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willow-salix · 3 years

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TAG MiniBang 2021

Because the combined bad influences of Flyboy and Sonata were at work here we also decided to bend the rules a little and post early...

I was privileged to work with one of my best friends on this project, @misssquidtracy . We went a little rogue (seems to be a theme for us) and shared both parts of the challenge with both of us contributing to the art and the writing. Squiddy provided a beautifully done pallet knife piece as the background for my foreground art and we plotted the story together to ensure that it worked for both of us. We had been looking forward to sharing the writing but unfortunately, due to life constraints on her part she was only able to write a little of the fic but what she did add perfectly compliments the tone and style of my writing.

Big thanks to @tagminibang ) @godsliltippy ) for organising this event.

So, here it is, our offering to the TAG Mini Bang. We hope you enjoy it.

Ting ting ting

“Not again,” Virgil groaned, hauling himself up the stairs from the kitchen to the lounge. He regretted ever giving Gordon that bell, he really did. Yes his brother had gone through a tough time, yes he had scared the hell out of them when the Chaos Crew had left him at the bottom of the ocean in his mangled craft, yes they were incredibly grateful that he was alive and mostly whole, but if they had to hear that dinging one more time they might possibly murder him themselves.

“Yes, Gordy, what do you need?”

“I’m lonely, and I’m hungry, come and sit with me for a bit?”

“Sure-”

“But maybe make me a sandwich first?”

“A sandwich?”

“Yeah, with extra cheese and a pickle on the side, not too large a pickle but not too small that it’s gone in one bite. I want to taste it, you know, but not be overwhelmed.”

“Sure-”

“And can you get me a drink too? One of my special milkyshakes, you know, with the ice cream and frozen banana in it?”

“Coming right up,” Virgil sighed, heading back down to the kitchen again.

“Gordon still demanding everything and anything?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the poolside. His T-shirt was sticking to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat but he still looked like he could do it all again. Not that they would have time, they were lucky if they got to do any planned exercise at all, usually they were forced to skip it and work out on the job when a call came in.

“Of course he is,” Virgil growled, slapping a slice of cheese on a piece of bread with far more force than necessary.

“What did the cheese do to you?”

“It’s guilty by association.”

“Ah,” Scott said, like that explained things perfectly.

A few slices of chicken received the same treatment and Scott wondered if the meat had actually been dead when it arrived on the island or if Virgil had simply smacked it into submission so well that the chicken had flown clear into next week and arrived as sandwich filling.

“Can you fix his drink?” Virgil asked.

“Can’t gotta shower this off before Grandma accuses me of stinking up the place again.”

“Any excuse,” Virgil scowled. “It would only take you a second.”

“A second too long, bro, I’m escaping while I can and you’d be wise to do the same,” Scott said, heading for the stairs and freedom.

“How can I escape when Gordon needs help?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Scott told him wisely.

“I am? And that would be…”

“John’s home.”

Virgil snorted out a laugh. “He’s less likely to do it than you are.”

“No, you're misunderstanding me. If John’s home that means…” Scott let his sentence trail off into silence heavily filled with insinuation.

“Sel’s here,” Virgil finished triumphantly, catching on perfectly.

“Give that Tracy a prize,” Scott grinned, shooting triumphant finger guns his brother’s way as he headed up the stairs.

And they said that John was the genius in the family, they hadn’t seen Scott at his most devious. Virgil wasted no time in yanking out his phone and texting the witch to come and take over.

“Here’s your sammich, Squidward,” Selene cooed, plonking the plate down on Gordon’s lap while smacking a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil started it but I finished it for you, Brains called him down to his lab with some kind of air filter emergency so I took over. I brought you some of those crisps you like from my private stash too.”

“The cheesy curl ones?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Yep,” she grinned, waggling a family sized bag of Quavers in his general direction.

“Did you bring my drink?” Gordon asked around a mouthful of chickeny goodness. Say what you wanted about Virgil but he made a damn good sandwich, even if Gordon could taste that this was made with a little less love and a little more impatience than usual.

“No, sorry, did you want one? Virgil didn’t say that. I’ll go get you something, just wait right there.”

"Not like I can leave if the mood takes me," Gordon grumbled as he opened the chip bag.

She was already gone, only to race back in a few moments later with a can of coke.

“What? What’s wrong, boo?” Selene asked when she saw the pouting look of disappointment on Gordon’s face.

“It was supposed to be one of my special milkyshakes,” he whined.

“Right, got it, my bad!”

She was gone again, taking off to the kitchen where, upon closer inspections, she did indeed find the beginnings of a milkshake. There were two scoops of ice cream already in the blender, melting in the warmth of the room. A half peeled banana sat abandoned on the counter next to a carton of milk.

“Typical,” she groused as she set about breaking up the banana, pouring the milk and setting it to blend as she tidied the mess away. Once done she poured it into a tall glass, added a straw and a few slices of fresh banana to decorate the edges, just as he liked it, and delivered it to the waiting aquanaut.

“Great, thanks, Sel,” he grinned, handing her his now empty plate and swapping it for the glass. She put the plate on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“Sit with me and keep me company?” he begged, looking so miserable and pathetic that she couldn’t say no.

“Of course I will.”

Gordon swung his injured leg up and she moved to sit next to him on the couch, placing a cushion on her lap for him to rest his cast covered foot on.

Gordon settled down with a contented sigh, sucking happily on his straw, the milkshake level in the glass steadily dropping.

“I’m bored,” Gordon bitched five minutes later.

“That peace lasted a long time,” Selene laughed, putting her phone down on the side table to give him her full attention. “What can I do to help? Do you want to watch something or play a game?”

Gordon made a face. “You’re crap at games, Sel.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly say crap…”

“You tried to play with Alan and died three times in two minutes, lost all your lives and were forced to float along behind him as a ghost for the rest of his turn.”

“Anything is crap when you say it like that,” Selene huffed.

“Only when it’s true.”

“Tell me then, oh great games master, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t moan you’re bored,” she pointed out.

“I mean there’s nothing to do. No one is around.”

Selene gestured to her chest. “Am I suddenly invisible?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed. “That would be far too cool, why don’t you have witch powers like that?”

“Because I live in the real world, not a movie?”

“Lame,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Back to the original point that I am, in fact, right here. Therefore your comment that no one is around is redundant.”

“I meant no one I can do anything with.”

“Thin ice, bub, thin ice.”

“I meant like my brothers or someone. Alan is busy revising for his final exams, Virgil’s with Brains and I’ve no idea where Scott is but I think he’s avoiding me, which is just mean if you ask me. I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” she drawled, not sounding too convinced. “You’re also forgetting a brother.”

“Who?”

“John? You know, gorgeous ginger love of my life that’s chilling in his room right this minute? That brother?”

“John? No way.”

“What’s wrong with John?” she squawked indignantly. Her man was the most perfect of people, amazing and fabulous, just all round awesome. Although she might be a tad biased.

Gordon shrugged, scrunching his nose up in a ‘meh’ kinda way that said everything and nothing.

“No, come on, tell me what you meant,” she demanded.

“No offence, Sel, but John’s a bit…”

“A bit what?” she asked, her tone warning him that he was in very dangerous territory.

Gordon, with the grace of an elephant and confidence of a man that knew he was injured and therefore wouldn’t get slapped, plowed on.

“A bit boring.”

“Boring?!” she hollered, her voice travelling to the four corners of the island so effectively that Alan lifted his head, wondering if some distant God was echoing his thoughts as he slogged through his history homework.

“How very dare you!” Selene continued, working up a good glare that Gordon was completely immune to. He simply sipped the last of his milkshake, smacked his lips and raised an eyebrow, daring her to do something about it.

“He is not boring.”

“Matter of opinion,” Gordon shrugged, handing her the glass to put down on the table.

“Right, that’s it, you can besmirch my fun factor but I will not allow you to do so to my man. That’s a step too far.” She gently, for which he was thankful, shoved his leg off her lap and dragged his hover chair over from its spot beside Virgil’s piano.

“Get the hell in, hoppy, we’re going for a ride.”

-x-

"You deal with him, he's driving me nuts and pissing me off at the same time."

"Me? I'm the very picture of perfection, I could never drive anyone nuts."

John declined to comment on that one for fear of never stopping, he had twenty-four years worth of stories after all.

“The pissing you off is subjective too,” Gordon finished triumphantly.

"He's your problem now," Selene announced, shoving Gordon's hover chair further into the room before making her escape, slamming the door shut behind her.

John closed his eyes, praying for patience. His fiancée was well known for her legendary patience when it came to pampering and mothering his family whenever any of them were sick or injured. She'd spent almost every day with Gordon since his run in with the Chaos Crew and had done so with relentless cheer, for her to have given up now was not a good sign.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Gordon protested hotly.

"Are you sure?"

Gordon averted his gaze, suddenly taking great interest in a dust particle dancing across the shaft of sunlight filtering in through the window, "Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't doing anything. That was part of the problem."

"Ah," there it was. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm so bored," Gordon wailed. "And your girlfriend is being mean to me."

"Fiancée," John corrected him, not looking up from his work.

"It's not my fault I hate sitting around doing nothing all day. I’ve gone from a physically and mentally intensive, fifty plus hour a week job, to sitting on my ass from dawn until dusk. Can you blame a guy for getting twitchy?"

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice at the moment," John reminded him, quite needlessly he thought.

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Gordon huffed, trying to cross his arms although the cast and sling he was sporting prevented it. That just seemed to annoy him even more.

"I can't do anything right now! How do you do it?"

"Do what?" John asked, squinting through his magnifier at the small window frame he was carving from a piece of polymer clay.

"Just sit around all day."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't sit around all day."

"OK, float around then. It's not like you're actively running around like the rest of us are."

"I'll pretend I never heard you say that," John scowled, wishing Selene had dumped his brother into the sea instead of into his quiet, peaceful room.

"You're sitting around right now," Gordon pointed out, gesturing to the desk John was sitting at, which was currently doing double duty as a work table for his latest project.

"One day you'll learn to appreciate the benefits of a quiet, occupied mind and a still body," John told him.

Gordon sighed, propping his good elbow on the desktop, his chin resting in his upturned palm as he watched his brother fiddling with tiny things that seemed utterly useless to him.

"What are you even doing?"

"Working on a series of book nooks for Sel's side of the bookcase," John answered, sounding slightly distracted as he measured the finished window against its place in an intricately carved brick wall.

"Why?"

"Because she likes them."

"I mean why are you making it? Can't you just buy her one? It's not like you can't afford it."

"Where's the challenge in that? Besides, things are always more special when you make them yourself."

Gordon yawned and leant forward to rest his head on the tabletop.

"Do you want to help?" John offered, although honestly Gordon's version of helping was always patchy at best.

Gordon scooted closer to look over John's shoulder, eyes darting over the rectangular box that he was building the nook inside. About the size of two thick books sandwiched together, the nook already had a little cobbled street and two shop fronts in place. The tabletop was scattered with a selection of impossibly tiny screwdrivers, picks, scalpels and other instruments of possible torture that he couldn't hope to name.

"Pass," he announced decisively, flicking the control of his hoverchair so he spun in a wide circle, pointing to the door. "I'm out."

"Peace at last," John sighed, flicking his magnifier back into place over his right eye as he set aside the window to be baked later and reached for a fresh blob of clay.

-x-

"What ya dooooooing?" Gordon yodelled, slamming the bedroom door open so hard that it smacked into the wall and shook several picture frames. He scooted his way into the room without even waiting for an invite.

"Gordon!" John huffed, clutching his heart where it was trying to leap out of his chest from the shock of his brother’s sudden, and very noisy, entrance.

"Hi, I got bored, thought I'd drop in on my favourite big brother," Gordon grinned as he glided his hoverchair closer.

"Are Scott and Virgil busy?" John asked, that would be the only reason Gordon would have promoted him to his favourite.

"Yes," Gordon admitted, "but that's not the reason why I'm here."

John turned his head to shoot him a raised eyebrow of doom, clearly communicating without words that he didn't believe him in the slightest.

"So, what are you doing?"

"Working on this book nook," John replied patiently, holding up the small cauldron he was crafting.

"The same one?"

"Yes."

Gordon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Still? It’s been four days!"

"Yes," John hissed out, starting to get frustrated by the constant questions.

"Why?"

"Because it takes a long time. If you're going to do a project you should do it right."

"At the speed you're going it's gonna take forever," Gordon snorted, casting an assessing eye over the work John had already done.

"That doesn't matter," John assured him. "It's not really about the time it takes or the end result, it's about the process, the journey to get there."

"Sounds lame to me," Gordon yawned.

"Obviously," John drawled, rolling his eyes.

"What do you mean by that?" Gordon demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Because it's you."

"Hey! Rude."

"Accurate," John said, placing the little cauldron down and selecting another piece of clay which he placed on a ceramic tile.

"Why?"

"Because it requires a calm mind. It's good to slow down sometimes and just be still."

"Says the console jockey."

Console Jockey? He did not just say that!

"So you don't think my job is stressful? Or as tiring and important as yours?" John snapped, wondering if it was bad form to smack your injured brother around the head with a partially constructed book nook. He glanced at the nook, he had put a lot of work into it… It would be a shame to waste it. That thought alone saved Gordon.

“Well, yeah I get that it might be a bit stressful, but it’s not like you have to do much that puts you in danger, not like us,” Gordon continued, digging his hole even deeper, a hole that John was looking forward to shoving him into.

“We all have our specialities, you couldn’t do your job without me doing mine,” John retorted, trying very hard not to let Gordon’s comments get to him. Gordon would never understand what it was like for him to be stuck so far away from the action, away from his brothers when things were going wrong.

Gordon, thankfully for him, had been unconscious from the moment he had activated his emergency code. He hadn’t heard the frantic calls going out over the comms as the family mobilized to help him. He hadn’t heard the desperate scramble as Thunderbirds took off, racing to the scene. But John had heard it all.

John had been the one to stay on the line with Gordon, talking to him the entire time, knowing that he probably wouldn’t hear it but feeling that he needed to say it all the same. He wanted to know that if his little brother regained consciousness for even a second he would hear a familiar voice, that he would know that they were coming, that they would rescue him. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

He knew what it was like for people that were in danger, knew the comfort they got from someone talking to them, listening to their stories, being there for them verbally if not physically. John was often the one that spent the most amount of time with those they rescued, keeping their spirits up as much as possible until his brothers got there.

His brothers were seen by their rescuees as the real heroes, the ones that leapt in and plucked them out of danger, but John was the one that got them that help, the one that made sure the rescue played out as best it could, liaising and coordinating until the job was done. But Virgil, Scott, Gordon and Alan were the ones that got the thanks , the ones that got the hugs after they dropped their charges off, not John.

Not that he minded too much, he knew that his job was just as important as theirs, maybe even more so because, when someone put out that call for help, when they sent their desperate plea out into the world, they deserved to know that someone would always be listening out for it, that someone would hear and that help would come.

He knew all of this, and he knew that Gordon did too, it was just the frustration of inactivity that was making him say the things that he was. John just wished that that knowledge made it easier to listen to.

“I might not be doing the physical rescuing,” John continued, feeling the need to push his point home. “But I work just as hard, when you’re home you’re off duty until a call comes in, you can relax, swim, watch movies and laze around until you’re needed. When I’m up there I’m on duty 24/7 and even when I do manage to catch some sleep it’s not deep or particularly restful. Any little noise, any call that triggers the system's keyword algorithm gets transferred automatically, I have to go from asleep to awake in seconds to take it.”

Gordon was quiet for once, watching him closely. John didn’t like it, it made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo. And here we have the little seen Tracy, see how he stays inside his hide and hardly ever ventures out… he knew how they saw him, why they likely thought he had the easy job.

“These help, they give me something else to focus on. I need to keep my mind active and challenged while still trying to relax.” John paused, trying to think of a way to explain his thinking that Gordon might understand.

“These are almost like a meditation,” he started. Gordon understood meditation and finding your zone. “Creating something out of almost nothing. It keeps my mind focused, helps with finger dexterity and hand eye coordination with the added bonus of it relaxing me. It’s good to slow down and take some time to do something creative, you should try it some time.”

Gordon listened to his brother and he tried to take in all his words, he tried to understand the meaning behind them, he really did, but it just didn’t make any sense to him. He understood about wanting to be lazy, to sit around and do nothing sometimes. He loved to laze on the couch with his snackies and an Into the Unknown marathon playing out on the holoscreen, but that was watching something exciting, interesting, to him that was relaxing. This...whatever it was that John was actually doing, made no sense whatsoever to him. The idea of trying to relax by actually thinking...that was the most alien concept of all.

Gordon knew, probably better than his family gave him credit for, what it was like to be mislabelled. Within every sibling pool, there were the mandatory roles: the serious one, the caring one, the smart one, the funny one, the calm one, the angry one, the one who sang in the shower, et cetera. He’d proudly embraced the role of ‘the funny one’, and had diligently flown the flag for the humour camp for as long as he could remember. If a brother came home from a rescue in a slump and needed a cheery pick-me-up, it was Gordon who stepped up to the task, irrespective of his own mood. His smile and laugh were infectious, and he had yet to encounter a frown he couldn’t (eventually) turn upside down.

But with every ‘role’ came misconceptions. Scott was serious, therefore people were quick to automatically assume that he was a killjoy. Similarly, John’s intellect and preference for solitude often went hand in hand with him being branded antisocial, since there was apparently no possible way someone could enjoy their own company so much, yet still pursue and maintain meaningful relationships with actual people.

Gordon was no stranger to this treatment. He liked to laugh and be spontaneous, and consequently, was often regarded as the Tracy who didn’t take his work seriously, the Tracy who had the attention span of a gnat (albeit a very handsome one), and the Tracy who couldn’t be trusted with anything that required delicacy, be it physical or emotional. His affinity for making people laugh, though an exceptional quality, frequently acted as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his relentless optimism made him the most effective of the bunch when it came to emergencies involving children and young adults. On the other hand, it sentenced him to a fate where the bad jokes he cracked would always be two steps ahead of the secret deep thinker that lay within.

“Let me see it again,” Gordon sighed, trying his best to be a supportive and understanding brother, since he did feel a little bad about the things he had just said. He hadn’t meant to say them, they had just come out. That was the trouble with being laid up from an injury, not only were you out of action but you were in pain, and pain made you grumpy and less likely to monitor the things that came out of your mouth the way you should.

He knew that John worked hard, hell he knew that what his brother had said was right, John was never truly off duty. They were all aware that he didn’t get enough sleep, enough down time, enough time to relax and just be. They knew that if John was on Five he would consider himself on duty, at work, and therefore he’d never allow himself to take time out. Things had changed since Selene had blundered her way into his life, now he spent a lot more time on the Island, which meant that he was finally taking some time out for himself. If one of the ways he chose to do that was by crafting ridiculously tiny things out of clay to stick in a hollowed out box that was his business. Gordon wasn’t there to judge, he was there to spend time with his brother.

John moved aside a little so Gordon could get a closer look, trying to resist the urge to smack his hand away every time Gordon reached for a tiny piece that had taken him hours to perfect.

“These are really small,” Gordon mused, poking at a window that John had just finished painting, leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. “Woops, sorry, Bro.”

“Maybe you should try making something of your own,“ John suggested, carefully removing the window from his brother's possession and picking up a brush in order to attempt a fix.

Gordon nodded and John passed him a ceramic tile and a miniature rolling pin.

“How about you try cutting me out a few shop sign bases?” John suggested.

“Do I get one of those scalpel things?” Gordon asked, a little too eagerly for John’s liking.

“Maybe we can work up to that,” John hedged, subtly moving the scalpel out of his brother’s reach and passing him a square cookie cutter. “Use this cutter for now.”

Gordon shrugged and spent a few minutes rolling and squishing the clay trying to get the thickness to the exact measurement that John insisted on. It wasn’t easy or fun.

“Nope!” Gordon announced, giving up and pushing the tile away. “It’s still boring. Pass.”

He swung his hoverchair around and headed in the direction of the door. “Later, Bro.”

“Oh...OK...later, I guess,” John stuttered, wondering just what he had done to deserve such a chaotic family as his.

“Oh, hey, boo, where are you go- WAHH!”

John’s head shot up as Selene’s yelp rang out from the hallway.

“Sorry!”

“So you should be, you little shit,” she grumbled to his retreating back as she thumped into the room.

“What happened, love?”

“Let’s just say that if his chair had wheels I’d have lost a few toes,” she said, wincing in imagined pain.

John scooted his desk chair back and patted his lap in offer, one that she happily accepted.

“So, why was Gordy doing his boy racer bit? What did you say to him?”

“Me? What makes you think I said anything to him?”

“Because I know you two?”

“Fair,” he sighed, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

Selene turned her head to look at him, not liking the helpless look on his face.

“Babe, you are helping him, you’re there to keep him company or talk to him if he needs it, that’s more important than anything. What happened to make you think that you weren’t helping?”

“He was asking me about these again,” John nodded towards his work area on the desktop. “But he didn’t seem to understand, that or he just didn’t want to.”

“He’s Gordon,” she sighed. “You know what he’s like, he’s full on, he’s in your face and he’s not at all subtle. Taking his time with things just doesn’t compute with him.”

“It would do him good though, if he doesn’t learn to embrace it he’ll be exactly the same as he was last time.”

“Was he really that bad?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

John nodded. “He doesn’t do inactivity well. When he had his hydrofoil accident his therapist talked him into signing up for a virtual college degree in Environmental Management of Rivers and Wetlands. It was supposed to take him at least a year as a part time course with ANU in Canberra, but he blew through it in the first semester and earned himself a distinction for his insights on the impact of Anthropogenic Noise on Wetland Habitats. His professor was so impressed he offered him a fully funded PhD, citing his time with WASP and the time he spent in the bathyscaphe as practical experience that would make up for his lack of degree. Obviously he turned it down, but he still likes to rub our faces in it now and then.”

“Wow,” Selene breathed. “Forget his professor being impressed, I’m impressed.”

“He has a phenomenal brain,” John said, a small but very proud smile on his face. “When he actually decides to use it to its full potential, that is. There is nothing he can't do when he chooses to focus on something, he’s all in. It really helped him to feel like he was gaining something and moving forward even though he was sitting still.”

Selene nodded, understanding completely. She knew that all of her boys were wicked smart, but Gordon always presented himself as the least academic. He was more of a doer, wanting to be out in the field, learning as he went, diving in head first to every situation.

But as Selene and John both knew, appearances could be deceiving.

“If that’s what helped him last time, then we need to find a way to convince him to try something new,” Selene insisted.

“I tried, he’s not interested.”

“That was with your things, babe. We need to find something that’s a little more him, and I think I know just the thing.”

-x-

“I have arrived!” Gordon yodelled, announcing his entrance in his own unique way. He slid his hover chair in through the open door like the boss that he was, bringing his shining presence in to brighten up his middle brother's obviously dull existence. “Didja miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head,” John grumbled, turning to look at the grinning face of his brother. His eyes immediately began to water as they were assaulted by the far too bright colours of the shirt Gordon was wearing, a tie dyed monstrosity that Selene had made for him for his birthday.

“A little more gratitude, if you please," Gordon huffed.

“Grandma finally released you?”

“Yep,” Gordon stretched out his injured leg and patted the air cast on his now slingless arm. “Got time off for good behaviour.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John teased, then nodded to Gordon’s arm. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not too bad, my grip still isn't great but Grandma promised me that once the bone has finished knitting I’ll just need to exercise it and build the muscle strength up, then it’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great, it won't be long before you're able to go back out with Virgil and stop, how did Sel put it, 'haunting the house like the ghost of Christmas future'?"

"Can't come soon enough," Gordon sighed, butting his chair right up close to John's, knocking his arm in the process. "What you do- you're still doing that? Still? It's been a week!"

"It's not like I get a huge amount of down time," John pointed out. "I'm only here now because Sel said she'd dump me if I didn't make an effort to come down earlier in the evenings so I could actually eat a meal with you all."

"You actually believed that threat?" Gordon laughed.

"Of course not, she'd never dump me, but I thought I had better humour her and let her feel like she at least had a little sway," John shrugged, pushing aside the little piece of doorstep he had been painting. "Honestly, it's nice to come down for a meal and family time, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until it was happening again."

"I guess we all got a bit too caught up in International Rescue after we lost Dad," Gordon admitted.

"Like we had nothing else in our lives," John nodded, completely understanding.

"Yep."

Gordon fell silent and John let him, concentrating on mixing the perfect colour acrylic to add a few highlights to his stones.

"Can I have a go at making something? I bet I could do it quicker than you," Gordon asked, reaching towards what Selene called the sharps tub. John smacked the lid down on it just in time.

"Actually, we got you a present."

"You did?" Instantly distracted, Gordon sat up straighter, excited by the prospect of a gift. "What did you get me?"

This," John answered, opening his desk drawer and extracting an interestingly shaped bottle, upright with a thicker, rounded bottom and a thinner neck, ending a cork stopper.

"Wow, is that an original?" Gordon asked, taking the bottle carefully and turning it to study it from all angles. He knew exactly what this shaped bottle was, there had been a collection of them in Commander Shore’s office that he would stare at every time he got called in for some reprimand or another.

"19th century," John nodded. "Sel found it in a little shop in Mayfair. They assured her it was a genuine, used on a ship, captain's decanter from around the time of the civil war. They hadn’t fully traced it when Sel bought it but they think it came from one of the ships that fought in one of the smaller skirmishes around 1861.”

“This is really cool, thanks,” Gordon smiled, still turning the bottle over and over.

“It’s to hold this,” John continued, drawing Gordon’s attention back to him.

Grinning, John delved back into his desk drawer and pulled out a rather faded and quite dusty box. He brushed the dirt off the top and slid it over to Gordon.

"A ship?" Gordon frowned.

"Yep, Selene and I thought that you needed a little project of your own, so she had the idea to get you a ship in a bottle. You don’t see them a lot these days, but apparently her Grandfather had a couple and they always fascinated her.”

“So you put the ship in the bottle?”

“Yep, instructions are inside, go nuts.”

“Pfft, instructions,” Gordon snorted. “No one needs instructions, they’re a waste of time.”

-x-

“Ouch,” John hissed, hopping in place on one foot as he bent down to pick up what looked to be a tiny piece of mast that had attacked the sole of his foot. “Gordon, why are there bits of ship all over my floor?”

“Because I dropped them,” Gordon replied, his voice muffled due to the tongue of concentration that was peeking out from between his teeth.

Huffing, John gathered all the pieces off the floor, both pieces of ship and bits that they had been cut out of, and deposited them on the desk next to Gordon.

“How’s it coming along?” John asked, settling in his own chair. He’d only been gone a day but Gordon had managed to take over the entire bedroom, spreading his belongings, bottles, snack wrappers, his phone and a discarded hoodie, all over the place, as well as half the contents of the vintage ship box.

“It’s ridiculous. I think it’s missing pieces or something, it’s broken.”

“Well it was an old kit, but we were assured that it was complete,” John frowned, sliding the tray over that Gordon was supposed to be storing all the pieces in. “Have you checked the contents list and matched each piece to make sure they’re all there?”

Gordon looked at him blankly, like he was talking a foreign language.

“Did you check that everything was there before you started?" John elaborated.

“Of course I did,” Gordon promised, crossing his fingers and hoping his brother didn’t see.

“Against the list?” John clarified.

“I eyeballed it, OK?”

“Not good enough,” John insisted. “That’s not how you go about doing things like this, you can’t just slap them together and hope for the best.”

“Why not?” Gordon whined. It worked for him in almost everything else he did in life.

“Because this happens," John gestured to the mess surrounding them.

“Fine, I’ll read the damn instructions.”

Leaving Gordon to it John slid his almost completed book nook over and picked up his paintbrush to start adding some finishing touches before he started on the wiring for the lights. He’d barely done more than five minutes when Gordon started huffing.

John waited a little longer, trying his hardest to ignore the ever increasing sounds of frustration and impatience from his brother. In the end he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he had to ask the most loaded question ever.

“What’s the problem?” John asked, pushing his own work aside.

“These instructions don’t make sense,” Gordon bitched, flapping the paper in John’s face. “Look at the little picture here, you have to stick this little pole into that hole in the deck but the deck doesn’t want to stay together and that piece there keeps sliding and the pictures make no sense.”

“That’s because you missed around eight steps in between,” John told him, praying for patience.

“No I didn't, I followed the pictures exactly,” Gordon insisted.

“The steps aren’t in the pictures,” John explained. “See right there?” he pointed to the words above the pictures. “The pictures are a diagram of each finished stage, not how to get there. They are for reference only, not instructions.”

“Urghhh, this is going to take forever,” Gordon pouted, crossing his arms. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that by the end of it you’ll have something unique that no one else does, something you can be proud of and know that you built with your own two hands.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort,” Gordon muttered.

“It is,” John promised. “I’ll help. How about I read out the instructions and you follow along? We’ll get through it quicker that way.”

Gordon wasn’t convinced, but John looked so hopeful that he didn’t have the heart to refuse him, especially since he and Selene had gone to so much trouble to get the things for him in the first place. He might be a miserable little sod, but he wasn’t that ungrateful. He knew that they had gone out of their way to get something they thought he’d like, the least he could do was make the thing, even if he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe John was right, working together they could get through it quicker, and that could only be a good thing.

“Alright,” Gordon agreed, “let’s give it a go.”

Slowly, methodically, John read out each piece that was needed and Gordon located them, storing them neatly in a wooden box that Selene provided when she popped in to bring them drinks an hour or so later. She stayed just long enough to steal a kiss from John and drop one on the top of Gordon’s head before she beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get roped into helping. She wasn’t the best at following instructions and didn’t want to get grumped at.

By the time they had all the pieces checked and catalogued they had discovered there were indeed two pieces missing, but thankfully they were easy fixes, just a small , round piece of wood to represent a porthole, which they could easily make a replacement for and a piece of mast. One snipped toothpick later and that was sorted too.

John started with the first set of instructions, reading them out patiently as Gordon found and fitted them together.

“So, how’s work been?” Gordon asked, like a chatty hairstylist, as he carefully dipped the end of a thin dowel into a small pot of wood glue.

“Same as ever,” John deadpanned, “a bunch of idiots that got themselves into trouble and needed help, and only half of them related to us.”

Gordon sniggered, glancing at John, seeing the sly smile on his brother’s face. He’d forgotten just how amusing John could be when he delivered something sarcastically witty with such a serious tone. Gordon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, wondering just what his more serious brother would come out with next. John was always like that, he seemed so quiet and reserved but, when he was relaxed and in company he was comfortable with he’d take you by surprise by letting loose a zinger that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Let’s not talk about work,” Gordon suggested, “we haven’t hung out properly in ages, you’re either up in Five or there are other people around.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” John teased.

“Maybe,” Gordon allowed, “but if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it and tell Grandma you want her to make your birthday cake this year.”

John held his hands up in surrender, although he couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for the instructions again.

“OK, let’s get this done before we stop enjoying each other’s company.”

They worked slowly but steadily over the next few hours, putting together the structure for the first mast. Once it was done they called it quits and abandoned it for another day, the smell of something tasty coming from the kitchen proving to be too much to ignore.

-x-

“Gordon, that’s my finger.”

“Oh, sorry, can you just like… I don’t know, yank it off?”

“If I wish to leave half my identifying fingerprints behind, yes.”

“Do you really need them?”

John didn’t dignify that with an answer, the look he threw at his brother communicated his thoughts perfectly.

“OK, OK, I’ll get some dissolver from Virgil’s studio, wait right there,” Gordon instructed him, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way out of the room.

John sighed, keeping his hand perfectly still, the hull of the boat dangling from his fingertip. He was still there five minutes later when Gordon clumped his way back in, Selene hot on his heels. She had the glue dissolver under one arm, a large bag of chips under the other and a plate of sandwiches in each hand.

She dumped the plates on the desk, then the chips, before turning to see the state her fiancé was in.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” Gordon winced, dropping down into his abandoned desk chair and reaching for a plate.

“Can you at least help me before you start stuffing your face?” John asked, waggling his hand, which made the boat sway violently from side to side.

“Can’t, eating,” Gordon mumbled around the massive mouthful he had just taken.

“What did I say?” she demanded to know. “No hurting the hands, you know how I feel about that.”

John wiggled his fingers again, drawing her attention to his plight. He looked so pathetic with the half built little ship swinging from his hand that Selene took pity on him, intervening when he looked like he was about to grab the thing and yank it off himself, fingerprints be damned.

“Oh for the love of the Gods, let me do it!” Taking his hand she used a paintbrush to smear glue dissolver around the area of skin it was stuck to. She took her time, rewetting and using the brush bristles to push the dissolver under the boat, trying to ease it free from his skin with minimal pulling.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sitting patiently while she worked. Thankfully it didn’t take her too long, although it took a lot of cursing under her breath and the odd ouch from him to get there.

“One boat,” she announced, placing it triumphantly on the desk.

“Fanks,” Gordon said, spraying chip crumbs as he did so.

“Welcome,” she said, brushing at her leg which had unfortunately been in splatter range. Still holding John’s hand she bestowed a kiss to each of his abused digits before releasing him.

“Right, I’m out of here. Play nicely, you two, I don’t want to have to send Grandma in to babysit you both.”

“It won’t come to that,” John assured her, reaching for his own sandwich. “We’ve not got much left to do now. We just have to attach the rigging to the masts, check that they fold properly then insert th-”

“I’m out, I don’t need to hear anything about insertion, not after you just glued a boat to your hand,” Selene declared, her exit swift and to the point, the door shutting firmly behind her.

“She has a point,” Gordon admitted, swallowing his last bite. He pushed the chip bag in John’s direction, although there was barely more than a handful and a few crumbs left in it.

“But we’ll never admit it to her face,” John insisted, steadily munching through the large sub she had brought for him.

“Never,” Gordon agreed.

-x-

Gordon sighed dramatically as he crutched his way down the hall from his bedroom. John’s bedroom door was open but his brother wasn’t inside. The ship, now fully rigged, sat beside the bottle on the desk, just waiting to be placed inside once some sand had been poured in as a base. Gordon had chosen all different shades of blue to represent the sea and had even watched a few videos on how to do sand pouring art, something he’d never expected to find even remotely interesting, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go in and make a start on it.

John had barely been home the past week and when he had it had only been for food and enforced sleep. Even then he had been known to sneak out of bed the second Selene was asleep, being discovered on numerous occasions sitting at their father’s desk until the small hours working on this, that or the other.

Emergencies, and therefore the need for their services, had seemed to increase three fold, something Selene was blaming on the moon phase and mercury going retrograde and, for want of a better explanation, they were all inclined to agree. There was no rhyme or reason for the surge in idiots that were calling in at all hours of the day and night with trucks caught under a too low bridge causing a pile up, hands stuck down toilets, drunks climbing to the top of electricity pylons and repair men getting trapped inside ATM machines they had been fixing.

His brothers had been on the go near constantly, whether it was from rescue call outs or working on their plan to find their father, but none more so than John. While Selene had always been good at what she liked to call Tracy Wrangling, none more so that when she was dealing with a stressed out Scott, even she had admitted defeat and left them to their own devices. Self preservation was key after all.

John had been dealing with not only rescue calls and Chaos Crew sightings, but signal tracking, GDF liaising and general hoop jumping, all of which had kept him far too busy.

It had been over a week since they had done anything to their project and Gordon was feeling the loss. Not so much of the project, although that really had helped with his frustrations at his lack of physical ability, not that he would ever admit that to John, but in spending time with his brother.

Much to his surprise he’d found that he was reluctant to work on it alone, it had become their thing to do together. It was a time where they would hang out, shoot the shit, reminisce about childhood memories, times that they had spent together talking about their hope for the future where they would find their father alive and bring him home.

Both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that if they did manage to find him there would be no telling what physical or mental state he would be in. Gordon knew from experience just how tough physical injury, limitations, and recovery could be on the mind and the body, especially in someone who had been as active and viril as Jeff Tracy.

They all knew, although no one seemed to want to talk about it, that as hard as it was going to be to actually locate him and hopefully bring him home, that would only be the beginning of what could potentially be an incredibly long and difficult journey of rehabilitation and reintegration into the family and the world as a whole.

John had been right, taking some time to be quiet, to slow down and think while keeping your mind and hands busy really was a productive way to spend your rest hours and, stupid as it sounded, Gordon didn’t really want that to end.

He was only a week or two away from potential cast removal and a return to physical activities like his beloved swimming and strength training in their home gym and, while he couldn’t wait to get back to it, he knew he’d feel the loss of his enforced quiet time.

He glanced again at the abandoned ship on the desk and turned away, clumping down the hall towards the stairs. So it would take them a little longer to get it finished, Gordon was fine with that because for once he wasn’t feeling the need to rush.

-x-

“Remember to pour it slowly,” Gordon instructed as he held the funnel in place, its long pipe reaching right down into the bottom of the jar. “Start with the darkest one, that’s going to be our base colour.”

“I’ve got it,” John assured him, selecting the tub of midnight blue sand and scooping some out into a smaller pot to make things easier. At Gordon’s nod he began to slowly and steadily pour the sand into the open neck of the funnel. As he watched Gordon expertly directed the tube, allowing the sand to pour out to pool in the bottom of the bottle.

At Gordon’s signal John stopped pouring and waited while Gordon carefully removed the tube and used a long metal skewer to poke and prod the sand into something that looked vaguely like waves.

“The next colour up,” Gordon requested and John did as he was asked. They repeated the process four more times with different shades of blue, John pouring in a little at a time, Gordon directing the tube to deposit more in one place than others, mimicking the movement of sea waves as best they could. In between each layer Gordon used the skewer to poke and mix the colours here and there, blending the layers into a smoother transition.

“That’ll do,” Gordon said confidently, twisting the bottle so John could see the full effect.

John had to admit that he had been pleasantly surprised when Gordon had announced that he had ordered some coloured sand and looked up how to do sand art on the internet. He hadn’t really known what to expect, although he would admit, if only to himself, that he had thought that Gordon would be a little heavy handed and impatient, but once again he had proved him wrong. He really had done his research and the result was a beautiful mix of colours that really did give a perfect impression of a gently moving sea.

“That’s looking great.”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, modest as always. “Where’s that resin gone?”

“Here,” John answered, pushing it across the desk towards his brother. “Make sure you read the instructions and measure the amounts accurately or it won’t set and you’ll ruin the sand and the bottle.”

“Yeah, yeah I got this,” Gordon assured him as he did indeed read the instructions through properly. Once he had familiarised himself with the ratio of resin to hardener, he measured carefully and poured them into a mixing jug. Once it was fully mixed he slowly, gently, poured the mixture a little at a time into the bottle on top of the sand. With each little pour he waited for the resin to trickle down between the grains, slowly adding to it until all the sand was covered.

“And now we wait,” John said, carefully placing the bottle in the patch of bright sunlight coming in through the window.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gordon offered casually, not really expecting his brother to agree. John hardly ever watched anything with just him, they had vastly different tastes in movies and John usually made some polite excuse to escape.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Really?” Gordon goggled, his eyes almost falling out of his head. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

“More important than watching a movie with my little brother? I don’t think so,” John grinned, retrieving Gordon’s crutches from where they were leaning against his bookshelf and tossing them to him one by one. “Come on, last one to the lounge picks the movie.”

“Hey, no fair!” Gordon yelled, scrambling to his feet as he fumbled with his crutches. “You’ve got legs like a giraffe and neither of them are broken!”

“Sucks to be you,” John tossed over his shoulder as he took off down the hall to victory.

-x-

“Careful,” John warned.

“I am being careful,” Gordon snapped. “I got this.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” He steadied his, only slightly shaky, hand by propping his elbow on the desk for stability. “OK, let’s do this.”

They both held their breath as Gordon maneuvered the body of the boat through the opening in the bottle, making sure each sail stayed carefully folded down and the strings remained untangled before he fed it down the neck and into the bottle.

“Phase one, complete,” John intoned in such a serious voice that Gordon couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted out.

“Pass me those long nosed tweezers?” Gordon asked, holding out a hand.

John slapped the requested instrument into his brother's hand like a nurse in an operating theater, provoking another burst of laughter.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

Making sure the strings of the sails were still dangling outside of the bottle, Gordon carefully moved the body of the boat further down into the bottle with the metal skewer until the stern touched the top of the resin and sand layer.

“Now the sails,” Gordon whispered, hardly daring to breathe as John moved in to help, taking over the holding of the strings while Gordon reached in with the tweezers.

Gently, working together, they started the delicate process of tugging gently on each string, unfolding the paper sails and locking them in place.

“String one.”

“Got it. Watch number four sail.”

“Yep, thanks...OK… can you just give string five a little pull? Perfect.”

“Sail three is flopping!”

“Gah, hang on, just got to tighten that...yep that’s got it.”

“Maybe if I gather…”

“Yep, that’s good, do that again.”

“This next bit is going to require a delicate touch, maybe I should-”

“Hey! I can be delicate!”

“It’s not coming up...back sail two is stuck, release it...careful!”

“There, saved it.”

John gently pulled the strings a little more and there it was, their ship, sails proudly upright and everything. He kept hold of the strings, while Gordon held on to the boat with the tweezers as they carefully lifted the bottle from its side to its proper upright position.

Using the skewer John maneuvered around Gordon’s hand and nudged the boat into a better position before he carefully released the strings. They both held their breath, hoping and praying that the sails wouldn't collapse the second the strings fell.

The boat, with its sails, stayed strong.

“Yes!” Gordon cheered, holding up his free hand for a high five, grinning when his brother’s palm smacked against his own.

“Scalpel,” Gordon joked as John handed it to him so they could lop off a little of the trailing strings. Then, using the skewer, they arranged the strings around the edges of the boat.

With the boat finally upright and in place, they added another layer of light blue coloured sand with a sprinkling of white to mimic the tips of the waves. They finished it off by pouring in a little more resin, both to set the sand and hold the boat in place, using the tweezers to make sure it was correctly positioned.

“Phew,” Gordon breathed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his cast covered leg. “We did it. Go team.”

“We did,” John smiled. “And it looks damn good.”

“It really does,” Gordon agreed, shifting his head to look at the bottle from all angles.

“Nothing left to do but let it dry and put the stopper in,” John said. “How do you feel now it’s done? Was it worth the time?”

“I still think we could have done it a lot faster if you’d just let me skip a few steps in the instructions and do it my way, but it wasn’t that bad,” Gordon admitted. “I’m oddly proud of it.”

“You should be, you did good,” John leant back in his chair, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “Are you going to stop teasing me about my book nooks now?”

“Pssh, no,” Gordon snorted. “Ships are cool, yours will always be boring.”

He didn’t see the bottle of water coming until it was too late.

-x-

Gordon walked straight to John’s room from the infirmary, feeling oddly free without his crutches and casts. Six weeks was a long time, after all.

The bottle with its little ship sat exactly where they had left it in the center of John’s desk next to the abandoned book nook that was still not finished. It took him very little time to insert the cork stopper and pour a little of Selene’s spell bottle sealing wax around the top, a bright, cheery yellow wax that matched his beloved Thunderbird Four.

He smiled as he thought of his little craft, waiting down in her dock for him, ready to be taken out when the next call came in. It had been a long and frustrating time but finally, blessedly, that time was over.

He poked an experimental finger into the wax seal, checking that it had set properly. It had, and he couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. It had been a project that at first he’d had very little interest in, but slowly it had turned into so much more. Not just something to wile away a few hours but a chance for him to reconnect with the brother he spent the least amount of time with.

Years ago, back when he had been small, John had been his everything. When Alan had been too tiny to be of any use and Scott and Virgil had been too old to be bothered with him hanging around, it had been John that had been there for him. It was John that had patiently listened as he read aloud from his sealife books, who had watched movies with him, played with him, and spent the most amount of time with him. Back then, their three year age difference had seemed like so little but so much at the same time, an older brother that made him feel wanted and included when the other two saw him as an annoyance.

Gordon couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed, when they had slowly drifted apart. John had seemed to grow up so much faster than he had, Alan had welded himself to his side, looking up to Gordon as he had to John and things had never been the same again.

It had been too long since they had been able to just hang out, to laugh, to tease each other without things going too far and one of them getting annoyed. It had been nice and Gordon had realised that he didn’t want to go back to nothing but hollocalls to Five when an emergency came in or the odd family dinner and movie night where he had to share with the rest of the family. John was the only brother that Gordon didn’t spend one on one time with as standard and he realised that, no matter how much he might blame it on John being so far away, in reality it was as much his fault as John’s.

Gordon picked up the bottle, leaving a box in its place. The model kit of the Mercury Project space capsule and its launch pad had been hard to find even with his junker contacts. In fact, he had almost given up and admitted defeat before he'd thought to look at the label on his ship box and sent the shop owner an email.

Smiling to himself, knowing that there was no way John would be able to resist that challenge, he took the finished bottle, with its little ship, to his room where it would take pride of place on his bookshelf, a constant reminder that even in the worst of times, positivity could still be found.

“Thanks, Bro.”

#tag mini bang 2021 #tagminibang2021 #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanart #TAG Mini Bang 2021 #TAGMiniBang2021

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fanfic-me-up · 4 years

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okay so i kinda got carried away with this one??? i just really love this idea and how freaking fluffy it is! so thank you for submitting it @peachy-yabbay! 😊 also lowkey im sorta falling in love with kaminari?? like he’s so fun to write and i had a smile the entire time. anyway i rlly hope you enjoy!

Feel free to request more here. I write fics, drabbles, and headcanons 💖

Also, I have a yoga fic already posted with bakugou x fem!reader so if this doesn’t satisfy your need of bakugou being a flexible pretzel and failing you can read more here 😂

Bakugou Katsuki

THE STRUGGLE IS REAL

like Bakugou prides himself on going to the gym everyday, but he focuses on strength training and muscle building

the art of flexibility takes time, effort, and perseverance

he gets super frustrated when he can't get the splits in 2.5 seconds

“Careful or you might pull something.”

he ignores you ofc bc for some reason he thinks he’s gonna get the splits if he just - forces himself???

“seriously, Bakugou, don’t push so much-”

“Shut up I know what I’m - OW SHIT FUCKING HELL”

poor bby is on the ground cradling his thigh bc he pulled his hamstring

And lemme tell you THAT SHIT HURTS 😭

he’s literally screaming bloody murder

-like he’s faced a lot of pain from hero training but pulling your hamstring is just so. much. worse???

you grab an icyhot pack (aka you grab Todoroki lol) but Bakugou’s just like “hell no fuck off half n half”

“Must be bad. I heard you crying from downstairs-”

“I SAID FUCK OFF” Todoroki shrugs and leaves.

you roll your eyes at Bakugou’s stubbornness and grab some muscle balm instead

“Tch. I can do it myself” but you ignore him and rub the balm on his thigh, he doesn’t fight it

after that whole fiasco he finally listens to your warnings when you tell him that's enough

he’s in the splits in a little over a month!

“Oh my god, Bakugou, you’re doing it!”

“Tch. I know.”

you don’t miss the small smile on his face

he goes up to you later and shoves something in your hands

“Um. What’s this?”

“A movie ticket” you stare at it blankly, he rolls his eyes

“I’m taking you to the movies tonight, dumbass.”

“Like a date?” you stare up with hopeful eyes

“The fuck? No! As payment.”

you blink, clearly confused

“You know… for helping me with my stretches.”

Oh.

you blush in embarrassment at the misunderstanding

“I’ll meet you out front at 7. Don’t be late.” he walks off, but before he reaches the corner he stops-

“Ugh fine! It’s a date! Happy!?”

you erupt in the biggest smile

he wants to be the only one to make you smile like that from now on

Todoroki Shouto

Todoroki is impressed with how flexible you are, and you’re quite surprised when he asks you to help him

the most aloof - and handsome - guy in your class you’ve barely spoken TWO words to has come to you for help??? is this a dream? someone pinch you 👀

but there you are, the next day in his dorm, gently pushing his hips down

Todoroki’s working on his warrior/scorpion pose (ya’ll there's so many names for this pose jfc the one where you’re standing on one leg, back arched, and you’re holding the other leg above your head)

he’s sweating and breathing heavily, and when you go to steady him, you actually burn your hand on his bicep.

“Ouch!”

“Are you okay?”

he’s hovering over you the next second, you show him your hand, a blister already forming

“Damn it. I still have trouble controlling my left side,” he looks away from you, clenching his fists, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you blow cool air on the wound to stop the tingling, “all better,” you smile up at him

“Here, let me,” he pulls his shirt up to reveal his stomach and places your hand on the right side. You sigh in relief as your hand is instantly cooled.

Uh oh.

you realize where your hand is currently pressed against 😳

you’re so tempted to trace along the hard contours of his abs

“Y/N? You’re burning up.” he touches your cheek, your heart doing somersaults at the closeness

“Oh-kay, that’s enough for today!” you squeak, running away from a thoroughly confused Todoroki

Todoroki shows excellent progress in just a couple weeks. He says it’s because he has a great teacher, but you know it's his work ethic and how he listens to your advice and applies it flawlessly.

He’s even gotten better at controlling his left side since he’s constantly relaxing his muscles to get deeper in the stretch.

it happens during warm-ups before training

Class 1-A goes into some stretches when you see Todoroki go into a perfect scorpion. His back perfectly arched and his leg reaching above his head.

“Oh my god, Todoroki, you’re doing it!” you clap your hands in excitement

“Am I?”

...is this boy for real? lol

“YES” you laugh at his stoic expression

“I see.” He softly comments before going into another stretch.

your shoulders deflate, disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he cracks a small smile and your breath is taken away by the simple gesture. It’s rare to see him with such a soft expression, and the fact that you’re the reason for it sends your heart aflutter.

AND bc he’s totally oblivious to your current state, he goes up to you and whispers, “you’re an amazing teacher, Y/N”

“It was n-nothing re-really it was a-all you!” you laugh awkwardly, unable to meet his eyes.

“How can I thank you?”

“It-it’s really n-not necessary!”

“Hmm…” he walks away deep in thought and you’re just standing there like the stuttering mess you are bc how dare he walk away like nothing!?

Mina’s got your back tho bc frankly it's quite sad how awkward you are and how oblivious Todoroki is that she NEEDS to become the captain of this ship stat

She “casually” suggests to Todoroki that he should take you out to eat as a thank you for helping him.

and when he walks you to your door that night he says, “I hope you enjoyed our date”

“D-date?” cue the butterflies in your stomach

“Was it not a date?” You’re pinned by his intense gaze, but you manage to squeak out a “yes!” in your confused daze. He chuckles at your nervousness

“Have a good night, Y/N.” he kisses your cheek

and when you give Mina the details of your date there’s a bunch of squealing from her end and you’re just like 😳 the entire night

Kaminari Denki

“Woah, Y/N, you’re really flexible. Can you put your foot over your head?”

You show him and he’s totally amazed. “Cool! Can you teach me? I wanna put BOTH legs over my head!”

first day of stretching with Kaminari is… def a day you remember

“Ow ow! Y/N, don’t break me!”

“Denki, I’m not even touching you!”

He looks up where your hands are on your hips

“oh... heh” he gives you a sheepish smile

You roll your eyes. How you’re gonna get this boy flexible enough to put his foot over his head is beyond you, but you’re happy it’s going to take a while - it means more time spent with your crush

You spend an hour with Kaminari each day to perfect his stretching routine (It should only take about 20 minutes, but the boy’s got the attention span of a newborn puppy)

“Woah check out that cloud, Y/N.” Kaminari looks in awe at the sky. You sigh, not again

“Denki, we’re not done, get back in the stretch”

“Look Y/N,” he points, “doesn’t it look exactly like baby yoda?” He lies down on the grass to gaze at the clouds

“Oh my god, Denki, I’m gonna kill - oh wow…” you gaze up in awe at the cloud, “baby yoda…”

You and Kaminari spend the rest of the hour cloud gazing

After literal MONTHS of getting on Kaminari’s ass he can FINALLY put his legs over his head.

He calls out to you during a training exercise, “Y/N LOOK I DID IT!”

“NOT ONE BUT TWO!” he points at both of his legs with a huge smile

You feel a rush of happiness because even after how frustrated you were with him at times, you would do it a million times over if it meant getting to see such a pure smile.

“Congrats!” you say, “Now, stand up so I can give you a hug!”

“Um…” he sheepishly looks up at you, “I’m kinda... stuck?”

You roll your eyes affectionately, “the things I do for you.”

You’re about to help Kaminari when Bakugou shoves him backwards giving everyone in class a clear view of his ass in the air 😂

“Hah, dumbass.”

Kaminari waddles helplessly side to side

“Y/N?” he squeaks, “a little help here?”

Later that week he tells you he found a yoga class for both of you to take and you’re surprised. He still wants to spend time with you?

But then he says, “Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t I wanna spend time with the coolest person I know?”

You choke on your tea, in disbelief at his words - that was a huge compliment and you know Kaminari is a very open person so you just brush it off with an “Oh stop it…”

“No I’m serious, Y/N, you’re awesome. Like super awesome,” he gives an awkward laugh while rubbing the back of his neck

“I’ve been thinking… maybe after yoga, we can, i don't know... hit up the arcade or something? Or it doesn’t have to be the arcade, it could be anything really!”

You’ve never seen Kaminari this flustered before. He’s the type to brush off his mistakes with a laugh, always moving on to the next moment.

“No, the arcade sounds fun!”

You reassure him and the confident light in his eyes returns

“Oh and Denki?”

“Yeah?”

“Prepare to get rekt in mario kart”

This starts a whole ass play fight about who’s gonna get dunked on when racing down rainbow road

#bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #kaminari x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #kaminari denki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #bnha headcanon #katsuki bakugou x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #bnha fluff #fanfic-me-up #fanfic-me-up request

384 notes · View notes

sebthesnipe · 4 years

Text

Morality, Magic, and Chocolate Cows

Hi @logicalyfun!!

Storytime! I wasn’t apart of the @sanderssidesgiftxchange at all. So, the fact that you got me as a pinch hitter is kinda a miracle in its own right ;3 But I’m super glad you did! I’m so sorry you didn’t get your gift on time but now you get to chill with me! And I can be pretty awesome sometimes… Occasionally… Rarely but hey! Who keeps track of that kind of stuff anyways?

So, how did I become your pinch hitter? Well, you see. I’ve got this amazing best friend and beta reader @gilby-the-geek-girl. She actually /did/ participate in the exchange and because she’s just so amazing she offered to be a pinch hitter for it as well.

Anyways, You’re prompt got sent to her. This one right here:

“Your giftee: Fabi

Tumblr: Logicalyfun

Media to receive: Fan fiction, Fan art

Wish 1: Puppiesss

Wish 2: Fantasy world

Wish 3: Starry sky night

Topics to avoid: Remrom, no NSFW”

And it gave her pause. You see, I wrote this awesome fic called My Dearest Procyon (also on AO3) that checks almost all of these boxes (minus the puppiesss, but there is a REALLY awesome cat and dragons too!). So, she thought we’d be perfect for each other! So she sent your prompt to me and here we are!

Now for the bad news… I had every intention of checking off every one of your wishes, but the story got away from me and I’m pretty sure I struck out. However, I really think you’ll like it! Please forgive me for not sticking strictly with the prompts but I do mention each, and I highly recommend MDP if you really like those things.

I’ll also make you a deal! If you don’t like this ficlet, let me know and I’ll write you a new one that adheres to your prompts exactly! ;3

(Also... posting this on Patton’s B-day so it’s like double meant to be!)

So, without further adieu, I present Morality, Magic, and Chocolate Cows:

“Have at you!” Roman cried, his tiny form bounding off the small hill to swing at his brother, his cardboard sword bending at an odd angle.

“Actually,” Logan commented, hurrying along behind him, flowing blue cape flapping in the wind. “It would’ve been ‘ye’.”

Roman ignored him, adjusting the oversized ‘shining armor’ every time he took a step. The costume was far too large for Roman’s three foot, seven-and-a-half-inch tall body, though it was adorable to watch.

Remus, to his credit, laughed menacingly, the Sharpie mustache on his upper lip thinning from the effort as he parried his brother’s flopping cardboard blade with a small stick. His own costume consisted of a sheet, stained green, with what Patton hoped was paint (though he had never bothered to ask), wrapped around him like a toga.

“That's totally fair! Two against one!” Janus called from the safety of a tree branch; the yellow fabric of his shirt just visible through the leaves.

“I’m not fighting! I’m observing!” Logan called in his high-pitched voice, adjusting his glasses before the pointed wizard’s hat on his brow dipped forward, knocking them astray once more. His adorably pudgy form was wrapped in a shimmer fabric that reminded Patton of the stars Logan always seemed to want to tell him about.

“If you and V would help, your prince wouldn’t need an watcher-outer!” Roman whined, pausing in his attack to peer over at the older child and his companion, sitting in the shade below.

Remus took the opportunity to smack his twin across his butt with his stick, knocking Roman to the ground with a grunt.

A shrill cry filled the air, causing the other children to glance at Patton, who had been sitting on a blanket a few feet away.

Patton pushed to his feet, smiling softly as he approached the three boys, Janus and Virgil hurrying up to the crying child as well.

“It’s broken isn’t it!” Virgil rushed, his own tears threatening to fall. “Remus broke Roman’s leg! We’re all going to the hosp’al! I don’t want to go to the hosp’al! I don’t like doc’ors!” His words turned into a wail as he plopped on the grown next to Roman, waterworks in full force.

Patton examined the small scratch peaking through a tear in Roman’s jeans.

“Hm,” he sighed as if considering whether or not the wound was fatal. “We may have to amputate.”

“What?!” Remus gasped excitedly.

Janus moved over to Logan, attempting to whisper in his ear and failing. “What does ‘amputate’ mean?”

“Ample ate,” Logan attempted to repeat. “It means to eat a lot.”

“We’re going to eat him!” Remus gasped with a grin.

Patton couldn’t help but give a small chuckle at the exchange before sinking down on the lush grass and scooping Roman into his arms.

The pretend prince curled into the embrace, hiding his face in Patton’s chest as his wailing turned to sniffle.

“I don’t wanna be eaten,” he grumbled sullenly.

Patton felt Virgil curling into his side, tears soaking into his shirt. Patton glanced down, offering another small smile as he pulled him close as well.

“No one is getting eaten,” Patton chuckled softly. “Are they Remus?”

“Pft, no fair!” the mustached boy pouted, folding his arms over his chest and glaring down at his mismatched shoes.

“Why don’t we all come up with ways to make Roman’s boo-boo feel better?” Patton offered, motioning for everyone to move closer.

“I rather not,” Janus sighed softly. Still, the young boy scooted closer and sank down on the grass next to them.

Remus gave another ‘hmph’ before doing the same, though he made sure to sit far closer to Janus than anyone else.

“I can help!” Logan chirped excitedly, digging into his pockets with purpose.

Patton couldn’t help but allow his soft smile to turn even more fond. Logan was always the best helper.

Whatever Logan had in mind, it certainly got Roman’s attention. The sandy blond boy turned his head just enough that his cheek rested against Patton’s chest, eyes glued to the wizard.

A moment later, Logan produced a plastic wand. The pink shaft was a little too large for his tiny hands and the star at its end seemed to flash with tiny lights (no doubt running off of a few double A’s).

“I can cast a spell on him!” Logan offered confidently.

“But yes’rday you said magi’ wasn’t real,” Virgil whispered, still clinging to Patton’s shirt.

“Turn him into a frog!” Remus demanded eagerly; his pouting forgotten.

“Yeah, but I read it in one of my books today, so it has to be real! Right, Patton?” Logan asked, looking up at him expectantly, the others following his lead.

“Oh of course!” Patton reassured with a large grin. “Magic is very real.”

“It is?” Janus asked, suddenly invested in the conversation.

Virgil reacted in a very different manner, burying his face deeper into Patton’s side and giving a small cry. “Magi’ is scary! I dun wanna be turned into a frowg!”

“Oh sweetie,” Patton cooed, messing with the youngest child’s hair. “It’s not that type of magic,” he reassured.

“What other type of magic is there?!” Remus demanded, inching closer as he bounced with elation. “The type that can turn him into a giant squid?! Or make toilets talk?!”

“Ew!” Roman whined in response, once again earning a chuckle from Patton.

“I’m afraid not,” Patton admitted with no little amusement. “No, this kind of magic isn’t just reserved for very smart wizards.”

“It’s not?” Logan asked, moving closer and sinking down as well.

“Oh no. We all have magic of our very own that we can use whenever we want.”

“Nuh uh…” Janus breathed though he didn’t sound too convinced.

Patton nodded continuing. “Sure, we do.”

“What’s my power?!” Remus asked impatiently, “Can I make lasers come out my eyes?! Or maybe… maybe… um… summon a giant octopuspus to devour my enemies?!” He bounced to his feet roaring loudly as he stomped about.

“Your magic is something far greater,” Patton laughed.

“No way!” Remus breathed in awe; antics forgotten.

“Him?!” Roman gasped in disbelief.

Patton nodded. “Remus has the ability to see into other worlds!”

“Lame!” The boy in question huffed, falling back onto the grass.

“What do you mean?” Logan asked curiously.

“Well, Remus makes such a great villain because he sees things differently then we do,” Patton explained.

“So, he’s evil! I knew it!” Roman declared, shifting in Patton’s arms to simply sit in his lap, wound forgotten.

“Not at all,” Patton countered, acting as if he didn’t see the way Remus blew a raspberry at his brother. “Just because someone is different doesn’t make them evil.Though it can be scary, differences are what gives us our power. Take Logan for example.”

“Me?” Logan blinked in surprise, clinging to his wand a bit more self-consciously.

“Mm hmm,” Patton nodded. “Logan understands Remus better than anyone. He can understand how Remus sees the world.”

“So, he’s evil too?” Janus asked.

“I am not!” Logan cried.

“No one here is evil,” Patton laughed. “No, Logan’s magic power is that he can understand anything if given enough time.”

“So, you can figure out where chocolate milk comes from?!” Roman asked, pointedly staring at Logan who now sat a bit straighter.

“Well, if regular milk comes from a regular cow… and Patton says cows are just like oversized dogs… and there are a lot of different kinds of dogs… Then chocolate milk has to come from chocolate cows.” Logan explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Whoa! There are chocolate cows?! That’s so cool!” Roman gasped.

Patton was about to speak when his attention was pulled to the small hands tugging on his shirt in a patient persistence.

“Yes, Virgil?” Patton asked softly.

“Wha’s my magi’?” The youngest boy asked in a hushed whisper as the rest talked among themselves.

“You, my dear sweet shadowling,” Patton whispered, booping his nose. “have one of the strongest powers among us.”

“I do?” Virgil’s eyes grew wide, his hand lifting to his mouth to suck on his two fingers. It would be a few more years before Patton could manage to break him of the habit but it was cute nonetheless.

“Oh, yes. You have the power to protect. You tell us when something could hurt us or do damage in a way we haven’t noticed. In a way… You can see the future.” Patton’s allowed his voice to turn a bit wispy as if humbled by Virgil’s power.

“Sounds like a bunch of lies to me,” Janus interrupted, obviously eavesdropping.

“No one asked you!” Roman spat. “You didn’t even help protect your prince and now I’ve got a boo-boo! It’s not like you have any magic! ” He pointed at his knee, lifting it to put the scratch on display.

“Well, neither do you!” Janus argued.

“Oh, I think you both are pretty powerful when it comes to magic,” Patton offered.

“Well of course I am… I’m a prince!” Roman announced.

“Janus does too, Roman.” Patton mitigated.

“Like what?” Remus butted in, more curious that malicious.

“Well, Janus can work magic on people’s feelings,”

“I can?” Janus blinked in surprise.

“Well, of course Kiddo. You’re the best at it! You always know just what to say to make Remus feel better after he loses against the Prince’s armies,” Patton explained, “And you always know how to answer Roman’s questions about his costumes.” Naturally, Patton left out the fact that Janus used little white lies to work his magic and that he didn’t quite agree with the method, but the results were noteworthy.

“Boring!” Roman whined. “What about me?” Roman looked up at Patton expectantly.

“You, dear prince,” Patton replied, nuzzling him affectionately. “have the ability to change the world as we know it. You can push us to follow every passion our heart desires. You give us the very drive that will sustain us throughout our lives. ”

“What? That’s not fair! Why didn’t I get a cool power like that?” Remus huffed, sulking once more.

“’Cause I’m the Prince and I say so!” Roman answered, squirming in Patton’s arms. “Now, be quiet, Patton is talking about me!”

“Mneh!” Remus stuck out his tongue once more, but his brother ignored him.

“Now, now. I think all of your powers are cool,” Patton attempted.

“But Patton…” Logan mumbled, softly, as he stared up at the seemingly grown man. “What’s your power?”

Patton’s chest tightened at the question. Leave it to Logan to pull at the one string Patton wasn’t prepared for. What was Patton’s power? He manifested just as they all did, only he was the first. He grew faster than the rest of them, unable to keep up with Thomas growth, unable to keep up with his insecurity.

He was just Patton…. He had no magic… He wasn’t special. Not like the others.

He forced his smile to remain in place, trying not to let his voice crack as he answered. “Why would I ever need to be more than just happy pappy Patton when I get to spend time with all of you amazing magicians?”

“Patton?” Logan called, his voice distant and far too baritone to be coming from the pudgy boy before him. “Patton are you in here?” Logan called again causing the man to glance over his shoulder.

The memory he had immersed himself in froze, the boys still staring up at him.

He wiped a tear from his eye quickly and waved his hand, the children disappearing, leaving him alone in the small field behind their childhood home.

“I’m over here!” Patton called, standing and dusting off his pants, trying not to feel the loss. They had needed him so thoroughly. Everything was so different now. The boys were all grown. They all faced Thomas’ problems with a maturity Patton never could seem to muster. No doubt they thought him the child now.

Logan strode up the small hill in his usual dark polo and striped tie adorning his broad shoulders.

“There you are,” Logan greeted with the same half smile he always did.

“Sorry, did you need something?” Patton asked softly, forcing his smile to turn warm.

“Yes, actually,” Logan admitted. “It seems Remus and Roman are fighting again, and Virgil and Janus are placing bets on who can make the most constructs in the imagination. It is truly a disaster. There are puppies and octopoda everywhere. No one will see reason. I could really use your help.”

Patton softened a bit at the words. Maybe they still needed him… just a tiny bit. He supposed he could live with that.

“Puppies?!” Patton squealed in excitement.

Logan’s gaze moved about the scene taking it in, obviously having expected Morality’s reaction. “Isn’t this…” he hesitated, turning on his heel. “Wasn’t this the field behind our home back in Orlando?”

“Oh…” Patton breathed, flushing slightly. “Is it?”

“It is! Thomas used to play out here all the time! We all did!” Logan mused, with a small huff of laughter. “Wow, it has been quite some time.”

Patton offered a melancholy smile as he glanced around. He missed it all. It was nice to have the memories though. At least he could relive it when ever he wanted. Though he doubted Logan would even bother to try to remember-

“You know 7% of Americans really do believe chocolate milk comes from chocolate cows,” Logan informed him, “And Roman is still one of them.” He laughed.

Patton’s heart fluttered at the fact that Logan remembered such a minute detail. He really was magic.

The sound of Logan’s deep chuckle had Patton joining him. “Best not spoil it for him,” Patton teased lightly as Logan offered out an arm for him to take as they headed out of the memory.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Logan reassured.

La Fin.

16 notes · View notes

bouncyirwin · 4 years

Text

🔥 Steamy Fics - Rec List 🔥

I decided to compile a list of some of my favourite smutty fics for you guys to enjoy as well! Remember to let the author know if you like their work ✨

Room Service by mummapaintstheblues || KakaSaku || 11.6k words

“If you've got a kink there, I can help work it out for you.” Sakura almost choked on her drink. Turning her whole body to regard him fully in a show of, what she hoped was obvious disgust. The sight of his smirk reigniting her fury. While it was attractive enough to send tingles of anticipation through her before, right now it only served to add to her misery

AU where Sakura struggles to resist the charms, and fingers, of Hotel Masseuse Kakashi.

Watching You Watching Me || KakaSaku(Gen) || 2.1k words

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Repercussions by AshleyTrecartin || KakaSaku || 3.9k words

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Based on the prompt "The skirt is short on purpose."

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magic in your hands by exarite || TobiSaku || 4.3k words

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Push My Buttons by mrssakurahatake || GenSaku || 5.7k words

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Sakura looked around at the worn-out speaker and the dead security camera and for a brief moment considered just punching a hole in the floor. It would serve the board right for refusing to fix the stupid machine properly.

Genma's voice brought her out of her own spirling thoughts, "I don't like that look."

"I was thinking of just punching my way out, but the board would probably take the cost of fixing it from the general budget, and that would affect my patients."

"I guess we finally found a situation you can't just punch your way out of?"

"Don't push it, Shirunai. I would be more than happy to punch you."

Ask Me Nicely by TheCopyMistress || GenSaku || 4k words

He could give her what she needed. All she had to do was ask for it.

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Welp folks, that’s it ... or is it?

Find below the cut some shameless self-promo ✨

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Every Last Drop || KakaSaku || 3.3k words

“This isn’t about you. You’re amazing at what you do. I just … the shower—well—you’re just not a showerhead. And sometimes that’s what I want.”

When she chances a look at Kakashi again his eyes have widened slightly, and he looks entirely taken aback. “You—the showerhead?” The amount of disbelief packed into that word would’ve made a lesser woman dissolve into uncontrollable laughter.

The blush steadily spreads down her neck as she contemplates this bizarre conversation he pulled her into having. She really hadn’t wanted to ever discuss this with anyone. “Yes, the showerhead. Problem?”

Sakura looks away again, feeling the slow, simmering burn of embarrassment.

A few moments of silence later, Kakashi shifts, and when he speaks he nearly purrs.

“Can I watch?”

Serendipity || KakaSaku || 11.7k

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Stay With Me || KakaSaku || 2.6k words

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#ooooof this took forever #i hope you enjoy!#kakasaku #naruto #smut

216 notes · View notes

ryrycaptain · 4 years

Text

My Juliet - PBB 2020

Hello and welcome to my fic for the PBB this year. I took inspiration from reading Romeo and Juliet to create this story. I’ll be forever grateful for ilikestopwatches who helped me so much with this fic. I’d also like to thank Divy for making some amazing art to go along with my fic.

ao3 link

Dan was growing tired of following the lively man in front of him. He had a mop of brown curls resting on his head and green eyes that were framed by a lopsided pair of glasses. They’d already covered the dressing rooms, prop room, and wardrobe, and he was starting to sweat from the beating sun. “Ah here we are, sir,” the man, PJ called out, “the stage.”

Dan gasped in disbelief. He’d never been to the Globe Theatre before, and to see the stage he would be performing on in person was thrilling. The woodwork was intricate, and the stage was strong under his feet. “It’s amazing,” he cheered.

“It surely is a beautiful feat of architecture.”

At the end of the stage, people were spread out busying themselves with their scripts, but one person in particular caught his eye. The man had brown hair with the slightest tint of red and sparkling blue eyes that were framed by a simple pair of glasses. He looked to be in his early thirties, and he was currently staring intensely at the paper in front of him. “Who’s that?” Dan asked PJ.

PJ gave him a look of confusion. “That’s Philip Lester. He’s the author of the play.”

“Oh I’ve heard of him. He’s one of my biggest inspirations, but I’ve never seen him before.”

PJ nodded curtly and clapped his hands together. Everyone looked towards them and Dan’s cheeks flushed at the attention. “This is Daniel Howell, everyone. He will be playing the lovely Juliet. Please give him a warm welcome.”

With that, PJ started walking towards Phil which left Dan awkwardly standing alone on the stage before someone waved him over. He walked over carefully, wary of breaking something if he stepped too hard or breathed too loud. The man who had waved him over was even taller than Dan, which was a surprising feat since Dan was almost 6 feet tall, and had a shock of red hair framing his face. “My name is Christopher, but you can call me Kit. I’ll be playing the charming Romeo,” the redhead said.

“Um it’s nice to meet you. I’m Daniel but you can call me Dan,” he said, shaking his hand.

“Would you like to practise with me?” Kit asked. “We have a lot of lines together.”

Dan laughed. “I suppose I can make some time to practise with you.”

—

Dan had spent a good hour going over the script with Kit, and he had to admit that the story was brilliant. He could tell the play would be a huge hit with the plot twists and romantic storyline. He wasn’t totally surprised though because Lester’s plays always seemed to amaze him. Speaking of Philip Lester, he was currently perched on a seat in the highest viewing room and yelling at Kit.

“No. No. No. You’re doing it all wrong, Kit,” Philip sighed. “You sound too happy about your recent breakup. The whole point of this scene is to show Romeo’s impulsive behavior. You must be saddened by the loss of your relationship.”

“Ok,” Kit said. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!”

“That’s better, but I still feel like I am watching someone recite lines not mope about their lost love. You must practise this scene. Now, go on and take a break.”

“Yes, Sir,” Kit replied before walking over to the water where Dan was.

“I promise you he’s not always like this,” Kit stated after seeing the worry in Dan’s eyes. “I was an understudy for one of his other shows. He has a soft side, but it takes him some time to de-stress.”

Dan nodded. “I understand.”

Although he tried to play it off as a causal concern, Dan was worried he’d be cut from the show if he didn’t meet Philip’s expectations the first time around. He wasn’t a big name and it was a miracle for him to have a lead part in a Lester original. He needed this role to launch his career.

Pursuing his dream of acting was a huge risk, and his parents were doubtful of him. They were expecting him to earn money and to start a family in the near future and didn’t believe he could do that by playing dress up on a stage, and Dan needed to prove them wrong.

“What’s going through your mind,” Kit said, interrupting his thoughts.

“This is my first major role, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone,” Dan stated.

“I’m sure you have what it takes,” Kit encouraged. “After all, Philip does most of the scouting for his plays so the chances he picked you himself are high.”

Dan felt slightly reassured by that fact but also intimidated by the idea that Philip had seen him perform before. It had taken him a while to perfect his character and he didn’t want to seem incapable. He just had to hope for the best.

——

It was time for Dan to get on stage and to say he was nervous was an understatement. The actors who were playing the nurse and Lady Capulet seemed nice enough, and had some experience acting.

Philip seemed pleased enough with their performance and only commented on a few minor things throughout the run of the show. When they were done with their scene, Dan was pulled aside by a woman named Louise who needed to take his measurements and have him try on a few pieces of clothing. She led him through the halls of the theatre and into a room that was filled to the brim with various costumes and fabrics.

“I’m sorry it’s such a mess, dear. I’ve been a bit busy these days,” she hummed. “Can you step up onto that stool.”

She had long blonde hair and bags under her eyes. She looked exhausted and Dan wondered how many hours she spent at the theatre a day.

He stepped on the platform and she started measuring him with the tape measure that had been hanging on her shoulders. “You’re very nicely built, but I don’t think I have any previous outfits that would fit you. It’s a shame I’ll have to start this one from scratch,” she sighed. “Now to pick a colour!”

Her excitement was cut short by a knock on the door. “Mrs Pentland, may I come in?” A rough voice sounded from outside the door. Dan recognised the owner to be Philip and started to panic.

“Calm down, now,” she whispered to Dan before directing her answer to Philip. “Yes, come in sir.”

Philip let himself in and looked at Dan with a scrutinising gaze. “I was unaware you had company.”

“It’s no big deal, sir. Daniel and I were just deciding which colour dress he’d be wearing.”

“Ah, I believe you’ll make the right decision,” he said with a nod. He turned to Dan and stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Philip Lester the director and writer of this play, but you can call me Phil.”

Dan took his hand timidly and shook it. “My name is Daniel Howell, sir. I prefer Dan though.”

“Yes, my Juliet,” Phil stated, making Dan blush. “What got you into acting?”

“Ah, I've always been a fan of the art. My parents took me to a show when I was younger and it’s been my dream to star in one since then.”

“Sounds similar to how I got into theatre although I’m much too shy to be a performer. I’ve always had a knack for writing though. I guess it all worked out in the end.”

“Of course, sir. Someone with as much talent as you is destined to be famous.”

“Can I ask you why you choose to portray women? I know it’s an essential job within the theatre but I rarely meet men who are excited to portray the role,” Phil said, deflecting Dan’s comment.

“I’ve always enjoyed trying on my mother’s dresses and messing around with her makeup. It seems a bit odd, but I like to take advantage of it.”

“I don’t think it’s odd at all,” Phil said with a twinkle in his eye. “I personally believe normalness leads to sadness. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get back before PJ does anything rash with the scene. I’ll see you on stage, Dan.”

He nodded to Louise and shut the door behind himself on his way out. “See, he isn’t as intimidating as he seems,” Louise chuckled, “Now which colour should we go for?”

——

Dan walked out of the room with a smile on his face and a little more confident now that he could imagine the dress he’d be wearing. He wondered if it’d be made of the same itchy material that the ones for his last production were. He would have liked to imagine that the dress would be made of silk but he didn’t know how much they put towards costumes here.

He was stuck in his own fantasy world when he bumped into someone. He immediately bent down to collect his things with a muttered sorry. A hand touched his and he looked up to see Phil staring back at him curiously. “You’re still here? It’s getting pretty late.”

Dan blushed. “Louise and I got caught up talking about the costumes.”

“Oh, do you have experience too?" Phil asked, handing Dan the things he had picked up.

They both stood up and started walking towards the entrance. They weren’t going nearly as fast as they could have, almost like they had mutually decided that they wanted to prolong their conversation.

“I’ve sewn some clothes before but besides that I don’t have any experience. It’s always been an interest of mine.”

Phil nodded. “I’m sure Louise appreciates the company. I worry she gets lonely sometimes.”

“She sounds like she’s important to you,” Dan hums.

“Ah, she’s a family friend, nothing more. She’s already happily married with two kids. I’m afraid our parents would force us to marry if she wasn’t.”

“Oh, so you're single?”

“Yes. I’ve always been dedicated to my work, and it leaves me little time to meet people. Besides, the women my parents set me up with are unbearable. I assume you’ve got someone. You’re young and handsome after all.”

“No, it’s just me,” Dan answered. If he was being honest, he’d never met a woman he was interested in. He found men more intriguing but he would never admit that. He would eventually be married off, and it was for the best. That was just how it was.

“Oh,” Phil stated, “I thought you’d have women lining up to marry you.”

“My family isn’t the best off,” Dan admitted. “My father owns a small shop but that’s our main source of income right now. I hope to change that with this job. After all, my brother is going to university soon.”

“Ah, university. Those were some of the best years of my life. I miss my professors sometimes. They were always my biggest supporters,” Phil mused.

“That sounds charming. I never got to go, not that I really wanted to anyways.”

“That’s interesting. You took a big risk, unless you have some sort of craft you’ve perfected.”

“My only skills are in business, and I don’t have anywhere near enough money to run my own. Besides, I’m happy with my job right now. I’ve already met some nice people.”

“The cast and crew are exceptionally kind though they can get rowdy, especially when they’re under the influence of alcohol.”

“A lot of men are,” Dan agreed.

They were nearing the main doors, and Dan was surprisingly disappointed for their conversation to end. Phil didn’t bore him to death like the others he’d conversed with, and they actually had a solid conversation.

Dan yawned, startling himself back into reality. “You should head home,” Phil stated. “I hope it’s not too long of a walk to your house. It is quite cold and I can’t have my Juliet getting sick.”

“I’ll make sure to bundle up,” he assured the older man. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dan.”

——

Dan had been standing in the same spot for the past twenty minutes, and even though he was supposed to pretend that he was chatting with others, he was watching Phil direct Kit and the others around the stage.

Phil looked nothing like the shy, nervous version of himself that Dan’d met. On this stage, Phil looked like he was in his element. His voice was firm, and he commanded the attention of the actors around him.

Everyone was starting to look tired, as they were four hours into practice, and people weren’t putting as much effort into their lines. Phil was clearly starting to get annoyed, as his jaw was clenched and his unoccupied hand formed a fist.

He watched as PJ walked his way and waved him over. “What’s wrong, Dan?” PJ said. The exhaustion was clear in his voice, and he glared at Dan. Dan didn’t take offense, because if he was directing a play he’d probably be glaring daggers at everyone too.

“Phil seems to be getting angry, and everyone is exhausted. Do you think we could take a break? Just for everyone to relax a bit,” Dan pleaded.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, but I’ve got to see what Phil says.”

“Can you go ask him now?”

PJ nodded and walked over to where Phil was directed and pulled him aside. Dan watched as they interacted, and Phil’s jaw slowly relaxed. He nodded and called out for everyone to take a break.

Dan exited the stage and grabbed his water. It was nearing summer, and it was almost unbearable to work out in the heat. The canopy above the stage blocked out the harsh sun, but the humidity still hung in the air.

“Thanks for saving me.” Dan jumped and looked over to see Phil looking at him with a grin on his face.

“You looked like you were about to murder someone,” Dan stated.

“I might have if you hadn’t asked for a break. I don’t know how difficult it is to stay in a straight line, but the torchbearers could not stay behind each other. We all know that movement causes the audience to get distracted.”

Dan hummed in agreement. “It takes a lot of power not to fidget, but if they’ve been in previous productions then they should know better.”

“Well enough about them. What did you do after practice yesterday?” Phil asked.

“Ah, I just went home and practised my lines. I’ve found that there aren’t many things to do on the weekdays,” Dan explained.

“How about you and I go to the archery range? I try to practise from time to time, but I'm afraid I'm becoming a bit rusty,” Phil suggested.

“I’m not sure. I’ve barely touched my bow since I finished learning how to shoot,” Dan stated.

“Perfect!” Phil exclaimed. “That means we can be horrible together. Now what's your address? I would feel awful if I didn’t give you a ride.”

Dan was still unsure about going to the range with Phil. If he was being honest, he became quite fond of the eccentric playwright and he wasn’t sure if he could risk it. Phil was clearly not interested in men. It was a sin after all. Dan needed to put a stop to his growing crush on Phil, but he couldn't resist the pleading eyes the other man was sending his way. Sighing in defeat, Dan muttered his address to Phil and, with their plans arranged, Phil skipped off with a grin on his face.

____

When Phil had said he would give Dan a ride, Dan had been expecting a carriage, seeing as he was a famous playwright and could afford one. Instead, he was met with Phil and a single horse. He blinked at the scene in front of him, wondering if he was seeing things properly. There was no way Phil expected him to walk. After all, Phil had specifically offered him a ride.

Dan looked up at Phil with a blank expression and realised the man was talking, “much farther away from the theatre than you. Dan are you listening?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Are you okay? You look a bit dazed.”

“I’m just wondering how I’m getting to the range,” Dan stated.

“Oh, you’ll have to ride behind me. You see my brother is borrowing Dante today so this is our only option,” Phil stated. “Unless you want to walk of course.”

Dan knew that Phil had meant the last part as a joke but he seriously considered it. He didn’t know how well he could handle being so close to Phil, especially with his crush on him. He decided that he couldn’t walk seeing as they were in a crowded city which meant the next range was more than a few miles away. “How do I get on then?” Dan stated as confidently as he could.

“Just stick your foot in the stirrup and hoist yourself up.”

Dan followed his instructions, and got up onto the horse. He tried to distance himself from Phil but it caught the attention of the other man. “What are you doing? You’ll fall off if you don’t hold on,” Phil laughed.

“Sorry,” Dan muttered, putting his arms around Phil’s middle.

Phil dug his heel into the horse’s side and it took off down the streets. Dan gripped onto Phil tighter, and watched as the scenery passed by them. He’d only ridden a horse once when he was younger, so to be high on top of one was quite intimidating. “Are you scared?” Phil shouted back.

“No.”

“Ok, Dan, I believe you, but can you let go a bit? You’re suffocating me.”

Dan blushed in embarrassment, loosening his grip. He didn’t mean to hold on so tight, but the speed of the horse had startled him. “Sorry.”

The rest of their ride proceeded with much less awkwardness, and a comfortable silence encompassed them.

When they arrived at the range there were very few people. It shouldn’t have surprised Dan seeing as it was the middle of the day and most men were at work. They went to find a target to practice on and finally settled on one that was positioned on the outskirts of the range.

Dan watched as Phil set his quiver of arrows down in the grass and fiddled with his bow. “Who’s going first?” Phil asked.

“Definitely you,” Dan answered.

“You’re really going to make me embarrass myself first?”

“I don’t want to be the first one to embarrass themselves.”

“Very well then.”

Phil picked up an arrow and positioned himself in front of the target. He stood for a moment, aiming to the best of his ability, and then he let go. The arrow whizzed across the range and hit the innermost white ring. “I thought you were out of practice!” Dan groaned.

Phil smiled. “I promise it’s just luck. Now it’s your turn.”

Phil stepped away and Dan took his place. He picked a bow out of his quiver and aimed at the target. His hands were shaking, and his pulse was racing so he knew he was going to do horribly. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Phil though, so he took a deep breath and hoped for the best before letting the arrow fly. When Dan looked up he saw the arrow lodged into the outermost ring.

Phil chuckled behind him and Dan spun around at him. “You can’t make fun of me. Unlike you, I was telling the truth when I said I was out of practice,” Dan huffed.

“What? Do you need a quick lesson from the master?” Phil cooed.

“I suppose I could use one,” Dan muttered.

When Dan agreed, he thought Phil would show him how to aim and shoot, but instead Phil came up behind him and handed Dan an arrow. He fit his hands over Dan’s and positioned the bow correctly.

Phil’s hands were slightly cold but his body radiated a comforting heat, and Dan felt warmer just from standing by the other man. Dan's heart was beating rapidly and he couldn’t stop thinking about how compromising the position that they were in was.

“Let go,” Phil whispered, breaking him from his thoughts.

Dan let go of the arrow and watched as the arrow launched into the innermost black ring. “See you've got it,” Phil muttered.

Suddenly realising they were still together, Dan blushed and pulled away to face Phil. “I’m still not as good as you are. Besides you did most of the work that time,” Dan huffed.

Phil grinned, “You’ll just have to keep practising.”

Phil picked up his bow again and quickly aimed the arrow at the target. Dan watched as it flew and hit into the yellow circle at the centre of the target. “Bullseye!” Phil exclaimed.

Dan rolled his eyes. His competitive side was finally coming out. “Ok, Philip. Let’s play ten rounds and whoever gets the most points wins.”

“What does the winner get?”

“I suppose the winner can pick a punishment for the loser.”

“It’s on then.”

——

Dan ended up winning. He was surprised he’d beaten Phil and his years of experience, but when he thought about it, Phil had given Dan a lot of tips during their match. Phil had definitely let him win. “Did you let me win?” Dan scoffed.

“Of course not, Daniel. You won fair and square,” Phil laughed. “You just have to believe in yourself.”

Dan still didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t going to question Phil anymore. “Now, since you’ve won, you have to pick a punishment for me.”

Dan thought about it for a second until his stomach grumbled. He assumed Phil could afford much better food than the stale biscuits and bitter coffee Dan had based his diet on. “I suppose you can buy me dinner. I am quite hungry,” Dan suggested.

“That’s not much of a punishment,” Phil commented

“No, but I’m starving right now so I’ll let it slide,” Dan hummed.

“Alright, I suppose I can treat you to dinner. Is there any specific place you’d like to go?” Phil stated, picking up his quiver.

“No, it’s your choice. I don’t eat out much,” Dan said following the other’s lead.

“Ah, are you a chef?”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I can cook a few meals.”

They walked back to their horse where Phil had put her in a stall. Phil led her out and gave her a few sugar cubes before using the stirrups to pull himself up on the horse. Dan followed suit and they were off again, heading back to the city.

——

Dan didn’t think Phil would take him somewhere fancy but, to his surprise, Phil did. There was a musician playing the piano softly on the stage with tables surrounding the raised platform. Candles decorated each table and customers sat in sharp suits and flowing dresses. “I don’t think we’re dressed well enough for this,” Dan whispered to Phil.

“Sure we are,” Phil stated. “Most of these people are on first dates anyway. They want to make a good impression.”

Dan blushed at the thought of it being a date. Sure he might have had a tiny crush on Phil, but nothing would come of that. Maybe if they were born in a more accepting time but in their day it wasn’t going to be accepted anytime soon.

“Right this way, sirs,” a waiter spoke.

Dan followed the man around the outskirts of the table and watched as they sat the menus down at a table. It was a bit secluded from the rest of the tables, and Dan instantly sighed in relief.

Phil sat across from him and picked up one of the menus so Dan copied him. The writing was riddled with flourishes and Dan couldn’t read it very well. His face heated up. He’d had an education, but it wasn’t one of the best. His parents couldn’t afford to send him off to a fancy private school like the other boys his age.

“What do you recommend?” Dan asked Phil.

“I usually get the chicken, but the lamb is also quite good.”

Dan nodded. “Lamb sounds nice.”

“Yes, the chefs here make the best in the city.”

They sat in a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company and the soft melody from the piano, until the waiter came back. They placed their orders and at the end Phil spoke up. “Do you drink?”

“Occasionally,” Dan remarked, “but if you're drinking, I’ll drink with you.”

Phil nodded. “We’ll have two glasses of your best wine then.”

——

They might have had more than just a glass each, and maybe Dan was having a hard time controlling his stupid limbs, but that wasn’t anyone else's business was it? He was using all of his energy not to trip, but it was bound to happen. He never drank so he wasn’t surprised that he was such a lightweight. He didn’t regret it though. He’d had a wonderful night, and it was nice to be free from his nerves for once.

Unlike Dan, Phil wasn’t drunk. At least he didn’t seem to be. He’d had a glass more than Dan but he was perfectly composed and Dan wasn’t sure if it was impressive or not.

Phil was leading him out of the restaurant with his hand clasped firmly onto Dan’s shoulder. They made their way to where the horse was being kept in a small set of stables behind the building. A nice man led the horse out, and Dan looked at it warily. “Do you think you can get up?” Phil asked.

Dan's face flushed red. He definitely could not climb the horse drunk. After all, he could barely climb it sober. “If you can't, don’t attempt it. I need my Juliet to have fully functioning limbs for the play.”

“Then I guess I won’t be getting on the horse,” Dan muttered.

“We can walk then,” Phil stated.

“No that isn’t fair. I can walk home from here and you can ride back to your house.”

“You’re far too drunk to walk home alone. You’d definitely get robbed. I’ll walk you home.”

“What about the horse?”

“She’ll follow us.”

Dan nodded and followed Phil down the road. They were only a few blocks from his house so it wouldn’t take long for them to get there, but Dan still felt guilty for making Phil walk.

They chatted about the play, their holiday plans, and a variety of other things. Dan learned more about Phil’s family which was made up of his mother, father, and his brother, Martyn, as well as his sister in law, Cornelia. Phil seemed to have a strong bond with his family, and, unlike Dan’s parents, his seemed to be supportive of his career.

After around ten minutes they finally stopped in front of Dan’s door. Dan blushed thinking about the times he’d been in this position with the girls he’d courted. He remembered his manners and thanked Phil. “Dinner was delicious. I hope we can hang out again sometime soon.”

“It was my pleasure. After all, I lost our bet.”

“I still don’t understand how that happened,” Dan laughed.

“I told you I was a bit rusty.”

“Yes but your first few shots were amazing.”

Phil shrugged. “I guess it was luck.”

There was a lapse in conversation then, and Dan wasn’t intent on leaving Phil just yet. He must have been more drunk than he originally thought because the next thing he knew he was kissing Phil.

Dan pulled away quickly when he realised what he was doing. He was blushing fiercely and he was internally groaning at his stupidity. He’d risked both of their safety and made a fool of himself. He was likely going to get cut from the cast if not worse.

“I’m going to go in now,” Dan muttered. “Goodbye.”

Dan rushed inside and slammed the door leaving Phil to stare blankly at the spot where Dan had disappeared from.

——

When Dad woke up the next morning he had an awful hangover and an even worse memory of the night before. He didn’t feel like getting himself out of bed but he somehow managed to get himself up. He dragged himself to his wardrobe and threw some clothing on before leaving the house and walking to the coffee place he frequented.

When he stepped in the door he immediately shrank into himself. Sitting at one of the tables was Phil with a newspaper in his hand and a cup of coffee in front of him.

Dan almost snuck out of the coffee shop successfully but then Phil made eye contact with him. Dan had no choice but to stay at the shop. He hoped if he acted normal then Phil would forget everything that happened.

He walked toward the counter and ordered a coffee. When it was done he sat at his normal table in the corner of the room. For a few minutes, Dan watched the people passing outside before he heard a chair scrape across from him. “Morning,” Phil stated, sitting down across from Dan.

“Good morning,” Dan muttered.

“Would you like to talk about last night?”

Dan stared at Phil in surprise. He didn’t think Phil was a very blunt person but he guessed there was no beating around the bush when it came to the kiss.

“I want to apologise-" Dan started.

“No I’m not mad.”

“What?”

“I thought you would catch on eventually but I guess you didn’t.”

“What are you saying?”

“I like you Dan. I know it’s wrong but I don’t think you’re going to judge me.”

“I wasn’t expecting this.”

“You are a bit dense.”

“I am not.”

“Ok, Daniel.”

“Can I ask what made you wait?”

“I had to make sure you weren’t a homophobe. After all, we don’t live in the most accepting age.”

Dan nodded. He wasn’t surprised that Phil was hesitant because of the world they lived in. Honestly, this was a fairy tale come true, but then again, there would never be a fairy tale about two men.

“What do you want to do then?” Dan asked.

“Well I think I’d like to take you on a date.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

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unclefungusthegoat · 4 years

Text

Where The Light Fractured, I Found Home

Thought I’d share my little contribution to the Far Cry 5/New Dawn fanzine too! Wanted to write about my fave girl Carmina, and instead of rolling with my usual angsty stuff, was suddenly inspired to write a cosy fic about her knitting with Nana! A huge thank you to @celiansartblog for your seriously gorgeous artwork, and for being an amazing partner, it’s been a true pleasure working with you! And also, thank you to everyone for getting on board with this little project, I am so freaking proud of everyone <3

My fic can be read under the cut, or here on AO3

The fanzine can be downloaded for free HERE

Title: Where The Light Fractured, I Found Home

Warnings: None

Summary: Carmina wasn't sure that she needed a new hobby. What she was sure of, is that it takes a special kind of friendship for a rainbow to fall from the sky. Carmina and Nana family fluff.

“Girlie, you need t’get yourself a hobby that don’t involve somethin’ dead at the end of it!”

That was rich coming from a gun-toting septuagenarian who could sneeze mid-shot and still snipe a guy’s ear clean off.

“I have hobbies, Nana!” Carmina had laughed back at her.

“Not like this, you don’t!”

Now, sitting with their legs dangling out of the Perch, Carmina and Nana relaxed in the bright, sun-warmed afternoon glow. A mountain of rainbow yarn sat upon their laps, tinged violet by the somehow still flashing Spread Eagle sign.

Fire truck red and saffron yellow, was knotted and twirled between hydrangea blue, woven and twisted amongst rainforest green and a purple not quite the colour of yams, not quite the colour of eggplant. Heaped like psychedelic Himalayas, snikt and persnikt between two sets of needles. The fibres were near weightless, clouds beneath their fingertips, almost unlike anything Carmina had felt before. In fact, it was a stark reminder of how razor sharp the world around her was. Rusted and wind-beaten. Unstitched.

Between them, slowly winding its way to the ground, was the fruits of their labour.

A scarf.

So kaleidoscopic, it appeared the sunlight had fractured without any rain.

Despite her skepticism, (and her, admittedly, half-hearted attempts to confine herself to the garage instead) Carmina had found an unexpected gratification in the art of knitting. An intrinsic sense of joy in holding something that, usually, she’d impale right through an eye socket, only this time to find it be cushioned, caressed by soft wool. She’d diligently practised all the stitches in the book. Garter and stockinette, fisherman’s rib and the basket stitch.

Her sulking had waned even further when the two of them, some 60 years apart in age but soon thick as thieves, had snorted at, mocked and downright abused the unfortunately named ‘Seed’ stitch. And the week where they’d set to working on the waffle stitch, had been laden with misshapen homemade waffles. Buttery and rich. Laced with lashings of oozing maple syrup from a bottle Carmina had found in the rubble of a diner once named ‘Aubrey’s’.

“You know, Nana,” Carmina purled a final violet stitch, and passed it to her companion to begin another row, “I’m really grateful you talked me into this.”

“Don’t you be worryin’ about it, girlie. Keepin’ this kooky ol’ gunslinger company.”

Truth is, Nana, I was lonely too. More than I’d ever admit, even to Mom and Dad. How can the world feel so echoey and vast, when everywhere I look, there’s people I love?

I suppose she saw right through me.

Having no memories must be the loneliest feeling in the world.

“Even gunslingers need friends. Butch Cassidy had the Sundance Kid, right?”

“Right y’are!”

Snikt and persnikt again, as the two worked in comfortable silence. Sometimes they gossiped, letting their laughter fill the valley and join with the birdsong and distant gunfire. But most days, it was just the pleasure of each other’s company. Two friends, passing a lazy afternoon in rare stillness and peace.

“Another stack of pancakes says we’re gonna finish this today.”

“Hoo-hoo, wager not taken, buster! I see whatcha doin’, and I never take a wager I can’t win!”

They giggled, in full certainty that there’d be sweet treats anyway.

“What do you think we should make next?”

Nana gazed at her sternly through jam-jar lenses. Carmina had never known any of her grandparents, but she imagined that this is how they would have stared her down had she misbehaved.

“You gotta noggin’ full o’ yarn if you think I’m gonna answer that, missie! You gotta brain, start usin’ it!”

A flurry of thoughts, snowfall in summer. Mittens, striped like candy, a gift from Santa for the little ones. A blanket for Blade Drubman’s crib - he’s been having trouble sleeping, the gears of the world grinding, deafening, around him. Pouches for screws and bolts, pockets for wrenches and screwdrivers. Or something for Dad to put in the plane… a Maneki-neko to sit on the dashboard for good fortune?

“How about knitting my co-pilot a good luck charm?”

Murmured agreements, and they once again settled back into their silence. It wasn’t long before their work neared its end, as the yarn ran low. Threads of life, weaving into the fabric of the world. Not gone… just renewed.

“Makes a change to the o’l heart, doesnit? Buildin’ something, ‘stead of tearin’ the whole world down. One day, missie, y’gonna be incharga buildin’ this valley up again,” Nana’s steady hands, sculpted by bloodshed, by love and by time, bound-off the final stitch. And carefully, she gathered up the scarf from where it dangled down between them. “I reckon you oughta be lookin’ real swish when y’do it!”

She held it out in offering.

Teenage eyes so earnest, and bright with a humble soul widened in disbelief.

“For me?”

“You earned it, kiddo!”

As though she were cradling a newborn babe, Carmina took hold of her gift, letting it rest gently in her arms. And she whispered a silent thank you. In the hush of the valley, she could almost hear it carry on the breeze, cast out to all the lucky stars across the cosmos, honouring the sky and it’s kindness, for it had given her so many gifts. The cloudless vista under which she sat, each day anew with promise and life. The rainbow had shed a skin for her, one that she held close to her now.

And the sunshine itself, that shone eternally in her Nana.

“You young’uns gotta build,” The old woman’s voice was far gentler than usual. An uncharacteristic weariness sat nestled between words and breath. Yet… there was hope. “An’ you gotta do a better job than we ever did.”

The child of the new world nodded. She wrapped the scarf around her neck, letting her hair tangle and tuck into its folds. Cosy. Cocooned in the warmth of dedication and patience. Distinctly smelling of home. Each lump and bump beneath her fingers was a tangible shrine to every precious moment they had spent stitching it together.

Feeling it embrace her, Carmina Rye’s eyes teared in the corners, glistening with pride.

And she smiled:

“Seems like we made a good start.”

#far cry new dawn #far cry 5 #far cry fanzine 2020 #carmina rye #nana #and now back to writing icarus and styx and all the angst that entails lmao

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dazais-guardian-angel · 4 years

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This post has been sitting in my drafts since like mid-November around when I finished replaying the game, long enough for me to write and upload a fic about some of the concepts I wrote here, what the fuck. DGS brainrot is real. But aNYWAY finally, here are my massive thoughts on Unwound Future, the golden child of the PL series. This is literally *checks* 8k words, because I can never shut up!! and because there is just SO much going on in this game at all times, so many different interweaving plot threads and funny moments and incredible, fascinating characterization, especially combined with the games that come after it; I just had SO much to say. So much analyzing and headcanons and crying galore. :’) There’s a reason this is considered the best game, and that’s why I had so damn much to talk about.

behold the incoherent, rambling, unconnected mess of a novel that I hope makes a modicum of sense under the cut:

Continuing the trend, this game has simply AMAZING graphics/art/music, with a huge uptick in cutscenes and voice acting, and I feel like the sound/music quality is greatly improved too? I love the main bgm for London in this game, never really remembered loving it before, but it’s just *chef’s kiss* and so is the song that plays in other areas like the hospital and subway

Quickly mentioning the gameplay, I really love all the minigames, and the storybooks are especially hilarious to play with putting the wrong things in the spaces to create mad libs-esque crack that makes no sense; it’s so fun lmao

The beginning flashback segment with the time machine demonstration is honestly just so funny, for so many different reasons: Dimitri droning on and on with time travel technobabble while Luke, Bill, Chelmey, and Barton represent the definitive last four brain cells. Hershel being skeptical about successful time travel after all the magical shit they went through just like a year or two ago. The way that Bill’s sprite slowly and nervously shuffles onscreen after Dimitri calls him to the stage, like omg I don’t know why that cracks me up so much but it does. Dimitri’s lowkey savage shade he’s throwing at Bill throughout this whole thing. The way Bill says “wHAT” when Dimitri asks him to help, clearly about to shit his pants. Dimitri just standing there completely unfazed as the smoke from the machine flies past him. And of course, “sOmEtHiNg’S gOnE vErY wRoNg!”

…okay but in all seriousness, am I just stupid or do they never explain how they get Bill to the underground city, like the machine CLEARLY explodes with him in it, there was no secret elevator built into the thing like at the clock shop, so…???

also the presenter’s voice is really funny lmao

Still disagree that this is the biggest mystery they’ve ever encountered, despite being near the top; Luke you say that literally every game!! so what is the truth!!

Spring’s face is terrifying as FUCK in the two cutscenes in the clock shop… why they decided to show both of them in ominous, shadowed lighting in those scenes I do not understand a;lskdl;fds

I need someone to draw a diagram of how exactly the shop looks as a giant elevator because frankly I still can’t wrap my brain around it-

THE FACT THAT WE NEVER GET TO MAKE UP WITH HAZEL IS A TRAVESTY, HONESTLY

Belle… why…… ugh

Wish they’d had “Schrader” drop a casual nod to the events of Diabolical Box; it would have been cool :’) (especially since this is Paul so he’d know about all that)

College-age Hershel is just….. the pinnacle of adorableness. someone protect him from all the pain

One of the few flaws/plot holes in the story of Unwound Future that I only noticed during this replay with more media under my belt, is the that the developers didn’t really decide on what kind of time travel they wanted to portray, or more likely just didn’t scrutinize Clive’s fake role enough when writing it. This is blatantly obvious upon the very first meeting with Clive where he desires to test Hershel to make sure he’s really him. Obviously in a closed loop scenario, everything Luke and Hershel are doing “Future Luke” should remember doing himself in his past, so a test would not be necessary; this is a major trip-up on his part that it’s very odd Hershel doesn’t notice for how smart he is, imo. However, later on when meeting “Future Layton”, Paul calls Dimitri out on this exact principle, proving that he’s not actually Future Layton because he doesn’t remember the absence of a pen in Hershel’s pocket in this moment in his past, and it’s a nice little touch that Paul, on the other hand, an actual scientist, would mention this. Back to Future Luke, though, he should know how everything goes down with stopping Future Layton, because he lived it all as a child with Hershel, which makes it even more dubious to the fact that after seeing all this, Hershel still goes dark and everything plays out the exact same way it’s portrayed in the “future” of the game; it’s the idea that destined fate can’t be changed, but the suspension of disbelief is quite high, especially since we already doubt that Hershel would ever do such a thing, knowing what kind of person he is. Of course this wouldn’t be the case in an open-loop/branching timelines universe, but since the game uses the former type with the pen argument (and something else important I’ll mention in a second), I feel like the rest of the game should have adopted this idea as well and addressed it. Because Dimitri is outed via the fact that he should have memory of things he doesn’t, so it would have been easy to simply add Hershel adding that argument into his final explanation in the bar (”my suspicions were first raised when we first met Big Luke, and he didn’t know if I was really who I said I was- [etc etc]”). Even if they didn’t want Hershel to bring this up early else the entire story would fall apart, they could simply draw attention to the fact that he notices something in these moments, like with a “...” or “Hmm”, and then he explains it at the end like I said. Interestingly enough, Clive actually addresses these concepts at one point in the game with Luke in the statue plaza: he doesn’t want to tell Luke how things play out in his future, so that… things play out the way they’re supposed to…? Even though his entire story here is that he wished Hershel hadn’t gone dark and distanced from him, and ruined the city? But then he makes the suggestion that they could instead be operating on an open-loop/multiple timelines system, where in his past he never travelled to the future, but in our Luke and Hershel’s timeline they do. This is only a hypothetical he gives though, with him seeming unsure of how things truly are, which… again, in this story he’s concocted, he should know for sure, because if he doesn’t “remember” time traveling and how everything went down, then they’re operating on different timelines and it shouldn’t matter how much he tells Luke about his future. You can definitely argue that in-universe Clive didn’t think all this through when planning his dialogue for this role (but I honestly find that hard to believe, since he’s so intelligent, and he nailed the realism of everything else to a T), but it’s obvious just that the writers didn’t think it through, because like I said Hershel really should have picked up on his blunder when they first met, as well as later when Clive is surprised to see Flora suddenly with them and didn’t know for a fact that she and Chelmey/Barton would arrive there. Since the time travel scenario in 99% of the game isn’t actually real, I don’t entirely fault the writers for not getting every single detail right… and yet, that 1% exists where time travel is real, with Claire’s situation. It’s a very isolated incident though that wouldn’t be replicated, with only her going to the future… and yet, she does return to the past again, if only for a split second before dying and thus not enough time to do anything with her future knowledge, the real thing to note here being that they took care to show that she was wearing the same outfit when she died that she gets in the future, one she wasn’t wearing when she entered the lab originally. So they DID think about some things very well, like such a minor and easily-overlooked detail here (but that blows your mind once you realize it). All this is hardly enough to ruin the game or break the immersion completely though, especially since the player is already predisposed to heavily doubt everything with PL’s “the town is a lie” track record lmao, but I can’t help but be bothered by it now after playing games like Zero Escape and watching time travel shows like netflix’s Dark, which have bootstrap parodoxes and timeloops galore looool. My friend who watched me play the game blind this time around brought up all these questions as Clive said things, as someone who didn’t know if it would end up being real or not, and so I spent a lot of time puzzling (har har) it out with her… even though it wouldn’t matter lmao.

……In short, if it wasn’t obvious, despite Unwound Future’s time travel setup being completely fake, I’m really fascinated by the notion of how it would all work if it was real. >.> …and I mean, I know I’m not the first one; monocle Layton aus are popular, after all, but I don’t really care quite as much about the allure of an “evil Layton” as I do just about how everything else would be, I think.

Because, like, lets be real? taking the prequels into account with Unwound Future’s proposed setup, the potential is endless. It honestly KILLS me that the prequels didn’t exist yet at the time of UF, because!! so many people from Hershel’s past!!! SO MANY REASONS FOR HIM TO WANT TO HARNASS TIME TRAVEL AND CHANGE THE PAST, NOT JUST FOR CLAIRE’S SAKE. FOR RANHENGELA’S SAKE. FOR LUKE AND EMMY’S SAKE. FOR HIS PARENTS’ SAKE. FOR DESMOND. listen, listen, you don’t understand how much the idea of Desmond being involved in UF’s concepts destroys me. I wrote about this in my last fic but. imagine if Desmond learned about Hershel going down a dark path for his sake and everyone else’s, just like he did. Or imagine if, instead of Hershel being the one to do it, it was Desmond himself; he’s willing to play the bad guy once again, one very final, this time definitely final, time, if it means he can undo everything that caused all of them so much pain in the first place: his betrayals, the death of his former wife, he and Theodore’s separation, their father’s betrayal, ALL of it, and Hershel would never know. When Luke first is like “oh it’s gotta be Don Paolo right” and Clive says no, i LITERALLY screamed “BUT IT COULD BE DESCOLE!!”. JUST. PAIN. And where would Randall be in this future; what would he, too, think if it was Hershel going after time travel? Imagine him trying to smack some sense into him just like Hershel does in MM, trying to tell him that despite those lost 18 years of his life, despite everything wrong he ended up doing, he’s still happy, and so are Henry and Angela. So is Desmond. And Emmy, she wouldn’t want undone those years she had with Hershel and Luke and then Aurora and Desmond, despite how sadly it ended. Just… so much pain. So much potential. I hurt :’)

and adding on to this, i love love LOVE the idea of Clive knowing about some of this stuff in Hershel’s past, in order to faithfully play his role as Future Luke. Like obviously he wasn’t in Misthallory with them all, he wasn’t on the island in ED, he wasn’t at Monte’dor, and he wasn’t on the Bostonius or at all those Azran ruins that I can’t remember the names of right now, of course he wouldn’t know the intimate, specific details of what all went down, but if there was just one npc who was in the right place at the right time at any of these locations, who knows what beans they could spill? Maybe even an ex-Targent person or something. Hell, fucking Bronev is in jail for at least a little while before the events of UF. There are possibly MANY people Clive could have gotten information from to pull off this role - he’s a reporter, he’s skilled at digging for stuff. Not to mention just reading and hearing about large incidents in the news. And this makes his character so much better because he’s admired Hershel for so long, grateful that he saved his life all this time, to the point that he asks him to unknowingly come and save him again… and he most definitely didn’t know back when he first encountered Hershel that he’d already experienced so much loss and pain as well (some of which Hershel hadn’t even gone through yet by that point), but learning about everything he’s suffered? I think it would really affect him, and possibly contribute to why he asks him for his help in the first place in UF: because Hershel has suffered just as much as he has, and he feels a connection to him, feels like he can relate to him, and wants someone who can empathize with him, and show him how to cope. All of these reasons and emotions would probably be completely on an unconscious level, but they would exist - he’d use this limited but meaningful knowledge to try to connect with Hershel more when he’s still in Future Luke mode, to try to convince him he’s really Luke, at first, but unconsciously it’d be an effort to get closer to him emotionally, which is what he truly desires deep down, until his so-called act somewhat stops being an act, and talking about these things makes his vulnerabilities start to show (again, i wrote a fic about this). This all just adds to why Hershel is the perfect person to help and support Clive - the prequels make their similarities even stronger, more than just with Hershel losing Claire, and those accidental parallels when the writers hadn’t even conceived the prequel trilogy at the time of UF are just *chef’s kiss* beautiful.

THE CASINO SCENE IS JUST ICONIC, IT’S SO FUNNY. LUKE BEING SCARED OF THE SHOOTING AND HERSHEL JUST DITCHING HIM. CLIVE’S LITTLE HOP AND ROLL BEHIND THE SLOT MACHINES. THE SLOT MACHINE GUN IN GENERAL. THE CLONE FAMILY MEMBERS FALLING OVER LIKE DOMINOS UPON BEING HIT. BOSTRO CRYING AND SPLINTERS AND LOCKJAW RUNNING IN CIRCLES PANICKING WHILE LAYMAN JUST IS LITERALLY PUSHED BACK SLOWLY WITH ONLY A CHAIR TO DEFEND HIMSELF, I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW FUNNY LAYMAN AS A CHARACTER IS TO ME. it’s just so glorious, oh my god. this series is ridiculous i love it so much lmao

Luke wanting to use the time machine though… there are so many reasons why he might want to, mainly from Azran Legacy. :’)

The statue is the worst thing ever for multiple reasons. The fact that it represents Hershel & Luke’s relationship, the two main characters, who have been through so much together and have such a strong bond that can never be broken, and how it ties into the whole Evil Layton scenario and seems to foreshadow that their bond does end up breaking, as “Future Luke” seems to be proof of (though the game doesn’t really put much emphasis on this; Luke is more worried about the fact that he’s moving away soon straining their relationship, and not the whole Future Layton thing. imo it would have been interesting to see his actual thoughts on/feelings about it, since he’s surprisingly calm throughout the entire game before the reveals happen; you can argue he just has complete faith in Hershel and doesn’t think he would ever go dark, but then why doesn’t he bring this up, insist that this can’t be true? I think he should have). The fact that as I just said it foreshadows how Luke will leave Hershel at the end of the game, something that Luke worries about later on in the game. And most of all, the biggest, worst thing it foreshadows… Hershel’s relationship with Clive. Clive had that statue made himself, put it in his giant set. He WANTS that kind of mentor-student bond with Hershel, that’s how he sees them, just from their one interaction in front of the exploding buildings… or at least, that’s how he wants to see it. He sees how close Hershel and Luke are throughout the entire game, and he yearns for that kind of bond with Hershel, too. The fact that the boy in the statue story has an illness that he eventually dies from, but that their friendship withstands… it’s probably meant to represent Clive’s insanity, that he hopes Hershel will save him from - he is Clive’s light of hope in his despair. Or, to be more accurate to the statue, even if Clive’s madness ends up killing him (which it very nearly does, and by that point he fully expects that it will), he’ll still have had those memories of that time he spent with him, and Hershel will never forget him, and that will mean something special. man though can you imagine an AU where Clive is literally terminally ill too, and that’s why he’s yolo-ing this entire thing so hard and doesn’t care if it ends up killing him in the end, at least he got to be with Hershel one more day; ahahahaha turn up the angsttttttttttttt-

Shmelmey and Shmarton do not at all look like Chelmey and Barton, smh

For everything Clive accounted for with his role and setting, he’s honestly way too rude and crass sometimes to be Luke lmao, even if you try to imagine a world where Hershel did go dark and Luke was changed by it… at least imo

the like 4 puzzles that give Clive’s solving animations/dialogue are the most serotonin-boosting things in the world

“you will come back, won’t you?” Clive asks Hershel about his trip to visit Chelmey, desperately wanting him to stop him before it’s too late :’)

Rosetta and her....... sessions....... with Hershel........ hajkkALSKDLD

Okay but Hershel is kind of dickish sometimes though, despite his whole “gentleman” thing??? There’s the elephant in the room which I’ll Get To, but like first he guilt-trips Chelmey into getting him access to confidential information about the lab explosion, and then he has the absolute balls to tell him “Bill Hawks is being held in the future” and that’s IT. No explanation, nothing else, just THAT, and then he LEAVES, after he’d promised to share every last detail with him. I don’t blame Chelmey at all for tailing them and barging in to get information himself, like damn Hershel, why so savage sometimes in not a good way

which brings me to Ranting About Flora’s Treatment, Part 3: The Finale. Y’all I literally cannot even BEGIN to describe how much the way Hershel and Luke treat Flora in UF specifically makes me seethe..... It was already bad in DB, no doubt, but in this game they are straight-up rude to her, mostly Hershel, for absolutely no reason, and I CANNOT fathom why. He constantly makes the excuse that he’s concerned for her safety, and that the places they’re going to are too dangerous for her, but it all exudes a level of thinly-veiled annoyance, even confusion as to why Flora is so upset that they never bring her along and wants to go with them at all... almost like her “frail” feminine appearance (which isn’t helped by how the games make her feel sick or dizzy or tired multiple times), compared to someone like Emmy who could fight and has more masculine traits, means she’s less capable in Hershel’s mind, which, like, even if it’s unconscious on his part... how about no?? I could accept being worried about her, even if I’m still frustrated at her being left behind, and her constant kidnapping (which isn’t Hershel’s fault, even if he probablyyy could do a better job both times at protecting her), but I CANNOT excuse how short and dismissive Hershel is with her in this damn game; it honestly borders on ooc to me for him, I don’t know what the writers were thinking; do they just hate Flora that freaking much??? He treats her like a burden the entire time, apologizes to people for her, acts irritated at having to accommodate for her, when poor Flora just wants to spend time with him and feel like an equal to him and Luke. Meanwhile Clive of all people is the first one to treat her with kindness and respect and pleasure to see her when they first meet, like when Luke bitches about Flora being excited to see the river and not taking things seriously and Clive tells him to go easy on her (Clive, the one who has been rushing them along this entire time himself). honestly can see why it’s so easy to ship them, when literally everyone else treats her like crap It’s SO depressing honestly. Flora asks them if they thought to wonder where her future self was, and Hershel is just like hhhhh we’re kinda busy thinking about... you know.... important things... sorry not sorry....... like BITCH I WILL STRANGLE YOU, BE NICER TO YOUR DAUGHTER!!! Luke at least is a kid, but Hershel??? there’s no excuse!!! Luke be like “damn I hope Becky doesn’t look down on us for leaving Flora behind... >.>” THEY KNOW. THEY KNOW IT’S NOT RIGHT BUT THEY DON’T CARE AND DO IT ANYWAY. I’M SO MAD

Beasly just gets... straight-up murdered yo... between him and Subject 3, what were they smoking when coming up with the animals in this game, jfc. Test subject animals?? that’s unnervingly dark, despite how glossed over it is and how hilarious Subject 3 is a;lksd

LUKE LOVES SHERLOCK HOLMES THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THE DGS CROSSOVER IS WAITING, LEVEL-5 AND CAPCOM. MAKE LUKE’S (AND MY) DREAMS A REALITY

the intentional zoom-in on Clive’s sinister face in front of the tower will never not amuse me, and baffle me as to why they drew attention to it lmaooo

And okay back to time travel bullshit shenanigans, WHY the fuck does Dimitri not pick up on why him not remembering about the pen is such a big deal as soon as Paul first brings it up?? bruh. bruh. aren’t you a fucking TIME TRAVEL SCIENTIST. WHY DO YOU NOT KNOW SUCH A BASIC CONCEPT THAT BREAKS YOUR WHOLE FACADE IN SECONDS. It’d be one thing if he just couldn’t provide the right answer, but no, he straight-up HAS NO IDEA WHY HE SHOULD HAVE TO KNOW ABOUT THE PEN. “HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW-” bruhhhh. Dimitri. my dude. i love you but you are actually so dumb sometimes, like holy shit (more on this later though)

Paul talking to Dimitri about his plan is really good; he has a “...” moment before telling him what he’s doing can’t be excused, like “oh shit let me jump on board, wait fuck i gotta stay in character, Layton is a wuss he would never agree to this god dammit Layton-”. jokes aside though, I’m honestly confused as to how much he actually knew before Dimitri’s exposition in the pagoda, and why exactly he goes along with helping Hershel stop him... and what Dimitri was thinking roping him into this. Because I can’t really figure out Paul’s motives here and how they changed, if they did at all. The only information we get about how he first became involved is that Dimitri was paying him a lot of money to get Hershel to the pagoda and to him - he knows that “future London” isn’t real, he knows Future Layton isn’t real, so the extent of his knowledge seems to be that “this man wants to screw Layton over somehow and is giving me $$$ to get it done; there’s no downside here, never mind this suspicious as fuck fake London and all these people that shouldn’t be here”, but then Hershel gave him more information, probably that Claire was involved in what Dimitri was doing, and his concerns about a traitor being involved if he had already begun to suspect Clive by that point, and then he suddenly decided to turn against Dimitri? Even though you’d think saving Claire would be a reason for him to want to help him...? Or did he plan to turn against him from the very start, and wanted Hershel to come because he knew he could stop all this (part of his character development)? The latter is the most likely, though I still don’t entirely understand or maybe I’m just having a brain fart, that’s very likely too. And Dimitri on the other hand, did he know that Paul liked Claire too and would want to save her (and maybe about his salt for Hershel too), and that’s why he got his help? That makes more sense... but also doesn’t, cause as I said it seems like Paul didn’t know Claire was involved until Hershel told him and then Dimitri told everyone at the pagoda, so maybe he literally just said “here’s some money, help me fuck over Layton, not telling how” and just trusted in him that much, even though Paul is an evil genius who could and does put a stop to all his plans with his machines... once again, Dimitri looking dumb....

Clive, in the most deadpan voice ever at the top of the pagoda: oh no, the prime minister is in danger, someone help him

Flora as they’re escaping the tower: “professor no please take me with you instead of future Luke” Hershel: *ignores her feelings and makes a decision for her yet again* Clive: “shhh don’t worry Flora; i know i’m going to kidnap you in like an hour but i’m just trying to rescue you from these insensitive jerks. not Don Paolo though; he’s a gentleman.”

It’s interesting to me that Luke and Hershel keep acting as if Future Luke and future London are legit even after Future Layton has been revealed to be a fake. Hershel at least probably knows none of it is real by now, even if he hasn’t exactly figured out Clive’s role in everything yet, and is just not revealing his knowledge for now, but Luke is still rolling with it... wonder what’s going through his mind by this point. again, it frustrates me that Luke really has no emotional reaction to anything in UF, aside from the statue and his worries about leaving Hershel soon and how that in particular will affect their relationship

I also wonder what Clive is thinking by this point. Now that the Future Layton jig is up, what kind of story is he going with now? We never find out because Hershel reveals everything completely the next time Clive joins up with them again, but in the (unreasonable) case that he hadn’t, would Clive have just acted like he didn’t know that Alain Stahngun was actually someone named Dimitri, who was actually pretending to be Layton, and that the real Layton was somewhere else out there that they needed to find? I don’t know WHY I’m so interested in details like these that don’t matter at all in the long run a;lksdfklfd, but I am... he tells Flora to continue the “investigation” without him, so clearly he still had something in mind, and didn’t expect Hershel to out him quite so soon after that even if deep down he wanted it

Chelmey really cares for Barton and it’s actually so sweet, oml :’)

I didn’t really praise Paul’s character development in this game enough before, but I really do love it, even if I don’t quite understand the circumstances that started it. It’s not something I would have expected with how he’s presented in CV and DB, but it’s very nice to see this be the culmination of his character, and it’s kinda sad that it feels a bit more natural than Descole’s sudden shift in backstory/character between ED and MM/AL... It’s very funny and good to see him and Luke bicker at each other, and how he seems to have a soft spot for Flora... it’s all cute. I just wish there’d been a bit more time for him to talk to them, but that’s what fanfic is for

Don’t make me have to see Hershel beaten up in the street :’(

The sprite of Dimitri standing in the bar is incredibly hot.... damn why are all the older male characters my type >.>

Alright but it’s about time I finally talk about Dimitri without dissing him for being stupid sometimes and say that in short, I love him. He might even be my favorite new character in UF, even more than Clive; I don’t know if it’s just the Liam O’Brian Tragic Sexy Tired Villain effect or what (nah let’s be real, that’s a huge part of it lmao), but he’s fantastic and utterly breaks my heart, in a much more understated way than how the game shoves Clive’s angst in your face, but his tragedy is nonetheless impossible to ignore. The flashback with young Dimitri is my favorite scene in the entire game, it is devastating and feels so cinematic, so raw and painful, and I’m glad they animated that part because it humanizes him so much more. Claire was his everything, he loved her so much, but it is so obvious to me (and to a lot of the fandom too, I think) that his love was entirely selfless - he might have been a little sad, but he was still mostly content letting Hershel have her, and when it comes to after her death, Dimitri would have been absolutely happy not being able to have her if he managed to save her life; he just wanted her to live. He was in love with her, yes, but he also loved her, as a friend, as a scientist, as a person whose time was cut far too short for entirely selfish and unnecessary reasons, and the majority of his anger and bitterness and drive came from a desire to fix such an injustice - to save an innocent person’s life. And the saddest part of him doing all this and trying to sustain Claire’s existence in the present once he finds her, if you go with the closed loop time travel theory, is that Dimitri should already know it’s impossible for him to succeed in this as long as he remembers finding her body in the past - him succeeding would create a paradox, thus, he can’t save her. But he’s so deep in his despair and obsession and insistence on preserving her life that I don’t think he ever stops to think about this - or he does, but refuses to acknowledge it. I’m sure he was incredibly sweet and kind and soft in the past, with her, and with his passion, and it’s heartbreaking to see how broken he is now, how miserable and tired he is, how much everything changed him. And wanting to get back at someone like Bill, who had it all to begin with and then carelessly used them to gain even more, well, I don’t blame him for that. >_> Not to mention his relationship with Clive, which is all kinds of fascinating to think about: the most chaotic, dysfunctional mess of a half-business partnership half-father/son relationship there is, ahaha... Both of them are unhealthy to the extreme in different ways, but with how much time they spent together, it’s inevitable they had vulnerable moments around each other... Clive is the only other person Dimitri would have around during his research to possibly grow to care about, even if it was entirely unconsciously. Learning he was using him would, well, ruin their relationship even more than it was already messed up, but maybe he would visit Clive in prison at least once, assuming Hershel was. I just crave content for them, ugh. Dimitri just deserved so much better, he makes me so sad </3 and I honestly hate that we don’t get to see him say goodbye to Claire at the end before Hershel; sure it would have utterly killed me, but surely he deserved that much...

The utter, frankly amazing, stupidity of Flora’s kidnapping has been stated everywhere, we all know it, but just.... yeah. smh

Seeing the mobile fortress be like *war flashbacks to the Detragon* “Not This Shit Again” Hershel why tf you putting Luke in more danger AGAIN???

The car scenes with the mobile fortress are, at least to me, the funniest parts of the entire game, even better than the casino, oh my god they’re AMAZING. Luke screaming and flailing his arms while Hershel deadpan flings the car towards the fortress, all the bumps they hit riding across it later on, the car just FALLING and Bill almost falling out of it, and then the plane, all the while Hershel displays no more than mild frustration while everyone else is PANICKING... “a plane? This is an automobile!” ...iconic. top PL moments ever. Luke don’t you recall the time when Hershel built an entire mini plane out of a chainsaw and a barrel in ED, come on now

Onto Claire. Claire doesn’t get much screentime, but some of the moments she does have are very good; she’s one of the best and most fleshed-out female PL characters imo, and like a lot of things, I appreciate her a lot more after this replay than I did years ago... LayClaire is a cute ship and all, but I was never really obsessed with it; rather, I’m realizing now I’m more invested in what Claire has to offer by herself. I hate to use the term “strong female character” cause that sounds so cliche... but she really is strong. The entire part with her wanting to save Clive, their conversation, and her bringing him out... god it gets me, it really does. She’s known she’s going to die for ages, and at this point in the game she knows it could be any moment now, so she has no reason to try to keep herself safe; she’s doomed no matter what, so she might as well spend the last few minutes of her life saving another life, and not just anyone: someone who’s just killed countless people, who anyone else would see as insane, who doesn’t care for her, doesn’t care if he lives or dies - but Claire is compassionate enough that, despite everything, she fiercely believes he deserves to live. Because of her own guilt and sins she believes she bears, yes, but also simply because she believes he can still change, and doesn’t deserve to die, despite the HORRIBLE atrocity he just committed. She’s just that good a person. It’s no wonder she and Hershel loved each other and were made for each other; both of them are such kind, loving, selfless people who see the best in anyone no matter what. Perhaps she hoped and suspected that Hershel would look out for and care for Clive once he was in prison, so she wanted to make sure that could happen, even if she wouldn’t be around to ever see it.

sorry I just get really emotional about this part, about the entire mood and tone of Claire desperately trying to save this kid, and the way the camera focuses on the massive scale of the fortress and how it dwarfs them in size... It’s a really powerful and melancholic scene (just like Dimitri’s flashback scene; have I mentioned how much I adore the atmosphere and cinematic direction of this game? cause god I do) with the knowledge of her real identity and circumstances, the visuals and the music are so good, ugh i just have so many feels. mom Claire hurts me </3 she’s so good... Despite the fact that she dies, and so much of what everyone is doing is because of her death, her presence in the story is so strong, and it never feels like her only purpose is to die for everyone else’s development and that’s it (unlike... well, a lot of other pl females :’); she has her own things to do, she stops the fortress alongside Hershel, and literally saves the main antagonist’s life. Seriously I just adore the fact that she of all people is the one to rescue Clive in the end even though she wasn’t at all obligated to (although I’d be interested and cry over an AU where Hershel saves him instead; it honestly surprises me that he wasn’t going to until Claire said something...), because Clive is the only character (of the adults) who doesn’t have a direct relationship with Claire, but they’re still connected by the explosion, and so it makes for an interesting and terribly sad dynamic, even if they only have a few minutes with each other, for all the reasons I said earlier. Claire doesn’t think what he did was right, but she knows what she and the other scientists did wasn’t right either - and it’s too late for her now, but it’s not too late for him; she knows he has a kind heart, deep down, and that he needs help if he wants to redeem himself. She feels responsible for him, feels like she owes him that second chance, after indirectly taking his parents from him and causing him such misery and brokenness... She’s so brave and strong-willed to be able to do and admit all that she does; I just love her. It clearly kills her to leave Hershel, I don’t think she intended at first to ever let him know who she was (hence Celeste), but she’s not too upset in the end, because she (rightly) knows that he will be all right. ;; She’s so beautiful, too... wish we could have seen her interact with so many of the other characters </3

and so my favorite “insert Descole into the main trilogy” AU is where Descole intercepts Claire and makes some sort of body for her, like how everyone headcanons that for Aurora post-AL. (or/also just mobile fortress vs. Descole robots, that’s cool too lol)

And finally, Clive, the infamous star of Unwound Future, thought I talked about him a bit already (and also in this post a few weeks ago). Clive is probably the PL series’ best written villain Anton excluded, I absolutely love him, like everyone does. Nothing really about him hasn’t been done before elsewhere, but that’s not a bad thing; when I was younger and first played the game I really only paid attention to his sympathetic side, but now I’ve also grown an appreciation and fondness for that kind of unabashedly awful, manic, evil insanity a villain like him has, it’s just SO entertaining to watch. If PL was a more mature/higher rated series I’d love to see his chaotic crazed energy played up even more, just to really hammer in how messed up he is, ahaha, but of course that would make it harder to sympathize with him..... and unfortunately, it already is kind of hard, because.... shit, the number of people he must have killed? It’s a LOT. A FUCKTON. The level of sympathy the game gives Clive and the way it presents him at the end is not at ALL relative to the astronomical amount of people that had to have been squashed to death by his machine, to the point that it honestly makes me uncomfortable, and I try to just retcon that in my head, as hard as it is to imagine a scenario where that thing could have come up to London and not hit any houses, because like..... There’s no coming back from that. He knew exactly what he was doing, madness or not, and I honestly just... don’t want him to be such a mass murderer. Maybe it’s wrong to ignore it, but the game wants me to feel sorry for him and see his potential for redemption, and his relationship with Hershel is so good... dammit game, why’d you have to show those houses being crushed. Ugh. Because Clive is so compelling as someone who feels betrayed by people in power, who desires revenge not only for himself but for all the people who suffered just like he has that he says he bore witness to as a reporter; it’s a very relatable position and a good story, for his well-meaning intentions to be skewed and lost in the midst of his rage and despair and hatred and insanity, where his very valid point of “hey people in government are fucked up and don’t give a shit about us and that needs to change” gets turned into “they all need to die even if the very innocent people I want to save get hurt by this as well”, and I really wish that whole angle of it had been played up a bit more, and there had been more of an opportunity for Hershel to reason with him and argue that in the midst of his blind need for revenge, he’s become even worse than the people who need justice handed to them (cue some Descole allusionssss). He wouldn’t have to win him over, Clive is already too deep by that point despite how much he wanted to be stopped, but just having more of that than just what happens in the surveillance room would have been sooooooo good, I love that conversation. It would have made Clive even better and really drive home that he’s 1) kinda right about some things and wants better for people 2) still very fucking wrong and selfish at the same time and has taken it all way too far 3) very fucked up and broken. Not that the third point isn’t already abundantly clear, but... yeah. It would have given him even more depth, made him more sympathetic, and helped juuust a little to offset how much the game handwaves his mass murders... just a little... One of my favorite Clive scenes though is when the fortress is breaking down and he’s still there, desperately trying to save it, still in denial about the fact that all his plans have failed and that everything he’s done (and himself) is about to go up in flames; I know everyone loves making fun of him and that that scene is pretty memeable (he does get bodied so much in the game, lmaooo), but it makes him look so vulnerable, all alone in there by himself, like a child, which is what he really is, deep down: he never truly wanted to do something so abhorrent and evil, but his emotions and mind spiraled so badly out of control and it led him to such a dark, horrible place, where he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how much he wanted to, and in the end all he can do is watch helplessly as the reality of what he’s done and his unwound future all comes crashing down in front of him, never to be salvaged. And he believes wholeheartedly that he is going to die, that he deserves to (this is my favorite Clive scene; he’s so hurt and resigned, the voice acting kills me ugh), he doesn’t understand at all why Claire wants to save him, especially if he knows she’s one of the scientists (as his line of “why are you of all people helping me” implies), because he always thought none of them ever cared about him and people he saw as like him, thought everyone was like Bill Hawks, but Claire still cared enough to want to save his life, even though she was one of the people he was actively targeting with his revenge... I wonder how he would have felt at the time if he had known about her situation and that she was dying. </3 I just want so many good things for him, as so much of the fandom does. He’s so messed up but that’s what makes him so interesting, and his potential relationship with Hershel that the ending of the game suggests could happen is so touching and lovely and uplifting, one of my favorite kinds of relationships in fiction: Clive’s issues would persist for so long, for forever, really, but Hershel would support him and help him heal, and be there for him always, no matter how much Clive would feel like he didn’t deserve it. I eat this dynamic up, I really do, every single time I encounter it in a story, and it’s made even better by the fact that as I’ve said, Hershel has so much in common with Clive, and so they would get along very well for that reason, and Clive could unknowingly help Hershel just as much Hershel tries to help him. They’re so good for each other. Add Luke too, and Flora, and Desmond...! just ahhhhh........ there’s so much goodness. Clive you absolute glorious, fucked-up mess of a character, I love you. :’) and I love fic writers who explore facets of his personality and write about him. He’s only in one game, and there’s still a few hiccups, as I said, yet he’s handled far better than Descole or Randall in my opinion (though I love them too)... just an amazing fucking villain, and character. I wish UF could have gone deeper with him than it did, but even so, the possibilities with Clive are endless. I love him, so much ;;

and some of the themes of the plot in this game, uhh, hit a little close to home in good ole’ 2020/21 time we live in? :’) #FuckBillHawks

Hershel saying goodbye to Claire.... god. One of the top scenes in the entire series, probably the #1 most iconic I’d even go so far as to say. I don’t even really ship LayClaire, but there’s an indescribable emotion that finale gives me... it’s just breathtaking, in the most gutwrenching, nostalgic, beautiful way. I still maintain that Diabolical Box’s ending is sadder than this one, for a multitude of reasons, just comparing the stories and situations the characters are in, but I 100% don’t blame people for bawling at this scene more than any other, just because of the way it’s done yes I know I won’t shut up about the cinematography; the lighting, the camera angles, the pacing of it, Hershel’s fucking kicked puppy faces, the dialogue oh god the dialogue; it ALL hits like a TRUCK and comes together beautifully. At this point in his life Hershel has been through so much loss, so much so that it is unbearable - when he cries that he doesn’t want to say goodbye again, that he can’t say goodbye again, that he refuses to, nothing in the world is more true: this man has been through too much, and he’s hit his breaking point. even if you don’t have the prequels in mind when watching this, as most people don’t/didn’t the first time through, the overwhelming sense of burden and loss Hershel is feeling is so palpable, so painful - you get the sense that this isn’t just about Claire; Hershel has never shown emotion like this before up to this point, so for him to finally break down like this... it speaks volumes. After so many years of holding everything in, he finally can’t take it anymore, and basically stabbing me in the fucking chest would hurt less </3 I complain about Hershel never showing emotion like this (never crying) in the prequels whenever he’s hit with an equally horrible bombshell, and I still feel that way, but at the same time a part of me is also glad that’s the case, because it makes the very last (two) scenes in the entire series hit so much harder, knowing that he finally loses his composure after dealing with so much. As the titular character of the series, Hershel’s development is very understated and subtle, so it’s all the more meaningful when he actually snaps, because it makes him feel so much more real and human than he ever is the rest of the time, when he maintains his facade of being a perfectly composed, calm, and together gentleman; this scene finally say that, no, Hershel is a person, and he is broken in a lot of ways, because some puzzles you just can’t solve no matter how hard you try, and it’s so sad. And this sad tone of loss and longing permeates the entire cutscene; the way the title is dropped in Claire’s dialogue (both versions equally haunting imo), and Hershel taking off his hat for the first time ever, and the pan up and transition back to show the falling snow as “Time Travel”, my favorite instrumental in the series, kicks in... y’all there is no other feeling in the world like the feeling that elicits, there really isn’t ಥ⌣ಥ ❤️💔 the only thing that might even come close to it is the ending of Azran Legacy with Surely Someday, simply because it was the ending of the series, but the ending of Unwound Future hits me harder knowing it’s the end of the timeline, and with everything else in hindsight. And then an unknown amount of time later, even with Luke gone and Hershel only having Flora there with him anymore unless we headcanon DESMOND COMES BACK BECAUSE OF COURSE HE DID RIGHT, Hershel is still no longer wearing his hat, to show that he’s finally started to heal from his pain, and accepted the loss(es), because throughout all of UF Hershel had never really gotten over Claire’s death no matter how much he tried to pretend like he had, but you don’t realize that until you see the ending, until he got one final chance to see her. I just... ugh I love it so much, so much. It means so much, for Hershel and for the series, and that’s why it makes me cry (and don’t even get me sTARTED on Luke’s goodybe, and how upsetting yet beautiful THAT is. yes, Luke isn’t a gentleman yet, and Hershel finally learns that maybe he doesn’t always have to be one, either :’’’’’’)

Unwound Future is a masterpiece. Diabolical Box has my favorite characters and story for the new characters, and favorite settings, personally, but Unwound Future is such top-tier storytelling and writing; it feels so epic and sweeping and (here i go again) cinematic, it’s so polished and everything flows so well, the pacing is wonderful, everything ties up so perfectly and there’s very little I would change Flora bitching aside and practically nothing that feels like filler, even though some of it technically is. The tone stays consistent and they really push the boundaries of how serious and heavy these games can be, and it works, and doesn’t feel silly or glossed over or too unrealistic or too heavyhanded like some of the other games are at times; the plot twists/reveals feel the least absurd and the most grounded in reality, despite still being wild, and it focuses on some really relevant stuff and themes (again, it feels really grounded and raw, and the least fantastical, which isn’t a bad thing for the other games/movie per se, but being more realistic works in this one’s favor. No one is going to have their family separated and murdered by a criminal secret organization working to unearth ancient advanced civilized ruins, or lose years of their life and memories in said ancient ruins, or have their life ruined in an eternal unaging state from hallucinogenic gas, but being screwed over by people in government who will do anything to make sure they never have to face consequences? now that’s a mood). It’s just a really fucking good game, by far the best Professor Layton game, and I’ll always stand by that, despite preferring DB just a bit more cause it hits more of my personal tastes (DB is still very good too though, don’t get me wrong), and it’s also enhanced even more by the prequels, though it stands perfectly on its own. The perfect culmination of Hershel’s character arc, and the absolute high point of the series. It’s one of the ones I keep coming back to the most, just because it has so much to offer; as someone who is absolutely enamored with near-perfect stories of this caliber, I couldn’t ask for more. ❤️

#professor layton #professor layton spoilers #meta #who wants to read 8k words about a 12 year old game: no one #who's still gonna post it: this bitch #i actually got emotional near the end writing hjklskdfkfldlksk watching the end of uf always hurts :' )#me: 'db is my favorite' also me: 'rants and cries about uf for almost double the length of the db rant'#It's About The Potential.jpg #i didn't even talk about the puzzles much at all lmaooooo none of them really stood out to me #just........ story........ so good...... emotions go brrrr #i need ALL the dimitri fanfic tbh #and dimitri and clive #and CLAIRE and clive #and clive and hershel ofc #catch me being obsessed with time travel in a game where 99% of it isn't time travel ahjsdffkldskkdfl #It Could Be That Deep.jpg #need to write my other uf ideas.... and then get to the prequels already #but i also wanna replay pl vs aa... and the aa trilogy...... so much to doooooo

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calumcest · 4 years

Text

only you (and you can hear me)

[ao3]

hello everybody. did you know i’m obsessed with rocketman?

last week i was like ‘i kinda wanna write the tiny dancer scene from rocketman and have michael have been in love with calum since childhood and be suffering’ and bella was like ‘i will absolutely not let you do that’ so i was like ‘okay what about if i rewrite the tiny dancer scene and elton/bernie end up together but elton/bernie are malum’ and bella was like ‘fucking do it you coward’

i also want to take a moment to plug bella’s two wonderful rocketman au fics that i (forcibly) commissioned: the rooftop scene and the your song scene. truly works of art i cannot express to you enough how much i adore them

this fic is for @clumsyclifford for being a wonderful, kind, supportive, genuine friend, treating me with the kind of respect that is so hard to come by, and also for listening to me break down about rocketman for at least half an hour a day. i am truly lucky to know you

“Uh,” Calum says, looking out into the crowd, and Michael follows his gaze, trying to find what Calum’s staring at. “I’m going to go to the teepee with Heather.” Michael’s stomach sinks.

“Really?” he asks, before he can stop himself, looking over at Calum.

“Yeah,” Calum says, turning to look at Michael, and Michael whips back around before Calum can see the look of ‘please don’t’ written all over his face.

“Alright.”

His show - his first show, at least - has been a success.

(Later, Calum will tell him that’s exactly his problem; he’s always doubting himself, always qualifying his successes. Michael will flip him off and tell him just where to stick his fucking advice, and Calum will grin wickedly up at him and tell him he’d rather stick something else there instead.)

It’d been a little shaky to begin with, the quiet beginning to Crocodile Rock something that he hadn’t run past either Calum or Ray and had just hissed to the band as he strode out on stage, and he’d seen Calum’s brow furrow when he held his first long, sustained note, up in the circle, arms draped over the barrier in front of him. Michael had swallowed, pushed through with the quiet beginning, hating every second that he could feel the confusion and anticipation seeping from the crowd, trying to wordlessly tell them it’ll be worth it, it’ll be fucking worth it, and feeling a warm roar in his heart when he’d snapped it back to the rockier version, band joining in, and the crowd had cheered loudly. It had been smooth sailing from there, song after song, shouts for encores after almost every one, people clambering up onto the stage to sing songs they’d never heard before with him, eyes ablaze with joy. Michael’s never felt so fucking alive before, never felt like he’s actually meant anything before, and it’s in that moment that he knows this is what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

He’s back in the green room now, eyes flickering around the room for the only person whose opinion he actually cares about when he finally spots him, and Calum comes bouncing up to him with the most beautiful woman Michael thinks he’s ever laid eyes on in tow.

“It was so good!” Calum crows, pulling Michael into a fierce hug before Michael even has the chance to ask (nervously) what he thought. “You were brilliant.” Michael grins into Calum’s shoulder, wraps his arms tightly around him, inhales the faint scent of pine, cedar, incense, home, that’s mingling with the stale alcohol air of the room. He never wants to let go.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, squeezing Calum just a little harder than maybe strictly necessary, and then Calum’s letting go, stepping back and gesturing at the beautiful woman accompanying him. She smiles, all elegance and grace, and if Michael weren’t both gay and head-over-heels in love with Calum, he thinks he’d probably be down on one knee by now. He’s not quite sure why Calum isn’t, actually. She seems like exactly the type of girl he’d go for, if the one night stands that have failed to sneak silently out of Michael’s mum’s house in the early hours of the morning are anything to go by.

“This is, uh,” Calum says, gesturing at the woman, and smiling brilliantly. “This is Heather.”

“Hi,” she says, smiling again, holding a manicured hand out for him to shake. Michael grins, reaches out to shake her hand, and casts a sly look at Calum, who’s gazing at Heather with a slightly dazed, faraway look in his eyes.

“Hello,” Michael says, eyes still on Calum and still too giddy from the high of the show to care all too much right now about just how pretty Heather is and just how much she’s Calum’s type. Everyone loved him, them, his and Calum’s songs, and that’s more than one girl in a Hollywood bar has the power to destroy. Even if that bar is the fucking Troubadour.

“You were amazing,” Heather says, and she sounds like she really means it. Pride swells in Michael’s chest - yeah, he was pretty fucking amazing, wasn’t he? - and his gaze flits back from Calum to Heather.

“Thank you,” he says pointedly, and then grins at Calum again, who’s finally managed to tear his gaze away from Heather, looking back at Michael with a slightly sheepish well, what d’you want me to do? expression on his face. Michael just raises his eyebrows at him, still grinning, and then notices Doug swaggering through the door, a cigar dangling lazily between his fingers.

“Alright,” he says loudly, and everyone turns to look at him, because obviously they fucking do, he’s Doug fucking Weston. “Enough of this bullshit. Who wants to go to a party at Mama Cass’s?” There are a few murmurs of assent, and Michael’s about to turn to Calum to ask whether they should go - because frankly, it sounds like there’s going to be free alcohol, and who the fuck is Michael, struggling up-and-comer, to say no to that? - when Ray bursts through the door, brandishing a set of car keys.

“I’m so drunk, and Doug’s just lent me his car!” he announces, swaying slightly on the spot. Michael’s eyes automatically find Calum’s, and they both dissolve into laughter, something warm blossoming in Michael’s stomach at the fact that it’s his eyes that Calum had sought, not Heather’s.

The car journey back to wherever the fuck this house is is short, seven people crammed into the car that Calum had physically manhandled Ray out of driving all screaming at the top of their lungs as the guy in the driver’s seat careers around the bends of the Hollywood hills.

(“You’re drunk, Ray, you’re not fucking driving,” Calum had said sternly.

“I don’t fucking care if I kill myself,” Ray had announced loudly, and the girl on his arms had shot him a half-amused, half-concerned glance.

“It’s not you I’m fucking worried about,” Calum had said, and maybe Michael had imagined it, maybe it had been a trick of the light, but he’s sure he’d seen Calum’s eyes flit to Michael for a split second.)

Michael’s wedged in the back seat, Heather on his right, Calum on on her other side, and he can’t hear what anyone’s saying over the rushing sound of the wind in his ears but he feels so fucking alive, so free, laughing almost hysterically at things that aren’t remotely funny and grinning out at the vast expanse of glimmering lights that make up LA below them.

The car pulls haphazardly into the driveway of a huge house, nothing like anything Michael’s ever seen back home, driveway and garden lit up with a string of softly glowing fairy lights. They all tumble out of the car, Ray and the driver heading straight for the house with two girls in tow, and Michael dawdles for a moment, waiting for Calum and Heather to get out of the car. Calum catches his eye and grins - can you fucking believe this is our lives now, mate? - and slings an arm around Heather’s shoulders, heading for the door. Michael trails behind, adrenaline from the show wearing off now, trying his hardest not to care about the arm around Heather’s shoulders - Calum had still smiled at him over the car , still sought him out to laugh at Ray with, after all.

Heather’s swept up in a group of girls almost as soon as they get inside, chattering excitedly about how someone called Lucille is there and Heather throws them a graceful, apologetic smile as she lets herself be led away, explains something about Lucille being a former flatmate, or maybe a cousin, or something, Michael doesn’t really care. He’s too busy trying to pick a path through the groups of people sat on the floor smiling lazily at each other as they take hit after hit from a bong, bottles clinking like wind chimes, and Michael thinks vaguely that he should maybe work that into a song someday as he trips over hands and feet and mumbled apologies spill from his lips.

Calum picks them up a bottle of beer each, gives one to Michael wordlessly, like he knows Michael needs something to do with his hands. Michael downs half of it in one go, trying to dull the edge of nerves in him, and accepts when a guy walking past offers him a joint. He takes a deep toke, wincing as the taste of weed and alcohol combine in his mouth and handing it over to Calum as he holds it in his lungs, only exhaling when Calum passes it back and taking another deep hit until his vision starts to sharpen, time starts to slow down. Calum grins at him, hands the joint to a passing couple who accept gratefully, and heads for a little sofa in the corner. Michael follows in his wake, throws himself down next to Calum, relishes the way Calum scoots a little closer to him.

“How cool is this, man?” Calum says, exhaling heavily, like he can’t believe what’s happening. Michael knows the feeling.

“Yeah, great,” he says, because Calum’s the lyricist, Calum’s the one that can put these things into words. Michael’s never been any good at that. Michael is good, however, at making fun of Calum. “Apparently Dylan’s here, somewhere,” he adds, schooling his features into sincerity.

Calum whips around to look at him, a look of pure shock and disbelief on his face, like Michael’s taking the piss (not unfounded, Michael thinks, since he is taking the piss), and Michael can’t help the small, fond smile that unfurls on his lips, gaze flitting from Calum’s wide, brown eyes to his slightly parted lips and back again. Michael’s stomach does a little roll, possibly due to the combination of alcohol and weed and possibly due to the mere existence of Calum Hood, and he can’t help grinning at the excitement finding its way into Calum’s eyes. Calum notices, because of course he does, he notices fucking everything, and realisation dawns on his face. He scowls, elbowing Michael gently as he looks back over into the crowd of people, and Michael snorts quietly and takes another sip of his beer.

“Really?” he asks, before he can stop himself, looking over at Calum.

“Yeah,” Calum says, turning to look at Michael, and Michael whips back around before Calum can see the look of please don’t written all over his face.

“Alright.” He nods, trying to convince himself more than Calum that he’s okay with this, because it’s not the first time Calum’s cut his time with Michael short for a fuck, but it never stings any less. Calum’s not his, after all, no matter how much Michael is Calum’s. “Okay.” He shakes his head a little, trying to clear it of the thoughts buzzing through his slightly-inebriated mind, and Calum pauses, still looking at him, a slight crease between his brows.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” he asks, and Michael looks back at him, hesitating for a moment when he sees the look of concern on Calum’s face. If he says no, Calum will stay with him, he knows that. The selfish part of him wants to say no just to spite Calum, just to make him stay, just to stop him from breaking Michael’s heart a little more. Instead, the part of him that loves Calum, the biggest part of him, makes him swallow it down, frown like Calum’s just asked something stupid, and nod.

“Yeah, ‘course, yeah,” he says breezily, and Calum looks relieved, pushing himself off the sofa at the same time as Michael.

They head for the table with alcohol on it, because Calum always needs liquid confidence before a conquest and Michael needs to drink until he fucking dies, and Michael pours himself a glass of wine, steadfastly not looking at Calum, whose eyes still haven’t strayed from Heather.

“So, are we still going to go to Tower Records tomorrow, then?” he tries, eyes flitting to Calum, wanting the reassurance that Heather’s just another one-nighter, that Michael’s still got Calum in his waking hours.

“Uh, well, she’s talking about going to some place called Paradise Cove tomorrow,” Calum says, a little absent-mindedly. Michael stares at his glass, and nods tightly. He needs some more fucking weed. Calum notices Michael’s lack of response and turns back to him, and Michael smiles at him, nodding, but he knows he’s failed in getting it to reach his eyes when Calum adds: “We’ll go another time, though?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Michael says, voice about an octave too high in his attempt to be casual, but it’s enough for Calum who turns away with a murmured yeah, yeah.

“America, man,” he says, eyes wide, grin big, reaching for his drink. “Wide open spaces, beautiful girls-” Michael makes a noise that he hopes isn’t taken for the derision it’s meant to be but rather assent, but Calum doesn’t even seem to notice “-it’s a dream come true.” He grins back at Michael, who forces a smile, and raises his glass to Calum's. “Cheers,” Calum adds, and knocks back his vodka, and Michael swallows a good half of his glass of wine in one go.

“Let’s stay here forever,” Calum says, eyes glittering, and then he leans over and presses a kiss to Michael’s cheek. His lips are soft and warm on Michael’s cheek, stubble scratching Michael’s jaw lightly, and Michael has to clench his fists to stop himself turning his head, catching Calum’s lips in a proper kiss. Calum lingers for a moment, or maybe that’s Michael’s marijuana-infused sense of time, before pulling back, grinning widely, and heading off in Heather’s direction. Michael lets himself watch Calum leave, knowing he’s staring after him like a kicked puppy but not even caring who sees him pining as long as it’s not Calum.

The room suddenly feels too hot, too stuffy, cloying heat of the weed surrounding him hitting him all at once, and he heads out of the door that’s just swung shut behind Calum and Heather, taking deep gulps of the cool, crisp air and leaning against the wooden fence of the patio. Something softer has started playing in the background, piano and voice and Michael thinks it might be one of his, but can’t hear well enough over the sounds of people talking to piece it together. Groups of people are swaying to it in the garden, giggles carrying with the gentle breeze, and Michael spots Calum and Heather among them and has to turn away, a bitter taste rising in his throat.

He decides to head for a tree stump near a campfire that nobody’s sitting around, figuring he can always throw himself into the fire if he gets too miserable. Calum and Heather have disappeared from his line of vision, and Michael tries his best not to think about it as he passes the teepee and hears giggles and moans coming from inside, tries not to visualise Calum’s back marked up by someone that isn’t him.

The fire’s hot on his face, and Michael wonders if he could maybe blind himself by staring at it for too long and force Calum to, like, become his personal guide dog, or something, before the (small) non-melodramatic part of his brain threads its way through the alcohol and weed and tells him sternly not to be such a selfish prick. He tears his eyes away, gazing glumly at the tips of his boots instead, listening to everybody laughing and chattering around him and trying to resist the urge to stand up and yell at everybody that they can’t be enjoying themselves in his vicinity, they’re not allowed to laugh near him, can they not see how fucking tragic his life is? All the way in California, just played a sold-out show at the Troubadour, and he’s all on his fucking own.

No one near, he manages to make out from the song, and grimaces as he kicks a stone into the fire, just because he can, because his own music is hitting a little too close to home right now. He strains to listen to the rest of the song, just for something to do that isn’t spiral in his own mind, but it’s drowned out by the rustling sound of someone sitting down on the tree stump to his right.

“Hi,” they say, a little tentatively, and Michael’s stomach sinks. It’s Calum, the only and also the last person Michael wants to see right now.

“Hi,” Michael replies, a little moody, gazing at the fire.

“You okay?” Calum says. Michael shrugs.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says, and it’s a challenge. Dare you to call me out for being in love with you. Go on. Say it.

“Dunno,” Calum says, and Michael can hear the sound of his leather jacket as he shrugs.

“Why aren’t you with Heather?” Michael says, and tries not to make it come out too bitter. There’s silence from his right.

“Think we both know the answer to that,” Calum says quietly. Michael’s stomach twists uncomfortably, alcohol and weed and unrequited love. Fantastic. Now Calum’s magnanimously giving up getting laid, like he’s ever so sorry, it’s just that his stupid fucking songwriter friend - yes, the ugly, balding one - has a massive crush on him and it’d just break his heart if Calum had sex with someone while Michael was nearby.

“Right,” Michael says, and it’s a little harsh. “Sorry for being such a fucking killjoy.”

“What?” Calum says, and he sounds somewhere between surprised and confused. “Mike, that’s not-”

“Look,” Michael says fiercely, gritting his teeth. “I can’t help it, okay? I’ll get over it, alright, and I’m sorry, but don’t fucking come over here playing the good guy, acting all sanctimonious-”

“Mike, I- hang on, did you just say sanctimonious? ”

“Taking the moral high ground, making such a fucking show of i-”

“I know what sanctimonious means, Michael, I’m-”

“Oh, so you think I don’t know what sanctimonious means? Great, you think I’m a fucking idiot?” Michael says, throwing his hands in the air, knowing he’s not making any sense but wanting to goad Calum into a fight in whatever way he can, wanting a justified reason for the anger and the spite and the bitter sadness without the heavy guilt creeping into the edge of each one.

“Jesus, Michael, I don’t think you’re an idiot, I’m just not being fucking sanctimonious,” Calum says, and there’s a hard edge to his voice now. “You’re such a fucking drama queen, you know that?” Another flare of anger flashes in Michael and he whips around to face Calum.

“Are you fucking serious?” he demands, and there are tears pricking at his eyes that he can’t quite identify either with sadness or fury. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is, Calum? Fucking sorry that I fell in love with you, mate, but don’t act like it’s your cross to b-”

“You’re in love with me?” Calum interrupts, eyes wide, lips parted in shock. Michael swallows. Fuck. Alcohol, weed, and the kind of melodramatic anger only an artist can summon are not a good combination.

“Fuck you,” he bites out. “If you’re just going to make fun of me, I’m going to fucking fire you.”

“You can’t fire me,” Calum says, and Michael wants to scream at him, even more so because he knows Calum’s right. Dick’s the only one with that power.

“I can do what I fucking like, Calu-” he starts irately, but Calum interrupts him again.

“Why the fuck have you got it in for me tonight, Mike?” Calum asks, and it’s a little weary, and the anger immediately dissipates from Michael’s chest as a surge of guilt courses through him. He sags, hunching into himself with a sigh. Cat’s out the fucking bag now, isn’t it, and there’s no point in him lashing out at Calum just to try and get a rise out of him. Calum never gives, not when he knows Michael’s just doing it to try and make himself feel better.

“I don’t,” Michael says sullenly. “Just don’t want you acting like I’m a massive fucking burden, is all.”

“If you’d just let me fucking speak,” Calum begins, and then breaks off, like he’d been expecting Michael to interrupt. Michael just raises his eyebrows.

“Well, go on then,” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets just for something to do.

“I thought you knew,” Calum says, and then stops.

“That’s all?” Michael says in disbelief. “That’s what you wanted me to listen to?”

“No, look,” Calum says, and he reaches out for Michael’s thigh, hand warm and gentle and Michael wants to flinch away, but his body won’t let him. “I went off with Heather tonight because-” he pauses, and swallows, like whatever he’s saying is taking more out of him than Michael knows, but presses on. “Because I thought it’s what I needed. And then we got to the teepee, and she started kissing me, and I...all I could think was it was wrong. She was wrong.” Michael stares at the fire steadfastly.

“No offence, Calum,” he says, a little harshly, pulling his leg away from Calum’s hand, “but I’m not really in the mood to give you relationship counselling.”

“Will you just fucking listen?” Calum says, and he sounds exasperated now.

“Get to the fucking point, then,” Michael growls. Calum takes a deep breath.

“I wanted it to be you, ” he says.

“You wanted me to kiss Heather?” Michael says, and laughs humourlessly. “Look, mate, I know I’m fucking lonely, I don’t need your pity, alright, and how how many fucking times do I have to tell you I’m ga- ”

“I wanted to be kissing you.”

Michael hears the fire crackling for the first time, spitting sparks into the air between them.

“You...what?” he says, and chances a look at Calum to see if he’s taking the piss. Calum’s staring at him, looking a little pale but very determined.

“I want to kiss you.” Michael blinks.

“Cal, you’re drunk,” he says heavily, and hesitates before adding, “and you’re straight,” pained, and voice cracking a little. Calum swallows, and shrugs tightly.

“Apparently not,” he says.

“I’m not going to be your experiment,” Michael says bitterly. “What, you find out you might want to kiss a bloke and you think ‘oh, yeah, Michael’s gay and lonely, I’ll give it a shot with him’? I’m not a fucking charity case, Cal.”

“I don’t think you are,” Calum says. “I-” he breaks off, inhales deeply, and exhales heavily. Michael watches his chest rise and fall, feels his own heart thud a little faster. “Look. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first met you. In that little café, remember? We started singing ‘Streets of Laredo’ and pissed everyone off. You were grinning at me, doing that little squinty-eyes thing you do when you’re really laughing at something, and I just wanted to grab you by your ugly fucking lapels and kiss you.”

“But I kissed you,” Michael points out. “On the roof.�� And you pushed me away, he doesn’t say, because it hurts too much, but Calum hears it. He sighs, and casts his eyes at the fire, avoiding Michael’s gaze.

“I know,” he says miserably. “I just- I wasn’t sure. I value you so much, Mike, you know that. You’re my heart, my soul, my-”

“Career?” Calum huffs out a laugh, lips quirking up in a smile.

“Yeah, that too,” he says. “I had to be sure. I didn’t want to fuck any of it up, y’know? But I’ve wanted you since the café. Since before that, actually. Since I heard the tape you sent me.”

“You didn’t even know what I looked like,” Michael says, and Calum shrugs.

“Didn’t need to,” he says, still staring into the fire. “Your voice, Mike…” he trails off, like he’s reminiscing, and then clears his throat, catching himself. “Hearing you sing my songs, the songs I wrote about you- ”

“Hang on,” Michael interrupts, because what? What fucking songs has Calum written about him? The King Must Die?

“What?” Calum sounds surprised now. “C’mon, Mike. First Episode at Hienton? Take Me to the Pilot? Your Song?”

“Your Song?” Michael repeats, dumbfounded. Calum finally tears his eyes away from the fire and looks at Michael, a little reproachfully, like it’s Michael’s fault he hadn’t noticed Calum’s cryptic lyrics had been about him.

“‘I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue’?” Calum quips, and Michael blinks.

“Oh,” he says, because he can’t really think of anything else to say, nothing that will do the velvety feeling of God, I’m so fucking in love with you justice. Calum huffs out a laugh, like this is funny somehow, and like their entire world isn’t teetering on a knife’s edge in the middle of a party somewhere in Hollywood, both of them drunk and stoned and tired.

“This isn’t an experiment, Mike,” he says. “I’ve- I, uh. Experimented already, so. I’m sure about it.”

“You’ve- you’ve been with guys?” Michael repeats slowly. Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably.

“Had to be sure,” he says again. “Would never have experimented with you. You mean too much to me for that.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When’ve you been with guys?” Calum bites his lip.

“Few times, at clubs,” he says, and Michael thinks back to all the times he’d lost Calum in the crowd, searched for him in vain, given up and gone home alone because he didn’t want to face seeing Calum grinding against a girl in the corner of the room.

“Huh,” Michael says, images shifting to Calum grinding up against a man in the corner of the room. He finds he kind of hates it, kind of doesn’t. Jealousy and pride are licking at each other in his veins, wanting to have been Calum’s first but knowing that Calum did it because he didn’t want Michael to be an experiment, because he wanted to be sure. The thought makes him feel worth something, the same way Calum’s lyrics have made him feel worth something for the first time in years.

“So?” Calum says, and there’s a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“So what?”

“So...can I kiss you?” Michael meets his gaze, giving him one last chance to change his mind and pretend they’ve both forgotten about it by tomorrow morning, and Calum, although he looks fucking terrified, holds it steadily, breathing a little laboured.

Jesus fucking Christ, Michael thinks, stomach flipping, adrenaline making his heart lurch. They’re really doing this, then.

“You did hear me when I said I was in love with you, right?” Michael says, unable to help the smile that plays at his lips, and Calum grins, fear and relief mingling on his face.

“Is that a yes?” he says, and Michael rolls his eyes, leans forwards, cups Calum’s jaw and presses their lips together. Calum’s warm, soft against him, tasting like stale alcohol and stale weed, but Michael finds he doesn’t even care when Calum makes a little noise and melts into him, lips moving against Michael’s and kissing him back. A shock of something like dampened arousal shoots through Michael and he crowds in closer, almost falling off his tree stump, wanting to feel Calum everywhere he can.

Michael’s not sure whether it’s the weed or whether it actually does last forever, but it feels like two centuries have passed before Calum pulls away, breathing heavily. He looks fucking obscene, eyes dark and lips plump and parted, and Jesus Christ, Michael’s way too fucking stoned for this.

“Fuck,” Calum says, touching his lips almost absent-mindedly, and Michael huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Well,” Calum says stupidly, blinking at Michael, all dark lashes and blown pupils and Michael can’t help himself, leaning forwards and pressing another soft, chaste kiss to Calum’s lips, because he fucking can. Calum’s eyes are wide when Michael draws back (reluctantly, but he’s about to lose his balance on the tree stump), following Michael as he pulls away.

“You look pretty fucked,” Michael tells him, and Calum grins.

“I am pretty fucked,” he agrees. “Fucked in the head for liking you.” Michael tries to scowl but can’t stop the smile breaking through, because fuck, Calum likes him. Jesus.

“You’re such a dickhead,” he says, but he’s grinning, and Calum’s grinning back.

“Yeah,” Calum says, eyes soft. “But at least I’m your dickhead, right?”

“Yeah,” Michael says gently, holding his hand out, fingers splayed, even though it’s far too fucking hot by the fire for this, and Calum slots his fingers between Michael’s, his hand warm and heavy in Michael’s. “Not that you have much choice, anyway. I’m the only one that’d put up with you.” Calum laughs, and squeezes Michael’s hand.

“You’re one to talk,” he says pointedly, and Michael thinks yeah, he’s kind of got a point. Calum hadn’t been wrong to call him a drama queen.

“Well, at least you know how to shut me up, now,” Michael says.

“Yeah,” Calum says, grin turning a little wicked. “What, you think there’s any other reason I’d want to kiss you?” Michael manages a scowl this time, and goes to elbow Calum, forgetting he’s balanced on a fucking tree stump and falling right off, pulling Calum with him. Michael lands on the grass between the two of them with a thud, ground pressed uncomfortably into his back, but when he looks up to see Calum sprawled on top of him, face inches from Michael’s, he can’t bring himself to care.

“Good job,” Calum deadpans, and then they both burst out laughing, because fuck, this is fucking ridiculous. They’re on the floor at a party in California after Michael’s first night at the fucking Troubadour, drunk and high out of their minds, and Calum wants to kiss Michael. None of it makes any sense to Michael, a chronological string of non sequiturs, but it all makes warm embers burn in the pit of his stomach and he fucking loves it, fucking loves Calum.

“God, I fucking love you,” he tells Calum, and Calum grins, resting his forehead against Michael’s.

“Don’t blame you, mate,” he murmurs, capturing Michael’s lips in another kiss.

Lay me down in sheets of linen, Michael hears his own voice suggest over the crackling fire and the buzz of voices, but it’s Calum’s words in Michael’s mouth, and Michael grins into the kiss, thinking yeah, he might do just that.

#malum #5sos fic #5sos slash #5sos fanfiction #5sos fanfic #watch me rewrite literally every scene from rocketman but malum #this is the most selfindulgent fic i've ever written but you know what #what the fuck is fic for if its not for the writer eh #if taron egerton is getting royalties from his tiny dancer cover i am singlehandedly paying his bills #for the first half of this fic picture me pausing and rewinding and pausing and rewinding the scene #trying to watch their movements and get the dialogue right #god actors really do be acting huh

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hollandsdisney · 6 years

Text

Twin Flame

I love these prompts, they’re so good! I’d love to read 1 & 10 as Peter Parker and 7 as Tom!!! (Only if you have the time of course and are inspired!) I love your writing and enjoy reading your fics! 💕 please keep up the incredible work!

Requested: Yes

Prompts: “You better not have eaten my leftovers i swear...” and “I thought you had a thing for my best friend this whole time!” “Theres no way I could be more obvious than I was.”

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Nada

a/n: yay so glad you’re liking the prompts!! thank you for your patience and kind words💗

send me your request!

As dreadful as school and waking up at the crack of dawn was, you were never angry about having to go. If it meant you got to see Peter Parker’s face, it was all worth it. Yeah, it’s cheesy, but it was true. You couldn’t put it in simpler words.

He was in a majority of your classes, and you two got along so well. Everything you liked, he had an interest in. Even if you did have differences, you both were supportive of the other.

You considered him a good friend, although you wish you could be more.

Ever since he had that crush on Liz, however, you knew you couldn’t stand a chance. His infatuation with her grew, leaving your tender heart to shrink.

Nevertheless, you continued to stay friends with him, because you truly believed him to be your very best friend.

You walked out your front door greeted by Peter’s warm smile. In his hand he held 2 cups of coffee, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Have I told you how much I adore you?” you gush, grabbing the drink from his hand.

“You might have mentioned it once or twice, but I like to be reminded,” he smiled, taking a sip from his drink.

“So, you ready for this test today?” he asked, as you two started your walk to school.

“I think so?” you replied, but it came out more as a question.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing, Y/N. Cmon, we studied all night for this, of course you’re ready!” he exclaimed, slightly nudging you.

“No, we only studied for 20 minutes before we got distracted with who can balance their pencil on their nose the best. Which is still me, by the way,” you smirk.

He scoffed. “First of all, that’s false, and second, you still opened the book and read the chapter. More effort than a majority of the class,” he nodded his head.

You continued your walk to class bantering back and forth, as well as quizzing the other on your test.

—————

By the time that you met up again, it was lunch time. You walked over to where Ned and Peter where and sat down across from them.

“Where’s MJ?” you asked.

“She got invited to go to the white house for some campaigning, I think,” Ned replied with a mouthful of food.

You nodded at his comment and began to eat your lunch.

“So, how’d you think of the test?” Peter asked.

You threw your head back and slightly shut your eyes.

“I honesty have no idea. I don’t think I did bad, but I never want to be too confident with my answer so… I’ll just say I think it was fair.”

“Oh stop, you definitely did amazing!”

“Says the brainiac at the table! You finished that test in 2 seconds. I still don’t understand how you’re so quick,” you pouted, playing with your mashed potatoes.

“I am not a brainiac,” Peter said, crossing his arms.

“You are pretty smart, Pete,” Ned turned his head towards Peter, giving him a look.

You motioned to Ned.

“See? Ned knows,” you said matter-of-factly.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Well, something I don’t have the keenest eye for is art, and we need to work on that project for English so…your place tonight?” Peter suggested, pointing at you.

“Shit, I almost forgot about that..yeah yeah we can start it after school,” you say running your hand through your hair.

On your walk home from school with Peter, your hands happened to brush against one another every so often. And every time you noticed it, and every time the butterflies would torpedo around your stomach. You wondered if he felt them, too.

“Okay, so Shakespeare..” Peter began as you walked though the front door but trailed off, his face contorting, causing you to laugh.

“Calm yourself, Einstein, we can relax until we have to get to work,” you say, placing your backpack on the living room couch and making your way to the fridge in the kitchen.

“Yeah, well you’re the one that said we had to stay on task and not test out hidden talents such as balancing objects on your nose,” he protested, plopping on the couch.

You shook your head as you heated up leftover pizza from the night before with Peter.

“You better not have eaten my leftovers I swear...” you heard Peter say from the living room.

“I have not eaten it, past tense, but I am bout to devour it,” you giggle.

He pokes his head up from the couch, knees perched on the cushion facing you and arms crossed laying on the top of the couch.

“At least save me a bite,” he said, giving you a puppy dog look.

“I could, but this pizza is too good to pass up,” you say slyly, taking a bite right in front of him.

His jaw drops, looking so defeated by your action.

You drop the pizza and run up to hug him, but he dodges your embrace.

“Nope. I don’t hug pizza stealers,’ he tried to hide his smile.

“Oh hush it, there was one left!” you laugh, pressing into him more.

He finally gave in and hugged you back, but then proceeded to tickle you.

This was the worst punishment and you hated when he’d do this. Well, you loved to hate it.

Once you caught your breath, you noticed Peter looking down at and eyeing you.

“What happened?” you searched his eyes, beginning to panic.

Did you have something on your face? Did you do something wrong? He was the one that tickled you so-

“No, no nothing..you’re fine,” he laughed softly and helped you sit up.

“This is gonna sound dumb, but I heard a rumor today..” he trailed off.

“About..?” you persuaded him to keep going.

“You…having a crush..” he hesitated between words.

You shook your head in disbelief. You were never the one to be talked about in school, its not like you were popular or anything. And plus, you didn’t mention your crush on Peter to anyone except MJ. MJ I swear..

“..on Ned,” there was a pause and he looked up to meet your eyes.

You shut your eyes and felt your lips curve into a smile. You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold back the laugh that wanted so desperately to be let out.

“W-why-why are you laughing?” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what was so funny.

“Do you really believe I like Ned? You? Peter Parker? Ned’s best friend?” by now you were full on chucking.

“Well I-I don’t know!” he stuttered.

“Whew. That is a hoot! I love Ned, you know I do. But no, I do not have a crush on him,” you admit.

“Flash was so certain-“

“You heard this from FLASH? Oh c’mon Pete, you’re booksmart, but you’re definitely not streetsmart.”

You start to get off the couch but feel Peter’s hand grab your arm.

“Okay, okay. Then I have another question for you. If you did have a crush on someone, you’d tell me, right?” he asked as you slowly sank down into the couch.

“Well, y-yeah I guess,” you stammered. Oh no.

“Okay good, I don’t want to feel left out,” he laughed awkwardly.

“Who would you think I had a crush on?” you rolled your eyes. This boy is something else, you thought.

He traced patterns in the corduroy of the sofa.

“Me?..” he confessed, refusing to look up at you.

You blinked. Wait a second. Hold up.

“I know thats dumb-I shouldn’t have said that-“

“How..did you know?” you choked out, realizing its now or never to let him know. Also how did he know.

His eyes shot back up to search your face for any signs of wit but let out a breath.

“I didn’t. I kinda took a chance there. Honestly, I thought you had a thing for my best friend this whole time!” he laughed.

“Oh, Peter, theres no way I could be more obvious than I was,” you remark, shrugging.

“No way! You showed no signs of liking me,” he wiggled his finger.

You looked at him in disbelief. All the subtle flirting, the unnecessary touching, the lingering looks. All of that wasn’t obvious?

“Pete, the one thing I didn’t do that would have given it away was kiss you, but even then you probably wouldnt have gotten the picture!” you snapped.

There was a pause and you realize what you just said. You bit your bottom lip and see Peter’s eyes travel towards them.

“Uh, I-I think I’d get the hint if you did,” his voice was slightly above a whisper and he scooted closer to you. he cupped your face in his hand and started to lean in slightly.

“Is this okay?” he asked, inches away from your face.

“Yes,” you whisper, and before you could process what was happening, you felt his lips on yours. The kiss was sweet and tender, and you’d never had imagined it being as perfect as this.

He definitely got the picture now.

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker headcanon #mcu imagine #mcu blurb #spiderman imagine #spiderman blurb #tom holland #tom holland imagine

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aprilqueen84 · 6 years

Text

Unexpected Surprise

Summery: Emma thought she was going to have a uneventful day off, boy was she wrong

A/N: I am really excited to bring you my first ever fanfiction, I hope you all enjoy reading it as I did writing it.

Tagging: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89, @resident-of-storybrooke, @jennjenn615, @nikkiemms, @kmomof4, @teamhook.

Editing it to add the wonderful fic art that @hollyethecurious made for me, It’s beautiful. Thank you Holly

Emma woke to the sunlight streaming through the open blinds of her and Killian’s bedroom window. Groaning she slowly blinked her eyes open and glared in the direction of the offending sunlight that dared to wake her up on a rare day off from the station. She had been feeling rundown and tired lately, so Killian being the amazing husband that he was offered to work the whole day at the station so that she could take a much needed relaxation day. So just as Emma was about to use her magic to close the blinds and go back to sleep she glanced over to her nightstand and saw that is was after ten o’clock. “Damn” she said to the empty room, not quite believing that she slept so late, “I must have been more tired then I thought.”

Deciding that she had slept enough, Emma stood from the bed and was immediately hit by a dizzy spell! She quickly sat back down and waited for her head to clear and for the room to stop spinning. When it finally did she slowly stood back up and waited, when no dizziness came she chalked it up to just getting out of bed to fast. “That was strange” she muttered to herself and moved to go into the bathroom to get ready for her day.

Emma stepped out of the shower feeling refreshed, as she went to reach for her towel she was hit by a sudden wave a nausea. She quickly wrapped herself in the towel and rushed over to the toilet and then proceeded to empty her stomach of everything she ate last night. “Ugh” Emma groaned flushing the toilet and closing the lid, she rested her forehead on the lid. As she was trying to steady her breathing and will her stomach to stop rolling, a voice came from behind her.

“Swan, are you alright love?” Emma turned her head and found Killian standing in the doorway of the bathroom with a worried expression on his face.

“Killian, what are you doing home?” Emma asked as Killian came rushing over to help her up off the floor and onto the lid of the toilet seat.

“I came home because I was thinking we could have lunch together” he explained. “What happened Emma, why were you on the floor darling?” his voice laced with concern for his wife. Emma looked up into the her husband’s frowning face, and not wanting to worry him any further almost tried to brush the incident off as nothing. Then she thought better of it when he just gave her that look he always gives her when he knows she is trying to hide something.

She decided to just be honest with him and tell him everything that had happened this morning.“I slept late this morning, when I got out of bed I felt dizzy but after a few minutes I felt fine, so I thought maybe I had just stood up to fast.” She paused before continuing, “Then after I got out of the shower I all of a sudden felt nauseous and then threw up, that’s when you found me.” she finished in a rush.

Killian quickly stood, walking over to retrieve her robe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Emma then realized that she had been sitting in nothing but her towel this whole time. He brought it over to her so she could change into it, “Here, Swan let’s get into something a little warmer.” After Emma slipped into the warm cotton of her robe, Killian gathered her in his arms and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead.

“Hmm” Emma hummed in content, always loving the feeling of being in her husband arms.

She leaned back to look up into in face, he leaned forward intending to place a kiss on her lips when Emma pulled back at the last second. Killian looked down at her in confusion so she explained,“I need to brush me teeth, my mouth still feels gross from throwing up.”

Killian just smiled down at her,“Of course Swan, I’ll just wait for you in the bedroom, I need to call your father anyway.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to be confused, “Why do you need to talk to my father?”

“Killian just gave her a look like it should have been obvious, “So he can cover for me at the station for the rest of the afternoon while I stay here with you.” Emma felt a wave of love sweep through her for her husband.

“Killian you don’t need to do that, I’ll be fine” she said to him.

“Swan, what kind of husband would I be if I wasn’t here for my sick wife?” Emma started to protest, but he just cupped her face with his hand and continued “ I know you don’t need me to take care of you love, but I would like to very much be by your side” he finished.

Emma felt her eyes well with tears. Thinking again for probably the millionth time how lucky she was to have this man as the love of her life and her true love. She reached up to lay her hand over his that was still resting on her face and gave him a watery smile and a nod of her head, “I love you” her voice wavering a little bit.

Killian gave her a brilliant smile before replying “I love you to my darling, now how about when you finish in here we see about maybe getting a little bit of food into you?” he suggested.

Emma’s stomach recoiled at the mention of food. But not wanting to say anything because he was being so wonderful, just gave him a nod of her head and turned to place a gentle kiss to his hand. When Killian left to make his phone call to David, Emma turned to the sink to brush her teeth, only to see that the tube of toothpaste was empty. Bending down to open the cabinet beneath the sink to find the extra tube is when she saw it. Laying there, just staring up at her almost mocking her with it’s big bold lettering is a pregnancy test.

Emma bent down to pick it up as memories came back to her in a rush. Countless test’s over the years and countless disappointment’s. After Henry had left to find his own story, they had decided to take a break on the baby making for a while. It had been nice, concentrating on being a married couple again without all the stress of trying to get pregnant. Looking down at the test in her hands, she thinks back to this morning with the dizzy spell when she woke up, and the nausea and throwing up after her her shower and being so tired and rundown lately. Emma gasp, bringing her hand to her mouth in disbelief.

“Oh my god” she uttered, not really believing that this could really be happening after so many years of trying. Knowing that Killian was almost finished with his phone call, she quickly went over the door and shut it softly and locked it. She placed the test on the bathroom counter, deciding not to over think it she opens the box and proceeds to take the test.

When she was finished she places the stick on the the counter. As she stares at it she begins to have hope that this time will bring good news instead of another disappointment. A knock on the door broke her out of her musings, “Swan is everything alright, why is the door locked?” Killian inquired.

Emma called to him quickly “Everything is fine Killian, I’ll be out in just a minute.” Her eyes never leaving the the test. Her eyes started to widen as she watched one line turn into two. Pregnant, she was pregnant after all this time, tears started to immediately fill her eyes.

Realizing that Killian was still knocking on the door and calling out her name. Emma grabbed the test off the counter and hurried to the door and unlocked it. Swinging the door open she launched herself into Killian’s arms, making him stumble back from the unexpected impact. Killian grunted, clearly not expecting the sudden exuberance of his wife. “Not that I don’t mind this at all love, but what brought this on.” he asked.

Emma pulled back slightly and brought the hand that was holding the test up so he could see it. “This is why, Killian I’m pregnant,” she said with a beaming smile on her face. Killian stared at the test for what seemed like an eternity before slowing reaching out to take it from her hands.

“Oh Emma, truly?’ Killian voice cracking a little bit as tears started to fill his eyes. Looking up at him and seeing conflicting emotions dance across his face, a mix of happiness and weariness.

Emma realizes that he also doesn’t want to have false hope. “Yes, Killian it was like when I saw the test everything just sort of clicked into place, me being so tired lately and the dizziness, nausea and then throwing up, I am pregnant,” she tells him reassuringly. Killian stared at her for a few seconds, before a brilliant smile stretched across his face as he pulled her into a passionate kiss.

When they finally pulled back both of them had radiant smiles on their faces. Killian was the first one to speak, “Oh Emma, this is wonderful, a babe you have made me the happiest man in all the realms.”

Emma smiled and replied “ In all the realms huh? Well it’s probably only because you make me the happiest women in all the realms also.” Killian leaned forward to place a gentle kiss to her lips then placed his forehead against hers as both of them stood there basking in their love and the news of their impending parenthood. No other words were needed.

The End

#captian swan #first fanfic #canon compliant #emma swan #killian jones

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minnie-marvel · 6 years

Text

Operation Juliet (Peter Parker x Reader) Part 3 [finale]

You’ve been head over heels for Peter Parker for almost a year hiding your feelings behind love letters that you never thought would reach him. When your best friend slips one into your locker, you give up on hiding your letters from Peter and begin to slip them into his locker on a daily basis. Peter is through with not knowing who you are so he and Ned finally decide to engage in a proper investigation to figure out your identity!

Peter Parker x Reader

Part 1 Part 2

Words:

A/N:Finally!! The curtain comes to a close on this romantic sap of a fic!! I’m so glad you all enjoyed this piece it was honestly a freaking delight to create this. Like writing love letters is so fun and sweet If only i had someone to write some to hahaha

Before we go on although I’d like to bring your attention to this MASTERPIECE @seven-magic-sins drew for this fic!!! PLEASE CHECK OUT THEIR ART WHAT THEY DID WAS SUPER SWEET AND THEY DESERVE ALL THE LOVE!!!!

(BTW if anyone makes fanart for my fics you bet your sweet ass I’ll be featuring it in my works!!! It’s too thoughtful to ignore!!! As long as it’s PG I’ll be putting it on the next update of said fic!!!)

Now then, let’s get to the good stuff shall we?

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His breathing stopped, his heart froze, his eyes locked onto your notebook where your name was written in a perfectly adorable script that he had only seen once before.

“Thanks!!” you chirped innocently as Peter handed you your notebook trying to keep himself from bursting into flames at the mere sight of you. He didn’t meet your eyes for a moment as he mumbled a quick “no problem” to you. When he was finally able to peel his gaze back from the floor, he nearly fell over again. He was stunned at how cool and collective you were being, despite your underlying romantic demeanor. You were the girl he was looking for, his Juliet.

Unfortunately for you, you were about as oblivious as Peter, and didn’t notice his obvious ogling over you. Or maybe you were just completely thrown off due to the fact that Peter was actually talking to you in the first place?

Peter’s brain felt clogged with all of the incoming messages his heart was seemingly telling him. It was screaming that he was an idiot, a dork and super lame for not being able to come up with anything to say for at least three minutes. You both were left in a very awkward silence, neither of you being able to believe that you were actually talking to the other person.

“So uh… my friend said she talked to you about Spiderman today!” You felt your voice crack again. Godamnit. He had to take a moment to think back to who you could possibly be talking about. Was it a girl? Or worse, maybe a boy? That’s when the realization struck him like a brick to the head.

“Oh yeah!! The girl on track.. what was her name?? Sorry, I’m like… really bad with those.” He said quickly. You shook your head happy that you had gotten a conversation flowing. “Eve!” you answered. You weren’t going to tell him that she was essentially your distraction, but it wasn’t like you had to anymore, Peter had soon pieced together your little plan to throw him off.

He felt his brain slap himself. Oh, you were good, too good.

“Right…” he said softly. “You know Y/N, I never really see you around school! Where are you always hiding?” he gave a soft laugh that sent your heart sky high. Ah yes, that was why you were in love with him. It wasn’t that you had forgotten, but seeing Peter being so adorable in person seemed to make you fall all over again.

You blushed realizing you had let a second or two fly by before responding due to you swooning over him internally. “Oh well, I’m not exactly in your classes, I’m just a grade below you but…there’s always passing!!” You said quickly to make up for the lost time. You felt embarrassment sink in your chest. You really hoped he didn’t suddenly see you as some squabbling infant in comparison to him.

“That makes sense…” He said a little too thoughtfully for your taste. Oh god, why was he saying it like that?? Were you drooling?? You were probably drooling. You wiped your mouth slightly despite no saliva being present. “It’s too bad, it would be cool to see you around more often, you’re a pretty sweet person!”

911? Yes, you’d like to report a homicide. This boy had practically shot you in the heart.

You started to giggle like an idiot. “N-no not really..!!” you said trying to look away from him. Peter couldn’t help but give a laugh as well. Boy, if you were this bashful over a small compliment, who knew what you would do if he actually told you how he thought you were a literal angel sent from heaven that he didn’t know he deserved.

You felt the train slowly pull to a stop and felt your heart tear slightly as Peter started to move. “This is me,” He said sadly himself. He wanted to tell you he knew you, so badly. Not that he had known you from your first day of school when you dropped your books all over the floor just as you did a few minutes ago. He wanted to tell you that he knew you and everything that your heart wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell you that his heart wanted to speak to yours too.

“Bye Peter!” You waved to him as he took a step off the bus. He gave you a smile that made you want to faint before walking off into the distance while the train pulled off again. Peter pulled his phone out almost immediately texting Ned.

‘Ned. Emergency. I know who Juliet is.’ --- Ned had met Peter at his apartment as soon as he could. Overwatch would have to wait, it wasn’t every day he and Peter had a cute girl pinning after one of them.

“Oh!! Y/N!” Ned said stroking his chin as he spun in Peter’s chair. “I see her a lot in the library,” he thought allowed. “She’s super quiet though I’ve never even heard her speak before…” his hand dropped to his side in disbelief. “I can’t believe she of all people is… Juliet.” He shrugged.

“What?? Dude, she’s like perfect come on!!!” Peter shouted.

“No, no, bro I’m not saying she’s not perfect!! I just didn’t think it would be her,” Ned said. He stood still for a moment before turning fully to him. “How are you gonna tell her Pete?”

Peter pursed his lips. “Well, there’s only one thing I can do,” He said simply. --- You hummed softly to yourself, you were having a fantastic day. You had gotten an A on your math test which you were convinced that you had failed (math and science was never your strong suits). You had finished one of your reading assignments freeing your weekend up, and on top of all that, yesterday’s conversation with Peter still left you feeling on top of the world.

The last bell of the day had rung and your felt your excitement grow. The weekend was here and you were free to do whatever you pleased. You opened up your locker to pack up your things for the weekend when you felt something tap your feet. Your eyes naturally glanced at the floor and you felt your chest clench.

There was a small envelope lying at your feet with your name written on its front.

You swept it into your hands almost immediately, fearful that it might disappear if you didn’t pick it up quick enough. Your fingers trembled as they slowly tore through the paper revealing a letter inside. You felt your skin shake as you read.

To the silently sweet Y/N, who writes from afar,

Okay, first off, I know this is super cheesy and a dumb attempt to try and copy what you’ve mastered. What you’ve created for the past month is not something as simple as letters Y/N; it’s an art. I’m an idiot for not realizing sooner. You’d think someone who’s gained a full-time internship to Stark labs would have known better. Enough about me although, I’m sure you’ve had enough letters about me in your hands long enough. It’s time for me to finally return your favor. If you are as loving, intelligent, and beautiful as Juliet, am I even worthy to be your Romeo? I’ve never been one to be very confident, but I think I’d do a better job than a Montague of being your one true love. That is if you’d still want to love a dork like me who couldn’t figure you out till now. Your letters have created a change in me; they’ve started a fire in my heart that I can’t control any longer. At first, it was a spark, then a steady flame, and now Y/N? Well, I don’t even think a typhoon could smother out the wildfire that explodes when I think about how perfect you are, and how I don’t deserve you. There’s so much more I want to tell you, but I think you deserve a better explanation than a letter that’s practically a steaming pile of crap in comparison to your masterpieces. Will you let me explain? I hope you will Y/N.

Signed,

Your hopelessly romantic Romeo

Peter

You knew this was good news. Hell, this was AMAZING news! But you couldn’t help but shake when you lifted your eyes from the paper. When you did, your world seemed to stop in motion and everything froze.

Peter stood only a couple of feet away from you, watching you read the letter with the goofiest most adorable smile that you thought you could even see on this planet. Your hands dropped to your side as he took a couple of steps closer to you. Your face was about as red as the color on his spidey suit at this point. You couldn’t help but look down in embarrassment.

“Hey, hey!!” Peter chuckled taking you gently by the shoulders when he saw your frown. “What’s wrong D-did I do a bad job??” He saw your tears drop onto your shoes and bit his lip pulling you into a quick embrace. “Y/N…?” He asked feeling his heart jump, stop and burn all at once.

“I didn’t think you’d ever find me…” You whispered the tears hot on your cheeks. “Yeah,” Peter tried not to laugh. “I’m sorry it took so long, you’d think a so-called genius could have pieced it together sooner right?” He tapped his forehead against yours and you finally got the courage to look at him. You thought that his eyes were warm enough to melt a block of ice.

“It’s not that…” you smiled softly. “I didn’t think you’d necessarily want to find me…” you explained. “I mean I’m not that noticeable, I’m quiet, I can’t even speak to you without having a mini heart attack,”

“Y/N, I don’t care about any of that,” He answered taking a strand of your hair pushing it behind your ear. “You’re shyness, your quietness, it’s all in our personality and I wouldn’t change a thing about it.” He smiled his hands sliding from your back to your hands. “I meant everything I said in those letters Y/N, I don’t want you to just be my Juliet.” Your heart nearly stopped and your eyes searched his fearful of his next response. “ I want you to be my Y/N, totally and completely with every quirk that you have.”

He took a moment to laugh to himself. “And let’s not forget that I’m no angel either, I think I’m about as awkward as they come,” You sighed softly letting your head rest on his chest now. Your heart was a glow and your spirits were so high you thought that it could reach satellites. Everything felt perfect, for a moment you expected credits to roll.

“So,” Peter said drawing you out of your thoughts. “How do you feel about Thai?” He said wrapping one arm around you as you walked together down the hall. You felt your hand touch his as you looked up at him. “I think that sounds good,” You smiled. Ned and Eve passed you both by casually as you walked and exchanged knowing glances. They gave each other high fives before calling out to you.

“Hey, Romeo and Juliet!!” Eve snorted nudging Ned’s side. “Get a room you too!” Ned smirked.

You couldn’t help but smile. You looked down at the letter in your other hand again blushing slightly. “Hey, Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“Did my letters make you this flustered?” You asked still showing him the letter. Peter laughed loudly having to stop mid-walk altogether in order to compose himself again. He turned to you his cheeks rosy from laughter and his feelings for you.

“Y/N, you have no idea,”

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Operation Juliet Tag

@littlevelvethearts @yourwonderbelle @dust-finatic @hawaiiantozier @awesomefandomsunited @potato384 @fandoms-in-my-tea @drowning-in-the-stars13 @angry-kylo @i-heart-movies @tonystarkshat @54fangirl @skeletalwolfcat @just-saying-26 @pan-tarou-amami @theatregeek217 @wisestark @mxrvel-imxgines-blog @wukindly @bitchstolemynutellaus @avengingly @metermarker @plethoraofpuppies @angie1djonasgg @spookydragonprincess @dark-night-sky-99 @gabbygurrl @angel-in-the-roses @the-silver-iris @person-without-a-life @spiderboyx @dontstopxx @avengingly

Permanent Tag

@memyselfandmaddox @fangirlftshipper @two-eleven-thirty-four@the-fifth-marauder-paws @shieldgirl95 @lostnliterature@elsasshole@governmentducks @lupe-55@drinkingteandfangirling@sighspidey@laurfangirl424 @iwouldtakeascootertotheankle@sharingfanfictionandart @lara-ludbey @shutupyoumewlingquim @aspiring-author14@marvelswebdesigner @an-earthly-comfort@ellaisbutteredtoast@flaminghottaquito @american-cactus@ouatandsupernatural@spideypoolltrash @embrace-themagic@wantyoubackyoungblood @spiderdudeparker @thumper-darling@multi-parker @shakespeare-and-shenanigans

Discount Avengers Tag

@magic-marvel @sunflowerannawrites @peter-prkers@greekdemigodwannabe @secondsineternity@sadicallyrad@holland-haven @highlady-ofthe-summercourt@meoodle @who-the-buck-is-stucky @e-ms-world @hedwigthelegend @lucky-charms-writes

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #minnie marvel makes a fic #spider man: homecoming #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel imagine

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decembercamiecherries · 7 years

Link

Title: between pages

Word count: 3764

Summary:

He teased, “You know, you’re really cute when you’re all flustered like this, Killua.”

Blue eyes widened, enraged. “I am not cute, dammit!”

“Mmm, yeah. You are.” He kissed Killua’s scarlet cheek before Killua had the could duck out of the way.

“Oh my god.” Killua tried to hide his face in his hands but Gon caught his wrists and pulled them down. Killua had nowhere to run or hide now, caught between Gon’s body and the table at his back.

Which was bad for Killua, but very, very good for Gon.

This was written for a very talented and amazing person who has always been so supportive of me and my fics <3 I told her that I would write anything she wanted for her birthday today and she requested fluff, preferably in a modern or school setting, and thus this fic was born!

Shout out to @softkillua, the best beta ever!!! Thank you for everything Kaz!

Knock-knock

Gon’s head lifted at the sound of knuckles rapping on wood, and his heart leaped at the familiar sight of chaotic silver curls and midnight-blue eyes.

“Yo,” greeted the teen in the doorway with a sharp grin.

Gon’s pulse stuttered. “Killua!” He abandoned his work station, sprinting towards the door so fast he nearly slipped on the school’s tiled floors.

Killua’s eyes widened. “No, Gon, don- OOF!”

The taller teen stumbled back from the force of Gon’s bone-crushing embrace. Gon heard the air rush out of Killua’s lungs and laughed before he could stop himself. He nuzzled his face into the curve of Killua’s shoulder, smile growing when Killua’s long arms wrapped around his waist.

“Do you have to always do that?” Killua asked, breathless.

“Do what?” Gon asked innocently.

“Tackle me. You almost send us crashing to the floor every time you do that.”

Gon pulled away, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Killua turned rigid as stone. “Hey, what are you-?”

Gon cut him off, “Would you rather I do…this?!”

Gon pressed his lips to Killua’s cool cheek with a loud SMACK.

“EUGH!!!” Killua shoved Gon off him and he fell back, already howling with laughter. Killua’s face was a bright, blazing red. He scrubbed the spot where Gon kissed him viciously and glared at Gon with nothing short of murderous intent.

But Gon couldn’t stop laughing.

“Gon, oh my god,” Killua hissed. “It wasn’t that funny, stupid! The whole school is going to hear your cackling if you don’t shut up!”

“After school!” Gon gasped. His head spun and his ribs ached. “No one–to hear!”

Killua’s expression darkened. He shrugged his backpack off and hurled it into Gon’s side. Gon wheezed at the impact, already feeling tomorrow’s bruise.

“Then why don’t you finish whatever the hell it is you’re doing in here so we can go home already!” Killua snapped. “I’ve been waiting around for hours and I’m starving.”

Gon wiped a tear from his eye. “Y-You didn’t have to, you know.”

Killua snorted and dropped his bag onto the paint-stained floor. “Of course I did. If I didn’t stay after, you might forget to go home again.”

Gon stuck his tongue out at Killua’s slender back. He whined, “That was one time! And it turned out fine in the end!”

“One time too many. Mito called me in a panic when you didn’t answer her calls and that is not an experience I would ever care to repeat.”

Gon made a face. Sure, he had messed up then. But that was years ago, back when he was a freshman and in nearly every after school club in existence. He was a senior now. He knew better.

Killua walked around the classroom, slowly drinking in the mess of multicolored paints and ruined brushes stacked across shelves. Gon watched curiously as Killua’s azure gaze drifted over the armature mosaics on the stone walls. What was he doing?

Killua stopped in the center of the room. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he said loudly, “Why are you even in here, Gon? I never pegged you for the art type.”

“You know I’m not.”

“Exactly. So-” Killua turned his piercing eyes onto Gon and a spark of electricity raced under Gon’s skin, “-why are you here? Did you get in trouble or something?”

Gon shrugged, ignoring the prickling warmth spreading through his chest at being the center of Killua’s attention. “Not really. I didn’t finish a project in time so I had to stay after to complete it.”

Killua arched an eyebrow. “A project?”

“Yep! I just finished, actually.”

“Can I see?” Killua asked and Gon almost started laughing again.

“Of course!” He grabbed Killua’s hand and tugged him towards the table he had been previously standing at. “You’re my boyfriend, Killua, you don’t have to ask me stuff like that!”

“Oh, shut up,” Killua grumbled. Gon could hear the lift in his voice though- the begrudging happiness there- and his heart fluttered in response.

“Here,” he said as they came to a halt. He shut the leather book on the table’s newspaper-covered surface and held it out to Killua proudly.

Killua stared. He glanced at Gon, then back towards the book. His cheeks were still painted the faintest shade of pink from Gon’s most recent tease and it made the faint freckles on his nose stand out. They reminded Gon of scattered shells on pale sand.

“Your art project was…a book?” Killua asked, disbelief in every word.

Gon chuckled. “No, that’d be silly. It’s what’s inside- that was my project.”

Gon thrust the book at Killua again and this time he took it. But Killua still hesitated, sending Gon a quizzical look even as his long fingers hovered over the cover.

“Open it!” Gon urged, excitement starting to grow like a wave.

Killua did as he was told. He frowned down at the first page, head tilted in a way that Gon thought made him very, very cute.

“Gon,” Killua said slowly and Gon perked up.

“Yeah?”

“You destroyed this book,” Killua said flatly and Gon sputtered indignantly. “No, seriously, you did! Do you see this-”

Killua held the book up for Gon to see. On the inside cover was a very messy outline of a whale and a squiggly-looking hill.

“Destroyed!” Killua said again, louder this time. “Ruined! This book was probably nice looking before you finger painted all over it. What would Kurapika say?!”

Most people would find Killua’s remarks insulting but Gon just laughed. He could picture the enraged expression on their shared friend’s face; Kurapika’s elegant eyes would be narrowed in fury and he would be bristling from the top of his golden head all the way down to his toes.

“He’d be really mad, probably,” Gon said and Killua snorted in agreement. “But- Killua, I didn’t have a choice! Destroying this book was my art project, I had to do it even though I didn’t want to!”

Killua’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“Look!” Gon came behind Killua, pointed over his shoulder as he said, “See, that’s Whale Island! And that’s the mountain your family lives on!”

Killua scoffed. “I don’t live on a mountain, Gon, it’s a hill. And if that’s Whale Island, I’m a chocolate-hater.”

“Hey!” He pinched the skin by Killua’s hip, earning him a startled yelp. “Don’t be mean! I think it’s good!”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Gon,” Killua said and snickered at Gon’s pout.

“Killua-”

“Okay, okay, I get it, don’t worry.” He awkwardly reached back to pat Gon on the head. “I won’t make fun of your non-existent artistic abilities any more. Should I keep going?”

“Yeah!” Gon dropped his chin onto Killua’s shoulder and wound his arms around Killua’s slim waist. He secretly relished the way Killua melted into his embrace and had to force himself to not bury his nose into Killua’s soft hair.

They’d have time for all that when they got back to Gon’s house, anyway.

Distantly, Gon heard Killua flip to another page. “Okay, uh. This looks like….gum wrappers? Maybe? Or the inside of them at least.” Killua squinted. “There’s writing on them…”

Gon hummed happily in agreement. “It’s not all gum wrappers, but a lot of them are. Some of them are just tiny bits of loose leaf. I glued them all to the pages and painted some clear stuff on them so they’d stay good!”

“These are all notes we’ve passed during classes,” Killua said quietly, running the tips of his fingers over the ridges between the pages. “You kept them?”

Warmth blossomed inside Gon’s chest. “Mhm. Keep going.”

He felt Killua swallow thickly. He was probably getting a good idea of where this was going; Killua had always been smart despite his total lack of interest in all things academic. Gon knew Killua would figure out the meaning behind the book. It was why he had wanted to show him.

Because this art project wasn’t just about Gon anymore; it was about Killua, too.

Killua turned over the notes page with trembling hands. He sucked in a quiet breath when he saw the next spread and Gon squeezed him lightly.

The following two pages were plastered with photos of Gon and Killua throughout their relationship- the pair covered in mud as children, their proud grins after a soccer game during middle school, a teenage Killua looking at the camera like he was in The Office while Gon waved his broken arm at the camera….

It was them. Just Killua and Gon and their relationship and it was beautiful.

“This is my favorite page,” Gon confessed and rested his head against Killua’s.

Killua slowly traced a picture of them sleeping in Gon’s bed, half on top each other in a mess of blankets. “How long did this take you to make?”

Gon silently listened to how Killua’s voice quivered, like a leaf in the wind, and allowed himself a small smile.

Killua would never admit to it out loud, but Gon knew how much their relationship had meant to him through the years- and still meant. Coming from a family like the Zoldycks meant that Killua’s only real break was here at school or whenever Gon dragged him back to the Freecss house. Gon represented a peace and acceptance Killua never experienced anywhere else. Seeing physical proof of their adventures and joys, their ups and their downs- all splayed out for the world to see- must be overwhelming for the moonbeam teen.

And for Gon…

Killua was everything. He was Gon’s reason to smile, his reason to laugh. Killua had brought him back to life after Gon’s godfather, Kite, passed away. So every bit of effort put into making this collage had been worth it just to see the look of reverence that was currently on Killua’s face.

“It didn’t take too much time,” Gon said thoughtfully. “I had a lot of pictures of you already so it was just a matter of cutting them out and placing them on the page.” He paused, then peaked at Killua’s awed expression.

“Do you like it?” he asked shyly.

Killua shut his mouth. He chewed on his bottom lip, eyes shining like shards of blue glass. The fact that Killua of all people- the person always ready with a snappy retort or a snide comment rolling off his tongue- was speechless told Gon enough.

“Aww, Killua!” Gon crushed Killua to his chest and nuzzled soft silver locks. “You do like it!”

“Sh-shut up,” Killua protested weakly. His face was dusted pink and his nose wrinkled in a way that could only be described as adorable. “It’s just a bunch of random p-pictures, why are you getting so worked up?”

“I’m not the one getting worked up, Ki-llu-a,” Gon sang and Killua huffed like a grumpy child. “But there’s no need to get embarrassed; it’s just the two of us here.”

“It’s not…” Killua hesitated before flipping to a new page- this one covered with shiny stickers of the stars and the moon and the sun. In the background, scattered words like “love” and “together” and “home” were carefully circled in black sharpie .

“It’s not- what?” Gon asked, confused.

Killua let out a long breath and his bangs flopped. “It’s not that. I mean, yeah, you’re embarrassing as hell but. Gon, this book, it’s.” Killua stopped again, flushing darker and painting his cheeks the colors of a sunset.

“It’s about us,” Killua whispered finally and Gon’s heart throbbed. “Isn’t it? You based your whole art project- this book, every page, every word and drawing- on us.”

The corners of Gon’s mouth curved in a sheepish half-smile. “Guilty, heh. Ms. Siberia said the book needed a theme and I couldn’t think of anything for the longest time. And then she suggested that I should base it on something that I really really care about, something that I love, because that’s going to make me try all the harder. You know?”

Killua looked away. He was trying to hide his reactions from Gon, obviously. But Gon knew Killua too well to be fooled by his tricks.When Killua spoke again, his voice was thick with an indescribable but overwhelming emotion. “And the first thing you thought of was us, huh?”

“‘Course!” Gon hugged Killua closer, knowing he was probably squishing Killua by now but too selfish to let go.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world, Killua,” Gon said simply. “You’re the person I love most in the world. What else could I possibly choose?”

For a long while, Killua didn’t move. Then he lowered Gon’s book to the table- slowly, very slowly- and twisted around in Gon’s arms.

Gon only caught a split-second glimpse of Killua’s blazing red face before Killua dropped his head onto Gon’s shoulder. He rested his arms on Gon’s shoulders, linking his hands behind Gon’s neck.

“Do you ever realize just how embarrassing you sound when you say stuff like that?” he groaned into Gon’s collarbone. Gon just laughed loudly at that; Killua was always so flustered with Gon’s honestly.

“It’s not embarrassing if it’s true,” he said slyly and reached up to cup Killua’s jaw in his hands. He gently lifted Killua’s head and forced him to meet Gon’s gaze directly.

Killua grimaced. He never knew how to handle Gon’s bluntness when it came to himself, but that was okay. Gon secretly thought it was endearing to see Killua vulnerable and open like this.

Grinning, Gon pressed a quick kiss to one of Killua’s burning cheeks. Seeing the look of sheer mortification on Killua’s face when Gon pulled back only made his smile grow wider.

He teased, “You know, you’re really cute when you’re all flustered like this, Killua.”

Blue eyes widened, enraged. “I am not cute, dammit!”

“Mmm, yeah. You are.” He kissed Killua’s other cheek before Killua could duck out of the way.

Which was bad for Killua, but very, very good for Gon.

Gon saw the chance and took it, pulling Killua close to his chest once more. He peppered small kisses all over Killua’s cheeks and nose, on his forehead and right between his eyes. He kissed every patch of ivory skin available to him, determined to smother Killua as much as possible. He wanted to figure out just how deep Killua’s blush could go and nothing was stopping him. Not even Killua himself.

Distantly Gon heard Killua moan, “Why are you like this? I swear I’m going to explode if you don’t stop.”

Gon giggled with a closed mouth, lips pressed right above one of Killua’s silver eyebrows. He leaned back just enough to beam at his scowling boyfriend. “That’s silly, Killua. You can’t explode from kisses.”

“Well, I can.”

“Noooooo.” Gon carefully lifted Killua’s head once more. “If that were true, you would’ve exploded way before now. Right?”

Killua glared. The ferocity of the look was lost due to the heavy blush lingering on his face, though. “You’re cheeky today, aren’t you?”

“I’m in a good mood,” Gon said happily.

“Yeah, I can tell. You only ever make fun of me this much when you’re in a good mood.”

“I’m not making fun of you, I’m just being affectionate!”

Killua was bristling now. “Why?! Why do you need to be so damn affectionate?!”

“Because,” Gon said, sincerity ringing with every word. “I’m in with love you. I adore you, Killua. What other reason do I need?”

The anger dropped off Killua’s face instantly. He gaped at Gon, blue eyes bright and shimmering while the blush on his cheeks spread to the tips of his ears.

It was kind funny that he could still stun Killua into silence with those words, Gon thought with a crooked smile. It wasn’t like this was the first time Gon had said them, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. Yet Killua always reacted like he was hearing it brand new.

And Gon loved him even more for that.

Killua’s gaze lowered from Gon’s eyes to his mouth, then darted back up again. There was a longing in his unblinking stare and Gon tried not to look too eager when Killua started to lean forward.

They met in the middle and Killua kissed him softly, tasting sweet and wonderful and good. Gon dropped his hands to Killua’s waist and hummed contentedly into Killua’s lips. He let himself get fully lost in the slow, intimate dance of their mouths, trying to memorize the feel and taste of Killua so he would never forget what it was like to have Killua like this.

Kissing Killua was amazing. Gon loved the small sounds of pleasure that escaped Killua’s lips, the smooth and silky texture of Killua’s pale skin under his hands, the way Killua always responded to Gon like he was all Killua had ever wanted, like Killua wasn’t ever going to let Gon go now that he had him.

Kissing Killua felt a lot to Gon like flying. When he was kissing Killua, he wasn’t Gon anymore: he was a shooting star, a force of nature breathtaking and wondrous in its beauty, with no one in heaven or earth that could stop him.

Killua muttered against Gon’s mouth, fists holding into Gon’s spikes, “You’re such a dork.”

“What d'ya mean?” Gon mumbled back, already tilting his head to capture Killua’s lips again.

“Mmm.” Killua made a small, happy sighing sound and Gon’s heart soared. “I mean-” a kiss, “-who the-” kiss, “-hell-” another kiss, “-makes a bo-mph!!! Gon! Stop, jeez!”

Killua pulled back with a laugh, eyes sparkling like constellations on a clear summer night. Gon let out a low whine at the separation and buried his head into Killua’s shoulder, wrapping his arms snugly around Killua’s hip. His body was buzzing and his head swam; he felt drunk from kissing Killua, high on the simple joy of having the incredible teen in his arms.

“I was saying,” Killua said pointedly as he carded pianist fingers through Gon’s dark brown hair. “Who the hell makes a book for art class inspired by their romantic relationship? That’s so ridiculously cheesy.”

“You like it though-” Gon pressed a kiss onto Killua’s neck, earning him a sharp inhale, “-don’t you?”

“M-Maybe…’s still cheesy, though.”

Gon smirked. He knew it; Killua might grumble and complain, but he secretly loved all romantic gestures, no matter how ‘cheesy’.

“I dunno,” Gon said and lifted his head to beam at his scarlet-faced boyfriend. “I think making a book is pretty original! Not a lot of people can say they have a book made for them.”

Killua pinched one of Gon’s cheeks. “Don’t be an idiot. Haven’t you heard of photo albums before?”

“But- but that’s not even close to being the same thi-”

“Gon,” Killua interrupted with a shake of his head and twitch of his lips. “I was kidding.”

Gon’s skin grew warm. “Oh.”

Killua grinned, an amused fondness shining in the depth of his eyes. He tugged Gon forward by the collar of his shirt to softly kiss him again.

“I think it’s actually really sweet, okay?” Killua admitted lowly and rested his forehead against Gon’s. “You did good.”

Something fluttered in Gon’s chest, light as butterfly wings. “R-Really?”

“Yeah, really. It’s- it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

They were so close that Gon could feel the heat radiating off of Killua’s flushed cheeks. Gon was abruptly overcome with the urge to kiss Killua again and he did, crushing Killua to his chest while running his fingers up and down Killua’s spine. Killua responded in kind and wound his arms tightly around Gon’s shoulders. His nails dug into Gon’s tan skin but Gon just shuddered, loving how Killua clung to him. It made Gon wish that the kiss could go on forever and ever. As long as Killua was in his arms, their bodies and hearts aligned, that was all that mattered.

But like all good things, the kiss had to come to an end eventually. And again, Killua was the one to give Gon’s shoulders a quick, warning squeeze before completely pulling out of Gon’s embrace.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Killua said, straightening his rumpled shirt. The sight of Killua- his usually perfect silver curls tousled and lips swollen- sent a rush of heat through Gon. To know that he was the one who made Killua look like that was-

“We have to get back home,” Killua continued, jolting Gon out of his stare. “We’ll miss dinner if we stay here much longer.”

Gon grimaced. He’d much rather skip dinner and stay here kissing Killua until the moon rose in the night sky. But there was Aunt Mito to think about. And the last thing he wanted was for her to come storming into the school looking for them.

“Once I get my own place, we won’t have to stop,” he told Killua bluntly. “We can make dinner and still have all the time in the world to kiss.”

Killua’s blush returned in full force. “Ugh. For once, can you just- not?” he groaned. “Seriously, Gon, we just made out and everything!”

“Nope!” Gon chirped, swinging Killua’s backpack onto his arm with one hand and reaching out to intertwining the other with Killua’s. He could leave his art project here, he decided. Ms. Siberia would be in early tomorrow and had a better idea of where to put it, anyway.

Gon tugged lightly on Killua’s hand, saying cheerfully, “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to tease, Killua. Are you ready to go?”

“I’ve been ready, you were the one who was stalling,” Killua grumbled. But he let himself be led out of the art room without any other complaints, even responding to Gon’s squeeze with one of his own.

Gon just hummed in response. There was no point in arguing; Killua was right. He always was. He was smart and brilliant and wonderful, and Gon wanted to burst from happiness every time he remembered that all of that- all of Killua- was his.

“Love you, Killua,” Gon said, just because he could, and Killua let out a resigned sigh. A small smile graced his lips, though, and that was enough to let Gon know that Killua was happy, too.

“Love you, too. Doofus.”

Gon threw back his head and laughed.

#killugon #hunterxhunter #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #dc writes #between pages #high school au #modern au #au

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