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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

Text

Of Academic Interest

Fandom: Indiana Jones

Collection/Series: Tribute to/Part of @alloftheimaginesblog ‘s ‘Secret’s Out’ Saga world.

Pairing: Indiana Jones x Plus Size Female History Lecturer Reader (Glasses are mentioned very briefly)

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You’re one of the newest history lecturers and Indiana turns up to watch your open lecture on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead

Notes: I love Angela’s Secret’s Out Saga, i’m happy that I get to send her requests and see the amazing things she writes for it and lately i’ve been getting the urge to write something for the world/au/series.

This is a homage, a tribute, to it, obviously none of this is canon unless Angela says so.

This is set before Indy and the Reader are dating.

All facts come from an essay I did at university on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead, which I also did an hour long presentation on.

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You were relatively new to the history department at Marshall College and were somewhat of a novelty to students and staff alike having only been there for a few months. Being one of the few female professors and on top of that specialising in some more taboo or ground breaking historical takes on the history of gender and sexuality, you had successfully caused quite the stir.

The majority of your colleagues were accepting, happy to have you and generally interested by your studies and research. Despite being relatively new to academic teaching they were supportive, although there was a small subsection of the humanities department who, in typical old man fashion, talked down to you, treated you like a coffee girl and disrespected your expertise. You had taken to stealing their students from their modules and attracting them to your modules instead as a passive form of fighting back.

Students were clamouring to be taught by you, to get onto the list for your modules or to get to see your open lectures. You were the only member of the faculty who talked about the more riveting elements of history such as prostitution, sexualisation, and even ghosts. In comparison to the same lectures on Anglo-Saxon England and the Civil War, you were significantly more interesting to the student population. That did not, however, remove sexism within the student population. While female students actively enjoyed your lectures, got involved more so than in other modules, and felt a sense of comfort in a more female friendly space, you found that a small portion of the student male population tried at every turn to either explain your own specialism to you or to discredit you. You had long since taken to finding it rather amusing, especially when most of those individuals were failing your course.

You had been asked many months ago to prepare an open lecture on the history of surgery and medicine, the faculty head had told you to pick any topic you wished so long as it was well researched and you could put on a good lecture for the student population. For some it might well be their first ever history lecture, for others it was just an addition to their usual workload, nonetheless you’d chosen a topic that was of interest to you and that you felt confident presenting.

Standing before a podium in a large lecture hall, you push your glass further up the bridge of your nose and flick through the pages of notes in front of you to temporarily distract yourself from the crowds of people that were slowly making their way inside and to seats. It was a large hall, one that could hold upwards of 200 people and despite years of public speaking under your belt there was always an anticipation, a sense of nerves, before you began a lecture or presentation.

You checked the microphone on the podium, happy to find it in working order and smiled at a few familiar faces in the front row, some of your students who had apparently decided to spend their free period listening to you talk some more. Checking the time you waited a few more minutes before choosing to start, letting the last stragglers find a seat or for those unlucky enough to stand at the back after all seats were filled. It was a large turn out and you could feel those nerves buzzing in the pit of your stomach as you cleared your throat and picked up your notes.

“Good morning, everyone! Thank you for coming despite your busy schedules to hear me drone on once more about dead people,” Light laughter and small chuckles filled the space as you began, your students looking at each other with a shake of their heads. “Today i’m going to be talking to you about something called the Cult of the Beautiful Dead in Victorian medicine. Specifically surgery.”

You find yourself drifting from the podium, pacing across the stage even as this requires you to speak louder without the microphone. There is a familiar energy in your body that demands you move as you speak, to expend it in some physical way. “The Cult of the Beautiful Dead pervaded the world of art within the 18th and 19th centuries. It has been defined as ‘a subjective fascination with idealised images of the deceased in such a way that permanently embalmed bodies and stable images displace and replace impermanent reality’, but I would characterise it within medical and surgical art somewhat differently.”

You stop briefly, give yourself time to breathe and them time to process your words, in that brief moment your eyes glance across the crowd and spot a familiar face that makes your cheeks warm and your heart stutter. Professor Henry ‘Indiana’ Jones Junior.

Professor Jones was known throughout the history and archaeology department for his digs, his finds, and his immense knowledge, that and his good looks and charming persona. He was friendly, enticing, handsome, and treated you as an equal. While you could not consider yourself friends, you did have a healthy respect and rather decent crush on the man. In fact, the only reason you weren’t friends, you suspected, was your inability to talk around the man without stuttering. He had no reason to be at your lecture, but he’d come anyway, in fact it looked as if he were the only member of the archaeology department present.

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away and continue, “It is the idealised image of the female body on the dissection room table or the surgical bed with her flowing hair, her soft, pale skin, her perfect, unharmed nature and her sexualised passivity which characterises the Cult of the Beautiful Dead within medical art. On your seats you would have found copies of a painting by Henri Gervaux and an illustration by Hasselhorst, I will be talking today about these pieces of art and how they fit in with the realities of the dissection room.”

You move across the stage again, wait as they find out their papers and find yourself looking over at Dr Jones again. He is intent in his observations of the papers in his hands, interested, actively engaged and that is a bigger compliment than anything you think. It would be heartbreaking, you decide, if he were bored by or disinterested in your lecture. While you don’t need his approval, you are an academic in your own right, you do desire it.

You continue on when he looks up, shifting your eyes away quickly, “In the 19th century women were less likely to be patients of surgeons than men and even when they were operated on they were by no means symbols of the Cult of the Beautiful dead. See Before the Operation by Henri Gervaux,” You wait for them to find the print of the painting, “It is a portrait of Dr Pean, a French Surgeon, and depicts the moment before an operation on a young woman and fits into the ideal of the Cult even though the woman is anaesthetised and not dead.”

In this fashion you continue your lecture, moving across the stage discussing the sexualisation of the female body in medical art and the realities of surgery in comparison. You’re highly aware of Dr Jones’ eyes on you as you move across the stage, to the point that you stumble at points in your oration. As time goes on you find yourself relaxing under his gaze, accepting that he is here purely out of interest, not to judge you or pass criticism. His active engagement with your lecture, the notes you can see him scribbling down in a notebook, is rewarding and reassures you that he is enjoying himself even on a topic so far removed from his own studies of ancient civilisations and centuries old artefacts and skeletons.

You reach the end of your lecture, returning to the podium and straightening your skirt, “Are there any questions?”

Hands pop up across the room, but it is one in particular that you are drawn to. You don’t expect him to ask questions, you don’t expect him to have any, but you are a little scared to hear what he has to say. It shouldn’t scare you, this active academic engagement, the meeting of minds, but you so desperately do not want to make a fool of yourself.

“Dr Jones?” You gesture for him to go on and ask and he stands in response. Tugging at the tweed waistcoat and adjusting his glasses on his nose.

He smiles at you as he begins, “Dr Y/L/N,” He addresses you by your title, formal and respectful. You are reminded, once more, that he has never failed to treat you as an equal. Unlike some of the other male professors, “I was just wondering what your opinion was on the eroticisation of death in this period?” You let out a little laugh, for no reason other than a little relief at the ease with which you can answer that question.

“Thank you for your question Dr Jones, well art such as Hasselhorst’s helped to eroticise death in the 18th and 19th centuries, death became equated with beauty, even if the reality of the dissection room failed to live up to the standards of the Cult of the Beautiful Dead. What we see is death portrayed often as a young woman. She is often portrayed as beautiful with long flowing hair, a fair face, a soft pale body, naked, open to the eye and most importantly passive. The dead woman in this period is a passive object, dead, yet sleeping, immortally captured at her most beautiful and unable to object to any sexualisation or objectification. She cannot talk back. Death is an obsession of the Victorians and it’s prevalence in medical art like Hasselhorst’s shows just how deeply connected death, beauty and the erotic became at this time.”

“Do you think we’ve continued that desire for passivity today? The way in which we expect women to act?”

“What do you think, Dr Jones?” You turn the question back on him, eager to hear his opinion, knowing that your own certainly sees the way 1930s society demands passivity from women even if death is no longer eroticised in the same way.

“I think we’ve perpetuated that desire for passivity from women within our society, demanded they hold their tongue, keep themselves in check and in place and as objects of desire, but not too much or else they’re no longer respectable. I think we expect women to be passively sexual, unknowingly so, innocently so, yet they must be attractive else their worth is diminished. An outspoken or intelligent woman is demeaned, pushed out from academics or workplaces. Don’t you agree?”

“I do.” You take a moment, give him a smile before answering the next question and the next and the next. You expect him to leave like many of the other members of the audience once his question has been answered, instead he stays, listens to your responses to each question and pays you rapt attention.

You find yourself even more interested in Dr Jones than you were before. His acknowledgement of the treatment you and other women have faced when attempting to make a name in a career or in academics is refreshing and his engagement with your lecture is enjoyable and endearing. You curse him a little for making your crush, your infatuation deeper simply by coming to your lecture.

You find yourself packing up your notes at the end, listening to the sound of feet leaving as you grab your notes and stuff them into your leather satchel. A tall shadow falls over you as you heft the bag onto your shoulder and you smile up at Dr Jones as he stands before the podium notebook in hand, he folds the glasses off of his nose and pockets them.

“How did you enjoy the lecture, Dr Jones?” You run an anxious hand through your hair and twist your wide hips in a nervous movement, always finding yourself a little flustered when one on one with the man. There’s a part of you that worries about coming under scrutiny from him, the part that has so often been judged in life for your gender, your area of study, and your weight. Years of nasty comments, suggested diets and family obsession with the size of your body had created a paranoia almost, a sense of expectation. You were just waiting for the scrutiny to be voiced.

“It was one of the most interesting lectures I've had the pleasure of watching. You should write a book, it might be a worthy next research project and please call me Indiana.”

“Only if you call me by name. I think we can both drop the doctor? I wasn’t expecting to see you here, I...I didn’t think the Victorians would interest an archaeologist.” In truth the idea of Indiana Jones wanting to learn about people not long dead, a period which rarely requires archaeological excavation and has few true mysteries, had never crossed your mind.

“In all honesty?” There’s a pause as he looks away from you with a charming smirk before turning back to you, teeth showing through his smile. “You interest me. I’ve read all your books, all your papers, every time you lecture I stop at the door and listen. You’re a compelling orator.”

“You listen to my lectures?” You can feel warmth flooding your cheeks, your neck, your ears at his admission. Feel a familiar sense of butterflies flapping about in your stomach. You look down briefly, smiling at the ground before meeting his blue eyes again.

“When I have time, surprised you haven’t noticed me hovering in the doorway. You really are one of the best academics I've ever met.”

“I...thank you.” You’re a little lost for words, you have barely shared more than a few polite conversations with Indiana, too intimidated to talk in depth with him and yet here he is extolling your values and praising you.

“Don’t let Dr Carr convince you otherwise.” He taps his fingers in a rhythm on the wood of the podium, looking away from you and towards the door where you can see the much older Dr Carr standing waiting impatiently for you to leave the room for his next lecture.

“You heard...the other day.” You think back to the argument you’d gotten into with the old professor over his sexist attitude towards you, his constant demeaning comments. You had thought it had been a private argument, but it seems not. You were still rather angry about the whole thing in truth.

“Yeah, look he’s old school. Doesn’t think women should have degrees or PhDs, ignore him. You’re a better academic by far and he’s just angry that he’s been passed over for the chair again. He’s a washed up old academic, he’s only still got a job because the Dean feels bad for him.” He says the last part loudly, on purpose you’re sure, loud enough for Dr Carr to hear and turn a glare on him. You know he won’t say anything to him though, Dr Jones was the university’s prized archaeology professor, he brought in more artefacts than the other’s combined and more students. Dr Carr wouldn’t say a bad word against him. Couldn’t. It was enjoyable to watch the old fuddy professor go red in the face and huff at the doors.

“I don’t know what to say. I...Thank you. I know we don’t...we don’t really talk, but thank you, I. It’s been hard joining the faculty, it’s a very masculine environment and I...it’s nice to know there’s someone in my corner.” You think to your Grandfather telling you that academics would make you barren, cause you to go insane, think to your mother telling you to find a nice husband and settle down, that you should desire the life of a housewife alone. It has been very difficult simply getting this far and to know you have him in your corner, someone in your corner means a great deal, in a new city, a new job, a new career.

“Always.” The two of you stand there in silence, just staring at each other, despite the impatient noises being made at the door by Dr Carr. You grip the satchel strap tighter over your shoulder and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Would you like to get some coffee?”

“Now?” You don’t have any more lectures for the day, just your office hours later to answer any student questions, but the offer still surprises you.

“Yeah, I don’t have a lecture until later and...if you’re free I have more questions.” He holds up the notebook, little post notes coming out of the side, it’s thick from writings and usage. It flatters you that he’s so interested in what you have to say, in your mind. You think it might be more of a compliment than anything physical.

“So it’s entirely professional then, Dr Jones?” You’re not sure where the confidence comes from to cause the words to fall from your lips, to cause a little smirk to lift at them as you look at him over the top of your glasses. Flirtation is one area you are not confident in, despite it all.

“Well, I wouldn’t say entirely, sweetheart...I’d like to get to know you better.” He’s utterly too charming for his own good you think and too charming for your poor little heart, but despite any concerns you have, any worries about his intentions you still find yourself agreeing. You’ve wanted to get to know him better for so long, too scared to talk to him in more than passing that you can’t let this opportunity pass you by. Refuse to.

“That sounds...lovely.”

“Shall we?” He offers his elbow out to you and you take it, wrapping your arm through his and pulling yourself to his side. He is taller, broader, and warmer than you. He smells woodsy and a little like black coffee and everything about this moment has your heart skipping a beat.

“We shall.”

You take great pleasure in the dissatisfied sneer on Dr Carr’s face as the two of you walk arm in arm out of the lecture hall.

----

Taglists:

@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929 @trasheater

#plus size reader #secret's out saga #alloftheimaginesblog #indiana jones x reader #indiana jones #indiana jones/reader #female reader #female identifying reader #indiana jones reader insert #indiana jones readerinsert

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blush-and-books · 4 years

Text

i am always yours

canonverse juke one-shot, light angst with a happy ending :) as a part of the effort to get juke back on the tumblr fandometrics ship list! title from the end of all things by p!atd. again, fuck brendon urie, but i’ve had this hc about luke for awhile (you’ll see what i mean) and had to get this out! <3 enjoy!

When Julie told Luke about Panic! At The Disco, she didn’t just give him a list of songs to check out. She advised to listen through entire albums.

“You have a lot to catch up on,” she said, grinning over a mug of steaming tea. Her smile could convince him to do anything. “And these guys were a phenomenon. Despite… A lot that has happened with their lead singer, you’ll appreciate the music. Just give it a try when you feel like it.”

Julie never rushed him on anything. It was one of the things he loved most about her -- she only really insisted he know how to use her phone and the internet and maybe know some memes, but the rest was up to him. She loved him -- he hoped -- even if he wanted to stay in 1995.

However, whenever she told Luke to do something, like “look into it if you’re interested” or “check it out if you’re ever bored,” he would jump on it in an instant.

He wondered if she ever noticed. Acts of service was one of those love language things that Flynn was always talking about, right? Does making the effort to show an interest in the other person’s life by listening to every album by a band they like count?

He would ask Reggie or Alex, but Reggie doesn’t have much experience in the love department and Alex and Willie are much better at communicating than he is with Julie.

To be clear: Luke doesn’t have experience either. In fact, Reggie probably has more romantic experience between the two of them.

But none of it was as serious. This weird thing he has with Julie; this undefined, label-lacking supernova of passion and emotion that he has curled up in his chest is so strong sometimes it hurts. When Julie was upset at him and ignored him, it felt like the time his mom took his guitar and locked it away for a week.

But when Julie is around, and she’s smiling at him, he could swear that not even a roaring audience could spark the kind of nirvana he feels.

So, the day after she gives him the name of every Panic! album to date, she goes to school for six hours and he sneaks her laptop down to the garage and starts his deep dive.

(Yes, Julie gave him computer privileges. He knows boundaries. She’s just broadened hers.)

Blissfully and with few interruptions from his other bandmates, he goes through the first albums quickly. He skips most of Pretty Odd -- Julie should have warned him about that one -- and is enjoying himself until he gets to the later projects which are significantly less his sound.

But he keeps going. He reaches their album from 2013, which has this neon-angsty-alt-pop vibe that he honestly has a neutral opinion on. The songs are all good until he realizes that half of them have a painfully romantic overtone that ropes his mind back to Julie every time he tries to stray.

Fuck, one of the songs is literally titled Girl That You Love. How is he not supposed to have a montage of Julie in his head?

And then some shit called Far Too Young To Die comes on, and yes, he agrees, he was far too young to die. He also vows to never listen to it again in the next 24 hours because he is ultimately tempted to loop it until Julie comes back and kiss her breathless the second that she walks through the door.

Moving on, Collar Full doesn’t make things much better. He is sick and tired of waiting and dancing around his feelings for her, and every time they are together he is filled to the brim with lyrics and love from just minutes in her presence.

(“If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I want to go” definitely shatters him. But only briefly. He wants to soak up every ounce of love he can get from her before the world catches up to them and he’s crossing over without his consent.)

Luke thinks that he’s out of the woods when he hits the album-ending ballad, The End of All Things.

And then he sees that he’s still in the thick of it.

The way it hits him is nearly indescribable -- but every line hits like a read-aloud of his diary.

No matter where he is, or where he ends up, his soul will always belong to Julie Molina. And that’s the truth of it. He can cross over or the band could break up and he could wander the planet as a lost ghost for the rest of eternity, but his soul will linger; tied with Julie’s in an unsolvable knot.

He is hers.

He is hers, he is hers, he is hers.

And he’s in love with her.

He can’t ask her to love him back. But he can hope, right? For just a single moment where they can lay together and be Julie and Luke like they should have been.

The tears on his cheeks and under his eyes don’t register until they are streaming down his neck and onto the pillow that he’s laying on.

He doesn’t deserve Julie, he knows that. And he knows how fucking selfish it would be to even try. But sometimes the wanting reaches inside of him and individually snaps each and every one of his ribs, and that feeling keeps him pushing and pulling like the tide. Get close to her, make her smile, make her laugh.

Leave her alone. Stop flirting. Don’t you dare hurt her.

Think about somebody other than yourself.

This song, he ends up looping. Over and over and over until his emotions are exhausted and he doesn’t have any tears left to cry. He’s on his… Probably his ninth listen when the doors crack open, and the piano music is leaking out of the garage as Julie slips in.

“Luke! Hey, uh… Oh! You’re listening to Panic!”

He guiltily allows his heart to skip at the pleasant surprise in her smile. Clearing his throat, he swipes his hands viciously across his cheeks to rid of the tear stains and shoots her one of his classic smiles. “‘Course, Boss. You told me to.”

Her backpack hits the coffee table as she slowly approaches the couch to settle next to him. “Yeah, well… I didn’t actually expect you to. People normally just say ‘yeah, I’ll check it out!’ and then no one talks about it again.”

Something rubs him the wrong way about her not thinking that he would actually follow through with her recommendation. Does she doubt him? How does she not know that she could say jump and he would ask how high?

“Well, I’m not normal people. I care about what you care about.”

He knows he got her when she averts her eyes to Alex’s drums across the room; giving Luke a perfect view of her blush. Maybe he lets himself revel in it for a moment longer than necessary.

“Anyways, how was school? Did you have a good day?”

“It was fine,” she shakes off her previous flusteredness, tucking her leg under her body so that she can turn to fully face him. “But there's nothing to tell. I would much rather hear about what you thought of Panic! And you have to tell me why you were wiping tears off of your face when I came in.”

Luke mirrors her position and gives her a joyful grin, trying to ignore the fact that she clearly noticed him trying to clean his face and wants to talk about it. The two of them have been so good at communication, and if it were about anything else, he would tell her.

But he was nearly sobbing because of how much he loved her and couldn’t have her, so…

“They were pretty cool, I’ll give it to you. I liked the album… Vices and Virtues?” Julie nods her head. “Yeah, that one. I was finishing the Vegas one when you got home.”

“Did you like it? The album you just finished. It sounded like End of All Things when I came in.”

With wide eyes and an exaggerated nod, Luke is praying internally that she will move on and go on a tangent about her favorite albums and songs because he just wants to listen to her talk and quietly love her instead of dodge questions about his emotions.

“Okay, and did you like it? Is that-” She chuckles. “Is that what got you emotional? I mean, I get it, that song hits different sometimes, but-”

Luke stays quiet. If he keeps his mouth shut, and just smiles and stares and nods, it won’t slip.

“... Luke? Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, of course!”

“... So? Are you… Are you okay? Did it remind you of your mom?”

It reminded me of you, he instantly corrects her with the little voice in his head.

But the voice sounds louder than usual, and then Julie’s eyes widen, and Luke couldn’t even smile and nod well enough to cover this up. Since when is he so bad at bottling up his emotions?

Right. Since he couldn’t write songs about his feelings. Because if he did, Julie would see them, so every word of affection toward her was shoved into an overflowing filing cabinet in his brain that was probably waiting to explode at any moment.

“It- Really?”

Mental checklist: She isn’t running away. She isn’t crying. She isn’t running away while she’s crying.

She isn’t slapping him, or screaming at him, or expressing any negative emotions.

Maybe he can push another inch… Just for some relief.

“Y- Yeah.” The single word takes considerable effort to stutter out, but he says it.

Julie formulates her next move. “And… Like, what about it? What reminded you of me?”

Is Luke imagining things, or did she just shift closer to him? Oh, God. The selfishness has already done it’s damage. He’s initiating something that he definitely shouldn’t for both of their sake, but-

God, why does she look so pretty?

“Y’know,” he scratches the back of his neck, “the… The lyrics.”

“The lyrics?” “Yeah.”

“Which ones?”

She’s leaning in. Her fingers are trailing up the side of his leg, and he wants to poof himself out of this conversation but what would hiding do? Just create a bigger gap between them?

His mom always told him he was selfish. He really, really doesn’t want to be selfish to Julie. He wants to protect her. He wants to put her health and happiness and life before his. Hurting her will never give him peace.

Is he being selfish either way? Telling her his feelings to make himself feel better, and avoiding his feelings because he thinks it will be better without talking to her about it -- neither are ideal, are they?

His hand, which was previously resting in his lap, inches down to brush against hers. “The first verse…” Their index fingers wrap around each other. “And the chorus, and the second verse…”

Both of their hands tangle until Luke doesn’t even remember what his hand looked like before, because all he sees is a bronze-ivory marble of skin and he knows he doesn’t ever want to see his hand without hers again.

“Luke…”

“Yeah, Boss?” “Why were you upset?”

She really won’t let it go. She clearly knows him too well, because he would hope any other person would be distracted by the fact that they were about to kiss, but this is Julie. They’re friends first. Family first.

He owes her honesty, doesn’t he?

“Because the song was right,” he answers, staring deadlocked at their joined hands. “No matter where I am, or how much time goes by… It’s gonna be you. On my mind. My feelings will never change.”

He can’t tell, but Julie’s heart ignites in her chest.

“Feelings? What-”

Somehow, the words still don’t want to come out. The eight letters are resisting every opportunity she has offered him, so he resorts to actions and cuts her off by raising their joined hands to kiss the back of her hand.

His lips linger before their union drops back into the space between them.

“... Oh.”

“Yeah.”

In a moment of courage, Luke peeks up at her, just to see how she looks. If he can read everything she’s feeling in a millisecond of a glance.

There are tears in her eyes.

“Whoa, Jules, why are you crying?” “Why were you crying?”

“Because I’m afraid of doing this!” Her hand tightens around him at his volume. “Julie, I- I don’t want to do anything selfish. I can’t have you thinking I’m selfish. I’m afraid of-” He has to take a deep, shaky breath. “When we hold hands or when you smile at me and I just feel so much and then I tell myself that I can’t, because you have so much ahead of you, and I don’t even know what’s in my future.”

The tears well in her eyes. “What would you be doing that’s selfish, Luke? You have a second chance at life. You should fucking live it. You have a future, and it has the boys, and the band, and me. I’m in your future.”

There’s a beat, because he’s looking at her, and he wants to cry but he wants to say it so badly.

He still doesn’t know how much time he has in the future, but Julie is telling him that she’ll be there. And he needed that more than anyone would understand.

“Well, aren’t I?”

Julie’s question shocks him a little because he hadn’t realized that he had been quiet for so long. Her bottom lip trembles the smallest amount when she sucks in a deep breath, and it sets him off to do what he had once deemed to be the most selfish act of all.

His free hand tucks itself in the hair on the base of her neck and tugs her towards him before he covers her mouth with his in a kiss that he has furiously dreamed of for a long time. For such a sweet moment, there is an overload of passion behind it. All of his fantasies were rushed and adrenaline-fueled after shows before he would talk himself down; and now, that is translating to this kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps as he pulls away. “That’s the selfish thing I was worried about. Fuck, I-”

Her hand wrestles free from his, and suddenly, two hands are on his cheeks like the night after the Orpheum and the love of his life is pulling herself into his lap. On autopilot, he untucks his leg from underneath him and shifts to sit normally on the couch while Julie’s legs hold her up on each side of his hips.

And she’s kissing him again, touching him again, before he can let the panic set in. She moves her lips against his like she has her own overflowing filing cabinet of feelings and fantasies and lyrics just for him.

Her hands wondrously drain every jolt of worry and anguish from his nervous system as they run from his face to his arms to his chest and back again. Kissing Julie Molina is a thousand little feelings and it’s own feeling in itself.

When you get cold water from a water fountain and it’s so refreshing that you insatiably want more. When the set ends and Luke is taking his bows and watching people scream and clap for their performance, knowing once again he’s succeeding in the one thing he’s ever wanted to do.

Only now, making music is now tied with making Julie happy on that list of priorities.

Holding her under his hands is stupidly one of his favorite things, and in this context, it is leaving him clawing for more. He applies more pressure against her back to try and press her closer, but it never feels like enough.

Julie is an endless fountain of fervor, and he can only drink up everything he can get.

She’s the one who pulls away this time; but she keeps her fingers knotted in his hair because she plans to not stray far.

“You’re not selfish,” she sighs, chest heaving with deep breaths. “If you think that’s selfish, then I’m selfish. And we can do this together. We deserve it.”

Hearing the words tumble from her lips cancels out every fight he’s ever had with his mother.

She’s right -- they do deserve it. She shut the world out for a year, he was locked away from the world for 25, and by some miraculous turn of fate, they were brought to each other.

“We deserve it,” he repeats, a little distracted by her blown pupils and delirious smile. “We deserve it.”

They lean in at the same time to fall back into one another like it’s a new routine they’ve set. Luke doesn’t say the words, not yet, at least-

Because like she said, they deserve this. Julie Molina is on his lap, in his arms, playing him with her soft hands like his skin is the ivory keys she’s been playing since childhood. He loves her, and he’s pretty sure that she loves him -- so maybe, even though the future is uncertain, he can just wait a little longer to tell her. There’s simultaneously less of a delay and less of a rush.

Later, when they’re in her room and staying up way too late for a school night in deep discussion, he mumbles it against her forehead while she has her head tucked into his shoulder and their shared earbuds are playing The End of All Things.

Any concerns of selfishness fade when she wastes no time in reciprocating his declaration and punctuating her feelings with a cripplingly soft kiss above his collar bone.

If any of this is selfish, they can be selfish together. Luke can find himself to be content in that if Julie is right there with him.

tags: @lydias--stiles @bluefirewrites @willexx @moreflowersthanweeds @ruzek-halstead @xxprettylittletimebombxx @unsaid-emily

#juke #jukebox #jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfic #juke fanfic #julie molina #luke patterson #julie molina x luke patterson #palina

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emy-loves-you · 3 years

Text

(Slightly) Less Useless, (Definitely) Gayer Chapter 8

Interrogations

Janus doesn’t get a lot of time to be alone with Virgil’s boyfriends, but it’s those few moments that truly count.

Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9

Janus Williams was a busy man. He was the CEO of Hydra Hydraulics, and even with Thomas as their manager, Janus made sure to have a say in the financial and legal dealings of The Dark Sides. When he wasn’t working, Janus was spending time with Remus and/or Virgil. Because of this, Janus didn’t have many personal hobbies, nor did he have enough time to properly interrogate Virgil’s boyfriends. Even though the four of them had been living together for over a month (and dating for 3), Janus still did not fully trust the three men who claimed to love Virgil. Sure, his suspicions had significantly lessened since he first spoke to Logan all of those months ago. But if there was one thing that Janus learned from his parents, it was that people can have multiple faces, some of which they’re not even aware of possessing. Janus frequently flipped through multiple faces like they were simple party masks. He was harsh and unyielding when dealing with Hydra Hydraulics. He was sly and mysterious when playing as Deceit. He was sarcastic yet caring when interacting with Virgil and Remus. He was vulnerable and completely head-over-heels when he kissed Remus behind closed doors.

Janus knew about people being two-faced or even three-faces (hell, Janus himself was four-faced), and he suspected that Virgil’s boyfriends weren’t all that they seemed. There had to be something that he didn’t know. And Janus was going to find out what it was.

And if those faces had the potential to hurt Virgil?

Well, Mother and Father taught him to always have a fifth face, just in case.

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Janus sighed as he changed out of his suit. He’d spent the past few hours dealing with stupid employees, and right now he wanted nothing more than to relax and watch some shitty romcoms. Normally he’d watch them with Remus and Virgil, but both of them were busy. Remus was doing something with Roman (some sort of spa day?) and Virgil was spending the day with Logan and Patton.

Just as Janus sat down with his snake-themed pajamas and face mask (because self-care is necessary) his phone went off. Janus sighed, expecting it to be one of the supervisors with a stupid question. He blinked when he saw the caller ID.

Patton Morale

Even though Janus had given Virgil’s boyfriends his number (in case there’s an emergency) he didn’t actually expect Patton to text him. Janus quickly unlocked his phone and read the text.

P- (3:46 PM) Hey, Janus! Are you busy right now?

P- (3:46 PM) You don’t have to respond if you’re busy! I was just wondering

Janus frowned at the texts. This sounded nothing like Patton’s happy, quirky self. He sounded like Virgil back before he’d gotten close to Janus. While he was mainly sarcastic and rude, there were times where he was really anxious and vulnerable. Janus decided to answer truthfully.

J- (3:47 PM) I am doing nothing important at the moment. What do you need?

P- (3:47 PM) Oh, I was just wondering if you wanted to bake some cupcakes today. I know how happy you were when you made breakfast for Remus, and I thought baking would be fun!

J- (3:47 PM) Would you prefer to do this at my house or Virgil’s? While I have a bigger kitchen and better cooking supplies, I don’t believe I have most of the ingredients.

P- (3:48 PM) Your house is fine! I’ll bring the ingredients over

J- (3:48 PM) Then I will see you when you arrive

Janus sighed as he turned off the TV. He then went upstairs to change into something more presentable. Sure, he was skipping his self-care day, but this was the perfect opportunity to learn more about Patton.

Fifteen minutes later, Patton stood in his doorway, multiple bags of ingredients in each hand. “I thought we could try different types of cupcakes,” Patton explained as Janus took a few bags to carry. “I have the ingredients for vanilla, chocolate, and red velvet. Plus, I thought we could make some homemade frosting!”

When they prepared the first batch of cupcakes (vanilla), Janus was silent as Patton led him through each step. When they got those in the oven, they decided to prepare the chocolate cupcake batter next. Janus didn’t notice any major changes in Patton’s behavior until they put the chocolate cupcakes in the oven and let the vanilla cupcakes cool. Janus made the red velvet batter on his own while Patton made the icing for the vanilla cupcakes. Patton had started humming a tune under his breath as he stirred the icing. It took Janus a moment to realize that he was humming the tune of Lies, one of Janus’ songs. Janus had to admit, Patton was good at humming the lyrics. Patton hit all of the muffled notes, and even paused for the right amount of time instead of skipping it. Janus smiled as he hummed along, making sure to keep his voice low. It took a few minutes for Patton to realize that he was duetting.

Patton yelped as he dropped his spoon. “Sorry, I didn’t even realize I was humming! That must’ve been really annoying. I’m sorry, I’ll stop rambling now.”

Janus frowned. “Patton, you weren’t annoying me. I was humming along. I’m a rock star, it was flattering to hear you hum my song. And you have a lovely voice.”

Patton blushed, but there was something else in his eyes. “T-thanks.” He turned back to the icing, and Janus let it go.

There were several instances after that where Patton would move to do something fun or silly and stop halfway through. He would hum the first few words of a song before going dead silent. He would move as if to twirl or do a grand hand gesture before stopping abruptly. He would open his mouth to (Janus assumed) give a cheesy pun, but no sound would come out. Every time, Janus would let it slide. He assumed that Patton was still embarrassed over the humming incident.

But the final nail in the coffin came when Patton went to get the chocolate cupcakes out and caught his arm in the oven. He yelped and Janus immediately ran over to reopen the oven. Patton quickly pulled his arm out, still gripping the cupcake tray. He sat the tray down on the stove while Janus moved to check his injuries. Patton immediately shied away. “I’m fine, just clumsy ol’ Patton!” He started mumbling to himself. “Stupid, clumsy Patton.”

Janus grabbed Patton’s wrist, forcing him to face Janus. Janus turned off the oven before leading Patton to the nearest bathroom, where he knew a medkit was. He knew enough about burn injuries from the few times Virgil or Remus would burn themselves. Patton had a nasty looking burn along his forearm, which Janus treated to the best of his ability. After a few minutes, Janus spoke up. “What’s wrong? Besides the burn, of course.”

Patton stared for a moment before smiling. “Nothing’s wrong, silly! Why would anything be wrong?” Janus could practically taste the lie.

“You’ve been acting odd all day. Did something happen?”

Patton shook his head. “No! Nothing’s happened. I promise.” Janus frowned but conceded, refocusing on the bandages. Patton seemed to be telling the truth, but Janus would talk to Virgil about it, just in case.

Later, Janus and Patton were icing the chocolate cupcakes. They had decided not to make the red velvet cupcakes, and the batter was sitting in the fridge. Patton was silent as he meticulously iced each cupcake. Janus was sneaking glances every few minutes, trying to figure out if the silence was from their earlier conversation or if Patton was naturally silent when he iced cupcakes.

Patton’s hands suddenly shook a little, and Janus watched as he made an uneven pattern on the cupcake. Nobody would even notice or care, but it seemed to make Patton’s shaking worse. “S-sorry.” Patton stuttered out, and Janus suddenly realized that Patton was crying.

Janus carefully grabbed Patton’s chin with two fingers and forced him to face Janus. Patton’s eyes remained glued to his hands. “Patton, please look at me.” It took a moment, but Patton slowly looked up into Janus’ eyes, and his entire body started shaking. “Patton, tell me what’s wrong.”

Patton took a shaky breath. “I-I’m fine, really.” When Janus didn’t let go of his chin, Patton caved in. “It’s just… some days there’s a not-so-nice voice in my head. I’ve always had it, and I don’t like being alone when the voice gets loud. Usually, I’ll have one of the others there to keep me company. But Ro’s spending time with Ree, and Lo is on a date with Virgil. I thought I could spend the day with you, but all I’ve done is make you worry and I’m so sorry you have to deal with me-”

Janus tightened his grip on Patton’s chin, and Patton stopped talking. Janus took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking. “I… have a not-so-nice voice as well.” Patton’s eyes widened, and Janus took that as a sign to continue. “My parents weren’t good people. It took a lot of convincing on Virgil’s part for me to realize that they were hurting me. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. Some days I hear a voice telling me that they were right. It tells me that I’m worthless, and it tells me to do things that I know I shouldn’t do. On the days around my birthday they get really loud, and I can’t hear anything else. Remus and Virgil have to keep a constant eye on me or I’ll do something I’ll regret. That’s how I got this scar.” Patton’s eyes immediately go to the scar on Janus’ face. “I had just wanted the voices to be quiet, but they only got louder-”

“But you have a reason to have voices!” Janus looked back at Patton, who was still crying. “You were hurt! I wasn’t! My voice has always been there, and I’ve never had anything really bad happen to me. I have three amazing boyfriends and the job of my dreams! I don’t have a reason to feel like this! I’m just weak and stupid-”

“Stop.” Patton’s mouth snapped shut. “Just because you don’t have any trauma, does not mean that your voices are any less important than mine. They’re still there, and you came to me because you knew you shouldn’t be alone with just the voice. And the fact that you trusted me enough to come to me and tell me this… It means you're very brave, Patton. And I am honored that you trust me like that. And if you ever need me to help distract you from those thoughts, or if you just want to hang out, don’t be afraid to reach out.” He carefully took the icing bag from Patton’s shaky hands. “Now, why don’t we leave these here for a moment? I’ve found that making fun of shitty romcoms can really cheer people up.”

Patton nodded, tears still streaming down his face. “That sounds like fun.”

They entered the living room, and Janus suddenly realized that their clothes were covered in flour and other baking ingredients. “Come with me.” He led Patton upstairs and past his own room to another door. “This used to be Virgil’s room before he moved out, but he keeps a few sets of clothes in here for when he stays over.”

Patton frowned. “Janus, I’m quite a bit… wider than Virgil.” He blushed as he half-heartedly gestured to his own body.

Janus smiled softly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. And besides, Virgil prefers looser clothing, so I’m sure the clothes in here will fit you. Plus, I’m sure Virgil would appreciate seeing you in his clothes.” He saw Patton blush harder and smirked. He opened one of the drawers and picked out a baggy t-shirt and some sweatpants. “Put these on, and be careful of your bandages. I’ll change in my room, and we’ll meet downstairs. We’ll watch romcoms and give each other facials while we eat cupcakes. Does that sound reasonable?” Patton nodded. “Good, I’ll see you then.”

As Janus put on his snake pajamas for the second time that day, he contemplated the man in the other room. Janus had been afraid that Patton was secretly manipulative behind his caring persona, but he couldn’t have been further from the truth. Because under the face of bubbly joy and compassion, Patton was an injured soul, just like Janus.

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Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

Janus looked up from his philosophy book to look at Logan, who was reading a similar philosophy book. The two of them were alone in Janus’ library. Patton and Roman were both working, and Remus had dragged Virgil to some event going on downtown. Janus and Logan had no new information to share (*cough* gossip *cough*) so the two of them were enjoying each other’s company while reading. However, Logan’s phone had just started vibrating. Janus watched from the corner of his eye as Logan read the texts with a small smile on his face before answering.

“Did one of your boyfriends just text you?” Logan jumped slightly, apparently forgetting that Janus was in the room. He shook his head.

“No, it was just Sam. They’re my friend and classmate. I’m sure you’ve heard of Patton’s employee Katherine?” Janus nodded, remembering the stories that Virgil would tell about his interactions with Patton and Katherine (or Kyle, depending on the day). “The two of them have been in a romantic relationship for several years. Sam was just asking me for my opinion on where their next date should take place. They tend to overthink things a lot, and it can be amusing to read their mile-long text about how much they want this to be perfect for Katherine.”

Janus nodded before realizing something. “You said that Sam is also your classmate? I know you go to the local college, but what are you studying?”

Logan blushed. “Astronomy, along with a few classes in public speech and teaching. I wish to work at the local planetarium.”

Janus frowned. “You’re taking those classes, plus you bought a house and Patton’s bakery?”

Logan nodded. “We’ve taken out several large loans over the years. We’ve paid off the house loan and most of the loan for Patton’s bakery, but we’re still paying off the loans for my schooling.” He turned back to the book, and Janus blinked in surprise.

“You do know that we would help you pay for those loans, correct?”

Logan stared for a moment. “But they’re my loans. It’s my responsibility to pay them off. And ever since we started living with Virgil and no longer have to pay for housing, we’ve had more money saved up to pay them off.”

Janus’ eyebrows furrowed. “You deal with the finances too? I assumed that was something Patton dealt with.”

Logan shook his head. “I deal with all of our budgets and our daily schedules. The others tend to forget how much money or energy they are spending, so I have to be the one to ‘reel them in.’”

Janus pressed on. “Along with your college education and your job at the library? How do you have time for anything?” He knew he was a hypocrite for saying this, but Janus needed to know. Was Logan some sort of perfectionist, who needed to be in control of everything? Or maybe he didn’t actually do half of this, and he was lying? No, he couldn’t be lying. Janus was pretty good at telling when someone was lying, and Logan seemed pretty truthful.

Logan sighed. “In all honesty, I don’t. Every moment of my day is mapped out to make life easier for me and my partners. Today was supposed to be used to spend time with Virgil, but I understand he hasn’t had any personal time with Remus lately. Still, their planning was so sudden that I now have nothing to do for the next few hours, and it makes me feel… inadequate.”

Janus nodded, finally understanding. “You feel as though you must use your actions to prove your worth as a person and boyfriend. And when there is no action to be performed, you feel as though you failed. That’s why you keep yourself busy.” Logan nodded, and Janus sighed. “I keep myself busy for a similar reason. I do so to prove that I am more than what I was taught to be. I am a CEO, and a singer, and a friend, and a boyfriend. Not just a conniving snake or a whiny brat. I have a purpose, and I sometimes feel inadequacy when I’m not actively fulfilling it.” He set down his philosophy book, having lost the intention of continuing. “But Logan, you don’t need to spend every moment of your life proving yourself. I know for a fact that you could ask for just about anything, and Virgil would bend over backwards to make it happen. Because he loves you for you, not for your actions or your purpose. He loves you for your intelligence, and your love of sweets, and your desire to debate. He loves the way you scrunch your nose when he says or does something odd. He loves the fond exasperation you have every time he or Patton or Roman show grand displays of affection.”

Logan blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly. “He… does?”

Janus nodded. “Yes, he does. He tells me this almost every day. Every moment he’s not with you three, he’s thinking about you. He’ll go on for hours about how much the three of you mean to him. And Logan,” Logan blinked again. “Just because you like to be busy, doesn’t mean that you can’t rely on others. Physically, mentally, emotionally or financially. Virgil will do anything for you, and I’m willing to pull a few strings for someone who can make Virgil smile as bright as he has been over the past year.” Was Janus being a hypocrite about asking for help? Yes. Did Logan know this? Maybe, Janus couldn’t tell. But it didn’t really matter at the moment, as the two of them shared a smile before turning back to their books. Janus was happy to note that Logan’s posture was much more relaxed, and he seemed more interested in the book.

Janus smiled as he read his book. He had feared that Logan was cold and controlling. But behind his face of diligence and intelligence, Logan was a tired soul, just like Janus.

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“Roman, please tell me those swords aren’t real.”

Roman scoffed, twirling one of the swords in his hand. “No, but they’re authentic enough to be fun to spar with. So, do you wanna spar?”

Janus stared at the swords in Roman’s hands. They looked like fencing swords, with white and black hilts respectively. “And why do you wish to fence with me?” Roman had specifically asked Janus to meet him at Virgil’s house for this. He was the only one home at the time, so it was just the two of them in the backyard.

Roman sighed. “Because no one else would say yes and if I asked Remus he would find a way to turn it into a fight to the near-death.” He smirked. “Besides, imagine how hot you would look to Remus if you could fight with a sword.”

Janus sighed, taking off his coat and hat. “You’re not going to let me say no, are you?”

Roman smiled as he handed over one of the swords. “Nope! Now, here’s what you’ve gotta do.” Roman talked Janus through the proper stances and how to hold his sword.

After a few minutes of practicing, Janus asked the question that had been on his mind for a while. “Roman, where did you find these swords? And how do you know how to fence?”

Roman shrugged. “Since I’m friends with the owner, I’m allowed to keep a lot of the props from our plays. We just finished one that included a fencing scene. The other actress and I were given lessons on how to fence so we wouldn’t hurt ourselves.” He laughed, and Janus suddenly felt a chill go down his spine. “And now that I’ve given you equal footing.” He began moving his sword with much more speed and precision, and Janus struggled to block. Even though Janus knew that the sword couldn’t harm him too badly, seeing Roman like this made Janus’ defences kick into overdrive. “Now is the perfect time to ask about your intentions with my brother.”

Janus struggled to even comprehend the question as he blocked the blows. “What?”

Roman laughed again, letting up for a moment. “You heard what I said. What are your intentions with my brother?”

Janus huffed. “What are your intentions with Virgil?”

Roman smiled as he continued striking with his sword. “My goal is to make my boyfriends feel just as much love as they make me feel. If they ever feel like my love for them is waning or falsified, then I have failed.” He put all of his force into the next swing, and Janus could no longer hold onto his own sword as it was knocked out of his hand. “But you dodged the question. What are your intentions with my brother?”

Janus then realized something. “You’re his next of kin.”

Roman frowned tilting his head. “Yes? What does that have to do with your intentions?”

Janus sighed, nearly slouching with relief. “My family has always been a stickler for traditions. While most of those traditions are homophobic or mysogynistic, there are a few that still mean a lot to me. One of them is getting permission from parents. All of my family is dead, so I only needed permission on Remus’ side. I told his parents of my intentions, but I was unable to get their permission. I’ve been spending the past few weeks wondering what I would do since I didn’t have their permission, but the two of you essentially disowned your parents. So naturally, permission would go to next of kin-”

“Janus!” Janus’ eyes snapped to meet Roman’s, and Janus suddenly realized that he was hyperventilating. “Look at me. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Match my breathing.” Janus forced himself to calm as he matched Roman’s breathing. Why was he so nervous? He had been completely calm and collected when talking to Mr and Mrs Prince. So why was this so much more special?

Because Remus cares about Roman. Virgil cares about Roman. Roman had the ability to take away everyone that Janus had.

“Janus, look at me.” Janus tried to focus on Roman’s voice. “I know you’d never intentionally hurt my brother. Whatever you’re trying to say, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just calm down, collect your thoughts, and let it out.”

Janus did just that. He took a deep breath, collected his thoughts, and let it out. “I’m asking for permission to marry your brother.” There was silence. Janus tried to figure out what Roman was thinking, but his face was impassive. “Roman?”

“Does Remus know?”

Janus swallowed before shaking his head. “No, Remus doesn’t know. I’ve been worrying myself out of my mind for a while now. Besides, the four of you have provided enough chaos over the past few months. I wanted to wait until things calmed down before proposing.”

Roman pressed the tip of the sword to Janus’ neck. “If you so much as think about hurting Remus, I will make you suffer a pain worse than death. I just got my brother back, and I’m not losing him to anyone.”

Janus closed his eyes. “If I ever hurt Remus in any way, I would wish for nothing more than to suffer for eternity.”

There was a moment of silence before the sword was removed. A hand was put on Janus’ shoulders and he suppressed a flinch. “I trust you.”

Janus’ eyes snapped open to meet Roman’s. His face showed nothing but compassion, a big difference from Janus’ shock. “What?”

Roman smiled. “You say you never wish to harm Remus, and I trust you. You have my blessing.” He leaned down and picked up Janus’ sword from the ground. “Would you like a rematch? And perhaps some assistance in proposing?”

Janus gave a shaky smile, accepting the sword. “Yes, to both.”

Janus smiled as he clashed swords with his future fiance’s brother. Janus had assumed that he was aggressive, like he’d shown himself to be in other instances. But behind the face of cockiness and pride, Roman was a protective soul, just like Janus.

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@itawalrus @arodynamic-enby @whatishappeningrightnow @idont-freaking-know @cute-and-angsty-prince @girl-who-reads @count-woe-laf @im-an-anxious-wreck @ent-is-undecisive @shadowylemon @stopthe-presses @the-sympathetic-villain @echo-goes-aaa @everythingisstardust

#Sanders Sides Fic #Useless Gays #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders

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write-like-you-mean-it · 4 years

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Shooting your Shot: Haikyuu Coffee Shop AU

“Sorry boss, I didn’t mean to be late,” I called while walking into the coffee shop. A little bell dinged as I scurried through the doorway. I grab the white apron that hangs on a hook to the left of the door. In one motion, I put on the small apron and tie it in the back. I flipped up the bar style door for the back of the shop.

Carrie shook her head as she brewed some espresso shots for one of the angry customers in the morning. “I’ve had to do the register and make drinks. You’ll owe me one later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I scoffed before going to pull my hair back and wash my hair. “I wasn’t expecting this many people to be here for the volleyball game. I didn’t even think volleyball was that big of a sport.”

It was Carrie’s turn to scoff as she called a random person’s name with their finished drink. I turn my attention to the ever growing line of caffeine deprived monsters. “Hello, welcome to the No Doze Cafe. What may I get for you?”

“A tall black coffee,” replies the person. I repeat his order back before asking for his payment. He seemed increasingly grumpy with my positivity.

“Thank you so much, sir. Your coffee will be down at the end of the bar Mr. Tsukishima,” I smile. He rolls his eyes before following my instructions. I chalked the interaction up at decaffeinated anger.

A few more customers went through my line before the bell rang. I turn my head to see the angry man from before greeting two guys in volleyball jerseys. A few of the guests stopped to turn the same. One of them was a taller than average guy with brown fluffy hair. His eyes caught mine before turning back to the angry blonde. The other guy was an energetic spas who seemed too infatuated with the rest of the shop.

I turned my attention back towards the line of customers as I tried to overhear anything the trio would say. All I wanted was to hear a name or some other defining feature of the brown-haired man from earlier. His smile was intoxicating. “I’d like an iced latte please,” said the customer a little louder than before. I turn my attention before apologizing and finishing taking the order.

“Thank you for stopping at-,” I started before overhearing a few girls come up to the group of boys. A hint of jealousy crossed my face before finishing my phrase.

“Hey boys,” called Carrie. “Are you going to order or could you not loiter at the door. We have some paying customers wanting to get inside.” As much as I loved my boss, she could be abrasive and too assertive at times. If I could, I would’ve shot daggers her way.

“So sorry,” said the smaller of the three men before walking towards the line. “We’ll order. We promise.” The line had shrunk significantly once the players had entered the shop. It must’ve been a new game starting or breakfast rush had slowed.

“I already got my coffee,” said the tallest man. “I’m going to go back to the arena so I’m not late for practice. See you both there.”

I took a few more orders before I was face to face with the two men I became most interested in. “You order first Shoyo,” said the taller of the two or the one that caught my interest the most.

“Okay! What’s your favorite?” asked the orange hair man. I didn’t even notice he was asking me until I stopped locking eyes with his friend.

“Oh,” I stuttered. “I enjoy an iced vanilla latte. It always seemed to pep me up when I feel down.”

“So a girl like you can get down. Nice to know,” smirks the taller guy. A blush crosses my face before nodding my head.

“I’ll take that,” he said. “In a small. Also, my name is Shoyo. I saw you were writing them on the cups from earlier.”

“Well thank you Shoyo. Your drink will be ready at the end of the counter,” I said. He paid and went down to wait for his friend.

Now that I was face-to-face with this man, my heart started beating a little bit faster. “What would you like?”

“Your number on a cup.” His eyes held a pretty boy twinkle and his mouth was a smirk. I roll my eyes. “No. I’m serious. I’d love to either get your number or give you mine.”

“Can I at least get a name first?” I question while pulling out a small cup.

“Toru Oikawa,” he said. “Plus I would want something a little bit bigger than that. I need some energy for my game today. How about an iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot. Put a little extra cream in there.”

“Right away,” I said while putting his name on the cup. “It’ll be at the end of the bar for you Mr. Oikawa.”

He looked towards the cup before turning to look back at me. “No number?” he asked. “I’m guessing you’re taken then? Boyfriend must be lucky.”

“I’m not taken,” I comment before handing the drink to my boss. She starts making the drink while trying to overhear new drama. “But I’m waiting to see how much you tip before I see if I should waste my time on a volleyball star.”

He chuckles before paying with a card. “Add ten dollars onto my bill and count that as your tip.” I took his card and slid it through while putting in the tip. On the bottom of the receipt, I put my number.

“When might you get off of work?” he asks. A few of the patrons groaned at the length of time.

“I get off at 5 or whenever my replacement arrives.”

“Damn. I have a game.” Oikawa pauses for a moment before taking the receipt. “If you come to watch, I’ll take you out for dinner afterwards. My treat. Just go up to the front and tell them Toru saved some tickets. You can bring a friend if you want but I’m the only one taking you to dinner.”

“Sounds like a date,” I smirk.

“Then it's a date,” he repeated before walking down to the end of the bar. He got his drink and left with his friend. After a few minutes, I felt a faint buzz from my phone which left a smile on my face for the rest of the day.

Part 2: The Date

#hq oikawa #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#coffee shop au #Oikawa #oikawa x reader #Maybe the series #Who knows #Please tell me if you enjoy it #no doze cafe

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unholyhelbig · 3 years

Text

[A/N: I finally updated "Dead Ivy" after a good year. Here is Chapter one if you haven't checked it out yet!]

Beca could feel the soil beneath her fingertips. It was soft, freshly overturned, and in a way, comforting. She was careful not to let her knees touch the ground- not privy to the dark stains that would splay against the fabric. The tree stood tall above her, stretching its large oak branches towards the pluming blue sky. A nice summer breeze tussled her hair, and she was sure that if she breathed in, she would smell freshly cut grass and chlorine from the neighbor’s pool.

The treehouse had long since been torn down to make room for her mother’s garden. Something that stood at the end of the fenced in yard. For a while, she grew tomatoes and zucchini. Beca could still remember the first red bulb that poked its head from the dirt. They made a salad from store-bought spinach and divided up the little thing, no bigger than a golf ball. It was still the best tomato that Beca had ever had.

She sighed at the hand that squeezed her shoulder gently. Her father smelled of aftershave and bourbon. His tie wasn’t fastened all the way to his white button down, and he had strung his suit jacket over his arm. He held a sad look that was shielded by the sun as Beca squinted at him. She pulled herself to her feet, feeling the age of her aching bones as she stepped back from the large oak tree and stared up at the branches.

“Do you remember when I fell out of this tree and broke my arm?” She asked.

Her fathers’ eyes crinkled at the memory as he gave her a sad smile. She had needed him to run beside her when he first took the training wheels off her bike. She had needed him when she learned how to drive and took out the Johnson’s mailbox. But when she dropped from a higher spot in the oak tree and felt something audibly snap, it was her mother that came to the rescue.

She had been clipping up sheets to the clothesline, claiming that the summer air was always better for stuff like that. A beautiful woman that would beam endlessly and cradle Beca in her arms with her stormy eyes and eerie calm. Beca needed that right now. Needed it to get through the handshakes and the hugs. The baked goods and casseroles that people deemed necessary when something like this happened.

“I do.” He chuckled wearily, “I got a call at work that something had happened. You scared the hell out of me that day, kid.”

Beca snorted at the nickname. She and her father had gotten along significantly better since she moved out on her own- took up a place and a prominent career across the country in Los Angeles of all places. She had, of course, taken time off work to come back for the funeral. To pull into the sleepy little Georgia town with a giant oak tree that shook in the summer breeze. She squinted at the bark, at the carving so crudely made by a grooved pocket knife.

C + B FOREVER & EVER

The second half was etched in different handwriting, something more elegant and thought out. It was funny, really. When they were kids, it was easier to think about the future in terms of relationships. Of course, they would always be with one another- they wouldn’t fathom being apart. But then college. Careers. Plane rides. Marriage, kids, and divorces. All inevitable. All anything but forever.

“She still lives around here, you know? Owns a little café in the far side of town.”

“That so?”

He grunted and sniffed away any feeling that still leaked in his voice. No one would question them for standing out here- but they still felt obligated to go back inside the old farm style house with the wrap around porch and the honeysuckle bushes. Beca didn’t know how he could still live here. “Yeah. You should pay her a visit while you’re here. I bet she’d like that.”

Beca simply nodded and let the tips of her fingers trace of the words that had been weathered over time, but they were still there. They had stood the test of time, unlike her treehouse. Unlike the little plants of tomatoes and zucchini that had rotted away to decaying vines that stretched like deadened ivy up the side of the fence.

“Right. Well, we should probably go back inside. The quicker we talk to everyone, the quicker they can go home and mourn their memories.”

It was a grim thing to say, but it was the truth, so her father let the words die in the air before sliding on the suit jacket to cover up the sweat stains against his dress shirt. She let her hand fall and looped it around his arm like he was escorting her down the carpeted floor of a chapel on her wedding day. Instead of white, she dawned black, though. And so, did he.

She thought that drinking and sadness walked hand and hand. It was why the only two bars in town did so well on any given night, and if things were bad, any given day. The other place, the snake eye, had karaoke on Friday nights and Beca didn’t think she was well equipped to listen to TLC, so she chose The Red Sun instead.

There were repurposed Christmas lights strung against the bottom of the counter, hot to the touch. A low rock ballad cracked over the loudspeaker. She wasn’t sure if the jukebox that changed light settings every few beats actually had a purpose or if it just ate up quarters. Either way, Beca Mitchell was in her own world.

She tilted her head back and let the bourbon burn on the way down. A nice and subtle sting that washed the taste of stale crackers out of her mouth. It was the only thing in her stomach- despite the spread that was now packed with tin foil in the fridge. Her father was drinking too, she was sure, at home in his study. The house was too quiet for her, though.

Beca felt a twinge of guilt in her gut.

She had ignored the last call from her brother. She was in the middle of the meeting, and at the time, the buzzing of her phone sounded louder than anything else in the world. She flushed instantly and clicked the side of the device before staring back down at her notes and sunk further into her seat.

He had died the next day, she had forgotten to call him back. A car accident and a drunk driver. Which, she supposed, defeated the purpose of being here- in this stupid some-hazy bar with nothing but time on her hands. She considered switching her flight to something earlier. But then reconsidered as quickly as the thought entered her mind. Her father needed her, at least for now.

“Beca Mitchell?” The voice startled her, it broke through the garbled focus of the next song. She blinked a few times and turned her head to the side. Stacie Conrad. She looked older, wiser even, but maybe that was the glasses. The smile on her face aged her, but in the best way. Still impossibly attractive, and confident, it seems. “Is that really you?”

“As I live and breathe.”

She winced at her use of words, but Stacie didn’t seem to notice as she quickly wrapped her in an awkward hug, Beca still half-sitting on a bar stool. Still, she craved the embrace and hugged back naturally.

“God, how are you?” She pulled away, “That’s a stupid question… I mean, as well as you can be, I hope.”

Before Beca could answer she lifted her hand in the air and signaled the bartender, the woman busied herself with preparing Stacie’s usual and pouring another sour edge of bourbon into Beca’s glass. She wasn’t sure if she would drink it or not, but she appreciated the sentiment behind it. Stacie settled into the seat next to her.

“I’m doing fine,” She finally managed, earning a detrimental look. “As well as I can be.”

The bartender set two glasses in front of them and Beca wrinkled her nose at it before focusing her attention on Stacie, the way her own drink looked like radioactive fluid. It was always the fruity things that packed the most punch. Not the gritty glass that she would be nursing for the rest of their conversation.

“I’m sorry to hear about him, you know.” Stacie finally said after a beat of silence.

Beca simply nodded. She was numb to the situation at this point. Her whole body felt like a lead pipe. She and Jason didn’t get along too well. He traveled the world and she resented him for that. But they played nice during the holidays and smiled for family pictures. He got divorced young, married even younger. It still ached her whole entire being.

“You and most of the town,” Beca chuckled dryly, begging for a change of subject. “I haven’t seen you in what? Eleven years?”

“Twelve. God, we’re old.”

She was thankful that her high school friend could take a keenly dropped hint. The two of them encircled the same click during those years. It was better than giving in to the southern tenacity of it all. They would smoke behind the bleachers and drink if they were feeling lucky. They usually were.

Beca caught a glimpse at the wedding band that took over Stacie’s finger. It was simple, not overstated with large diamonds. A simple one that was surrounded by two smaller stones. She smiled “You’re married now?”

She took another gulp of her fruity drink and hummed in response, instinctively twirling it around her ring finger. She got a goofy grin on her face and twirled slightly to make eye contact with Beca. Sure, she had seen the social media posts. The cute announcements and the picturesque scenes.

“Happily, at that, we invited you to the wedding, you know?”

“I know, I know. And I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“S’alright,” Stacie said with a beaming smile “Rose loves the panini press.”

Beca scoffed and picked up her glass, chancing a sip of the molten liquid. It hissed as she swallowed, and she blinked away the residual prick of pain that collected behind her eyes. Stacie glanced behind her at the group of girls that she had come in with- doctors like her, she supposed. They all had that tired professional look that the woman beside her carried.

“Listen, uh, how long are you in town? I’d love a chance to catch up in a setting with better lighting.”

“A couple of weeks, at most. We have to settle his estate.” She grimaced at the technical term. “I’ll be around.”

“We’ll catch up, promise?”

She gave Beca a squeeze on her shoulder and a sympathetic smile, but she didn’t say it again and Beca was thankful for that. She watched as Stacie went to the four other colleges that were in her inner circle. They all asked questions and cast wary looks her way- she lifted the glass and gave a smile before turning back to the bartender. She was cleaning out a glass and eyeing her.

“Promise,” Beca mumbled, tipping her head back the rest of the way, finishing the glass of bourbon she hadn’t even ordered.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #bechloe #bechloe fic rec #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fic

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mila-dans · 4 years

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Kiss and Tell: That Much

Chapter six of “Kiss and Tell”

Chapter Five: It’s Been an Eventful Week --- Series Masterlist: Masterlist?

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 1666

Summary: What happens when a Winchester winds up with a curse on his hands? Or more specifically, on his lips? Only chaos, comedy, and cuteness ensues.

Just So You Know: This series will have seven chapters which have already be written and posted regularly. It’s small and sweet but I really hope you enjoy it nonetheless. My apologies for, most likely, many mistakes. Let me know what you think! (Gif credit to the remarkable: @sasquatchandleatherjacket )

The ride back to the bunker was quiet. No music playing, no words spoken, only silent tears shed and looks of sadness dancing in the air.

Once the car was parked, you rushed out as quickly as possible and made your way to your room, passing by Dean's as you heard the Mystery Inc. theme song playing for what was sure to be the 280th time in a row.

You slammed the door to your room shut and hoped on your bed, curling up into a ball with your moose plushie as tears started to run down your face. You didn't know why you were so worked up about it all, you just were.

You've changed. Changed a lot. You have become a brand new person and sure the scars, bumps, and bruises that it took to get here is beautiful, but seeing someone who remembers the old you, it's scary. You wish that you could just change your name and move way, knowing all of your past would only be a faded memory. If only.

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Several minutes had passed by the time a knock came at the door. You didn't answer, not wanting anyone to bother you but not being able to find your voice either.

As the door opened, you moved so where you sat up against the headboard, wiping away tears, then folding your arms over your chest, closing off and shutting down the best you could.

Sam came in the room and shut the door behind him. You tried to avoid eye contact, sniffling every five seconds. You couldn't help but glance in his direction as you watched him put his hands in his pockets and lean against the back of the door.

He sighed, trying to draw attention to himself as he looked around the room casually.

You didn't pay him any attention.

He sighed again, louder than before, obviously trying to get you to look at him.

You glanced up for a split second, hoping to go undetected, and you watched as he whistled a little tune nonchalantly.

You knew what he was doing.

Sam then casually waltzed over to your bed, taking his time with each step as if he was strolling in the park. Once he got to the edge of your bed, he fell on it, not even minding having his back sprawled out over your legs. He was taking up all the room like a starfish.

You tried to move your legs from underneath the mammoth of a man but failed miserably. All he did was sit up and move forward to you. You should've seen this coming.

Sam sat up straight and turned to face you, your back still to the headboard, doing all you could to avoid eye contact.

"Oof," you let out in a grunt as the younger Winchester pulled you a little bit away from the headboard and then sat in your lap, facing you, moving his legs around your back, work boots and all, wrapping his limbs around you.

The 220 pound man sat right on top of you, staring right at you, grinning. He was mere inches away from your face, showing that stupid little smile of his, teeth gleaming, dimples… dimpling?

Sam put his elbows on your shoulders, using them to prop his head up in an annoying fashion. He started to fiddle with your hair, running his fingers through out it. He wasn't even trying to be nice, he was literally playing with it to the point where the front of your face was covered in hair where he moved it, attempting to start a braid.

"Sam," you mumble under your breath. He doesn't respond and just continues his braid, squirming to get more comfortable on your, significantly smaller than his, lap.

"Sam," you say again as you hear a happy little sigh coming from him, ignoring you. "Sam!" You shout as you whack his hands away and brush the hair from your face, seeing him for the first time in a while.

He looks at you with this stupid shocked and startled expression, with big eyes and a gasp coming from his mouth that is not helping you at all when trying to stay steady.

You clench your jaw, practically holding it tight, as you look at him dead in the eyes with a death stare. You don't break that easily.

Sam opens his eyes even bigger as he blinks and gives you a reenactment of how such a stupid look on his face came to be.

You broke.

You start to giggle and Sam smiles wider and wider, following up face as you try to hide your smile. You push him off of you but he comes back like one of those punching bags cause his boots are wedged between you and the headboard leaving him stuck.

"You're such a jerk!" You shout, doing what you can to sound mean and not like your laughing at every syllable. You try to stand up so where Sam can move away from you and when you pull him up to help him stand on your bed, he hits his head on the ceiling causing a burst of laughter from you.

Sam frowns as he takes his hand to the back of his head for a hit. The two of you sit down on the bed and you look to his hair just to check.

"You're fine, honey," you state with a smile as he tries to hold his in. "You're a jerk and a stupid one at that but you're still fine," you breathe out.

Sam rolls his eyes as he smirks at you. You stare at each other for a moment, reading one another's thoughts. It doesn't take a lot of brain power to know what you're thinking or even what Sam is thinking for that matter.

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam," you state solemnly, getting an unenthusiastic reaction from Sam. He shakes his head with a frown and you become quick to defend yourself. "Sam, come on! It's just something I don't want to talk about. I'm sure you don't even want to hear about it!" You laugh to yourself a little as you press on. "We both know that you'd much rather spend your time doing something else than spend it with me. You don't even like hanging out with me and that's perfectly okay! I don't like myself all that much either," you admit.

Sam hangs his head down low and scratches the back of his head as he stands and starts to walk out of the room. You grab him by his wrist but he tries to shake it off.

"Sam, don't be all pouty!" You exclaim, stopping Sam in his tracks, causing him to turn around and grab you by your shoulders, bringing you close as he gives you a quick kiss.

You stumble a little backwards, surprised at his actions. Sam quickly licks his lips and puts a hand on his hip.

"Do you really think that?!" He questions and you become slightly frozen in response. "Do you really think I don't like spending time with you or--or don't want to hear you talk?!" He asks, sounding offended by your previous words. You shake your head yes, confused on the matter.

Sam takes a deep breath and calms down for a moment as he runs his hand through his hair. He clears his throat and turns to look at you, dead in the eyes.

"Do you really think that I don't like you?" He asks with a hint of hurt and regret in his voice.

You say nothing but look at him with wide eyes.

"Guess I really screwed this up then, huh?" Sam mumbles to himself, probably hoping you wouldn't catch it but you did, causing you to place a hand on his shoulder and raise your eyebrows in question.

Sam looks down at you and you see confusion and sorrow in his eyes. The missing combo to what his eyes have been telling you all day.

"I've gotta go, Y/n," he states as he walks out the door and shuts it behind him.

You try to shout, yell, scream, call out, snap your fingers, clap your hands, anything to ask him what all of that was about but you get no response, just a head filled with confusion of what you may have done wrong.

You take a seat on the edge of your bed for just a moment, realizing it's been a long time since you'd seen Sam so distraught. Probably not even this kind of distraught. You don't know what to do or how to react. He literally took all the words from your mouth.

But, when you can't find the words, you make a hell of a lot of noise.

You stand up from your bed and burst out of the room, running to track Sam down. You catch a glimpse of his back and hear his feet walking away as he heads to the archive room.

You bang on the door as he shut it in your face, bringing out the impatient and angry temper tantrum child out of you.

"Just, go away Y/n!" Sam shouted from behind the door and you gave him more fist to wood frame pounding in response.

"I said go away, Y/n!" He says again. And people call you the childish one. 'People' being you because you know no other people.

You kick the door with your feet, hoping to break it down but don't even try with full force just in case you might fall on your face. Instead you let out a huff and smack the door one last time before you walk away.

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"Oh hey, Y/n," Dean says with a smile as you bust open his door and stomp inside. "You wanna watch this episode wi--"

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Let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged!

Tag list for my lovely ladies: @sl33pybo1 @captain-im-not-dead-yet @swallow-carrying-a-coconut @human-again-and-again

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radramblog · 3 years

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Radiohead Retrospective Part 5: I forgot what I was gonna call this one

The previous few entries in this retrospective have had a big old lead-in, about where the band was and how the next album came to be. This gets somewhat awkward now, as we discuss Radiohead’s fifth album, Amnesiac.

The issue is, this tracks on this album were recorded in the same session as Kid A, and it was released just over half a year later, so there isn’t as much to talk about. Kid A was, obviously, huge, but its success wouldn’t affect Amnesiac that much. I guess it got a bunch of music videos? Like, Kid A didn’t have singles, so it didn’t have either those or B-sides.

Regardless, despite being recorded simultaneously, Amnesiac is not truly cut from the same cloth as Kid A. It’s a titch more traditional and less electronic, bringing in jazz influences and classical stuff in addition to the electronica the previous album debuted. It also apparently has krautrock influences, but I don’t really know what that means, so perhaps we should just dive into it and find out.

Much like Kid A and Everything In Its Right Place, Amnesiac opens on an electronic line, albeit one that is slightly less iconic. Packt Like Sardines In a Crushd Tin Box (the spelling errors are not mine) is a substantially more muted introduction, driven by a scattered electronic percussion and a very low melody. The lyrics are pretty simple, but “I’m a reasonable man, get off my case” is kind of just a great, memeable line I’m sure people have had fun with.

Packt Like Sardines does unfortunately introduce us to a problem surrounding Amnesiac, and the discussion surrounding it. It is extremely often considered an outtakes album, a smattering of disconnected tracks, and I consider that completely unfair to the album’s design. However, Packt does inevitably invite comparisons to Everything, and it doesn’t compare favourably. I still really like the song, it’s soft and somehow comfortable in its coldness, but Everything is, well, everything.

This theme may continue.

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It is exceptionally frustrating that a higher-quality copy of this video isn’t available, because it’s really good.

There was a solid period where I considered Pyramid Song my favourite Radiohead track. It is impossibly deep, and beautiful, and above all else evocative. I have no idea why it’s called the way it is, a name echoing either geometry or the ancient past, but the little piano loop Pyramid Song is built upon is just…so much. The lyrics aren’t especially complex, but they manage to capture a very specific emotion of loss and grief, but of absolution, and just hnnng.

If you didn’t watch the video, by the way, go fucking do that. It might have the graphics of an early 00s video game cutscene, but it is genuinely as evocative and tragic as the song itself. Although according to the comments, Pyramid Song was apparently in Cyberpunk 2077, which on the one hand is cool it exposed a bunch of new people to this baller song, on the other hand it deserves so much better than being in that of all games.

I’m just going to say this ahead of time, I don’t think Radiohead captures beauty so well again until two albums from now.

We go from the utterly iconic Pyramid Song to the significantly less so Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors. I…really don’t know what there is to say about this one. It’s kind of an electronic soundscape more than a piece of music. It technically has lyrics, but they’re so heavily affected that it’s hard to see them as separate from the tune itself. I’ve spoken before about songs that are driving towards a point, that have a clear sense of forward motion from a repeating instrumental that feels like the consistent rattle of a train car. This song sort of has that, but without as much of the energy as those songs often have- it’s like a ride you have no control over. It’s basically fine, but I have no idea when I’d ever go out of my way to listen to this.

Also, what the fuck is a Pulk? That’s actually a word, I’m not getting a red underline like with Crushd, but I’m not sure if it’s an intentional misspelling or not.

The next song, You and Whose Army?, is something I remember as being way less subtle than it is. I mean the lyrics are very clearly directed at a person, and spoilers, it’s UK Prime Minister Tony Blair, but if you don’t know the period, or the band’s politics in general, it’s probably going to go right over your head.

It’s a song with two clear halves. One of them is quiet, muted even, subtle instrumentation over muffled vocals, and the second is swelling, and triumphant, powerful instrumentation over muffled vocals. The second half is a lot of fun, but it wouldn’t feel as paid off were it not for the first, so fair enough. I think I used to like this song a lot more than I do now, unfortunately.

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I Might Be Wrong is probably the most traditional song we’ve seen from this band in a minute, huh. A bass-driven track that is unquestionably a rock song, even with more electronic percussion and effects on it. Try listening to this with headphones, by the way- it’s extremely heavily panned, something I picked up on in high school since every pair of earphones I’d get would break in one ear eventually.

Despite the previous track’s eventual energy, I Might Be Wrong conveys the general mood of the album- that is, it’s pretty mellow? Even as the bluesy groove keeps going, the track never gets as intense as even say No Surprises. It’s a bit of a vibe, isn’t it? I especially enjoy the little Afterword the song has, it’s not much but I feel like it really adds to the track as a whole.

Wait how the fuck is You And Whose Army? more popular than this? What 23 million people pop that song on the reg? I don’t understand.

youtube

Considering the subject matter of this song, and that I’d never watched it before, I was somewhat apprehensive clicking this music video. And…..yeah………..it sure is like that…..

Anyway so Knives Out is about eating people. Probably? That’s the text of it, the subtext is probably a fair bit deeper than that. Like taking advantage of what people leave behind in their absence in a more general, non-cannibalistic sense. Maybe.

I think this song is the most acoustic/least electronic song on the album? Save for one we’ll get to later, maybe. Its lyrics are kind of gross, but that’s allowed.

I’m somewhat frustrated by the lack of things I can think of to say, because I really like this song. It’s a lot like I Might Be Wrong, in that it’s a more chill rockier song than most of the album, but with a different sort of vibe. Uhh…yeah? Shrug? 8/10, would listen to again.

Anyway, we now hit Morning Bell/Amnesiac as track number 7, and it’s the least subtle reference to Kid A I guess you can think of. I mean, it’s a different version of the same song, much louder and more discordant. Bits of it sound like they could be comforting, but juxtaposed with some of the more distressing elements it’s a bit of a whirlwind.

I can comfortably say that Morning Bell/Amnesiac is A Good Song. However, I can’t really appreciate it as such, for a very silly reason. Since I thought the pun would be good, I had this track as my morning alarm for a very long time, and as a result, I cannot stand listening to it. Let this be a warning, never use a song you like to try and get out of bed, if you want to keep liking it.

Dollars and Cents is another sparse, low rock track that eventually builds into a bigger deal as it goes on. Honestly, it’s kind of hard to make out the instruments, a low cymbal line and loose guitar folding in on each other in the background. It, regrettably, doesn’t quite land on the same stick as many of the other tracks on the album, being basically fine but not really notable? And I think that’s the biggest difference between Amnesiac and Kid A, Amnesiac actually misses. Like, I always forget about In Limbo, but it’s unquestionably a good song. Between many of Amnesiac’s more experimental tracks not living quite up to snuff, and Dollars and Cents being largely okay, it’s no wonder why the album is often seen as the inferior follow-up.

This is not particularly helped by the ninth track, Hunting Bears, a loose guitar instrumental that doesn’t work nearly as well as Treefingers. It doesn’t have the vibe, and it doesn’t fit as cleanly in the middle of the album like that one does. It’s just, kind of, there. I genuinely usually skip it when I listen to this album, but I figured it wouldn’t be fair to do that here. It’s just, kind of, a miss. Pretty short, though- I could believe this originally having been part of Dollars and Cents, like a longer version of the end bit from I Might Be Wrong.

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While I know this is a video for both Pulk/Pull and Like Spinning Plates, I associate it more with the latter. Not only is the version of Pulk/Pull very different from the album, well, you’ll see why I think the LSP bit is more memorable.

I think Like Spinning Plates is extremely cool. If nothing else, it’s super interesting how they got this to work. The vocal effect for the first verse was achieved by getting Thom to sing the lyrics, reversing that recording, having him memorise how that sounded and perform that, and then reversing that into the final results. How cool is that? I think it’s cool. Also at some points in the second verse, they’re playing a forwards and backwards vocal track simultaneously, which is a really neat effect.

The instrumental is…hard to describe. Apparently, it was a result of trying to make I Will (which would release one album later), which they reversed and played with to get this track. If you’re very familiar with that song, I suppose you could hear that, but I can’t. I just sit back and appreciate the music.

Amnesiac’s final track is Life in a Glasshouse, easily its most bombastic and jazzy. This sounds like a cabaret closer, a swaggering tragedy, an exploratory rehearsal of a final track. It also kind of sounds like a mental breakdown, which, mood.

There’s like, a whole band on this thing. Horns and woodwinds, a piano and probably more than one percussion element. The clarinet (?) noodling on the song is incredibly fun, giving it an almost playful edge, undercutting the downtempo mood of the song, and keeping it from being such a dirge. Especially as the track builds towards its finale, it’s clear that there was a bit more fun going on here. Of course, it can’t end on such a climax, as that little stitch of paranoia that ends up being the album’s closing word manages to sneak through.

And that ends Amnesiac. Now, obviously, it isn’t as good as Kid A. It’s less consistent, it doesn’t have Idioteque, et cetera. But I don’t actually think the comparison is as one to one as often it appears people do. The styles of the albums are completely different- Kid A incorporating so much ambient and electronic noise while Amnesiac has more of the acoustic and jazzy stuff going on. The two albums may have released closely, and recorded even moreso, but they are extremely different beasts at the end of the day.

It’s far from my favourite album of Radiohead’s, but I wouldn’t fault anyone for having it as theirs, you know.

We’ll get to my favourite album next week, where we will also see if I can either defend or maintain that opinion. Hail to the Thief beckons.

#ramble #music #radiohead #amnesiac

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cheetoflavoredcake · 4 years

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Hate is Such a Strong Word - Reddnook

Since A03 is refusing to activate my account as of right now, I’ve decided to post the prologue of my Reddnook book here instead for now. -------------------- Everyone knows of Timmy and Tommy, the two nookling twins, but what if they weren't the only twins? What if, once Redd left Nook, Redd got two of his own reddlings?

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He had done it. Another successful scam landed him with over 200,000 bells in his pockets and them with not a bell left to their name. Sure, he had gotten into a bit of a scuffle and earned a broken nose with some bruises, but it was well worth the pain. He had a grin plastered on his face as he walked down the city streets, a skip in his step. Along with the money, he scored a nice white button down shirt with black dress pants and shoes, courtesy of the sucker who fell for his charm.

It has been two, maybe three-ish years since he had left Tom and stole every last bell and valuable possession the man had to his name. He still felt extremely guilty for what he had done and sometimes it even kept him up at night. The guilt ate away at him everyday and he was feeding into it, believing the hurtful comments and snarky remarks his mind told him. Even though he knew it was all in his head, he listened to it religiously. If his mind told him he was a good for nothing street rat, he’d believe it. It wasn’t healthy, of course, but he had no one to talk to. All he had was Tom, who’d listen to every word he said and help him through his problems, but he was long gone.

Along with Tom leaving, so did his self esteem. He didn’t take care of himself all that much anymore, only taking a couple showers when he had to and eating the bare minimum. He lived in a old, rundown building with a low rent of 700 bells - probably because the place was so terrible in quality. All he cared for was that he had a roof under his end and he didn’t have to sleep on the streets, because that would really ruin his ‘I’m a fancy salesman looking to help you’ look.

Although he had the charming smile and the seemingly always unbothered attitude, he still had his moments. His moments where he would contemplate life and where he was going in it. His moments where he would let the bottled up emotions up go. His moments where sobs would rack through his body and he would apologize for everything, and apologize for being such a terrible boyfriend to the one person he couldn’t seem to let go of. The red head would always argue that that was what he was meant to do, and it was just how the cycle had to go, but deep down he knew that wasn’t the case and given a little time and effort he could have quit his shenanigans and lived a happy life.

Sometimes he wondered if the other male had those times too, or if he went on with life and proceeded the successful businessman life. He knew the latter of the two was most likely the answer but he enjoyed the thought, made him feel a bit better.

Coming to a halt, he stopped at the faint sound of whimpers and whines. At first he thought he was going insane and hearing things but the second time it sounded a little more desperate, like a cry for attention. When he heard it for a third time he looked towards an alleyway just a little ways ahead and decided to investigate - what harm could it do, anyways?

Venturing away from the bustling streets and lively chatter and down the dark and eerie alley, he pondered what could of made the noise. Maybe a lost puppy, or kitten? Surely it couldn’t be some thug or criminal, no way someone like that would have such a small, childish voice enough to make that sound.

As he round the corner, a tuff of orange caught his eye and curiosity, making him slow his pace in case he scared what ever it was away. As he inched closer and closer, his body almost in a crouching position, his mind raced with ideas and questions. The whining was louder now, and seemingly scared, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him and there was no backing down now. In one swift motion he rounded the dumpster corner and landed in a attack like stance, preparing himself in case of fight.

Instead he was greeted with a shrill yelp and a cry. His honey colored eyes widened by ten times as he saw the two small faces of toddlers. They couldn’t have been older than three! How could someone be so cruel and heartless enough to throw a toddler on the city streets where they could get severely injured!? Upon seeing the scared face of one and the angry pout of the other, his stance dropped completely and he dropped to the ground in a crouch.

Examining their features, he could tell one was a girl and the other was a boy, both with messy ginger hair - just like his, but much shorter. The boy, small and thin, held one of his frail arms over his sister in a protective manner. He wore a large brown sweater that had to be over four sizes too big on him, with a pair of worn out basketball shorts. The girl, just as thin and maybe smaller, wore a ruffled black T-shirt and grey leggings that barely clung to her. She had freckles, unlike her brother, and honey colored eyes like the boy and himself. Overall, they looked alot like him, and it had to be pure luck that the two happened to look exactly like him.

“P-please go away….”

The man jumped at the girl's meek voice that was all but pleading for some peace. It hadn’t hit him till now that the kids were probably terrified of him and him sitting there staring at them was only making it worse. He took a couple steps back with his hands up in a surrender motion to show he meant no harm.

“Hey, calm down. I ain’t gonna hurt ya’ , just wanted to know who you were.”

His voice was soothing and calm, making them relax a bit just like he planned. The girl swallowed hard before speaking shyly.

“R-roxanne a-and Ryan, you?”

A lopsided grin made its way onto his face, showing off his sharp and shiny canines.

“Redd, pleasure to meet ya’ kiddos.”

He said, as if he was making another business deal, and stuck his left hand out for them to shake. The boy, Ryan, eyed it suspiciously before slowly lowering his arm away from his sister and reaching his right hand out. Redd took the small boy’s thin hand and shook it gently, a smile still on his face. The boy’s pout lessened as he awkwardly tried to mimic Redd’s quirky smile - which made Redd’s smile seemingly grow bigger and brighter.

Both let go, Redd dropping his hand lazily in front of him and Ryans going straight to his sister, instead this time he only held her wrist. Sensing the kids were waiting for his answer, the man cleared his throat before speaking.

“You kiddos have a home?”

He asked slowly, careful to not trigger a memory by accident. They both looked down solemnly, before the boy shook his head, confirming Redd’s suspicions.

“Thought so,”

The red-haired man started, grunting as he got up. The kids heads darted up, waiting and watching for his next move. “Welp, come on.”

He said as he held his hand out again, waiting for them to take it. They both made a face at it but before the girl spoke up.

“W-what?”

Her voice was small and gentle, but still a bit weary. The boy had that pout on his face again, and he was squinting at the other males hand in curiosity.

“I got a cozy apartment and a fridge full of food I have yet to eat and it has your names written all over it.”

He said in a playful tone as he made a grabby motion with his hand, still waiting for them to take up his offer. Their eyes brightened up significantly at his words and Roxanne quickly got up with shaky legs and grabbed the males hand desperately. She yelped as he scooped her up and propped her in the crook of his arm with her clinging onto his shirt for dear life. Ryan quickly followed, jolting as he too was lifted up and propped in the same position, only his arms were wrapped around his neck. Redd laughed wholeheartedly at them before rushing out of the alley and disappearing into the streets towards his small, rundown apartment with a new meaning to his life.

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I’m sorry but I live for a fatherly Redd. Sorry if it seems out of character, but I love writing this so far. Constructive criticism is welcome

#jolly redd #reddnook #tom nook x crazy redd #fanfic #a03 fanfic #im sorry but I would die for a fatherly redd #i love this book already #dont be too harsh im only eleven #reddlings

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pinballwitxh · 5 years

Text

keep on - imagine - holden ford

summary : Holden runs into an old college friend at the club and together they reminisce on their school days, and the many drunk nights out they had.

warnings : MAJOR sexual tension cause that’s always fun, dirty dancing, mention of drug use and alcohol, cursing (ITS THE 70S BABY)

a/n : I love my baby Holden and the second season was so worth the like 2 year wait we had so here’s a small imagine on our fave bby. Also I listened to Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough by Michael Jackson while writing this.

18+ ONLY FROM HERE DOWN

It was rainy outside and all Holden wanted to do was go home, shower and go the hell to bed. Patiently he stood in line at the gas station, waiting for the attendant to return from his “smoke break.”

The bell above the door rang and he turned to the side slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the patron.

“What can I do ya for, dude?”

Holden turned to face the attendant, who seemingly returned out of nowhere. Holden handed him some cash and grabbed for a bag of candy as well.

“You still enjoy Reese’s Pieces?”

The young agent turned to the voice behind him, nearly reeling at the sight of an old college friend. She was dressed to the nines in an outfit perfect for the disco.

“Are those the same boots you used to wear in college?” Holden smiled at her.

She grinned back and threw her arms around him, “It’s been a long time, Holden Ford.”

He chuckled nervously, eyeing the friends in tow with her for the night, “Y-you look good,”

She twirled in front of him, “My disco wardrobe is even bigger and better than the last time you saw it.”

Holden shoves his hands into his pocket, “I have no doubt about that,”

“Who is this?”

She turned back to the friends that were with her and introduced them, “This is Holden Ford, met him through my cousin back in college. Which was like, what, five years ago?”

“It feels a lot longer,” Holden said, “Listen it was so great to catch up, but I should be getting home-“

“Why don’t you come out with us?”

Holden’s jaw shut as he considered the invitation. It was Saturday night, and he really wanted to go to bed. He wanted to sleep, and watch television.

“You don’t have to stay the whole night,” she winked at him, “Remember how late we would be out? With those nasty hangovers the next day?”

“Well hopefully both of us can handle our alcohol better now, I’ll join you.” He said.

She smiled at him and clapped his shoulder, “Let me pay for my gas and then you can follow us downtown.”

He chose to ignore the drugs that the attendant slipped his old friend and smiled happily at her when she joined him outside. As they pumped their gas, Holden took his time to study his old friend. She had changed so much since college.

She was still just as pretty, but something about her under the station lights and the way her bell-bottoms cling to her thighs made something stir inside of him.

No, this was still the same girl, the same best friend from college. He couldn’t think like that.

- - -

This was a nightclub he had never heard of, not that he spent a lot of time at the clubs surrounding Quantico. Lots of young agents and students were moving to the D.C. area so he imagined there were lots of nightclubs he had yet to hear of.

He jumped when she took his hand and drug him to a booth along the wall. Her friends took their places on the dance floor and she sat across from him. She smirked at him, “I take it you’re not into illegal activities much anymore,”

He chuckled, “Not really.”

“Light up with me in the bathroom?” She asked.

Holden looked around nervously, “Light up what-“

“You know exactly what I mean, just follow me.”

Apparently it didn’t bother anyone that he had followed her into the women’s restroom, seeing as most people here were high off their minds or drunk. They probably didn’t even notice them.

She reached into her bra and pulled out a freshly rolled joint, followed by a lighter also tucked into her shirt. Holden leaned against the sink and watched as she took a deep drag from the joint, her lipstick staining the wrap as she pulled it away.

She looked at him, “Things are definitely not the same anymore,”

He cocked his head, “What do you mean?”

“Obviously you’ve been successful. At least successful enough to not be able to take a drag from this joint,”

Holden plucked the joint from her fingers and she gasped in mock anger. He shut his eyes and took a long drag, inhaling through his nose at the same time. She smirked at him and crossed her arms, leaning on the sink as well.

“Maybe some things are the same,”

He opened his eyes and exhaled, “What’s changed for you?”

She took the joint from him, “It’s hard to find a job for an artist with a degree in psychology.”

“So you’re. . .”

“Unemployed for the time being,” she said as she took a puff, “But right now I work at the laundromat,”

Holden snickered, “That sounds incredibly fun,”

She rolled her eyes and passed the smoke back to him, “It pays the bills.”

He leaned back against the counter and sidled up next to her. Her eyes roamed his face and the familiar features she didn’t realize how much she had missed. There arms were nearly touching and she could feel the heat from his body.

He pulled the joint from his mouth and turned to look at her, his eyes catching on her stare. She smiled as he blew the smoke in her face, laughing.

“Wanna dance?” He asked suddenly.

The music was slightly muted through the walls and for a moment she realized they truly weren’t alone. She took the joint and pulled another long drag, “If you can keep up with me,”

He rolled his eyes, “Everyone had to make room for you on the dance floor,”

“Can’t help it,” she said as she leaned in close to him, blowing the smoke gently from her lungs and in his face.

There noses were mere inches apart and the smoke began to clear. For a moment longer they held gazes before she abruptly pulled away and tugged him out of the restroom.

The dance floor had gotten significantly smokier since the time they had been in the bathroom. Holden smiled as she cheerfully pulled him through the crowd, excited to dance.

Somewhere in the middle of the floor she stopped and turned to face him, “Loosen your tie, agent.” She said quietly as her fingers cooled around his striped tie.

He laughed as she attempted to loosen it, taking over for her when she got frustrated. He wished he could’ve changed before coming, being spontaneous in the social world was not something Holden did often.

Holden watched her hips sway as she twirled around him, dancing to the rhythm that everyone else in the club could feel. Her shirt hung loosely around her torso, but part of him could just imagine what she looked like underneath the clothing.

He shook his head at the absurd thoughts and took a deep breath.

The familiar feeling of the drugs working in his system started to make their presence known. The music was louder, he could hear every single drum beat and twang of the guitar. The floor vibrated underneath all the dancers and he could feel everytime she danced close to him.

“Now this I remember,” she said as she danced up to him, “Remember how high we used to get?”

“It’s been a long time,” he sighed, his feet begging to move and dance around.

He took a sharp inhale when she wrapped her arms around his neck loosely, “I’m sure you’ve still got some rhythm in you, dance with me.”

His brow quirked, “Like this?”

“We can try something new,” she winked.

Her hands ran down his shoulders and over his arms, sending shivers up the agent. She took both of his hands in hers and soon she had him dancing around with her. They laughed and sang together in the colorful lights of the club.

His arms snaked around her waist at some point, she didn’t know when due to time seeming to slow down. His head settled in the crook of her neck, pulling himself closer to her.

She smiled at the touch and danced against him, dipping low and pushing her backside against his front. Holden let out a small growl as she grazed against him and pulled away quickly.

Her eyes were hooded as she stared him down, “Maybe things will be different tonight,” she whispered, pulling his ear down to her mouth.

Her hot breath tickled his neck and he grabbed onto her sides. She gasped as he squeezed her hips in his strong grip, his fingers trailing over her skin.

Slowly she wrapped her arms around his neck again, their faces inches apart now. Holden grinned at her and guided her hips against his, “Surprised you haven’t stepped on my toes yet with those big boots,”

He winced slightly as she did just that, “You haven’t changed a bit, Ford.”

“Just call me Holden,” he responded.

She nodded, “Okay then, Holden.”

They ground against each other to a song that they both knew from their college days at the discos. She could remember those nights so well.

Holden would be piss-drunk against the wall while her cousin flirted up every girl that came his way. She would dance like no one was watching and Holden would cheer her on from the side. Eventually he would make his way to the dance floor and join all of his friends. They would laugh at his drunken dance moves and poor attempts to talk to females.

Michael Jackson songs would fill the disco and nearly all the attendants were their peers. It was a time everyone loved.

Her mouth was parted in close-ecstasy and her eyes were shut. Holden ran his hands back up her sides and drunk in the sight of her in his arms. Something he never expected to happen, ever.

She was always wilder than him and he felt like he could never keep up with her. She had a blooming social life, while being able to keep up with her grades in their college days. Holden was always glad to watch from the sidelines and encourage her.

But he never realized how ethereal dancing with her could be.

She opened her eyes and found his gaze close on her. As she dipped beneath his hold his eyes travelled down to her chest, hungrily eyeing her.

“Eyes up here, Mister FBI,” she tilted his chin up slowly upon standing up.

His face was serious as he directed his stare back to her own orbs. She felt slightly intimidated, it was a look she had never seen on Holden before and reminded her instantly that they were not in college anymore.

“We’re going for another round in the bathroom, wanna join?”

Their stares were broken when her friends approached them. He pulled her closer to him, silently asking her to stay on the floor with him. She shook her head, “Later I will,”

One of her friends giggled at the sight of Holden’s arm so tightly around her. Before leaving she leaned in and whispered, “I hope you get it tonight, girl!”

As soon as they were out of sight Holden groaned and pulled her back to him. She laughed, “People are gonna notice how excited you are for me if we stay out here much longer,” she pushed herself against his erection, “My friends won’t mind if we leave,”

Holden smiled down at her intensely before squeezing her sides, “We can go back to my apartment.”

She threw her head back with a laugh, “It’s a good thing we aren’t in dorms anymore.”

THE MASTERLIST

#mindhunter #holden ford #holden ford x oc #holden ford x reader #mindhunter imagine #holden ford imagine #johnathan groff

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fairyshuuu · 5 years

Text

wild valley pt5 | chanyeol

.summary. Park Chanyeol; sweat rolling down a naked back mixed with motor oil, you; white sugar sticking to your gums at sunset– ice cream flavored. Drugs, booze, money. He’s everything you’re not, the question is – for how long? .word count. 7.3k (i’ll keep it around 5k she says) .mechanic!au | gang!au | car shop!au. .pairing. chanyeol x reader .genre. angst, romance

.warnings. mature language, alluding to depression ♫ let me set the mood ♫

teaser. part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5. part 6. part 7. (m) part 8. (m)

He lets out a deep breath as he pushes his car into the next gear, and stares out the window on the long stretch of straight road that folds out in front of him. The gentle hum of the car in the silence of the falling day is soothing, lapping at his thoughts with fever. Long strips of clouds color shades of orange this far from the sun, walking on the line between night and day. His one hand is on the wheel, the other hanging out the window to feel the wind play between his fingers. It feels like it’s been so long, since he got the chance to go out on a drive, just burning fuel as his mind calms.

Now, alone in his journey to nowhere, he feels starving. Not in the physical sense, as much as the mental one. He’s needing— though what for is unclear in his mind. It’s always been like this for Chanyeol, his thoughts present but encrypted. He only knows what he doesn’t want, unable to articulate the jumbled mess in his mind as long as he’s floating in the familiarity of life. Days go by without thinking, sometimes. It shouldn’t be surprising that he prefers not to talk about himself, when everything is so muddled. How are other people supposed to know if he’s okay, when he doesn’t know it himself.

Luckily, driving has always alleviated some of the pressure. Watching the road slip underneath the car at the same steady pace brings peace to his mess, a quiet he’s not felt much over these last five years. He looks back at the road to follow the sway of it, lighting a path up the hills. The chill of coming night brings goosebumps to his exposed arms. The street lights flash by the window rhythmically. The car slows as he takes a breath, grabbing the wheel a bit tighter. He must be possessed driving up here, since last time he did he swore never to return.

But the night is cold and his thoughts are still, and when he parks along the side of the road, all feels right. Fate might be on his side for tonight, he thinks. As he opens the door, the last of the sunlight fades behind the ocean, letting the night swallow the earth. He gets out and locks the car behind him as he crosses the street, enjoying only the jingling of his keys as background music. The small patch of grass has gone through multiple cycles of death and rebirth, but it still looks the same since he last saw it. The stone bench is covered in writing, most of his faded or covered by now.

With a sigh he takes a seat, and lights a cigarette— watching the cloud twirl in the rising air. The city looks peaceful from up here, away from the noise and bustle of the garage, the parties, the memories. He used to come up here almost every other day before. Printed into his day like ink into the paper of a novel, mended to the very idea of it. However ironic, without words his days passed by and with them, the love for this place grew. It didn’t need to be said, his actions and touches loud enough to send a message to linger long after he delivered it. Hard, with slaps and punches and bruising kisses he would receive the answer, which always ended in yes.

Yes, I’ll be there with you. Yes, I’ll kiss here for you. If he held on long enough, yes, I’ll lay here with you. It didn’t need to be said. Coming here alone though— he realizes, that’s as far from familiarity as he can get. With his free hand he brushes his unstyled, white hair out of his eyes, and leans back to swallow the impending darkness that will follow if he keeps this going. Enough, he wills, brows pulling together. He feels the need to spit, getting rid of the sweetness sticking to the back of his teeth, though he doesn’t actually follow through. Instead it sits there, mellowing and melting to his greedy tongue.

As hard as he wills not to, sitting with the silence forces thoughts. It pulls at his conscience and drags him out of the shadows by his feet, unwilling to let go. He clenches his jaw as he stares out over the lights, chest moving and swelling and bulging with the weight of the giant muscle between his ribs, painful. Dragging in the smoke doesn’t provide enough, so he drops the half burned roll to the grass and digs it into the ground with his heel. His hand falls limply back in his lap, now having lost it’s function. And as he thinks, the words get louder and louder until he needs to tilt his head up to the sky because the city lights burn his eyes.

Peace for just long enough to make him lace his hands together over his stomach. Without meaning to, a distant sound kindles the small spark that flickers in the back of his mind, pulling it to become a full blown flame. The sound of a car speeding past over a distant road transforms into a giggle, female and while it doesn’t sound much alike, a shiver makes it’s way down his spine. Her laugh, as it echoed down the hill with the heat of a forest fire. Her dark hair clinging to her neck as they ruined their innocence completely, sweat dripping from their bodies and eyes filling with tears.

And suddenly his joints ache, and his teeth crunch so hard that they could shatter under the pressure. For thoughts as heavy as these, should be coated with gasoline and sent up in flames, stewing in a pile until the sun evaporates each layer. They don’t belong in the world, and surely not in this small cage that is his body. He feels small— young in the wake of her, like a child being abandoned by the side of the road and it’s this that he hates most of all. His hands curl into fists automatically, eyes closing. Everyone needs to get out of his head. She needs out of his head.

The cooling air slips between his lips in small swallows, how long he sits in the void unclear. When he finally moves to light another smoke to soothe his eager taste, his bones seem to cackle in displeasure. But the coldness only does so little to soothe. He finishes a cigarette, and another one, disconnecting from the world as best he can, until his fingers are so cold that it gets hard to move. Reality calls— literally, when his phone interrupts the lingering silence that surrounds him, startling him. Chanyeol sighs deeply, before picking up and holding the object to his ear with his shoulder.

“Yes?” he breathes, volume low in the void.

“Hey, Yeol,” Sehun responds, sound of music muffled in the background. “You’ve- uh- you’ve been out for a while. I just wanted to check if you were alright, is all.” He clears his voice, and waits for an answer, and when it doesn’t come right away, “So— are you okay?” A voice sounds out in the pause of the call, from this or the other side Chanyeol is not sure. He takes a deep drag, having the nicotine fill every cell of his lungs, really drowning in it, before he lets out a hum.

“I’m okay. Always am,” he says. It stays quiet for a long while on Sehun’s side, before another voice sounds, this one definitely calling out to the blonde.

“You heading down soon then? It’s no fun here without you.”

Chanyeol smiles a little, unable to help it, and responds in agreement again. “I’m heading down. Though I highly doubt that.” No direct answer follows, so Chanyeol sighs. “I’m hanging up now, see you in a bit.”

“You got it. Drive safe, jackass.” Sehun’s laugh is loud when he hangs up the call, sinking the little bench in peace once again.

The large metal room is significantly colder than the summer shine that coats the piers. You let out a little noise of agreement as you wiggle closer, stretching your one leg over the free part of the couch, and rest your head comfortably sideways. Lou, who is sitting— or more so laying in the couch across from you, sends you a knowing smile and shakes his head left and right, before sipping from his vodka-redbull. A large hand makes soothing circles on your back, which makes you bite back a smile, instead pulling your lips between your teeth.

You can feel his gaze on you as you lay, and press your face to his thigh with a snort. “Stop looking at me~” your voice turns into a slight whine, unable to help it, “it’s embarrassing.” Baron chuckles, moving and while you can’t see him you only hope he looks away. From across the couch, Lou nods, his smile shifting into a slight grimace, and while you know he’s not serious the expression is insanely amusing.

“She’s right. It really is embarrassing, for all of us to sit through your lovey-dovey couple shit.” Before you can refute him, Yoonoh jerks his glass in your direction with a laugh, making the amber liquid spill over a little, dripping down the glass and his fingers. He licks it off, before continuing, unbothered. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at his typical Yoonoh behavior.

“It’s only that loser who is head over heals,” he has the smallest grin and points at the redhead as he talks, “shortie here is a baddie! She doesn’t want a boyfriend, I’ve heard. Such a player.”

You lift your head enough to glare at him, and send him the finger. “Who do you think I got it from?”

A bigger smile comes to his handsome face. “I’m the most loyal person here, baby. If you ever want a taste, you’ll have to wait your turn.” You definitely roll your eyes this time, but get rid of the glare as you regard him. Though you don’t believe a single word that comes out of his mouth, you have to admit that you’ve yet to see him bring a girl over. Of course, that doesn’t mean much in a world where people have sex to have sex and no attachments are needed. “What is your excuse for sleeping around, huh?” he grins, enjoying the flush that comes to your cheeks.

All the while, Baron’s hand travel comfortingly over your skin, thoroughly enjoying the conversation. He doesn’t seem to notice your flustered state, or if he does he doesn’t mind it. “You shouldn’t assume things like that, you dweeb!” Yoonoh chuckles a little. You look up to catch Baron’s eyes, scrunched up with the smile that rests there, as he brushes some of your hair out of your face.

“As if those hickeys on your neck got there by accident!” Yoonoh points out, his tongue brushing over his bottom lip as he points his free hand at you again. When your eyes widen, Baron chuckles a little, and peeks out his tongue. The other two boys stay quiet to watch your reaction, which morphs from surprise to understanding, and then to embarrassment.

With a big pout, you look up at the redhead, and wrap your fingers around his bicep. “You said you wouldn’t leave marks! You- you said no one would know,” you bite your bottom lip, watching his smile widen to a beaming giggle. Lou just snorts when you look away, hiding your flushed face entirely in the fabric of his black t-shirt. “I’m mortified. Bury me six feet under now,” you mumble.

“I’m sorry, shortie,” Baron leans in to run his hands though your hair, still laughing between breaths, “I thought you’d have noticed when you looked in the mirror. And I swear I didn’t do it on purpose, it was really an accident. If I wanted to mark you I would’ve done so the other two times too, right?” You look up to give him a light punch in the chest, before dropping your head back. His free hand slips under your top to drag soft figures into your skin, fingers warm on the surface of your back.

“But they’ve been there the entire day, Baron! That means my sister saw them, and she knows I don’t have a boyfriend.” At your sigh, you feel someone plop down into the couch next to you, lifting your legs to rest them over his own thighs, as he pats your calf.

“It’s not that big a deal, don’t worry. You’re hardly the only person who does things like this, the majority of adults in this city have or will at some point.” Yoonoh takes another sip of his drink, before picking out a cigarette and lighting it. You guess he’s right, but still your cheeks feel warm. You didn’t even notice, when you quickly tossed your hair up out of your face, and ran out the door to greet Baron. Which is slightly silly, you also realize, since you could’ve spent the night just as easily, instead of going home to meet up a few hours later.

From across the space, Lou crosses his arms over his chest. “So you guys aren’t together?” he asks, voice low and gravely. You know that he has a girlfriend too, though you’ve yet to meet her. She lives a few hours away, hence the delay. When you shake your head in response, he frowns. “Why not?” Baron’s hands still on your skin, clearly wondering the same thing. You never really gave him a reason after all. And while you shouldn’t have to, he’s a good person, and deserves one.

You push out your lips as you debate it, eventually shaking your head. These thoughts are ones better suited for a late night by yourself, blankets pulled over your face. Not when you’re hanging out with the only friends you’ve made here. “I- uh- I have my reasons,” you bring out, not looking at anyone in particular. “Reasons I don’t want to talk about right now, okay? Let’s not ruin the mood with my depressing inner demons.” Though he doesn’t say anything, Baron’s eyes are soft when he regards you, flicking between the features of his face. The heavy, metal door is pushed open to reveal the rest of your friends, streaming into their personal hideout with too much excitement.

“Hey guys, shortie!” Van says, glancing over in the direction of you four as he pushes past Jacob. “We’ve stacked up on beer for tonight.” He puts the two crates over by some of the empty ones, and looks over his shoulder. “What are your plans for the rest of the week? I need you to keep Wednesday evening free.” Lou frowns, but shrugs, indicating that he didn’t have any plans for the week to come. Van continues as he straightens up and walks over. “We have a job to do, and I can’t have half of you running off making other plans. That goes for you too, Heejun!”

You lift yourself from Baron’s embrace enough to sit up somewhat straight, and pull your eyebrows together in question. “What kind of ‘job’?”

At this, Yoonoh flicks your calf, and grins at you. “Aren’t you a nosy, little monster?” When you put out your tongue at him, he smiles, but goes serious soon after. “It’s nothing you should worry your pretty head about, sugar.” He nods at the oldest then. “You can count on me, I’ll keep time open.” Some of the others lose themselves in conversation as they join on the other couches, enjoying the mixture of alcohols on the table.

When you look around the group, no one seems much surprised at the mention of doing a job, which makes you settle down. Their casual response is somewhat less ominous than the thoughts you are having. Though you’ve spent way too much hours with these boys in the last month or so, you don’t actually know that much about them. You don’t even know what makes them the money they need to survive. Baron lays his arm across your shoulder to pull you a little closer to him, where you gladly melt into his side. He brushes his thumb over your cheek, before smiling softly. “If you want I could take you? We’d be going on a bit of a drive, us two.”

Though the words are clearly only meant for you, Yoonoh catches them. He frowns for a long while, before giving the older a little shove. It surprises you, so much so that you startle out of the embrace. “Baron, are you crazy?” he says, quiet enough not to disturb the conversation of the other guys. You look over at him, but he just gives Yoonoh a round-eyed look, lips pulling into a line.

“What?” the older eventually says, squeezing your arm gently. You take that as an invitation to come back to him, and settle against him once again. “She can handle herself, Yoonoh. I was just making a suggestion in the first place. It’s up to her.”

“Don’t bring her into our mess,” the other finishes, downing the last of his drink and plopping it on the table without another word.

You frown, since this is the first time you’ve ever seen anyone of the boys argue. “Will you two stop talking about me like I’m not here, please.” Yoonoh shakes his head but gets up from the couch without a word, and walks away. You look over at the redhead again, to send him a questioning look. It’s not like Yoonoh to react this way. He’s the one who normally makes fun of everything and everyone. “What kind of drive?” He doesn’t respond right away, instead staring across the room at nothing in particular. “Baron?”

Your gentle call seems to snap him out of his thoughts, because he turns to you to brush a thumb over your cheek and send you a calming smile. “Never mind. I’ll take you on a drive some other time.” He leans over to the table then, and picks out a cigarette from the cutely packaged, pastel box.

Chanyeol stares blankly at the ceiling, feeling his chest move up and down too quick. There’s a panic in his heart that hasn’t been there anymore since he was a young child, veins racing with an emotion he can’t just explain away. Chanyeol feels sick, hating the pressure between his lungs as he tries to take deep breaths. He mentally doesn’t have the brain capacity to process everything right now. The house feels cold, and for once Chanyeol feels like he could burst into tears right then and there.

As he turns his head to the side, the painful sight greets him again. A plain wall, an empty floor. Clean, for all purposes and despite this it feels unsettling. Because that’s where her suitcase used to be. Dara’s suitcase has been there ever since the first weekend they spent together, her never having the energy to clean it and him never wanting the sight to change. It was her way of allowing him in, her little door into her soul. But without a word, he woke up and it was gone. All of her stuff, her pictures, her sweater that used to lay on top of the closet for months vanished. Like she’d never been there at all.

Phone number discontinued. Chanyeol feels dizzy thinking about it, as he stares at the dent in the wall she made one night in a drunken haze. It’s been two days, and he can’t help but think that Dara wouldn’t do this. His Dara wouldn’t just up and leave. But as he thinks it over again and again, he knows full well that she would and it’s this that brings tears to his eyes. The butterfly he so carefully nurtured suddenly flying away with a warmer breeze.

And he feels angry, he does, but it’s overshadowed by the deep and complete self-hatred and the knowledge that if he would have done more, said more— she might have stayed. If he would have been more, she would have stayed. If he would have kissed her better even when she punched him so hard he felt out of breath, if he would have told her he loved her more even when she spit venom at his face, she would have stayed. And he feels guilty, because he promised her he’d save from the pit she was drowning in. He hoped she would save him too.

Baekhyun is gone, having to drive halfway across the country for business and leaving him alone in the process. She left not much after. As he rolls out of bed, a stinging is tangible in the air, cold with the knowledge that he failed. The longer he mulls it over, the more unbelievable it feels that she’d just leave. No, impossible in fact, she couldn’t just have left him. They were good, they were happy. They had their issues but they were happy, and that has always been what mattered. Dara wouldn’t leave, which means something must have happened to her.

He looks around his room for his phone, having discarded it carelessly after calling for hours last night. He picks it up. No missed calls. That’s alright, he convinces himself, focusing on finding another number. “Hello?” he sighs into the receiver, not willing to waste any time. Baekhyun hums on the other side, the sound of his car engine in the background. “Have you seen Dara?”

“No. Why are you asking me if I’ve seen your girlfriend? I’ve been gone for two days.” So has she, he wants to say, though he doesn’t. He just runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m not trying to play around, Byun. You haven’t heard anything from her either, the last couple of days?”

Baekhyun leaves his playful tone for a more serious one. “No, I haven’t.” She could have gone on a sudden trip, and forgot to tell him. Maybe he wasn’t listening well enough. “Chanyeol, are you okay? What’s going on, why are you asking me about her?” Doesn’t matter that Baekhyun hasn’t heard of her, one of the guys would have. She wouldn’t just straight up vanish, she just wouldn’t do that, he convinces himself.

They’ve been together for long enough now, he knows her. “Nothing is okay until I find her,” he mumbles, disconnecting the call to search his contacts for Jongin instead. “She didn’t leave me. She wouldn’t.”

For once, the garage isn’t overflowing with noise. It’s quite calm, despite the fact that almost everyone is here. They’ve all seemed to mutually keep quiet and focus, and he can’t lie, it’s a whole lot more productive this way. As he lies down on the creeper and scoots under the lifted car, someone starts whistling a cheerful melody in the back. He grabs hold of the heavy, metal pipe hanging halfway loose, and starts unscrewing the other bolt holding it in place. The exhaustion pipe is terribly old, and makes a racket any time you drive the car anywhere. He carefully catches the pole, and cleans some of the excess black oil from the threaded bores, and rolls from underneath the car again.

With the same dirty, grey rag he cleans off his hands, before getting up from the floor and putting the rusted pipe aside to replace it with a new one. The door opening catches his attention for a second only, before he turns back to his work. The guys have been stepping out all day to take breaks from the physically straining work that they’ve been enduring. But as he stares down at the new exhaustion pipe, a penny falls. He snaps his head back over to the door and leans back to get a proper look. Sure enough, your face is the one that greets him, though you’re not looking over in his direction.

Baekhyun taps the glass of his office excitedly to greet you, and waves you over. “Hey, sugar cakes! What are you doing here?” Chanyeol watches as the man who came with you loops his arm around the small of your back, clearly aware of the amount of other men gathered in the garage. He vaguely remembers him, though from what he’s not sure. One of the many parties thrown by Exo over the last few weeks, most likely. As Baekhyun talks, you get a small smile on your lips, and Chanyeol has to wonder when you two got so friendly.

But Baekhyun is a social butterfly as colorful as they come, so it’s not really to anyone’s surprise. You giggle, softly— but it sounds loud in the silence between the metal clashes that Jongin is creating from under his own car. “I heard you guys do tattoos. I didn’t know if I had to make a reservation or anything, so I just decided to come over. If you’re busy-” Before you can finish your sentence, Baekhyun hops out of his chair, excited to have something to do besides paperwork, and walks over to you with a cheeky smile.

“You’re getting a tattoo?” He surveys you, before tutting his lips. “I have to say, I didn’t pick you for one to get all interested in body modification.” All the while, Chanyeol has been staring at all of you, only looking away when he realizes. Though his eyes slide to his hands, he can’t help but hear the rest of the conversation. “Did you lose a bet with your boyfriend? Or is he just the one who got you into it?”

“Oh,” you mumble, laughing a little, “he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sure he’s not,” Baekhyun allows, before clapping his hands, “Jongdae is free right now, you don’t need to make a reservation.” He stays quiet for a few seconds for dramatic effect, before continuing. “But I’m busy so I can’t take you around, sadly. Chanyeol, come show our customers to Jongdae’s lair, please.” At the call of his name, Chanyeol physically feels his stomach turn. He’s never been awkward in just about any situation, but there’s a flusteredness to his actions when he looks over, feeling caught. Baekhyun looks very proud of himself.

The stranger to your side is the first to look over, politely smiling at him. Chanyeol feels the urge to roll his eyes at the situation, both at Baekhyun who so clearly is trying to annoy him, and at the attitude of the other. When he walks over, cleaning his hands on his overalls the best he can, you just look at your feet. He swallows, before sighing. “Right,” he mumbles, taking his sweet time taking you in from head to toe. It’s been a long couple of days without seeing you.

You look different, he notes. He still remembers seeing you for the first time— in your plaid, baby blue dress and a healthy flush to last a lifetime. You’ve exchanged the bright colors for a deep red top and a black skirt now, both not covering enough, with glossy lips and the longest eyelashes he’s ever seen on a person. “Follow me.” As he leads you two past some cars under the amused gaze of Baekhyun, you don’t make eye contact with him once. It’s strange, because he half expects you to burst out into your excited monologue any second.

You don’t. When he looks over his shoulder, you’re looking around at the other guys and even send Jongin a wave, but he can’t get a look out of you. He should have expected this, asked for it multiple times too, but now it’s happening it doesn’t feel completely right. He leads you and your friend up the stairs to Jongdae’s tattoo parlor, holding the door open. You look up at him once as you pass through the door, but look away just as quickly, instead grabbing hold of the hand of the redhead by your side, leaning into him slightly.

Jongdae’s gaze travels from Chanyeol, to you, to the man next to you and then back to Chanyeol again. Though he doesn’t voice the question, it’s readable on his face. The tallest sighs, crossing his arms over his chest as the door falls shut behind him. “Y/N is here for a tattoo. I trust you are free right now?” At the mention of your name, Jongdae’s eyes now glide over you again, taking you in more carefully. He nods, before giving his signature kitten-like smile, and lifting his brow at his friend.

“So you’re the ice cream girl, huh?” You don’t reply with anything but a nod, as Chanyeol leans against the wall of the door. “Well, come up here and we’ll get you started with an idea.” He pats the chair in the middle of the room, turning to his desk to skim through the mountain of designs for some clean paper. You turn to the tall man to your side, and lift your shoulders.

“You know how I said I wasn’t nervous?” you smile, looking up at him as if in search of comfort. When he nods, you giggle. “It’s really catching it up with me now.” He brushes your hair out of your face, and squeezes your shoulder gently with his own smile.

“It’s not as big a deal as you’re making it out to be. It only hurts a little, and you’re not getting a huge piece so it’ll be done in no time.” Chanyeol holds the need to scoff. He’s surely ‘not your boyfriend’, that’s why he’s holding your hand. You nod at his words, and turn back to Jongdae, who is patiently waiting for you. When you hop onto the chair, an excited smile comes to your face, lighting up the room top to bottom. You really look shining when you’re happy, Chanyeol must admit, enjoying the way your joy spreads to others if they get close.

“Where are you planning on getting one?” Jongdae asks, professional as ever.

“I’m not sure,” you smile at him, and then glance at the other man quickly, who also pulls up his shoulders. “You’re the tattoo artist here, not me. I want to start some place that isn’t going to cripple me for days, if that’s possible.” Jongdae snorts as he listens, eyes turning into moons.

He nods. “Places with more fat or muscle covering the bone will hurt a lot less. Arms or thighs are good places to start, or on your lower back.” He hums then. “Even shoulder blades and neck are bearable in plain. I just wouldn’t recommend and hand or feet tattoos as a beginner, because those areas are very sensitive and you have to be very still.” You nod in understanding.

“Can I get one on the outside of my upper thigh,” you ask, “right here?”

When Jongdae nods, you smile again. “Sure you can. Do you have any idea of what you want?”

“I do.” You turn over your shoulder then, really giving Chanyeol your attention for the first time since stepping in and it’s slightly startling. You keep his eyes, and lift one brow at him, smiling softly. “We’ve found our way here now, Chanyeol. Thank you. You can get back to work.” He opens his mouth to respond, only to stop midway and chuckle softly. Right. You turn to the redhead then, ignoring his questioning glance over his shoulder to grab his hand. “You better be staying right here, Baron. I’m not going through this alone.”

“You got it, shortie.” Chanyeol can’t help but slam the door closed a little harder than necessary.

For as much as he doesn’t like going out, he’s been doing a whole lot of it lately. He sighs and tightens the grip on his bottle, watching Sehun and Baekhyun amuse themselves greatly with some twins. He doesn’t know what is being said, but can make out enough on the girl’s faces to understand it’s not the most modest of conversations. The base of the music is loud enough to make his bones vibrate, the flashing neon lights morphing human bodies into a single moving mass with limbs sticking out left and right.

The sight makes him kind of uncomfortable, aware of the huge amount of people pressed into the average sized house, and also aware that he’s one of the only ones not participating, which pulls gazes. He moves past the people sucking face along the wall to squeeze past a group of very drunk girls, one of whom tries to cling to his arm. He’s moved before she even can, which leads her to stumble forward like a limp noodle. As he walks, he is able to make his way to a less crowded area, turning out to be the kitchen.

The counters are littered with tens of opened bottles of strong alcohol, some of them wet and all of them sticky. Though something stronger does sound nice, he’s been hungover too much lately, and decides to stick to beer for right now. Two people are sitting against the cabinets further along, curled up in a ball and sleeping on each other. He doesn’t give them a second thought, instead opening some of the cabinets to search for some food. It’s not polite, but he couldn’t care less, because he doesn’t even know who hosts this party.

He finds some dry cornflakes in one of the cabinets, and picks it out. As he stuffs his hand in the plastic bag, a smaller shape comes into the kitchen from the corner of his eye. It’s only when he turns that he notices it’s you, and you’re staring at him. You’re drunk, clear as day. Your eyes are round and dark and your bottom lip is jutted out into a half pout. When you don’t say anything to him right away, he just shrugs it off and continues eating, not wanting to be bothered by you.

It’s relatively quiet in the kitchen for a while, still surrounded with the loud buzzing of the music in the other room. The door does little to keep out the overwhelming noise. When you clear your voice, he looks over at you. “You’re the most mopey person I’ve ever met,” you mumble, gesturing your hand over to the plastic bag a couple of times to request it. “I’ve been so nice- been so nice to you and you always act like an asshole to me.” For some reason, your tired expression and slurred speech is somewhat endearing.

“You’re the most annoyingly happy person I’ve ever met,” Chanyeol responds, tossing the bag to you, where you almost drop it. “Do you ever realize that people might have their own things going on? Things that keep us from being happy?” You turn around to hoist yourself up onto the counters messily, and lean your head against the wall as you scoot back into a more comfortable position. You seem to think for a while, but eventually just blink twice.

“What on earth could be so bad that you can’t even manage a smile?” you mumble, stuffing some of the cornflakes in your mouth. You stay quiet as you eat, just closing your eyes for a bit. You too, must be happy to be out of the sweaty mess for a bit. When you open your eyes again, Chanyeol looks away from you, instead focusing on the cracks in the wall across from him. You sigh softly. “You’re breathing, you’re healthy. Isn’t that something to be happy about?” When he doesn’t respond, you hum to yourself, and tear open the bag a bit more to have better access. “Well, you might not think so. But that’s something to be happy about to me.”

Truth is, your words hit home. It’s something he’s been asking himself a lot recently, wondering if the clouds above his head are really as dark as he feels they are. But instead of saying that, he looks back over at you with a frown. Giving in to you would mean losing the fight, and he’s not willing to do that. “Are you always this talkative, or did you just see me and decide that I was going to be the one having to undergo your unending sunbeams?” Your blinking is slow, evidence of your exhaustion.

“No, you’ve made yourself clear last time. I’m not talking to you anymore.” You cross your arms over your chest stubbornly, looking at him from under your lashes. Chanyeol looks back, but shakes his head.

“Then what are we doing right now?” he mumbles, brows pulling together more.

You huff. “Not talking! I didn’t even say anything.”

A little chuckle slips between his lips. “Sure.” He could walk away, but the disadvantages of being in a messy room full of sweat outweigh those of being in here, so he keeps his feet planted. Your small shape is dressed in a tight dress that hikes very high up your legs, even exposing the tape of your freshly covered tattoo. He knows he shouldn’t, but can’t help but be aware of the amount of men that would jump to get a piece of you. As he watches you, you blink up at him and bite your bottom lip in thought. Yes, Chanyeol thinks, you’re too attractive to be sent out alone into a world so harsh. “Did you come here alone?” he asks, “where are your friends?”

He doesn’t mean to sound as harsh and scolding as he does, but you don’t seem to care either way. You just pull up your shoulders and look over at the closed door, as if you would spot them through it if you tried hard enough. “I don’t know.” Then you look back over at him, and pull your pretty lips into a tight line. “I lost them pretty much as soon as we entered.”

At this Chanyeol can’t hold a deep sigh, moving from his side of the room over to yours. It feels much like a peace offering, he thinks, since his guards don’t come down easily. You’re vulnerable right now though, and however badly he wants to ignore it, he can’t. He walks over, smoothing out the frown etched to his features as best he can. “Fine, come on,” he says, grabbing you under your arms to lift you from the counters and put you down on the floor. You’re pretty much a child right now, unable to fend for yourself.

You don’t hesitate to grab the his elbow as he starts walking, holding him back sightly with a gentle tug. “Where are we going?” you mumble.

“Outside. I’m not leaving you here alone.” He needs a smoke, and knows that the kind part of his heart wouldn’t let him live if he left you here for the wolves. When you open your mouth to respond, he quickly continues, not wanting to give you the wrong idea. “Not because I want to. You’d get into trouble if you walk around out there on your own.” You don’t confirm or deny anything, and so Chanyeol pulls open the door in hopes that you’ll follow him. You do. He walks to the crowd more easily this time, already having a person clinging to him. He makes it to the back door and tosses it open, relieved to get away from the loudness of the party again.

The back door leads to a little balcony, covered and with a railing to keep people from falling the one feet drop. Once outside, you let go, and lean your entire top half over the railing. Chanyeol leans his elbows there as well, watching you take deep breaths. Fresh air should do you some good. He stuffs his hand into his pocket to pull out a lighter and a cigarette, and slides it between his lips. “So, your boyfriend just left you?” he starts, looking over his shoulder to keep an eye on you. When you frown in confusion, he runs a hand through his hair. “The redhead?”

‘Ah’, you mouth, cutely cocking your head to the side. the frown doesn’t leave your face. “He’s not my boyfriend. And he didn’t come out tonight. My other friend is picking me up in a bit.”

“He sure looks like he’s your boyfriend,” Chanyeol responds, looking out over the garden cast in only the moonlight. Grass sways softly in the slight breeze.

“He’s not,” you say, more sure now.

“Why not?”

“Because!” Your eyes get all sharp as you talk, ready to light him up in flames and he has to hold a smile because he sees much of himself in there, despite all of your differences. You two might not be as polar opposite as he first thought. You’re not done though, voice gaining volume the longer you speak. “If you have a boyfriend, you end up hating that person in the end. You start off in love, but it never lasts. I’ve seen it. And I don’t want to go through it myself, okay?” Chanyeol pauses, before holding his hands up in defeat, and looking away.

You run a hand through your hair, and pull out a pack of Camel from the small purse you have with you, dropping it back to the floor after. Without asking, you fish the lighter out of his hand and light one of the cigarettes, staring at it for a long while. It’s surprising even to him. “You smoke?”

You don’t bring it to your lips yet, instead mirroring his position to look out at the world. A small smile makes it’s way to your lips. “It’s something new too.” If the words are laced with eagerness or disappointment is hard to tell, maybe a mixture of both. “Baron smokes, I guess it kinda rubbed off on me,” you admit, glancing at him for just a bit, before bringing the burning stick to your lips. You handle it like it’s something tender, like you’re kissing the smoke. He looks away.

“It’s bad for your health, you know.”

You snort, the sound too loud in the quiet. “As if you’ve care. I’ve never seen you without a cigarette before.”

“Habits make the toughest enemies,” Chanyeol just says, nodding a little. The wind picks up, making goosebumps appear on the exposed skin of his arms. He imagines you must be cold. When he looks over at you, you’re resting your cheek in your hand, eyelids fluttering closed slowly. “Hey, don’t fall asleep now,” Chanyeol calls, watching as you flinch a little from being ready to drift off, “your friend is gonna be here any minute, and I’m not carrying you.”

You hum softly, and give him a small smile. “I’ve texted him. He’ll find me.” Right as you say that, the door behind you two opens, sound of music rushing back in and breaking the small bed of peace you’d woven for yourself.

“There you are! I’ve been walking around here for ten minutes trying to find you, shortie.” The man that stands in the doorway sounds familiar, making Chanyeol turn. You smile wide as you look over your shoulder, and run over quickly to give him a sideways hug.

“Finally. Everyone else has gone up in smoke, I wasn’t having fun anymore.” The man’s wide smile at you fades as he glances at the second figure. “It’s fine though, because Chanyeol was here to keep me company. Thank you.” Your gratitude falls on deaf ears, too busy figuring out the situation to care. Chanyeol clenches his jaw, frown back fully and to stay, this time.

“Yoonoh,” he says, voice low. You’re friends with Yoonoh. Of course you are.

“You guys know each other?” you ask, eyes flicking between the two men who stand tall above you. Your confused pout is back.

“Something like that,” Yoonoh just says, glaring at the other with lighting in his eyes.

hope you enjoyed this part as well! it’s pretty long, but i think it’s my favorite chapter because they are just so..ugh adorable together and dumb idiots who don’t know what they really need (spoiler: each other). thank you all for the messages and comments, i’ve been reading each and every one and i’m just so happy you’re liking the series.

tag list: i’ll probably not take anymore tags for right now, because the list is getting a little long ^^ thank you for all the love! Please remember to read everyone else’s stories as well, they’ve spent so much time and hard work crafting the rest of this universe!! All my lovelies: @ninibears-erigom @suhoerections @kimjongdaely @kyungseokie @kpop---scenarios @yeoldontknow @baekwell--tart @skjdln @strongpowerhope @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @brie02 @baby-hands-x-x-blr @baek-byunies @shxrl4747 @lucymheng @byunfirstlady @chanyeolol @snowflakesandkisses @you-know-bts @puppykangie @kkpoptrashhh @im-a-special-bebe @joolsreads @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @yoongnysus @itsjustyvie

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aetistech · 4 years

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Aetis Sdn Bhd Expired iRobot Authorized Distributor in Malaysia

Since 2012, Aetis Sdn Bhd Has Been given the Authorized Distributor by John Ackerman Pte Ltd (Singapore) for the iRobot brand in Malaysia. They have helped create awareness among Malaysians that having a robot vacuum in home can significantly improve life quality.

As John Ackerman focuses on their company in Singapore, they rely upon Aetis to give sales and after sales service for iRobot customers. After few years, John Ackerman climbed ambitious and terminated Aetis Sdn Bhd rights as authorized distributor. John Ackerman set up a workplace in iRobot Empire Subang Jaya (SOHO). Aetis was place to dry. Aetis shortly ventured into selling different items such as inkjet printers, canvas printing, smart door lock, and also unicycle or scooters. They still continue to give after sales service to their previous customers earlier the takeover.

While all this is occurring, AutoVac Bot tries to disrupt the iRobot market by supplying 2 Years Warranty and also beating the high price set by the Authorized Distributor. They seem specializing in robotic vacuums just.

Update: It appears that John Ackerman has exited the iRobot market in Malaysia. Presently we're not certain who is your Authorized Distributor for the iRobot brand. But from what we collect, AutoVac Bot is still trying strong providing exceptional price and service to its customers.

It was a very late adopter of robot vacuums. The first iRobot hit shops 15 years earlier I eventually buy a robot vacuum for my own home. During I did, I went cheap: I bought an inexpensive vacuum without any mapping capabilities from Amazon. This cheap robot vacuum has functioned well, even if it does just bump on every side the room until its battery runs out. I still don't think that robot vacuums would rebuild a true weekly vacuuming, but my small bot has surprised me with its power to suck up dust and debris.

IRobot's Roomba i7+ is about the exact opposite spectrum of robot vacuums from the 1 I have. In the event the cheap robot I have is a Kia, the i7+ is the Cadillac of robot vacuums. It would map my entire home. It would be controlled by means of a voice assistant or from a smartphone app anywhere in the world. It would even empty its own bin. It also costs RM 4950, which is five times extra than the robot vacuum I buy. IRobot also sells an i7 model which has identical cleaning capabilities but doesn't proceed with the special automatic bin-emptying base for a duo hundred bucks smaller, but that's a bit such as buying a base model BMW.

The i7+ is definitely the future of robot vacuuming that's obtainable in the present. However there are still things I'd such as to sight enhanced.

The i7+ is an update to iRobot's high-end Roomba 980 from 3 decades ago. The 980 was capable of mapping a distance and efficiently cleaning it, but it would discard the maps after each cleaning session and then reconstruct them from scratch each hour. The i7+ upgrades this attribute in a significant way: it could at the moment save the maps it generates and also make use of them to improve its own cleaning patterns. It also lets me name different places in my house so that I could inform the vacuum to specifically clean a specific space and ignore others.

I could manage up to 10 heavy floor plans in Roomba's app for iOS and Android, and I could control the vacuum via voice commands to Alexa, Google Assistant, or from the app itself. My house has 3 floors, and I could make use of the app to sight every floor and what rooms have been inside. When I put the robot on a heavy floor than its home base, it uses the different sensors and cameras for it to identify which floor it is on automatically and load the right maps. Sadly, it can't yet climb the staircase to obtain to heavy floors; I still have to pick it up and take it such as a philistine.

Watching the i7+ wash a floor is a mesmerizing experience, and it is wildly heavy from the way the non-mapping vacuum gets the job done. Rather than just randomly crisscrossing the room before it runs out of steam, the i7+ follows a logistical and predictable pattern, almost such as the way the lawn care professional trims a field earlier a sporting event. It will wash an entire room earlier continuing on to another 1, and if its battery runs low or its bin fills up earlier it is finished, it is going to remember where it stopped and return to that spot when it is recharged. It's extremely satisfying to watch it perform its own job, and if you're carry on a cleaning cycle, the predictability of it means you could safely maneuver on every side the vacuum without really needing to be concerned regarding getting in its own way.

IRobot says it requires two to 3 cleaning runs for your i7+ to"learn" the room and generate a map, which is regarding what I saw in my testing. My main floor, which has 3 bigger rooms in a largely open plan, has been implicated in two runs, while the upstairs floor with numerous bedrooms, bathrooms, and hallways take extra runs to fully map. Once a floor is mapped, the app will try to identify specific rooms, but you would correct the digital boundaries and then name them after it is tried to sort out them. From there, you would tell Alexa or Google Assistant to wash a specific room with voice commands. In the event you move furniture or otherwise reconfigure a space, the i7+ will correct its map the next hour it conducts a cleanup job and update its own database.

IRobot claims these mapping abilities not just confirm that the Roomba cleans the entire floor earlier giving up, but in addition, it allows it to wash in a quicker, extra efficient manner since it already knows what regions it has protected and what has not yet been done.

The app also has the normal monitoring options and battery-monitoring features. Unique to the i7+ would be the reports after it has finished a job: it could inform me how many square feet it washed, how many"dirt occasions" there were, and how long it take to finish the job. It also shows me a map of all the areas it hit during the cleanup run.

But clever mapping isn't the only luxury feature on the i7+, in addition, it could automatically empty its own bin. The i7+ has a special charging base that sucks all of the dirt and dust out of the vacuum and sets it into a sealed disposable bag. The bag in the base holds 30 bins filled with dirt, and you could buy a three-pack of substitution bags for RM 180 if you have gone through the two that the iRobot includes.

This system has two advantages over the standard way you drain a robot vacuum: it removes placing the dust back into the atmosphere if you hit the bin into the garbage could, and it means you just need to think regarding draining it each month or so, instead of each hour it runs. Obviously, the disadvantage to this is that the base is a lot bigger than a standard charging base, the totes are an added cost that you have to shoulder, and also the procedure for sucking on the dirt out of the vacuum is very loud.

That leads me into the shortcomings of the i7+. IRobot says that the brand new vacuum is quieter than the 980 it replaces, but this is not a quiet vacuum cleaner. It's considerably louder than the simple robot vacuum I'm understand with, and also the cleanup base sounds such as a jet engine when it blows off the dirt out of the i7+. Should you such as to program your robot to operate in the middle of the night when everybody is sleeping, you may great it to be too loud when cleaning and draining. IRobot states that the i7+ has 10 times the suction capacity of its base models, but the cost of all that power is extra noise.

The i7+ also requires few lighting in the rooms in which it is carry on in order for its different cameras and sensors to operate, so carry on it in a darkened room overnight isn't the most effective way to make use of it.

And lastly, although the i7+ got stuck distant smaller frequently than my dumb robot in the months I've been testing it, it still has difficulty with high-pile carpeting. The shag rug runner in my upstairs hallway proved to be particularly difficult for the robot to work out, and it got stuck on the carpet virtually each hour it ran over it, requiring a guide intervention and reset.

The i7+ is a remarkable robot vacuum with unique features which you won't good on lesser models. I do not necessarily think it's worth five times the cost of a typical vacuum, but once this automation trickles down to lower-end models, it is going to be extremely nice to have.

Now, if just robot vacuums can figure out a way to climb stairs.

youtube

Conclusion:

Together with the iRobot market getting extra competitive with Lazada and also Shopee, it is surely fine news for the end consumer such as us. We will obtain greater deals and prices for iRobot items such as Roomba and Braava. Together with John Ackerman departing the Malaysia market, it would appear that we're place with AutoVac Bot, Kimi Robot Store, plus a new competitor, OhMyMi.

Personally, I think that AutoVac Bot is your top iRobot distributor right now, since they're highly concentrated on distributing iRobot goods in Malaysia. What I such as top regarding AutoVac Bot is that their simplicity of buy on the website, and extremely speedy response hour via livechat on their website.

They have been venturing in the Singapore market and I'm so excited to sight how it turns out.

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erotica-couple · 4 years

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Honey... I Fucked Up (Part 1)

I’m not particularly proud of the events I’m about to describe, but they are what they are. Still, contrary to the famous adage, this story is probably proof that the greatest of ends can sometimes indeed be achieved by the basest of means.

What I remember about that day is… quite confusing. Some of it I remember with crystal clarity, but other parts of it are a haze. I was having a late night with the girls. It wasn’t a particularly special one – we’d been on benders like this one time and time again. The only difference was that before this night, I had taken a pretty long break (almost a year) from carousing with my girlfriends after settling down with a guy I was particularly enamored with. It wasn’t every day that I met a man I wanted to wake up to over, and over again, so I took the effort to stave off partying while I focused on building our relationship together.

Things had been going beautifully between us, and I was sure I loved this guy. We’d even gone out and found an apartment together, and while that might not be a huge step for some people, it was for me. Before meeting Charlie, I had never even been mildly interested in setting up shop with a man. I was, as my girlfriends often reminded me, naturally averse to long-term commitments, and the fact that I’d stuck it out for almost a year with Charlie floored some of my closest friends. There was something magnetic about him – he was charming, funny, sweet – not at all possessive. He wasn’t a psycho, like some of the men before him, but he wasn’t boring either.

In short, it had been awhile since I’d been out on the town. I didn’t go out that night with the intention of being unfaithful, obviously. In fact, I had told myself I was going to keep the alcohol intake to a minimum and try to get my high off the music. The club we had been planning to hit up that night had a DJ playing that week that I was really into, so I was confident at the time that that alone would be enough to get me going for the night.

As with all such promises to oneself, my optimistic pledge fell apart quite quickly. At the behest of my particularly unhinged friend Cheryl, I knocked back a few too many shots of vodka and was completely lost in the music, the crowd and the thumping, pumping atmosphere. My hips were winding, my hair was swinging, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

That was when he showed up. One of the (very) few things I remembered about him was the smell of his perfume – fuck me, it was strong. The masculine scent shot through my nostrils, and it made me take note of his presence immediately. I was a sucker for manly, woody smells and just the thought of the kind of man he might be was enough to send a tingle of excitement down my spine. Seconds after he pushed up against me, I felt his hands rest on my hips, and his stubble grazing up against my cheek as his lips pressed up to my left ear.

“You’re sexy,” was all he said, in some fucking erotic, exotic accent.

I remember instantly swooning in his firm, masculine grasp.

With alcohol coursing through my veins, it didn’t take long for things to get more risqué. My hips were gyrating against his, swinging to the rhythm of the music, and his hands were all over me. I should have stopped him when he reached up to my breasts and squeezed them through my dress in his large, rough hands, but I just… couldn’t. I’d barely caught a glimpse of his face, but his aura… it was so commanding, so gripping, that I let him touch me wherever he wanted to.

Still, even at that point, I didn’t expect things to go much further. I knew we would fondle on the dancefloor, and I knew I would probably soon succumb to the curiosity of wanting to feel his crotch in my hands through his jeans, but I told myself I would end the tryst the moment he asked me back to his place.

Still, everything felt wrong. I would like to pretend like I thought harder about what I was doing, that I did my best to resist temptation but yet succumbed after an immense battle of the wills, but that would’ve been a lie. I had barely put up a fight. From the moment the stranger laid his hands on my hips, I was putty in his hands. Every base pleasure in my life before Charlie, every careless tryst I’d had, every meaningless fuck I’d spread my legs for – those were the things this stranger represented to me. He was everything I used to be, everything I thought I’d escaped from in the last year. In under fifteen minutes, he’d shattered any idealistic notion I had that I could live a quiet, ‘normal’, muted life. He reminded me, as his hands slipped under my dress and against my naked body, that I was a fucking slut, and that I loved every second of being one.

The girls had seen what was happening, and I wanted to hate myself for proving them right again – for proving them right that my thing with Charlie wouldn’t last, for proving them right that I couldn’t keep my legs closed in the presence of a rugged, studly man – but I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong – I loved Charlie. He was the only man in years that had held any weight in my hustle-bustle of a love-life, the only one that felt like he truly, truly mattered. But that didn’t change the fact that I was weak, and it didn’t change the fact that I was irresponsibly insatiable. Even as I felt a deep, nagging guilt towards Charlie, my body continued to acknowledge that the stranger groped me in all the right ways. I was wet. I was so fucking wet for him.

This was where things got hazy. The stranger put his lips to my left ear again and told me to follow him. I knew where things were going, but I put off my earlier resolution to put a stop to things for just a little longer. I wanted to feel his cock in my hands first, just for a tiny, tiny second. Then, I told myself would go back to Charlie and beg him for his forgiveness.

But my plans must have changed, because the next thing I remember in my clouded cocktail of alcohol, adrenaline and ravenous desire, was finding myself in the toilet in the back of the club, closed in a stall with the man. Maybe I’d succumbed because I had already felt how big he was when he was grinding up behind on me on the dance floor – that’s how big he was, I literally felt him on my ass through his fucking jeans – and I knew what was going to happen next, or maybe I was still lying to myself; lying to myself that I wasn’t about to go all the way with a stranger I’d only met fifteen minutes ago.

When the man pulled his trousers off and I saw the length of his cock, I’ll never forget how quickly my jaw dropped. Before I’d seen his rod, I was still aware enough of what I was doing to feel pretty shitty about the whole thing – I had something good with my boyfriend and was disappointed with how easily I’d submitted to some fucking handsy, muscular douchebag in a club. But the moment I saw that thing, I knew I wasn’t just going to tug him off and have him cum on my thighs. I knew I was going to spread my already dripping, warm cunt for him right in that dingy stall, and that he was going to fuck me good when I did.

I didn’t resist when he pushed me up against the stall and snaked his thick, fat cock right under my dress and up to my pussy. It slipped in easy. His head pushed into me, and when the rest of that thick, throbbing shaft followed my knees buckled immediately and I screamed in fucking ecstasy. It was SO much bigger than anything I’d had, and after months of just taking my boyfriend’s satisfactory yet significantly smaller cock, it felt like a fucking revelation. The way he split me open, and the way I could feel his manhood probing me – it was so, so much more animal… so much rawer. I could actually feel it throbbing through me, the pulse of his rod was that strong.

He gripped my hair in his hand, pushed my face up against the wall of the stall, and fucked me senseless. The stall rattled, though I was sure the other patrons of the club’s toilet were used to seeing (and hearing) strange things. I was too busy whimpering, gasping and moaning to be bothered with what people I couldn’t see thought of me, and too busy being jack-hammered to feel guilty about my actions anymore. In fact, I couldn’t help but compare the men’s respective prowess’ – having not had another man besides Charlie in almost a year, admittedly, left my sexual appetite wanting in certain areas. He liked things slow, and often struggled to take control in bed. I loved him, but I often left the bedroom wanting just a little more.

And now, I was getting everything I missed out on. I was getting it all. No foreplay, no condom, no romance – just pure, unadulterated sex. As his cock jammed its way in and out of my cunt, he pulled my dress up to shoulders and massaged my bare tits in his hands. Pinching, rolling and smacking, he found the difficult balance between pain and pleasure, and sent me into one of the most intense orgasms I’d had in my life. As I came on a stranger’s cock in a poorly lit bathroom stall, I felt the man rest his forehead against the back of my head. He was breathing heavily, and his grunts grew louder, and more labored.

He was going to cum.

I was going to let some fucking stranger cum inside my pussy. I knew I was going to. I wanted it. I wanted to feel that first, violent shot of sperm bury itself deep into my cunt. I wanted him to fill me up with splashes of his warm, oozing cum. I wanted to feel it slowly spill out of me when he pulled the length of his shaft out of my pussy. And so I did. I let him cum inside me, knowing I was doing Charlie wrong.

I remember very little of what happened after.

Obviously, quite some regret followed when I woke up the next morning, sober, with a pounding headache, and the guilt of what I’d done weighing on my mind. My cunt was sore, and I swear there were traces of the stranger’s cum still oozing out of my pussy and onto the bed I shared with my boyfriend that night, in the new apartment we’d only just found for ourselves.

I couldn’t remember how I got home, but I was in a flimsy night-dress and looked reasonably kempt. I figured that my girlfriends had probably made sure I got home safely, though I didn’t think they would have told Charlie about what they likely knew had happened between me and the man they had seen me dancing with.

I finally mustered up the courage sometime around noon to tell Charlie about the events of the night before. As much of an impulsive slut I was, I was no liar. If Charlie was going to dump me for it, I had braced myself for that too.

“H-honey…” I heaved, breathless and struggling to look him in the eye, “I fucked up.”

I was taken completely off-guard by my boyfriend’s reaction to my confession. In fact, I… couldn’t believe my ears. The conversation we had that day would turn out to be the beginning of a loving, yet incredibly kinky chapter in both our lives.

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glorious-spoon · 5 years

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The Bird and the Fish

Written for days 19 & 20 of Tentacletober: Protective Tentacles and Established Tentacle Relationship. Follows Beached and Overboard.

Rated T; Malec & Clizzy, no archive warnings apply. Other than the fact that it’s an excessively serious take on tentacle monster crack, as per usual :P

In which Izzy starts to become suspicious.

Read on AO3

Izzy has been sleeping on the couch at Alec and Jace’s off-campus apartment for all of a week when she finally gives up on waiting for one of them to tell her what’s going on and corners Jace while he’s putting away groceries. Or at least, what passes for groceries for the two of them; all she knows is that there’s a frankly excessive amount of protein powder and cheap beer.

“So,” she says significantly, leaning against the fridge and folding her arms. Jace jumps slightly, then gives her a quick, nervous look that couldn’t be more suspicious if he was holding up a sign reading SHADY BULLSHIT AHEAD. That’s why she started with him, really. Alec is almost as stubborn as she is; Jace will fold like wet paper if you know where to push. Which she does. “Did you guys join a cult, or what?”

Jace blinks at her. “No.”

“Because you’ve both been really evasive since I got here.”

“We haven’t been evasive,” Jace says, evasively.

“Does this have anything to do with the Herondale?” She doesn’t even know the whole story there, other than the fact that about a dozen people ended up getting arrested, including Alec’s boss, and Alec spent three days in the hospital and was distinctly squirrely about the exact details of his near-drowning afterward. “You guys never really told me what happened.”

“Alec caught Aldertree’s smuggling ring, Aldertree had him thrown him overboard like the murdering fuckface that he is,” Jace says, and the anger in his voice, at least, is definitely real. Izzy can relate.

“And then he… what, swam to shore? With a broken ankle?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Oh, come on,” Izzy starts, but before she can pursue that line of questioning, the front door swings open to admit Alec himself, tousle-headed, sunburnt, and wearing wet swim trunks, dripping a trail of water across the worn linoleum floor as he kicks his sandals off and wanders toward the kitchen.

“Oh, thank god,” Jace says. “Here. Torment Alec instead of me, I need to go get ready for work.”

“Why are we tormenting Jace?” Alec asks. He smells like salt water and sweat when he leans past Izzy to grab a Powerade out of the fridge.

Izzy wrinkles her nose and ducks out from under his arm. “I’m not tormenting him, I was just asking about what happened with your shady boss—”

“Ex-boss.”

“Yeah, near-drowning is one hell of a pink slip,” Izzy says dryly, and pokes his chest where there’s an unmistakable double-row of reddish-purple hickeys showing up under the sunburn. “Nice body art, by the way. Did he have suckers?”

Alec turns bright red, which isn’t unexpected; Jace makes an appalled noise, which actually kind of is, and groans, “Jesus Christ, Alec, you weren’t seriously—”

“I’m gonna go shower,” Alec says quickly, and slips out of the kitchen like he’s been greased, hickeys and all.

“I have to get ready for work, asshole,” Jace yells after him as the bathroom door slams shut. He glances back at Izzy, mumbles, “So I’m gonna just—” then hooks his thumb over his shoulder and flees, leaving Izzy blinking and baffled in the kitchen.

Asking Alec about it goes about as well as interrogating a brick wall, which is more or less what she expected. Izzy has the good sense to stop before he actually storms off and they manage to pass a fairly pleasant evening bickering over terrible reality TV before Jace gets home just past midnight and yells at them both to go to bed.

That doesn’t mean that Izzy has forgotten about it, though.

The thing is, Alec and Jace have always kind of been a self-contained unit. They fight almost as much as they get along, but it’s still always been Alec-and-Jace, with little Izzy trailing along behind them. Never quite in on the jokes, never quite able to keep up.

She’s twenty years old now, with a college degree behind her and med school ahead; it shouldn’t still sting like this. Maybe it’s just that she’s lonely after things ended with Meliorn, maybe it’s that this will probably be the last summer the three of them get to spend together, but it all just feels like the end of an era. Also, there’s clearly a good chunk of the story that she hasn’t gotten, and Izzy is determined not to be left in the dark. Not this time.

Anyway, it passes the time. And it’s better than spending her summer sleeping in her childhood bed while Max is away at camp and her mom is up to her ears in her expanding business and all of her high school friends are off to bigger and better things. At least this way she can get out, swim in the ocean, harass her brothers and flirt with the cute redheaded girl who does cartoon sketches on the boardwalk for five bucks a pop.

She does one of Izzy, late one night after the shops have all closed down and mayflies are circling the tall lights, and it’s not one of the goofy cartoons she sells to the tourists but Izzy’s face sketched out in graceful confident lines, dark eyes and a soft expression that Izzy definitely doesn’t remember wearing, and the girl—Clary, her name is Clary—pushes it into her hands and refuses to take any payment and practically flees before Izzy can do anything else, like, say, ask her out to dinner.

She wanders home with the sketch clutched in her hand, feeling light and warm and unusually content with the world, not even thinking about Jace and Alec and whatever mysterious bullshit they’re definitely lying to her about.

So of course that’s when she crosses through the dunes on a shortcut back to the apartment and sees a tall familiar shadow slipping down toward the water.

It’s Alec. He’s in swim trunks again, barefoot and shirtless even though it’s starting to get cool at night as summer draws to a close. He has something in his hand but she can’t tell what it is. At the water’s edge, he kneels, silvery waves licking up over his feet and legs, reflecting the moonlight, and sets whatever it was he was carrying in the water. He sits back for a minute, then stands again and starts to wade out. A few yards out he must hit the drop off, because his head dips below the water for a moment before surfacing again, silhouette swaying rhythmically against the moonlit sky in a way that means he’s treading water. Izzy drifts closer without even meaning to.

A shadow moves beneath the waves, and then a man surfaces a few feet from Alec, all of a sudden, like he just emerged from the sea. A gleaming grin on his face reflects the moonlight, and from this distance, over the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, she can’t hear what they’re saying, but Alec’s voice is soft and low enough that she’s not surprised when he moves closer, leaning in to kiss the man with a comfortable sort of familiarity.

Just a late-night hookup, then. Izzy makes a face and starts to turn away before she can inadvertently witness any more of it, then pauses. Something is rippling, breaking the surface of the water. Several dark appendages that are definitely not arms twine up over Alec’s shoulders and into his hair, and instead of trying to escape he—turns, and presses a quick smiling kiss to one of them.

“What,” Izzy says out loud, “the fuck.”

It comes out louder and shriller than she intends, splitting the fragile silence. Alec jerks, spins toward her, but the other man—he shoves Alec back with effortless force, spinning so that he’s between Izzy and Alec with the vast moonlit ocean spread out behind them. More of those things (tentacles, she thinks, slightly hysterical, those are tentacles, what the fuck) slip out of the water, making what would actually be a pretty menacing display if Alec wasn’t shoving at them exasperatedly, slipping under one of the tentacles and pushing it out of the way with a careless hand.

“Stop that, it’s just my sister,” he says, and then, “Izzy, what the hell are you doing here?”

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Who is that?” She almost says What is that, because the—man, or whatever he is, is staring at her from the water, his eyes an inhuman shade of yellow, reflecting the moonlight. There are long slits on the sides of his throat that ripple faintly as she watches. Gills.

And there are the tentacles. Several of them are still wrapped around Alec, who doesn’t seem bothered by it. He glances at his companion, then back at Izzy, then sighs.

“This is not how I was planning on telling you about all this, for the record,” he says wearily. “Izzy, Magnus Bane. Magnus, my sister, Isabelle.”

“The nosy one,” Magnus Bane says. There’s an odd lilt to his voice, not quite an accent; it’s more as if it’s reflecting against itself, a resonance that makes Izzy think of walesong, echoes in the deep. His smile gleams; his teeth are sharp. “I remember.”

“I’m not,” she starts, then snaps her mouth shut, flushing. The drawing that Clary gave her is starting to crumple in her fist, and she forces herself to relax before she can ruin it.

“That’s not how I put it,” Alec says, glancing at Izzy. “Curious. I said curious. Be nice.”

Magnus Bane surveys her for another moment, then sighs, relaxing. The tentacles coiled around Alec loosen. “All right. I’m sorry.” It’s half to her, half to Alec. “I haven’t had especially good luck with shore-dwellers lately. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Thanks,” Alec says dryly. “Neither have I, honestly.”

That near-drowning thing, Izzy realizes suddenly. Out loud, she says, “I was wondering how you survived that.”

“Yeah.” Alec glances at Magnus, who is watching him with a softness that makes her want to like him, suddenly. Even if he does seem like the exact kind of asshole that Alec would fall for, only in the shape of some quasi-mythical being. Or because of that, maybe. “I had a little help.”

“Oh,” Izzy says. She looks at Magnus, who is looking back at her, and the thing is—

The thing is, there are tentacles coiled around Alec’s shoulders and arms and Magnus has one hand out of the water and is resting it on Alec’s elbow, webbed fingers splayed. There is, absurdly, what looks like sparkly polish on his nails. This whole thing is so patently ridiculously unbelievable that she’s half-convinced that she’s hallucinating it. But the expression on his face is something close to anxious.

“Thank you,” she tells him seriously, and his grin is sudden and sharp and makes him look warmer all of a sudden.

“Entirely selfish, my dear.” He turns back toward Alec. One of the tentacles brushes Alec’s wet hair out of his face, and it’s both incredibly weird and incredibly tender. “Perhaps you should… explain things.”

“I don’t want to stand you up if—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Magnus tells him, and there’s an undercurrent there that Izzy can’t read. “Talk to your sister. I trust your judgement. I’ll let Cat and Ragnor know.”

He lifts his chin to press another familiar kiss to Alec’s mouth, then just—slips away into the water, leaving barely a ripple behind him. Alec stays where he is for a long moment before turning and starting back toward the shore. He lets the tide carry him in, then straightens up in the shallows and wades the rest of the way back. He flops onto the wet sand next to her. Izzy stares down at him, and he gives her a look and pats the sand next to him. She sits.

“You were following me,” he says.

“You’ve been lying to me,” she counters, although that’s probably not completely fair. Alec sighs like it is, though.

“Yeah, well, would you have believed me if I told you the truth?”

“That you’re dating the Loch Ness monster? No, probably not.”

“We’re not, it’s not—” Alec shoves a hand through his hair and grimaces. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Izzy says, more sincerely than she really means to. She’s thinking, suddenly of a scrap of near-forgotten lines from the drama club’s 10th grade production of ‘Fiddler on the Roof’: A bird may love a fish, but where would they build a home together?

She’s pretty sure Joseph Stein didn’t mean it quite this literally, but it still applies. Alec’s profile looks thoughtful in the moonlight when she glances over at him, and Izzy hesitates, then settles a hand on his shoulder. She thinks about trying to say something supportive, but she knows from long experience how Alec tends to react to sympathy.

“So,” she says instead. Alec glances down at her warily, and Izzy finds herself grinning, which only makes him look more wary. “Tentacles, huh? How’s that work?”

It gets the reaction she was hoping for. Alec makes a strangled sort of noise and drops his face into his hands. “I am not discussing that with you.”

“I’m just saying. You’re living the hentai dream.”

“I will drown you,” Alec mutters with no real ire, then scrubs his hands over his face and glances over at her. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah,” Izzy says. “Obviously.”

“I mean it. Nobody. Not Mom, not Max, not your girlfriend—”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Sure.” Alec raises his eyebrows and nods at the paper still clutched in her hand. Her own face, lovingly rendered. There’s a signature at the bottom corner: Clary Fairchild. The ‘i’s’ in ‘Fairchild’ are dotted with hearts.

There’s a phone number scribbled under it. She didn’t notice it before. Too distracted by Clary’s blushing face and rapid retreat, and then by Alec and his… whatever the hell all this is.

“Shut up.” She’s blushing. “Anyway, it’s not like anyone would believe me.”

“Doesn’t matter. Magnus and his people, what would happen to them if someone found out—” He breaks off, looking out toward the sea, toward wherever Magnus is. He doesn’t need to continue. Izzy isn’t stupid; she can read between the lines. She shivers a little, though it’s not that cold.

“Jace already knows.” It’s not a question.

Alec nods. “He was there with me, the first time we… met Magnus. It’s a long story.”

“Oh,” Izzy says. There’s not really anything else she can say. She moves closer to Alec, propping her shoulder against his and watching him spin the small metal thing that isn’t a phone around and around in his hand while the moon drifts higher in the sky and the waves wash in around them.

“You should call her,” Alec says eventually. “Your artist, I mean.”

Izzy looks up at him; from this angle his face is all but unreadable in the way that Alec often is, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess what he’s thinking. And even if it did, Izzy just so happens to be a genius.

“Yeah,” she says, and bumps his shoulder companionably. “Maybe I will.”

#my fic #shadowhunters fic #tentacletober #look i don't even know what this is

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