. Emil looked up, put his phone back in his pocket, and then stood up. "How was it?" he asked the sophomore.

Raivis sighed deeply; his eyes were very close to watering, even though he looked and smelled as fresh as a daisy. "Um...okay I guess," he answered, voice quavering a little. "There was a lot of coffee on me."

Emil nodded, but tsk-tsked. He began to walk out of the gym, and Raivis followed close behind. "Who even were those kids?" Emil asked.

Raivis shrugged, looking down at his toes. "Eh, just some kids from my grade. They're jerks."

Emil bit his lip. "Seems like it. I can't believe they put that coffee cup in my hands like they were trying to frame me or something," he said. He laughed, a bit bitterly.

Despite himself, Raivis managed to chuckle a little. "Yeah. Don't they know Mrs. Newman has cameras in there? She could've checked them if she really wanted to."

Emil snorted. "I know, right?"

It was silent for a moment afterward, with Raivis gulping loudly every now and then. Emil turned their head, noticing this. He cocked an eyebrow, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Raivis (who Emil could tell now was definitely on the verge of crying) sniffled and rubbed at his face. "Yeah," he answered, voice hushed. "It's just...thank you, Emil. No one has ever stood up for me like that."

The boy's voice was so sincere that Emil had to grin. "It's no problem—really."

"You're a great friend," Raivis added.

Emil's heart was warmed at that—they didn't know if it was just the way he said it, or the knowledge that he actually thought of them as a friend. He answered warmly nonetheless. "Thank you. You are too."

Raivis glanced at him and gave the most genuine smile Emil thought he'd ever seen on the younger teen.

"Hey, where do you normally sit at lunch?" Emil asked Raivis, just out of curiosity.

Raivis' smile fell a bit. "Oh...well, I normally just sit outside," he said quietly.

"Alone?" The word seemed to echo in the empty hallway, though it might've just been Emil's imagination.

Raivis nodded a bit solemnly. Emil grew the same solemn expression for a moment before asking, "Hey, would you like to sit with me and my friends at lunch?"

Raivis looked up then, eyebrows shooting up. "Really?"

Emil nodded, cracking a small smile. "Yeah. I sit with my best friend, Leon, and then my other friends, Michelle, Mei, and Lili. Leon's really cool; Michelle and Mei might seem a bit...much at first, but they're really nice and cool too."

Raivis' expression slowly began to brighten the more he heard Emil talk, until he paused. "...Are you sure that's okay? I wouldn't wanna ruin your guys' lunch..."

"Trust me, you won't," Emil assured instantly.

The sophomore paused for a minute, as if thinking. "...Okay. I'll sit with you guys."

Emil grinned. "Good. I'm sure they'd love to meet you."

The two continued to walk back to the office to get passes for their next class in comfortable silence, the content feeling one feels after finding a new friend overwhelming both of them.

#hetalia #hetaliaplatonicshipsweek #hetalia event #hetalia fanfiction #fanfiction #aph iceland #hws iceland #aph latvia #hws latvia

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side-effect-of-the-meds · 4 years

Note

PLEASE write about Andrew & Jean being chaotic and bitter bffs on the same team the power they would have the intimidation level the fashionable goth energy,,, w ow also I want Andrew to learn French so badly which we all know he would if Jean started insulting him in French

IT WON’T BE UP ANY TIME SOON but I’m writing a fic about Andrew visiting Renee’s for winter break in his final year of college in which he’s forced to spend the week sharing a space with Jean.

Over the course of said week, they form a tentative alliance that’s essentially that We’re Not So Different You And I bit by John Mulaney

Anyway, that’s like mid-way through Andrew’s fourth year. They don’t speak again until a little before Andrew’s graduation. The Foxes have just won the Championships they made it to finals last year and lost the last game :’( and so they’re having a party. Andrew needed some air so he stepped outside and, a little while later, he hears footsteps on the porch behind him. Jean sits down, leaving some space between the two of them so as not to crowd Andrew, and just sort of slides a piece of paper over. Andrew keeps up his cool guy facade for a while, assuming Jean will break first. He does.

“Would you just look at it?” Jean snarled. Andrew flicked him a cool look before, picking up the paper painstakingly slowly. He held it up to his own face, not bothering to actually read it. “Illiterate too, I see.” Andrew could barely keep the scowl off his face. He squinted at the stack of papers he picked up.

“Why?” he asked.

“Our goalkeep is, how you say? A piece of shit.”

“You’re giving him more credit than he deserves,” Andrew cut in, his lips curling in a sneer.

“I’m getting tired of being the last line of defense. It’s hard not having anyone to watch your back,” Jean said, shooting a meaningful look at Andrew. He elected to ignore it in favor of taking another drag of his cigarette. Jean muttered something that sounded like a curse before standing up and disappearing back into Abby’s house.

A month later, Jean stepped out of his apartment wondering which horrid little monsters the Cardinals had signed now. Turning towards the stairs, he found his answer waiting for him.

“There’s no point in both of us driving down there. You make breakfast and I’ll drive,” the gremlin said. It wasn’t an offer or even a demand. He said it as though he were stating a fact.

“The arrogance of Americans never fails to amaze me,” Jean shot back.

“You’ve got dual citizenship, Frenchie. I’m sorry to say it, but that makes you one of us.” With that, the little monster turned on his heel and headed down the stairs. Jean muttered a steady stream of curses as he followed Andrew out to the Maserati

Having Andrew on his team is literally the worst. All he ever does is laze around. Sometimes, he’ll just lay down in the middle of the goal and stare at the ceiling. Jean gets a lot of shit for it bc he’s the one that recommended him for the line. It’s the day of their first game and tensions are high at practice when Jean loses his temper. He picks up an exy ball and hurls it at Andrew. Without even looking up, Andrew catches it with one hand. He stands slowly and throws it back so fast that Jean doesn’t have time to react. The ball wedges itself into the grate of his helmet, the force of it knocking him off his feet. Everyone assumes that Andrew isn’t going to play that night or will just be his asshole self but, when Jean finds himself struggling to hold the line, Andrew gets sent out and he’s an absolute monster in the goal. Every shot that comes his way gets deflected all the way down the court. The last goal of the night is made in the final seven seconds when Andrew slams a shot all the way down the court into the opposing goal. It lights up red and the crowd loses their shit. Exhausted, Jean collapses on the floor.

“It’s hard not having anyone to have your back,” Andrew said as he passed by. By the time Jean found his voice, Andrew was already gone. Catching a ride home with one of the strikers, Jean felt a tightness in his chest. Andrew was an annoyingly lazy little bastard but Jean should have trusted him.

Jean doesn’t know how to apologize. Words are wasted on the likes of Andrew so he says nothing. He wakes early to make breakfast the next morning and says a silent prayer. Andrew is never late to anything but, when 6:30 rolls around and he isn’t there Jean’s heart plummets. He leaves the plate out on the counter while he eats. The ticking of the clock is deafeningly loud. At 6:47 there’s a knock at the door and Jean nearly faceplants in his hurry to answer it.

“Your food’s gone cold,” Jean blurted out. Andrew turned a glare on him but said nothing as he shouldered his way into the apartment. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. His shoulders sagged, weighed down by exhaustion. There was no way he’d gotten a wink of sleep last night.

“Moreau,” a voice said from the door. Jean whipped around to see Matt Boyd standing at the door. How he’d missed such a tall person standing in his doorway, Jean didn’t know. “Mind if I come in?” Jean stepped aside and Matt moved in.

“Are you hungry?” Jean asked, haltingly. Boyd was the starting backliner for the Virginia Cavaliers, a whole state over. What the hell was he doing here?

“I could eat,” Matt said brightly. He grabbed hold of a chair and dragged it over to where Andrew sat.

“Not out of my plate,” Andrew snapped when Matt made to steal his eggs. Jean made his way to the kitchen to fix a third plate. From the dining room he could hear Andrew’s voice and Boyd’s laughter. Handing the plate over to him, Jean took his seat at the far end of the table. For the next quarter of an hour, Boyd rambled on about something or the other. If you asked Jean what he’d talked about, he wouldn’t have been able to say. He was far too absorbed in watching Andrew.

The usual tension that pervaded his form had fallen away. Despite the obvious lack of sleep, Andrew seemed far more relaxed than usual. Every now and again, Jean saw his lips twitch up into the barest hint of a smile. From what he’d heard, Andrew had never had a good relationship with any of his teammates save Josten. But that made sense. Neil was his lover. What was it about Boyd that softened him so much?

As soon as breakfast was finished and the plates cleaned, Jean disappeared back into his room to grab his phone. By the time he’d returned, both Andrew and Boyd were gone from the dining room. Jean found the pair blocking the open door. He stopped short when he heard Boyd’s voice.

“I’ve missed you so much, Andy.” His words shook Jean to his core.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked quietly. Jean watched in stunned silence as Matt leaned down, mumbling yes a hair’s breadth away from Andrew’s lips. The second the word left his mouth, Andrew closed the distance between them. A soft moan slipped from Boyd’s lips and Jean watched in horror as he tangled his hands in Andrew’s hair. “Stop staring, Moreau,” Andrew said as he broke the kiss.

“I thought that you and Josten-”

“We are,” Andrew cut in dismissively. “Matt is too.”

“Oh,” was all Jean could think to say. Back at the Nest, there had been no exclusive relationships. While most relationships in the real world weren’t like that, Jean had heard there were still a few. Boyd said his goodbyes before heading down the hall to the back stairwell. Andrew started off in the other direction. Jean had to run after him once he’d locked the door. Neither of them spoke in the car. They never did but there was a weight to the silence now that Jean didn’t know what to do about. A thousand small talk topics flitted through his head but he knew Andrew wouldn’t appreciate any of it so he kept his mouth shut, contenting himself to stare out the window.

Jean is ready to run by the time that they pull up at the court but he doesn't. He needs to prove that he’s going to have Andrew’s back so he stays with him.

It’s kind of awkward for a while. Andrew doesn’t like having Jean towering over him from behind bc it makes him feel vulnerable so he’s always really tense.

The turning point in their relationship is when a striker from another team tries to start a twitter feud with Andrew. He gets asked about it in an interview and the interviewer pulls a Kathy Ferdinand and reveals that the striker is backstage. Jean is sitting with Andrew for the interview and when they try to start shit live on air, Jean snaps. He cuts the striker a new one, roasting them within an inch of their life and the interview is forced to end bc the striker throws a punch. Andrew steps in front of Jean, catching the punch with ease and judo flipping them.

Neither of them really acknowledge that it happened but, when Andrew comes to breakfast the following Monday, he brings a loaf of sweet bread that he baked over the weekend.

Things kind of settle after that. Sometimes Andrew leaves recipes for foods he wants and Jean starts filling their silences with something other than the news. He complains about Americans and moons over Jeremy and starts teaching Andrew French too.

Jean has his own tiktok and most of his vids are of himself cooking and have Andrew reacting at the end but there’s a few subsections tho. One of them is Andrew and Jean and their baking escapades. It’s always super messy. Another is their ‘date nights’. On the weekends, the two of them get a little extra dressed up and go out to sample new restaurants. They’re both massive foodies so they like to try new restaurants together. Andrew is a surprisingly picky eater and listening to him critic food is the most Jean has ever heard him speak. Platonic dates are actually incredibly nice n more ppl need to indulge in them.

The final subsection is fashion/makeup. Jean likes to do makeup bc… why not? Sometimes, he manages to convince Andrew to let him be his model and does some really interesting looks on Andrew. Those videos never see the light of day but it’s something they do and it’s very important to Andrew. There’s something very intimate about letting Jean touch his face for hours on end but it also kind of feels nice. Also he loves the way Neil and Matt fawn over him when he skypes them with his makeup done. The fashion videos, however, do go up. The two of them go to the mall p often and take turns styling each other. They do style challenges too where they’re both given the same horrible item (something like crocs or a really ugly sweater) and they have to make the other person look good in them.

They do little nice things for each other. When Neil has a game against Bluefield, Jean gets Andrew front row tickets for him and manages to convince Matt to come down too. Andrew learns how to make french pastries that he leaves on Jean’s counter pretty often bc it reminds him of home. He also gets Allison to help him pull some strings and arrange for Jean to spend Christmas break in France with Jeremy. Jean doesn’t cry but he does tear up a little bit.

Andrew is still a menace and you see that on his tiktok. He rigs ridiculous pranks like setting up a tripwire to dump glue and feather on him or wrapping all his stuff in plastic wrap.

#just a pipe dream #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc #andrew minyard #all for the gay #andrew joseph minyard #neil josten #the foxes #matt boyd #mandreil #jean moreau #reveal to me your deepest desires

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griffinsmith · 4 years

Text

Ok so i wrote some notes for another hc thingy for how Dr Jackall’s side of the Barkingham Palace dungeon happened, just a bit like on how he pulled it off (until he didnt). Its all pure headcanon and written in about 40 minutes without spell check so uh voila

- Ok lil more context 4 da jackall man. I’ve mentioned before that I hc him as the mechanical engineer of barkingham palace; he was hired to set up defenses for the palace because he is very skilled with mechanics n stuff so he got brought on board to basically be their repair guy along with creating some mechanical defense systems. And to his credit he was really good at his job! He put some fancy new stuff on the mechanical shizz of the palace and even made some automatons that stood sentry around the entrance of Barkingham. Eventually tho they were just replaced with normal dog guards and Jackall didn’t have all that much to do around the palace except do mindless little fixins like unclogging the toilets. You know, fun stuff

I’ll write another post about how I think his motives to make the mr hound potion came to be down the line bc I don’t wanna clutter this post up but anyway hc time for how he orchestrated the heist

Again this is purely headcanon and aint canon at all; I just wanted to write my interpretation of the dungeon all down somewhere

- Barkingham palace classifies its inhabitants as either essential or inessential. Essential people there are like (of course) the queen and chief whip, along with the guards, so basically the queen and everyone directly around her. Inessential are all the people who do the other jobs, cooks, janitors, anyone else, and that means Jackall. Both kinds of staff live in Barkingam, since the inessential people still are needed daily (barkingham is tightly knit and theres not all that many people there compared to other places with royalty. Come on, its Marleybone, no one wants to work directly with royalty when they could just steal from them). If you aint essential staff, you get cleared out of the main hall every night and just go hang out in the far reaches of the state wing til your job starts again at the crack of dawn the next morning. SO that means that Jackall and all his nonessential coworkers have no access to the heart of Barkingham. That’s where Catrin Cheshire comes in.

- Dr jackall chose the night that everyone would be distracted with the opera singer Catrin Cheshire to finess the jewels away from the queen. Palace staff are informed of when the queen is being entertained by a certain person a few days in advance so Jackall had ample time to find Cheshire days before and bribe her into letting him sneak into the Main Hall of the palace while she was getting set up. Cheshire isn’t a criminal, but hey, 100 pound is 100 pound. While she and her (real) opera squad were getting set up and distracted the guards, Jackall snuck in behind her with his hypnotizing automaton and got into the main hall.

- Jackall let lose with the noxious gas on everyone in the main hall and made sure to hit chief whip with a second dosage; don’t want anyone to throw a fuss when they notice the queens missing, after all. Speaking of the queen, she wasn’t hit with the gas very much, if it all. She was in the corner of the main room when jackall entered, so he just grabbed her out and kicked the automaton in, letting it roam around the hall while he hustled the queen to the elevator lift to the roof. The queen just goes with him since she thinks he’s just someone who works for her and who’s totally not plotting stuff.

- Around this time, he goes back into the state wing to cover his hide if anyone should try to stop him, which is why the player sees him in the state wing before he leaves to “inform sherlock about the opera sneak theif” where he really just goes to the rooftop again.

- By this point, the guards definitely know somethings wrong, and those that aren’t hypnotized are crowded around Sherlock and Watson in front of the palace. (Again, this is Marylebone. Crime runs rampant everywhere in this world. The guards are not the brightest and will easily leave a very vulnerable palace under attack if it means they can listen to the guy with the pipe talk about how he sent a twelve year old to stop the evil do-er.)

- THIS allows the other people Jackall hired to sneak around them and make their way to the rooftops. (mr poole and mr utterson were hired by jackall with fat stacks of cash in exchange for them hanging out in the airship incase anyone tried to stop the queen-kidnapping) Mr Poole and Mr Utterson used the escape ladder seen in canon to get up to the roof and then airship while Margherita Vizzini just used her swords as ice picks and scaled the wall to get up. Utterson and Poole hoisted the queen into the airship, and Jackall was juusttt about to get into it himself when that pesky Young Wizard showed up again.

- It was all going so well until they kept meddling, huh? Jackall fled to the airship after Margherita’s defeat, and tried his best to whoop the literal tween standing between him and the Queen’s jewels, but it didnt work out.

And that’s it for that. Sorry I know this isn’t super interesting but Ive been racking my brain all day long about how I thought the dungeon would play out from Jackalls side. Thanks if you read all the way through!

#my hand hurts goodnight everybody #oh one last thing i left billy the cutter out of this bc hes really not important and i think he was just robbing the palace at the same #time jackall happened to be pulling his heist and lied abt why he was there #wizard101 #wizard101 dr jackall #sawyer rambles #sawyer writes words

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embeanwrites · 4 years

Note

can you do an artemis x reader based off of either crush culture by conan gray or scary live by the neighbourhood? sorry if you don’t do song-based fics, i wasn’t sure. thanks anyway!

A/N: I haven’t written a songfic in so long, so I hope I still have that magic! I use to exclusively write them! I hadn’t heard of either of these songs, so I listened to both and went with Scary Love! Also decided to put them both in college bc I’m a sucker for two nerds meeting at a party (Also I’m a simp for cuddles and kisses

Masterlist

Move to the city with me

Don't wanna be alone

You're too pretty for me

Baby, I know, it's true, yeah

It was rare Artemis went out with friends, it was even rarer that he followed them to a party. But here he was at some frat house on a Friday. He had ditched his friends five Fridays in a row and he was starting to feel bad about saying no every time. He told himself he just needed to go to one party and then he could say no without feeling guilty.

He was holding a red solo cup full of a mix between fruit punch and vodka. It was honestly terrible, but by holding it fewer people walked up and asked him if he wanted a drink. He wanted to leave, but he felt bad ditching his friends when they were absolutely wasted.

The pop music was beginning to give him a headache so he headed outside. He was surprised that the police hadn’t been called to tell them to turn it down. Not technically leaving the party, but he went far enough away that maybe he could just take a break from this mess. Hopefully, his friends would be ready to leave soon. He wasn’t looking forward to babysitting the three of them.

You look better when you first wake up

Than anybody else I've fucked

Baby, I got good luck with you

I didn't know we'd get so far

And it's only the start

Baby, you got me worried

Outside a few stragglers were sitting in the grass. Including a couple of people making out. Artemis began walking around the house to find a quiet place to sit.

“Artemis?” He turned towards the voice and saw a girl he recognized from his political sociology class. They were the only two people who regularly talked and answered the professor’s questions. She was highly intelligent and was a decent debater.

“(Y/n).” He smiled and walked towards her. He sat down next to her. She was sitting in the grass with a book. When he sat down she put her bookmark in and held her book to her chest.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” She looked over at him with a small smile.

“I didn’t expect to spend my Friday here.” He smiled back at her. Maybe it was the vodka in his system or maybe he was just really happy to be around her.

Your love is scaring me

No one has ever cared for me

As much as you do, ooh

Yeah, I need you here

Your love is scaring me

No one has ever cared for me

As much as you do, ooh

Yeah, I need you here

“Do you make it a point to come to parties and sit outside to read?” He teased. She laughed and looked at her book.

“No, I have an essay due tomorrow night and I’ve been putting it off.” She sighed. “My friends forced me to come. They’ve asked me every Friday and I’ve finally run out of excuses they’ll buy.” Artemis felt his face heat up. She was smart and socially awkward like him.

“What’s your essay about?” He gently took the book from her. ‘Controlling Desires’ by Kirk Ormand. He smirked and flipped through the book.

“It’s supposed to be about comparing translations to direct sources. However, this dude found new fragments and he credited them to Sappho, but it really seems that he made them up. I asked the professor if I could write about that instead. She said yes, but now I’m regretting it.” Artemis watched her nervously pulling and fidgeting with grass. He noted how nervous she seemed. “I know, I’m a huge dork. I just like sociology and classics.”

“You’re not a dork for enjoying school.” He nudged his shoulder against hers and she smiled at him. “If I wasn’t here I would probably be reading.”

“What would you be reading?” She asked, watching him flip through her book.

“Well, seeing this book makes me want to re-read Ovid’s Metamorphoses.” She turned towards Artemis and her whole face lit up, she had a nervous smile.

Ridin' through the city with me

Just watching you glow

I'm in the passenger sea

You're in control

It's on you now, mhm

“This might be a little forward, but do you want to come back to my dorm?” He watched her fiddle with more pieces of grass. He was surprised by how forward she was, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed by her. She had guts.

“My friends, they're wasted and I really need to make sure they get home safe.” He watched her face fall, causing him to wince. “I would really like to, it’s just-”

“It’s okay, really I shouldn’t have asked-”

“(Y/n)! Are you ready?” Artemis looked over to see two girls looking over at the two of them curiously. Before he could say anything else she gently took her book back, gave him a small wave, and left with her friends.

That was the first girl that’s expressed interest in him since coming to college. He pulled his knees to his chest and hugged his legs. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in her. She is smart, passionate, and cute. He liked the way her eyes lit up when she started talking about something she liked and how she never backed down in class, no matter how many people were against her. He was afraid she wouldn’t like him back, but she just asked him out and he said no.

“I’m an idiot.” He muttered into his legs.

You look better every day, I swear

Really, it's a little unfair

Baby, I'm star-struck by you

Didn't know we'd get so far

And it's only the start

Baby, you got me worried (ay)

Artemis managed to wrangle his friends and get them back to their respected dorms before he was standing outside her residence hall. He felt weird knowing where she lived, but she complained about it one time to him in class. It had no AC and the hot water only worked half the time. He had no idea what his next move would be, he didn’t have her phone number and he didn’t even know where her room was.

“Hey?” He turned around and there she was for the second time. She was still clutching her book from earlier. “What are you doing here?”

“I got my friends home and I thought I’d come by if your offer still stands of course. I understand if you want me to leave.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his feet, failing to notice her small smile. “Why aren’t you inside?”

“I walked to my friends' home, they live a couple halls away.” She looked at him nervously. “Do you want to come up to my room? My roommate went home for the weekend. I have a really cool Greece and Rome translation book you may like.”

“That sounds like fun.” She walked over to Artemis and gently grabbed his hand, leading him inside the building.

Your love is scaring me

No one has ever cared for me

As much as you do, ooh

Yeah, I need you here

Your love is scaring me

No one has ever cared for me

As much as you do, ooh

Yeah, I need you here

Her room was nice and orderly except for her desk. She had at least twenty books stacked on the desk, papers filled with notes, and old quizzes. He looked over and saw the last paper they had gotten back from political sociology.

“You got a 99 out of 100?” He asked, he knew she was good at the class, but he hadn’t realized that she was probably the top student in the class. Even with his paper, he got a 95, but he credited most of that to the fact he didn’t grow up around American politics as she had. He looked over at her, her face was flushed red and she looked embarrassed.

“Yeah, I put that paper through the wringer. I got a 98 on the first one. My goal is to get a 100 on the last one, but I may have bitten off more than I can chew with my topic. What are you writing about?”

“Political Polarization found in non-fiction books unrelated to politics. What about you?” She smiled widely.

“Conspiracy theories and political polarization. Lord knows how many crazy videos I’ve had to watch for the paper.” They both laughed. “So, I’m a pretty straightforward person, so hopefully this doesn’t freak you out, but I really like you. I think you’re smart and funny and I would be so mad at myself if I didn’t tell you that before the end of the semester.”

If we fall apart

Maybe it wasn't meant to be

If we fall apart

Then it was our favorite dream

Ooh, ooh, yeah

“I like you too.” He whispered he could barely believe this was happening. But she was standing in front of him with an unreal smile. He couldn’t help but smile back. “This may be the vodka talking, but do you want to make-” She gave him no chance to finish as she pressed her lips against his.

Without breaking away they both made it towards her bed, well he assumed it was her bed because she led him to it. Breaking away she jumped up on the twin-sized bed and shyly smiled at him.

“Lowkey, I have liked you since the beginning of the semester. Do you want to make out and cuddle? It’s kind of late to walk back. Don’t you live across campus? You’ve also been drinking so it’s unsafe anyway to walk back alone and if I walk you back then you’d have to walk me back and it would just be an endless cycle.” She talked so fast Artemis thought he was experiencing whiplash. He smiled and jumped up on the bed next to her.

“Cuddles and making out sounds like a great plan.” He didn’t think it was possible, but her smile grew as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He placed one hand on her cheek and the other on her waist as they resumed kissing.

Your love is therapy

No drug can give me clarity

As much as you do, ooh

Yeah, I need you here

Your love is scaring me

No one has ever cared for me

As much as you do, ooh

Artemis woke up the next morning with a minor headache. He tried to move but realized something was on top of him, one of his arms, in particular, felt as if it was on pin and needles. He must have been in this position for a while for his arm to fall asleep. He looked down and saw (y/n).

She had her head resting on his chest and one of her arms laying on his stomach. His arm that was asleep was pinned underneath her and his other arm was resting next to hers on his stomach. She looked so peaceful. Careful not to wake her, he brushed some of her hair out of her face and behind her ear. She hummed in contentment but didn’t seem to be awake just yet. Artemis could barely believe that all this happened in one night.

Maybe going to parties with his friends wasn't always a waste of time.

Yeah, I need you here

Ooh, I need you, babe

Yeah, yeah, I need you, baby

Yeah

I need you

#artemis fowl #artemis fowl x reader #x reader #requests #song fic #thanks anon!

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thecrenellations · 4 years

Text

Return of the Thief Notes, Part Two: The Book of Pheris, Volume 2, Chapters 1-5

Notes from my first read, October 2020. (Part One | Part Three | TaT)

Contents: Me losing my mind in multiple ways each chapter, helpful links, nighttime garden cousins, an Irene pun, notes from my second read, “mwt is just like going for it,” and “this is so fucked up and heartwarming.”

Format: Page number. My thoughts (Context?)

Volume 2

Illustration

Book 2 bro

Now we’re caught up and changed forever by lots of things

What printer’s apprentice made this?

Elephants!

Chapter 1

175. me too, Costis, me too. I am so tired. (it’s hard to sleep when your brain and heart and everything are fizzing because you’re reading Return of the Thief for the first time and a new Queen’s Thief book for the last time)

176. Klimun + Gerosthenes vibes [moon doodle]

Holes in documents. That’s cute

Gen!!! <3

Wtf Ansel was hoodwinked!

177. The Queen waited

They’re ridiculous

Hi Pheris

Wtf he stole her earrings for Melheret?!?

178. Excuse me??? What is this book (sleeveless leather tunic)

He still roams!!!

Tattoos!

179. a sentence I never fucking expected to read ever “The absence of tattoos…”

180. that’s interesting

Stacked like kindling wow oh dear

181. She wants him to move in lol

Lol sorry Ion

Did she just want them to leave the room?

182. I can’t with this… I can’t. Why is sex symbol Relius canon. (the play that featured him! It’s great, it’s great, it was just a lot to take in!)

Silver crown?

183. Cleon! Rude!

Did they call Costis to deck him?

Queen scene!! <3

184. This is an epic. Abt Costis. Dirty stranger

185. he’s “the high king”

Lol

187. prophet (Pheris sure makes Costis sound like one)

Shut up Piloxides

188. resources for war! (book launch foreshadowing part two! She talked a lot about this kind of thing as well, and recommended the book Alexander the Great and the Logistics of the Macedonian Army)

189. “we”

What were you gonna say (Gen almost says something to Costis part one)

193. RIP The Magus Archives … it was not to be. Yet.

194. Melenze’s doorstep. Why? Bc Melenze is Ferria’s dog. (idk dude that line from ACoK has just never left me)

195. This is … a big war

196. Oh gen

Nighttime garden cousins.

Chapter 2

197. wtf did Relius think of that play

Also … not a peep from the sacred mountain huh

198. wtf will happen with Cleon

with Erondites

with THE MOUNTAIN

a lot going on

everyone was in that room but Kamet! So close!

199. Cute Fordad + Gen friendship (I never said these notes would make me look smart)

Same 2 T + R! :) It’s not them is it? (I NEVER SAID THESE NOTES WOULD MAKE ME LOOK SMART)

Poor Teleus

200. gdi Gen

Excuse me? Is he worried for Pheris??? (taking his tablet)

They trust each other! C’mon!

Sure he has reasons

202. oh dear. :( that’s … the worst cover story

Also falling

203. wow almost like a story huh

Ula’s altar :(

Why haven’t we had a Gen and Costis scene IN THREE BOOKS

205. I just … I don’t know if he’s just miserable or if it’s all a plan. I feel like I should know it’s all a plan. But he really feels like he has far to go. He’s just a mess and the same and so different. (having a small Gen meltdown)

205. he did give him the gun

Odd that he missed Quedue

206. he’s gonna bite them (buckle up! it’s abdication time!)

207. Power. Power. Power. Power.

Thx 4 the editorializing Pheris

208. Gen is making choices. That’s a choice.

209. There’s KoA down the drain

Aaaand he’s Eugenides

“Eugenides stared into the future”

The page of like 3 different tumblr posts: Trophy husband, Library, No! yes!

210. make sure he doesn’t leave lol

211. Pheris :(

Also fucked up timing for Irene

I love them

212. again with the birthday book

He’s still the king in the narration

Go on the roof! So close!

213. EUGENIDES IS ALWAYS APPROPRIATE my motto

Viper! Bastard!

Oh shit. I love them.

214. “our treaty” “our queen”

AAAH! Wedding night!

Asked her to leave!

Smash Erondites and peace out, literally

215. a frank talk

HE SAID IT.

216. The Bructs?

Wait is this his grandfather (taking a moment to remember all about Susa)

Also that’s Costis territory

217. who is this lion

218. #3 to Gen.

219. hmmm ring

There’s been a lot to unpack wow.

Did this happen, Pheris? Pheris?!

220. Atté atté!

(Dear reader: for some strange reason, I completely forgot about taking notes on the final pages of this chapter. These notes are from when I reread those pages a few minutes later.)

Erondites full cup to brimming

The Pherises…

We must think of others before ourselves … occasionally

I do not like Orutus

Don’t fence Costis in! Does this count as prison? No (I had a square on my bingo board for “someone ends up in prison” ... but it turned out to be for someone else)

221. damn Costis

Aaah

Costis …

Irene… your jokes (I mean, it’s a joke, but also it is very real for her.)

SHE SAID IT!

My heart

222. where is Relius going?

SPYING

What you see and what you think it means (I love these instructions/this quote so much)

So are Susa + Erondites 2gether or what (listen ... proximity generates meaning in these books)

Also, like

What can

I say

WHAT CAN I SAY (Hell yeah! Never more glad to be wrong about the magus)

[page long list of doubles and parallels - from Cleons and Pherises and Ions to god-character and character-character connections]

Also the fact that in KoA and TaT Relius was like … oh … no … I just live a gentle life being friends with my king and queen and being scholarly. But no. He’s SPYING and TRAVELING MYSTERIOUSLY and has MANY LOVERS and also has been WITH TELEUS ALL ALONG and there is a PLAY written about him and he has a ~messenger~ network and PLAYS THE FLUTE and DOESN’T MAKE HIS BED and DISLIKES MATH and oh and he’s VERY HANDSOME! (Yes I was losing it, I hope my note from after the poem helps show some of the feelings behind this rant.)

Fucking … Wine shop. Should have known.

Chapter 3

224. ominous

Hello magus!

Sophos … babe (his impatience!)

225. Magus … cool your socks that’s your bff (he’s just describing Helen’s dead body! Fun!!!!)

In the van

That was good I love them

Why is it Couples Hour?

226. finally we’re out of the capital of Attolia

Ok they’re so cute

She was NEVER Helen in ACoK narration!

Also – Pheris. This is all Pheris. (Pheris plus information others told him!)

227. Bringing each other up to date – that’s their thing. Talking forever

All this talk of shooting Therespides

228. EX FUCKING SCUSE ME (time to learn a lot about the country of Eddis)

He was 15! (or almost 15)

He didn’t know! Or did he!

The MoW!

All thru Pheris

Fuck you magus

When did he know

229. EXCUSE ME

The emeralds?

Assumed the worst?

That classic quote about little to do with winter but with “seducing other people’s lovers”

230. yeah Sophos that’s a lost cause (“spare me my blushes”)

Also she didn’t answer you

What are they laughing about (the generally nameless men we’re learning many things about this chapter)

233. Gen I think it’s fair to say that was a mistake

234. wtf Gen

GEN! he just. Had those. (the jewels!)

Her crown

I cannot

235. Gen!

237. Crash

Her CHANGES

238. THESE TWO

239. called annux

Yeah it’s like … a family meeting (the war council)

Bring your father to work day

241. Oh no.

Stenides! Boagus!!!!!!!

EDDIS!

Wolves! Lol

mwt is just like going for it

243. aww

Eddis > Boagus > Gen

244. Yeah I’m with her on this. (“if that doesn’t frighten you, it should”)

Chapter 4

245. Gen and Magus scene yes!

Two people affected by his long hair (Gen and the magus? I think?)

Pheris are you there?

Gen … you used to wish yourself out of existence

Wow

Hair vanity

Yeah also battlefield

Ion is a darling tbh

248. Is he. Is he going to fight all of them

Also they are all his cousins huh

AULUS! I liked you!

Same, Hilarion

Taking a page out of Costis’s book?

You have definitely seen it before. (I mistook his lie for truth!)

Will Costis hear about this? (please)

249. #4 to Gen!

Pheris where are you

Why doesn’t the Continent want to conquer them (do I get partial credit for this)

A tattoo!

250. “Do not offend the gods”

Honestly … too bad Helen DIDN’T do this

251. he said he’d give all he had

I’m sure there are rules

253. Just men? :( (let everybody fight him!)

Ornon is back! I mean, of course he is

Also yea they practice

HELLO ORNON

A house being built … or one knocked down. Nice

Is Teleus in on this?

254. Pheris called him my king!

255. I wanna know which guards though

:( he’d been faking

Kicked him in the head (ouch)

256. “when he fell”

I … don’t like this

He never gives up. The thieves don’t have limits. They have flash points.

Stepped on his hand

“Enough Gen” – what Irene said?

257. :( :( :( :( :( :( :(

The magus. I forgot he was there.

The magus said … nevermind …

The magus is probs very into this as a cultural thing. Also he was talking to the MoW

Pigeon. The sky. :( Like in TT (OH BOY, THE SKYYYY)

If there was a god, Pheris would see…

258. They’ve, they’ve been through a lot.

Oh god what’s next

259. I … no. not in his arms to the palace.

The palace where….

The stairs…

They are all 3 lookers. Basilisks and brass and lead

I hate this. But I love this.

I will someday see this differently.

Ah yes… the grunt. Approval.

260. Honestly, this is so fucked up and heartwarming. These books.

Lol don’t defend Hilarion, we know him

Eddis visits him.

Attolia watches him.

261.WTF Gen. I knew it. Why.

Crying or laughing? Crying? :(

How does this not undermine her now that he is her king?

But … what he wouldn’t do for her.

262. “he did fine”

This book is like… Reasons Gen Says Sorry

So, so… - Helen

GEN!

263. I am right. I am always right. It’s a curse.

Helen :( :( :(

The amount of times these people have seen him beaten.

He’s like … self destructive, but in a way that gives himself more power. Which he hates.

Gen, let them in. Let them in.

Chapter 5

264. honeycomb

OH NO. is it happening?

266. I’m just supposed to accept this?!! What does it mean?!

267. … a my king moment … important

But like … now can he fight?

Caryatid? [doodle after I looked it up]

268. Teleus!

C’mon Teleus. Everyone you love or respect loves him!

Honestly Pheris and Teleus … not a duo I expected

THESE TWO ARE SO DEDICATED TO TELLING HIM THAT! Ok I should chill. At least he said “may.” These are like … Pheris’s life lessons.

Honestly… I love that Teleus likes poetry, or at least likes it for Relius.

269. Lol Legarus. It’s been years! I mean, I guess that was a big deal for him… (almost being executed is a big deal for most people.)

Does he not love Gen because of Relius? Because Gen manipulated him? Because he keeps sending away his successor? Why on earth not! Hop on that train! (...)

It’s interesting that their relationship is the one that touches Pheris, not Gen and Irene. Hm.

Also … “Idiot.” The parallels.

“relatively gently” (it’s so good)

~Teleus here to talk about love~

This book is full of surprises.

270. That is NOT the bright side, Gen (“I could use my newfound authority to insist on going into battle”)

271. BUNNY! Wtf is a wineglass warrior

Very cute everyone, good job.

Still sad about Helen’s tears.

271. Gen. Don’t say these things. [volcano doodle]

272. SEE I was worried about this! The doubt!

I am not ok

This is TOO MANY Eddisian Revelations (Lader time)

Yeah. Wow.

273. Cleon x5

I … his grandfather

No.

Baby Helen begging

How did Pheris get this scene

Gen chose Cleon for his plan

275. IRENE WITH THE STATS!

276. lol Gen

My brother Sounis!

277. Missing Relius club.

Where is he though

Yes! Sophos Gen food fight!

Grapes!

“Wisdom”

He’s “the king” here and in KoA bc that’s the story but also that’s who he is to Pheris and Costis

278. So how did that Irene and MoW meeting go anyway?

How does Aulus know???

Thief short story! Probably terrible to reread, oh no

279. Are … are Aulus and Boagus together???! (“his slightly smaller partner”)

This feels … potentially traumatic … but fun? Idk

Fleece

280. This dang book. No rules!

The chandelier! So dramatic!

Mwt had … a lot to put into this one. A lot. A lot.

283. “not the Thief he was chasing”

284. The queens! The salute!

He can’t give this up.

Official Worries:

100,000 soldiers heading towards Kamet

Re: Lyopidus, Gen called Sophos his brother. Helen apparently might BE his sister. Temenus and Stenides are also going to a war where 9/10 will probably die.

Also

the MoW could have been a king if he’d stolen Helen’s throne. A lot there.

why does this book have the vibe of the library post, my comic from 2010, the king and queen interactions here, and the military tactics dream

#part twooo #word clouds next #the queen's thief #return of the thief #mwt #rott spoilers #return of the thief spoilers #something i

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politeanarchy · 5 years

Text

There’ll Be Paperwork (a WIP)

Here’s the beginning of a thing I’m writing, in which a snake-demon causes some unintentional problems in the early days of the Earth.

...

Corporation Replacement Request Form Date: 4003 BC Requesting Entity: Principality Aziraphale of the Eastern Gate Cause of Discorporation: demonic bite

It had been several months since Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden. An angel and a demon had been quietly following them for most of that time. On this particular evening, the humans were huddled close to a small fire, doing their best to comfort one another against the chill that followed after sunset, while the angel and demon peered warily at them from behind a couple of concealing boulders.

"We could have a fire, too," said the demon.

"Of course we can't, they'd see it!"

"So?"

"So then they'd come to investigate, and they'd find us, and then they'd be exposed to your evil influences again. Goodness only knows what else you'd manage to tempt them into, given the chance."

The demon made a sort of diffident hmmmm-ing noise. "Don't know what anyone expects me to do, with you here thwarting me left and right." He shivered. "Aren't you cold?"

"Here, sit next to me." The angel shook his wings, then fluffed them up and wrapped them around himself and the demon. "Better?" He picked up a fig from the small stash of fruit he'd brought along and which they'd been sharing fairly amicably.

"A little," agreed the demon. He nibbled a couple of grapes, while trying to pretend not to huddle a little closer to the warm angel. "Besides, if we talked to the humans again, wouldn't it give you a chance to help them, with, you know, blessings or some such?"

"I certainly wish I could help them," the angel fretted. "They're going to need it, especially since I'm pretty sure Eve is going to have her baby soon." He bit into the soft ripe fig, leaving his fingers slightly sticky with juice.

"How do you know that?" asked the demon. "Have you got a heavenly memo saying that angelic messengers are going to be popping along with it shortly, or what?"

"What? No! That's not how it works at all." The angel waved his hands and gesticulated impatiently, still holding the bitten half of the fig. "You see, she...well, and...I mean..."

The demon wasn't making much attempt to follow the explanation. He knew where humans came from: the Almighty made them, then put them on the Earth, gave them a few simple (and probably contradictory) instructions, and turned them loose. And honestly, the angel's incoherent ramblings wouldn't have made much sense even if the demon had been listening. Whereas the waving hand holding the fig was exactly the sort of thing that predatory reptiles were built to notice.

The demon watched him closely, yellow slitted eyes tracking every motion, head swaying.

"So after nine months...at least I think...oh, this is ridicu— Hey!"

There was a sudden movement, like a snake striking. The angel was startled to find that his remaining fruit had been stolen, licked out of his fingers by the demon who was still holding him by the wrist, staring with intense focus at the remaining patches of sweet juice.

"I beg your pardon!"

"Sssorry. Inssstinct."

They stared at each other, the space between them charged with complex tensions.

"You're still holding my hand."

"I ssuppose I am." Without breaking eye contact, the demon brought the angel's fingers back up to his mouth and deliberately licked some juice off them. This resulted in a sharp intake of breath from the angel, followed by a wicked smile from the demon. "Dissstracting, is it?"

"No! Yes. I mean..."

"You don't ssseem to be asssking me to ssstop, though."

"Why are you doing this, anyway?"

"Dunno. It's interesssting." He was looking sleeker and more sinuous than usual, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air, teeth grown longer and sharper.

The angel may have been aware of the changes, but was also pretty sure he could take his hand away any time he felt like it. He just didn't happen to feel like it, at the moment. It was quite interesting, this business of how bodies reacted to different things. He was here on Earth to observe and learn, after all. In fact, it was practically a duty to find out why it was that this made him feel so uncomfortable, while at the same time making him want it to keep happening.

So he made no move to reclaim his hand, but continued to gaze at the demon curiously. And permitted the demon to close his sharp-toothed mouth around one finger, gently licking off the last traces of fig juice and noticing how its flavor combined with the taste of angel skin.

It was unfortunate that at exactly this moment, a bright light and a swell of unearthly music announced the imminent manifestation of some new angelic presence just a few yards away, on the other side of the boulders they'd been hiding behind.

The demon, startled, bit down hard on the angel's finger.

"Ow!"

"Oh, shit! Sorry! I didn't mean to—"

The angel, after the initial shock of being bitten, realized that something was very wrong with his physical body. Waves of pain were spreading up his arm from the bitten finger, and his eyes wouldn't focus properly. "You idiotic serpent! I think you must be poisonous!"

"I'm not poisonous, I'm venomous!"

Frantically, in his last conscious moments, the offended angel gathered all his holy righteousness and human irritation, and used them to smite the demon as hard as he could.

A few minutes later, when two angelic messengers arrived on Earth to help Eve with the birth of her first baby, they didn't even notice the fading traces of a discorporated angel and a discorporated demon, dissolving quietly into dust and aether. If there was a faint smell of sulphur and charred feathers and ozone, they put it down to the humans' campfire.

Aziraphale shortly found himself back in Heaven, and was eventually presented with a commendation for his heroic actions in the service of protecting Adam and Eve by fighting and eliminating a demonic threat. He shook his head and made a tut-tut sort of noise, and may even have gone so far as to say hmph.

However, it was a relief to return to the familiar serene brightness of the celestial realm. To join in the choirs singing "Holy, holy, holy." To contemplate the ineffable wonder of it all, and especially to think about the Earth, so complicated and confusing. To worry a little about how Adam and Eve were doing. To wonder what had become of the demon who was so full of curiosity. To miss having a body that was able to experience physical sensations. To admonish himself for being full of unseemly questions and unsuitable desires.

He stared out across an infinite expanse of pristine firmament and fidgeted, tapping his fingers and wondering what to call his current state of discontent. Heaven didn't understand the concept of boredom, but Aziraphale was beginning to.

"Aziraphale! Just the angel I was hoping to see."

"Gabriel." He nodded politely at the Archangel.

"I've come to inform you that you're being re-assigned to Earth. From what we hear, some demonic force is causing problems again. Might even be the same one you got rid of when you were down there before. Aaaaand since you handled him so neatly the last time, well." Gabriel smiled, smooth and shiny as a platinum credit card.

Aziraphale stopped himself from jumping up and down, and suppressed a joyful cry along the lines of "Yippee!" Instead he smiled back, and hoped he was projecting a sense of cheerful enthusiasm for duty rather than oh thank goodness I can finally get out of this stifling office. "I'm always happy to help, in whatever way the Lord should require of me."

Gabriel beamed, and punched him playfully on the shoulder. It hurt a bit. "That's the Holy Spirit I like to see!"

Aziraphale wondered whether Gabriel's rampant enthusiasm meant that no one else had been willing to take the Earth job, or if he was just imagining it. It didn't much matter, he supposed. He was impatient to get going as soon as possible.

"When should I expect to leave, then?" he asked.

"Right away." Gabriel materialized a stack of pages, and handed them over. "You'll just need to fill out some paperwork, first."

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #things what I wrote #wip #great good omens snake off #ggoso #snakes #aziraphale #crowley #adam and eve #the archangel fucking gabriel #inconvenient discorporation #fruit

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gothicmisa · 5 years

Text

drama L & ocd

thank you @matsvda for helping me with these (big fat heart emoji)

trigger warning for this post: as context for the ocd headcanons i’ll be talking a little bit about a @51161121‘s childhood headcanon for L which includes childhood neglect, eventual abandonment, and hospital trauma. further down the line, tw for unsanitary behaviors, ocd compulsions & intrusive thoughts, skin picking and hairpulling (dermatillomania and trichotillomania), and magical thinking i.e “if i avoid doing this, then i will have good luck/bad luck” (same vein as like. “reblog this post or x will happen” kind of thinking)

the childhood headcanons wrt L’s mom and his homelessness are credited to @51161121 lmao it’s their headcanon im just living in it--

L's mom was rlly neglectful and not. a good mom. she eventually abandons him in their trailer home when he's six years old and leaves him a little cash but that's it.

he ends up living on the streets. he doesn't wear socks or shoes bc they overstimulate him and he Hates Them, and because of this he accidentally steps in shattered glass. the infection is so bad he ends up in the hospital. L Hates The Hospital To This Day bc he fought the staff so much they put him in a CHILD RESTRAINT SLEEPING BAG

i think this experience could have lead to like. (L's internal thought process) "i never want to go to the hospital ever again."--> "i will never get sick or hurt again." --> "to keep myself from getting sick or hurt i will do things to avoid getting sick" --> germaphobia --> contamination ocd compulsions.

i think also, relating to how disgusting his childhood home would have been, he might feel a need to keep things a certain way (with watari's assistance) bc like the idea of living like that again makes him crawl the walls so. neatness compulsions and feeling like everything needs to be his definition of "right" even though they might not make sense to other people i.e: he doesn’t make the bed because its fine all rumpled up, but if you put your shoes in the wrong place he gets >:(

a list of L's compulsions and other germaphobia-related eccentricities

doesn't like brushing his hair with a brush because he hates that dead hair and skin remain on the brush from the last time someone brushed their hair with it

toothbrush has to have a protective little cover on the head of it or its contaminated and he will get sick if he uses it

all of the doors in countermeasures can be opened hands-free if he chooses

the lighting is also hands-free; he controls the dimness and brightness from his computer

he doesn't clean his keyboard because "my hands are always clean" so it's probably actually due to be cleaned but if watari cleans it L will throw a fit

we already knew this but he can't stand wearing filthy clothes. he changes his shirt approximately three times a day but usually more than that. pants he can handle wearing for a little longer. he won't wear socks.

he wears a sick mask every time he goes out of the hotel.

he compulsively washes and sanitizes his hands. he scrubs at his hands with scentless exfoliants every time he washes them. on top of the excessive washing, he is constantly using hand sanitizer. the smell of normal hand sanitizer repulses him and reminds him of the disinfectant smell of a hospital so he uses candy apple scented hand sanitizer. it's green. although if he's really anxious about washing his hands that day, he'll rinse his hands in hydrogen peroxide and lemon juice. awful

because of the hand washing and the sanitizing and the exfoliating and the Rinsing With Chemicals and Acid compulsions, his hands have extremely dry skin. (L's internal monologue) dry skin = dead skin. dead skin is unsanitary. i have to pick my skin now

because of the dry skin and the skin picking on his hands, they tend to be raw and hurt all the time. he hates bandaids because they leave a sticky residue and that overstimulates him (and it also makes dirt stick and collect on his hands and he'd literally rather die than let that happen) but he DOES love the neosporin that has the pain relief additives. he goes through a tube of it per week. its clean.

to combat the washing and picking, watari will insist on putting lotion on L's hands and then making him wear cotton gloves. L resists at first until he realizes this is Genius-- 1, he doesn't have to wash his hands if he never touches anything with his bare skin and 2, putting on lotion and then putting on the gloves is a little bad sensory-wise, but it ensures that his skin gets rehydrated and moisturized which means no more pain and no more picking

the only compromise L makes with the cotton gloves is that it has to be a fresh pair every time. he will not wear the same gloves once he's used them once.

he believes in luck and his intrusive thoughts make him. do things that will apparently "bring him good luck" or "avoid giving him bad luck" but these are private thoughts of his so no one can rlly. prove to him they don't work or argue with him (magical thinking)

L is autistic and counts his steps whether or not he’s enacting compulsions. he loves the number 7 because it’s lucky and often just recites 1234567 in his head, but it turns into a compulsion when he gets anxious. “if i dont count out loud RIGHT now something bad is going to happen to me/my brothers/watari”

of course, once L starts. interacting w people that don't just stay in one building all the time, germs and stuff naturally will be present when these ppl come in to work w him. L makes watari spray them w disinfectant.

if he Does get sick, he would rather die than admit it, because if he admits he got sick he thinks he will be forced to go to the hospital. watari has explained to him a thousand times that he would never force L to go to the hospital over a flu, cold, or stomach virus, but L doesn't believe him.

L also resists taking medicine when he isn't feeling well because "how long have these been sitting in the bottle with the safety seal removed? they've been exposed to the air. that's disgusting". a lil headcanon of mine about his childhood would be that his mom never restocked the medicine cabinet so everything was always expired. L will refuse to take medicine until it expires and then joyfully throw them out.

L's compulsion to pick his hands turned into a compulsion to pick his face and whoops! now he has dermatillomania and trichotillomania.

he has a special face washing routine. he uses special products for his skin type (he has an oily T-zone but his cheeks are dry) and if he doesn't do this routine every morning and night, he picks his face. and his eyebrows. watari knows if L is failing to practice self care re:hygiene because L will have no eyebrows and red welts on his face from picking.

L: am i stacking my food right now because i think its neat (autism) or because i have to (ocd)? we will never know

#death note #death note 2015 tv drama #l lawliet #headcanons

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beautyinfection · 4 years

Note

I’ve failed 4 classes over the last two semesters. I feel like I’m having such a difficult time keeping up w the stresses of life. I can’t save money, I forget to take my medications, I ignore my homework. I can’t get out of this funk and it’s ruining my life. I can’t go to my parents or friends bc there’s nothing they can do. I don’t want to b kicked out of school but I’m struggling and I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry I just needed to get that out :/ I understand if you don’t have any advice or don’t know what to say.

dont apologize for needing to let this out. shit has been so hard lately and a bunch of shitty things stacking up can make it so hard to find motivation to build yourself back up. i know it probably seems like there's no point in trying to work on yourself and improve because so many things like this back to back make it easy to lose hope. but you have to start small because its never too late to get better. yes, you failed some classes and have forgotten to take your meds and whatnot in the past... but use this period of your life to reflect and look back on as an example of how these actions or decisions didn't make you feel better. these things are directly related to your difficult times, so try doing the opposite of what you've been doing and see what happens. and start small because its not realistic to completely turn yourself around that quick. start by setting alarms to make sure you take your meds every day. give yourself (healthy) rewards when you complete unappealing tasks like homework - for example, tell yourself that once you finish an assignment, then you'll have time to do a face mask or some sort of self care thing. or you can watch a movie or whatever you want. maybe try taking less credits next semester so you can have time to really focus on your classes and not feel so overwhelmed. i think there's a lot of pressure to race to finish school in 4 years when this isn't how it needs to be and in reality it isn't THAT common to do. i know all of this is so much easier said than done, but take your time and once you build up your momentum and motivation for these smaller tasks, then you'll naturally feel more motivated in other parts of your life.

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mss4msu · 5 years

Text

“Do I Wanna Know?” (Chapter 5)

Summary: On a visit to a local nightclub, the lounge singer catches your eye. Soon becoming a regular at the club, the way you look on the dancefloor gets his attention. You begin to hear stories about the notorious crime lord who owns and operates the small nightclub. When your friends worry that you’ve gotten mixed up with a mobster, you wonder if it’s better to be left in the dark and find yourself asking, “Do I wanna know?” if you’re getting involved with one of the most revered mobsters in the city.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Words: 2467

Warnings: Language

A/N: It has been a HOT second since I wrote a new chapter for this fic. I started writing this, and the next day there was a huge flux in readers on this piece, so I’ve forced my not so little butt to get a chapter written and out to you all. There’s a Sex and the City “I couldn’t help but wonder” in here that I couldn’t help but include bc I’ve been binging the show now that I’m a single gal living it up in a big city.

Catch Up On the Series Here

You awoke the next morning daydreaming about the night before. Rachel and Jess had pulled you to the dance floor during The White Wolf and the Howlers’ last song and you danced your heart out, putting on a show, knowing James was watching your every move. After the band finished, the club patrons left, but Steve had stopped you and your friends before you could go, telling you there was a special encore performance just for you. In an almost empty club, the curtains reopened to show the band again. James serenaded you with a song called, I Wanna Be Yours.” Halfway through the song he jumped off the stage and started dancing you around the nightclub, singing the lyrics quietly in your ear as the band kept playing. Out of the corner of your eye you had seen Jess dancing with Steve, but you were too enthralled with James to bother to give them your full attention.

You danced around your apartment for the rest of the weekend, reliving everything that had happened in your own mind and through your group chat with Jess and Rachel. You knew they were probably tired of talking about everything, but you just couldn’t help it. Saturday was spent analyzing everything that had happened the night before, from the quick seating and service your table had gotten to the song choices of James and his band. Sunday was spent over-analyzing everything and wondering why you had heard nothing from James all weekend. By Sunday night, you were actually disappointed that you hadn’t been called into work over the weekend and were actually beginning to look forward to going into work on Monday, because at least being busy doing painstaking tasks for Tony Stark meant you wouldn’t have any brain space left over to worry about James Barnes.

You hopped on the bus Monday morning and got to work earlier than usual, hoping that there would be something for you to do and focus on as soon as you got there. Despite being early, you still hadn’t beaten Tony, who barked your name as you were walking past his office to your own desk.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” you asked, poking your head into his office.

“Get in here and sit down,” he snapped, gesturing at the chair across from his desk.

You felt anxiety building in you as you went into his office, there was something different about how Tony was talking to you and you didn’t like it.

“You’ve been working hard, Ms. (Y/L/N) and that hard work has not gone unnoticed,” Tony said dryly.

Although he was looking toward you, his eyes seemed to be scanning, as though he was reading notes on his glasses.

“In order to reward this work,” he paused, before begrudgingly continuing, “I,” he put a strange emphasis on the word, “would like to offer you a promotion to head an account of your own. This of course means a raise in pay, an office, and you will have access to your own driver whenever you wish.”

You were stunned and sat speechless for a moment before finally asking, “Really?”

“Do you not want the promotion?” Tony asked snarkily.

“No, I mean, yes I would love one and thank you so much for the offer,” you took a deep breath, trying to remain calm, “Which account will I be working on?”

“The Barnes account,” you could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes as he said it.

You had never felt your heart sink and your stomach experience butterflies at the same time, but knowing you would be working more personally with James Barnes had you feeling all sorts of ways all at once.

“Is that suitable?” Tony asked, annoyance in his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Stark, that is beyond suitable. Thank you so much for the opportunity! I will not disappoint you.”

“Unfortunately, it isn’t me you have to worry about disappointing,” he rolled his eyes as he stood and reached out his hand to shake yours.

While you shook Tony’s hand enthusiastically, you couldn’t help but wonder who it was unfortunate for.

Tony broke off the handshake, flopped back into his chair, and grunted for you to leave. You took the hint and walked toward the door.

“Thank you again, Mr. Stark,” you said as you walked out of his office.

Once back in the lobby, before you could even process your shock, the person at the front desk called you over and gave you the keys to your new office, the number for your personal driver, your new company credit card, and a giant stack of file folders concerning the Barnes account. You walked very carefully to your new office, trying your best not to drop any of the folders in your arms. As you tried to get the key in the lock while positioning the folders on your knee and balancing on one leg trying to hold them steady, the familiarity of the gruff voice behind you asking, “Need some help, doll?” caused you to drop everything.

Papers went flying in all directions and you scrambled to the floor to gather them up.

“Guess you do,” James Barnes winked at you as he began to help you pick everything you had dropped.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling the heat from your embarrassment creeping into your cheeks.

“I can’t help but feel that it was my fault you dropped them in the first place,” he smirked at you as he handed you the last few pieces of paper and stood up.

“It was entirely your fault,” you smiled back at him, accepting his hand to help you up.

“So, this is a snazzy new office, ya got here,” James said as he picked up your discarded keys from the ground, opened the door, and flicked on the lights.

“How’d you know I got a new office?” you asked, unable to help the suspicion that crept into your voice.

“Your name’s on the door, doll,” he chuckled, tapping the nameplate next to the door that read your name in bold letters.

“Oh,” you replied, taken aback.

You picked up the stack of files from the ground and followed James into your new office. He flopped down in the chair in front of the desk and you knew his eyes were following you as you went to the chair behind it, although you couldn’t see him over the stack of folders in your arms. You set the folders down and relaxed into your new chair.

James slid the folders to the side of your desk so he could look you in the eyes, “That’s better. So, shall we go grab lunch?”

“Lunch? I can’t, James, I’ve just started this new position and I have to work or Mr. Stark will demote me.”

“(Y/N), I am your client and I want to go out to lunch. And now that we are working together in a professional capacity, that’s Mr. Barnes to you,” he winked at you as he stood up and buttoned his suit coat.

“Well, in that case, how could I say no?” you rose, grabbed your new credit card, and walked around the desk to meet him.

“Where to?” James asked, walking out of your office and waiting for you in the hall.

“As my client, I’ll let you decide,” you replied, closing and locking the door.

“I know a great spot. Should I call my driver, or would you like to test yours out?”

“I suppose I could give mine a test drive,” you smiled, pulling the card with the driver’s info from your pocket. “Hello, I’d like a ride to lunch, please,” you said in your most professional tone, “Great, thanks.”

You hung up the phone and smiled at James, “The car will be here in 2 minutes, so we better get downstairs.”

“Lead the way, boss,” James gestured for you to go in front of him.

“I could get used to that title,” you laughed as you got to the elevator and pushed the down button.

A booming voice yelling, “Where do you think you’re going??” wiped the smile right off of your face.

You quickly spun around to see Tony Stark angrily staring at you, his foot impatiently tapping on the ground.

“Stark, hope you don’t mind the unscheduled drop by, but I figured I should get acquainted with the new handler of my account,” James said, walking up to Tony with his arm outstretched, ready to shake his hand.

“Mr. Barnes,” Tony said through gritted teeth, reluctantly shaking his hand, “Makes perfect sense. I actually have no plans for lunch today, I should join you both to be sure (Y/N) can be brought up to speed with everything.”

“Tony, I hardly think that is necessary. She wouldn’t have been put on my account if she wasn’t competent enough,” James turned and gave you a quick wink, which had you wondering if it really was your competency that had gotten you the promotion.

“In any case, I doubt she has had the time to read through all of the files about your relationship with the company as of yet, and as such, I should be present at this lunch to be sure nothing is missed. Shall we?” Tony asked, taking his briefcase from the reception desk and meeting you at the elevator.

The elevator dinged before you had a chance to comment on the change of plans and Tony was in the elevator too quickly for a change of plans. As Tony was briefly occupied pressing the button to go downstairs, James gave you an annoyed look and you shrugged in reply. The elevator arrived in the lobby and you all approached the car waiting outside.

“Ms. (Y/N), I didn’t realize there would be 3, is this car still ok?” your driver asked as he rolled down his window.

“It’s fine, Parker,” Tony replied for you, “After you, Mr. Barnes,” he said, motioning for James to get in the backseat.

James complied and Tony got in next to him, leaving you to take the front seat.

“Where to, Mr. Stark?” the driver asked.

“That Italian place on Broadway and North Ave,” Tony said before you or James could make a recommendation.

“You got it, sir.”

The car pulled away from the office and everyone inside of it sat in silence for the entire drive. You tried to keep your breathing steady and stop from getting worked up, which you had multiple reasons to be: you got a promotion that you were pretty sure James Barnes had made happen for you, that same man had tried to take you out for a one-on-one lunch, and now you were in a car with the man you liked and your boss.

The trip to the restaurant felt like it took hours, when it had only really taken minutes. When the car stopped in front of the restaurant, James quickly exited and opened your door for you, offering his hand to help you out of the car. You declined to take his hand, as you felt Tony’s eyes on you. Tony led the way into the restaurant and quickly got the three of you a table. When James tried to sit next to you, Tony side-stepped him so that he had to sit across from you.

Lunch proceeded to be even more uncomfortable than you could ever have imagined. Tony acted as though you weren’t there and conducted business as usual. To every question Tony asked, James directed his answer to you, trying to give you an in to the conversation, but Tony would reply before you even had a chance to think about what James had said. It was excrutiating, and you were thankful that James seemed to view it as torture just as much as you did, as he quickly sped the waiter along in bringing your food quickly and getting the check as soon as possible.

“James, should we drop you somewhere or do you need to go back to the office?” Tony asked as the three of you went out to the parking lot and got into the car that was waiting for you.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could you drop me off at my club?”

“Parker, you know where that is, right?” Tony asked the driver.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Your heart sank at the prospect of having to ride in the car alone with Tony after such an awkward meeting, but you had no way of communicating that with James from the front seat.

As the car slowed, James spoke, “Thank you for lunch, Tony. It was great to be able to discuss the future of our collaboration with the new head of my account,” he stuck his hand through the gap between the two chairs in the front of the car, “(Y/N), it’s going to be a pleasure working with you.”

You contorted yourself to be able to shake his hand.

“We’ll be in touch with updates about your account,” Tony said.

“Looking forward to it,” James replied as he got out of the car. He shut the door behind him and then gave you a little wave.

“Alright, back to the office, Parker. And (Y/N), I hope you learned valuable negotiating techniques over lunch. Mr. Barnes is a big client and we can’t afford to lose him.”

“Yes, sir,” was all you could think to reply.

The ride back to the office was in silence, but it was less awkward than you anticipated. As the car slowed in front of the building, Tony broke the silence.

“(Y/N), we’ll drop you off here, I have other business to attend to elsewhere.”

“Alright, Mr. Stark. Thank you, Mr. Parker,” you said before somewhat hurriedly getting out of the car.

Once you were in the elevator and out of sight of Tony Stark, you finally let out a long sigh of relief. You reached your floor and took a deep breath before disembarking the elevator. As you walked past the front desk, the receptionist called you over.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)! These just came for you!” the receptionist said, pulling a vase of two dozen white roses from behind the desk.

“Oh my god! Thank you!” You exclaimed, completely flustered.

“You’re welcome.”

Your cheeks hurt from grinning as you quickly walked the flowers to your office to read the card you saw perched on top of them. You set the vase down to unlock your office, learning from your earlier mistakes, and went inside and closed the door. You put the vase on your desk and removed the card from its holder, carefully opening the envelope it was in.

The card read: “Looking forward to working with you, boss. Yours, The White Wolf.”

CHAPTER SIX

Do I Wanna Know? Tag List:

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#fan fic #bucky barnes x reader #white wolf x reader #bucky barnes #white wolf #marvel #au #mobster au #gangster au #mobster bucky #gangster bucky

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