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anburwell · 3 years

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Kingdom Come

okay this is the start of a fantasy story me and my friend wrote together. BTS slander on this page is welcomed. no, i don’t care if armies send me death threats, it’s welcomed actually.

Chapter One

“Cordelia, Seungkwan!” Hollis called behind her, “keep up!” she laughed. Hollis wasn’t even sure if they could hear her as she rode her horse at full speed back home. She liked feeling the wind blow through her hair, making her feel like she could fly. Soon enough Hollis rode her horse through the entrance, getting multiple dirty looks from villagers who had to dodge to escape getting hit by her. Hollis chuckled as she stopped in front of the stables, and hopped down to walk him back inside. She turned when she heard the sound of pounding hooves coming towards her, she turned with a smile on her face.

“Took you two long enough,” Hollis teased. The other two just looked at each other flatly before hopping down as well, and walked their horses to the stables each belonged to. Seungkwan huffed, “sorry we didn’t want to run over any of your subjects,” he pointed out sarcastically, “your majesty.” Hollis chuckled and petted her horse Cadifor, “I swear I thought you two were behind me.” Again Cordelia and Seungkwan looked at each other, “that’s strange,” Cordelia began, “not once did you look back to see.” Hollis locked the gate and started walking inside, but paused to turn, “are we going to walk in together or do I have to wait again?” she teased, motioning them to follow. Cordelia just mocks her as they walk.

Hollis, Cordelia, and Seungkwan walked through the kitchen, even though the maids and cooks have told her time and time again not to do that anymore. Cordelia tried to stop her from taking an apple from the bowl, but the effort was in vain. Hollis laughed as she ran up the stairs leading out of the kitchen, followed by the other two apologizing for her. Hollis threw the doors of the dining room open before the guards could for her. Again Cordelia apologized. The candles were the brightest thing in the dining room, fitting for a kingdom home to the deity of midnight. The chairs were all the color of coals, and the paintings weren’t much lighter, the gold fixtures still a dark tarnished shade. It may seem off to some, but for her it felt like home. Her family, excluding two of her brothers, already sat at the table. Cordelia and Seungkwan sat on either side of her. Her father and her brothers were deep in conversation about something.

“Ros,” Ronan began, “did I or did I not disarm one of the knights earlier in the week? Tell father, you were there.” Hollis raised an eyebrow while drinking her wine, then smirked before looking at her father, “oh yes,” she began, trying to be serious, “only after one of the servant girls walked in and asked to speak to him.” Ronan opened his mouth to defend himself, but couldn’t over her father’s loud laughter. The dining room doors opened again and Moddie came in with letters on a tray for Hollis’s mother, “thank you Moddie,” she stated. Moddie bowed before walking out again. “You’ll never guess what we did today,” Hollis began towards her dad and brothers. The other two had walked in after Moddie.

Her father looked up, “what was that dear?” her brothers looked a little interested but not a lot. She smiled, “I practiced archery today,” she began. Her mother looked up slightly from the letters. Her brother Niall noticed and pursed his lips, “some of the knights and watchers were out training today and I joined them. I am turning out to be pretty good.” Her father gave her a bright smile, “well that’s lovely, we might have to get you your own now.” Her mother looked up from across the table, “Arte,” her mother drawled, “they’ve all accepted,” her mother said with a smile. Hollis looked confusedly between her family members, stopping on her mother again.

“What did I do now?” She asked slowly. Her mother looked at her, “Hollis, your father has something to discuss with you.” Her father widened his eyes and put down his goblet rather hard. Her brothers all tried to hide their laughs. He cleared his throat, “Well, Hollis,” he began hoarsely, coughing from choking on his ale, “we, the houses, you know, me and the earls decided.” Her mother groaned, “the earls have accepted to bring a prince from their houses for your hand.” Hollis froze and widened her eyes, “my hand? For what?” Her mother scoffed and shook her head, “for your betrothal.” This time it’s Hollis’s turn to choke on her wine. Cordelia lightly tapping her back.

“My what?” Hollis choked out. Ronan scoffed, “told you she’d take it well.” Her mother shot daggers at him, “Hollis you knew this would happen soon enough. What do you think we have been training you, schooling you for?” Hollis scoffed at her mother and looked at her dad, “dad,” she pleaded. Her father again widened his eyes in surprise, “Hollis,” he stammered and looked at his wife, “Merlyn,” her father drawled. Her mother tilted her head at him, “Hollis, please, it’s marriage it’s not the end of the world.”

Hollis slumped down in her chair, “Mother, suitors? Betrothal? Do I have any say in this at all.” Her mother shook her head, “Hollis, this happens to keep the peace between the houses and not start a war again. But by all means, please write the earls and tell them you’d rather wage war than marry one of the men they have chosen for you.” Hollis huffed and didn’t say anything else the entire dinner.

After dinner Hollis swung her sword against her bed posts, “Cordelia, am I a cow?” She growled while swinging her sword again. Cordelia shook her head, “no love, you are certainly not a cow.” Hollis laughed and swung her sword against the post, “then why,” she groaned, “does my mother get to sell me off like one?”

“Because,” Cordelia began, “from her perspective, technically you are a valuable asset. And look on the bright side here, one of them could be cute.” Hollis froze and looked at her blankly, “or you could like women without telling them to escape and forget this whole thing.” Hollis stopped again and dropped her sword, “hehe, right.” she joked, “that’s a great idea, my escape would be death. Just like it is now.” Seungkwan turned and leaned against the window, “don’t be so dramatic,” he pointed out, “if it all goes to shit, Cordelia and I could poison him and no one would know, then you would be able to rule alone.” Hollis looked at him flatly, “what no, we aren’t poisoning anyone.” she takes a breath. “Very well, if I am supposed to be betrothed then I am going to make it everyone’s problem. Of course I am going to be very thorough.” She paused, “and before you go there, no I am not going to do what you’re thinking, in fact it would be a miracle if i did do that with anyone of those arrogant, high horse, pretentious, ‘kingly’ men the earls have picked out.” Hollis gave the other two a bright, forced smile.

“That’s the spirit,” Seungkwan jokes.

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Mingyu walked into his dining room, the dining room was extravagant to say the least, holding enough seats for his entire royal family, including extended family. The colors mimicked some that were representative of the house, gold being the main one. With ornate workings in the metal plastered about the dining room. He leaned to kiss his mother’s cheek before sitting down with the others. “Oh, Doyun,” his mother said from across the table to his father, “is everything ready for tomorrow?” His father nodded. Mingyu looked between them confused, “what’s tomorrow?” he asked before cutting into his food. Seungcheol laughed nervously and took the knife from him. Again Mingyu looked confused, “what’s tomorrow?” he asked again, giving Seungcheol a weird look.

“You’re going with the others to Jajeong tomorrow,” His mother told him sweetly. He smiled and tilted his head, “why?” he asked, trying not to sound upset. “Come on, Mingyu sweetie,” she began, “I told you a week ago, you’re going to Jajeong tomorrow to meet their Princess, remember?” Mingyu looked at his mom sadly, “but why?” he asked. The other boys at the table rolled their eyes.

“Because Mingyu,” his father began, “do you want to go to war with them and the others?” Mingyu slumped, “no, but still, it seems awfully degrading to her don’t you think?” he began, “do we even know what she looks like? Has anyone seen her?” Seungcheol put a hand on his shoulder, “well, no,” he began, “but we’ve heard stories and she seems pretty decent. I mean, granted there all rumors so she could be crazy but, hey, you’re smart, you’ll figure it out.” Mingyu’s mother smiled, “Seungcheol honey,” she began, “thank you, but that’ll do.”

Mingyu and Seungcheol walked to his chambers after dinner together, “Seungcheol, why is everyone okay with this? Is she even okay with this?” Seungcheol looked up at him, “well again, we don’t know,” he paused, and hit him lightly on his shoulder, “but maybe you can ask her when you meet her?” Mingyu smiled and nodded, “yeah, if I even get time with her, other guys will be there too you know.”

#seventeen #svtstories #mingyu #svt kpop #kpop imagines #kpop #svt imagines

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shinygoku · 3 years

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feeling quite self-indulgent today, so am sniffing around to ask if you've had any further edward thoughts? now that you've had a whole extra month down the ttte rabbithole y'know ;)

The lovely lad himself! 💙🚂✨

Always gonna take the chance to Admire this Hodges pic of him <3

As for my thoughts...

...my thoughts haven't really deviated from last month! He's just such a swell, lovable guy!! Though I will say some'a my Takes have actually Intensified since last time so I'll jump in the deep end here and talk about what is probably the hottest and most controversial.

I don't see Edward as an Old Dude!

If anything, I do, in fact, see him as one of the Younger (adult) ones!

i.e. my gijinka of Thomas is hard to definitively age, but I was aiming for early 20's. Like, young enough that I still would look at him irl and be all "Son Boy" but old enough to plausibly have the jobs he would have as a human railway worker type of guy.

I still wanna draw how I'd see Edward ^^; but the notion of him being like, 16 years or so older than Thomas feels perfect somehow. So his design would reflect that assuming I could translate the ideas to lines well enough psshshh

I know Edward is based on an old 19th Century Design. But I'm sitting here in 2021 and if Thomas is an E2 then he's 106. Literal ages aren't a factor in this! Steam Engines are sadly a relic of the past, every single character is old and out of date irl.

"But CatCat," says someone who isn't you, Jobey, "The Railway series was first written in like the 40's and the relative ages made more sense back then, also the earliest stories were Set before they were written!"

Still not really holding water! The ages have consistently been tied to how they behave, how they feel. Sometimes they age across many books but for the most part they seem to be in a temporal stasis when Gordon will always Act older than Thomas in spite of being younger as the Proto-A1 compared to that mini E2. Percy is diagnosed with Baby but is older than all the main cast sans Edward himself! Age Shmage, the numbers these Locomotives care about are what's painted on their sides!

I can understand why some people want to lean into him as being the older, wiser, "ahh I've had a good time of it overall" mentor dude with silver hair and a big comfy armchair by the fireplace, from which he reads thick tomes and drinks tea with a saucer held beneath. And that's great! Everyone is free to have their own take and this is a good archetype that deserves some Love~ 💖

Contrarywise, I see certain people get ridiculously precious about it. "urgh whenever I see Edward looking in his 20's I die inside" type of comments only fill my emergency Spite Gauge, which can give me quite the burst of energy when my preferred interest fuel runs out!

But anyway, I've made up my mind on how I see Edward, and a lot of that is thanks to based Season 1 and how very Boyish he is in the early character building eps.

This is the face of a young man with a quiet impish steak!!

But also, crucially, Edward can still be that mentor figure while not being a wizened Gandalf looking pocket watch in waistcoat wearing old geezer! He can still have several Sons when he's not even 20 years older than any of them!

He has both a Dad and Mentor's Energy, but not an Old Man's. The latter goes to, again Gordon and also Toby (when he's not actively stirring shit at Ffarquhar anyway lol).

What Edward says in canon, one single time, is that he's "Too old to pull a Royal Train". This isn't an indication that he's literally old, but that his make isn't sufficiently flashy and powerful for a visit that's given so much importance.

The other thing that comes up is like "People tell me I'm old fashioned, but I don't care!" ...which is self explanatory! He's told he's old fashioned, not old old! That he's told such because it's not something he himself really thinks about. And that he doesn't put any of his worth to this!

Finally, I guess I gotta debunk things like his creaking in stories like Cows and Old Iron, and Exploit. His basis is what's old about him, not his self. He's also a tremendously hard worker, but humans and engines alike do get worn out through a lot of exertion. He's lucky that whole body parts could be switched out as soon as funds and time are cleared! Ain't these stories set after WW2? So he'd have been On the entire time! Even the hottest new thing woulda been worn out halfway into All That! Exploit had him pull a train that was jam packed when he was originally built for speed over power, and the return journey stacks every element against him short of dropping a tornado on top, any of the engines woulda broke something in those conditions. The point of Exploit isn't that he was weak enough to break, but that he's strong enough to push through it.

...I think that's all the points I wanted to make...

THE TL;DR IS: He can still do the old person-y stuff! Still using a physical diary and reading yellow paged books and tinkering with old watches, listening to Bach and Mozart. He is old fashioned, he just don't let it stop him, baybee! He's a Dad and a wise, trusted, expericened mentor. And also a kindred spirit with Thomas who absolutely feels like a youthful cheeky lad.

And here, after I wrote all that out I tried to draw him again, and I finally got it close to my intentions! 😼✨

#This is TTTE #TTTE Edward #TTTE Talk #TTTE #oh god how many tags do I wanna put here #I was gonna talk about other things here today but this got a bit away from me! but it's all stuff that's been in my head a while #I mentioned Thomas and Gordon a bit buh ehhh not sure enough to tag them as characters lol #Thomas the Tank Engine #Edward the Blue Engine

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teabooksandsweets · 3 years

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All Creatures Great and Small

Facts, trivia and corrections of common misconceptions

As you probably know, I love James Herriot’s books and the BBC series All Creatures Great and Small. But reading posts online, from random comments on social media to actual newspaper articles, made me realise that not everything said about the books and especially the series is exactly correct, or at least not complete. And then of course, there’s also the usual questions askwed and answered (not always correctly) over and over again. So this post will address some of these things, simply because I care about it all.

James and Helen, Chris and Carol

The most common untruth spread about the series is that Christopher Timothy, who played James Herriot in the BBC series, left his first wife for an affair with Carol Drinkwater, who played Helen in the first three seasons, and that she was fired from the show because of it.

It was actually quite different. First of all: Carol was never fired! The show was cancelled after three seasons, as the books had finished at that time, and Carol returned for two following feature-lenght specials. It was only when, due to the books’ and the show’s popularity, Alf Wight (the real Herriot) decided to write new stories that the show was revived, and Carol, unhappy with a role that she liked but thought to limited, chose not to return.

As for the affair, that was different as well. There was a lot of bad press, especially for Carol, but Chris Timothy never left his wife for her. In fact, they didn’t even like each other at first: Carol had a mild crush on Robert Hardy, which she never pursued because he was married at the time, and didn’t get along with Christopher Timothy at all. Then, near the end of the first run of the show, they had to wait together in a car for a scene to begin filming, and they started to talk. His married had just ended at that time and he was very distraught, though he was not yet formally divorced, and she had just gone through a painful break up herself. They bonded over that, and got together. Chris was still married at that time, but seperated, and she was never the reason for his divorce. The press painted a different picture, one that is still spread nearly fourty years later, but it’s not true at all.

The Yorkshire farmers

Were all actors. People like to claim otherwise, but it is not true. Many people like to say that the farmers look too authentic to be played by actors, but that isn’t true. The actors were just very good at playing farmers, and not so famous as to be instantly recognised. Many were regional actors, from little theatres and comedy troupes, others were rather familiar, but not too well-known faces from television shows. They were not real farmers, they just did their work and did it well.

What about the vets?

The big question of the arms inside the cows. Did the actors really do the dirty work? Long story short: Yes.

But they didn’t do things on their own! No, no. The BBC hired to veterinarians, one for pets and studio scenes, one for farm animals and outdoor filming. The real vets trained the actors, helped them, and sometimes traded places with them for close ups on their hands. They even found sick animals to be treated for the filming, either by the actors under their guidance, or by themselves, depending on how difficult or serious the respective procedure and ailment were.

Some things, such as stitching wounds and helping with the calfing and lambing (the latter being rather normal for “country bumpkin” Robert Hardy, who was used to a lot of the work he had to do on screen) were done by the actors, including the (in)famous arms in the cows’ backsides. But never anything that could harm the animal! In fact, many animals were saved by the show, as the BBC paid for all treatments on set, which caused the real evts to take the pets of poor clients to the tv sets, even if they were never used for filming, and made the BBC pay the bills.

Fun fact, though: There’s a scene in which Peter Davison literally screams with his arm in a cow’s backside. That’s because his arm was tightly squeezed inside and he was in real pain. But don't worry, he got out alright, and the cow was okay too.

Science and progress

The illnesses and treatments were very accurate. People also like to claim otherwise, but that isn’t true. Many things, of course, are outdated now (and, ironically, many things that were seen outdated back then have become rather common again!) but the medical treatments are absolutely accurate for their time, and so is the portrayal of the scientific progress from the 30s to the 50s.

There are, of course, very individual cases, and unconventional treatments, but that happens if you base things on real life and memory, rather than textbooks. Those special cases are either things that really happened and worked a bit different than usual, or things that are very similar to real happenings (like real cases “blended” to make one fictional one, etc.) and not, in fact, pure invention. The books are, after all, written by a real vet, based on his own memory, and the show adopted all these cases very accurately.

Fact and fiction

Alf Wight still chose to make things up for his stories. Many details are changed from real life, such as changing Helen’s background very much from Joan’s and putting aquaintances from different decades into one setting. He also kept things from his perspective—things he didn’t know about his friends, were things he didn’t know, at least at that time, and that is how things stay.

Now the writers and actors of the show dug a bit deeper, and talked to Joan (Helen), the Sinclairs (the Farnons) and other people who play necessary parts. They added details that could give more depths to the stories, but also respected specific wishes for privacy, especially coming from Donald Sinclair.

Which brings me to:

What happened to Caroline?

Siegfried marries Caroline in the first Christmas special, but she is only mentioned (and sometimes briefly seen) in later episodes. Many people wonder if that means that their marriage ended or wasn’t good, but it’s very much different.

Caroline is based on Donald Sinclair’s real wife Audrey, whom he loved incredibly much. They had two children, which are also sometimes mentioned but never shown in the series. That is because Donald valued his privacy very much and wanted to protect his family from public attention.

Alf Wight first met Donald Sinclair as a young “bachelor” (actually widower, but he also kept that to himself) with many flings with pretty young women, and that’s how Siegfried was portrayed at first. But it couldn’t be kept like that always—it would have been silly for a middle-aged Robert Hardy to always invent visits to his mother to cover up various dates, and a character based on Donald, whose world revolved around his wife, could only be a bachelor in the very first few years of his acquaintance with Herriot. Donald Sinclair was unhappy with being shown dating various women, which he did before he married Audrey, even after three seasons, and he also didn’t want Audrey to be used for the show.

So it was decided that Siegfried were to have a wife, and children, and be very happily married in the later (initially unplanned) seasons, and that there were not to appear in television storylines. They lived off-screen, in their own big mansion, while Siegfried was working in Skeldale House. A woman-who-could-be-Caroline was sometimes seen when a partner was needed, and that’s it.

Donald’s first wife was never mentioned, also out of respect to his privacy, but Siegfried was portrayed to have a severe fear of loss and separation, and to cling very strongly to all his loved ones, as well as to have strong depressive and maniac episodes, which is said to be accurate to Donald Sinclair’s personality. This portrayal was, however, done very subtly.

Character and actor

Alf Wight said to Christopher Timothy that he was the Herriot that he wrote about. They got along very well, and Chris Timothy was considered the perfect actor for the part by him.

Donald Sinclair was, true to Siegfried’s character, always unhappy with the way he was portrayed, and the better and more accurate the portrayal got, the more dissatisfied got he. Robert Hardy was, according to people who knew Donald, absolutely perfect at playing him, and Donald himself was of a very different opinion. But he liked Robert very much, they became very close friends, and Robert actually worked as assistant in his surgery and sometimes their families lived together for filming and holiday periods. Both Alf Wight and Robert Hardy insisted that they “toned him down” while writing/playing him, even people who didn’t know him thought him “too much”.

Brian Sinclair was very happy about the way he was portrayed, and about the books and the show in general, and very relaxed about it all. He also really liked Peter Davison.

Joan was very critical of Carol Drinkwater at first, and thought she made her look like a tart, but warmed up to her later and talked well of her performance in retrospect.

The second girl to play Rosie Herriot, Alison Lewis, was friends with Rosie’s real-life daughter Emma. Rosie didn’t expect her to play the part, and was very surprised to see herself played by her daughter’s friend on tv!

Marjorie Warner, the inspiration for Mrs Pumphrey, was one of the first people to recognise herself on the page while reading the books, and was very happy about the way she was portrayed. It is, as far as I am informed, unknown whether she liked the tv series, but she was still alive when the first seasons were made.

As for the actors

It was Robert Hardy who made much of it all possible. His fame allowed the BBC to cast the relatively unknown Christopher Timothy in the lead role, which they first wanted to cast a famous actor for, and it was him who insisted on making Tristan a larger character, because he greatly enjoyed Peter Davison and set his mind on making the young man a star. He also threatened to leave the show if it were filmed anywhere but Yorkshire, and he also forced the BBC to treat the actors and animals better, and insisted on the necessary safety around the animals. After Chris Timothy’s accident, he insisted that he shouldn’t be re-cast and took up some of the work he couldn’t to, and made Peter and Carol do the same. That aside, he edited, revised and changed some of the scripts, and wrote some of his own scenes. When some younger writers messed up Siegfried in the later episodes, he largely took over himself.

Robert Hardy and Peter Davison actually grew extremely fond of each other. Robert insisted that Peter looked exactly like one of his brothers at that age, and he loved the way Peter tried to impersonate his mannerisms to make them feel more like a family.

Christie the whippet was Robert Hardy’s real dog, the other dogs belonged to producers and other crew members. Some sources claim that all dogs were his, but that isn’t true. SIegfried’s horses were usually actor-horses but he sometimes rode his own on screen.

Mary Hignett was the balancing force between the actors. Everyone loved and admired her, and whenever there was a bad mood between the others, she quickly got them all calm again, just as Mrs Hall used to do. Her sudden death shortly after the (original) end of the show was a great shock to all of them, and Mrs Hall died with her. She was greatly loved by everyone.

Margaretta Scott was also very respected and beloved. She always insisted on carrying the various dogs who played Tricki-Woo on set, and she would only have her make up done by the chief make up artist.

Robert Hardy’s was usually called Tim, as his real first name was Timothy, which he was also occassionally called, and which caused some confusion on the set.

Christopher Timothy had a car crash at the end of the filming of the first season, in which he broke his legs, which is the reason he walked on a stick and had a very stiff walk for some time.

Robert Hardy’s daughter Emma has a very serious riding accident before the filming of the first season, in which she was badly injured, and which made her father rather sensitive to the horse-related safety on set, and insist that everything must be done right and no risks taken. She fully recovered, and actually played the small part of Rosemary Brocklehurst in the series, thirteen years later.

Lynda Bellingham was pregnant during the filming of season five, which is the reason for the slipped disc storyline. Andrea Gibb, who played Deirdre, was also pregnant at that time, but her part was smaller and was simply away for some episodes, and wore some covering clothes.

#all creatures great and small #acgas #james herriot

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audreyandherocs · 3 years

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Thea's Cave: Chapter 5

“You don’t have a communicator?!”

“Tommy, tommy, I literally woke up in the world just…I don’t know how long actually?” said Thea, her face scrunching at the realization that she didn’t keep count. “Wait, what’s a communicator?”

Tubbo trotted up to her and pulled out his communicator, showing it to her. “We use these to call and keep into contact with people. Also other things like if people get despawned or something.”

“Ohhhh, yeah definitely don’t have that. If I did, then I would’ve known there were other people around.”

“This is unacceptable! We got to get you one now, or how else are you going to need help from Tubbo and I!” yelled Tommy as if it was a crime.

Thea folded her arms together and human, leaning slightly against her wall. Her newly acquired bees were buzzing around which was a great delight to Tubbo.

“I mean, I’m close to L’manberg to book for it” noted Thea but the boys didn’t notice it. They were going in and out of the house, exploring everywhere as Thea just snorted at their antics but kept on working and learning.

She had a crossbow, snatched from the pillagers all those time ago, and apparently, she could shoot fireworks out of it. She had planned to experiment more with the fireworks but that plan went out of the window when the boys came.

It had been only three days since she met these boys and she already knew, they were chaotic and would need supervision when they were handling TnT. So, she had gone out and looked for some animals, Tommy enthusiastically helping her round up cows and chickens, and bees by an enthusiastic Tubbo. Thea found some sheep and now she was just tending to them and the farmland.

“HEY THEA,” yelled Tommy from the balcony as she turned to him nonchalantly, “WHERE ARE YOUR GUEST BEDROOMS?!”

“I DON’T HAVE ANY!” she yelled back and turned to her planning potatoes.

“WHAT?! WHY!?”

“WHY WOULD I?!” she yelled back a question, before snorting. There was someone jumping off and Thea turned back to see Tommy and Tubbo parkouring off the balcony and rushing towards her.

“So we can sleep over!”

Thea stood up and dusted off her pants, noting absentmindedly that she should get new clothes.

“If you guys do, just set a bed somewhere in the bedroom, I don’t care. I got wool and dye, just mark which is which and mind my stuff.”

Tommy and Tubbo beamed and dashed off as Thea realized she had just given the two permission to set their place. Thea shrugged as she heard the two boys in her home yelling about something and as she collected honey, she felt another presence.

She turned to it, seeing Wilbur walking down her little path. His eyes met hers and Thea instinctively waved her hand to greet him, smiling as she did.

“Hello Mr. President” she said as Wilbur gave a smile.

“Thea, I see you got a house now” he said, hands folded behind his back and head turning around to take in the place.

“Yeah, don’t need much sleep and got it done” said Thea as she put away her honey. “Here on some official business?”

“Something like that but it’s nothing right now. Tommy had mentioned a few things and I had some time so I thought I would come check it out.”

Thea hummed and nodded. Her eyes focused on Wilbur’s face, taking his features in before noting how skinny he was. Even if he was tall, he looked to be pushed thin from exhaustion and lack of management. Although his eyes were not focused on her, she could see the tiredness and the bubbling madness that was threatening to burst.

She didn’t want to think why the madness was there, but she guessed it had to do with elections and politics. It always did a number on people, one way or another.

Thea gestured to her home and smiled, “Well, would you like to come in for some tea? It’ll be nice to get to know you more.”

Wilbur jumped in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“I want to” said Thea, placing a hand on his arm but just above hovering. An open invitation but not one of force.

Wilbur looked at her and his posture relaxed, giving her a small smile. “That would nice, thank you.”

Thea grinned and guided Wilbur to her home. “Tommy and Tubbo are here already so what’s one more?”

Wilbur was led into her home and was immediately hit with the smell of food. His mouth watered at the smell and he then wondered when he last ate. He took another whiff and knew it was stew with freshly baked bread mixed in it. The door was opened, allowing the smell of flowers waft in.

He looked past the smell of food and he found himself standing in the room. He saw furnaces and her crafting station to one side of the home, where nearby were piles of chests and barrels. A weaving station was another part of the home with a chest bit it. There was a table with chairs surrounding it, on top of it with a nicely placed cactus.

There were two entrances, one leading up to the balcony and one leading down to the basement.

There was thumping upstairs and Wilbur instantly recognized Tommy’s and Tubbo’s voices. There were also sounds of barks and remembered Lupa and Fenrir.

Wilbur heard clattering as he turned to see Thea walking from her ‘kitchen’ and to the table. He politely walked over and sat in a chair as Thea sat opposite of him. She served the tea, him politely saying thank you before the two sat there with their tea and snacks.

There were a tense few awkward seconds before Thea felt the need to break the ice. “So, how are things?”

Wilbur chuckled nervously, lowering his cup. “I’ve been busy, with the election coming up and work to be done.”

Thea politely nodded, “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Excuse me?”

Thea took a sip before speaking. “One cannot take care of others if they cannot take care of themselves.”

Wilbur stared at her bewildered as Thea elaborated, “I get it, being president is stressful and there are ton of things to do and think about. But you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be able to take care of anyone else; much less a country.”

The man in front of her ran a hand through his hair, resting his arms on the table. “You do make sense, but there’s a lot you don’t know. From the start, we fought for our freedom and our country but then once it was over, my control on the country has been slipping. Losing this election would make our effort for naught.”

Thea let him speak on and on, silently encouraging Wilbur to drink and eat the snacks. Soon they were finished as Wilbur sighed, leaning against his chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t plan on-“

“I’m a new person, I literally know nothing or anyone else. With the election soon, whatever you say to me won’t matter either way, I won’t be able to influence any changes and it’ll be nothing once it’s over” cut in Thea, “So, don’t worry about it.”

Wilbur stared at her bewildered and he was only met with a straight-face. It was only a few moments pasted that Thea realized what she had said and her face was covered with her hands.

“Sorryyyyyyy, totally uncalled for” she groaned out.

Wilbur chuckled, “I didn’t expect you would say something like that.”

Thea removed her hands and she had a disgruntled face, “10 years of basically off the grid will mess with your social skills. Though, I haven’t considered myself to be particularly charismatic.”

Wilbur chuckled and took a sip of his remaining tea. Thea lowered her hands, about to speak when the tell-tale sign of Tommy yelling was heard.

“THEA!”

The aforementioned person stood up in her chair in a panic, eyes wide and body stiff with attention. She looked to the stairway and so did Wilbur. Tommy and Tubbo barreled down the stairway, holding her sketchbook in hand. They ran up to her and held out the open pages.

“I didn’t know you could draw!”

Thea relaxed, giving a huge sigh of relief and fell back into her chair. She had a hand on her face as she gave a nervous laughter. “Don’t scare me like that, I thought the worst-“

“Yeah, yeah-“ cut in Tommy before placing the sketchbook down on her table and flipped it with Tubbo and Wilbur looking with interest. “These are so pog, why don’t you show them more?!”

“Tommy, I will say this again and again. I literally woke up after god knows how long, I had other priorities. I haven’t exactly had time to paint either.”

“If we win the election, will you draw portraits of Wilbur and I?!”

Wilbur placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, scolding him. “Tommy, you can’t just ask her to-“

“Sure.”

They all looked at Thea who had a thoughtful look on her face, her arms crossed and back leaning against the chair. She had a thoughtful expression before she smiled at them. “But don’t get your hopes up though. It’s been years-“

“Wait, really?” gaped Wilbur.

Thea shrugged. “On any other circumstances, no. But, it has been years since I’ve properly drawn anything. At the end of it, it would be a great exercise and practice. Not to mention,” her eyes softened. “It’ll help solidify the fact that I’ve met people and interacted with them. That I was here.”

Wilbur looked at her with surprise as Tommy cheered. Tubbo tried to ask if he was included too which Thea confirmed that he too would be included. The two boys were chattering and bouncing off ideas to Thea who hummed and gave her honest opinions. Reminding them not to get too attached.

Wilbur had a small feeling of warmth in his chest and he didn’t know why. He was about to pull Tommy and Tubbo away for over-staying her hospitality when there was a large growl.

Everyone turned to Wilbur, whose ears turned red and Tommy gawfed, ready to make fun of the president when his own stomach betrayed him. It was Tommy’s turn for his ears to turn red and Tubbo was about to laugh and it started a domino effect.

Thea choked a bit before she let out a laugh, wheezing and everyone turned to her as she was slamming her hand on the table and knee, before keeling over and continued to laugh. They all watched in awe and concern as the girl continued to laugh and fall onto the ground, holding her stomach.

“What are the odds- HOLY COW” choked out Thea in laughter as she struggled to get back on her feet. “I…the ODDS!”

Tommy gawked at her and started to protest. “Hey, hey, stop laughing!-“

Thea snorted as she shakily made her way to the kitchen. “I…I’m going to get… *SNORT* Just sit down, I got it-“ she continued to laugh, forcing herself to stop as she slammed her head against the wall to force herself to stop.

Tubbo giggled before he went to help Thea who was wobbling due to the lack of oxygen.

Wilbur ran a hand over his neck bashfully as Tommy groaned, muttering to himself. Soon, they were all gathered around the table as plates of food were offered. They all dug into the soup, bread, and meats that were offered.

All three of them dug into their food and Thea couldn’t help feel that her suspicions were right on that they weren’t really taking care of themselves. She absently mindedly noted to keep her food stores stocked in case these shared meals were going to be frequent.

As dinner was wrapped up, Thea asked Tommy and Tubbo to help feed her wolves and check on the farm. The two eagerly dashed away from escaping dish washing duties. Wilbur rolled up his sleeves and politely helped Thea clean up the table and take them to the kitchen.

Thea washed the dishes after thanking Wilbur, offering him another cup of tea. The man leaned against the nearest window seat, watching outside where he saw Tommy and Tubbo running around outside, partly doing Thea’s request while also playing. Fenrir and Lupa accompanying them.

Everything was peaceful and Wilbur didn’t know when he last felt so close to contentment. At peace. His eyes were tired and he quietly realized he wasn’t taking care of himself.

He sipped his tea when he heard a soft melody. His ears prickled at the noise, his musician side of him instantly intrigued.

He found his legs walking quietly towards the source of the music and over the corner, he saw and heard Thea singing. It wasn’t a full song nor was it perfect. It was a mixture of singing of lyrics and hums when she didn’t remember it. Her voice cracked every so often but Wilbur knew those were from the lack of warm-up.

Wilbur found himself drifting off, eyes closing to focus on the singing and then there was peace for a moment.

Thea had finished washing up and walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands as she did. She went to check on Wilbur, half-expecting him to have walked back to L’manburg with the boys.

Instead, she saw Wilbur slumped against the nearest place. She stiffened and checked on him, noticing his eyes were closed, with soft breaths rhythmically. The teacup loosely wrapped in his hands that threatened to spill if any more loose.

She stared at Wilbur, bewildered on how he was sleeping there before she thought what to do next. Waking him up was definitely out of the question, remembering how tired he was, and begun to think if she could move him.

She looked at her hands, flexing them as if it would tell her how strong she was.

A moment and two passed before she took in a deep breath and further rolled her sleeve up. She bent down and took the cup away, moving it to the side somewhere before slipping her hands under him.

She paused, readying herself, before slowly but surely lifted Wilbur. He was much, much longer then she was, so she had to balance him while her arms strained. She held him up for a moment, seeing if he would wake up but the soft snores reassured her.

Sighing in her mind, Thea walked to the stairway, just as Tommy and Tubbo had come in. They looked at her bewildered, mouths wide open with shock. She ignored them, figuring they would follow her or stay there. She didn’t care as she had bigger problems.

She reached the bedroom floor, noting the green and red beds already there with her pink one. She went to her pink bed, carefully depositing Wilbur into it and drew the blanket, tucking him. The person now occupying her bed was unaware and undisturbed. If anything, he snuggled further, sighing in content.

Thea smiled and had her hands on her hips, taking a moment to breathe. She could lift someone to bed, but barely.

She turned to the stairway to talk with Tommy and Tubbo, but saw their heads peeking out of the stairway. She rose an eyebrow but gestured to their beds, hoping they got her question.

They all nodded and quietly but quickly made their way to their beds, taking off their outer clothes and armor before slipping in. Thea hummed, checking on them if they were settled (while absentmindedly tucking them in further and patting their heads) before closing her home.

When she was sure the place was secure, her wolves followed her as she took off her armour and placed a blue bed near the others and slipped into bed. Her wolves cuddled around her as she sighed, eyes heavy with sleep.

She listened to the room, hearing Tubbo and Tommy’s breathes starting to settle and Wilbur’s soft snoring. Thea closed her eyes, feeling sleep pull her in. Before she let the darkness claim her, she spoke.

“Good night, sweet dreams.”

The boys muttered back quietly and Thea fell asleep, the darkness no longer silent but simply, quiet.

#dsmp fanfiction #dsmp fic #dsmp sona #dsmp oc #dsmp fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fanfic #minecraft fic #minecraft oc

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nanoland · 3 years

Text

am writing hellblazer fic asfdfsfff

title: The Cave

fandom: Hellblazer

characters: John Constantine, Chas Chandler, the First of the Fallen

blurb: John gets lost in a cave.

warnings: Depression, covid19, demons getting themselves Extremely murdered.

It was when the death toll had crested 100,000 that he’d snapped and made his way to Number 10 Downing Street with murder in his eyes and a briefcase full of every cursed artefact he owned.

“What are you gonna do, eh?” bellowed Chas, who’d been following behind him in his cab for the last half mile. He’d already tried to physically drag John into it and had received a bite on the hand for his trouble. “Chuck ‘em through the windows? That’s bulletproof glass, John! Fuck’s sake! Be reasonable!”

“Stop sodding shouting!” John shouted over his shoulder, wiping rain off his face. “You’ll spread sodding germs!”

“John, I already had it. Four months ago, remember?”

“You can have it more than once! Christ, does nobody in this city read the papers but me?”

It was fair to say that John wasn’t at his best. In his defence, he’d spent the last year sitting inside his tiny, poorly-ventilated, roach-ridden flat, vividly imagining what a respiratory virus would do to lungs that had suffered over forty years of heavy smoking, two run-ins with cancer, and the actual devil sticking his actual great big grubby clawed hand in ‘em. No fucking thank you.

Chas sighed heavily and climbed out of the cab again, slamming the door as he did. He splashed through a dozen puddles before coming to stand in John’s path, arms folded. “Listen, Conjob. I love you. Even when you’re a complete prick, which is most of the time. And I know you can do amazing things. But mate, hear me out; you cannot assassinate the British Prime Minister.”

“Someone bloody has to!” John Constantine, greatest wizard of his age, screamed at the top of his wretched, ragged, Satan-besmirched lungs.

Eventually, Chas managed to calm him down and get him home for a cup of tea.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” John grunted as his socks dried in front of the heater and the rational parts of his mind re-exerted themselves.

“S’alright.”

“How’s the bite?”

“Didn’t pierce the skin. John, you need a break. A holiday. You need to get out of town for a few weeks. Go breathe fresh country air, do some weird mystical shit with a goat, whatever it is that sorts your head out these days. But you can’t carry on like this, mate. I haven’t seen you this miserable in years.”

He handed John one of Renee’s strawberry-patterned towels. Dragging it across his face, John grunted, “Holiday? At a time like this?”

“Why not? Makes as much sense as any other time.”

“What if you come down with it again? Or Geraldine? Or Renee?”

“John,” said Chas, gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You already tried to cure me with magic. It didn’t work. At all. Just wasted a lot of chicken blood and Renee’s best spoons. Get this in your skull: there’s nothing you can do. Alright? I know you hate that, but it’s the truth.”

John swallowed thickly. “Yeah. Yeah. Alright.”

So he went home to his tiny flat, stuffed fresh socks and his toothbrush into a backpack, booby-trapped his front door, and fled London in the dead of night, feeling like one of those gits in Boccaccio’s Decameron.

“It’s called glamping.”

“Some new wizardy stuff, I’m guessing?”

Chas’s voice over the phone was distracted, like he was half-watching the telly. John was relieved; he’d wanted to hear another human speak but wasn’t feeling up to a proper conversation demanding his usual levels of sparkling charisma and staggering wit. Not right now. Not without weed, and he’d not thought to bring any.

Nestling deeper into his teak folding chair and drawing a thick woven blanket up over his knees, John said, “Nah. Not buggering about with any of that old guff until I’m back in town. Promised myself.”

“Right.”

“Don’t sound so sceptical, you git. I’ve done it before.”

“Mm-hmm. What’s your record? The longest you’ve ever gone without doing anything mystical and creepy?”

“‘Bout… hmm. Three days.”

“You’re coming up on the tail end of that right about now.”

“I know. Chas, on my word, I am going to make it to Sunday without so much as sniffing around a graveyard or wanking off a werewolf. I am on holiday.”

“Alright, alright, if you say so. Good for you, mate. So what’s this ‘glamping’ business, then?”

“It’s camping. But posh. I’m sitting up here atop a hill in Yorkshire with a tent the size of a cathedral and me chic woodburning stove and me box of white wine and feeling like the yuppiest old cunt who ever drew breath.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“It does, doesn’t it? That’s why I chose it over a nice comfy bed and breakfast. Figured I’d wake up with a cow shitting on my head and could use that as an excuse to come home early. Actually, though… it’s alright. Quiet. There’s a river at the bottom of the hill where these giggling honeymooners like to have a morning bonk but it’s far enough away that I can’t hear them unless they’re really having fun. And the weather’s been alright. It’s all surprisingly decent.”

“And you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Yep.”

“Hmph. I should have come with you. You get all weird and introspective when you’re left alone for more than a couple days.”

“I’m not alone. There’re birds. Squirrels. A few ghosts hanging out by the toilets.”

“John.”

“Ain’t gonna talk to ‘em! Mind you, one did give me a wink when I was zipping up. How’s everything back home?”

“Er – look, I won’t lie, it’s shit. It’s all shit. But it’s not any more shit than it was when you left three days ago. Not any worse, not any better, yeah?”

“Right.”

(Stupid to be disappointed. Stupid that a part of him had secretly believed that as soon as he abandoned the sinking ship that was London, things would miraculously get better for everyone, even as another part of him, on the opposite side of his brain, had been convinced – maybe even hoped – that the moment he was gone, the entire city would descend into screaming anarchy, at which he could point and laugh from a safe distance.)

“Listen, John, I’ve gotta go. Renee needs groceries. Be careful, please?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t fuck about with any occult bollocks. Don’t go foraging for brain-melting mushrooms. Don’t do anything. Just stay in your tent and read your dirty books, yeah?”

“Heard and understood, Mum.”

“Bastard.”

“Love you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

John dropped his phone onto the grass and stared up at the sky. A herd of thin grey clouds drifted past. Off in the distance, he could just make out the shape of a barn – or was it a church? Either way, there were sheep next to it.

A squirrel scurried down a nearby tree trunk and then up another one.

Yawning, he scratched his chin. (Getting scruffy. Hadn’t shaved in two days now.)

“Should prob’ly do some reading,” he mumbled to no one.

A few minutes passed.

He dangled his head back behind his seat and sang quietly: “First produced my pistol… then produced my rapier… said ‘stand and deliver’, for he were a bold deceiver… mush a-ring dum-a do dum-a da…”

Heaving a sigh, he stood up and walked around his tent to dispel pins and needles, then went inside to read his book.

“I am not bored,” he muttered fiercely, staring down at pages that might as well have been blank.

“Oh, but you are, John.”

England’s greatest wizard jumped up, wielding his novel as though it were a club, and dealt a devastating blow to empty air while screaming something along the lines of, “Raargh die die die!”

Then he waited for a moment to see if the voice returned. Tried to determine whether he could sense anything. Nope. Admittedly, that didn’t mean much these days. Lots of beasties and bastards out there had learned how to hide from him.

“Either I’m hallucinating or someone’s pissing me about,” he concluded, placing his hands on his hips. “Chas, mate, I’m sure you would agree that either constitutes a fine reason to leave this fucking tent.”

And leave he did.

He went caving.

The BBC had published an article a couple years back calling the UK’s cave systems its ‘last true wilderness’. He and Chas had had a good long laugh over that, Chas suggesting that John take the caver quoted on an expedition to Faerie or maybe direct him toward any of the two hundred portals to Hell between Plymouth and the Orkney Islands.

But the article had stuck with him. Perhaps it was the obvious love the caver had for his hobby, the clean and simple joy he got out of crawling around in dark, damp holes. John was always drawn to people like that, and not just because it sounded smutty.

(Imagine if he’d loved something clean and simple; gotten into bird-watching or carpentry instead of magic. Would have saved him a lot of hassle.)

Idly, one evening, he’d poked around on the internet – now that, that really was the last true wilderness – until he’d found a map listing all the cave systems in the UK, along with a guide to which were popular, which were dangerous, which were good for a family holiday, and yes (inevitably), which had been the scenes of grisly accidents.

(Wikipedia said that historically there’d been only 136 fatalities ‘associated with recreational caving’ in the UK and that, statistically, it wasn’t a particularly dangerous hobby. Hadn’t stopped him from having vivid dreams about bodies wedged in tiny tunnels miles below ground, cooling and rotting and bloating, except how could they bloat when there simply wasn’t enough room, what happened when…

Anyway, Chas had eventually rescued him from his maudlin musings and dragged him to the pub.)

And while his memory was a messy old thing, especially these days, that just happened to be the sort of useless information that tended to hang around in his head for years, like the words to every song in Sweeney Todd or the rituals required for an exorcism spell that didn’t actually work, doing nothing but taking up space.

There was a cave only a few miles from the campsite.

When he arrived, he beheld a clumsily painted sign nailed to an oak tree next to the entrance:

CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC UNTIL SPRING

NO TRESPASSERS

HAZARDOUS! ENTER AT OWN RISK

He lingered at the cave’s mouth. Though it was big enough for him to stand up in, it made for an unassuming sight. Squirrels played in the old oak with three sets of lovers’ initials carved into it that stood at its left and the pathway leading up to it was strewn with weeds and wildflowers.

“Am I really this stupid?” he pondered aloud, before correcting himself: “Am I really this bored?”

After five minutes’ internal debate, he decided that yes, he was.

He took a step towards the narrow crevice, before stopping himself. No. This was ridiculous. What was he thinking? Shaking his head, he turned and walked away.

Three hours later he was back, now with a good pair of leather boots (stolen from an arsehole in a nearby village), a Power Rangers backpack (given to him by a kid in exchange for a cigarette and some magic tricks), a cheap flashlight, two cans of lager, and a packet of crisps (paid for with the last of his cash).

“Off we go, then,” he said, and marched into the dark.

Like a well-fed leopard on a low-hanging branch, the First of the Fallen lounged across his throne of vertebrae, long black hair dribbling off his broad shoulders and pooling on the ground. Though he was wide awake, his eyes were closed. This, combined with the corpses of three supplicants dangling from nearby steel hooks, would hopefully discourage anyone from bothering him for the next few hours.

“My liege?”

Shit.

He kept still. Said nothing. Perhaps they would go away.

“Um… my liege, I’m terribly, monumentally sorry to disturb you, but…”

With a wave of his claw, the messenger exploded into red mist.

When, ten minutes later, a second messenger summoned up the courage to approach him, he realized that it must be very serious indeed.

“You have five seconds,” he said cordially, holding them up by the neck.

“Con… constantine!” they croaked.

Brightening, the First set them down. “Indeed? What’s the little bastard up to this time, eh?”

“Nothing, my liege. He’s dead.”

A few minutes later, a fourth corpse hung from a hook and the throne of Hell was empty.

To the First of the Fallen, caves were still a novelty.

Confined spaces, in general, were still a novelty.

At 13.6 billion years, he was only slightly younger than the universe. While solid planets had come into existence around the same time, he’d not actually visited one until the emergence of homo sapiens and his subsequent quarrel and falling-out with God – a mere 300,000 years ago.

Cast from Heaven, naked and freezing cold, he’d stumbled into a rocky cranny by the shoreline and wedged himself between its slimy walls. That was his earliest memory of ever being ‘indoors’. No surprise, then, that he avoided such places when he could. He had built no castles in Hell; his throne sat atop a mountain beneath an endless red-gold sky.

But right now, it wasn’t the cave that had his attention, dark and chilly and, yes, slimy as it was.

“Stupid turd,” he grumbled, glowering at the corpse. “Ow!”

He’d bumped his head on the cave ceiling again. It was too low for the average human to stand upright, much less an eight-foot primordial being.

Constantine stared at him, blue eyes blank and glassy. His body was unmarred save for the dent in the left side of his scalp, which had stopped leaking some time ago. As far as the First could tell, his nemesis had simply tripped and fallen onto an unfortunately positioned, unfortunately sharp rock.

The First spat on his tie and snarled, “Pathetic! What the fuck are you even doing here, eh? And – God’s hairy bollocks, when did you last bathe?”

His soul was still dangling off him, like drool from a dog’s mouth. Heaven, obviously, had no interest in him and the First hadn’t yet authorised his admission into Hell.

Because he wasn’t ready, dammit.

He’d not been expecting to welcome John home for at least another thirty years.

“Always have to make it difficult, don’t you?”

When he reached down to take hold of the soul – such a grubby, tattered thing – it bit, blazing gold for a sliver of an instant before he snatched his hand back. Stuck his index finger in his mouth until the sting abated. Fumed.

He tried again, grasping it firmly, as one might a snake. It thrashed. He gave it a disciplinary shake before opening Constantine’s mouth with a claw and forcing it down his gullet.

Coming back to life was never enjoyable. Constantine spasmed and gurgled, legs and arms contorting as pink foam gathered at his lips. The First, bored, sat down beside him, reclining against the cave wall with one knee crooked. Surveyed their surroundings. The ground was – oh dear – littered with crisp crumbs, an empty foil packet, two cans, and dozens of cigarette butts. How foul.

“Disaster in your wake, as ever,” he commented, tutting.

Constantine groaned, eyelashes fluttering.

Belatedly realizing that he wouldn’t be able to see in this subterranean gloom, and very much wanting to afflict him with the identity of his saviour, the First snapped his fingers. A dozen lit candles appeared across the cavern, hovering ghost-like in mid-air.

“Urgh… fffu… whu… oh, Christ Almighty.”

Watching him sit up, the First assumed a lordly expression, tilting his head. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

Unhealthily pale skin and facial muscles stretched and twisted to an indeterminable end.

Then John Constantine set his jaw.

Growled: “I’m on holiday, you bellend.”

And passed out.

He awoke to the smell of slightly burnt waffles.

Better than burnt flesh, which was what he’d anticipated after His Infernal Bloody Majesty had popped in for a fag and a chat. Certainly better than sulphur.

“For you,” the First of the Fallen purred.

A white plate – averagely-sized but rendered absurdly dainty by the dimensions of the clawed fingers holding it – was set down in front of him.

He frowned at its golden-brown contents. “The catch?”

“No catch. I was peckish. I imagine you are, too.”

“Come on. Not in the mood. Did you piss on ‘em? Did you mix a baby’s blood into the batter?”

“Honestly, John.”

Scratching his chin, he reviewed the facts. Still in the same sodding cave, albeit far better illuminated than the last time he’d been conscious. Alive, but with that unmistakable stiffness that he’d come to associate with having recently been dead. Cold. Irritable.

Hungry.

His archenemy’s smug smile was almost enough to make him spit the first bite back out. Instinct borne from months of extreme poverty forced him to swallow instead.

“Tastes like shit,” he remarked, wiping his lips. “But I suppose you usually have minions to prepare food for you. Where’s the syrup?”

A regal sigh, before a bottle appeared beside the plate. He emptied a third of it and spent the next few minutes in delicious, sticky silence.

There were, as ever, consequences to allowing the First of the Fallen centre stage. The moment the big smelly git realised that John really wasn’t in the mood for banter, he waved a hand and conjured up a thin hardback with Into the Underworld: The Amateur’s Guide to Caving in Britain on the front.

As John rolled his eyes and stuffed another waffle into his mouth, the First cleared his throat and read: “‘According to the National Speleological Society, the minimum number of people required to safely embark on a recreational caving expedition is four – at least one of whom should have prior caving experience.’ Did you know that, John?”

John chewed sullenly.

“I did. I’d wager that most people do. At least, I’d wager that most people know that going caving in groups smaller than two – going caving alone – is wildly inadvisable. Caves are dangerous, John.”

Where were his cigarettes? Had the bastard nicked them?

“And… let’s see – ah! Here we are. ‘There is a great deal of commercial equipment available to a first-time caver, some of which is necessary, some of which is not. Two items, however, that are absolutely non-negotiable are a helmet and a helmet-mounted light.’ Do you have either of those, John?”

“Do I criticise your fucking hobbies?” he exploded, knowing better, knowing it would only encourage him. Sugary crumbs flew everywhere.

“You do, in fact. Often. And quite understandably. My favourite hobby is murdering your friends, after all.”

John threw the plate at his head.

He’d had a good sense of direction even before he’d learned how to see psychic residue coating streets and walls, left behind by previous travellers. Always scurrying around in places no kid should; subways, sewers, dirty basements, any haunted house his greedy little eye fell upon.

When he’d reached sixteen, burgeoning schizophrenia had muddled him up now and then. Occasionally, it’d even left him standing in streets he didn’t recognise with no earthly idea how he’d got there. PTSD had compounded the problem.

Even so, at fifty plus, he didn’t make a habit of getting lost. Meds, practice, and years of experience meant that he could walk from Chas’s house to Saint Paul’s with a blindfold on.

Long story short: This was embarrassing.

“I’m fairly sure we’re going in circles. That stalactite is very familiar.”

And he certainly wasn’t fucking helping.

(The floating candles, following them like ducklings, were. John’s torch had broken when he’d tripped. Still, he didn’t need the First of the Fallen for light. Could conjure it up himself, no bother. It just made sense to avail himself of a primordial being’s infinite magical resources before dipping into his own, far more limited stockpile.)

“Do you know the way out?” John asked, not breaking his stride.

“I do.”

“Will you tell me where it is?”

“I will not.”

“Then shut up.”

In his defence, John hadn’t thought the cave was big enough to get lost in. It hadn’t looked it from the outside.

But he’d wandered, then crawled, down at least a mile of twisting, increasingly narrow tunnels before getting himself killed. He’d kept meaning to stop; said to himself five times, ‘Okay, Conjob, this is getting stupid, let’s trot our arse back to civilisation’. Then he would notice another crevice wide enough for him to squeeze into.

“Curious place for a holiday,” the First of the Fallen commented after bravely keeping his tongue still for an unprecedented five minutes.

“Curious times we’re living in, innit?”

He hummed in agreement. “Are you really not here for any particular reason? Not – I don’t know – trying to find a missing child abducted by the fae? Searching for a wicked spirit who’s been cursing the local shepherds? Treasure-hunting, perhaps?”

“No.”

“You’re just here.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I told you. I’m on holiday. Taking a nice long break.”

“John. We’ve known one another for some time. I am familiar with the ways in which you ‘take a break’. You either go to the pub or you go to several pubs. Attempting to reconnect with nature is hardly your style.”

“Being oblivious to current events – especially shit ones – is hardly your style. Been too busy shaving your chunky arse to pick up a newspaper lately?”

“Print is dying. Besides, you try managing an entire dimension. See how much spare time it leaves you. Honestly, I’m run off my feet most days.”

“So quit.”

“Don’t be silly. What else would I do?”

“I dunno. Could be a camgirl. You’ve got the legs for it.”

“Stop trying to change the subject. Why aren’t you at home?”

John stopped walking and spun to face him. “There’s a plague, you gormless, oblivious prick. I can’t go to the pub. I can’t meet up with me mates. I can’t visit people’s homes to perform exorcisms. I can’t do anything but sit indoors, on my own, for months on end, just watching everything get worse, and that… and that’s not an option. Not for me. I crack too easy. So I got out. Before I killed someone. Now, for the last time, shut up and let me concentrate.”

He bent down to tug off his shoes and socks.

Telepathic magic tended to work best when you were naked. But sod that. Not with the First of the Fuckheads watching. Waffles or no waffles, he did not deserve a treat.

“Oh, is this what we’re doing now? Marvellous! I do love watching your quaint party tricks,” he oozed with a mocking round of applause as John dropped to his knees.

Ignore him.

Taking a deep breath, John let his awareness expand.

It was hard, with the First standing right there. His presence was staggeringly heavy, weighing on the ley lines like an iron ball on a lace hammock. And so alien; elements found nowhere on Earth, bones and muscles formed before Earth had been a glint in God’s eye.

John sneered into the darkness. Piss on that. On him. This was child’s play. Buggered as his brain might be, John Constantine wasn’t going to falter at the sound, scent, or sensation of a mean-spirited old cosmic relic.

Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.

Seven years ago, three people came this way. A family. A woman; her sister; her daughter. They were having fun. The sisters had done this before; the daughter had been begging to come along for years. Afterwards, they were going for pizza. It was a good day.

Two years ago, four people came this way. All friends from work. Well – ‘friends’. One was the company CEO, the other three wanted promotions. Everyone but the boss was miserable. One was arachnophobic.

Eight months ago, a… sheep? Yeah. A sheep. Barely more than a lamb. It was lost. There was a storm and it came down here looking for shelter. Went too deep. By the time the shepherd found it, it was half-starved.

“John? What are you-…”

Ignore him.

Ten years ago, another family. Fifty years ago, a frightened child running from a monstrous father. And others – a hundred others – a thousand. The cave had a rich and storied history. Almost against his will and entirely against his better judgement, John followed its threads through the rock layers, chasing faded ghosts, brushing up against magic so ancient it had fossilised.

“John!”

Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore-

His head was ringing. His blood was on fire.

Fuck, I’ve gone too far, too bloody deep, fuck, oh fuck.

“Constantine! Heed me!”

His eyes snapped open.

“Ah,” he said.

“Precisely,” said the First of the Fallen, who was holding him up by his coat collar like a jizz rag in need of a bin.

The cave had changed.

It was brighter, thanks to a small, well-constructed fire in its centre.

The walls were covered in paintings. Deer. Hogs. Great red and brown bulls.

A woman sat in the corner, wrapped in furs, adding detail to what might have been a fox. She didn’t seem to have noticed them.

“Did you mean to do that?” the First of the Fallen queried.

“In thirty thousand years, a monk will come down here and find them. He’ll be horrified, believing that they’re the work of… well, me. So he’ll leave and return with water in buckets and scrubbing brushes. As he lies on his deathbed, he will be firmly under the impression that this great good deed will grant him entrance into Paradise.”

The First of the Fallen paused for effect, then added, “Alas, he will be mistaken.”

Without looking away from her work, the woman spoke several words in a language miles removed from any contemporary tongue John had ever heard.

“The young lady says she doesn’t mind spirits wandering her caves, but requests that we don’t chatter while she’s trying to concentrate.”

Crouching next to freshly-etched cow and her calf, feeling uncharacteristically dazzled, John said, “Ask her if I can take a picture. Ask her!”

“Homo neanderthalensis, John. She won’t have the faintest idea what you mean.”

Rolling his eyes, he fished his phone out of his trenchcoat pocket and waved it at her. When she deliberately ignored him, he shrugged and took the shot.

The flash won her attention. She stood – revealing a faded seashell necklace and a long, curving scar across her left thigh – and approached them, limping slightly. John held out the phone to show her the picture and, after a resoundingly unimpressed inspection, she uttered a terse sentence.

“She’s unsure why the sickly-looking spirit thinks shrinking her beasts in any way improves them,” said the First of the Fallen.

The woman raised her head (hard to tell how old she was; younger than him, definitely) and looked John in the eye, squinting. Another few sentences followed, some of which sounded like questions.

Sarcastic questions, unless he was mistaken.

“She asks if you shrink them because large beasts frighten you. She speculates that, if the only beasts you can bear to approach are scrawny ones, it’s no wonder that you yourself are such a measly creature. She says that she too was scared of bulls when she was a child, but that her mother taught her not to be. She wonders why your mother failed you in this regard. Should I tell her your mother died in childbirth, John?”

“Stick your head up your own arse and choke. But ask her name first.”

Tossing back his thick black hair, he scoffed. “Why? What does it matter? She’s a primitive, doomed creature and she’s not even really here. This is just one of the cave’s memories.”

“Christ – are you jealous I’m talking to her more than I’m talking to you? Because that’s fucking inane. This is a one-in-a-lifetime type deal. I’ve never spoken to a legit bloody Neanderthal. I speak to you all the blasted time, more’s the pity.”

Yellow eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’ll kill her.”

John laughed. “You said it, squire; she’s a memory. You can’t kill her. She’s long dead. Now shut up.”

He wasn’t able to learn her name. Still, via pantomime and pointing, he eventually managed to convey his desire to find a way out of the cave – or so, at least, it seemed.

She took a bundle of sticks from beside her fire, lit them, and walked towards the nearest inky-black tunnel.

“See?” he said to the First of the Fallen as they followed her. “Politeness. All it takes.”

“Don’t act like you have any real idea what’s going on. She could be leading you straight into a trap. You’re aware, I’m sure, that archaeologists generally agree Neanderthals practised cannibalism? Ten muscular relatives might be waiting right around the corner with clubs and a cooking pot.”

“For fuck’s sake – I have literally stood and watched you slouching on that colossally pathetic bone throne of yours and nibbling the edge of someone’s pelvis like it was a turkey drumstick. Loathsome bloody hypocrite.”

“That doesn’t remotely count as cannibalism, John. That was a human pelvis. I’m not a human. I’m the prototype. A species of one. Which, I suppose, means it’s technically impossible for me to commit cannibalism. Hmm. What an interesting philosophical notion.”

Walking a short way ahead, bare feet soundless against the rock, their new self-appointed guide said something.

“What was that?” John whispered.

“‘If you must burden my ears by bickering like children, you could at least do it in a language I can understand’. Then she called us a rude word.”

Then the First of the Fallen spoke several sentences in his usual bored, drawling cadence and, to John’s surprise, she laughed.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” the First of the Fallen said, innocently.

“I’m serious, bastard. What’re you saying to her?”

“Nothing important, John, really.”

More than once after that, he caught her glancing back at them and snickering.

The artist and the twisting stone galleries through which she led them – it couldn’t possibly have all been hers; the monk had destroyed the work of generations – were insufficient to keep John’s mind from straying back to important matters.

“Hey. Ponce. What’ve you done with my cigarettes?”

The First of the Fallen had plucked them from his trenchcoat pocket while he was unconscious. When it came to his sorcerer, he’d learned, you always wanted a bargaining chip to hand.

“We’re in the company of one whose lungs are as yet unsullied by the Industrial Revolution, Constantine. Are you really planning on exposing her to second-hand smoke?”

It was a prospect John, it seemed, hadn’t even considered. Obviously angry with himself for that (oh John), he snapped, “No! I was – it’s – look, she can’t get lung cancer, can she? She’s dead. Doesn’t matter what she breathes in now.”

Smothering a smile, the First of the Fallen said, “Oh? So the fact that she won’t actually perish upon inhaling your fumes is all that matters, is it? Never mind her comfort or dignity, I suppose; as long as you don’t have to clean up another corpse.”

Nostrils flared. Fists clenched. Blue eyes gleamed with something hotter and even more violent than divine wrath.

“Like you give a shit about her,” John growled.

So much in this miserable world reminds me of Heaven. The grass. The sky. The beauty. You alone remind me of the time before Heaven; that bizarre, unpredictable time when there were no rules, no beauty, only feelings, only sudden bursts of light, fierce and erratic, cutting through the void.

“Or anyone,” John continued, gathering steam. Nicotine withdrawal, the First of the Fallen suspected, was kicking in. “Remind me, what was that you said the day we met? ‘To be mortal is to be stupid, proud, conceited – and ultimately pathetic’. You showed your hand, idiot; you loathe us all. Ergo, any taunts that depend on you concealing that are a total bust. Forget about the ciggies. If they’ve been anywhere near you, I don’t want ‘em.”

For years, the First of the Fallen had secretly hoped John had forgotten his, in hindsight, ill-considered words.

(He’d meant every one of them, but at the time he’d been trying to come off as a Gentleman Devil, the quintessential Man of Wealth and Taste, affable and urbane, not a bitter, angry old monster.)

Should have known better. John was so foolishly protective when it came to humanity as an abstract concept, even while his attitude towards actual humans tended to be far more variable. He’d probably been furiously gnawing on that phrase – ‘ultimately pathetic’ – like a dog with a bone for thirty years.

Thirty years.

Was that really all the time they’d known one another? John Constantine, his Constantine, He Who Was Most Hated… a mere thirty year acquaintance?

“What’re you laughing at?”

“Heh. Nothing, John. Reminiscing, that’s all.”

“About what? Poor old Brendan?”

Brendan, Brendan. Who -? Oh yes. John’s friend. The one who’d sold his soul. The catalyst, in fact, for their meeting. Pity the bastard was in Heaven; he’d have liked to thank him.

“You see these?” said the artist, holding up her torch to illuminate a painted wolf pack. “My grandfather did these.”

“What’s she saying?” John demanded.

As the First of the Fallen translated, he gazed dispassionately at her.

The first time he’d encountered a human, they’d looked much the same. Small. Unremarkable. Clad in skins and hardened from a life exposed to this planet’s weather (he personally hated weather and had made sure there was no such thing in Hell).

Mind you, the ones he’d run into while naked and terrified and still injured from being swatted down to Earth like some insect had been much less hospitable. They hadn’t known what he was; only that he was wrong. When he’d tried to approach their campfire, they’d thrown stones at him. Slaying them all hadn’t even occurred to him. Father had said that they were precious and at that stage, he’d still given a toss about His rules. Instead, he’d slunk away.

Catching food wasn’t a problem. He was faster than any buck or bird. It was loneliness, not hunger, that drove him to try again, and again, and again. In time, they grew used to him. Even showed him kindness. They had an extraordinary capacity for that. (For all that it was so often conditional and withdrawn the moment one became too strange or too frightening.)

But he’d never grown used to them. They were, at heart, creatures of community. And he simply wasn’t. He was a species of one. The prototype. He’d always been alone but for God’s company, and adjusting to life as a member of a tribe had proved impossible. Their norms, their traditions, their complicated etiquette – it had all bewildered him, then intimidated him, then irritated him. That, combined with his ageless body and supernatural strength, had driven an inevitable wedge between them, and he’d returned to the wilderness to wander alone.

He considered telling John that story.

(Why not? He’d told him everything else and the idea that his nemesis might have an incomplete view of him was, for some reason, concerning.)

Then he considered John’s likely reaction. The curled lip. The scornful snort. “What, you looking for pity? ‘Boo-hoo, my rotten childhood turned me into a git’? Hah! Jog on, squire.”

No. John’s hatred was a hard-won prize. John’s contempt was to be avoided at all costs.

“You realise most people aren’t allowed down here,” the artist said, glancing his way. She was shorter than John, who himself was slightly shorter than the average man; her eyes were level with the First’s navel. “Only elders and those who’ve earned the right. There are grave penalties awaiting any who sneak in.”

“Really?” he replied, interested only in John’s furrowed brow and silent, aggravated attempts to work out what they were saying.

“Yes. Because this place is important. Sacred. When I was young, I spent years dreaming of being allowed to venture this deep. I don’t know the ways of spirits – but I’ll not pretend it doesn’t rankle that you spend more time studying your sickly friend than your surroundings.”

“You’re still young. Compared to me, everyone is.”

“He doesn’t even seem to like you very much. Why are you travelling with him?”

“I don’t know. Why do urine and semen come out the same hole?”

“‘It’s none of your business’ would have sufficed. Are you always this rude? Is that why the sickly one doesn’t like you?”

“No. No, he dislikes me for other reasons.”

“Well, well, well. Hullo,” came John’s voice, and they both realised that he’d stopped walking.

Turning, the First of the Fallen spied his nemesis standing with his hands in his pockets, studying a man dressed like a thirteenth-century peasant.

“Eh? Where did he come from?” the woman asked.

In quavering tones, the peasant said, “Are you angels?”

The First of the Fallen laughed. “John! He’s asking if-…”

“Just because I can’t speak Neanderthal doesn’t mean I don’t know sodding Middle English. Give me an ounce of credit. I’m only a cocking wizard, after all,” John snapped, before addressing the new arrival: “No. Just travellers.”

The peasant’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. I thought maybe God had sent me angels. I’ve been requesting them for several days.”

John shuddered. “Bad idea. Trust me. You don’t want to mess around with that lot.”

“But I need guidance. Protection.”

“From what?”

Eyes wide, the peasant took his hand and clutched it. “My friend, can’t you see? I am being pursued.”

“By who?”

“By demons.”

(to be continued)

#hellblazer #john constantine #chas chandler #first of the fallen #fanfic #my fic

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 4 years

Note

Nico and Poppy from Kamen Rider Ex-Aid, R. Uhhhm, not as a pairing, though

R is for respite

Nico wakes up to the sound of Taiga and some woman arguing in the doorway of her room.

Her first, bleary thought is, what’s Taiga doing in my room? Next, once she recognizes the woman’s voice, is, what’s Poppy doing in my room? And then, when the sleep begins to clear away from her eyes and she realizes that she’s been using one of her nursing textbooks as a pillow, am I not in my room?

She sits up, wincing at the ache in her neck, and Poppy cuts off in the middle of, “--just because you live on protein bars and energy drinks doesn’t mean she can--Nico! You’re awake!”

Nico nods with difficulty. She’s not in her room, she’s in Taiga’s little office at the clinic, and she’s face-down in a textbook because she was up until four in the morning studying for an exam. “What time is it?”

“Noon,” Taiga says shortly.

“Shit, I’m late for class--”

“On Sunday.”

“Oh.”

“You see, she doesn’t even know what day it is.” Poppy looks angry. Nico’s seen her look angry before, but it’s always sort of weird with her pink hair and cutesy outfit. “You’re her doctor, you’re supposed to notice when she’s running herself ragged.”

Taiga glances over at Nico, and she almost sticks her tongue out at him, but she doesn’t because of how visibly guilty and uncomfortable he looks. “I’m an oncologist, not a general practitioner.” He shrinks slightly under Poppy’s glare, and now Nico does giggle, it’s so rare to see him looking cowed. “But I should have noticed, yes. I’m sorry,” to Nico, “I should have made sure you were sleeping enough.”

“You don’t sleep enough either.” Nico gets up, wincing. “I’m your nurse, I should be getting on your case about that.” Poppy makes a worried noise, and Nico shrugs. “He has nightmares.”

Poppy nods, looking sad. “There’s a lot of that going around, isn’t there? I’d probably have them too if I slept.” And then she brightens. “But. For right now! You’re going to go put your books away and we’re going to have a girls day!”

Nico blinks. “We’re going to what?”

“You know, where we get our nails done and go shopping and get, um. Ice cream or something? And sometimes there’s karaoke?” Poppy frowns thoughtfully. “I’ve never actually had a girls day, but I’m pretty sure that’s how they’re supposed to work.”

Taiga puts a hand over his mouth, and Nico, at least, can tell that it’s because he’s trying very hard not to start laughing. She grins and starts gathering her books and papers. “I’ve never had one either, but I guess I can give it a shot. Can a Bugster get a manicure?”

“I don’t know, but that’s no reason not to try, right?”

As it turns out, Bugsters can’t get their nails trimmed, because their nails don’t grow, but they can get them painted. Poppy and Nico pick out a color together, an eye-searing shade of neon green that matches Nico’s shirt. While the technicians are working on Nico’s nails, Poppy says, “So how are nursing classes going?”

“They’re fine. It’s not too hard, I was a little surprised.”

“Yeah! It’s not a terribly difficult course if you’ve got a knack for it. Of course, I took an accelerated program because of my,” Poppy glances around, “special circumstances, you know, but I liked it!”

“Wait, you actually took a nursing course? I thought it was just a front.”

“Of course! I needed to at least know the basics to help out in the CR.”

“Did you study...here?”

“You mean as opposed to digitally? Oh, I did all in-person classes. You know, so it wouldn’t look funny.”

Nico frowns. “I guess that makes sense.”

Shopping turns out to be a bust, because Poppy can change her clothes whenever she feels like it and Nico’s never liked trying things on in public fitting rooms, but frozen yogurt definitely works. In fact, frozen yogurt’s incredibly fun, given how much time they spend trying to outdo each other with the extravagant toppings they pick out. Of course that means both their portions are very heavy by the time they’re done, and the bill comes out to nearly three thousand yen, but then the weather’s so they can sit down outside with their gummy bear and cereal-laden dishes. Nico takes a bite, makes a face--gummy bears don’t really make a great frozen yogurt topping--and then blinks. “Thank you for covering this, by the way.”

Poppy beams at her. “Sure! The Ministry of Health pays me pretty well, but I never know what to do with it, you know, since I don’t actually need to buy anything and I’ve got my cabinet to live in.”

“I guess that makes sense. I haven’t done a tournament in a while, so most of my money’s kinda tied up in investments. Like, I get a monthly payment from them, the guy at the bank helped me with it, but I should probably go kick some butt at Dead Or Alive or something sometime soon.” Nico takes another bite. “I kinda miss tournaments, anyway...wait, maybe this is super rude but how do you have a bank account?”

Poppy makes a delighted noise and produces her little pink wallet from...somewhere. “The Ministry of Health helped get my legal identity in order, they were really nice about it.” She opens the wallet. “I even have a driver’s license, see?”

“Wait, you can drive?”

“Yeah! Mostly I don’t, but I can.” The wallet goes away again. “Also apparently it was super super helpful that they did it for me because then they had all the procedures in place already, they had to do it again for some guy over in Tokyo a couple of years ago.”

“There’s another Bugster working for the Ministry of Health?”

“No, he was working with the police. And he wasn’t a Bugster, I think he was some kind of robot.”

“Wow, ok, that’s wild.” Nico takes a third bite. “This is actually...really bad, I’m never getting gummy bears on this again.”

Poppy frowns, takes a bite of her own--which is covered in fruit boba and coconut shreds and a different kind of cereal--and makes a face. “You’re pight. This was a perrible pidea.”

There’s a long moment, and then Nico breaks into hysterical giggles. “It’s kind of nice,” she gasps, “being worried about something normal for once, isn’t it?”

In the booth at the karaoke place, Poppy sings all the bounciest songs available, and then sits and stares in shock as Nico wails her way through the loudest metal track they’ve got. After two songs her throat is sore, and she sits down on the couch with a thump. “Ow.” Her voice comes out in a croak. “I haven’t done that in ages.”

“That was loud.”

“Yeah, if I’ve been practicing I can get even louder.” Nico grins and then drains a glass of water.

“Wanna do a song together?”

“...sure?”

They spend a few minutes flipping through the binder with the song listings, trying to find something they can agree on. Then, though, Poppy elbows Nico gently, a sly smile on her face. “So. Any boys in your life lately?”

Nico groans. “Nope. Too busy with school.”

“Not even Parad?”

Nico feels her face go hot. “I--what? Parad? No. Did he say something about me?”

“He said you’ve been playing Street Fighter with him a lot.”

“Just, just online, because I can’t sleep sometimes.” Nico curses internally as her ears warm up. “I beat him a couple of times the other night, that was pretty cool. I--what’s that look, don’t look at me like that.” She hides her face in her hands.

Poppy continues to give her the look. “You like him, don’t you.”

She sputters, scrambles for her phone, and sends a text to Taiga, [poppy is cyberbullying me], to which he responds with an entirely heartless series of emojis, and then, [good].

Poppy, looking over her shoulder, makes an indignant noise. “I’m not--I’m pight pere, pow pan I pe pyberbullying pou?”

“You’re a cyber person, all the bullying you do is cyberbullying.“

“Oh, you little--I am not--” Poppy frowns. “You know, though, that does make sense. Sort of. Ooh, I think I know this song, we could do this one.”

Nico squints at the page. “Sure, yeah, I know that one.”

They get out of the karaoke place in time to go get noodles for dinner, and near the end of the meal Nico pauses over the last of her meal and says, “This is. This has been. Really nice. Thanks, Poppy.”

Poppy beams at her. “You’re very welcome! Thank you! I don’t get to do normal things a lot, I’ve enjoyed spending time with you!”

Despite herself, Nico grins. “When do any of us ever get to do normal stuff?” She pauses. “I’m an only kid, but I think if I had a big sister it’d be nice if she was like you.”

Poppy turns bright pink and makes a delighted squealing noise. “I can be your sister if you like, I’d love to be someone’s sister.”

Nico holds out her fist across the table, and Poppy shyly bumps knuckles with her before making another delighted noise.

On their way back to the clinic, though, Nico stops on the sidewalk and says, “If we’re sisters you can’t ask me more weird stuff about Parad, though.”

Poppy giggles. “Actually I’m pretty sure sisters are supposed to do exactly that. I think maybe I have to ask you about boys you like.”

“He is not a boy I like. He’s, he’s weird, and he’s too tall, and he’s got his whole weird psychic connection with M or whatever, and--”

“And you like him.”

“I do not!”

#saiba nico #poppy pipopapo #hanaya taiga #fanfiction #anonamouse

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queerbutstillhere · 5 years

Note

another damijon prompt if you’re still taking them: damian likes country because it reminds him of jon and jon thinks it’s cute and confessions ensue????

(So another prompt that ran away with me. This was actually inspired by a thing that actually happened to me. Unfortunately there was no confession/kiss at the end. But the boys get that! Thank you for sending in a prompt!)

"Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape."

Damian looked over at Jon, sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep Damian had found in the back of the garage. His feet were up on the dash, wind whipping his hair around due to the open windows. The teen had a tight grip on his book to keep the pages from going wild.

"Great Expectations?" Damian asked, having not seen the title earlier.

"Yeah. English Lit."

Damian hummed, reaching to grab his cup and accidentally bumped Jon's arm.

"Oh, sorry," they both said at the same time, then exchanged a grin.

"Anyway, that quote just kinda reminded me of you."

"I can see why."

"Yeah."

Jon marked his place in the book, it was getting to dark to read anyway, and shoved it into his backpack, reaching forwards to adjust the radio.

They were going on an impromptu road trip. Nowhere far, it wasn't like they had the week off from school or something. No they'd probably be back Sunday afternoon, and seeing as it was Saturday evening currently... They were taking an impromptu roadtrip to the Middle Of Nowhere, New Jersey. Why? Because Damian wanted to star gaze, properly, and you couldn't do that in Gotham or Bludhaven or Metropolis. They had been doing this since Damian got his (official) license. Sometimes without warning, he'd just show up, pick Jon up, and start driving. The younger teen never complained, he was always content to spend time with Damian, whatever they were doing.

Jon flicked through radio stations until he found the one country station that they could pick up at the time. Damian huffed an annoyed sigh but didn't say anything, because he wasn't really that annoyed. For the most part when they did this, they just drove in silence, just the radio, and the open road. It gave both teens a chance to clear their heads, to get away from their families and their responsibilities. They would camp out at whatever location Damian had dug up for them this time, spending the night under the stars, and then head back the next morning.

"Damian, pull over, I wanna get a picture of the sunset."

Damian obliged, slowing the car and pulling over to the side of the highway. This was technically illegal, but he hadn't seen a house for miles, let along a cop, so he just did it. Jon pulled out his camera from his bag, flicking through the settings for a moment before leaning out his window and snapping some photos, looking at them, correcting his settings and taking more. Damian just leaned against the steering wheel and smiled faintly at his friend.

He'd never get over the excited look Jon got when they did things like this. Like a little puppy.

"Okay, come here."

Jon set down the professional camera that had cost an entire summers worth of work at a farm, and instead pulled out his phone, snapping a few pictures of the sunset with that and then handing it to Damian. They took a few obligatory selfies.

"Are we good to go?" Damian asked. He was in no rush, he would be content to watch Jon take pictures for hours.

"Yeah, I'm good."

An hour (and a stop for dinner) later they arrived at this week's location. It was this open grassy field, that almost looked like an old pasture. Damian just parked and then grabbed the sleeping bags from the back of the Jeep, Jon grabbed their snacks and the duffel bag full of blankets and pillows and what not, and they started walking. Just across the field, with no particular destination. They climbed a hill finally and set up their things on top.

"Here, you can play music," Damian said, passing Jon his unlocked phone. After all, he had unlimited data and Spotify premium, might as well use it.

Jon grinned at him and took it, using one hand to scroll. The other one found its way into Damian's, interlacing their fingers. Damian looked down at the hands with a small amount of shock. Not much, though. Kent was very physical, and this wasn't the first time he had done this.

"Damiiii," Jon said, shooting a mischievous smile as Damian.

His face was lit up by the phone screen, and it was mildly concerning, the look he was giving Damian.

"What?"

"You've been listening to an awful lot of country," Jon practically purred out, gently bumping Damian's shoulder.

"Oh. Yes. Well," he shrugged and looked away, grabbing a blanket and pulling it into his lap, trying to unfold it with just one hand.

"I thought you didn't like country music?" Jon asked, setting down his phone and grabbing a corner of the blanket, unfolding it and pulling half of it over his own lap.

Damian shrugged again.

"Have I finally converted you? I thought you said it was the "saddest excuse for a musical genre in existence and didn't hold a candle to the classics or even Indie pop". Those were your words, right?"

"It reminds me of you," Damian said. And then stiffened. He had actually said that outloud.

"Awwwww." Jon squeezed his hand. "Cute."

Soon soft music was floating over them, as they laid on their backs, looking up at the sky and watching stars slowly appear.

Been flyin' solo for so long

Nobody's singin' the harmony

Up there just me and my shadow

No bass, no guitar, no tambourine

Damian glanced over at Jon, and found him already looking over, not at the stars above them.

"What?" He breathed out.

It was chilly enough that they were both wrapped in blankets, arms pressed together, hands still clasped.

"I like listening to Indie pop because it reminds me of you," Jon confessed. "And I read poetry because I know you like poetry, and whenever i go to Art museums I can't help but think of everything you would like, which paintings would be your favorites. When I see dogs or cats, I want to take pictures of them because I know you would love to see them, even just a picture. I eat vegan when I go out, and I don't like mint chocolate chip ice cream because you don't like mint chocolate chip ice cream."

"Jon-"

"Whenever I hear certain songs, I think of you, and when I watch new shows or movies, I can't help but wish you were watching them with me. I think of you whenever I see green clothes, or tea, or cows - and I see cows a lot - and whenever I watch copshows, I can't help but think about how you would be criticizing every minute of it. I watch The Office because I know you like it, and I like watching that really dumb knight movie because it was the first time I heard you laugh at a movie, and I knew it was real."

Jon had pushed up onto his elbow now, looking at Damian with such an intense, passionate gaze.

"I do all these things because I want you in every aspect of my life, Damian. I want you to always be beside me, and yeah sure, I'm only sixteen and maybe I'm too young to be saying that, but I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I want to be with you."

Damian blinked. His breath was caught in his ribs, and his words had died in his throat. He didn't know what to say to all that.

They sat in silence for a moment, One Man Band by Old Dominion fading out, some old country Tim McGraw song started playing next.

"I-" Damian started, and then stopped. Where did he even start, really? He huffed, shoving Jon lightly. "Damn you, Kent. How am I supposed to top that?"

Jon gave a relieved sigh and then laughed, falling onto his back.

"I dunno, you got time, I suppose. I'll just sit here and make up constellations by myself until you figure it out."

Damian looked over, and he immediately knew. He pulled his hand from Jon's, shed his blanket and sat up, turning to Jon. The other teen looked over, but Damian didn't wait. He gently put a hand on Jon's neck, pushing his chin up slightly, then he leaned down, pressing their lips together lightly. Jon made a mildly surprised noise, before his hand snuck up and an arm circled around Damian's neck, holding him in place.

The kiss was like a perfect story book first kiss. Damian never wanted to pull away, just to stay in lip lock with Jon Kent until he died. It was gentle, and sweet and almost timid, both boys afraid of doing the wrong thing and scaring their crush away. Finally Damian pulled away first, gently pecking Jon's lips once more before sitting back, smiling at him like a love drunk fool.

"Does that suffice?"

"It does," Jon told him, grinning back.

The younger teen sat up, reaching out and gently grabbing Damian's jacket, pulling him in for another kiss.

"Man, I'm glad we went on this trip," the superboy murmured against Damian.

"Me too. Me too."

#writing prompt #prompt ask #give me prompts and shiz #ask prompt #my prompts #ask me #send me asks #thank you for the ask!#ask me anything #damijon #damianxjon #damian wayne #jon kent

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

Text

The Next Best Thing Chapter 10

Next chapter!

Comments always very welcome and encouraged please!

(And Cathy will mellow towards Anna soon, I promise! Just...y’know, friendship politics are complex when you’re 7.)

Just as Cathy suspected, they hear all about the sleepovers Anna has been on with her friends back in Germany: Greta, who has a swimming pool in the garden that a hedgehog drowned in, and Greta’s Vati had to get it out with a stick, and Hedda, who’s Mutti let them make chocolate crispy cakes for supper, and Sofie, who has an older brother called Mortiz who let them stay in the room while he watched a scary, scary film about a clown that lived in the drain (until Sofie’s Mutti saw what they were watching and gave them popsicles in exchange for promising not to tell their own parents).

It all sounds amazing, except that nothing like that will happen at Anne’s sleepover, Cathy knows.

Anne’s family doesn’t have a pool. Also, Anne’s Mum doesn’t let them in the kitchen (Jane lets Anne bake with her sometimes but the sleepover isn’t at Jane’s house, so that’s no good), and although Anne has an older brother (called George), he doesn’t live with them.

(George lives in London. Cathy has never seen him but she knows that he goes to the Royal College of Art, which is like a school you go to when you’re grown up.

It sounded quite exciting when he first went because it sounded like he was going to paint pictures for a king or a queen, and she and Anne wondered if maybe they’d get to visit him and meet a prince or a princess….but it’s actually nothing like that at all.

Not only does George not paint pictures for anyone even a little bit royal, he doesn’t paint pictures at all.

Instead, he makes sculptures, which are like people made of clay, except Anne hasn’t seen any of them apart from a picture of one she saw by accident that George had sent in a letter. Anne said that the clay person didn’t have any clothes on at all, but that she didn’t really see it properly because her Dad saw she was looking at it and snatched it away and made her go up to her room.

She and Cathy giggled all day at the thought of George spending all his time in London making things like that (it’s more evidence that grown ups are really very strange) but Anne’s Mum and Dad don’t find it funny at all, Anne says.

They do lots of cross sighing about waste of money and terrible life choices and utterly obscene whenever Jane asks about him or when he sends them a Christmas card.

The cards always have pictures that aren’t in the LEAST bit Christmassy on them- once, there was just a photo of a dead cow in a tank- and Anne’s mum and Dad sighed and shook their heads and then put the card in a drawer.

Once, Anne snuck one out for Jane to read to her because George’s handwriting is too scrawly-small for her to decipher.

Happy Holidays and all that jazz to little sis, don’t let them grind you down, and tell Janey thanks for her ceaseless efforts to try and smooth stuff over, stay cool x

She thinks Jane left some bits out because the card was full of writing, written all smudgy like the pen has been pressed too hard into the page, that would have surely meant more words.

But Jane just says the rest is grown up stuff that she shouldn’t worry about.

George hasn’t sent a card for a while though. So chances of him being around to let them watch a scary clown film are low.)

It makes Cathy worried that the lack of older-brothers-with-scary-films and/or swimming pools is going to make Anna turn up her nose at Anne’s sleepover- but she seems just as excited as they are when they’re talking about it.

She shows them both where she’s made a little tally of days to tick off until Saturday in her News book (because the sleepover is sort of like news- it’s news-before-it-happens) and after a while, Cathy gets caught up enough in planning the pillow fortress they’ll make that she stops thinking about how annoying it is that Anna talks about Germany All. The. Time. and thinks about how much fun it will be instead.

Because it will be fun.

Even if Anna is there.

Or maybe because Anna will be there because annoyingly….Anna does have some good ideas.

Sometimes.

And as much as she doesn’t want to, as much as she wants to just hope that Anna goes back to Germany one day soon (or at least to another school)...she actually finds that sometimes, she’s really glad Anna is at their school and not at another.

It’s Anna, after all, who has the idea of excavating the big bit of rock that’s sticking half way out of the school field to see if it’s a dinosaur bone that they’ll be able to sell to a museum for lots of money.

(They don’t get very far, because they have to use twigs instead of proper little trowels and brushes but it’s still exciting to think that maybe that IS what it is and to talk about what it would be like to be famous.)

And it’s Anna who teaches the whole class ‘Feur, Wasser, Blitz, Sturm’ which they get to play instead of normal P.E, and they spend the hour flinging themselves flat to avoid the ‘feur’ (which means ‘fire’) and scrambling up the climbing ropes to escape the ‘wasser’ (which is water), and Cathy thinks it’s a thousand times more fun than having to demonstrate again and again that no matter how hard she tries, she cannot do a cartwheel OR stand on her head for the hundredth time.

So.

Having Anna at the school isn’t ALL bad.

Still, it’s very confusing, and Catalina, for once, is no help at all.

She is in fact annoyingly insistent on telling her that she is to always be ‘nice’ to Anna, and she reminds her lots of times that while she doesn’t have to play with Anna if she doesn’t want to, she is absolutely not allowed to stop Anne from playing with her or from ever discouraging Anna from playing with Anne and I mean it, mija.

She actually looks quite stern and serious when she says it, and it’s a bit uncomfortable to have Catalina look at her like that, so she promises that she won’t.

Still.

It is very confusing.

The days drag until the weekend but eventually, Saturday comes.

She’s so excited she can’t finish her breakfast, so excited that she can barely sit still.

(She’s going to a sleepover like a- well, not a grown up but like one of the older girls at school, like one of the characters on television. It’s breathtakingly thrilling.)

Catalina walks her to Anne’s parents house and reminds her about brushing her teeth and saying please and thank you, then hugs her so tightly that she nearly can’t breathe.

‘It’s going to be strange not having you in the flat tonight, mija.’

Cathy thinks that’s a funny thing to say when not all that long ago she was never in the flat at all- but before she can say it, she realises she sort of understands what Catalina means.

It’s exciting because she’s going to stay at Anne’s house ALL night….but also, she realises now….that means she’s not going to be sleeping in her own room.

The thought of sleeping somewhere else- now that she’s thinking about it- is strange.

Not bad exactly, but...different, and she realises that her bedroom in the flat has become her room rather than her-room-at-Catalina’s-flat without her even noticing it.

She wonders, if she was to sleep in the bedroom of her old house now, whether that would feel like going home or whether it would feel strange.

She wonders if somehow, by some bit of magic or maybe a genie, she was able to sleep in her old bedroom and have everything back to how it was- Mum and Dad in their room down the hall and all her old books, the copies that Catalina didn’t buy back for her, and the clothes that didn’t fit anymore and that got left behind when she was having to pack her things and the toy farm that she didn’t really play with anymore but that she missed the shape of all the same….she wonders if it would feel normal.

Would it feel normal or would she find herself missing Catalina kissing her goodnight and making sure to close the curtains so that there isn’t even the tiniest gap that a scary face could peep through?

(Catalina once asked her what constitutes a scary face.

‘Like a monster, mija?’

She said no because monsters aren’t real obviously but that not being real doesn’t also mean that they couldn’t look through her window if they wanted to and that monster or not, any face looking through her curtains in the dark would be a scary face.

Catalina nodded and said that since the flat is on the fifth floor, she can see how anything at all looking through her window could be rather disconcerting and that she will make sure to always shut her curtains specially tight to keep out any and all mysterious faces.

She likes that Catalina never tries to use adult explanations to make her not be scared of things, she never tells her that she’s being wrong or silly, even when she knows it is, a bit.)

‘Will you miss me?’

(She wonders suddenly if Catalina will enjoy having the flat back to how it was, if it will make her miss not Cathy but her old life.)

But Catalina nods emphatically before the worry has really had a chance to take hold.

‘Of course, querida. But you shall have such a wonderful time and tell me all about it tomorrow, yes?’

She nods.

‘And you’ll be able to give Anne her birthday present too.’

(She refused to make a card for Anne- although she normally would: card making still makes her feel a bit sick. But she’s proud of how fancy her writing inside the shop brought card looks- all in joined up writing and written with Catalina’s special expensive heavy fountain pen. And she’s proud of the wrapping paper- green with little red dinosaurs all over it- and of the green ribbon it’s tied up with (and of how she managed to curl the ends with scissors all by herself) and she’s most proud of the present itself.

It’s hard picking out presents for Anne, just because she gets new toys a LOT.

(Kitty does too but she often doesn’t play with them because according to Kitty, Pink Kitty would be sad. For some reason, she prefers hunching up in the playhouse Jane made her out of a fridge box with Pink Kitty to riding in her tiny pink electric car.

Neither Cathy nor Anne can understand this.)

Anne doesn’t have loyalties like that- she likes getting new things.

Not just for her birthday or Christmas- last year, Anne got a big new dollhouse for no reason at all and it was the best surprise ever because it just turned up one day in the playroom without a word being said.

It did spoil it just a tiny bit that getting the dollhouse meant she didn’t get anything for her birthday a week later (because apparently only very greedy little girls would have expected another present after getting the dolls house, according to Anne’s mum) but the dollhouse itself was still excellent, with its lights that turned on and off and all the furniture that matched.

It does make it hard to choose presents for Anne though, because she has so much stuff.

Still. She’s very proud of this present.

They’re standing on the doorstep for all of this, and they haven’t knocked yet, so it’s a surprise when the door opens right up and Catalina gives a very little scream and puts her hand to her chest.

‘Catalina! And Cathy! How are you both?’

Jane is standing in front of them, smiling delightedly, and there’s a small pink Kitty-sized figure holding onto her hand.

Cathy waves at her and Kitty hides her face in Jane’s skirt.

‘Anne will be so happy you’re here, Cathy! And-’ Jane lowers her voice slightly, turning to Catalina. ‘It’s so good to be able to say thank you again. For-….’

‘Oh it was nothing-’ Catalina waves her hand, and with it, waves away all the scariness from last week. ‘No trouble at all.’ She cranes her neck a little to look behind Jane. ‘Hello, Kitty.’

Kitty presses herself further into Jane, whimpering until Jane picks her up.

‘Can you hello nicely to Catalina, Kitty-Kat?’

It does not seem, from the lack of response, like she can.

‘She isn’t scary!’ Cathy adds earnestly. She’s trying to be helpful but both Jane and Catalina smile as if she’s said something funny, and then Jane’s smile fades.

‘Sorry, she’s just going through a-’

‘It’s completely fine-’

‘Strangers are just-’

‘Honestly, don’t worry-’

‘We’re working on it-’

While they’re talking, Kitty risks peeking out at them all- and then stares, transfixed.

After a moment, they all follow her gaze- to the necklace Catalina is wearing. It’s a little silver tiger on a chain- one of Cathy’s favourites and she can see immediately why Kitty is taken with it too.

‘Do you like it, Kitty?’

Kitty flinches back at Catalina talking to her directly- but then pauses before burying her face in Jane’s neck again, as if she’s weighed up her options and chosen to keep looking at this new and wonderful thing.

She nods solemnly, not taking her eyes off it.

‘Would you like to hold it?’

She nods again.

‘You don’t have to-’ Jane interrupts. ‘It’s kind of you to offer but please don’t feel like you have to- We can look with our eyes not our hands, sweetheart.’

‘Oh it’s alright, it wasn’t at all expensive.’ Catalina unclasps the necklace and takes it from around her neck. ‘And I’m sure Kitty will be very, very gentle.’ She pauses. ‘Won’t you?’

There’s a little pause- and Cathy wonders if Kitty has exhausted her communicative powers for the day, maybe she isn’t even going to nod anymore.

Then- ‘Yes’ Kitty replies, in a very tiny voice.

She looks up into Catalina’s face for the first time and, when Catalina nods a Go Ahead nod, holds out a hand to gently stroke the tiny tigers little head.

‘Good girl.’ Catalina keeps hold of the chain, but holds it loosely so that Kitty can thoroughly investigate the silver charm with her own small fingers.

She turns it over and over, looks into the tiny face and mews experimentally and then gently strokes it with her forefinger like she’s petting a very tiny cat.

After a moment, she leans back and whispers something to Jane, who smiles and shakes her head.

‘I don’t know, darling. Why don’t you ask Catalina?’

Kitty’s voice is tinier than the tiger. ‘What’s it called?’

Catalina smiles at her. ‘She doesn’t have a name yet. I never thought to give her one.’

Cathy opens her mouth to correct her- it’s true Catalina never gave her tiger necklace a name herself but only because Cathy asked her the same question when she was around Kitty’s age.

She’s just about to tell Kitty that the tiger's name is Stripey, when Catalina gives her hand a quick, tiny squeeze, and she knows, just knows, somehow, without anyone saying anything, that she shouldn’t say a word.

‘What do you think would be a good name for her?’

Kitty hesitates for a moment, thinking hard. ‘Silver Kitty’ she says at last. Her voice is a tiny bit stronger.

Catalina nods decisively. ‘Then Silver Kitty she is.’

‘Give her back now, Kitty Kat’ Jane says, and Kitty reluctantly lets go.

‘What do we say to Catalina?’

‘Thank you.’

‘And thank you for the excellent name.’ Catalina says, scooping her hair out of the way to fasten the necklace back on.

Jane is smiling and blinking a bit too much. She sets Kitty back on her feet so that she can help Catalina fumble with the tiny clasp and Cathy catches her whisper.

‘-first time she’s- ever since- thank you so much-’

Catalina murmurs a quick ‘You’re welcome’ back, and then raises her voice slightly and says they should probably let the girls get started with the sleepover and Jane says yes, yes, she’s sorry to have held them up and would Catalina like to pop in for a cup of tea at her own house next door, and Catalina says yes, that would be lovely-

-and then Anne is pulling open the door wearing a new tshirt made of very shiny green fabric that is almost like scales and Catalina is giving her a last kiss goodbye and Anne is grabbing Cathy’s hand and pulling her inside, to where there is already music playing and the tempting smell of birthday cake.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #sixfic #six fanfiction #the next best thing

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willow-salix · 4 years

Text

Isolation update.

Day 71 of Isolation on Tracy Island.

“Hey, Grandma, you OK?” I asked as I walked into the kitchen, finding her slumped at the table, her chin propped up on her hand, miserably swiping through pages on her tablet.

“Yes,” she sighed.

“That didn’t sound convincing,” I said gently, sitting down opposite her. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, not really. I’m just getting a little tired of all of this lockdown business.”

“I think we all are,” I sighed in agreement.

“I know I should be grateful that we have such a nice place to spend it, but I just want a chance to see more than these four walls, to go out somewhere with the family, maybe for dinner, you know? Somewhere nice where I don’t have to cook and can relax a bit.”

I didn't mention that it would be nice for all of us if she didn't feel the need to cook.

“I know, I just need to stop complaining and get on with it,” she huffed, clearly annoyed with herself as she got up to fetch another cup of coffee.

"Don't be silly, you're allowed to have a little moan now and then, it makes you human. The boys have been complaining non stop since this started. We're all restless and moody."

"There are people a lot worse off than us," she sniffed. "We aren't struggling, we live on a paradise island that many would kill to even spend a day on. We should count our blessings."

"Yeah, we should," I agreed softly, but my mind was whirling. There had to be something we could do to make her feel better, she did so much for us all and I didnt like to see her this way. It wasn't like I could conjure up a restaurant right here… or could I? Not a full restaurant, but maybe a nice meal for her, a chance to dress up and have a good night? That I could do. I pulled out my phone and sent a group text to everyone but Grandma, invoking the summoning that no one was allowed to ignore. “Council of war!”

***

We all assembled in the lounge, leaving Grandma to bang around in the kitchen in a foul mood.

“Guys, I have a plan,” I announced.

They all groaned.

“No! Be nice! Seriously, this is a good plan, it’s important. Grandma is having a bad day, she’s feeling a bit restless and down right now. She said that what she really wants is to be able to go out somewhere for a nice family meal.”

“She’s always loved going to nice places,” Jeff agreed.

“That’ll be a little hard right now unless she wants to sit in a street somewhere with a burger,” Scott said, scratching his chin vigorously. Yes, the beard beginnings were still there and apparently still annoying them.

“ I don’t think that's quite what she had in mind,” Virgil laughed.

“So, here’s my plan," I continued before they could go off on one of their tangents. "I think we should make her favourite dishes and then all dress up nicely, I’m talking suited and booted, eat in the dining room and be all fancy. But keep it a secret for her.”

They didn't look too convinced at first, but slowly they saw the merit of my brilliant idea.

“If we handle the cooking and the table, can you and Kayo distract Grandma for the afternoon?” Virgil asked.

“Sure, I’m sure we can think of something, but are you sure we can trust you all to cook?”

John rolled his eyes. “We are perfectly capable of cooking for ourselves, you know, we are grown men.”

Now it was my turn to not believe what I was hearing.

“Seriously, you can trust us,” Alan promised me.

“Really? Usually you all need wrangling just to get through the day. You honestly think you can do this without arguing?”

“It’s for Grandma,” Gordon shrugged. “We’ll do it for her.”

That was a statement I couldn't argue, they would do anything for her.

“OK. Kay, this is going to be tough on both of us, but we’re gonna have to be brave.”

“Why?” she asked, immediately suspicious.

“Because we’re going to let her dress us up.”

***

Leaving the boys with recipes and strict instructions to behave and follow the plan to the letter, we tracked down Grandma.

“Grandma, wanna join us? We’re having a girly pampering day,” I asked.

“Both of you?” she clearly didn't believe that Kayo had been involved with the planning of said day. Time for plan B.

“Kayo lost a bet to me, and I said that, in payment, she has to allow me to put makeup on her and make her wear a pretty dress.” There, that sounded more believable, the glare Kayo was throwing in my direction certainly went a long way towards making it look more convincing.

“To make it fairer I said I’d dress up to, want to help?”

“I get to dress you two up?”

Kayo and I glanced at each other, in my case for moral support and strength, in hers to shoot me another death glare that promised retribution.

“Sure, as long as you dress up too, we’ll make an afternoon of it and have fun.” I nudged Kayo.

“Yeah, great fun,” she agreed. “So, are you in?”

“Heck yeah I’m in. When do we start?”

I spotted Scott peeking around the door and making shooing gestures at me.

“How about now?”

“Now? But I’m not done cooking yet.”

“Don’t worry about that now, there’s stuff in the freezer, I’m sure we can throw something in later,” I soothed.

“Alright, that sounds like a solid plan, let's do it!”

***

“Kay, hold still!”

“You just poked me in the eye with a tiny spindly brush covered in black gunk and you’re telling me to hold still? What, so you can blind me a second time?”

“It’s mascara, you sarcastic moo, and it’s your own fault you got poked. If you kept still and only blinked when I told you to it wouldn't have happened.”

“You can’t tell me how to blink.”

I gave her a look that said I’d smack her the second her back was turned. She, as always, was unphased.

“I saw what you did to Scott, you’re not making me look like a clown are you?”

“Lies!” I hissed. “I did no such thing! He looked beautiful, his eyes were blended to perfection and his cheekbones could have cut glass. It was Gordon that looked like he’d been drinking while playing with paint and that was down to Virgil, not me.”

“You both look beautiful,” Grandma smiled. “This is what I missed out on having only boys to look after, doing girls hair.” She continued to manhandle Kayo’s hair, brushing out her perpetual pony tail and attempting to twist it up at the back of her head into some kind of chignon that honestly was looking more like a deflated balloon had mated with a dead squirrel. “Why won’t this thing stay put?”

“I’ll fix it in a minute,” I promised as I brushed a little bronzer over the apples of Kayo’s cheeks, giving her already gorgeous tawny skin a little more depth. She had the nicest skin to work on, seeming to be unhindered by even the slightest of pores or blemishes, just perfect, the cow. Here’s me, I look at sugar or fat and I put on six pounds and have a breakout.

We had started by letting her do her own makeup while following my instructions as I did mine but Kayo is not the most delicate of creatures and when I spotted her stabbing a brush into the eyeshadow pallet, swirling it around like she was casting a Wingardium Leviosa and proceeding to scrub the colour (a startling shade of neon green) over her eyelid I’d called time. I ordered her to wash it all off and had taken over.

She didn't actually need much makeup, a little sweep of a dusky rose and darker brown over her eyelids, mascara to make her already long eyelashes stand out, a subtle dusting of bronzer, some loose powder to set it all and some burgundy lipstick and she was done. I took a lot more work to look that good.

Grandma had taken my makeup kit and helped herself, going for the classic blue eyeshadow, bright pink cheeks and vibrant red lips that had last been popular in the 1980’s. It didn't flatter her in the slightest but she was having a great time telling us all about how she had pictures of her mother with that look and she had thought that she looked so beautiful that she hadn't been able to resist trying it out. I couldn't talk, my habitual mashup of goth punk rocker with a side of geek wasn't exactly in keeping with the rest of the world either.

We dug through our wardrobes and selected possible outfits that we thought would do and held a mini fashion parade, allowing Grandma to make the final choices for what we would wear. Kayo’s evening wear selections seemed to mostly be made up of jumpsuits and Grandma eventually settled on one in black that had a sari style drape going over one shoulder that was accented in gold. I immediately made Kayo sit back down so I could accent her eyes with a little gold glitter eyeshadow powder to match.

Grandma seemed to be incapable of purchasing anything that wasn't purple, not that I could talk, it was one of my favorite colours too. She had chosen a nice, if slightly boxy looking, dress that stopped below the knee, with a rounded neck and no sleeves. She borrowed a black lace wrap from me and called it good.

Her hair had been growing out too and was a little too long to stay in its trademark flicked up end curls, so she allowed me to whip out the curling wand and give her a few waves that bounced happily around her face.

I fixed Kayo’s hair disaster at the same time, twisting it up from the nape of her neck, pinning it in place and then curling the ends which I’d left loose.

“You both look amazing, now wasn’t this fun?”

Kayo mumbled something that didn't sound quite like a yes but wasn't entirely negative either.

“Just for fun, shall we keep this on for dinner and surprise the boys?” I asked innocently.

Grandma grinned. “Oh yes, that would be great. You girls have really cheered me up today. We might not be going out for a nice meal, but this has been a close second.”

“When all this is over we’ll have a night out in London, we’ll drag the boys along, it’ll be great,” I promised as we made our way down to the kitchen.

“I thought you said the boys were handling dinner tonight?” she accused, looking at the table, currently bare of its usually after dinner debris of dirty plates and charred cooking dishes.

“Maybe they haven't started yet?” Kayo suggested.

“You have so little faith in us,” Scott announced from the doorway where he, Jeff and John stood. They had actually scrubbed up well, each foregoing their usual casual wear for a nice shirt -Scott and Jeff's were both white while John had chosen a midnight blue one- ties and smart trousers (we live on an island, it’s far too hot for jackets unless they wanted to sweat all night). they had even made an effort to try to neaten up their unruly hair. Their chins were still a disaster, the scruffy buggers, but at least they tried, it seemed that even a posh dinner wasn't a good enough reason to give up on an active competition.

“What are you boys up to?” Grandma asked suspiciously.

“We came to escort our guest of honour,” Jeff answered, offering her his arm and leading the way to the dining room.

The other boys looked just as well turned out, even Brains with his tufty regrowth on his head had dressed for the occasion, although his suit was a complete eyesore, a powder blue monstrosity with a ruffled shirt that looked as up to date as Grandma’s makeup, but bless him he tried.

Gordon was still wearing a hawaian print top, but it was a full shirt, with a real collar, and was tucked in to his trousers, which actually reached his ankles so I’d call that a win.

Alan was wearing a shirt that was just a little too large for him, obviously borrowed from one of the others but his trousers fit well. He had a properly knotted tie and looked so much older than he usually did, so smartly turned out, although he still managed to look adorable.

Virgil had on a mint green silk shirt and black suit trousers combo that should have made him look like a cheesy Vegas magician but he somehow managed to pull it off.

They had made the dining room look amazing, laying out the fancy china and real wine glasses, even lighting candles and piped through some soft classical music (I’m pretty sure I know who was responsible for that). The table held covered dishes that actually smelt edible and they had even hunted out some cloth napkins instead of the usual paper towel we used on a daily basis.

“You boys did all this?” Grandma gasped, seeing everything for the first time.

“We thought you could do with a night off from taking care of us,” Jeff told her, helping her into her chair.

“This all looks so nice and you boys look so handsome, although you'd look better without the face fuzz.”

“Small victories, Grandma, we got them to dress nice, we can’t ask for miracles,” I smiled.

She nodded, her eyes looking a little moist in the candle light but none of us dared to comment on it.

“We all thought you deserved some special treatment for looking after us all so well,” Virgil told her as he poured her a glass of wine and we took our seats.

Dinner was actually quite nice, it appeared that the boys had managed to cook without killing each other and follow the recipes, maybe finally realising that following instructions isn't always a bad thing had stuck with them.

They had stuck to simple but delicious dishes, a simple soup to start, followed by a nice italian style carbonara, garlic bread and crisp green salad, and apple pie with ice cream for dessert. Yeah, it probably wasn't something we’d have in a posh restaurant, but it had been made with love and I knew that that would mean more to her than anything.

Grandma was treated like the queen she was all night, being served first, her glass kept topped up and not allowed to lift a finger.

We refused to let her help clean up, insisting that she retire outside with Jeff to enjoy the beautiful night. We joined them after we finished taking everything to the kitchen, loading the dishwashers and hand washing a few delicate items.

We finished the evening with some of Virgil’s fancy coffee while they all reminisced and told stories of other family dinners.

She made sure to hug each and every one of us extra tight as she said goodnight, leaving us to finish the coffee and put ourselves to bed.

It had been a lot of work, but the smile on her face and the joy in her laughter had made it all worth it. That's what you have to do in times like these, make a special effort to look after those that look after you so selflessly, to show you care and that you appreciate them. These unusual times are hard on everyone, but we all know that if we stick together and do our best to think of others before we think of ourselves (something the International Rescue boys do everyday of their lives) then we can get through anything.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #isolation island #isolation #self isolating #social isolation

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musicaltheatrewannabe · 5 years

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mistletoe - a seblos oneshot <3

sooo i guess im a fic writer now? lol im really enjoying it so here’s some wholesome seblos being boyfriends around christmas! ft tree decorating and a cow ornament bc i cant ever forget about seb being a farmboy

“So, I’ll meet you at your locker after school?” Carlos asked, holding onto his backpack straps as he stood right outside the doorway to his classroom.

“Yep!” Seb gave Carlos a quick peck and smiled before heading down the hallway toward his English class. Carlos, who still couldn’t believe that he and Seb were really together, embraced the dumb grin that was plastered on his face and wandered into his math class. Now that the musical was over and he and Seb were officially boyfriends, he had invited him to his place after school alone for the first time, and the anticipation was killing him.

Throughout the entire period he paid even less attention than usual to Mr. Mazzara’s ramblings about matrices and whatever other algebra was relevant that day. All he could do was count down until class would end and he would see Seb again. Ashlyn, who was sitting next to him, kept rolling her eyes at his absentmindedness. “Did you get any of that down?” she sighed, the little doodled hearts on Carlos’ otherwise blank page already giving her the answer.

“I’m sorry, can I take a pic of your notes and copy them down later?” Carlos whispered back, earning a glare from their teacher at the front of the room. Ashlyn nodded and Carlos smiled gratefully, taking a discreet picture with his phone.

“Alright, I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Before Mr. Mazzara could even reach the end of his sentence, Carlos had started shoving his notebook and pencil case haphazardly into his backpack.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” Ashlyn chuckled, “let me guess- you’re hanging out with Seb?”

Carlos was too excited to be embarrassed by his enthusiasm. “He’s coming over to help me decorate our tree as a surprise for my mom. She’s been really busy at work these past few weeks, and with Christmas approaching, it’s just adding another thing to her to do list.”

Ashlyn nodded, “ah, so it’s the perfect excuse to have your boyfriend over without supervision, huh?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Carlos, who laughed and gently smacked her arm as they swung their bags over their shoulders.

“No, it’s not like that,” he blushed, “I’m excited because I’m really getting into the Christmas spirit- Seb is just an added bonus!” Oh, who was he kidding, Seb’s entire existence was the definite cause of his excitement, and Ashlyn could see right through to the reality of their honeymoon phase.

Ashlyn smirked as she turned to go down the hallway in the other direction, “whatever you say… have fun!”

Carlos waved and headed off toward Seb’s locker, barreling through the growing crowd of students. When he turned the corner and saw the blonde boy, his face lit up. Seb put some textbooks back in his locker and then turned to see Carlos approaching, a smile instantly appearing on his face. “Hey, how was math?” he asked, shutting his locker with his backpack and leaning against it.

Carlos intertwined his fingers with Seb’s and started subconsciously playing with his hands, “honestly, I was so lost, I couldn’t even tell you.” Seb laughed and raised his eyebrows at Carlos. “But it’s fine, we don’t have any tests until after Christmas, and Ash has basically become my tutor so…” he trailed off, smiling. “How was English?”

“It was great! I got my Gatsby essay back and I got an A!” Seb’s smile grew even wider.

“Oh my God, Sebby!” Carlos squeezed Seb’s hands and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, “I knew you had nothing to worry about!”

The blonde boy beamed with pride and chuckled, “thanks!” Seb moved away from his locker and pulled Carlos after him, their hands still intertwined, saying “we should get going though, we don’t want to miss the bus!”

During the bus ride, Seb was texting his mom about his essay, which made Carlos smile. Carlos leaned his head on Seb’s shoulder and Seb kissed his forehead, both of them filled with the good kind of butterflies that they had been slowly getting used to since their relationship had become official on opening night two weeks earlier.

They got off the bus at Carlos’ stop and Carlos got out his keys to unlock the front door. “Oh, is your mom not home?” Seb asked.

“No, she’ll be at work for a few more hours. I wanted to get started with decorating so she wouldn’t have to worry about it this year,” Carlos replied, opening the door and gesturing for Seb to go inside, “but of course I didn’t want to do it by myself.”

“Hm,” Seb grinned, dropping his backpack and pulling Carlos in after him, “guess this means we’re here alone.”

Carlos didn’t have time to reply before Seb crashed their lips together, wrapping his arms around Carlos’ neck. He had been waiting for this all week- sure, they were fine with small displays of affection at school, but something like this was reserved for when they were alone. Carlos pulled away, too soon for Seb’s liking, and ran off into the living room.

Confused, Seb laughed and said “Carlos, what are you doing?”

“Just a sec, honey!” Carlos shouted from the other room as he rummaged through some bags. Seb swooned at being called ‘honey’ and smiled in disbelief that Carlos was really finally his boyfriend.

Carlos came to stand in the doorway between the living room and entryway, hands behind his back. Seb cocked his head at his boyfriend’s mischievous look, and Carlos responded by whipping a sprig of mistletoe out from behind his back and holding it over his head with a smirk. “Oh my God, you are the cutest,” Seb rolled his eyes and bounced over to Carlos, grabbing his face to kiss him again. Carlos wrapped his free arm around Seb’s back but kept the other one up holding the mistletoe over their heads until his arm got tired and he pulled away.

“Ok, as much as I love kissing you, we need to actually get the Christmas spirit going in this house and decorate! Starting with this mistletoe. Hold it up to the doorframe and I’ll tape it,” Carlos said, and Seb did as instructed.

“Wait, you actually hang mistletoe in your house?” he asked as Carlos ripped a piece of tape off a roll that was in his back pocket.

“How else are we gonna set up the game where all of my extended family gets caught under the mistletoe? It’s kind of a tradition around here…” Carlos smiled as he applied the tape just above the doorframe so the sprig hung down. “Alright, let’s get started with this tree!” Carlos gestured towards the boxes of ornaments and started playing a Glee Christmas playlist over the speakers.

“I love that you’re a gleek,” Seb grinned as he started untangling the Christmas lights. Carlos was about to protest when Seb added, “hey, hey, I am too, no shame here!”

“I knew you had taste,” Carlos laughed, helping Seb wrap the lights around the tree.

They spent the next hour hanging up all the ornaments, singing along to the songs and even pausing to dance to a few together. When they had emptied all of the boxes Carlos put his arm around Seb and said, “thanks for helping with this, it looks great!”

“You don’t need to thank me, it’s been so much fun!” Seb went over to his backpack and reached inside. “I actually have a little something for you…” he smiled as Carlos gasped and clapped in excitement.

“It’s not even Christmas yet…” Carlos said as Seb handed him a small gift-wrapped package.

“Just open it!” Seb urged him, grinning expectantly.

Carlos unwrapped the present carefully, grinning when he saw that Seb had given him an ornament. And not just any ornament, but a little cow with a wreath and cowbell around its neck as well as “xmas 2019 - sms<3” written on its side. Carlos just looked back and forth between the gift and his boyfriend in awe.

“Well, do you like it?” Seb started to look a little worried before Carlos finally recovered his words.

“Sebby, it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen- you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” Still holding the ornament, he wrapped Seb into a hug, “thank you so much!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Seb laughed. “I painted the text on by hand,” he added with a sheepish smile.

“Oh my God, stop…” Carlos’ smile grew even wider and he turned to hang the ornament on the tree, “there we go, front and center, as it should be. Now the tree’s done.” Carlos held Seb’s hand and the blonde boy beamed at him. “Oh wait!” Carlos let go of Seb’s hand and ran over to the last unopened box, “I almost forgot…” He pulled out a golden star and gave it to Seb. “As the guest of honor, you should be the one to put this on top of the tree.”

“Yay!” Seb exclaimed and Carlos laughed. The blonde boy stood on his tiptoes and just barely managed to place the star on top of the tree, proud when he did.

Carlos lit up the tree and took a step back, taking Seb’s hand and looking at him smiling next to him. “Now it’s done…” he whispered, taking in the moment and placing a kiss on the back of Seb’s hand.

“Now it really feels like Christmas,” Seb replied. He closed his eyes and leaned in, but his eyes shot back open when he felt Carlos pulling him away again. After the initial shock, he laughed as he realized what Carlos was doing and followed him back to the doorway where they had hung the mistletoe. Seb pushed Carlos against the side of the doorframe and kissed him, pouring all of his feelings up to that point into the action. Carlos couldn’t believe that this was his new reality as he ran his hands through Seb’s hair, pulling him closer. Neither of them had the words to express what they were feeling, so they channeled it into every kiss, every touch, every sound, and in that moment, they both knew it would be a great Christmas.

#hsmtmts #seblos #carlos #frankie rodriguez #seb matthew smith #joe serafini #christmas fic #boyfriends

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gaycrouton · 5 years

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Out of the Mouths of Babes

This is dedicated to the lovely @pale-shadow-of-a-dragon whose birthday was yesterday! Sorry for being late, but I hope you enjoy the story! It was a ton of fun to write! <3

Summary: Someone on a case gets a crush on Scully, and Mulder can’t help but be just a little jealous.

msr / pre-relationship / fluff

Mulder felt a slight twinge of jealousy building in his gut from the first interaction he saw, watching from the sidelines like a cuckold husband. The inklings of an envy he knew he had no right to feel.

“You’re so beautiful.” He’d said the same words himself many times over in dreams and fantasies, but he’d never actually gotten the nerve to say them so directly to Scully’s face.

A smile he really had to work hard for graced her lips instantly. “Thank you. I appreciate that,” she beamed, looking at the person who had more balls than he did.

“I think you’re the prettiest lady I’ve ever seen,” he explained, lowering his voice to convey the sincerity of his sentiment.

Scully looked over at Mulder, almost embarrassed he was here to witness this and she laughed, that angelic, melodic sound that he wished he could record and play over and over again. “Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.”

He’s right, Scully.

The interaction had been cut short by Mrs. Grimes walking out of the house they’d just been conducting an interview in and screaming, “Dylan, get back inside now! Agent Scully does not want you bothering her!”

“He’s fine, Mrs. Grimes. I promise,” Scully called back, holding in a laugh as the six year old scoffed and ran back to his mom, pausing only momentarily to turn back to Scully to blow a kiss at her.

When the boy’d gone back into the house, Scully started to their car parked on the curb, temporarily locking eyes with Mulder only to shrug and smile.

No, he wasn’t jealous of a six year old boy. That’d be ridiculous. What he was jealous of was that boy’s ability to say what he wished he could say to Scully. That and the fact that he’d never seen such a sweet, endeared smile on her face and part of him was mad he wasn’t the one who’d elicited it.

“He’s cute,” she laughed, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Smart too,” he muttered.

They had to visit the house the next day to inform Mr. Grimes about updates on the case. Mulder thought he saw something on the porch, but as they pulled up, he recognized it was Dylan sitting eagerly with a yellow mass in his chubby little fists.

As soon as Scully got out of the car, the kid stood up with a beaming smile and screamed “Day-nuh!” while running down the driveway, his little shoes lighting up with every step.

“Hi, Dylan,” Scully greeted in her sweetest voice. Even just hearing her talk like that made a smile break out on his face.

As soon as he was in front of her, he shoved, what Mulder could now identify as, a bouquet of dandelions and other weeds into Scully’s face. “I picked these for you!”

“Oh my,” Scully exaggeratedly gasped, clearly holding back laughter as to spare the boy’s feelings. “Thank you so much.”

“I also got you a present,” he explained seriously.

“Dylan, you didn’t have to do that,” she explained, curiosity lacing her tone nonetheless as she wondered what an elementary student could have possibly gotten her.

“But I love you,” Dylan exclaimed, as if the words were just so easy to say. He was rummaging around in his pockets and Scully chanced a look at Mulder, who was now standing next to the pair as an onlooker. She mouthed ‘awwwh’ before turning her attention back to her young admirer.

“Hold out your hand,” he instructed before placing something into Scully’s palm. When he pulled away, Mulder saw it was a blue, glittery barrette clip that said Barbie Girl on it. He recognized it as a toy from the McDonalds kids’ menu from when he’d went there last week. Barbie had a makeover set for the ‘girls’ toy and there was a collection of Hot Wheels for the ‘boys’ toy. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d gone through and asked his mom specifically to get a Barbie toy in the hopes he’d see Scully again, ot if there was a sister somewhere in the house who was just down one barrette.

“Dylan, this is beautiful,” Scully praised, reveling as if he’d pulled out the blue diamond locket from Titanic.

“Can I put it in your hair?” he asked sweetly. Then, much to Mulder’s surprise, Scully let him.

She smiled as he took the clip back along with a chunk of her bangs, not all of them- just one side, and pulled it back, clipping the strands back. “Thank you,” Scully smiled before turning to Mulder. “How do I look?” she asked.

He took a moment to look at her, beaming smile on her face as the hair rebelled against the unnatural position - Barbie Girl shining in silver glitter paint at him. She was holding onto one of the boy’s little hands and Mulder felt his chest tighten as it always did when he saw Scully interact with children. Something she’d always wanted, but was always a scare occurrence.

“You look stunning,” he replied, his voice lacking the same joking quality her’s had.

She saw Scully’s smile quiver and turn bashful as the little boy vied for her attention again. “Hey! I made you somethin’ else!”

“You did?” Scully exclaimed enthusiastically, turning her face back to him. As the kid checked his pockets, Mulder realized for the first time that he was wearing a dress shirt and dress coat. He wanted to look his best for her.

Eventually, Dylan found a folded piece of paper and handed it to Scully. “For me?” she asked, unfolding it.

“Mhm,” he nodded vigorously, watching her face intently to see how she’d react to his hard work. Mulder walked behind Scully to get a better view of the image as she unfolded it, and he had to cover a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

He’d drawn himself as Superman, broad chest and ripped muscles, a big D for Dylan on the front of his costume. But what was so amusing was that he was flying and carrying a cute stick figure girl with a triangle for a dress and red squiggles for hair.

“Is that me?” she asked, amusement seeping through her voice.

“It’s us! I’m Superman and I’m saving you,” he explained.

“Who’s that?” Scully asked, pointing towards an angry troll with a tie on at the bottom of the page.

He didn’t respond immediately, and when Mulder looked over he made eye contact with the glare of a stern six year old. Oh, so that’s how it is? Mulder communicated in his own look. Scully glanced from the boy to Mulder, the same recognition dawning on her before she burst into laughter.

How he ended up alone with the little twerp, he had no idea. Scully was off in the other room, explaining the medical condition of the Grimes’ cattle as he was stuck interviewing, or rather participating in a staring contest, with the young boy.

“So, did you notice anything off about Besty the cow before she bit your dad?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Are you her boyfriend?” the kid asked with a surprising amount of adolescent resentment in his tone.

“Excuse me?” Mulder replied, shifting his weight on the seat uncomfortably.

“Have you kissed her?” the boy asked, his little eyes narrowing. If looks could kill.

Deciding to tease the kid a little, he playfully lilted, “Maybe.”

“On the lips?” the boy asked, his eyes growing wide.

“No,” Mulder replied, trying to hide his disappointment in favor of indifference.

“Do you hug her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you get to play with her hair?”

“Uh, I-I don’t know,” Mulder stammered, trying to think back to a time where he’d ever even tried.

“I have,” the boy stated triumphantly, as if Mulder hadn’t been there the other day to witness it.

“Well we hang out together,” Mulder replied, unsure why he was competing with this kid as if they were really rivals.

The boy’s mouth hung open in a look of pure disappointment and Mulder felt bad for causing it. “Really?” he asked, as if an admission of ‘hanging out’ was equivalent to marriage.

“Yeah, but, I’m not her boyfriend,” Mulder replied, feeling better when the kid perked up. He leaned forward and gestured for the kid to lean in too before whispering, “To be honest, between you and me, I wish I was - but I think she likes people shorter than her,” Mulder replied with an exaggerated frown.

The boys eyes widened and he nodded, taking in this information. “How tall is she?” he asked.

“5’3”,” Mulder replied immediately.

“The doctor said I’m 3’6”,” he whispered as if that was the confirmation he needed to know he was shorter than her.

“That’s perfect,” Mulder whispered back immediately.

“What are you boys talking about?” Scully asked, walking into the room with a smile on her face.

“Nothing,” they replied in unison.

They had to stop by the Grimes residence one more time before they went back to DC. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t going to miss that little boy. It was rare she got to spent time around children, let alone children that were so lively and sweet.

She didn’t know what Mulder had said to him the last time they were there, he’d claimed it was ‘guy talk’ and only smiled at his hidden little secret. Regardless, it touched her seeing them enjoying each other’s company - despite the troll drawing incident which she still insisted was cute.

Just as the times before, she’d barely gotten out of the car before she heard “Day-nuh!” being screamed followed by the sound of little rampant footfalls.

She turned around and saw the little munchkin running her way before latching his arms around her waist and squeezing her tightly. “Hi Dylan,” she giggled, rubbing a hand over his hair.

“I missed you,” he proclaimed, resting his chin on her abdomen to look up at her adoringly.

“I missed you too,” she replied honestly.

“I’m glad you came,” he responded seriously, taking a step back.

“Oh?” she questioned, surprised at his sudden change in demeanor. She glanced over at Mulder who, again, simply stared at the both of them with a smile on his face.

“Mhm,” he nodded. “I wanna ask you something.” She watched as he reached into his back pocket and dug out a wrapped Ring Pop, handing it to her gently.

“Is this for me?” she asked as the foil crinkled beneath her touch.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he blurted out. She felt the corners of her mouth twitch up, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings so she dampened them down.

“What was that?” she repeated, bending down so she was closer to his height.

“I love you and I wanna be your boyfriend. I promise we can hang out and I’ll play with your hair some more and I’ll kiss you tons and give you lots of hugs,” he rambled, barely pausing to take a breath.

Her heart could not have been any fuller than it was in this moment. “Oh Dylan,” she laughed lightly, pulling the boy into a hug. She met Mulder’s eyes and he looked equally as amused and endeared by the childlike declaration.

She pulled back and saw his eyes were wide in anticipation. Raising a hand up, she stroked his cheek lightly. “Dylan, that sounds amazing, but I’m too old for you.”

He shook his head quickly and argued, “Nuh uh! You’re like a prettier Ms. Frizzle!”

His logic brought another smile to her face and she informed him, “Dylan, Ms. Frizzle’s too old for you too. Besides, you should just enjoy being a kid. Don’t worry about dating just yet, okay?”

He nodded softly, despite looking disappointed, but she was just glad he wasn’t crying. Leaning in, she placed a soft kiss to his chubby little cheek and rejoiced when she felt the smile and vibrations from a laugh beneath her lips. Pulling back, she saw the prior look was replaced with happiness. “You can keep the Ring Pop though, it’s a good flavor,” he told her.

“Thank you,” she laughed, sliding it into her pocket before easing back up.

“Wait!” he called out, tugging her back down by the hem of her shirt. She shot him a look, but bent back down until her ear was at his lips, curious what was so secretive as he cupped his hands around them.

“Fox told me he like-likes you, he should be your boyfriend,” he whispered.

As he said this, she saw the curiosity brimming in Mulder’s eyes. She pulled back and met the boy’s earnest gaze. “Oh really?” she replied.

The boy nodded fervently, “I mean, that’s the next best.”

“What did he say?” Mulder asked for the twentieth time since leaving.

Just as she had the previous nineteen times, she shrugged and smiled. “It was a secret, Mulder.”

“Ugh, that’s not fair,” he laughed, the curiosity killing him. He didn’t follow up with another line of questioning, instead focusing on enjoying the Ring Pop she’d regifted to him.

#gaycrouton #my fanfiction #x files fanfic #msr fanfic #fluff #fox mulder #dana scully #pre relationship

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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942

“ar_”

ARB Have you ever had strawberry rhubarb pie? Do you like it? I have not. I’m afraid I don’t even entirely know what rhubarb is; I wouldn’t call it a part of Filipino culture. I don’t know if I would like this kind of pie; I prefer my pies more savory than fruity. Do you like carbs a little too much? Yes ma’am. I can’t exist without heaps of rice in every meal. Last garb you wore? The last fancy/formal thing I wore was my business casual look for last Thursday’s interview. I felt a little overdressed arriving at the office because the other applicants just wore a shirt and jeans...but ultimately I think it was better that I looked more prepared than they did lol. Do you know anyone named Barb? There’s a teacher in my old school named Barbie but the other teachers call her Barb. ARC Would you like to see the Arc de Triumphe? Sure.

Are you a narc? That’s not a common slang where I live, but I’m gonna say no. ARD Have you ever read “The Tales of the Beetle and the Bard”? Nope, I’ve never heard of it. Do you have a credit or debit card? Debit. I don’t exactly know how credit cards work just yet, so my dad has kept me from getting one hahahaha. What’s the last card you received? For which holiday? We don’t really exchange cards over here. We tend to go ahead and give physical gifts, no matter how simple it is. I think the last one I received was a birthday card from Athenna, five years ago. That was a different time. What’s something that is hard for you? Letting go. I have serious issues with abandonment and I always feel like it’s the end of the world when someone leaves my life or something I’ve been accustomed to abruptly ends. I’ve never been good at handling all of that. Do you ever feel like a tub of lard? I am almost positive that I’ve never felt like one before. What is in your front yard? How is it landscaped? Just a few plants and a tree that my grandpa planted for my mom shortly before he passed. Last piece of meat that you’ve charred? I’ll get back to this question in a few years where I’ve hopefully learned how to cook a few things, including meat. Have you ever lived with barred windows? No. That sounds awful. Is it easy for you to let your guard down? Just with the right people. Otherwise I prefer keeping a wall up; no one else needs to know who I am behind closed doors. Have you ever cut yourself on a shard of glass? No. Again, sounds like my worst nightmare. This happened to my mom a year ago and I remember being unable to help her because I would’ve proceeded to just faint anyway lmao Favorite barnyard animal? Cows. What do you like to do in your backyard? Cooper loves our backyard, so I bring him there to play and run. He loves staying there so much more than actually walking around the neighborhood, which is a little confusing but still endearing. What do you think of people who use the word “retard”? They’re stuck in the late 2000s and early 2010s and need to be schooled on Twitter as soon as possible lol. Last person you sent warm regards to? The HR person who hooked me up with my internship. What do you tend to disregard? Fake news or people who routinely share fake news, for obvious reasons. Have you ever worn a leotard before? For what? I’ve worn a swimsuit as a leotard, but I’ve never owned a leotard that was meant to be that.

ARF Last time you barfed? I kept hurling last week when I did a lot of crying and had a few breakdowns, but nothing ever came up. The last time I puked would be over a year ago when I was at Pop-Up with friends. Last food you scarfed down? My mom’s burger from last night. Do you rock a fashion scarf? Nah, not really my article of choice. What does your winter scarf look like? I don’t own one. ARK What pair of animals would you like to bring on Noah’s ark? I would try to save as many of them as possible; but in the cruel circumstance that I only have limited choices, I would prioritize stray cats and dogs first as well as cats and dogs in animal shelters. Did you used to watch Arthur the aardvark? I did not watch the show – I’m not sure if they ever aired it here – but I liked reading Arthur books. Those were one of my favorites to read at the library. Have you ever been to a ballpark? No. Well baseball is not a popular sport here so it’s not like we’ve got lots of those, and the few that we have are a little dilapidated due to a lack of interest or support in the sport...we do have a field in my old school that’s designated for our softball games, but it’s hardly a legit softball field. Is your bark worse than your bite? If this is a saying or slang, I don’t know what it means. What’s a personal benchmark of yours? Hmm I know what a benchmark refers to, but I’m not exactly sure of the context in this question. Where is your birthmark? My most distinguishable birthmark is on the upper left region of my back, but I also have one by my butt. I used to have one on my right arm that was green-blue when I was an infant, but now it’s nothing more than a super slight discoloration that is only noticeable if you look hard enough. Do you fold book pages over, or use a bookmark? I remember the page number. I don’t like the gaps that bookmarks create, and I like keeping the pages of my book pristine. Are you afraid of the dark? Only if the context is meant to be scary, like how abandoned houses or forests are dark. I like the dark when I’m trying to fall asleep though. Do you prefer dark or light colors? I prefer neither extreme. I like muted and pastel tones. Last time you disembarked a ship? 2016. Last time you embarked on an adventure? End of February, 2020. Do you celebrate any of the hallmark holidays? Some of them, but I take them seriously a lot less than the actual holidays. I celebrate them primarily because I have people in my life who value those Hallmark holidays, so I greet them so they don’t feel forgotten, like greeting my parents on Mother’s/Father’s Day. If I had it my way I’d ignore those holidays completely, though. Do you watch the Hallmark channel? No. I don’t think we even have that channel here. Do you like the song “Hark The Herald Angels Sing”? I have nothing against it. Which landmark would you like to visit? The pyramids at Giza. Last mark you made on a paper? I made random scribbles because I was just checking if my pen had ink. Do you know anyone named Mark? I don’t think so. No Marks are coming to mind. Have you ever heard a lark sing? Nope. Do you know how to parallel park? Yeah but I’m kind of cheating a bit because I own a really tiny car that fits nearly anywhere ha. What’s your favorite activity to do at the park? We don’t have any public parks...if we did, I imagine I’d have picnics and take my dogs there for long walks. Last postmarked piece of mail you received? I don’t really receive mail of my own. Last person you left a remark for? Idk maybe my dad when I remarked how spicy the sisig he made for dinner was. Do you speak with a lot of snark? Only in private or with my closest friends. I try not to be snarky with workmates. Do you ever have the Baby Shark song stuck in your head? That does happen sometimes, yes. Until today ha. Last time you went around your house stark naked? Oof, I never walk around the entire house naked. I only do so in the bathroom and within my own room. What’s your signature trademark? Everyone knows me as loving Paramore, so maybe that. Does it bother you when there’s a watermark on an image that you want to use? Sometimes yes, sometimes I realize someone took effort for that image and probably just needs to earn a little bit for it. ARL Who did you snarl at last? I don’t snarl a lot these days. Are your fingers gnarled? No. I don’t actually know what this means but my fingers are pretty healthy so I’m guessing it’s not whatever gnarled is. ARM Have you ever broken an arm? Nopes. Do you keep people at an arm’s length? In some ways, like how I refuse to talk about the things I’m going through and I don’t like showing most people that I struggle.

Last time you went to a farm? I’m not sure if I’ve been to one. We drive through fields and farms all the time, in the provinice; but we’ve never actually stopped over and went to a farm. Do you self-harm? Yes. Surprisingly, I haven’t done so this month. But yes, I have in general. What time is your alarm set for? For a while it wasn’t set to anything but now that I have an internship I’ll probably need to set it to at least around 8 AM. Do you own any firearms? No thanks. Would you get a tattoo on your forearm? Sure. Do you have a certain charm about you? Don’t you kind of have to ask other people when it comes to possessing charm? I certainly wouldn’t endorse this myself, lol. Do you need to be disarmed? I have nothing on me, so no. ARN Were you raised in a barn? I was not. I grew up in a house in a suburban-ish neighborhood. Do you use “damn” or “darn” more often? Damn. I’ve never used darn...or if I have, it would’ve been well over a decade ago. Do you knit or crochet with yarn? I don’t crochet or knit. ARP Have you ever caught a carp while fishing? No, I’ve never gone fishing before actually.

Do you like harp seals? I’ve never heard of them until now but it’s an automatic yes for me because they are animals. Would you like to learn how to play the harp? Sure. Name something in your house that is sharp? Keys. Is anything you own covered by a tarp? No. ART Last time you fell apart? This morning. Well, it’s 2 AM now so it’s more accurate to say yesterday morning. Are you good at any sort of art forms? Not at all. I like coloring and painting, but with painting I like those that come with paint-by-number guides. I’m not very creative myself and don’t know for the life of me what colors work together and I’m terrible at creating images. Last place you used a shopping cart? Grocery store, ages ago. Have you ever created a chart in Microsoft Excel? Yes but it’s not my favorite thing in the world to do. Who is your other counterpart? I dunno if I have anyone. Angela, I guess. Do you like to play darts? I’ve never played it but it looks fun and I’m always up for a friendly game. Who’s the last person you departed from? My family, when I left the living room where we were all staying at to go back to my bedroom to resign for the evening. How often do you fart? Never. I don’t like the sensation and if I feel one coming I suppress it lol. No one has heard me do it before, and I don’t plan on making it heard hahahaha How’s your heart been feeling lately? Not well. Is there a K-Mart or a PetSmart where you live? No. Is it easy for you to outsmart a child? Idk man, they can be a little surprise at times. Where is the part in your hair? It’s on the left side. Have you ever gotten a part in a play? No, because I’ve never auditioned for one. Not interested in that kind of activity, either. Last time you had to restart your computer? It’s been a while. Would you consider yourself to be smart? In some ways, like in academics. What trend would you like to start? I don’t feel like starting one. Do you like tarts? Not very much, but my old school has this trademark tart that I love so much. [a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

#survey #surveys

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theasstour · 6 years

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0106. Adagio non molto.

Monday, 5 January 2015

FIC PAGE | CHAPTER SYMPHONY | WORD COUNT: 5.7k

NB: explicit language, internalised homophobia

A/N: THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO VOTED FOR SOY IN THE 1D ROOFTOP AWARDS 💐🌸💛 forever in awe at all of you and the love and support my fics receive! ilysm, and enjoy this chapter! x

When Y/N pictured herself in university, this was not how she saw herself ending up. Throughout the whole Christmas break, she had been miserable. Every single day she had thought about the different ways she could have changed the outcome of the exam, what she could have done differently, and how she could have handled the situation. She had passed, but only just barely with a 48%. Anything under 40% and you failed, and above that you passed. 70% and above was the best grade you could get, and anything in between was okay. 70% and above was a 1 (a first), 69%-60% was a 2.1 (upper second class), 59%-50% a 2.2 (lower second class), 49%-40% a 3 (a third), and anything below was a fail. When getting graded, you would always aim for a 2.1 or better, even though a 2.2 was okay, and 3 well enough. But all her life, Y/N had had this weird inner competition with herself to always be the best at everything she ever did. A competition she never seemed to win.

Their Messenger chat was open, the cursor blinking behind a message Y/N had tried to construct for 30 minutes now. She never thought she’d come to this; never thought she’d be this type of person. But as she laid in her bed the week before going back to London, Edward’s loud laugh from downstairs wafting through the small slit at the bottom of her door, Y/N was looking at Archie Poole’s Facebook picture.

Y/N Hi, are you the head of the LGBTQ+ Society at Battersea uni?

Swallowing hard, she clicked send, closing her phone right away and looking nervously around the room. Archie Poole was the head of the LGBTQ+ Society at Battersea University. Y/N had known his name alone all first semester, but never talked to him or even seen his face. Now, however, she needed someone to talk to. It wasn’t that she didn’t have anyone. She knew Tiana would listen, so would Annie, Finn, Edward, her parents, and maybe even Harry if she wanted him to. But she hated asking that of people, hated asking for attention because she didn’t want to ask for anyone’s time because it wasn’t hers to take.

Her phone vibrated.

Archie Hi yea. Why?

Y/N took a deep breath, knowing that whatever she was to say would probably sound incredibly stupid.

Y/N Was wondering when you have meetings. Been meaning to check it out.

Archie was on the chat, typing right away. Watching the three dots move like a wave as she waited, biting her lip so intensely she it surprised her she hadn’t bitten through it.

Archie Oh! You’re LGBT? We usually meet up Wednesdays and just chill. I’ll meet up with you beforehand if you want.

Y/N typed out the next message, feeling her shoulders rise a bit as she stared at it, dread forming in the very pit of her stomach.

Y/N I’m bi. That’d be nice! I’ll be back in London in about a week.

Archie saw the message and started typing right away. He had read her message. Oh God, oh God, oh God. He had read her message. He knew. What was he going to say? The dread Y/N had felt was swirling around, like a witch stood inside her stomach stirring a pot filled with a poisonous potion.

Archie Wicked! When’s best for you? I’m from London so I’m available whenever.

It felt like the biggest weight had lifted off Y/N’s chest and shoulders. In fact, her whole bloody body felt lighter after that text. It wasn’t much, Y/N wasn’t even sure if he had much cared to know her exact preferred term of labelling, but to her it had meant something. Only one person before Archie had known. Only one other person Y/N had opened up to about her sexuality. And now, with Archie knowing, someone who knew how she was feeling and someone she actually was on speaking terms with it seemed, the future didn’t seem so daunting. She hadn’t imagined it to feel so liberating for someone to know, like paying with card for drinks on a night out when you’re unsure how much money is on your card and having the transaction be accepted, only it was magnified. And so much bigger. So much more important. She felt the same as waking up from a good night’s sleep feeling totally and utterly rested.

Y/N I’ll be back on Friday. Could either do then or Saturday, Sunday.

Archie Sunday 12pm at Costa across campus?

Y/N Sounds good!

Archie See ya then, Y/N.

Closing her phone, Y/N laid it on her chest and looked up at the ceiling of her bedroom. It was completely dark, the rain outside hitting her window harshly and the wind blowing around the house viciously. This last month, Y/N had spent most of her time outside helping her dad with the farm. New Christmas trees needed to be sown, the cows needed to be milked, and the hens needed tending to. It was loads to do, just how she liked it. However much time she spent with George, she had never willingly started talking to him about something that had been on her heart for years. She could hear her family talking downstairs, knew that they would ask her what she was doing in her room for an hour. Without a shadow of a doubt, Y/N trusted her family more than she trusted anyone. She knew they would love and support her no matter what; no matter what she did, said, believed or thought. But there was a difference between trusting and letting someone see a part of you only you knew of. A difference between confessing and opening yourself up completely.

A difference between revealing something and shaking someone’s only reality to the core. Because, at the end of the day, no matter how much someone loved you, no one liked change. Especially a kind of permanent change that may or may not be welcomed. And no matter how much Y/N loved her family, she was not ready to have them shift their view and love for her. She did not want anything to change. And so, in her family’s eyes, she would make sure nothing would. No matter how unhappy that made her, because there was no way she would risk not having her family in her life anymore. They were happy now, she’d continue on letting them be. She had hid this part of herself all her life, what’s to say she couldn’t hide it forever.

Thursday, 15 January 2015

“Jesus Christ,” Tiana groaned as they walked out of another flat building in Wimbledon, a double-decker and a horde of cars whooshing by as the three of them started on their walk towards the tube. “How the fuck is it possible that we have found all the dodgy flats in London? There isn’t a single bloody place we have looked at that hasn’t made me want to tickle my uvula.”

Y/N snorted. “We’re late looking at places. Literally everyone in the flat have found somewhere.”

“Brilliant.” Tiana sighed. “Saw loads of four-bed houses around Clapham Common, so I’m going to try and ask around my course again. Someone’s got to not have someplace, yea?”

“People are either moving in groups of three or five-six.” Annie said. “That’s why most of those are gone.”

“And there are next to no two-beds, hence why we couldn’t find somewhere together.” Y/N chimed in, walking down the stairs to Wimbledon Park Underground Station.

“Why does the universe hate us?” Tiana groaned, getting her Oyster card out.

“Must have other plans for us, I guess.” Y/N said, taking hers out of her purse as well. “Still not very considerate to make us go to five house viewings and not find a single decent place.”

“It’s getting ridiculous.” Annie said, beeping herself in and walking through the ticket barrier.

“I just want to find a place!” Tiana came through last and the three girls took the escalator down to jump on the District Line. “I know we won’t get anywhere close to uni now, but…” She sighed. “I’m going to keep my hopes up.”

“Probably not the best idea.” Y/N said, scrunching her nose. “Keeping your hopes up.”

“But I will anyway.” Tiana crossed her arms. “I live to be disappointed.”

Annie giggled.

“Also, I never got to ask you.” Tiana looked down at Y/N. “What happened with Harry that night when he came over?”

Looking away, Y/N answered, “What night?”

Tiana gasped. “Playing the ‘I don’t think I remember that’ card, are we?”

“A little more complex than that.”

“What is?”

“The… whole situation.”

“Mate,” Tiana huffed. “Becky was bloody fuming.”

Y/N jumped off the escalator and, once the other girls had caught up, walked toward the District line toward Wimbledon Station. “Why would she be raging?”

Tiana raised her eyebrows, shoving her hands into the pockets of her Y/Net. “Think you know.”

Y/N kept quiet, only clearing her throat and dragging a hand through her hair. They got onboard the tube, holding onto the same pole as they were getting off at the next stop anyway.

“She’s wanted a shag since Freshers and has set her eyes on Harry since then. Sorry, babes, but she won’t waver till she’s got his cock so far up her arse she can give him a blowie.”

“Tiana!” Y/N hissed, brows furrowed. “We’re on the tube!”

“What?” Tiana frowned right back. “Need to paint the picture, don’t I?”

“Not that vividly.” Y/N looked around, hiding her face in her scarf.

“It’s either in full detail or not at all.”

“There’s never ‘not at all’, so always everything in full detail.” Annie said, putting her phone in her back pocket.

“And that’s why you love me.” Tiana smiled at both of them, but eyes landed on Y/N as she continued talking. “Just warning you, gorge, because Becky will try it on with Harry again soon.”

“You think?” Y/N bit her lip.

Tiana nodded, sighing. “She’s relentless that one.”

“But she’s got to understand Harry isn’t interested.” Annie said. “He’s obviously into Y/N.”

Y/N lifter her purple scarf higher up so it could cover more of her flustered self. “He’s not.”

“Oh, shut up, he’s making it pretty bloody obvious.” Tiana rolled her eyes at Y/N before turning to Annie. “She’s just that kind of person, you know? Has a thing for a lad for a while and doesn’t stop till she’s decided if he’s a good fuck or not.”

“Still on the tube, Ti.”

“And I still don’t care, Y/N.”

“So,” Annie shrugged her shoulders. “She’s just going to continue till they’ve slept together? That won’t happen.”

“Not for as long as Y/N’s still interested in him back, no.”

“I’m standing right here.”

“Y/N,” Tiana looked over at her friend. “I know you’re trying to deny your feelings toward Harry because you’d like to keep them to yourself, and as cute as that is, I really don’t think it’s the right move.”

Y/N frowned.

“Because Becky needs to back off. Harry is your man.”

“He’s not, though. He’s really not.” Y/N shook her head, looking at the ground as the speaker overhead announced their arrival at Wimbledon. They walked out and toward the South Western Railway toward London Waterloo, their last trip that would end at Clapham Junction where they would stroll to campus for their lectures and then back to Westbridge. “We barely talked during Christmas break.”

“But you have each other’s numbers, yea?” Tiana asked, frowning a bit.

“Yea, but…” Y/N sighed. “I don’t like being pushy, because I don’t like… I don’t want him to think I’m waiting around for him to talk to me, you know what I mean? He’s been so nice and I don’t want to push him away by talking to him when he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Did you talk at all?”

“He wished me a happy Christmas over text, but that’s it.” Y/N explained. “I said it back, and he sent me the Santa emoji.”

“And you didn’t answer?” Tiana seemed a little shocked, which Y/N thought was odd.

“No.”

“Oh, my days.” She smiled, laughing at Y/N. “You gormless git.”

“What?!”

“He wanted to keep the conversation going! He sent you an emoji!”

“How do you answer to an emoji?”

“Sending an emoji right back! Like the Christmas tree one!” Tiana said, shaking her head. “If you sent the Christmas tree one, he might even have asked about your father’s Christmas trees and how that’s going, and boom.” Tiana clapped her hands together. “You two would’ve been talking.”

“But I have no idea how to talk to people.” Y/N confessed. “I don’t know how to make someone talk to me, don’t know what to say, or how to sound interesting.”

“Must’ve done something right at least, because Harry Styles seems to be very interested.” Tiana walked into the escalator. “Pretty sure still fancies you, though. But,” Tiana pointed a finger at Y/N. “Remember what we’ve talked about now.”

“What?”

“Becky, you sod.” Tiana said. “How she’s not going to give up on Harry. You gotta show her she can’t have him.”

“But I don’t own him, he’s not mine.”

Tiana raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think he’ll mind if he is, babes.”

New semester meant new modules, and new modules meant new classes. Luckily for Y/N, Teresa was in her Composing I: Capturing Ideas class, so at least they had each other in that one. She had Studio Production with Finn, which only made her sit alone in Professional Development, and Y/N could live with that. Well, at least she told herself that, but she knew she’d hate every little second of that seminar. She opened the door into the Antonin Artaud Building, Teresa smiling at her from the other side of the room. She met Y/N halfway, giving her a huge hug as they hadn’t seen each other since the exam in Ensemble. They had talked loads over Snapchat, but it wasn’t the same as being together like this in real life.

“You alright?” Teresa asked as she pulled away, smiling broadly. “Christmas treat you nice?”

Y/N nodded. “Been a wet one.”

“Very.” Teresa sighed. “Can’t even remember last time it was somewhat white in London. Sometimes I wish I was born up North just so I could get some snow. Have never made a snow angel, and I think that’s very rude of… the weather.”

Y/N laughed. “Think I managed to once, but I could feel the grass poking up through the snow. So it wasn’t very successful.”

“I mean,” Teresa shrugged. “If it does end up snowing and settling in Southern England, I think it’ll be because climate change is doing its thing, and we should not appreciate that.”

“Very true. Would be a tad bit worried if it did end up settling for more than a week.”

“I won’t say no to snow.” Teresa confessed. “But I don’t want to die because of climate change either.”

Y/N laughed and then the two walked toward their new seminar room for Composing I. It was a very chilled atmosphere in the Composing I class. The teacher, Mrs Wells, was young and knew how to talk to students without overwhelming them. Y/N found herself incredibly relaxed in her presence, which was surprising as university had been nothing but stress so far. In the back of the seminar room, Y/N sat writing down all the important dates for assignments and due dates, the different texts to read and the things they would focus on and learn. Maybe, Y/N thought, this second semester would be better than the first one. Maybe this semester, she would find a way through struggling and relax into uni a little more. She had to find her place somehow, and maybe this was it. Winter and spring 2015 would bring wonders, Y/N hoped.

“What were you doing before you came here then?” Teresa asked. “Like what other plans?”

“Went to a house viewing in Wimbledon.” Y/N explained, putting the cork back on her pen. “Not impressive.”

“Elaborate.”

“It was…” She scrunched her nose up, looking around the room at all the other students to see if she recognised someone else from the previous semester or any of the other seminars earlier in the week. “It was dodgy.”

“Most student houses are, though.”

Y/N nodded. “Tiana, Annie and I have been to five house viewings for three-bedroom flats and it’s a pain to find somewhere. You have to think so far in advance, loads have already found somewhere for next year.”

“I haven’t.”

“You haven’t?”

“No, me and the girls in my flat are trying to, but they’re not really stressing about it, to be fair.” Teresa took the elastic band off her wrist, putting her curly hair up in a bun. “Me, on the other hand…” Teresa crossed her arms. “Am.”

“You’re stressed?”

“Yes.”

“Why haven’t you found somewhere?”

“Well, we haven’t really been looking.” Teresa sighed, adjusting her bun. “I’ve tried to, but it’s so hard when you don’t really know what the other ones want in a flat, you know?”

Y/N nodded, feeling sorry for her friend. They looked ahead as Mrs Wells announced the end of their 15-minute break, started talking about something Y/N didn’t seem to be focusing on. After today, her little gang had another viewing tomorrow for a three-bed flat, though this one looked even worse than the one they looked at today. It had never even crossed Y/N’s mind when she started in September that she would have to look for a place to live the rest of her time at uni. The thought of moving in somewhere, having to pay bills and clean and be responsible, had never crossed her mind because the scariness of uni had blurred everything else. But now that the list of options her, Annie and Tiana had was shrinking, Y/N was starting to wonder what it’d be like to commute back and forth between Hawkley and Battersea for the next two years. Sure, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world as she got to live back home with her family again, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure she ever could properly live at home again after having moved out. During Christmas it had felt good to be home the first week, and then she started realising that she would really like to just lay in bed, watch some YouTube videos and to absolutely nothing without having her mum shout at her to come downstairs and help make dinner, or her father dragging her outside because he needed help with something. It was fine, she loved helping out, but she – to her own surprise – preferred controlling everything in her little room in Westbridge Halls.

Suddenly, a thought struck Y/N and she had to stop herself from gasping loudly. She had been so massively stupid for not having thought about this before, for only just now realising that this would be an amazing idea. So, turning her head toward Teresa who was watching Mrs Wells, Y/N asked in a hushed tone, “Do you want to move in with me and my flatmates instead of yours?”

Teresa whipped her head in Y/N’s direction. “What?”

“You said yourself you were stressing about all of this, and I just wanted to let you know, if you don’t want to wait till last minute finding a house for next year, the option is there.” Y/N gave Teresa a smile, knowing if anyone had asked her this, she would’ve wanted the confirmation that the person asking was doing so because they actually wanted to, and not out of pity.

Teresa’s mouth hung open as she considered this. “And your flatmates would be fine with that? Me moving in with you lot?”

“Well, I haven’t asked them yet, but I don’t see why not.” Y/N admitted, shrugging her shoulders a little. “There are loads more four-bedroom house than three-bed. Most that are left in the Battersea and Clapham area are four-bed. It would be incredibly convenient for us because we would find a house soon that way, and you’d also have secured yourself a place to live next year.”

With a small smile on her face, Teresa watched Y/N. “Are you sure you want my annoying self living wit you next year?”

Y/N giggled. “I’ll survive.”

Teresa’s smile widened. “Do ask your flatmates when you get home, but yes, I’d very much like to live with you next year if you and your gang will have me.”

Leaning over, Y/N pulled Teresa into another hug, both of them giggling as the thought of possibly being flatmates next year was a possibility. Y/N knew Teresa wasn’t someone she’d be annoyed living with; in fact, she might be the complete opposite. Though Teresa was loud, she was also very quiet at times and stuck to herself most of the time, meaning there was little drama with her. Tiana and Teresa would get on well, Y/N thought, while Annie might spend most of her time in her own room, but that was fine, too. It would be a nice place to come home to if all of her closest friends at uni lived under the same roof.

The rest of their 3-hour seminar they weren’t able to pay attention. Discussing the different films they had to watch together in their new living room, the thousands of dishes they had to make as a flat, and how they would decorate the place for different occasions. Y/N knew both Tiana and Annie would be fine with Teresa living with them, because by this point the girls just wanted to know that they were living somewhere next year. So, the first Composing seminar flew by, and before they knew it, they were walking out of the classroom and toward the loo. Teresa waited for Y/N, all the while checking herself in the mirror. Y/N did the same when her booth was free for Teresa to use. The blue floral frill trim mesh tee shirt she was wearing with a white top underneath, bright blue acid wash jeans that reach her hip were surprisingly comfortable, as well were her white trainers. She put her cream teddy Borg pocket coat on, her burgundy leather gloved outside it and the scarf around her neck. Teresa came out, put her jacket and scarf on and then the two of them walked toward the exit of the Arts building together. Still chatting about everything they would have to do next year, Y/N didn’t even see the person leaning against the wall by the entrance to the corridor leading to her seminar room.

“Y/N.”

It had been so long since she had heard that voice that Y/N almost tripped over her own feet in a short second of weakness. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Harry standing there, the same smile on his face and his hair a curly mess as per. Beside her, Teresa’s mouth fell open, the sight of Harry as well as him calling out for Y/N shocked her a little too much to not have visible reaction. As always, Harry was dressed incredibly. With grey and orange checked skinny trousers – a chain hanging from the hoops where his belt would’ve gone - and a dark red turtle neck tucked into it, his black coat on and black boots, he looked incredible. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, though, and Y/N found herself missing them resting on the bridge of his nose. They looked at each other for a while, taking each other in after well over a month apart. They hadn’t seen each other since that morning after he had slept over at hers, since the night he had kipped at hers.

Teresa leaned into Y/N, whispering in her ear, “I’ll leave you two to it.” And so, their plans of walking back together were suddenly cancelled. Y/N watched Teresa leave, turning back to Harry once she was out the door. Pushing off the wall, Harry walked over to her, still smiling that lopsided smile she for some reason hadn’t been able to not think about everyday of the Christmas break.

“Thought I might find you here.” He said, looking smug as he always did.

“How’d you know I had a lecture here and now?” Y/N asked, raising her eyebrows. He had known where her Ensemble seminar usually was held, but that had been last semester, and she now had a new timetable.

Harry let stuck his tongue out against his bottom lip, wetting it before pressing his lips together, resulting in a warm pink colour once he l was done rubbing them against one another. It was hard for Y/N not to look at his lips. She wanted to so bad. “I don’t kiss and tell, darling.”

Y/N felt like screaming. He knew what he was doing, knew he played dirty, and yet he didn’t give enough teabags to care. There wasn’t any doubt that he knew how to get a reaction; that he knew what Y/N was thinking and how bad he wanted her to give in to her own competitiveness and just look at his lips. However, Y/N just looked at him, daring him to tell her how he knew her timetable.

“Fine, I asked Finn.”

Y/N frowned.

Harry frowned back. “What?”

“Why’d you ask Finn?”

Harry smiled a little at that. “Because I wanted to meet you.”

“Sooo,” Y/N said, smiling a little back. “Instead of texting me you asked Finn for my timetable?”

“Yea.” Harry cocked his head to the side, biting his bottom lip. “Aren’t I the cutest?”

Y/N giggled, resting her gloved hands in the pockets of her coat. “Why did you have to go through all that trouble?”

“Because I just felt like it, you know?” Harry shrugged. “Wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise me?”

“Yea.” He grinned. “Think it’s quite fascinating the look on your pretty face when you turn around and look at me.”

Y/N bit her lip, and she swore Harry’s green eyes fell down on them, savouring the look of them, before his eyes met hers again.

“Wanted to see you.”

Eyes wide with interest as Harry took a step closer, Y/N bit down harder on her lip.

“See how you were.”

It was incredibly rude, Y/N thought, how he wasn’t even trying to be discreet as his eyes traced along the swell of her lips. Moving along them like following the graceful rise and fall of a wave; a wave he wanted to immerse himself in, to get lost in, and drown at the hands of. Letting her lips fall from between her teeth, Y/N watched Harry’s open slightly, a small puff of air leaving them. Now it was her turn to look at his without him noticing, and she hated that she took a small step forward at the sight of them. A sense of hunger she had never really felt before took over; sprouting somewhere in her chest like a flower in early spring. Looking up, she noticed Harry staring back at her, eyes as green as the grass after a storm. She didn’t know how she was going to get it across that she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to press his lips against hers all soft, maybe rest his hand at the nape of her neck where no one ever touched her. About to walk all the way up to her, Harry stopped when his phone started ringing.

Closing his eyes for a short second before bringing his phone out, Harry stopped moving for a second. Y/N watched him with a slight furrow to her brows, not knowing Harry to be startled by anything. He always seemed to be one step ahead, always having full control of himself and any situation he found himself in.

“I, uh…” He stopped himself, not taking his eyes off his vibrating phone. “I need to go. See you around, Y/N.”

And with that, Harry stormed off. Huge strides, he made his way toward the exit of the building, phone to his ear as he reached to open the door for himself.

“What?” He said into the phone, a tone in his voice Y/N wasn’t sure she was able to decipher. There was a coldness to it she’d never heard; a distance from his heart and his vocals that seemed unreal. She watched him till he was out of sight, and only then did she walked away herself, not being able to think and ponder on anything but who Harry would’ve been talking to.

Harry Sorry for storming off there. Meant to ask you and your flat if you wanted to come out and celebrate my birthday Friday feb 6th? Finn said he’d come, but I wanted to ask you.

Y/N knocked on Tiana’s door, grinning as she opened it and walked in with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her pyjamas on. Tiana was sitting in her robe on herbed, giving herself a pedicure and only looking up to see Y/N smiling big before going back to her toe nails. The radio was playing softly in the background, a pop song wafting from Tiana’s speakers that Y/N had never really bothered to know the name of. Taking Tiana’s chair, she dragged it over to her bed and sat down, putting her feet on the bed.

“Want me to do yours, babes?” Tiana asked, motioning with her head at Y/N’s feet that were currently safely tucked into a pair of very comfy slippers.

“I’m good, thank you.” Y/N said, looking at her phone.

Over dinner, Y/N had told Annie and Tiana of her conversation with Teresa. The two girls had been over the moon, and Tiana had made a groupchat with the four of them right away, more than ready to finally get going and find a decent four-bedroom house in close vicinity to the university. While Y/N did their washing up, Annie and Tiana looked at possible houses to view on Tiana’s laptop, Y/N walking over to check it out before they were sent in the groupchat for Teresa to take a look at. Everything seemed to be falling a little into place. Y/N still felt bummed out over the exam, but she kept telling herself that at least she had passed, at least she didn’t have to take the whole module over again. But once they found a house to live in, Y/N was sure almost everything would feel right. Once she was back from the seminar she had applied to some more jobs with her father’s help, done some uni work, and played some on her violin. She felt incredibly productive and positive for a change.

“Guess who sent me a text?”

Tiana looked up at Y/N again. “Shut up.”

Y/N nodded.

“Shut. Up!” Tiana screwed the cork back on her red nail varnish and reached for Y/N’s phone. “Let me see. Let me see. Let me see.”

Y/N let Tiana take her phone, a smile on her face as Tiana read over Harry’s text to her. Clearly reading it over and over again, because it took a while before she gave the phone back to Y/N. Her face wasn’t as excited as Y/N had anticipated it to be, which scared her a little. Tiana loved a party.

“We’re going out with flat 8?”

Y/N nodded.

“No, no, no, no.” Tiana shook her head, getting up from where she sat in her bed. “No. No way.”

Y/N frowned, watching as Tiana walked over to her sink to get her foot cream. “What’s going on? Why don’t you want to?”

Tiana sighed, looking at herself in the mirror for a bit before her eyes felt to her hands nervously fiddling with the foot cream tube in her hands.

“Tiana?” Y/N sat up straighter, feet falling to the floor. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to meet Danny.”

Y/N saw the hurt in Tiana’s eyes as she turned around. There was no doubt that whatever had happened between her and Danny had cut way deeper than Y/N had realised at first. Sitting down in her bed again, Tiana sighed before she started rubbing the cream into her foot.

“I just… don’t.”

Y/N nodded, closing her phone. “Want to talk about it?”

Tiana inhaled sharply. “Not tonight.”

Y/N wrapped her blanket tighter around herself, letting Harry’s text be unanswered for the time being. Right no Y/N needed to talk to Tiana.

“You won’t come and celebrate Harry then?”

“Think I’ll pass on this one. Sorry, Y/N.”

Y/N nodded, looking away. “There’s still some time if you change your mind. You don’t have to talk to Danny.”

Tiana didn’t say anything, eyes fixed on her feet as she switched to rub cream on the other foot.

“What did he do, Ti?”

Tiana shook her head. “Nothing. He’s just…” Tiana looked up at Y/N, and for the first time in a while, tears were in them again. “He’s just a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N sat down in Tiana’s bed as she started crying, holding onto her as she shook with sobs. Y/N had never seen Tiana this upset, never felt her shake as she cried. Danny had really broken her; whatever he had done or said really ripped Tiana’s heart apart. And it seemed she was having problems stitching it back together, and though Y/N didn’t know how to sow, she would help Tiana all she could.

TAGLIST

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