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3laxx · 3 years

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When the Dream ends - Chapter 3

Luz and Amity have a sleepover and Boscha has a breakdown

TRIGGER WARNING - BLOOD - INJURY - PANIC ATTACK

For everyone who is easily triggered by panic or panic attacks, I recommend not reading any further than the Lumity part of this chapter. You won't need the entire Boscha part, just know she's incredibly distraught and has a lot of confusing emotions about fault and making up for it. She has a full-blown panic attack (actually I wrote myself into one thanks to this) and I recommend continuing on your own responsibility. There will be more on Boscha's state and her feelings on the situation in a calmer and safer scene later on. You won't miss anything if you skip this part. A lot of it was already mentioned in the actual scene of the accident and Amity's nightmare. Boscha's feelings will resurface later on and you will know how she feels in future chapters if you don't feel comfortable reading panic attacks with physical reactions.

I'M SERIOUS. ONLY READ IF YOU FEEL ABSOLUTELY SURE, THERE'S NO SHAME IN NOT READING IT.

Ao3 / FF.net

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It still took Luz a few days to walk by herself again and she hated every second.

Well, not the seconds when Eda and King were visiting. And she loved every second Amity spent with her. And she also enjoyed all the seconds while Willow and Gus were visiting.

Skara, Cat, and Amelia had also paid her a visit and Luz had enjoyed having them all over. They were gentle and careful around her and even helped her get up once to get some snacks from down the hall, even if Amity had protested them carrying Luz.

In the end, it had been a lot of fun though, and they had giggled all the while two of them carried her to the vending machine and two carried her back by interlocking their hands and having Luz sit on them while wrapping her arms around their necks.

Amity had helped to carry her back and Luz had grinned at her constantly, knowing the girl had needed to warm up to her old friends showing up and not being bullies.

Viney, Jerbo, and Barcus had also shown up for a short visit, and Luz and Amity had coincidentally invited over Edric and Emira at the same time, giggling to themselves when Emira had started flirting with the unamused Viney until she had shot back a flirty line only to leave Emira a hot mess.

So, she guessed she didn’t hate every single second of it.

But the walking, the slow progress, and the lonely nights had been horrible.

When she had finally gotten the permission to leave, she had celebrated, even if Eda had put her under strict supervision over the weekend before letting her back to Hexside. She didn’t mind, though.

Strict supervision usually meant games, snacks, and movies, and having friends over once Eda had to get some stuff, run her business of human phenomena or do undisclosed business at undisclosed places.

So, Luz was super happy to be back in the Owl House over the weekend, naturally. With Eda’s permission, she had quickly invited Amity, Willow, and Gus over, but Willow and Gus had other things on their schedule – something about a forgotten homework and some tunnel Gus was babbling about, even if Luz had thought his tunnel underneath Hexside had already been finished.

Having Amity over was really cool, too. Especially since Eda had already announced she’d be out this evening, so she was looking forward to watching a movie and spending the evening with Amity.

---

“So, what do you wanna watch?”, Luz began, already grinning at Amity. The girl just shrugged at that, a small smile on her lips. “Your descriptions were a little-… Enthusiastic. Why don’t we just watch something you wanna watch?”

Luz grimaced at that and then pouted at Amity, causing her to chuckle.

“But I like all of these movies! Giving me the choice would break me!”

Amity immediately pointed at a random cover then, her eyes blown wide. She absolutely didn’t want Luz to break over something like this. The girl laughed.

“Okay, that one. That’s the super cute romance!”

Amity suppressed a sigh. Well, this was going to be easy, right?

She only had to make it through 2 hours of two characters getting together, kissing, building up chemistry, without projecting it onto her and Luz.

Already flushing, Amity pressed herself into the backrest and pulled up the blanket while Luz prepared the movie on her magic box, before returning to the couch as well with quite some effort and sitting close to Amity, close enough so she could steal the other half of Amity blanket.

Yelping, she tried hiding her face, then she looked up.

“… Is that too warm for you?”, the teenager asked her, obviously referring to Amity’s red face, but she quickly shook her head while the movie began, trying a smile.

“N-No! I like that.”

Luz smiled and grabbed the snack box, putting it between their thighs on top of the blanket, then the first scene started playing. A short-haired girl introduced herself, and the human world she was living in, before saying she was different than all the others. She was a lesbian.

Immediately, Amity suppressed rolling her eyes.

Suited her right that she had to pick the gay movie.

Luz already giggled at the introduction, then she turned to Amity, way closer than she had expected, making her blush. She was just glad the lights were dimmed now.

“That’s so cliché. I like this movie, but it stays as shallow with the LGBTQ community throughout.”

Amity tried controlling her blazing face.

“Wh-What do you mean?”

Luz shrugged at that, leaning back again and Amity felt herself relaxing, thankfully, “You know, all the drama about it. In movies like these, it’s a huge deal to be gay, and it’s either the scared, closeted character or the over-the-top gay who acts extra. There’s so much more to LGBTQ than that. I was actually quite glad that homosexuality isn’t as big a deal on the Boiling Isles as it is in the human realm. I don’t think it’s even recognized as different here, is it?”

Amity furrowed her eyebrows at that.

“It’s a problem to like the same gender in the human realm?”

For a few minutes, Luz watched the movie when the introduction was over and the story began, then she sighed and shrugged.

“That’s a topic for another time, I suppose.”, she finally said and Amity softly took her hand. Something in Luz’s words sounded heavy, clouded by something that must’ve happened. Pressing pause, Luz looked over to Amity and she slanted her lips.

“Are you sure?”, she finally asked and the human hummed, then she nodded.

“Yes. Don’t worry, I never had problems with that, because my mother is really open-minded and nobody else knew I was bi. But for many others, it’s a huge problem. It’s even a crime to be gay in some places. You’ll see what’s about it in that movie. Let’s just watch?”

Despite the worrying information about the human realm, Amity couldn’t help but replay that one thing Luz had said all over again in her head, even when the movie started picking up and the story got interesting.

She had hoped that Luz was interested in the same gender as well, even if she hadn’t really minded because, in her home, the different sexualities didn’t really matter. But hearing Luz confirming that she wasn’t straight was a relief, almost.

The longer the movie carried on, with the main character starting to chat with another gay girl online, getting problems keeping their sexuality a secret, and finally, everyone turning away from her when it came out. Amity followed the movie wide-eyed, learning how problematic it apparently was in the human realm, while Luz’s head got heavier and heavier.

She still couldn’t concentrate long on something, partly because of her ADHD but also because of the accident. Her mind needed rest.

When it finally got too much, her head dropped on Amity’s shoulder and she finally relaxed. With her head secured, she adjusted the rest of her body now, wrapping one arm across her lap, then she smiled softly and dozed off.

She couldn’t even notice Amity freezing up and blushing furiously again. And she didn’t see Amity’s eyes widening, or her heart skipping a beat. Sleep had taken her fully, leaving Amity to finish the movie by herself. Even if she found the story compelling, though, she couldn’t exactly concentrate anymore once Luz had fallen asleep on her.

Deciding to finish the movie on her own, Amity just settled against her and smiled softly. This was very nice. And before she knew it, she had fallen asleep as well.

---

Finally, it was the weekend and Boscha could be home again.

Away from the curious eyes, away from people asking her how she was, what happened and how Luz was doing. She had mostly relied on her friends to keep her out of the crossfire, something Amelia, Skara, and Cat had more than gladly done, but it had only helped so much. Every single gaze, every single question, reduced her to what had happened about ten days ago. And every single time it brought her back to these moments, minutes, she had spent kneeling in the human’s blood and trying to keep her alive.

Her parents, mostly her father, had been understanding enough to schedule her some emergency therapy sessions, and allowed her to stay out of school for a few days. While the therapy sessions had definitely helped, and she had been able to convince her parents she’d need them for a bit longer, she still felt as though this incident followed her every step.

When she looked out the window to see the forest, when she lied down to sleep, when she got up and when she ate. Throughout her whole day, the memories followed her, bothered her, taunted her.

She had injured Luz this way. She had thrown that ball, and her teammates had tried stopping her. She was at fault, she could’ve had this never happen. She should’ve stopped.

Tiredly, Boscha crawled under her sheets and buried her face in the pillow. This was unbearable.

Injuring another witch like that had never made her feel so guilty. Probably mostly because witches were more durable than humans. They could get back up, their injuries healed faster.

Seeing the human knocked out like this, seeing her bleeding out and dying, had been a rapid change from what Boscha knew.

She knew she had acted right after she had realized what she had done. She knew that she had reacted faster than all of them and that she had done the right thing, giving everyone tasks, avoiding them to slip into shock right there and freeze up. She had done the right thing.

That still didn’t excuse that she had done the wrong thing before. That didn’t make anything better, except that Luz was still alive, and well, as Amity had told her. It didn’t make her suffering better. It didn’t make it easier that she would have to adjust and live with what she had done.

Once again, her eyes burned and she growled. She had been crying a lot these days, something she hadn’t done before. She’d also had a lot of nightmares. Nightmares of the human dying, of everyone blaming Boscha.

She had shot up in bed in a cold sweat and cried, cried all night long until she had fallen asleep for the next nightmare again.

But she couldn’t face Luz yet. She couldn’t face her.

In her memories she was always so grey, surrounded by red, and draining of life. She was so weak and helpless and completely at Boscha’s mercy. Boscha liked bossing people around but, never like this. At her mercy, not responding. Still.

She gulped again.

The human’s soft, raspy breaths when she had leaned down to check for it.

Closing her eyes, Boscha groaned again and shook her head. She had never anticipated this, she had never wanted this. And now she was feeling so sick, so twisted. She had done the wrong thing, then the right, and she felt so guilty for both.

By the first throw, she should’ve already known the human wasn’t playing. She should’ve known the human was in real danger at the very moment she had seen the fear flashing in her eyes. But she hadn’t reacted to that, even liked the fear. Because she never would’ve thought something would actually happen. Nothing had happened to Luz before. Nothing would happen to them, they were just teens, right?

And then it had happened. The sickening crack still shook Boscha to her core. The ball leaving her hand and the crack that had followed when she had crushed Luz’s skull against the stone. The flashbacks were coming again and Boscha curled up under her blanket, baring her teeth.

When the human had been thrown back, her eyes rolling upwards and her torso collapsing in itself as the spine was turned to cracked pebbles. She winced.

Then the blood. She hadn’t registered how the wound looked like at first, but the more her shock faded, the more her brain gave her all the details she had burned into her memories by accident. When she had run over and remembered faintly not to damage Luz’s spine more. When, for a super scary second, her hands had hovered helplessly and she had done nothing.

She still dreaded that moment. It couldn’t have been longer than the blink of an eye but her memory stretched it to hours, unmoving, terrifying hours of dread while she stared down at the broken human, hearing her rasping breaths and letting the shock take over her.

And then that moment ended. When she snapped into action.

Her fingers reaching down finally, feeling as though she had just cracked a cover of ice over her skin when she moved, breaking free of her frozen state. The soft pulse, so weak and fragile, underneath her fingertips, her skin getting slick with the warm blood spilling from the human.

She remembered faintly how her grandmother, as strict as she had been, had been baking with her once. Her grandmother hadn’t taken any shit. Especially not from the spoiled five-year-old brat who hadn’t wanted to knead the dough or do the dishes by hand. She remembered her stepping behind the child and folding up her sleeves, before grabbing her hands and forcing them down into the sticky goo. Telling her, “When you work in the kitchen, you don’t use your fingertips and keep your hands clean. You can wash them after. Now knead it properly, child.”

She had done the same with Luz. Not fearing the blood getting on her, not fearing her hands getting dirty. She had just jumped to action, done the right thing, not minded any blood no matter how thick and slimy and warm it had felt on her hands. As if it was holding onto the skin by which it had been trapped before, begging for a way back in.

Luz had been facing down on the ground, and she would never forget the kind of awkward angle her spine had been in. Even in this lying position, she had seen the dangerous injury she had given the human.

Her eyes had flitted from her back to her fingers on her neck, then up to the back of her head. Where the laceration of the hit was. Boscha felt herself getting sick while her body started shivering uncontrollably.

The wound had been horrifying. She hadn’t paid attention to the details when she had been in the situation, but her mind would never forget. How the hair had been flattened down and dampened by red blood, how it had darkened her hair and flowed down her neck, down her back underneath her uniform, and down the sides of her face. The exposed flesh, something hard and red and-… Dark sitting underneath the pulled-back skin. The cracked skull.

Boscha convulsed, then she pressed a hand to her mouth while a pathetic whimper escaped her throat. She had done this. She had thrown the ball that had the speed to split open skin, crack bones. She heaved, then she finally got up to stumble to her bathroom that was attached to her room, and threw up in the toilet.

She would never forget how it moved. How she watched the wound oozing, how she had watched the skin moving with every slight movement of the human.

And the worst had been that, while Luz had been knocked out completely, her eyes had been half-open. She had seen the pain on the human’s face, the whites of her eyes, and the flitting iris sometimes coming into view when her eyes rolled.

Her knees had been damp, she could still feel it while kneeling in front of the toilet. She mistook the cold tiles beneath her knees as wetness, she was sure. But when she looked down, there was red.

Immediately, her eyes watered, and her torso convulsed again, forcing her to heave on an empty stomach. The blood-soaked pajamas climbed up her legs, and she remembered how her clothes stuck to her after that. No matter how much she had scrubbed when she had gotten home, she would never get rid of the iron smell, or the slight, faint coloring of a darker shade, of the dried, edges of the blood on her pink skin.

Desperately gripping the toilet seat, she leaned the side of her face against the edge and sobbed.

She still remembered how warm her forehead had felt when she had checked for Luz’s breathing. She still knew how it had felt, leaning over the human, pressing her forehead into the pool of blood, and feeling her hair getting dampened by the liquid.

She still remembered the raspy breaths, the heaving, and the blood sticking to her hair and face and getting everywhere. She could still feel the cold air hitting her blood-soaked skin when she had leaned back to bark more instructions, and checked Luz’s pulse again. The droplets out of her hair, running down her head, around her ears, down her temples and nose, getting in her eyes and mouth and tasting like iron.

She faintly remembered not wiping it away.

And Amity’s screaming. Her insults, the despair. Titan, the love from that girl. Boscha was glad she had instructed Amelia to trap her in a cage. But that hadn’t made her screams easier to bear, her screams that had morphed into the voice inside Boscha’s head that had been pestering her ever since that accident had started sinking in.

Finally, when they had turned Luz around and Boscha had done her best not to look at the wound, the skull moving when they moved her, her breaths coming to a stop. The sudden silence after the raspy, uneven breaths.

She had leaned down and listened and had heard it, heard Luz’s last breath in another reality, had she not started CPR. She was just glad she was on the grudgby team and everyone suspected harsh injuries in that sport.

It was completely uncommon in the demon realm to perform CPR because either the body of a witch or demon was fast enough to recover or there simply wasn’t enough left to perform CPR on. Boscha was one of the few people in the school, including some teachers, the healing track students, and the grudgby players to even know that practice.

It had been deafening.

Even tuning out Amity’s screams and sobs, and her own intrusive thoughts.

The sudden break had shocked Boscha more than she had anticipated. She only knew breathing. She had known it when her father had held her as a child, she had known it with her sister, and her friends sleeping over and breathing in their sheets while Boscha had lied awake. She had known breathing from Amity, from her panic attacks when they had gotten older, the hyperventilation, and the quickening breaths she had let out. She knew it from Amity when they curled up together, seeking each other’s comfort in their mothers’ competition. She had known breathing in her first kiss, and in the silence of a classroom during an exam. There was always breathing around her.

Hell, some houses in the Boiling Isles were breathing.

And yet, Luz had stopped.

It had been unnerving, understanding that the human had just stopped breathing. Her brain wouldn’t work it out until way later, in the situation she had known it was bad and had known what to do.

But now that she was pushing away from the toilet and leaning against the wall next to it, crying and sobbing hysterically into her arms?

She understood what it had meant, beyond bad.

It had meant Luz had just been moments from her death. She doesn’t think anyone but Skara, who had heard it, too, knew what that had meant. Willow had only sat on Luz’s feet and heard and understood what Boscha had said, but she hadn’t watched the sudden drainage of life from Luz’s face, she hadn’t noticed the forced lifting and sinking of her chest stopping under her hand and she hadn’t heard her last breath.

She hadn’t felt the pulse under Boscha’s fingertips weakening, hiccupping, stopping. Then restarting, before stilling again.

But Boscha had, Boscha had felt and heard and noticed it all, and she had realized what that had meant. Someone had jokingly told her once, that the soul of a being left its vessel with the last breath. Boscha had seen Luz’s last breath, she had seen the life fleeting from her body so fast that she had been scared that she wouldn’t be fast enough.

Letting out a feral scream, Boscha buried her head on her knees and clamped her arms over her head. The world vanished in static when the panic attack took full hold of her now. Her fingertips were uncomfortably pulsing and itching under her skin, mockingly, reliving the feeling of Luz’s pulse getting too weak for her to feel anymore, reminding her of the sudden lack of life.

She knew Luz hadn’t died at that moment, she knew it took a moment still, but it had certainly felt like it.

Her socks kicked against the floor in a desperate attempt to make herself smaller, press her back harder against the tiled wall, and the itching in her fingertips spread to her knuckles, to her palms and wrist, and down her lower arms. Suddenly, she had to get the sleeves off. Ripping her arms off her head, she tried rolling her sleeves up in unpracticed, frantic movements, starting to scratch her skin to get rid of the uncomfortable itching, but it wouldn’t stop. The blood was soaking her skin, the red was crawling up and the itching got worse until she finally ripped her shirt off and started rubbing over her arms, up and down and not noticing that she scrubbed it sore, turning it red, much lighter than the human’s blood.

How the wound on the back of Luz’s head hadn’t stopped bleeding, and how wet it had sounded, Luz’s head rolling around despite Skara’s grip on her to keep her crushed spine straight enough for Boscha to perform CPR. How stupid Boscha had been not to cover the wound. Had she even been supposed to? She didn’t even know now.

Another scream ripped through her throat and she squinted her eyes, biting her teeth together so hard it hurt, while her arms were still working over her biceps, shoulders, and whatever she could reach of her back. She saw the human convulsing, her belly rising and falling with each violent push she had given her chest, compressing the air that was left. As if she was breathing but not quite.

How stale and like iron her lips had tasted when she had blown air into her mouth, hoping so badly that she hadn’t suffered a wound in there somewhere so Boscha wouldn’t force blood into her lungs.

Amity’s screams had become one with the voice in her head, screaming at her to do better than what she had done.

And then, nothing anymore.

When Luz had been gone, and the storm in Boscha’s head had calmed down, the static had died out in the silence. Amity’s weak sobs, Willow’s soft reassurances, and Skara’s and Amelia’s shocked breaths, hitching every now and then when they collapsed in emotional and mental exhaustion.

Boscha whimpered and sobbed more, still rubbing over her arms frantically and still trying to push herself further into the wall.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps, fast footsteps approaching, and the door to her bathroom flew open. Before she knew what was happening, her mother’s arms were around her and her father kneeled in front of her. His expensive business pants got soaked in blood, so much blood that was covering all the floor, Luz’s blood. Boscha whimpered again, when her mother pulled her in, when her father flushed the toilet and sat down beside her as well, his arms wrapping around her cooling back, keeping her away from the wall just a little at least.

She managed to control her crying and whimpering the best she could, softly sobbing now, and felt her mother’s unruly hair on her neck and her nose in her hair.

Her parents held her close, not even caring that she didn’t have a shirt on, and as soon as she had calmed down a little at least, her father started soaking toilet paper in cold water to soothe her burning skin. She felt her mother chastising him, but he was so helpless, and Boscha didn’t want him to stop. Plus, it did help.

Sighing, she finally relaxed into her mother’s embrace and felt her father softly drying her arms again, then she was coaxed up by him, and led back into her room. She barely felt her mother lifting her arms and covering her with the shirt again. It was on backward, but it wasn’t important.

Her father scooped her up in his arms and started carrying her outside, causing a slight, irritating call from his wife, but he just spoke back in a calm voice before carrying her out. Her head was rested against his chest and she heard his heart beating.

Vaguely opening her eyes, she saw that he was aiming for her parents’ bedroom. Looking behind, she saw her mother closing the door to her room and carrying her blanket, before following them.

This was a privilege she would not pass up. Being able to sleep in her parents’ bed at least for tonight. Her parents believed in independence much like Amity’s, but she knew they had her back if something happened.

And if it left their daughter traumatized, they would move mountains for her. In the caring department, her parents weren’t that bad, even if there was mostly discipline in it, but the loving didn’t come too short in exceptional situations. She supposed this was one.

Her father lowered her down in the middle of the bed and kissed her forehead, before crawling in in his side and getting under his blanket, while wrapping his arm around her waist and keeping her close. Boscha managed an exhausted smile, then she felt a gust of wind, and her blanket sunk down on her before she felt her mother getting into bed as well and adding her arm around Boscha’s waist as well. She knew her mother wasn’t the most affectionate type, but she appreciated the effort she had put in today.

It was much needed.

With her father’s breath deepening, and her mother’s humming, she slowly felt herself getting drowsy and falling asleep. She had a feeling she’d have a nightmare tonight again.

But maybe, just maybe, she’d be exhausted enough not to dream at all.

And maybe the presence of her parents would also help her through this.

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I will go now and uh. Calm down.

#toh #the owl house #amity blight #luz noceda #fanfic #lumity #boscha #panic attack #trigger warning #panic #angst #my work

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cannot-decide-on-a-fandom · 4 years

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It’s such a weird thing that I love and would die for Leo and yet his story arc is the one I’m least satisfied by

I love his overall impact on the stories and I don’t hate or even dislike Caleo, but considering the whole time he was feeling like a 7th wheel, maybe what would have been better is him going “oh hey, I don’t have to be lonely if I’m not dating anyone” as opposed to “cool, girlfriend, fixed, hurray!”

I don’t necessarily mind romance even if it’s not one of my loved genres or anything, but it kind of felt like the opposite of what his character was going towards. For Nico, when we found out his sexuality, it made sense, his struggle was more about the idea that there was something wrong with him, why like someone like Percy, a guy, instead of a girl? So him coming to terms with liking guys and ending up with Will I was cool with, even if people say it’s rushed, I really didn’t mind it (and also there’s the 6 month gap between end of BoO and THO)

But for Leo, his arc in HoO being resolved by a haphazard resurrection and a girlfriend doesn’t sit right with me. If everyone’s struggles were meant to have satisfying arcs, I really feel his stood out as kind of not. Hazel had to accept her powers and her abilities, by the end she’s a lot more confident and used them well. Piper and Jason, at least in regards to their relationship, were dealing with knowing their lives together were made up, so making it real was a nice end in that aspect. Nico dealing with feeling unloved and trauma and being gay (oh my gods, this poor boy), dating Will makes sense (it obviously doesn’t make the other stuff disappear, but thankfully the books didn’t act like it did)

But Leo, feeling like an extra member who shouldn’t be among all those couples being resolved by him being part of a couple too is weird to me.

Not saying Calypso and Leo is a bad dynamic exactly, but it could really have been a cool thing to explore platonic love like that, so it’s less Leo going “everything is okay now that I have a girlfriend” and more “I have people I love and who love me, even if not in that way”

#Random rant time #Just to clarify criticism doesn't mean I don't still adore these books #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #leo valdez

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fmdminaharchive · 3 years

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❧ you’re like spring.

date(s): february-march 2021 mentions of: daisuke (briefly for happening reasons), jiah (extensively for gay reasons) word count: 1,712 (475 words composition, 748 words songwriting without the lyrics) warnings: none details: partial composition and full lyric verification for ‘the spring’. minah makes music again, it’s more of the same yet different. she’s also grossly in love, though she’s well aware there has been a time she wasn’t. also little extra bits of the whole Process because i can and they’re cute

“how about another spring song?” the creative director suggests and minah is quick to agree.

sure, she has some thoughts on that statement. the expected release date they gave her is late may, pushing near the end of spring but she can’t say she’s surprised. sure, these songs usually do best around early to mid april, when spring is fresh and the temperatures are slowly creeping up together with the bloom of flowers but she wagers that either bc doesn’t give her solo comeback enough priority over whatever else is planned earlier in the year or they’re aiming to recreate the same effect ‘hopefully sky’ had.

it’s kind of ironic, minah thinks, the implied image of a late bloomer bc throws in her lap.

she doesn’t mind it, it kind of suits her in ways.

➽───────────────❥

being informed that she will be working with the same producer she worked on for ‘hopefully sky’ and ‘being there’ only further confirms minah’s suspicions, they’re fully intending to let her stick to her niche. it’s not a bad thing persé, she likes her music, she likes the producer, the whole process will undoubtedly be a delight. but paired with the fact she had been purposely left out of writing for her debut album last fall, minah can’t help but feel bc doesn’t yet trust her quite enough. not enough to write on something important as an album, not enough to write on something she hasn’t done before.

which just means she has to prove herself.

when minah shows up for their first studio session, she shows up prepared, reaching for the acoustic guitar kept in one of the corners of the room

one eyebrow of the producer quirks up. “were you asked to compose it yourself? i thought i was, that’s why i prepared some things-”

minah just shakes her head, smiling serenely. “i wasn’t. but i have something i want to let you hear regardless.”

the guitar parts aren’t all that much, no bells or whistles. but minah likes to think that’s their charm. her instrumentals never are too flashy, not taking the foreground but instead serving as a gentle, guiding hand. the strums and chords are meant to be a base, to frame and support her voice rather than to be the main attraction.

the simple melody reminds her a lot of her busking days back in busan. sure, for the most parts she played and sang popular songs, ones that would be recognized by passersby and hopefully bring a smile to her face. but when things were slower, wen there weren’t as many people around, minah could spend stretches and stretches of time playing around with chords, improvising their structure as she went, their gentle hum to fill the silence until people came by again. it was a comforting sound, a comforting feeling.

of course, this time it’s not mere improvising, not tangent of chords that escape her memory the moment they fade out into the air around them but it still feels that way as she plays the song for the producer, a light-hearted, warm feeling teaching from her fingertips to her chest.

when she finishes the song, minah puts the guitar beside her again, looking expectantly at the producer. “it’s not a full song-” she starts, sentence trailing off, searching for some sign of approval or dismissal, whatever comes first, whatever will tell her if she was right to go out on a limb.

“it’s not.” the producer agrees with a nod. “but it could be.” another beat of silence. “it will be when i turn it into one.”

the excited squeal that escapes minah is one of victory.

➽───────────────❥

“you know, i already wrote lyrics to go with it too.” minah brings up a little while later, by now both of them with a cup of coffee in their hands, having spent the last hour or so properly writing down the guitar part she had played earlier and fiddling with ideas how to expand on it.

“well why didn’t you say so earlier, go ahead, i’m listening.”

so minah quickly pulls out the piece of paper the lyrics are written down on. they’re her words, she has sung them a few times but she doesn’t feel confident enough in her memory to do it entirely by heart just yet.

she picks the guitar up again from where she had left it, leaning against the side of the table, placing her fingers against the fingerboard and strumming the strings, playing the same chords she had played before but this time accompanied by her voice.

i think spring is coming again almost sick of the cherry blossoms once again, i face a lonely season as the wind blows

in terms of sound, the song sounds as warm and comforting as it’s spiritual predecessors ‘hopefully sky’ and ‘being there’ had, the sweet, family-girl charm minah had initially wrapped the general public around her finger with. lyrically, however, the tone is a bit more somber, lonely and longing for the happiness her surroundings seem to have found. it puts it smack in the middle of both her self-written songs from last summer and the tone of her first album and her portal collab with daisuke from last winter. a pretty clever way to bring together the two sides of her sound she has released so far if she says so herself.

that flower is so pretty, it makes me lonely that couple is smiling so brightly making me so sad why is it so beautiful? why am i jealous? everything’s spring spring spring but me

of course, the lyrics are hardly relevant for minah in the moment. she is entering her second spring together with jiah, their relationship having started roughly a year ago, when spring was creeping up on them much like it is now.

but feelings didn’t need to be lived to write about them right, to be able to convey them all the same. minah’s entire ‘epilogue’ had been drenched in the sorrow of heartbreak while she was on cloud nine. much the same applied to this song, there is none of the longing for a spring romance, not when she has all of that right in the palm of her hands already, not when she gets to wake up stroking the messy strands of hair out of jiah’s face and kiss the tip of her nose.

you’re spring, spring spring spring you, where did you go? you’re spring, spring spring spring the spring wind is blowing

minah gets it, she really does, why spring is generally seen as a romantic season, the slow bloom of the world stirring awake after the winter. cherry blossoms showers during walks in the parks, couples huddled together due to the last remnants of cold wind. spring is romantic in it’s very existence. it’s soft, it’s comforting, a gentle welcome after the slumber of winter.

and because of that, jiah is spring too. the pink hues of her flushed cheeks and the radiance of her smile, the tingling sparks of heat left across minah’s skin. she’s warm without ever being overwhelming, like the slowly rising temperatures giving the flowers time to adjust and bloom.

i’m dreaming of a fun love will my sweet love ever come? after another lonely day the wind blows

it hasn’t always been like that though, minah has been familiar enough with the bittersweetness of cherry blossoms. she’s a notorious workaholic after all. for as long as she can remember, she’s always been busy with something, be it her career or her family. it had left ample time for epic romances when she had been far too all over the place to open up her heart and whatever sparks did fly quickly fizzled solely due to the fact minah didn’t have the capacity to nurse a budding romance among everything.

so it isn’t like she doesn’t understand, it wasn’t like she has never kicked the ground scoffing watching the loved-up couples in springtime. minah knows the feeling all too well. so she knows how cathartic songs like this can be. sometimes you just need to be bitter for a bit before carrying on with life.

when the warm spring wind brushes my cheeks will spring come into my frozen heart as well? is it love?

minah has found her own love in the spring, only just a year ago, after watching the seasons slip by so often without much romance of her own.

so minah hopes. she hopes that anyone who will relate to the song hearing it now will find their own spring love eventually. maybe not this season but possibly next, or the one after that.

even if not for many more springs, with every passing year, they’ll be one spring closer to that, and isn’t that enough reason to keep waiting?

➽───────────────❥

a few weeks pass after that, minah doesn’t really keep track of the time where is so much she’s doing anyway but sooner or later, she finds the same producer waiting for her after she leaves vocal practice for lipstick’s upcoming comeback.

“c’mon, i need to steal you away for a second, there is something i want you to listen to.” he explains briefly and minah is quick to follow the familiar path to one of bc’s in-house recording studios.

of course, she knows this is about her solo comeback. she however doesn’t know if her draft got the bc stamp of approval. she might just as well be faced with an entirely different song.

as she takes a seat in one of the office chairs, the producer pulling up a file on his computer gracefully named ‘the spring’ minah feels pretty sure of her case though.

“i finished your song.” he simply says before pressing play.

it’s her song indeed, both of those parts are true. it’s hers, the familiar guitar strums in the background and a demo of her lyrics on top of it. it’s also a song, a full song this time, the blanks that were still missing from her rough draft filled in.

minah really likes it.

when the song comes to an end, she turns to the producer and smiles. “i like the accordion.” she laughs. “it’s a nice touch.”

#fmdverification #*:･ﾟ♔– «am i the only one who remembers» // solos.#«the spring // era.»

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ayurileopardsdream · 5 years

Text

If you had told me sooner - Chapter 1

Description: What should have happened in the Fortress of Solitude when Lena told Kara she knew the Supergirl secret, Season 5 Episode 7. And then it immediately just gets off track. And then it turns into a musical. And then it finally gets gay.

Author’s note: This story is also posted on AO3. Only my discord friends saw this coming ahahahaha~

[Supergirl Season 5 episode 7 - when they’re fighting in the fortress of Solitude]

After Mxy happened with It’s a Super Life. Kara went back to that part, had to relive that horrible time all over again. The whole “If you forgive me, I’ll be there for you. If you work with Lex, I’ll stop you just as I would any other villain.” Yeah that? No. Don’t like that, didn’t happen. So onward with the gay.

Rating: T

Words: 5,550

Series: Supergirl (TV 2015)

Au:

Characters / Pairing: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor

Genre: romance, hurt & comfort, fluff, angst.

Link to the AO3 copy: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22971949/chapters/54915007

The universe says that some things cannot be fixed with hugs. Kara Zor-El Danvers believes otherwise. Standing there while Lena yelled at her and holding that bomb Myriad thing, all Kara did was contemplate her entire life, her entire friendship. You see when mxy was sending Kara back in time to try and find a point to properly confess to Lena, Kara realized that when everything went to hell, there is no better way to fix a fight than with a hug.

Lena was yelling that she wasn't a villain. That Kara should have told her and not deceived her like everyone else. That she thought they were best friends, Kara should have trusted her.

Kara knew what she had to do even if Lena didn't trust her or like her or care for her anymore.

Kara flew at Lena, knocking the Myriad bomb out of her hands, hugging her tightly but safely for her strength.

"Kara what- What are you doing?! Get off of me!" Lena yelled struggling to no avail to get the kryptonian off of her.

"No!" Kara yelled, surprising the upset Luthor.

"I know I hurt you! That I betrayed you, that I deceived you. I should have told you and I didn't! I didn't want to put you in harm's way and I couldn't find the right time! Don't you know how hard it is to not tell you things? The number one villain rule is to target the loved ones of a superhero! Someone could have, would have come after you and I know you can handle yourself but I couldn't risk it! Damnit Lena! I love you! More than a friend, than a best friend! You're the most important person in my whole life! I know you're upset but I'm not about to deceive you like everyone else in your life has! I'm sorry Lex told you first, but he told you to get between us, to ruin us and it worked! He's a villain! Taking my loved ones away!"

Pulling away, Kara was shaking, sniffling, crumbling. It was.. really sad.

"If you hate me... then fine. I can't change your mind. I'm so so sorry Lena... I won't ever bother you ever again." And with that, Kara turned to leave, too depressed to fly. She was literally walking out of the fortress of solitude. Leaving Lena there to stare in shock and disbelief at what she'd heard. Kara... loved her... and watching her leave like that, then looking at Myriad on the floor... something ached in her chest and it wasn't hate.

"Kara wait!"

This was ridiculous. Love? Kara? With her ? Lena Luthor. Lena Luthor . A super in love with a Luthor.

Lena’s over-intelligent brain was going through everything, every little thing. Since they’d got here, no, their entire friendship. She was more than sane enough to go through their.. 2, 3 years of friendship, over-analyzing everything. And then, watching Kara’s sad, shaking, hunched form as she walked out of the Fortress of Solitude, and Lena’s cold, frozen, stone, locked iron heart unlocked, melted again. She could almost cry again, but for another reason. Guilt? Apology? At times like this, before... everything... she wanted to comfort Kara, hold her, rub her back, hug her, tell her it was okay, that everything was okay. But… she couldn’t. Not like this.

A few minutes of more thinking, honestly, regretfully, Lena put Myriad back where it belonged. She sighed with a clench of her fists, before finally turning and making her way out of the Fortress of Solitude, finding Kara actually sitting on the ground, well, ice, knees to her chest, crying. It broke Lena’s heart, but then she remembered everything else. Killing Lex Luthor for her. The secret she’d learned from the enemy. She couldn’t shake that. Regardless of Kara’s reasons.

She was broken from her thoughts with Kara looking up at her, tears streaming down her cheeks, eyes risen sadly but a little hopeful. Wanting to apologize again, but Lena held up a hand.

“I think we should be apart for some time. I really need to think about things.” She said in her serious Luthor voice, the one usually reserved for depressing, frustrating, irritation business matters.

Kara broke Lena’s heart yet again when she sniffled and nodded her head, crumpling her form if she could do so anymore.

Giving an almost sympathetic sigh, Lena called for a pickup from her very discreet security, one of the few, very few good things that came from Lex. She would wipe the pilot’s mind of this place later from the mind control technology she'd gotten with that Martian's evil brother. Surprisingly enough, as the jet appeared, Lena went towards it, and upon ascending, in a soft voice she knew only Kara could hear, she looked back, not looking at her directly, and spoke.

“Kara, I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk.” And like that, the Luthor was gone, out of sight, headed back to her safe spaces in L-Corp, National City.

And another surprising thing, Kara watched her leave, disappear, and as the paragon she was...

Kara actually had a little hope.

——————————————————————————————–

It had been 4 days so far. Just 4 days.

Kara’s POV.

The first, Kara sad and moping, too depressed to move, watch tv, even touch her favorite ice cream, Alex and Nia came over to comfort her and make her feel better, practically having to shove Kara’s favorite potstickers down her throat because Kara refused to eat. Get out of bed. She was super deadweight and even though the women wanted to complain, they knew Kara was hurting badly, and they had to give her sympathy. Eyes droopy, down to the floor, they were surprised Kara kept her breathing up, she’d forgotten to breathe before. Unfortunately they had work so they couldn’t care for Kara long. Kara’s friends made the rounds, each visiting her, taking care of her.

The second day Kara got around to caring for herself, just doing little things. Her heart, her whole body ached with sadness and her brain never quit once to torture her of the previous events. But at least she was mobile again. She managed to get a bit of food and water into her system without extra hands, but still, her body ached at the emotional loss of her bestest friend.

The third day, the world started to panic ridiculously, as it always did. Where was Supergirl? Why had she been missing? She was always seen around National City at least twice a day by someone, so where had the heroine gone? Of course the news started getting around. CatCo denied and refused anything about it, not having an opinion. Everyone there also knew of Kara’s absence, the excuse being she had a really bad cold and would miss a while, using her saved sick days even when working for Cat Grant. But alas, James, Winn, Lena… knew the truth about the situation, but they didn’t say anything. The guys didn’t speak a word to Lena about it, as it wasn’t their place.

The fourth day, Kara would joke to say the city was on fire because Supergirl didn’t come to put out the flames. At least the city’s fire and police departments were getting their exercise. Who cares! Supergirl deserved some time off. But trying to turn her super hearing off, Kara stared out the windows of her apartment, sighing sadly, wishing and waiting for the phone call she hoped for every day. But it didn’t come. She practically had her phone on full blast, scaring the daylights out of herself if someone else called her. But she swore it was worth it...

——————————————————————————————–

Lena’s POV

The dumbest 4 days of her life.

Burying herself in L-Corp work she’d put off with all the.. cringe.. Superhero work. Well, now was a good time as any to get caught up. She awkwardly remembered she was a lawyer before all cape-wearing hell broke loose. Oh well.

Unlike Kara, Lena didn’t have too many friends... She got Brainy as a part-time assistant since her prized tech had sacrificed itself, and with that her original assistant too. Well... she should really get around to making friends at some point.

Her first day was quiet, lonely. Barely ate, kept up her hydration with a mix of water and alcohol. Which wasn’t too good either. But she was getting through paperwork. It was calm.

Day 2 was less so. More work, finally getting food since her stomach was torturing her. But alas, quiet again. She was determined to be busy, to not think too much. It had only been 2 days.

And then it were 3.

Day 3, she was more lax. Work pretty much done, Brainy being ordered by the very much alive Lex Luthor to keep his sister alive while she secluded herself with the disappointing contemplation of “pitiful friendships with worthless people, especially supers” Lex had said.

Lena decided to watch some tv after finishing her work, grumbling when it meant she didn’t have much to do now. Upon seeing the news, the regular channel her tv usually stayed on, there were worried reports about a “missing Supergirl.” Lena sighed, knowing it was probably because of their... fight. Knowing the Kara side of things, the blonde was probably holed up in her loft, crying and either only eating comfort foods, or nothing at all. The small part of humanity, Lena believed, almost felt bad. But no. Kara had betrayed her. Lied to her, deceived her for so long. She wouldn’t be changed. She was hurt. So she rolled her eyes at the tv, and the rest of the day she caught up on some Netflix, getting as comfortable as she could in the big modern office.

And Day 4 for Lena, she was bored. Still hurt. But now, because of her copious amounts of free time, she decided to see from a 3rd point of view, her memories. And thankfully she could remember each and every one clearly.

The longer she stayed in her head, reviewing everything, the more her heart sank. All the lies, all the secrets from Kara... all the nice things Kara did for her, the way Kara looked at her when she thought Lena wasn’t looking... A pit began to form in her stomach, slightly guilty. And because the contacts allowed her to morph imagination into reality... her mind went faster than she intended it to, because when she suddenly found herself pinning a certain superhero to her desk, both faces flush, Kara’s stomach against the cool glass and metal, and Lena leaned right up against her curves, gripping her hair and whispering something she couldn’t make out into the shell of the blonde’s ear, well...

Lena immediately turned the contacts off, gasping for air with hands tightly gripping the chair’s arms. What the hell was that? Was she... with Kara... and they were... She shook her head dramatically, opting not to do that again. Damnit, now she felt cool under her dress. What the hell. Damnit. It was probably just an accident in her head, mind wandering a little too far being cooped up in this place for half a week. So she decided to go out, go home, get some sleep. And not have weird sexy dreams of mounting National City’s finest.

The days after that were long and dry. Supergirl eventually got back out, flying, helping, saving. She was on the news yet again and when reporters asked what happened to her, she said honestly, into the camera “I really hurt a friend. I didn’t mean to, but I did. So I’ve been trying to put things behind me, accept the fact that this probably broke our friendship, and if there was even a chance of anything more, that’s gone too. Sometimes things happen, and... you can’t fix it. You can apologize as much as you’d like, but in the end, the one who was hurt the most, it’s up to them. If they want to forgive you, or forget you. Whatever she chooses… I accept.” And then, as one super did, she took off to the next objective.

Lena occasionally saw a blue and red blur through the sky when she looked up, making her sigh, roll her eyes and look away. And upon turning on the news again, watching the interview, Lena grumbled, trying to rub the pink out of her face. Why was her heart racing. Why did her chest ache? She didn’t love Kara. Not like that. Jesus, get it together Lena. You were stone cold, an icy glacier.

So why.. Was stupid Kara Danvers… suddenly melting her heart?

——————————————————————————————–

“... And I don’t know why I keep having..” She paused, looking around the little restaurant her and Sam were at, as if feeling she was being watched because of course she was, but Lena sighed and rubbed her temples. “ Odd dreams of her.”

“Odd as in?”

“You know what I mean, do not make me say it out loud.” Lena growled, squinting her eyes as she tapped on the menu book in frustration.

“Have you maybe considered that you li-”

“No. I already told you what she did.”

“Lena.” Sam called, having serious eyes and hands on the other’s. “I know she hurt you, I’d be hurt too but you have to understand that when people have… abilities, they become a symbol. A big huge beacon that everyone can see, can follow, like a lighthouse. But sometimes, people get offended, threatened by such a beacon. It’s too bright, too helpful, too kind, whatever. They want to tear it down, hurt it. Destroy it. And if this beacon has anything it cares about, finding that care and tearing it down too, can ruin the lighthouse that much faster. She did it to really protect you. She wanted to tell you, and she just couldn’t find the right time, because what with your mother, and Lex, and Crisis, and even my.. Crazy super side... when was there a real opportunity to sit down, take a deep breath, and unbox another massive thing alongside all of that?”

Listening carefully, staring into Sam’s eyes, once Lena completely understood, she looked incredibly pissed off, which made Sam laugh right away.

“You know I hate it when you’re right.”

“Oh I know, and it’s hilarious. So what are you going to do?”

“Well first I’m going to drink a lot of red wine, get something to eat… and figure out how I feel about her.”

Giving another laugh, Sam patted Lena’s hands before pulling away. “So, you forgive her?”

“I... I guess. I’ll have to have a long, long talk with her.”

“So that’s an indefinite yes.”

“Yes…”

“And?”

Sigh. “I haven’t dated as much as everyone else, alright. I don’t even know how I’d approach this.”

Sam contemplated, while waving a waiter over, taking their orders and then going off. “Why don’t you call up a bunch of Kara’s friends, to get advice not just on her, but dating women in general. From what I hear, a lot of Kara’s friends are queer.”

Lena blinked, before groaning. Gosh. She would have, what, 4, 5 women making fun of her for being a grumpy Luthor with a crush on a super rather than a grudge. This was going to be great.

“We’re gonna need a whole bottle tonight, Sam.”

——————————————————————————————–

And so, the sun was in the middle of the sky, as 6 women sat in park benches all around. It was almost mortifying for Lena. Alex, Kara’s sister. Nia Noll, Kara’s super friend and ally within the not-so-newly-shapen CatCo. Then Sam, Lena’s one real friend, surprisingly enough. Then the worst of them. Well, worst for Lena’s conflicted mood. Alex had suggested and then carried through calling some more super friends for Lena to really get a good view and grip on the thoughts, lifestyle and feelings of actual queer women. Not that Alex wasn’t up to it, she just needed some more help. Sara Lance, and her adoring partner Ava Sharpe. Upon dating a super, Ava knew all about… everything. The two never kept secrets, so everyone was brought up to speed about the situation.

“So, yes… I guess.. I’ve come around to put an end to the anger I have for Kara, but I just wanted some outside opinions on-” Lena began, before being cut off.

“Dating women.” Sara interrupted, with that little gay smirk.

Lena snapped her head with embarrassed fury towards Sara, before fixing her skirt as she did and huffing.

“I don’t love her. I just wanted some… advice on how to deal with her feelings.” Lena said matter-of-factly.

“Because you want to return them.” Sara said again, having a shit-eating grin on her face. Ava gave a little laugh, patting her lover’s arm, hand and shoulder.

“Lena it’s completely normal and natural to feel this way.” Ava assured her, and everyone gave cute little nods together.

“Yeah besides, with how much Kara talks about you, I’m surprised this is only happening now and not ages ago.” Nia added, with Alex giving a knowing smile.

“Gosh, how my sister finally accepted her feelings and would just drone on and on about how much she cared about you. It might come as a shock but she was really stressed out all the time, wanting to tell you her secret but knowing you were too busy with the Luthor stuff so she kept quiet, not wanting to bother you.”

Oh… wow. Lena swallowed, trying to ignore the continued growing guilt in her gut. Kara was so upset, so stressed out, about her secret, her own problems and life but she shoved it all down for Lena. For Lena… because Kara loved Lena, not just platonically, but romantically. Maybe even…

“No!” Lena shouted, standing from her bench, startling all the other women.

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

Then she sighed, releasing some of the tension that had been built in her system.

“Gods... what’s the matter with me? You’d think a girl would learn...”

Suddenly she started singing as the sun began to set, and all the other women looked at each other, smirking at themselves and then Lena.

“If there’s a prize for rotten judgement, I guess I’ve already won that..”

The brunette picked up a flower, twirling it in her fingers before tossing it away.

“No person’s worth the aggravation… that’s ancient history been there, done that.

The women began to stand, all in a row next to each other before they too began to sing at the forlorn Lena Luthor.

“Who’d you think you’re kidding? She’s the Earth and Heaven to you, try to keep it hidden, honey we can see right through ya,”

“Oh nooo!”

“Girl you can’t conceal it, we know how you’re feelin’, who you’re thinking of!” Sam picked up the flower Lena had tossed, eagerly waving it within Lena’s view but she swatted it away with her hand, pacing away slowly, eyes half-lidded before she continued singing.

“Ohhhh, no chance, no way, I won’t say it no no.”

“You swoon, you sigh, why deny it oh-oh.” The women sang, crowding Lena with big grins, but again the Luthor waved them off.

“It’s too cliche, I won’t say I’m in love.” She means, really? A Luthor and a Super? No way. It was impossible. Their kinds were enemies. There was no way she was in love with Kara. Regardless of how the other felt.

The other woman cooed and sung in the background, following Lena as the gorgeous sunset brushed her face. They moved through National City Park, Lena unconsciously moving to the city’s large hero statue. The women all smirked even more if they could, they knew better and would continue to argue.

“I thought my heart had learned its lesson” (from loving and trusting people close to her, that it was a mistake) “it feels so good when you start out... My head is screaming ‘Get a grip, girl!’ unless you’re dying to cry your heart out, ohhhh oh!” Lena sang out, even putting a hand on her chest with the other extended, spinning herself and twirling as she belted out the tune.

“You keep on denyin’ who you are and how you’re feelin’, and baby we’re not buying, hun we saw you hit the ceiling! Face it like a grownup, when’re you gonna own up that you’ve-”

“Got!” Sara sang out.

“Got,” Added Nia.

“Got it ba-ad!” They sang in unison, all facing Lena with pointed fingers at her.

Lena stared with a startled look, before sighing, turning away and running a hand through her head. “Woahhhhh.”

“No chance, no way, I won’t say it, no no.”

“Give up, give in-” they sang, as Lena suddenly found herself up against the large stone statue of National City’s own Supergirl, making a power pose. A goofy lovestruck grin was plastered on her face, imagining those strong arms embracing her, holding her with love like nothing else mattered.

“Check the grin, you’re in loooove.” Sam called out to her with a snarky smile, insisting in song that Lena was beyond head-over-heels for Kara Zor-El.

Upon hearing such a call-out, her grin disappeared, she hopped down from the statue, and shook her arms away from her in an “Absolutely not!” fashion.

“This scene, won’t play. I won’t say I’m in loooooooooove-”

“You’re doing flips! Read our lips, YOU’RE IN LOVE!!”

“You’re way off base, I won’t say it,”

Almost giving into Lena’s boasting, they sang a line of agreement, shaking their heads in unison while Lena sang her line. “She won’t say in love..”

“Get off my case, I won’t say it!” Lena half-sang/half-growled, glaring at the background singers with eyes ablaze with… denial.

Then the group grinned and moved to sit Lena down on what felt like the lap of a second stone statue. Lena instinctively wrapping her arms around the neck of the oddly smaller stone superhero statue with her eyes closed, before glaring at the group again.

“Girl don’t be proud, it’s okay, you’re in loooove.” They sang again, Ava giving Lena the flower she’d previously picked and discarded, before all of them shrugging, waving goodbye, and walking together out of the park as they finished their background singing.

“Ohhhhh.... at least out loud…” Lena began, curling close to the statue, holding the flower against the statue’s neck, not realizing one of the arms had gone under her legs, and was lifting her into the air,

“I won’t say I’m in.... loooooove…”

“Sha-la-la-la-la-la, hahhhh…” The women sighed and swooned as they left the scene, and once the song was over, Lena opened her eyes to get a grip on herself, before screaming in surprise more than terror upon seeing she was way in the air over the park, in the arms of none other than her supposed nemesis, Kara Zor-El.

“I suppose we should talk about things, huh…” She laughed awkwardly.

——————————————————————————————–

Lena insisted they go to Lena’s penthouse, the apartment building closest to L-Corp while still being away enough to separate Lena’s work from her private life, if she even had one.

Her place was so white, so pristine, so modern. Kara, in her Supergirl outfit, landed on Lena’s balcony, gently putting her down.

“Were you following me? Did you know I’d be out there?” Lena asked right away, crossing her arms from leaning against the doorframe, blocking Kara from really entering her home.

“No! I wasn’t! Alex texted me during your uh,”

“Musical escapades,” Lena offered, rolling her eyes.

“Right, uh, yeah she told me to come down, said it was a good time to talk to you.”

Jeez, the Danvers sure were a team.

“Your song was really lovely. I didn’t know you could sing so well.”

Lena gave a playful smirk, with those mischievous eyes. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Supergirl.” She teased, before her face went serious, and she turned away, chucking her head a little to the side to silently invite Kara in.

“Do you have spare clothes? It.. feels a bit weird seeing you like this.” Lena murmured, hugging her arms to her chest as she sat down on the white couch.

“Oh! Uh, I’ll get changed hold on-” Kara flew to her place as fast as she could, changed, and flew back in a simple light blue blouse and dark blue jeans. Lena offered her one of the comfy white chairs across from the couch. Awkwardly Kara sat down, wringing her hands or fiddling with her glasses as she did when she was nervous. Lena almost felt bad. Maybe just a bit.

With a sigh, Lena got comfy before looking at Kara, then she sighed a little again. Gosh... Kara was so beautiful. Wait hold on. They were here to talk. That was all.

“So.. Kara. If that's even your real name?”

Kara looked incredibly offended, her face painted with hurt at such a first question, but she answered kind of angry. “Really?” Kara pouted, crossing her arms.

Lena shrugged with a smile, one Kara loved so much. Upon seeing a smile growing on Kara’s face, she looked away before making eye-contact. The seriousness was going to come by.

“Tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kara looked guilty, looking down, giving that whole vibe as if someone kicked a puppy. “I... I don’t know… I just.. I could never find the right moment, and then..”

“And then I found out by myself.”

“Right…”

“Because I was busy with all my stress, and the labs, and Lex.”

Kara visibly cringed.

“Being a Luthor, and my mother, the office, having CatCo at one point..”

Kara nodded, eyes full of guilt, sorrow, as she kept agreeing. Whether it was just to acknowledge or she really was agreeing with everything, nobody really knew.

Lena sighed again, running her hands against her temples, this time her sigh felt guilty and Kara actually lifted her head when she felt it. “I was so busy with everything, stressed out, with all the drama and the danger, you were always there for me when you could be. When you weren’t saving the world, when you weren’t helping other people, when you weren’t being Supergirl.”

Kara winced again, as if taking a kick to her actual form. She tried her hardest not to tear up because she felt so bad. But then suddenly there was a shadow over her face, and felt something on her cheek, it wasn’t just the tear that ran down… there… was something else. She looked up a little to see a thumb, then a hand, then an arm, and… Lena was standing over her, looking sad. Sympathetic.

Lena knelt down to be a little lower in height then Kara because of the chair, but then she painfully dragged the glass table over and sat on it to sit directly in front of Kara, doing her best to have her hand sit on Kara’s face the whole time. Once she was sitting, her other hand went on the left armrest. She wiped at Kara’s face with her thumb, stroking her cheek, and looking into those big sad blue puppy eyes, she nodded, and was almost relieved to give Kara permission to give her pale hand soft kisses to the muscle below the thumb, and her palm.

Kara was almost overjoyed at the touching, Lena’s sad eyes meant something. She put a hand over Lena’s, placing very light kisses upon the thumb’s base, and the palm, sliding it a little off her face to kiss the center of her hand but just as soon put the hand back on her face, taking a deep breath with a laugh when she heard Lena chuckle. This hand was practically her lifeline right now.

Lena smiled through sad eyes, but then frowned and Kara looked horrified like she’d just run over Lena’s dog. Oh Rao, what had she done to upset Lena now?!

“So… you kept the secret from me to protect me. That’s the truth, right?”

Kara nodded frantically, still holding the hand but even more delicately like if she really held onto it, it might break or turn to dust.

“You were keeping me safe from the possibility that someone might realize you have someone you care about, they’ll try to use that care against you. Right?”

Again Kara nodded, this time tears began to pool in her eyes and she did her best to be quiet, keep them in, not make a sound despite how much a whimper wanted to escape.

“You wanted to keep me safe. You couldn’t tell me your secret because you were too worried about all the other stress I had going on, you knew that this secret would just add to the load. You wanted to, as my best friend, but just couldn’t find the time? You absolutely wanted to but it just never found a time to come up. That’s the most part, right?” Lena was putting it into much better words than Kara ever could, not just because she couldn’t form a single word through the shaky sobs right now.

Then suddenly Lena stood, taking her hand with her. She moved the table back to its original spot. She moved away from Kara, back to the sofa on the other side of the table. Kara looked horrified. She’d done it. She’d ruined everything. Their friendship was over. Lena was going to kick her out, work with Lex, become her enemy. Kara morphed her face into the saddest thing ever possible, then she put her glasses onto the table to cover her eyes and face with her hands as she still tried hard, but the sobs, the whimpers were causing her to shake, almost violently, until-

“Come here Kara.”

Her sobs, her whimpers, her crying froze, and she looked up at Lena, who still had half-lidded eyes, but a small smile on her face. With knees to her chest, one arm on the closest arm rest, the other arm was extended out, patting the seat next to her. C’mere, girl.

Kara hesitated, as if this was a trick, a trap. In case Lena didn’t mean it, that this was how it ended, but then-

“Kara, please come here.”

With superspeed, Kara sat next to Lena, causing a slightly powerful gust of wind to go through but not enough to topple or damage anything. She sat on the couch with her back straight, legs pressed together, hands on her lap like the good girl she was, until Lena put her own legs on the floor, and reached over to drag Kara onto her lap. Kara was confused but she didn’t dare resist. Lena pulled Kara onto her lap, and with a grunt she moved herself and Kara to the middle of the couch so Kara could actually sit on Lena’s lap and also stretch her legs. Then Lena pulled Kara to her chest, wrapped Kara’s arms around Lena’s sides, and kind of gently forced them into a slightly awkward hugging position. Once Kara understood, she moved around a bit to make herself more comfortable, and as soon as Lena spoke again, giving her permission, Kara did exactly as she was told.

“It’s okay Kara. I forgive you. Let it all out. ”

And Kara did. She hugged Lena tight, not to hurt her, but a real genuine hug, and let out all her sobs onto Lena’s shirt. The brunette rolled her eyes but chuckled, rubbing Kara’s back and holding her close.

It was maybe an hour or two later. Poor puppy Kara had literally cried herself to sleep. And Lena seeing Kara without her glasses, she was definitely Supergirl. But wow had she cried a lot. And... wow... was she beautiful... Lena gently tucked a stray hair from Kara’s sleeping face, then leaned over to the table to get some very soft tissues, stroking them along Kara’s face, pressing a little roughly to wipe the dry tear streams, and any left over near her eyes. Then her stomach grumbled. She missed lunch and dinner. Thankfully she still had her phone on her so she ordered some food, enough for both of them if Kara woke up. And enough for breakfast. Thankfully she didn’t really need anything else till the delivery person arrived. And now back to Kara. Wow... she was so... so gorgeous... the gay in her wanted to place a kiss upon Kara’s sweet sleeping forehead… but the mature side of her knew she had to do something else.

Very carefully, Lena slid Kara’s slightly heavy body off of her to the other side of the couch, making her as comfy as Lena could. Giving her a pillow, covering her with a light blanket. Then… she did it. Lena leaned down, placing a soft kiss upon Kara’s forehead. Then admiring her sleeping face… wow. She would have and could have spent eternity watching that sleeping face, but thankfully, pizza was there. Lena went to pay, had a few slices as she put the boxes in her kitchen, and then watched a little bit of tv from her couch before wishing Kara a good night. Unbeknownst to them all, Kara smiled in her exhausted sleep. Finally, things were looking up for the most unpredictable pair of people.

#supercorp #Supergirl #fanfic #my fanfic #mine #lena x kara #kara x lena #Kara Danvers #Kara Zor-El #Lena Luthor #ao3 link #alex danvers #nia nal #sam arias #sarazanmai #ava sharpe #this was so much fun

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electric-sugar-darling · 4 years

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“Other”

For as long as I've known, I've been "other."

I am "other" in the eyes of a dominantly white American census. They see my brown skin (though sometimes, they claim to not "see color.") They see my smaller, almond-shaped eyes. They hear my speaking voice that, while occasionally quiet and stuttering, but firm when it comes to things I am passionate about, seems to blend with the American standard. Not a "foreign" accent anywhere within earshot. Though when I would go back to visit the Philippines in the past, I'd occasionally get poked at for sounding like an "American boy." But hearing how I speak now, it is assumed the colonization has worked, and that I am relatable from an American perspective. Yet when I speak of the cultural dissonance and assimilation I have faced in this country as a first generation Filipino immigrant growing up stateside, I'm told I just need to "work harder" and "be more confident," but assured that I am "beautiful" regardless. Honey, you don't know the half of how hard I've "worked," and what exactly I've "worked" on, to make my supposed "confidence" what it is today, to bring it to an acceptable level for me to play whatever functional role I am meant to play in this modern American society. But thanks for calling me beautiful, I guess. I am "other" when it comes to Filipino ethnicity and culture, because even though I am Filipino, I still struggle to fully connect with it, beyond reading up on histories, cultural norms, and current events of my home country as an adult, but never got to fully absorb and internalize as a child because I moved to the States when I was four years old. As such, I was too busy in my childhood attempting to fit into the white American standard to which schools are subconsciously defaulted in this country, under the guise of the United States being a "melting pot." The concept of a melting pot is so colorful, and attractive, and appealing, and almost comforting to a little brown child born in one country, but brought to an entirely new country, before education and social interactions could really even begin for that child ("that child" is Me, if I've lost you.) But the problem with the idea of a melting pot is that when things melt down, the individuality of the different flavors lose themselves when they all attempt to come together. And while visually, everything seems to have combined into one, it is still incongruous. Certain flavors overpower others or cancel them out completely, especially when there's too much of one, and only a pinch of "other." The idea of melting implies that everything has amalgamated into one, to make it easier to digest for the mass palate, specifically the status quo. The cost is that celebrating genuine individuality and uniqueness is (literally) lost in the mix, under the guise of "unity." But thanks for tagging me in your post about lumpia, I guess. I am "other" as a gay man, in a sea of image-obsessed, chiseled bodies, meant primarily for the white porn star standard of 'beach bod 5'9".' There's no room for overweight. There's no room for too tall. No room for stretch marks. No room for extra skin left over from weight loss, even though I was under the baseless assurance that losing weight would equal me being supposedly more "desirable." No room for being "too masculine looking" for guys that prefer their bottoms to be more feminine, twinky, and submissive. No room for not being masculine ENOUGH, as is the general dominant desirability factor in the endless swipes of hook-up app profiles, over which my thumb has all but burned itself off. Masc4MaskedToxicMasculinity, bro. No room for not being confident in yourself, even though you were picked apart for all those things on dating websites, until my outward physical appearance started to try and fit into these "desirable" niches and archetypes. There's plenty of room for Asians, apparently. Until they find out I (literally) don't fit in their fetishistic image of small, meek, petite Asian. I also get the occasional gem of "Man, I'm usually not into Asians, but..." or "Man, you're exotic looking." Big fucking yikes, bro. Yes, I am probably looking for gratification in all the wrong places. But even though I am gradually becoming more accepting of the parts of me that I previously hated, tried to hide, or distance myself from because I was made to believe they were ugly, the past emotional pangs still scratch at me, and I find myself going back to square one when I default to re-opening that dating app when I get that carnal urge, to try and feel better about myself. But thanks for sending me a wink, I guess. I am "other" in a society dominated by heteronormative romantic prospects. Soulmates, getting married, having kids, having one true love, love at first sight, true love's kiss. From a very young age, all of this is pushed onto us as something we had to strive for. An ultimate goal that we are meant to pursue, otherwise we are viewed as crazy, as spinsters, as eccentric and lonely old crones, as if any of these things were the most horrible things in the world to be viewed as. As a child, I had little playground crushes here and there. And as I got a little older, when I was faced with the possibility (turned reality) of being gay, I had crushes on boys, too. But I also had to push that away from my mind, because gay was that taboo thing no one ever talked about, or else it would be either vilified or mocked. But all these crushes were just fluffy, meaningless, outward attractions. I never felt any sort of romantic attraction. And as I got older, the idea of romance was a concept that never clicked with me. I've had exactly two boyfriends in the past, which, at the time, I considered "love." But was it really? Or was it because I was in the standardized view of a two-person mutual relationship with this person, that I instantly equated it as "love." I've never been able to fully make the connection of what exactly "romance" is. I take a very long time to open up to people. But when I do trust somebody enough, I tell them everything about me, the secrets, the ins, the outs, the whispers and screams of my heart, my dreams, my hopes, my despairs. But is that romance? Maybe it can be, but it wasn't for me. Because my closest friends and family are also people I've told all those private things to. Is it love? Sure. A platonic love. But I don't equate it to being romantically attracted to my friends or family. Is romance hand-holding and kissing? I've gone on dates and "seen" guys in the past, where we've kissed and held hands, even had sex. But did I consider any of it romance? Not in the slightest. Is romance sweet, thoughtful gestures? I do my best to show my friends and family I care with gestures whenever I am able, or sometimes, simply listening or offering words. But again, does that mean I am romantically attracted or linked to them? No. And so for a while, I thought I was some sociopath that simply was not capable of romantic love. Until I read about the spectrum of aromanticism. People who feel intense platonic love, and value these many important platonic relationships in their lives equally, but have never related to this idea of finding one specific fulfilling "love" above all others (the romantic kind) as something different than the other platonic relationships they have in their lives. I've never subscribed to the notion of ONE soulmate, because anybody that has made a profound impact in my life with whom I've shared a meaningful and long-lasting connection, and who fully understand me and accept me as I do them, I consider them a soulmate. I have many I consider "soulmates." And honestly, I'm tired of being told I "just haven't found the right one yet," when I have plenty of the "right ones" in my life right now. But thanks for suggesting that rom-com to me, I guess. I have lived my entire life in constant dissonance (which might explain why I like abstract 20th century composers.) Not necessarily because I WANTED to live in dissonance, but simply because any time I was simply trying to BE, there was pushback, or criticism, or questioning, which in turn, made me push back, criticize, and question myself. I have lived my life as perpetually "other," but for a time, believed it was a terrible thing to be anything "other" than what everybody else was doing or being. But I have lived through enough dissonance to realize that living against the grain is essentially what has gotten me this far in life. And although it was a difficult and uneven road to self-acceptance (and I still occasionally struggle with lingering pangs of insecurity to this day), this road is mine and mine alone. And without me on it, there would be no other.

#other #being different #immigrant #filipino immigrant #filipino #gay #queer #dissonance #aromantic #self love #self acceptance #confidence

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alexsfictionaddiction · 4 years

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12 of the best feel-good books

I think we could all do with a pick-me-up right now. We’ve been in some level of isolation for over a month and we’re perhaps being forced to accept a new normal. However, we’re still seeing frightening and tragic headlines all day every day (ration your news time, if you’re not doing so already), so of course, fear and hopelessness is going to set in. If you’re not used to spending time alone, loneliness is also a huge possibility but we know that books are a great source of solace in times like this.

Maybe you want to do your own research and discover how far into the realms of science-fiction we’ve got. For you, I have compiled a list of the best books that pandemic fiction has to offer but if you’re looking for something more light-hearted, I’ve got the perfect tonic. Whether you need a laugh, to be comforted or to simply remember what life used to be like, here are some books that will help you escape the current face of reality. Above all, remember that it’s perfectly natural for your mental health to be suffering at the moment. Do whatever you can to look after yourself and stay safe.

1. The Flatshare by Beth O’Leary

Remember when you could just move in with a stranger without worrying about keeping two metres apart at all times? Tiffy and Leon share a flat and even a bed but due to entirely opposite work schedules, they manage to not even meet for months after Tiffy moves in, only communicating via texts and notes left on the fridge. But Tiffy’s controlling ex-boyfriend and Leon’s innocent prisoner brother ignite a connection that is fuelled by basic human kindness and a touch of romantic attraction, of course! This quirky rom-com has been a bestseller for over a year now and it’s not hard to see why. It’s a celebration of love, friendship and the unexpected happiness that can come from taking calculated risks. Beth O’Leary’s second novel The Switch has also just been released, so there has never been a better time to read her debut!

2. Wonder by R. J. Palacio

A beautiful story of empathy, kindness and acceptance, Wonder has fast become one of the most popular and widely read contemporary middle-grade novels. Auggie Pullman was born with a facial deformity and he’s attending mainstream school for the first time but of course, kids can be staggeringly cruel to those who are different. Wonder kickstarted a global kindness campaign and spawned a film adaptation, which is one of the best and most faithful I’ve ever seen. It has already given so much to the world and I know you’ll get a lot of joy out of it too.

3. The Long Way To A Small Angry Planet by Becky Chambers

Of course, not all sci-fi is doom and gloom. This is the first instalment in Becky Chambers’ Wayfarers series and it’s laugh-out-loud funny. It follows a misfit crew of space travellers and their wonderful smile-inducing relationships. Celebrating the coming together of a variety of races, sexualities and personalities, it features a lot of loveable memorable characters who begin to read like dear loyal friends. If you’re looking for quirky, light-hearted sci-fi in a similar vein to Star Trek and Firefly, you’d be wise to start here.

4. Less by Andrew Sean Greer

Arthur Less is a struggling writer about to turn 50 and the love of his life is engaged to someone else. To say that he’s not feeling too hot right now would be an understatement but he has been invited to a range of literary events around the world, so he does the logical thing and accepts them all. We can’t travel right now but with Arthur, you’ll visit Paris, Berlin, southern India, the Moroccan desert and Japan. You’ll also go on a journey of self-acceptance, learn how to love the life that you have and appreciate the time you have left.

5. Hot Mess by Lucy Vine

It’s rare that a book makes me guffaw out loud in public but Hot Mess did exactly that, when I read it a couple of years ago. Ellie is a single woman who hates her office job and is absolutely nowhere near having her life together. However, she does have some great friends and a lovely relationship with her dad Alan, whose drafts of a romance novel are truly side-splittingly hilarious. We see Ellie through terrible dates, trauma confrontation and a quest for true happiness that is hugely satisfying. It has been described as a modern-day Bridget Jones but I found it much more relatable and actually quite a lot funnier!

6. The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

It’s the first in a trilogy of novels that explore the trials and tribulations of finding romance when you’re genetics professor Don Tillman. Don likes facts, logic and reason and he applies all of these things to his latest endeavour, The Wife Project. He knows exactly the kind of woman he wants to marry but then he meets Rosie, who ticks none of his boxes and he’s forced to accept that perhaps true love doesn’t always follow the rules. Don and Rosie’s relationship is such a heartwarming, mutually beneficial one that will make you laugh and leave you with a big bag of warm fuzzy feels.

7. The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien

There is a huge chance that you will have read The Hobbit but what better time to revisit a funny, charming favourite? Re-embark on the quest to retrieve Smaug’s treasure, take back the Lonely Mountain and make a plethora of fantastic friends along the way. As well as relating to Bilbo’s personal growth throughout the novel, I think the idea of facing epic threat and mortal peril in unknown environments and yet still returning safely home to a quiet comfortable life is the reassurance we need that this too shall pass. Of course, it will also be an intoxicating nostalgia trip, so there’s really no reason to not pick it up again!

8. The Bromance Book Club by Lyssa Kay Adams

I read this over the Valentine’s Day period and was so enchanted by it. Gavin is a top baseball player for the Nashville Legends and he has recently discovered that he has never given his wife Thea a genuine orgasm and it’s threatening the relationship. So he does the logical thing and turns to his team mates, who actually double as a secret romance book club. They suggest taking a leaf out of a smutty Regency paperback to save his marriage -what could possibly go wrong? Funny, heart-warming and touching, it’s a great choice if you’re looking for a rom-com with a difference.

9. My Pear-Shaped Life by Carmel Harrington

If you’ve spent a lot of self-isolation being wholly unproductive and perhaps not looking after yourself too well, you may be feeling that you’re simply not good enough. Especially if your social media is full of happy healthy people doing just about EVERYTHING. Meet Greta, a struggling actress who is used to playing the role of the funny, overweight girl in all areas of her life. That’s ok as long as she laughs with everyone else, right? But things have been pretty rough lately and it’s only when she hits rock bottom that she begins to realise that maybe things need to go a little bit pear-shaped sometimes. With joy and despair in equal measure, this new novel, populated with an array of wonderful characters, will teach you that true happiness comes from simply being you.

10. A Boy Made Of Blocks by Keith Stuart

Eight-year-old Sam is autistic and struggles to make sense of the world. His dad Alex has also lost himself somewhere along the way and needs to change. Minecraft offers a place where father and son can rediscover their bond and put the family back together, block by block. I reviewed this incredibly moving, uplifting story when it was first released a few years ago. It’s actually inspired by Keith Stuart’s real-life experiences, which I think give it an extra dollop of heart-warmth!

11. The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta

The entire focus of this fantastically written YA novel is on embracing your own personal uniqueness and on not being afraid to let it out. Michael is a mixed-race gay teen who has grappled with his identity for his entire life. On arriving at university, the idea of becoming a drag artist causes everything to begin to slot into place. Told in verse, The Black Flamingo will show you how your boldest brightest colours can shine through the darkest of times. Highlighting the power of words and challenging all forms of homophobia, whether it be external or internal, this is a book that I’m sure will become a staple of LGBT+ literature in years to come. As for now, it will simply inspire you to live your very best life, regardless of who tries to prevent it.

12. Reasons To Be Cheerful by Nina Stibbe

As the title may suggest, there is plenty to smile about in Reasons To Be Cheerful. It’s chiefly a coming-of-age novel about a young woman called Lizzie living in 1970s Leicestershire. She has just got a job as an assistant to a work-shy, racist dentist who is desperate to join the freemasons. Navigating this new position alongside a relationship with her alcoholic writer mother, a boyfriend who doesn’t seem terribly interested in her and a few unlikely friends, Lizzie’s life makes for some pretty amusing anecdotes. Whether it’s the simple retro setting or small cast of eccentric caricatures, there is something quite other-worldly yet familiar about it. There is a lot of detail that is relevant to the period it’s set in, including the blatant social prejudices that were so rife at the time. I am too young to have experienced 1970s Britain but it certainly feels authentic to what I know. I have no doubt that those that were there will get even more enjoyment and nostalgia from Lizzie’s life than I did.

#feel good #books #recommended #recommendations #uplifting

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whatevenismyaestheticidk · 4 years

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Things I’ve heard high schoolers say pt 2

Person 1: But air doesn’t splash Person 2: How do we know that, Im splashing the air right now.

Person: Prove me wrong. Prove fish can’t see air.

Person: I think you underestimate just how poor I am.

Person: I just invented a new thing. No Romo. Like no homo but with romance cause I’m lonely. Get it?

Person: So yah I burned my hair cooking ramen.

Person: Well I figured he wasn’t an adopted iguana.

Person: Say it. You know god is watching.

Person 1 upon heading the news of George Bush’s death: Wait he’s still alive? Person 2: No he’s dead that’s the point.

Person: I got it. *five second pause* no I don’t got it.

Person 1: My name is (name), but you can call me yours. Person 2: Okay nice to meet you yours.

Person: Don’t drink it all fool.

Person: Bruh you could literally turn in a gay fanfic and he’d give it an A.

Person: Bruh, what is this triangular accusation?

Person 1:It’s call physics. Person 2: Yah but I don’t take Physics hence they should not apply to me.

Person 1: Discreet. Person 2: No discr-yeet *dabs*

Person 1: Be impressed with my ability to bull shit. Person 2: I mean, it’s gotten you this far.

Person: Why do I feel like finals are lowkey Russian roulette? Like okay I made it through most of them but I still have a few pulls of the trigger to go and one of them might get me.

Person 1: Murder. Just do it. Person 2: I didn’t know that nike was sponsoring murder.

Person: How do mermaids reproduce if they’re just like conjoined legs?

Person 1: Frozen Yogurt Person 2: Fro yo Person 1: Frozen YOgUrt Person 2: Fro Yo Person 1: FROZEN YOGURT

Person: All I have to do to commit suicide is jump from my parents expectations to my grades.

Person 1: I mean yah I cheated on that test. Person 2: Man your love life it DOOMED!

Person: I was seeing if I was tripophobic by repeatedly stabbing my finger with my pen.

Person: You do know that crickets exist during the day right?

Person 1: Hey (person 2), we’re friends right? Person 2: ….. What do you want. Person 1: You know, that sandwich looks real good. *person 2 hand them the sandwich* OMIGOD THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU!

Person: Omigod (person’s name) is going through puberty!

Person: If you pulled my ear I would have ripped out your nostril.”

Person 1: She’s attacking me! Person 2: No, he’s beating a woman, that’s not polite.

Person 1: I know many things! Person 2: like what? Person 1: ..... Person 2: my point.

Person: My shoes will be sparkly red stilettos. Fight me Dorothy.

Person: umm hello Christmas miracle even though I’m not Christian. Come at me 15 years from now!

Person 1: you’d make a really good baldie Person 2: yah you have a really rest head shape

Person: you know teletubbies? Yah that but compressed.

Person 1: I mean how will you become American? Person 2: paint me white, I’ll get a passport.

Person 1: I’m so funny. Person 3: it’s hard not to be when your life is a joke.

Person 1: So I’ve decided that my new career choice is to make school specific memes Person 2: That's Plan A? Yeash... at least Plan B lands you some cash

Person: I’m so small and bitter I’m like a human expresso

Person: You know what I’d name a baby kangaroo if I had one? David Jowie.

Person: I’m just saying that the orange red glitter crayon is you.

Person: I feel like a 1940’s schoolgirl who goes to an all girl finishing school where embroidery is a required class.

Person: I started high school with straight A’s, now I’m not even straight.

Person: Yeah, I’d swear by comic sans.

Person: (Persons name)stop being depressy and you’ll be more sucessy

Person: You can totally be insecure and self absorbed at the same time.

Person 1: Are you kids okay? Person 2: Besides crippling depression yeah.

Person: I don’t know it’s just giving me pig vibes.

Person: What drugs where the animators for “Pink Elephants on Parade” on?

Person: long story short I make like a semi hot guy.

Person: If I where pregnant id just be like 'you put this thing inside of me, you're helping me until it's out.'

Person: These girls asked me what type of guys I like and being the simple gay I am, I completely blanked

Person 1: why do you read on your phone if you get carsick at 20 minutes? Person 2:Because it works for the first 19 minutes.

Person: Three Indians, a Thai, a Colombian, and an American walk into a bar. Just kidding they aren't old enough to drink. Three Indians, a Thai, a Colombian, and an American walk into a school cafeteria...

Person: I can't do alcohol cause I'm not of age but I can do drugs because they're illegal for everyone.

Person 1: you can't have a breakdown, it's the third day of school. Person 2:... so?

*Group of kids singing Bohemian Rhapsody in twelve different keys* Person: For gods sake choose a key!

Person: For gods sake that was complicated. You didn't need to send out a survey to see which episode of which season of which show to watch.

Person: Honestly I'd chose stab over dab any day.

Person 1: She said she'd throw me out of the window. Person 2: She never did. Person 1: She never did.

Person: What language is this? *pause* Oh wait it's English.

Person 1: I mean it's pretty hit or miss. Person 2 from across the courtyard: I guess they never miss, huh?

Person: Chu-chu bitch. I’m a train.

Person after loosing game of kahoots: I’m going to ka-shoot myself.

Person: So basically I need to learn Hungarian for a song.

Person: No one screams their sneeze, its not human

Person: If I where a mosquito I would bite you and you’d get malaria and die.

Person: That tide pod aesthetic.

Person: No I loved Barney, Barney was my bo.

Person: If I where my own boyfriend I’d dump me.

Person: It's already a really good song but then it's dubstep so it's extra good.

Person: No one is EVER to old for coolmathgames.com

Person 1: Why are you using a poon? Person 2:….. Person 1: WHY ARE YOU USING A POON?!

Person 1: I’ve been blonde for 16 years. Person 2: So what? I’ve been brown for 16 years and you don’t see me coloring myself white!

Person: Yes. Scrape the sweat off my hand.

Person: No one cares about a square cube of water.

Person: We’re melanin intoxicated.

Person: Well my life may be a mess, but at least I’m not doing drugs. Yet.

Person: Negative 13 out of 10, do not recommend.

Person: Yah that’s gunna have to be a no from me.

Person: Fool me once......fool me twice.......fool me as many times as you want, my first name is dumbass.

Person 1: Ya know, I think the Americans have the order of dates right JUST BECAUSE you can do 4/20/2019. Person 2: Okay but they’re still wrong though.

Person with AirPods: And where are YOUR AirPods? Thats what I thought you broke bitches.

Person: Salem witch trials bitches.

Person: La Croix, the AirPods of the soda world.

Person: Who needs a thermometer when you have… your hands!?

Person 1: It’s time to bring back SEXY MASQUERADE BALLS Person 2: It really is. I need an excuse to wear an incredibly uncomfortable dress that's so big I can't even walk through doorways. Person 1: And to wear a swan inspired mask that doesn’t cover enough of my face to deem myself totally anonymous enough to be half as bold and daring as i plan on acting that night but everyone else is on board we’ll all just forget about it the next day. Person 2: That's to specific for you to have made up on the spot, you've thought about this.

Person: It was lady Macbeth that drugged and made the guards drunk, without her Macbeth would just be like “I guess I’ll stab him???” Person: It’s like playing where’s Waldo but the page is India and I’m Waldo.3Person: Why are there so many frowny faces everywhere?

Person: This group chat is weird. It's either homework, deep philosophical conversations, or memes, there's no in between.

Person 1: Honestly, where DID it come from Person 2: The endless abyss that is the internet.

Person: Are you really blaming our generational depression on Jake Paul?

Person 1: Oh. My. God. Guys. Keep your carbon dioxide away from my computer. Person 2: But sharing is caring. Person 1: But my computer doesn’t need this kinda of negativity in its life right now.

Person: Sweetie, if you think I’m going to stop wearing my favorite dress just because you kissed me in it, you are dead wrong.

Person with a metal straw: I don't drink broke.

Person: My whole life has become that sock on the floor. It's just there. When did life screw us over and then just ex? I’m just gonna write a book, and the last sentence will be life screwed them over and then exed. A story of the main character who gets screwed over, so I can get that 'it be like that sometimes' reaction.

Person in group chat: Positivity- I will make you feel better about being an idiot. Self Doubt- I will highlight all of your mistakes and set low standards for you so you'll never be disappointed. Me to Self Doubt- I'm listening...

Person 1: Sadly the disappointment never goes away... Person 2: Man we're a sad lot this time of year.

Person 1:It’s almost my favorite time of the year Person 2:Ahh yes. Singles awareness day, also known as chocolate sales at Walgreens eve, also known as... Valentine's Day. Person 1:... Oh... I meant rainy season.

Person: Being antivax is like swimming in shark infested waters because you're afraid the bridge could break lmao.

Person: I learned how eat a kumquat this weekend.

Person: It’s so sticky. It’s like clear cheese.

Person: Hamburger helper? More like hamburger help me pass this class.

Person 1: So I slipped on a grape… Person 2: You got K.O.’ed by a grape (person’s name), how does it feel.

Person 1: Look at me, I’m fine. Person 2: Well how many drugs did you take. Person 1: Several.

Person 1: Did you just say it’s ALMOST FEBRUARY? Person 2: Yes, it’s January 72nd.

Person: I knew your comedic standards where low, but poop jokes? Really?

Person: What? So are you insinuating the fact that reliablest isn't a word?

Person 1: [bitter old man voice] back in my day, tik tok was a kesha song. Person 2: Back in my day we had wires attached to our AirPods.

Person: There's a reason rainbows aren't straight. Just saying.

Person reading sheet music and seeing mf crescendo: I forgot that mezzo forte was a thing for a second so I thought it said mother fucker as a crescendo but mood

Person: He looks like a fine piece of toasted white bread.

Person: If life hasn't given me a fist bump by now, why should I give life one?

Person: we all died in 2012 this is hell.

Person 1: Who wants a pamphlet on condoms? Person 2: Why do you have this? Do you collect them? Person 1: Yah it’s my hobby. I have this one, one on HIV and one on teenage pregnancy.

Person: We live a society where reading about assassins and gory details is a hobby.

Person: Stop breathing so loudly on my thumb!

Person 1: I’m the comic relief. Person 2: For what? Person 1: Myself.

Person1: Who’s your valentine this year? Person 2: Me, myself and I. Person 1: Wow three valentines, you really can’t keep them away can you?

Person: Why do women gotta get their period, why not men. I wish I was born a seahorse.

Person 1: No we can’t all fit, her car is smol. Like you. Person 2: Says you miss 5 foot nothing lmao. Person 1: Hey we’re the same hight so says you miss 5 foot nothing.

Person: No, that’s cheating no emotionally disabling people.

Person 1: Why is it that we’re talking about someone burning eggs on two different group chats. Person 2: Hey I didn’t burn them. Person 3: Cause why not?

Person 1: That’s not how an Australian accent works. Person 2: This is why I’m not Australian, I don’t have the koala-fications.

Person 1: I’m Indian, numbers run through my blood. Person 2: That’s like saying I’m going to marry my cousin just because I’m white.

Person: So I ate veggies and hummus for lunch but then I counterbalanced it by eating a spoon full of straight Nutella.

Person: Seagulls, California Pigeons, what’s the difference?

Person 1: I humbly apologize and request your forgiveness. Person 2: I humbly decline your request for forgiveness.

Person: I think I’m permanently stuck somewhere between “If you mess with me I’ll fight” and “If you mess with me I’ll cry.”

Person 1: It was implied! Person 2: What’s implied is your inability to accept that fact that I’m right!

Person 1: I got lazy because I was eating Pringles. Person 2: She values Pringles more than me.

Person: Yo, you be the crazy ex girls they be talking about in memes.

Person: I swear (persons name) if I hooked up with squidward in your dream your subconscious and I need to have a little talk.

Person: You get to die, and you get to die! Everybody gets to die!

Person: How do you just add a child?

Person 1: Look at this ink based pencil. Person 2: A pen?  Person 1: This egg is all broken. Person 2: It’s like you then, you both broke under the pressure.

Lakshmi: Don’t force your opinion, voice it.

Person 1: If I where a fruit, which one would I be? Person 2: Sushi. Person 1:… Sushi isn’t a fruit.

Person: I mean it’s not straight up “Yo come here I’m gunna kill you.”

Person: Bye gays, bye (other girls name).

Person 1: No (person B) stop. Just shut up. You’re making me loose brain cells. Person 2: But… Person 1: No. Just no.

Person: Stop. That is non-consensual pizza eating.

Person 1: Cheese is not a vegetable! Person 2: Well it’s not a meat either! Person 3: Guys… It’s dairy.

Person: Idiots have priority over just regular dumb people

Person: God melted the polar ice caps just to make it rain for Noah then refroze them. I don’t know (kids name) I’m not god!

Person: You and I will go out, and leave them to their raw fish rolled in sea salad.

Person: Does anyone else get really energized when they change their room? Just me? Okay.

Person: I hope you know I will diss you guys to the end of the earth.

Person: Bruh talk to (person’s name) I don’t know sh… *notices teacher looking at her*…niahhh.

Person 1: The thing is, I don’t want to be 80 that’s rough. Person 2: Then just die at 50.

Person: You’d be scrambled eggs with hair.

Person: Seeing you two fighting, it’s like seeing a piece of light fighting a black hole.

Teacher: What can you tell me about probability? Student 1: I hate it. Student 2: Dont you mean you? Student 1: Yes both.

Person: My brain has the dumb I’m sorry

Person 1: If my first word was no, I’m assuming that’s foreshadowing for them my family disowns me after I renounce religion and systemic abuse. Person 2: Or…. You just need to make sure your last word is yes. Person 1: Yes to what though? Person 2: ‘Are you dying?’ Yes.’ Pessimism, just your style. Person 1: That’s true.

Person: My parents don’t message me, they’re the type of people who CALL. Where did I get my social anxiety from??

Person: Well guys it's been great knowing you I’m just going to drown now.

Person: I figured out a new diet regime, it’s called sleeping until noon and just not eating breakfast.

Person: The f on my birth certificate was the doctor paying their respects.

Person: Chocolates with raspberry filling are the sole reason I’m still alive.

Person 1: Isn’t Latin a dead language? Person 2: You’re a dead language!

Person: Hydrate before you diedrate.

Person 1: you have a son named Spider-Man? Person 2: what noooo! Person 3: well don’t expose her!

Person: That awkward moment when you just really don’t care about people.

Person 1: (Person 2) and I will be over here with my virgin margarita and her water. Person 2: Hey! I want apple juice! Person 3: Why are you not drinking (Person 1)? Person 2: Because she’s to single, and also she’d strip. Person 1: Woahh! How dare you assume that I’m not drinking because I’m to single?

Person 1: Ya know, I think I’m going to have to jazz hands my way through hell. Person 2: All of us will.

Person: Brown town children, y’all find someone in India?

Person 1: Wow you have the best backup singers. Person 2: I only hire the best, at least 5 stars in yelp. Person 1: Well good because that’s the sound they’re making.

Person: The cold kills everything, it’s like my heart.

Person 1: Remember the rolls I brought to school last year that I used to give you? The ones with paneer and the really good spices? Person 2: Yah? Person 1: This is not at all the same thing.

Person 1: What’s stevia? Person 2: It’s like sugar but no.

Person 1: Yeetus Skelettus. Person 2: Fetus Deletes? Honey, that’s called abortion.

Person: Anything for you. That’s what you said. Anything for you. But when I ask for just one bite of your pasta? No!

Person 1: I've written 1,300 words and don’t have a thesis statement or topic question Person 2: Yeah, you need to figure that out.

Person 1: you know I had a dream that you where in a romantic relationship with a toaster. Person 2: wasn’t that your relationship with (ex’s name)? Person 1: you’d have more chemistry with a toaster.

Person: Can people read colors? Cause I am ooo.

Person: It’s like hands but medusa

Person: You look like a cardboard jellyfish that’s brown

Person 1: Two of us like boys. Person 2: We all like boys. Person 1: Two of us like ONLY boys.

Person: you’re like a reverse plant. You convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.

Person: Shhhhh. I’m not in physics, let me be dumb in peace.

Person: Why are you laying down like some greek god, get up you brown child.

Person 1: Do all of you just think you’re going to be single? Person 2: I already am why not keep the streak going to get a high score?

Person: and now cracks of light are coming out from around the sides like some sort of computer Jesus!

People 1 and 2: Rock Paper Scissors Person 3: shoot me please.

Person 1: not since 9/11 you can’t. Person 2: dang. You just tossed your whole country just to prove a point. I’ve never been so proud.

Person 1: what is an angle of depression? Person 2: it’s my life. Person 1: no it’s you because it’s not straight.

Person: Boom. Lesbians.

Person 1: Well what if two rocks just washed up at the same time and humans. Person 2: Evolution.

Person: Watermelon isn’t good anymore, I swear its just water with food coloring.

Person: You being dumb makes me want to correct you, sos too being dumb cause I’m on vocal rest.

Person: well (persons name) who have you a mouth?

Person: Teachers that grade late work deserve all the love and cookies and cake in the world.

Person 1: honestly I just want to die right now. Person 2: same. Literally same.

Person: I just feel like a single molecule lost in space.

Person: who’s gunna stop me? God? Damn him to hell.

Person: the line is not actually straight it’s like (students name)

Person 1: It’s your favorite sleep deprived gay. Person 2: But I’m my favorite sleep deprived gay. Self love. Person 1: We Stan.

Person 1: Why do you have a tool? Person 2: Because my hair is moist.

Person: eating lead was an otherworldly experience

Person 1: I have everything stolen from me 2: at least you have the tiniest bit of dignity left 3: what dignity? 1: exactly

Person 1:( holding up katsup) does this go on salad?

Person:I’m turning red! Me! A brown girl!

Person: I’m not trying argue that we should date, I’m just saying.

Person 1: what’s your biggest turn on? Person2 : a light switch Person 2: or then leaving.

Person 1: what is the most attractive retire on someone Person 2: my own face

Person: you’d be that one bar do white chocolate that just sits in the feidge because no one wants it

Person: that’s like saying I’d rather see your shirt than your face.

Person: why would I shut up when I can shut (kids name) down

Person: Subtle. Gay. Vibes. I’m telling you.

Person: just watch me write my ee on all the reasons why nick caraway is gay. Just watch me.

Person: Why are you stereotyping. What if the body doesn’t want trucks, what if he wants to be a fairy.

Person: being ace is basically just eww no but like forever.

Person: Stop trying to science your way out of being wrong.

Person: even if you did ask me out I’d still say no so then you’d even be rejected by a trash can

Person 1: you can’t read cheese color. Person 2: yellow?

Person 1: Think about it like you’re brown Person 2: She is brown Person 1: Then act like it

Person: You’re not an ugly frog, you’re a beautiful human being. Person: I am. Very very dumb. And also. Bisexual.

Person: I was thinking of something smart but then I forgot what it was.

Person: I want to skip the crush phase and just make out with someone.

Person 1: The only way to get into the Holland family is to marry in through Paddy. Person 2: (Person 1’s name) this isn’t the royal family.

Person: Omigod you looked like the human version of squid ward.

Person: I want to be smart. Where can I learn smart stuff?

Person: But plant the seed and smoke the weed and chop the cane.

Peeeson 1: that is the definition of meter? Person 2: about 3 feet. Person 1: okay thanks America

Person 1: who’s Tom Holland? Person 2: Spider-Man you uncultured swine!!

Person: I am not a children

Person: Ohh dang yeah forgot chickens existed for a while

Person: Hey! Don’t narrate my water!

Person: I don’t read water.

Person: Think of it as a relationship. If you and your ex break up they are salty but you profit because you wanted to end it but if you end it weak, then y’all will argue back and forth and get nowhere with ending it while still exchanging insults.

Person: You know those really sexual mattress adverts?

Person: Oh please, you have the sexual appeal of an easy bake oven.

Person 1: weed is a gate way drug Person 2: YOURE A GATEWAY DRUG!

Person: (first, middle, last name), I love you to the end of the earth. But you are a daft child.

Person 1: She’s like that type of girl. She’s the long paragraph white girl. Person 2: Well that’s a niche if I’ve even seen one.

Person 1: swing you two fight is like watching two ants fight. Person 2: you friking piece of bacteria!

Person: I’m just an intellectual.

Person: I will murder your face off.

Person: that’s like a kilometer tall.

Person: It’s weird when I pet you horizontally.

Person: to be honest I thought those were rocks in a jar for the longest time. Turns out they weren’t.

Person: does she have a brother or gay tendencies

Person: I’m going to slap your hand like it’s a fricking spider.

Person: I like your face better blurry.

Person: every night at about midnight someone starts googling astrology

Person: I will kick you. I will murder your soul.

Person 1: I’m just going to marry a millionaire. Person 2: Where are you gunna finds a millionaire in this economy?

Person: Welcome to my tea party, there isn’t any tea to drink, but we have a lot of it to spill.

Person: Yah, it was something about sex or something.

Person: You’re all uncultured swines.

Person: I’m about as straight as a sine curve.

Person 1: They’re not Oreo’s you dumb head Person 2: I know that dumber head. Person 3 :Shut up dumbest heads

Person: As an ex foetus i can say with authority that if my mother had aborted me i wouldn't have known nor would i have given a fuck

Person: I’ve just accepted I’m going to fail this test. I’ve gone through the 5 stages of grief already.

Person: Yes I’m blind that’s why I need glasses fool.

Person: what the fork do you want you little son of a biscuit.

Person: Anyway now I’m taking Tylenol PM and I’m going to actually sleep tonight that’ll be fun.

Person: I need all the hoodies. ALL OF THEM.

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imnotinclinedtomaturity · 6 years

Text

Love Yourself (Chapter 30)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 7.6k story words: 240k (so far) chapter: 30/? rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia, eventual explicit smut, some depression genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]

a/n: thanks to my one true love @auroraphilealis giving up whatever she was doing tonight to beta, even though she had a headache and unlimited lives on her fave mobile game of the moment xx

Dan woke up early, groggy from jetlag. The hotel room was shrouded in dark shadows, and in his sleepy state, he couldn’t tell if it was from the thick curtains or if it was still dark outside. Whichever it was, it really made him not want to move — well, that and the warm weight of Phil’s arm wrapped around his waist and the soft, rhythmic tickle of Phil’s breath against the back of Dan’s neck. Sometime during the night, they’d shifted from their original position of Dan’s head on Phil’s chest. They hadn’t drifted far from each other, though. Somehow, they’d ended up spooning, and Dan secretly loved that even in their sleep, they’d wanted to stay close together.

But despite the serenity, worry nagged at the back of Dan’s mind, and he found himself itching to check his phone. He’d spent the majority of the plane ride ruminating about Isabella’s interview, his mind spiraling and dreaming up worst case scenarios. During the one hour of the flight he’d managed to sleep, he’d dreamed that Isabella had told everyone he’d cheated on her with Phil.

Luckily, last night he’d slept peacefully — he couldn’t imagine trying to film an interview in front of a live audience on a fitful night’s sleep. Dan suspected that Phil had something to do with why he’d slept so well, but now didn’t seem like the time to explore that thought.

Careful not to disturb Phil, Dan stretched forward to swipe his phone off the bedside table. He clicked it on, and was surprised to find that it was only half past seven — his alarm wasn’t due to go off for another half hour. Less surprising was the fact that there were already two text messages from Louise; it was five hours later there after all.

The messages had only come in an hour ago.

There was little doubt in Dan’s mind that the messages had something to do with Isabella’s interview, because Louise would have waited until a more reasonable time to text about anything else. Wiggling further back into Phil’s embrace, Dan took a deep breath and opened them.

Louise [6:28AM]: Tatler has already posted about the interview. They must have wanted to get it out fast, because it’s pretty much just a transcript, not a proper article. I’m going to read it now.

Louise [6:37AM]: You’re going to hate it. Honestly, it’s not that bad, there’s nothing so damning that you can’t fix it. But… you won’t like it :( Here’s the link: www.tatler.uk/18572650

“Fuck,” Dan muttered, apparently a little too loudly. Behind him, Phil stirred; his leg shifted, wrapping fully around Dan’s, and Phil pulled him in closer.

“What time’s it?” Phil asked, his voice deep and scratchy with sleep.

“Half seven,” Dan answered shortly.

“What’re you doin’ up?” Phil slurred. His hand dipped just inside the hem of Dan’s pyjama pants, his thumb stroking Dan’s bare hipbone. On any other morning, Dan was certain that this would be pleasant — peaceful even. But this morning, Dan’s mind couldn’t detach from the real world enough to enjoy the touch.

“Louise texted. The interview is up.” Even to his own ears, Dan’s voice sounded flat. Flat and tight.

The news seemed to affect Phil just as much as it had Dan. The gentle caress of Dan’s hip stopped abruptly, Phil’s hand gripping his waist tightly instead.

“How bad?” Phil asked warily.

Dan tipped his head slightly so that he could at least sort of see Phil. “Dunno yet. I haven’t read it. Louise said I wouldn’t like it, but it, and I quote, isn’t too bad and there’s nothing too damning.”

“That’s… contradictory.” Phil’s brows were furrowed; he looked just as confused as Dan felt.

“Fucking tell me about it,” Dan grumbled. Louise had never been one to sugar coat news about publicity, so he objectively knew this couldn’t be that horrific. But still, the fact that his best friend knew he’d hate what Isabella had to say… He had a feeling that meant that Izzy had probably gone for the jugular.

“Well,” Phil said with a sigh. “Should we read it?”

“Unfortunately,” Dan huffed. One hand dropped from his phone, reaching instead for Phil’s arm that was wrapped around his waist. Slowly, Dan slithered his hand down until his fingers linked with Phil’s. Looking over his shoulder, Dan’s eyes flickered back and forth between Phil’s. “Together?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course,” Phil agreed, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to Dan’s forehead.

“Alright, here goes nothing.” With a sigh, Dan rolled back onto his side, and clicked the link Louise had sent. He felt Phil raise up on his elbow, his head hooking around Dan’s shoulder so he could read too. The page loaded, and Dan dove into reading, knowing that if he procrastinated at all, his anxiety might stop him from ever being able to read it.

—

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly of Love with Daniel Howell

This morning, I sat down with one of Tatler’s favorite models, Isabella De La Renta, to talk about her recent split from singer Daniel Howell (see here, here, and here for our past coverage of the shocking break up). For those curious, Isabella ordered a green tea (maybe inspired by her recent trip to China; see here for more details) and a yogurt parfait (no granola because she doesn’t eat carbs to maintain her perfect figure!). Isabella dished on everything from Dan’s shocking announcement about his sexuality (see his instagram post here) to how their relationship was going before their split.

You and Dan dated for a long time —

IDLR: Almost a year!

What’s life like now that you’re broken up?

IDLR: It’s been a hard adjustment. In so many ways, Dan was my best friend. It still feels weird to not be able to call him after a long day or to share good news.

I think it goes without saying that your breakup was a huge shock to your fans. Were you surprised?

IDLR: Yes and no. By the time we broke up, I knew it was the right thing to do, but if you asked me earlier this year, I never would have guessed. Just a few months ago, I went to Adalina’s birthday dinner — that’s Dan’s little sister — and his mum and I were talking about rings. His whole family was so welcoming and seemed really supportive of the idea of marriage.

Oh wow — rings. How did that come up?

IDLR: Dan’s mum was wearing a gorgeous diamond ring that he bought her for Christmas, and she made a point to tell me that. It was so clearly a sneaky way for him to get my opinion on what kind of rings I prefer. It was kind of sweet actually.

From ring talk to breaking up, that’s quite a change. You said that you knew breaking up was the right thing to do. Why was that?

For the first time since we sat down together, Isabella fell silent. Her eyes drifted out the window, and she was silent a long time. By the time she spoke again, her voice was choked up with tears and the model’s response was interrupted by delicate sniffles. It’s clear that this topic is still hard for her to talk about.

IDLR: We dated almost a year and, like I said, we were best friends. I thought I knew everything about Danny. And then in January, he told me he was attracted to guys, too. I really didn’t want it to affect our relationship, but I felt so betrayed that he’d kept such a big part of himself secret from me that it was hard to trust him anymore. In the end, I knew I couldn’t be with someone who wasn’t willing to be completely authentic with me.

Did you feel like he continued to be inauthentic with you after he came out to you?

IDLR: Yes, yes definitely. Dan assured me — just like he announced on his insta — that he’s bisexual. But after a year of dating him, and seeing how he is with a certain boy, I think maybe… maybe he’s not bisexual if you know what I mean.

Interesting. So what do you think that means about his relationship with you?

IDLR: Honestly, I feel really used. Before he told me about his sexuality, there were definitely moments where I felt like he was dating me for reasons he wasn’t letting on. But I never would have guessed it was a coverup for being gay.

I don't think any of us anticipated that! How did Dan handle the breakup?

IDLR: He really didn’t want to break up — he asked me several times to reconsider. I think he liked being able to show the world that he had a girlfriend, and ultimately, we did have a lot of fun together. Even if it did turn out to be not genuinely based on sex or romance.

Since you teased about it, will you tell us what the sex was like?

IDLR: Nosey nosey! For a while, it was good — maybe because it was new or him exploring or whatever. But that must have worn off or something. For the last few months, he wasn’t interested in it at all. He’d always find an excuse to get out of it, and the few times he didn’t… well, let’s just say it didn’t work and it wasn’t my fault. That was really hard to come to terms with and I felt so rejected.

That would be difficult for anyone to handle.

IDLR: I feel like it was extra hard for me because I’ve, like, never been rejected like that before. I grew up always being the pretty girl that everybody wanted, so to have Danny not want me in that way… Well, that’s when I knew for sure that he wasn’t bi, and realized our whole relationship was totally fake and I was just his… beard.

His beard — wow. That’s not something you hear much anymore.

IDLR: Maybe people are just better at keeping secrets now. Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to notice that I’m the only public relationship Dan’s had. Why else do you think that would be, if it wasn’t that all his lovers were men?

I asked Isabella if she had any final things to say about Daniel Howell, and she left us with this powerful message:

“Danny had me fooled for almost a year, and we were closer than I thought two people could be. Don’t hesitate to think that he might be fooling you too.” -IDLR.

—

“Fuck fuck fucking fuck!” Dan cursed. Every single word in the article was complete bullshit, but that quote at the end — that quote was the final fucking straw. How fucking dare Isabella twist the story like that, and then use her twisted, fucked up version of events to make everyone question everything he was going to say?

Adrenaline was coursing through Dan’s veins, and he couldn’t possibly stay still for another second. Dan chucked his phone towards the foot of the bed, not bothering to check if it landed safely — it was cracked anyway — and abruptly lunged out of Phil’s arm.

Pent up energy was eating at him, making him itch to move, so he began pacing their room. With vehement quickness, Dan marched up and down the small aisle between the foot of the bed and the dresser, pacing from the sofa to the bathroom and back, over and over and over.

“Fuck her, fuck her, that fucking cunt!” Dan spat, bringing one hand up to tug roughly at his tangled curls.

“Dan, I know you’re pissed off, but —” Phil started to say, but Dan wasn’t having any of it. He just barely glanced over, only fleetingly noting that Phil had pushed himself up to a sitting position and was now leaning forward like he wanted to say something.

“Pissed off?” Dan asked incredulously with a bitter laugh. Pissed off didn’t even begin to describe how Dan felt right now — he was downright livid, and he literally could not remember a single time where he’d been more upset than this. Not when his dad had sold his car without his permission, not when a group of obnoxious young fans had tried to harass Adaline for information, not when an unreleased, private song had accidentally been released to the public.

This — this was a whole new fucking level of anger, and there was only one way Dan knew how to cope with it.

Music.

He wanted everyone to know that Isabella was the one trying to fool the world, that Isabella was the one lying out of her ass. And what better way to do it than singing a song that practically screamed how fucked up Isabella’s behavior had been?

And if he sang it tonight, just hours after Isabella’s interview was released, people would know he’d written it beforehand — it would be at least one piece of evidence that would corroborate his version — the real version — of the story.

“That bitch isn’t getting away with this,” Dan muttered fiercely. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his side, his breaths coming in harsh huffs.

“Don’t do anything too rash, Dan,” Phil half-heartedly pleaded from the bed. The words knocked Dan out of his thoughts, and he froze mid-pace to spin around and face Phil.

“It’s not considered rash if I already planned on releasing the song at some point, right?” He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Phil narrowed his gaze, though, eyeing Dan carefully. “I thought you said you only had one song you could perform without the backup band?”

Dan narrowed his eyes. He understood Phil’s rebuttal — Dan had told Phil that there was only one song he could play with just his guitar. My My My was Dan’s only acoustic song. But that didn’t mean it was the only song he could play without having his full backup band with him.

“Well, technically,” he admitted slowly. “But I do have another song — a perfect song — that’s basically ready. The band’s already recorded the instrumental parts, so I could just sing to that,” Dan suggested tentatively.

To Dan’s surprise, Phil pouted at the news. His bottom lip stuck out pitifully, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I thought my song was perfect?” he whined.

The anger that had been curling at Dan’s edges receded slightly, utter adoration for the man in front of him creeping into its place. Despite the urge to retaliate against Isabella’s accusations, Dan found his entire body, his entire demeanor, softening. Phil was so cute, and yet so petulant, that Dan couldn’t help melting. There was a happy glint in Phil’s eyes that was never there when Isabella had pouted at Dan, a spark that told Dan that this was different.

Before Dan could process his own actions, he was moving again, this time walking with purpose towards Phil and coming to a stop at the very edge of the bed.

Reaching out, Dan cupped Phil’s face in his palms, tilting his head up until their eyes met.

“Of course your song is perfect, Philly,” Dan reassured him with a soft smile. “But I wrote My My My, and the rest of your songs for that matter, when I was happy and giddy and in—” Dan paused, a hot flush rising to his cheeks. “Well. When I wasn’t in this kind of mood. And I’d rather the world didn’t hear any of them for the first time with this mood tainting it.”

For a moment, Phil just held Dan’s gaze. Dan raised his brows hopefully, almost pleading for Phil’s sad look to go away. But then Phil’s pouted melted, and a small smile replaced it instead. A part of Dan — a bigger part of him than he’d like to admit, really — was surprised at how quickly Phil’s pout had disappeared, even if the pout had only been joking in the first place. After a year with Isabella, Dan was used to fucking groveling if he wanted those sad looks to go away without sex.

“The rest of my songs?” Phil marveled, a hint of astonishment lacing his voice and a pink blush tainting his cheeks.

“Yes you loser, the rest of your songs.” Dan huffed, but not bothering to hide an enamoured grin.

“I didn’t know there was more than just the one,” Phil said softly, a note of awe in his voice.

“Did you even listen to the concept of the album?” Dan shook his head and rolled his eyes. Humor and fondness were seeping into his words no matter how hard he tried to sound serious; it didn’t matter that he’d been delirious with anger fifteen seconds ago, something about this boy managed to swing his mood to the polar opposite in the flicker of a second. “Wanting you, getting you… doesn’t that imply a bare minimum of two songs?” Dan teased, quirking an eyebrow and running one hand along the short, buzzcut side of Phil’s hair.

Isabella wasn’t right, he wasn’t gay, but he definitely reveled in how much of a boy Phil was.

“I mean,” Phil’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, his mouth pulling into a broad grin. Through his teeth, Phil’s tongue continued poking out of his mouth, and for once, his hand didn’t shoot up to hide it. “I guess I objectively figured that. But I didn’t, like… know. For sure, I mean.”

“You’re a dork, but I like you anyway,” Dan teased with a smirk.

Leaning down, Dan closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Phil’s. The kiss was soft, almost chaste, at first, but the adrenaline that had been plaguing Dan must not have settled yet. The gentle kiss quickly grew heated, Dan’s mouth parting and his tongue darting out to lick along Phil’s bottom lip.

The soft whine Phil let out made Dan grin smugly.

“Before I call Lou about the song change, I need to shower and cool down,” Dan panted against Phil’s mouth after a moment, only drawing far enough back to mumble the words. Tipping his head forward, Dan captured Phil’s lips once more, playfully, sucking Phil’s bottom lip between his own, and letting his teeth graze along the sensitive skin just inside of Phil’s mouth. “Come with me?”

Hot staccatoed breaths fanned across Dan’s face as Phil chuckled, chasing Dan’s mouth to press a final, chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m pretty sure me showering with you will do the opposite of helping you cool down,” Phil teased.

“But Phi-illllll,” Dan whined, his voice several octaves higher than normal. Childish petulance seemed to take over Dan, and he stomped his foot on the ground, tugging pointedly at Phil’s hair.

“But D-annnn,” Phil mocked, his voice somehow even higher than Dan’s. Smirk on his face, Phil lightly shook Dan by the hips.

Actions speak louder than words, or so everyone said, so rather than replying, Dan opted to slide his hands from Phil’s cheeks down down down until he’d landed on Phil’s hips. Even then, Dan didn’t stop; one hand drifted farther, slipping into the hem of Phil’s pants. His fingers grazed Phil’s hipbone, creeping farther and farther back towards Phil’s arse.

Dan wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips in what he hoped was a suggestive manner. “Come on,” he said gruffly, his hand lightly squeezing what he could reach of Phil’s arse.

“I’ll tell you what,” Phil started with a mischievous glint in his eye, shaking his head at Dan’s offer but smirking all the while. “I promise we’ll do something fun when you’re done filming the show.”

Lips pursed, Dan raised his brows skeptically. “Why can’t we do something fun later and now? It seems unnecessarily cruel for you to lounge in bed and leave me to wank in the shower,” he whined.

“Jesus christ, Dan,” Phil muttered, his eyes squeezing shut. Against his hips, Dan could feel the way Phil’s fingers dug in, he could see the way Phil’s entire body tensed. Everything about Phil’s demeanor made Dan confident that Phil would cave, if not now, then soon.

It took a moment, but Phil opened them again, although he didn’t quite meet Dan’s eye. “We both know if I come with you, we’ll both get absurdly distracted.”

“So?” Dan asked petulantly, sticking his lip out this time.

“So!” Phil huffed, exasperated. “You have a big day today and should focus on that. Besides, I should really call my mum.”

Dan wrinkled his nose, horrified at the change in subject. “Your mum? Are you really dragging your mum into this to turn me off?”

“Shut up, you twat.” Phil rolled his eyes, finally tipping his head far enough back to meet Dan’s gaze again. “My mum’s only request is that I text her if I leave the time zone, and now we’ve traveled through like six, so I think I owe her a call.”

“Yikes,” Dan cringed, his face scrunched up in horror. “You should have called her from the aeroport or something!” Dan tapped Phil’s shoulder impatiently, trying to get his point across.

Phil smiled softly, one hand reaching up to still Dan’s hand, trapping it against Phil’s neck. “I didn’t wanna leave you alone,” he said warmly, his other thumb grazing over Dan’s hipbone.

“Ugh,” Dan recoiled instantly, his nose wrinkling up in disgust. He wrangled his hand out of Phil’s grip, lightly swatting him on the shoulder. “Gross,” Dan whined, but his lips were drawn into a beaming smile.

Phil flicked Dan’s shoulder with his free hand, and flashed him a cheeky grin. “Shut up and go shower, Howell.”

“Fuck you too, Lester,” Dan pouted.

“You can do whatever you want later,” Phil teased coyly, his hand dipping into Dan’s pants to squeeze the top of his arse. Even knowing that Phil wasn’t going to accompany him to the shower, Dan couldn’t help but arch back into Phil’s touch.

“Fine, but you better believe I’m taking you up on that promise,” Dan griped, taking a minute step backward.

“Good,” Phil said with a shameless smile. “I hoped you would.”

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

As much as Dan had resented having to get himself off with a rushed and mediocre handjob in the shower when he had a perfectly good, sexy boyfriend right outside the door, Phil had been right. From the minute Dan had gotten out of the shower — literally, he actually got out early because Louise was ringing — until the time Dan had been plopped down in a makeup chair in a small dressing room, he’d been having non-stop conversations about logistics and planning. Between Louise, his record label, and the Tonight Show coordinators, Dan barely had time to breathe — much less fuck around in the shower.

All the planning had been good though. It kept his mind busy and held his nerves at bay — until now.

Now, as some random woman dabbed foundation onto Dan’s face, there was nothing to do other than let his mind wander. Phil had ducked out a few minutes ago, going on a quest for decent coffee for Dan. While Dan really did want some tolerable caffeine, he was beginning to regret letting Phil be the one to get it.

Phil’s grounding chatter had disappeared, and along with it, so had Dan’s composure. Nerves had settled deep in the pit of his stomach and were slowly taking over his whole body. Sure, Dan had been given a run-down of topics Jimmy would hit on — and allowed to veto any he was uncomfortable with — but the gravity of what he was about to do, what he was about to talk about on national television, was weighing on him.

The makeup artist finished with the foundation and grabbed a natural-looking dark brown mascara from the pot. “Look up, please,” she instructed.

Dan eyed the brown mascara — mascara that was basically almost the exact same shade as his own eyelashes. Something about it didn’t feel right tonight, and he couldn’t quite keep his gut from screaming about it. This whole week was a movement towards being more authentic, and in a sudden moment of brazenness, Dan interrupted the makeup woman.

“Actually —” Dan paused. Stalled in hesitation, his tongue darting out to nervously wet his lower lip. Fuck it. Tonight was about making a statement. A big, loud and proud statement. He wasn’t going to half-ass it. “Can you do some eyeliner first? And maybe the black mascara?” The words came out more unsure than he’d wanted them to, and his hand was shaky as he pointed to the most dramatic tube, but he’d asked all the same. That’s what counted.

Dan expected the woman to be surprised, to balk at his request for something more feminine than she was offering. But to his surprise, she smiled broadly and gushed, “Of course!” as she pulled a small bag out of her kit. “What kind of look are you going for? Something subtle that will bring out your eyes? Or something more dramatic like the mid-2000s emo trend?”

“Um…” Dan floundered, suddenly doubting his decision — he didn’t want either of those options. Eyes fluttering closed, Dan listened to Adaline’s voice in his head saying one deep breath and then do the thing that scares you. “Neither,” he said as he met the makeup artist’s gaze with a defiant stare. This time, his voice wasn’t trembling or uncertain. It was strong. Confident.

The makeup artist’s head tilted slightly, and her lips quirked up into a small grin. “Okay, tell me what you’d like.”

Dan’s gaze drifted to his reflection in the mirror, his eyes tracing over the features of his face. “Nothing too dramatic, but I want it to be… noticeable.” He contemplated his long lashes and the dark brown of his eyes. “Something… pretty.”

“I can definitely do pretty!” The woman assured him with bubbly enthusiasm. “What are your thoughts about a bit of highlighter and bronzer to make those cute cheeks pop?”

A warm blush flushed Dan’s cheeks, and he looked down at his lap to hide his smile. He was flustered. Not from her calling him cute, but from the fact that someone other than Louise was willing to indulge his interest in makeup.

“Yeah,” Dan agreed softly, glancing up to meet the woman’s gaze in the mirror. “Whatever you think will look nice.”

Mesmerized, Dan watched as the woman pulled palette after palette out of her bag, opening and closing them as she seemed to debate which products to use. It was all so much nicer than the kid’s kit he’d bought Darcy, and so much more than the small stock Adaline used to have in her bathroom drawers.

The woman brushed powders over his cheeks, some feeling like they were almost down to his chin, some feeling like the went all the way up to his eye. Having his makeup done — proper makeup, not just stage makeup — was more nerve-wracking than Dan had anticipated, and he forced himself to avert his eyes anywhere but his own reflection. If he saw himself before she’d finished, he worried that he’d lose his courage; it was better to wait until the whole thing was done, then it would be harder to derail.

And maybe it’d look nice enough that he wouldn’t want to.

He reached out for one of the untouched palettes and opened it, only to find an array of greys and whites and blacks, some shimmery, some matte, and some straight up glitter. They were pretty — prettier than he thought he thought makeup could be, honestly.

“What’s this?” he asked, raising the palette a bit so the woman could see.

“Eyeshadow. Do you want some of that, too?” She asked it like it was the simplest question in the world, not like Dan was taking a rather large step in his slow but steady defiance of gender roles and heteronormativity.

His eyes lingered on one glittery grey powder, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly like a gaping fish.

After a moment’s hesitation, he weakly responded, “I think… not today.”

The makeup artist considered him for a second before plucking the palette out of his hands. “It’s up to you, of course, but we could do something really subtle. Maybe like this?” She spun the palette around so Dan could see it again, and pointed to one of the lightest options, a pale white with the faintest of shimmer. Dan didn’t know much about makeup, but he doubted the color would even show up on his skin.

“Does that even count as a color?” he asked doubtfully.

“It’s more of an accent, usually.” The makeup artist shrugged. “But if we swept it across your eyelids, the light shimmer would catch in the light and it would look nice. Barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it, but nice.”

Dan hesitated again, his fingers tapping the table in front of him as he considered her offer. For some reason, eyeshadow — even eyeshadow that was basically nonexistent — seemed like a bigger step than eyeliner and something to accent his cheeks.

“Here,” the makeup artist said in a soothing voice, almost as if she sensed his apprehension. Without waiting for a response from Dan, she pulled a brush out of her toolkit and reached for Dan’s hand. “I’ll swipe it on your hand so you can see what it looks like on your skin first.”

“Oh!” Dan breathed, astonished. The idea of testing it somewhere hadn’t occurred to him at all, and he was suddenly realizing how fucking little he knew about makeup. Pliantly, Dan let her guide his hand towards her, and he felt his cheeks heat up again as she swiped the brush against the inside of his wrist. It tickled far more than he’d thought it would — not necessarily a bad thing, though. The sensation only lasted a few seconds before she released his hands and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Slowly, tentatively, Dan lowered his arm, flipping it up so that he could see the soft, paler skin on the inside of his wrist.

In the end, the powder she’d applied was so light that he almost couldn’t see it. It wasn’t until he tilted his arm back and forth that he was able to see how the powder caught the light. She was right — it was just a faint shimmer, one he might not notice if he wasn’t trying to find it.

Still, the barely-there glitter was hypnotizing, and he found himself unable to look away.

“It’s so pretty,” he breathed, more to himself than to the woman.

“I’ll put it on your eyes, then,” she said definitively, leaving no room for Dan to refuse. “If you hate it, it’s easy to take off,” she added, softer this time, as she pointed to a packet labeled makeup wipes. Dan nodded, letting her do as she pleased.

As he pleased.

Tonight’s interview wasn’t a now or never moment — there would be plenty of other opportunities to make the statements he wanted to make — but it felt just as heavy. This appearance, this interview on The Tonight Show, was his first deliberate appearance after coming out just two nights before. Big gestures, actions that spoke louder than words — those had always mattered to Dan. Deep in his gut, something about this moment — a moment when he knew the largest possible audience would be watching — was calling for a grand display, and he was determined to do it justice.

“Go on then,” Dan whispered, taking a deep breath and then closed his eyes.

The tickling sensation felt different on his eyelids, but it still made his skin prickle in the same pleasant way. It was gentler and far more precise than when Darcy had tried to do it, and some part of Dan — a part of himself that he didn’t fully understand — relished the soft caress of the brush.

Truth be told, he didn’t quite know what to make of the fact that he liked the makeup brush — and the makeup — so much.

He liked being a boy, that much he knew. He liked his body, he liked his identity. But he didn’t necessarily like the box that society tried to confine him with. There were some things, some things that were traditionally labeled as for girls, that he wanted to be able to embrace on occasion.

And as the soft bristles brushed glimmer powder across his skin, Dan knew this was a particular box he wanted to break out of every now and again.

The brush disappeared, and Dan started to open his eyes, but was interrupted by a fierce cry from the makeup artist. “Wait!” she exclaimed hurriedly. “I want you to get the full effect before you decide!”

Dan clamped his eyes shut again, inhaling another long breath. “Okay, just tell me what to do then.” Nerves and excitement both chewed at his stomach, fighting for dominance. At this point, he wasn’t sure which was going to win out. He just hoped this wonderful makeup artist was fucking magical and could give him the confidence to actually do this.

“Just keep your eyes shut,” she instructed. Dan huffed out his breath, keeping his eyes tightly shut. “Well, okay a little looser than that,” the makeup artist chuckled, her thumb lightly brushing over Dan’s eyelid.

Dan did his best to relax his face and let whatever was going to happen, happen. If worse came to worst, he could have her take it off.

The sweeping, soft tickle of the brush disappeared, and suddenly a more pointed, but not quite harsh, touch replaced it. The touch sweeped right alone his eyelid, just barely dipping out onto his temple. Late night youtube binges told him that this was probably eyeliner — and that it was probably some amount of a wing (a term he only knew after three consecutive hours of Manny MUA).

After just another drag of what felt like a pen, the makeup artist prompted, “You can open now.”

For once, Dan didn’t hesitate tonight. He knew whatever he saw, it’d probably be nice. Even if he didn’t want to wear it on television, he’d interacted with this girl long enough to trust that whatever she had done was at least worthy of a private selfie before he had her remove it.

But when Dan opened his eyes, he was greeted with the lightest, gentlest glow on his eyelids, and eyeliner that was just this side of dramatic. It wasn’t wings, not in the way he’d seen on youtube binges. But it also wasn’t just eyeliner accentuating the natural line of his eye. The eyeliner stretched out from the corner of his eye, just a hair, forming into a subtle point — nothing large enough to be truly loud, but enough to be definitively there.

Dan opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his mouth. To his great annoyance, he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes — tears he was determined to not let fall. With rough determination, he forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat, and cleared his voice before he tried to speak again.

“It’s great,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving his own eyes in the mirror. “Thanks.”

“Well let me put mascara on so you can get the full effect,” the woman said cheekily, waving a black tube in front of his face.

“Oh!” Dan gasped. Right — mascara. That was what had started this whole accidental makeup binge. “Go ahead, then,” Dan agreed.

He shifted his gaze up, prying his eyes open and forcing himself not to blink. The pull of the wand against his eyelashes was much more familiar — mascara was a pretty common part of stage makeup, a bit of makeup that was socially acceptable for guys to wear under certain conditions.

He loved that she was applying it after having put eyeshadow and eyeliner on.

“Okay, now tell me what you think.”

Dan’s eyes fluttered open again, appraising himself carefully in the mirror. The whole look seemed completed now that she’d added mascara. His eyes popped and his cheekbones seemed much more prominent than normal, the light reflecting off them more than usual. It wasn’t anything too radically different from how he normally looked, but still. The makeup was very clearly present. It was exactly what he’d wanted.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, his eyes staying fixed on his reflection.

“Here,” the artist said, nudging something hard into his bicep. “You should keep this.”

Dan broke his own gaze, his eyes flitting down to his arm. In the woman’s hand was the eyeshadow palette, the one that was filled with shimmery and matte monochrome powders.

“I — I couldn’t, that’s yours,” Dan stumbled in surprise.

“I want you to have it.” She offered him a kind smile and set the palette down in his lap. “I can tell you like the colors.” Knocking her shoulder against Dan’s, she smiled softly and held his gaze in the mirror.

“Still —” Dan started, not quite knowing where his rebuttal was going, just knowing he felt guilty about taking something that probably cost decent money from someone. He swallowed thickly, glancing from the artist to the palette and back up again. “I could buy my own or something.”

“I know,” she said softly, shrugging. Her eyes met his in the mirror, holding his gaze steadily. “But now you don’t have to go find the courage to do that right away. Have fun with it, see what you think.”

Dan stared down at the dozen shades of white, grey, and black, at a loss for how to use them. “I — I barely know what to do with eyeshadow, much less this many of them.” Dan sheepishly looked up at the woman, not feeling nearly worthy of such a gift.

“There are loads of youtube videos.” The woman chuckled as she dug around in her purse. “But here, take my card and we can have a little skype if you don’t know what to do.”

“Wow,” Dan mumbled, numbly reaching out for the card and blankly staring at the bold black letters spelling Sofia Ricci against the stark white background. “Okay, um, I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” Sofia said definitively. “Now about those nails.”

Dan’s eyes shot down to his hands at the completely random observation, his eyes raking over his still matte-silver fingertips. His brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of Sofia’s comment.

“What about them?” he huffed, borderline offended as he glanced back up at her.

“I noticed some of them were smudged, and I was going to offer some nail polish remover, but…” Sofia trailed off, her eyes flickering down to her bag.

“But what?” Dan pushed when she didn’t finish her thought, eyes narrowed.

Bending over, Sofia dug through her bag for a second before holding out a small bottle of black nail polish in front of Dan. “Well, I thought maybe I could add some little designs over the smudges instead?”

Their eyes met in the mirror and Dan felt his heart fucking swell at how kind and supportive Sofia looked. Half an hour ago, she had just been a random makeup woman. And twenty minutes ago, she’d been offering to dress him up like Gerard Way à la 2006. But since then, she’d morphed into a supportive ally, someone who seemed to genuinely encourage Dan’s interest in all of… this.

“Hearts,” Dan said decisively, placing his hands on the table with purpose.

Sofia’s expression softened, a smile hinting at her lips. “Sure thing,” she assured as she unscrewed the black bottle with an air of confidence. Silently, she dipped a toothpick into the polish and gestured for Dan’s hand. Gently but confidently, she spread his fingers against the counter and began dotting the toothpick with intense concentration.

Somehow, the resolute attention that Sofia was giving to Dan’s nails was wildly different from the manicurist that Dan had occasionally gone to over the last few years. Sofia knew she was prepping Dan to go out in front of a massive public audience, Sofia was painstakingly painting delicate designs on Dan’s nails, Sofia was gently pushing Dan to be as authentic as he felt comfortable being.

Dan forced himself to look anywhere but his nails while Sofia worked. The whole nail polish thing — or at least wearing it in public — was new enough that it was still nerve-wracking, but he could still recall how lovely his nails had looked after the manicurist finished them earlier this week.

And he could perfectly remember the reverent look on Phil’s face when he’d noticed.

Sofia painted in silence for a few minutes, working her way through Dan’s entire right hand before she spoke again. The sound of her voice startled Dan enough that he glanced over at her.

“So,” she started tentatively. “I feel like I should confess that I saw your instagram post.”

Dan froze. “Oh,” he said, the one syllable coming out tight and short.

“I really liked it,” Sofia added softly, sounding far more tentative than she had since they’d been introduced.

Dread washed over Dan as he slowly began to process the meaning behind Sofia’s words — she clearly followed him on Instagram. She was probably a fan. In his experience, no secrets were safe with fans — that’s why he’d always had pretty much anyone he let close sign an NDA.

He hadn’t even hesitated with Sofia, though — and that was about to be his downfall. His interest in makeup was probably destined to be broadcasted all over the covers of the tabloids by this time tomorrow.

Frozen, Dan stared at himself in the mirror, unable to properly look at Sofia. Unfortunately, this meant he was forced to watch the way horror and fear flooded his own eyes. The terror was plainly written on his face, and it was impossible for Sofia not to notice it, too.

“Fuck — I mean, uh, frick, I mean —” Sofia stopped her dotting of his nails, instead looking up at him like a deer in headlights.

The expression was so startled, so genuine, that a little bit of Dan’s fears ebbed away. She looked so genuinely taken aback, so honestly scared of Dan’s reaction to what she’d said, that Dan couldn’t help but question if his worries were misplaced.

“Cursing is fine Sofia,” Dan assured her, his voice tighter than he wanted it to be. He drug his tongue along his bottom lip, trying to decide how much he wanted to allow. His eyes flickered to the eyeshadow palette and then to the business card on the table. He decided to take a leap of faith. “Just say whatever you want to say.”

“Right,” Sofia mumbled and flushed red, clearly embarrassed. “I just meant, I liked it… like, as a fan, it was good to see, but…” Her eyes didn’t quite meet Dan’s as she trailed off.

“...But?” Dan prompted, heart racing.

“But, as a fellow bisexual, it was the best post I’ve seen all year.”

“Oh,” Dan breathed, blinking rapidly in surprise. “I — I…”

Suddenly words seemed impossible to Dan — something that wasn’t exactly great since he was supposed to be talking about this very topic on national television in less than an hour. But he had hardly expected his makeup artist to broach this conversation with him (and he definitely hadn’t expected to ask for fucking eyeshadow from her).

“Sorry, I made it weird,” Sofia apologized, her gaze dropping back to her hands as she started steadily dotting another heart on Dan’s nails.

“No!” Dan exclaimed more forcefully than intended. “I mean, no,” he corrected, voice softer this time. “It’s not weird.”

Peeking up from Dan’s nails, Sofia caught his gaze in the mirror. “It’s not?”

“No. I — I didn’t realize until I came out how little bisexual representation there was out there.” Dan’s gaze flickered from Sofia’s gaze to his nails as he contemplated the decision he was making — the decision he’d technically already made. But with every word, the decision felt like more and more of an active choice. “And now… well, it doesn’t seem fair for us to keep being alone.”

“Thank you,” Sofia said softly, a hint of disbelief in her voice that Dan so desperately wished didn’t have to be there. That doubt wouldn’t exist if more people spoke up, if more people were authentic and tried to live their truth. “From all of us. It’s hard not seeing people like ourselves in the media, so what you’re doing… it means a lot.”

“Every listener I have is going to know that bisexuality is a real thing if I can help it,” Dan asserted, voice fierce for the first time that night.

“That’s the spirit,” Sofia whispered conspiratorially.

Dan nodded once, not saying anything else.

Of all the conversations he’d imagined having just before filming The Tonight Show, this certainly wasn’t one of them. But now that it had happened, it felt exactly like the conversation he’d needed — a conversation to remind him why he was so passionate about professing his bisexuality. Passion that stemmed from somewhere deeper, somewhere more important that Isabella’s whiny slander.

a/n2: look i was gonna have the interview in this chapter but i got fucking excited and carried away, okay?

#slow burn #singer!dan #barista!phil #phan au #coffee shop au #iminclinedtowriting #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #love yourself #ly

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martincart · 5 years

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Idk but: Granga? (Multishipper Meme)

Okay, first, I apologize if I’ve been slow to write this answer, because honestly, I did not know how to express it in words, and because I’ve had busy days. Besides, at the moment they would be two characters with I ship with Granga (I would count three, but that third character is just an extra of Granga’s backstory, which he does not even want to remember.. or not remember well ).

SEND!

I think I do not have much to clarify, so let’s start without fear:

Granga x Osamu / shogun pilot: … yes, I admit that I like these two as a couple.

I know that I have previously said that both have a bromance relationship in my headcanons or future fanfics, but I have had a special liking for both in the romantic sense.

And it would not be the first time it happens to me: I like several ships that started to be pure bromance to romance (for example: Junkrat x Roadhog, Fox x Falco, Wolf x Leon, Sonic x Knuckles, etc.) And honestly? If at the end I decide to return them as a couple, I would have no problem at all.

Because in itself, bromance or romance, neither of them would suffer any change: Granga would be the same proud and stubborn boy of the duo, and Osamu, the proud coquettish and troublemaker of the relationship. Both would continue sacrificing each other, and giving affectionate gestures (like kisses on the head) and then laughing and mocking among them how gay they are.

Besides, Osamu, in his relation bromance with Granga, is the sentimental side of the duo since he is always showing his love to Granga through comments or jokes, while Granga prefers to show it with actions that use his words, or in general, he is not so romantic / loving like Osamu (because Granga is 100% rage and impulsive stupidity during all 24 hours a day). But that’s no problem for Osamu, since he knows his Capuchin friend very well and knows that he would do anything for him.

Again, friends or boyfriends, they still love each other.

(( Uff … I hope my comment on these two makes sense or is well explained. I always get nervous about explaining relationships or characters). In any case, you can always comment or ask )).

Granga x Unnamed Venomian woman ( Concept of my future fanfics ) : I’m not so sure about adding or talking about these two here, but I’ve been thinking about a concept about Granga and some events in Venom that he has before the Lylat war.

Without revealing much (since, again, it is a concept) The idea is that Granga knows a Venomian woman (a komodo dragon) during a kidnapping by a group of Venomians, and even though at first they do not have a good relationship for their differences, both end up being friends.

Basically, the Venomian woman, who is a sweet but lonely and insecure person, ends up becoming very fond of the Capuchin Cornerian since Granga shows a more sweet and sure facet with her than any other man she has ever known. Meanwhile, Granga feels a fondness for her by showing a sweet and maternal affection with him, obviously, missing that affection of his beloved mother Leonor. Besides, the little daughters and nieces of the Venomian woman are also fond of him, obviously in a more fraternal / paternal sense.

( A concept about this two. You can see Granga has his two eyes lol ).

At this point, and although I’m still thinking about how their relationship will be within my fanfics (romantic or platonic),but it is more than clear that in the eyes of the Venomian woman there is a certain romantic affection that Granga does not see or does not respond to. (Although at this point Granga is not a stubborn person, and that in part, he only shows his affectionate side with certain people, just as he does with Osamu or with Andross himself).

But for now I admit that I have a love between the two as a couple, and even if I can not confirm their future well in the fanfics, the Venomian woman and Granga could continue to have a good relationship as a friends, together with Osamu.

… Well, I think these would all be. As I said, there are not many, and I’m thinking that I have a strange taste or concept regarding certain types of couples, but you have the right to tell me that I’m sick lol.

Oh, and about the third character with Granga: She is just one (ex) girlfriend that Granga had before his exile, but that she ended up with him seeing the insensitive beast that her boyfriend has become. And as I said, Granga has no interest to remember.

#M-Art.inc #Marti talks #Granga #My headcanons #Jacobo Jr Granga #osamu kumo #Shogun pilot #My fanfics #Venomian woman #Majoracats

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michiigii-writes-mysme · 7 years

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You have to want them

Something that really bugs me about this fandom: as soon as you mention who your favourite route is, immediately there is someone who says “but he did this” or “she did that, though” or even “ugh, WHY.”

As soon as you say Zen is your fave: “But he’s so self-absorbed! He’s such a flirt!”

For Yoosung: “Ew, he’s like 12. So immature. And he’s clearly into his cousin.”

For Jaehee: “But she’s such a bitch! She’s so cold.”

For Jumin: “He’s evil! He worked Jaehee to death! He always makes fun of Zen! He’s abusive!”

For V: “This is all his fault!”

For Saeran: “He’s abusive!”

Here’s the thing: for every route, you have to really want them. In order to get onto someone’s route, you have to choose them over the others. And once you’re there, the route is written in such a way that you cannot possibly care about anyone else.

Zen is easy: he is the “perfect man.” Except for some darkness in his epilogue (regarding V), he is an great example of a typical “celebrity falls for the girl-next-door” plot. You have to look past his over-the-top drama, and flirtiness, and see what it is he’s masking on the inside. (Zen is my favourite, and when first introduced, I did not want him. His route changes that.) And while you’re there, Jaehee is the unwanted voice of reason, Jumin is insensitive, and the rest are side characters.

Yoosung: not everyone wants a boy. I understand that. So obviously, the youngest member of the RFA does not jive with everyone. But then you (and here’s a crazy idea!) actually play his route! And he grows up to be the manliest of men. Yes, you have to push past how he keeps Rika on a pedestal. Yes, if you read spoilers, you know that that love is not completely deserved. But listen: Rika opened up Yoosung’s world for the first time, was the main conduit to him growing up and becoming less self-absorbed and more of an adult...and then she disappeared. That’s traumatizing. And Yoosung explains all that to you. So, if you have a grain of compassion or empathy in you, you can’t help but feel for him. And, while you are there, Seven is a little bit of a bully to Yoosung, Zen is ridiculously fabulous, and everyone is side characters.

Jaehee: Have any of you haters actually played her route? Seriously. Play her route and give her a chance, not even in a gay way: just be her friend! During her route, she is overworked and disillusioned and so very, very lonely...until MC comes into her life. You give Seven and V a chance, but not another woman? Really? She is another gentle soul that has been trampled by life; how do you find fault in that? This route has so much to offer, and her character is more than just an ice queen. ...and of course, during her route, Jumin is the villain.

Jumin: I must confess: I did not want to romance this man. (I played in the canon order, and I had to aim for Jumin right after playing Jaehee’s route.) But listen: Jumin was emotionally repressed his entire life. He was groomed to being a corporate heir from day one. He had one parent to raise him: his flawed father. His mother was not there for him. He had one friend, V, who treated him like a human being, not a robot or child of privilege. And then he had Rika, the one woman that he emotionally connected to...and then he lost her. Do you want trauma? Here, this man is extra-traumatized. But, he doesn’t have the luxury to openly express himself, or to hide in the shadows, or even to pull his sole friend aside and have a good talk about his feelings. He has to bottle it. His mind has to tangle even tighter. ...and then MC happens to him. And she is the only one who can see how terrified he is. Don’t choose the options where MC is okay with being locked up; choose the ones where she stays because she’s genuinely worried about Jumin. Those are his true options.

V: ...you have to want him. You have to really, really want him. I’ll admit: I don’t love him enough. If I were a bigger V fan, I would find forgiving him easier. Because I need to forgive him. Everything was not his fault.

Largely due to certain sorrows in his childhood, V has the kind of personality that wants to shoulder all the blame and take care of things himself. He did not do enough before, and now he wants to make up for it. Sometimes, that is admirable. Other times, it is foolhardy.

Regrettably, trying to handle Rika’s brokenness on his own falls into the latter category. Because, that’s what V did: he felt he could heal Rika all by himself. With or without the RFA. With or without therapy. With or without Rika’s cooperation.

He messed up. So badly. It was a mistake. A big one, and he still has consequences to face, but it was a mistake.

V fans are willing to forgive him. I, personally, am still working on it. But they know: everything was not his fault. And after his route, V is willing to become happier and healthier. Not a lot of people are willing to even try that.

Saeran: ...I did not like Saeran until I thought things through and wrote “A Mad Hatter Expecting.” Because here’s the thing: Saeran is arguably the most broken out of all of the characters.

Jaehee’s mother died by accident. Zen had the power to take his life into his own hands and run away from home. Yoosung happened to have Rika taken away from him during a turning point in his life (a very vulnerable time). Jumin and V’s trauma were passive, but long-lived (they could have been nurtured so much better). But Saeran?

Saeran was abandoned with an actively abusive mother. She attacked his body and his mind. Then he was taken in by Rika, who did more of the same. He was brainwashed and poisoned.

He was not in his right mind when he starved MC.

Does that excuse his behaviour? No. No, you do not hurt people, even if you’re going through a manic or depressive episode. No, he still did a bad thing.

So what did he do? Saeran apologized. He didn’t expect MC’s forgiveness; all he wanted was for her to know he regretted his actions.

And he stopped hurting her. He overcame the elixir’s effects, he snapped out of his manic state, and he stopped. He let her eat, again. He helped her escape.

...so this is me ranting about how everyone has a right to have a favourite character that isn’t yours. Everyone’s personality is different, so it makes sense that everybody may not love every route.

Which is why I don’t understand why we all have to keep defending our choices, within the fandom.

...

...I left out Seven for a reason.

He is the fandom’s #1 choice. He is “canon”. He is cute. He is depressed and meme-y, and the internet can relate to that. I, for one, can relate to that.

But I’m scared to say anything bad about him.

Because that’s how this fandom can be.

If I say, “People don’t like Seven because he is tsundere” or “Seven can be too meme-Lordy,” I am going to get at least 2 anonymous messages with people taking those quotes out of context.

Seven fans always stand up for Seven, even when he’s not actually being attacked.

Saeyoung Choi is the one favourite in this fandom that does not need to be defended.

Not because he isn’t flawed, but because it’s the majority of the fandom’s attitude that he should be everyone’s favourite.

And that isn’t fair to the other routes.

I reserve the right to want someone other than Saeyoung Choi.

#mystic messenger #unpopular opinion #Jihyun Kim #Jumin Han #Jaehee Kang #Yoosung Kim #Hyun Ryu #Saeran Choi #Saeyoung Choi

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zutara · 6 years

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Dalz here! This is by far my favorite ask, so thank you anon!

To answer this, it really depends on your ships? And your kinks hehe. I was going to post for recs for every ship, but got bored after Kagehina and Iwaoi. If you want more, or for a different pairing, just ask again. For now, here ya go:

Kagehina:

Binding Problem: magesticartax. 163,546. 28 chapters and ongoing. Rated E.

The most involved and canon-aligning fic that exists. Ongoing, but the author actually updates (though infrequently, so you’ll be waiting). It’s worth the wait I promise. Beautifully written mutual pining and the slowest, tastiest burn. Probably more like Teen an Up rating right now, but things should escalate soon.

Somewhere to Belong: Esselle. 37,761 words. 4 chapter. Rated E

Best Haikyuu au fic around. It’s a kageyama loner/sungod hinata au and it’s everything you need in your life. Also, I won’t tag them all, but EVERYTHING by this author is worth reading. You can find her Tumblr here.

Fate Mates: JeweledTygerLily. 95,339 words. 22/? Chapters (basically complete though, with a sequel started). Rated E.

Omegaverse au based on the infamous oneshot Oh God by Olympic Platinum, or orphan_account on ao3 I think, which is also a stellar read. This chapter fic, while it does have some awkward writing and grammar inconsistencies, is overall a fun and exciting read with emotional drama and good sex scenes. The sequel, Fates Revealed, continues with the characters playing volleyball in college (5 chapters, but on hiatus).

I like the Way Your Clothes Smell: Mysecretfanmoments. 75,278 words. 19 chapters. Not Rated

A classic, this fanfic probably was my first kagehina. It’s sweet and fun and there’s volleyball. What more could you ask for? I’d probably rate it Mature, but the author says where to skip if you want to avoid nsfw

Am I Gay? Please Help: buu. 37,371 words. 19/20 chapters (but complete honestly). Rated Teen and Up

Cute misunderstandings, Kageyama realizing he’s gay, and fluffy hinata not-dates! Also one of my first introduction into the fandom.

The Sum of Its Parts: anonymouschupacabra. 140,848 words. 54 Chapters. Rated E.

Kageyama has a child and lots of tattoos. Hinata is bakery fluff. Romance ensues. (It’s well written, but I’m not very down for Kagehina with past relationships tbh).

Impressions: Momus. 55,530 words. 11 chapters. Rted E.

Model hinata is too short to make it! What happens when he becomes the assistant of the stoic top model Kageyama Tobio? Read and find out~~

The Sum of Our Parts: Vixen13. 47.890 words. 14 chapters. Rated E.

Don’t confuse this with the previous fic! This is a dramatic omegaverse where Kageyama bonds with Hinata to protect him from authorities that are anti-omega. He influences Hinata’s mind but ends up falling in love in the process.

Hunger Series: Esselle. 32,669 words. 4 chapters (plus continuation). Rated E

One more by Esselle! This one is omegaverse inspired where Hinata is a cute and innocent prince who runs into the lone wolf Kageyama in the forest and smexy times ensue.

Soul-pair: Yoloo312. 78,659 wordss. 27 chapters. Rated E.

Pretty similar to Fate Mates, but not quite as good. Omegaverse where you have soul mates.

The Heart of The Jungle: Esselle. 50,148 words. 6 chapters. Rated E.

One more Esselle because I can’t help it. This one is a tarzan au. HOT.

The Video: Navybluewings. 53,473 words. 7 chapters. Rated E.

College Kageyama and Hinata need to pay rent, so they make a porno and also obviously are idiots in love.

Routine: someonestolemyshoes. 29,188 words. 4 chapters. Rated E

Kageyama must be home every night so that he can jerk off to camboy Hinata. Delicious.

Whole Milk Series: Esselle. 4 works. Rated E.

Kageyama is a prostitute. Hinata is an innocent floof. Nuff said.

The Show Must Go On AND Friends Will Be Friends: someonestolemyshoes and esselle respectively. Rated E.

Can’t really explain? But if you read routine and then whole Milk, then you can read these two fics. I read these while sitting in a library and couldn’t stop shrieking outloud.

Come and Get Lost With Us: boxofwonder. 150,504 words. 28 chapters. Rated Mature.

Emotional forest au where Hinata’s makeshift tribe take in and heal Kageyama, a hunter with a mysterious past. Includes some adorable daisuga and kuroken side plots.

The Kids Aren’t Alright: anonymouschupacabra. 69,493 words. 33 chapters. Rated Mature.

Coffee Shop au! Couldn’t not include at least one.

Parisienne Walkways: someonestolemyshoes. 3 parts. Rated Mature and Explicit.

Sexy figure skating au with good sex and better angst.

Cry of a Fallen Crow: Sakuchii. 112,205 words. 24 chapters (incomplete but updating). Rated Teen

Hinata pretends to be a girl and marries Kageyama at 17 to save his family and protect his sister. Plot idea is great, but writing and pacing certainly leave something to be desired. I usually skim for the cute Kagehina moments.

Just Friends: okoyee. 17,109 words. 5 chapters (very incomplete). Not Rated.

I hate putting up incomplete fics, especially those that look like they’ll never be finished. And yet…just trust me. These 5 chapters are everything. Also. If you comment maybe it will inspire the author to continue!

Denial: martialartist816. 10,028. 4 chapters. Rated E.

Description given: “If we don’t kiss, it’s not gay.” /squeels/

Acceptable Risk: Mysecretfanmoments. 46,108 words. 5 chapters. Rated E

College roommates with mutual pining!

Handgun, Fire, and Key: kvhottie. 13,570. 11 chapters. Rated Mature

Yakuza children/Romeo and Juliet au.

Unexpected Fixations: Natsumiofgames. 27,947 words. 4 chapters. Rated E

Hinata loses a bet and is forced to wear a cheerleader outfit. Kageyama goes crazy and pwp gets real. I would rate this one Mature though.

King and The Lion Heart: MaryLouLeach. 113,073 words. 39 Chapters (and still updating). Rated Mature.

Highschool Omegaverse but with a good amount of abuse as well as pretty sloppy writing. I’m including this fic if you’re desperate for anything kagehina, like me :p

The one that I need (could be right here by my side): kagome_angel. 32,950 words. 13 chapters. Rated E

Our cute beans fall in love! Pretty basic plotline

Saffron and Cayenne Pepper: dontsaycrazy. 30,773 words. 7 chapters. Rated Teen and Up

Hinata can’t cook so his hot neighbor decides to help him out.

You’re my Forever: camra01. 19,416 words. Oneshot. Rated E.

Omegaverse where the paor reunite after meeting in childhood. Cute alpha jealousy and fake relationship.

Good Boy: kieranlikesplants. 1,870 words. Oneshot. Rated E.

Very self-indulgent praise and daddy kink fic. Hinata wears black panties so please don’t read this at work…

Shoutout to the tens of Kagehina fanfics I’ve bookmarked over the years that have since been taken down! Especially “Volleyball Homos” and “Being Seventeen Sucks,” (by crapso), and “Something New.” True gifts to the fandom.

Iwaoi:

Something Like Us: the_madame21. 28,916 words. 10 chapter. Rated E

Easily the best iwaoi fanfic written. Omegaverse and consensual. Best portrayal of mutual pining iwaoi and they also play volleyball on the national team so extra plus! Gets hot and heavy right away too~~

The Alpha King & I: caelestisxyz. 147,276 words. 17 chapters. Rated E

Still omegaverse lol. Alpha Iwa-chan has been cursed to live hundreds of years wandering the Earth, alone, until he find the reincarnation of his past love of course. Side plot of Ken and Shigeru. I almost didn’t give this a read because of the fantasy/past lives aspect, but it’s pretty secondary to the romance. Definitely has drama and mentions abuse though (in the side plot) so check the tags.

The Jewel of Seijoh Series: timetopretend. 4 consecutive one shots. Rated E

The smuttiest, kinkiest, most indulgent iwaoi omegaverse you will ever read (but at your own risk). You. Need. To. Read. It. Honestly, read everything by this author.

A Place to Call Home: the_madame21. 191,554 words. 44 Chapters. Rated E

This omegaverse (are you sensing a trend in my tastes?!) fic is definitely worth reading. Not abusive/fully consensual, which is rare for omegaverse. Also, cute mommy Oikawa! and a decent side Bokuaka plotline. Two or three steamy lemons. 10/10 recommend. Pretty ooc though.

Healing the Broken: caelestisxyz. 108,726 words. 14 chapters. Rated E

Finally not omegaverse! Modern au where Iwazumi is a traumatized boxer who moves to New York to escape is troubles. Oikawa is in a band. Not so true to canonverse, but it’s a fun ride if you’re up for it.

Conquering the Great King: suggestivescribe. 105,591 words. 17 chapters. Rated E

Currently rereading this one actually. Lives up to the memory for sure. Mostly PWP and there’s smexy office sex and teasing Daisuga.

To be first, to be best: kittebasu. 26,404. Oneshot. Rated Teen and Up

Cute, long oneshot where Oikawa finds an excuse to move in with Iwa and there is pining.

Where We Begin: chip1. 53,570 words. 13/14 chapters (and updating). Rated Mature.

Getting together story with lots of pining. Pretty nicely paced slow burn with copious amounts of angst.

We Shine Like Diamonds: whitemiists. 26,733. Oneshot. Rated Teen and Up

Another sweet and long oneshot with iwaoi growing up and Oikawa figuring out he’s in love.

No Room For Pretend: orphan_account. 12,600. Oneshot. Rated Teen and Up

The fake boyfriend au we all need.

Build a Temple in Me: Authoress. 39,780. Oneshot. Teen and Up

The author describes it as “a mix between the children->friends->lovers au and a Japanese folklore-ish story.” Oikawa is a god-like creature and Iwa happens to find him.

Shiver: Yuu_chi. 16,703. Oneshot. Rated Teen and Up

Another cute oneshot, but this time Iwa is the one figuring out he is in love.

Always, My Pillar of Faith. Starlitcities. 16,609. Oneshot. Rated Mature

Long a deep oneshot. Lots of Tooru pining. There’s cheating on an oc, but otherwise a fic that will give you feels in all the right places.

I CANNOT FIND my favorite iwaoi oneshot. This is calling all iwaoi fanpeoples to help me! It’s a long, slow burn where oikawa is a nerdy, smart, and sensitive child with no friends until bug collector Iwaizumi moves in next door and they become best friends. In high school tooru shoots up and girls start to flock to him, but Iwa knows that he is just the geeky, alien loving boy he always was. Obviously, they fall in love happily ever after. Any ideas??

So to be honest, these are just a selection of the thousands of fics I’ve read…let me know if you want part two or ever are looking for one in particular. Happy reading!

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kagehina #iwaoi #haikyuu fanfiction #fanfiction recs #not quite zutara so im sorry #not sorry for the kinks though #text post #dalz

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dashielldeveron · 6 years

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Cedere Nescio, or, Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Tom Holland/Reader. College AU.

Warnings: dealing with mental health in a Big Way, extreme thirst, language (Latin), and swears. But that’s college, I guess. Notes: Tom’s a theatre major, and you’re a theatre minor.

_______________________________________________________________________

i Maybe you gave off a gay vibe? You really didn’t know. Would that the perception of your sexuality were as clear as those of Achilles and Patroclus.

You sit on the edge of the stage, taking a break from building sets. Tom’s up in the grid, adjusting lights and putting in gels, and his sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, by the grace of God. Even from this distance, his biceps ripple. His eyebrows are furrowed, lines drawn between them, as he bites his lower lip and sticks out his jaw very slightly.

You pop off the cap of a sharpie and hold it between your teeth, never letting it get wet, as you idly doodle perfututum onto the inside of your arm, covering some parallel lines you made with something a little sharper. Perfututum—it’s Latin for totally fucked. And it’s you.

Tom Holland’s untouchable, you know? Everyone, in the theatre department and out, wanted to be his friend; everyone wanted his approval or to impress him, and his genuine approval wasn’t easily earned. He dances through his classes with panache; everything is easy for him, a delight. His laughter reverberates off the walls of the arts building, and good night, did you want to be the cause of his laughter. Sometimes you were, when you gathered enough courage to speak to him, to have a legitimate conversation instead of his instructions to you in scene shop.

He calls down to you to stand centre stage; he’s trying to aim a light in the right direction. You push up on your knees and jog over where he wants you. You would go anywhere he directed you, do anything he wanted, and he didn’t have a clue—that oblivious bastard.

A curl falls across his forehead as he bends over the PAR-can, and you, squinting, hold a hand over your eyes when he swings the light your way. He’s too bright for you to look at.

ii The two of you are practising monologues due for class later that day. You’re alone in a hallway and holding his monologue in front of you. He’s sitting at your side and desperately running his hands through his hair as he strives to remembers the exact words.

“I am the dog,” you prompt him. His profile sharpens when he puckers his lips in concentration.

His eyes light up as he stares determinedly at the top of the lockers, not really seeing them. “I am the dog,” Tom says, bouncing his leg up and down and tapping his fingers on his knee, “Oh, the dog is me, and I am myself—”

He’s fidgeting too much. What you do in rehearsal determines what you do in performance, and this monologue isn’t a fidgeting sort of thing. He won’t stop fidgeting. Why’s he so nervous? Hector wasn’t even this nervous when he walked into battle and to his death. Tom is never nervous, so why is he now?

Hector, however, had verse upon verse written about him posthumously and a hero’s pyre, and Tom wasn’t a legend. You’ll make him one, and even if you don’t, you know he’ll be one some day.

“You’ve got to stop fidgeting,” you say, “Let’s find you something to hold instead of fidgeting.” Both of you glance to your sides in the hallway, but your backpacks are still in the scene shop. Nothing’s around. Inwardly, you beat your chest, fortifying all courage as Hector did for his troops—you roll your eyes in an exaggerated way and, in a stroke of rare brilliance, you say, “Here, hold this.”

You hold out your hand.

Tom’s face breaks into a grin, his even teeth showing, and he glances down at his lap before turning to you, crinkling his eyes in a different kind of smile, a closed-mouthed, tight-lipped thing of beauty that shows acceptance and gratefulness. Tom takes your hand, immediately lacing his fingers with yours, and he squeezes it firmly as he continues his monologue. His focus is no longer casually on the lockers but swops between your hands and your reactions. Tom tries to make you laugh, and he wrinkles his nose in triumph when he does.

When you move onto your monologue, Tom lazily twists the ring on your thumb between his own and his index finger. It’s not a purity ring, but it might as well be (it’s the one from Lord of the Rings). Tom doesn’t know that right now, this moment, is the farther you’ve ever gone with a guy, that this instance of holding hands is the most intimate you have ever been.

You’ve never dated, never been kissed—watched as your friends loved and lost, went on rampages, and downloaded tinder. It’s not that you don’t want these things; on the contrary, according to a BDSM test you made everyone take, you’re the kinkiest piece of shit you know. You hear stories and read a lot of fanfic about one night stands, sex before romance, and loads of kinky shit—things you’d never do in your actual, real life for a couple of reasons, the primary one being that since you got overly attached to cars you drove behind for more than ten minutes, who knows what would happen to you if someone ate you out and never spoke to you again? So, it wasn’t entirely intentional, but you were (fuck, you hated this about you and yet couldn’t bring yourself to compromise [and fuck, you hated this phrase]) waiting until marriage.

Tom slides the ring down to your knuckle. The skin where it usually sits is paler and softer than the rest of your thumb.

iii

Tom’s got bags under his eyes in scene shop today. His hair is dishevelled, roughed up like bed-head, and he’s got grey sweatpants hanging loosely around his hips. And he’s pissed.

When you ask him why, Tom says he had a tough voice lesson, but as the afternoon drags on (and you’re repairing an ancient piano with a staple gun), he, miraculously, allows himself to be vulnerable. He’s not doing okay, and it’s tearing him apart. His relationship with his parents is in an unfamiliar, rocky stage, and he’s lonely, so lonely; he’s secretly a ball of rage that he never shows (you wonder if you annoy him, especially when you talk about Greek culture). So much of Tom is hidden, because he’s insecure about it. He’s the only person you’ve ever met who can rival you in terms of self-deprecation, even though, in everyone’s eyes but his own, he has no reason for it.

Tom is furious at a lot of things, mostly himself, and you want him to be mad at you, in a safe, consensual bedroom sort of setting. He already was dominating socially in the scene shop, since he was more than capable at construction had to teach you, with unconditional patience, how to do anything, seeing as you had never picked up a power tool before this semester. Tom would order you about, and each time punched you in your stomach as you thought about taking commands up a notch. Aut futue aut pugnemus: either we fuck or we fight.

His insecurities mirror your own, save for where he is rage, you are sorrow. Two sides of the same coin, down to your side effects of depression. Loneliness reigns.

At some point, he catches himself, climbs down from the ladder, and grabs both of your hands, grazing the ring on your thumb. “Thank you,” he says, his eyes wide (eyelashes dark against his skin), gripping your hands tighter to show his earnestness, “for listening. I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you; you don’t deserve that. I usually don’t—I’m sorry. You’re very kind. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t apologise,” you say, your fingers curving into the bend of his palms, “I like listening to you. You have worthwhile things to say, and everyone needs to be heard. Don’t feel like you’re burdening me—” You say this, because you worry about it yourself. “—I want to be involved in what you’re going through.”

iv In one of the dreams between pressing snooze on your alarm and actually waking up, Tom wraps his hand around your wrist and leads you up the ladder to the grid, high above the rest of the stage. At the centre, where anyone could see, were anyone in the room, he releases your wrist, links his index fingers through the belt loops of your shorts, and yanks you close to him, his hipbones poking you briefly. Tom’s got your shoulder blades pressed on either side of a pipe holding up stage lights, and his tongue is between his teeth when he grins at you in the moment before.

Who was wearing strawberry chapstick? It doesn’t matter. His lips are pressed to yours, needy and wanting; you feel the crease of his brow through the kiss—don’t, you want to tell him, please relax, for one damn minute. He doesn’t bite but nibbles at your lower lip, and your tongue is on the inside of his teeth when he moves his hands from your belt loops to grip your waist, toying with the hem of your shirt. Your fingers curl into his hair, and you pull at the wisps at the nape of his neck. His breath hitches. Tom breaks the kiss, calls you my girl with a dark inflection, and shifts to kiss your neck, once, before he drags his mouth down your chest, stopping to press his lips at the spot beneath your naval where your shirt has ridden up.

And he’s thrown your shorts somewhere across the grid; your underwear’s been tucked into his back pocket. Tom’s bottom lip is firm as he pushes it up underneath your clit (he’s got friction around all of it now); he sucks on it just barely, and after testing how sensitive you were with the underside of his tongue, he smirks as he swops to the rougher topside. Your hips twitch. Tom holds you achingly still for too long; it doesn’t take the oracle of Delphi to know that you’re close—

But Tom keeps going after you’ve come, and you don’t want to chicken out for fear of what he’d think. With a shaking jaw, you keep your gaze on the ceiling, trying to zone out, because this is too much, all at once, and you can’t ah, ouch, that’s a lot. Your thighs are quivering, and yikes, please, no, stop, even though you still—

“I know it’s intense,” he says, the sound of an air pocket breaking in the second he pulls an inch away, “but you can take it.” Tom kisses your clit and reaches up for one of your hands, the one with the ring. “Be good for me.”

When your alarm goes off, your underwear is soaked, and when you wipe the rheum out of the corners of your eyes, you repeatedly snap the elastic against your skin as you debate whether or not taking a cold shower is worth it.

v The final rehearsal before the show opens, you and Tom are alone backstage. He’s in the lead (and an argyle sweatervest), and you’re one of the minor ensemble characters. You’ve had a hell of a day and are on the cusp of a panic attack, and Tom notices. He guides you over to a private spot and leans on a stack of crates, resting his forearms on top. You copy him, and your shoulders touch.

“How do you do it, Tom? How do you manage to keep it together all of the time? You never seem to crack.” You don’t count that day he vented to you. It wasn’t quite the same.

Tom laughs through his nose and leans close to you. His breath hits your ear and the back of your neck as he says, “To be honest, I’m cracking right now.”

He’s got to be. Rehearsals running until past midnight every night with hundreds of lines in Shakespearean verse, long afternoons building sets, being on duty as an RA, not to mention classes and keeping up with his friends. Oh, and sleep, you suppose. He’s had to shove everything he feels down so that he can deal with the next task. He hasn’t had time to think, and frankly, neither have you.

Tom insists he doesn’t want to talk about himself, because he’s been thinking a lot about that time you spoke to him about holy listening, how most people only wait for their turns to speak and how listening, genuinely, to help and to understand, was a gift that everyone deserves but hardly anyone receives. So, Tom takes your hand (again. It’s become practise for when it’s just the two of you, and you’re unsure how to handle this uncharted territory) and listens.

And thank God someone finally is.

You’re facing him as you speak softly about how you essentially act as a therapist to everyone in the department (even though you are newly learning healthy behaviours yourself), because you want people to have someone who will listen. You check in with people who are going through hard times, and you usually end conversations by asking the person how he’s going to take care of himself later that day. Tom knows this. He’s been watching.

What he didn’t know was that no one listens to you back. Whenever you pry yourself open in a half-hearted attempt to be vulnerable, everyone clams up. They shut down. No one notices when you’re having a hard time—he nudges you at this, and you make a stupid noise, dismissing it. When you mention that no one’s noticed the burn marks on the inside of your forearm near your elbow, he could, for the first time, make out the small, circular burns in spite of the dark, blue light. Tom slumps against the crates, and he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.

“I’m tired of taking care of everyone,” you say, “I want to be taken care of.”

You’re breaking your chains that protect you from being vulnerable. You can’t watch the shadows on the wall any more. You’ve got to walk out of Plato’s cave and let the sunlight blind you, even though you don’t have a word for sunlight yet, for all you’ve known is a tame fire.

Tom wraps his arm around your bare shoulders (your costume isn’t as modest as you’d like, but for now, you’re grateful). He presses a kiss to your temple and holds it there, and an alarm goes off in your head, as if you’re not the one truly experiencing this. When Tom removes his lips, his furrowed brow goes to their spot. “You’re safe with me,” he says after a bit, “I hear you, and I want to take care of you.”

Both of you jump when other actors start channelling behind you to get to their places. Tom has the first line, but he tightens his grip around your shoulders and quickly prays aloud for you.

vi Closing night, the cast and crew goes to IHOP, and it’s a lot of overstimulation all at once. When they kick you out around one o’clock, your original driver is going home for the weekend, so you hitch a ride with Tom back to campus.

Tom is at a stop sign, his turn signal blinking to drive into the parking lot of your dorm, when you say, “I will pay you ten bucks to keep driving past the school.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Please. I can’t go back there right now.”

With a wry smile, Tom flips off the signal and keeps driving into the night. The city is quiet but still awake, still shining. He cranks up his music and points out his favourite restaurant to you, saying he’ll take you there soon. Next week, you decide. Urban decay increases the farther you get away: flickering street lights, crumbling buildings, a lone shopping cart, that one vape shop that no one goes to unless you feel like getting shot. Neon lights bleed together through the car window, and the stars blur and mumble under his 90s hip-hop.

You take backroad after backroad, curving around trees and into the valley, just going without knowing where, and eventually, you park near an overlook into the valley, showing the city teeming with a quiet energy, with a cemetery behind you in the trees.

You thank him again for how he’s been treating you during the run of the show; it’s incredible to have someone to depend on. To trust. He shrugs it off, and you talk about the show, how things could have gone better, how he did that one gesture just perfectly in the moment, how hey, you didn’t get all of your stage makeup off; let me get that for you, and Tom’s kissing you, lightly, barely, and he swipes some of your hair behind your ear. His nose prods yours when he breaks the kiss so that you open your eyes—he knows it was your first; he wants to make sure you’re okay. You nod, your mouth quirking upwards.

When you’re on his lap and his hands are in your hair (turns out you were the one with the hair-pulling thing, so die mad about it), neither of you are the strawberry chapstick ideal. You both taste like makeup remover, and sweat drips down between his shoulder blades and down your neck. Neither of you was performing for once. It was just the two of you, simple and vulnerable. You made Tom laugh when you pulled away to yawn, and you laughed yourself when you made him gasp at a simple kiss on his neck (muttering “Peccavi,” and refusing to tell him what it meant, even when he threatened to…he couldn’t think).

It should’ve been much too early to do this, let alone ever consider it, but it was Tom Holland, who understood. Courage, dear heart. You’re not ready, but you can promise. He probably knows what it means by now; he’s clever. He’s probably guessed. Just do it. Your cheek is pressed against his when you say, “It’s yours—” You twist your ring off your thumb and slid it onto his middle finger. “—if you want it.”

Tom shifts to kiss your cheek. “Not now. But someday, if you’re ready. If you want me to.” He smiles, and this time, you let the light blind you. “C’mon, love. Tell me what you want.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Peccavi -- I have sinned.

here’s the link to the BDSM test, if you’d like to take it.

#tom holland #spiderman #tom holland/reader #tom holland x reader #fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #DASH IT ALL

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becomeawendybird · 7 years

Text

This is a drabble for @haloeverlasting based on yesterday’s real life events when I got home from work. Additionally it is soft, no smut abo for @lululawrence and @londonfoginacup. It’s 1500 words (is that really a drabble? Probably not.) So I put some under a cut.

Harry’s favorite thing to do at the end of the day was get into his bed. It was a beautiful, fluffy, white, luxurious bed. The rest of his apartment was about two square feet and he barely had room to fit the rest of his stuff, but he had his bed.

After a long, draining day of work selling tickets to ungrateful, entitled museum visitors, all Harry wanted to do was climb into the soft cloud and read or play around on his computer, and relax.

On this particular day, that was exactly what he did; pulled the covers back, plugged his dying phone into his extra long charger cord so he could flip over if he wanted to, and settled in to read the new gay Young Adult novel that was supposed to be the next big thing.

Can I lay by your siiiiiiiide...

He was half a chapter in before Sam Smith’s smooth vocals burst through the neighborhood. There were so many buildings clustered together, it was impossible for him to tell where it was coming from.

Alright, sure. Harry thought to himself. He liked Sam Smith. He didn’t love that the person was blasting it at full volume, but okay.

Once his ears had adjusted to the new disturbance in the air, he settled back under his duvet. “Lay Me Down” finished, and “Stay With Me” began.

Just the album, then. In the Lonely Hour.

Oh, won't you staaaay with me?

Harry sighed, and picked his book up again. His reading was slower than normal, because of the distractions, so he only got a few more paragraphs under his belt before the thumping drum of “I’m Not the Only One” vibrated through the building.That was some sound system they had.

You saaaaaay I’m crazy, ‘cause you don’t think I know what you’ve done…

Fully distracted now, Harry let his mind wander. This song always made him think of the music video with Diana Agron looking every bit the fifties housewife and her gorgeous acting and eventual revenge. Genius. Maybe he should watch it.

Harry shook his head and picked up his book again. Okay. He could do this. Victorian England. Boys. Best friends on their Grand Tour of Europe.

The song faded out, and there were a few bursts of sound that indicated the person was skipping tracks. Pick one already.

Finally, a familiar piano melody began.

I heard... that you’re settled down…

Harry slammed his book shut. That was it. They brought out the big guns. Adele.

Clearly something was not right in this person’s life. It was a beautiful crisp fall day, not like they had curated a rainy day playlist or something. They had to be going through a Major Life Event.

Harry went to get out of bed, his previous plan having been thoroughly ruined. When he moved closer to his window to attempt to investigate, the air shifted and he could clearly smell something different.

As an alpha, he was used to picking up the scents of others, but this was new. Sweet, with a twinge of bitterness. Despair. That was what he was smelling. It was strong enough that Harry could tell; there was an upset omega somewhere in his building.

Everything in him, every alpha instinct he had ever had screamed for him to fix the problem. If the person was this upset, given their taste in dramatic music - he paused and could hear the telling strains of “Don’t You Remember” - he wasn’t sure what he would be able to do, but he could certainly try.

Cupcakes. He could make cupcakes. He had all of the ingredients for his famous Guinness chocolate cupcakes with Bailey’s frosting, and those always made everyone feel better.

Adele continued to croon throughout the building as Harry got to work. If he popped the cupcakes in the freezer for a few minutes after they came out of the oven he should be able to get them to cool and get frosting on them pretty quickly. People did it all the time on those reality shows.

Harry set to work immediately, and his freezer plan worked. He popped the cupcakes on a tray and set about finding where the delicious, if sad, omega’s scent was coming from.

He opened his door and stepped out into the hallway where the smell was strongest, and did his best to concentrate on it. Following his nose, he ended up in front of apartment number eight. The despair and loneliness, and the depressing music, was pouring through the cracks around the door in waves, so before Harry could second guess how creepy this gesture was, he knocked.

The music was still blaring, so when there wasn’t an answer, he knocked again. Harder this time.

He knew this could be creepy. A random alpha showing up to this omega’s door. Who even showed up at people’s doors any more? In the age of technology and a locked building with a broken intercom, Harry had never had even a single drop-in visitor. But, it was the only thing Harry could think of to quell his own instinct to take care of this hurting omega. It was probably some blonde sorority girl who would slam the door in his face, but if she did he would just leave the cupcakes and go.

The music cut off, finally, and in the ten seconds it took for the occupant to reach the door, Harry had worked himself up into a frenzy of nerves.

All of it went away when he caught sight of the omega in front of him.

A beautiful man, a few inches shorter than Harry, with toffee colored hair and piercing blue eyes that were red rimmed and just as watery as the ocean they reflected.

They stared at each other for a moment before Harry managed to unstick his vocal cords.

“Hi.”

The man gave a cute little sniffle before he froze. “Hello,” he replied. “You’re an alpha.” He cowered a bit, and brought the door a little closer into his body.

“Um. Yeah.” Harry did his best not to breathe in the man’s scent. Or at least not be obvious about it. “I brought you cupcakes.”

The man looked at him, confused. “Why?”

“It seemed like you were having a bad day, I thought it might help.” Harry said, shrugging as if he didn’t really understand himself. Which, now that he had met the man, wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Oh,” the man sniffed at the air again. Not as subtly this time and with a little less snot. “How could you tell?”

If Harry told him he could smell it, he would definitely be branded a creep.

“The, uh, music. I live two floors down. Number four.”

“Ooooh, yeah. Sorry about that.” The man looked a little sheepish, and Harry immediately wished he could take it back. He was trying to make him feel better.

Harry rushed to reassure him. “No, it’s cool. I like Sam Smith and Adele. Good, solid music choices for a shit day.” He both wanted to leave the man to his wallowing and get to know him and possibly propose. “Why-- Um, if you don’t mind my asking. Why was it shit?” Cross-purposes be damned.

“My alpha boyfriend was cheating on me,” he replied in a quiet voice. Good, Harry thought, and immediately felt guilty for it. He didn’t say alpha mate. “I’m Louis, by the way.”

“Well, Louis. I’m Harry, a non-idiot alpha, and I’m sorry my entire gender sucks.”

Louis giggled a bit and it sounded scratchy from his tears, but so beautiful at the same time. Harry just wanted to wrap himself up in the comfort of it.

“Those are for me, yeah?” Louis nodded at the tray in Harry’s hands.

“No, they’re for the upset omega next door.” Immediately Harry brought his free hand up to cover his mouth. Oh God. His normal stupid sense of humor was not appropriate right now. He could feel a blush dance across his cheeks as he opened his mouth to apologize. To his surprise, Louis stared at him for a second before he began giggling again.

Safe in his embarrassment, Harry handed the tray over.

“Bye, Louis. It was really nice meeting you.” He desperately wanted to stay and sit and listen to Louis talk for hours, but he didn’t want to push or overstay his welcome. He could do this. He could be chill.

Louis smiled and gave a little wave, “Bye, Harry.” He shut the door, then, and Harry waited until he could hear the lock click before he began the trek back down to his own apartment.

He replayed the encounter in his head over and over again as he cleaned up his kitchen and ate one of the cupcakes that he had saved for himself. Louis’ music never came back on - or if it did, it wasn’t at the ear-splitting volume where it had been - and if Harry could see himself, he was sure he had the dopiest grin on his face.

He was just about to retreat to his bed and the land of gay romance in Victorian England, when the scent changed in the air.

Drawing in a deep breath, Harry barely had a chance to let himself hope that he was correct before a knock echoed through his apartment. Louis.

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the-voice-of-hell · 4 years

Text

The Septagram

- Previous - First -

***

Rosemarie Miller was walking a cart of looted groceries home through relatively barren streets. A few homeless anarchists were grooving at a public fountain, hopping through the water to cool off as needed. She was jealous of their easy-going ways. The reason the pigs all high-tailed out of the region was always on her mind. Would she see the murderers? Would she have to deal with them?

The only reason she’d stayed behind was because she was trying to find her best friend, Jennifer Smith, and ended up missing a window of opportunity for an evacuation escort. She certainly wasn’t going to risk the wilder stretches of highway without an armed guard, so it was safer just to stay at home, in the flat part of Renton. The worst part of missing the opportunity was when she finally did find Jennifer, and learned the weirdo had stayed in town for the chance to rip wicked bicycle moves. Thanks, Jen.

The sky was hot and blue. That part of Renton was so flat that it felt like being at the bottom of a bowl, decorative hills off to the sides, infinite scorching void above. She looked at the new stainless steel apartments along the way. Should she just steal one? Was that where the anarchists were sleeping at nights? There was no evidence the door had been jimmied, so probably not. She reached her apartment, set down the groceries, and fished out her keys.

Suddenly, a distraction. That dragonfly sound of a bike chain speeding her way. As much as she knew it was Jen in her head, in her heart it was the murder clubs. She whipped around to see that goof zipping her way, dorky chipmunk teeth smiling, bleach blonde bob whipping the breeze, big light eyes behind dark-framed nerd glasses. Her frame was typical of a short, slightly pudgy person, but her limbs were bulging with creepy muscles. If she dehydrated enough she could do bodybuilding competitions.

“ROSIE! WHAT DID YOU GET ME?”

Rosemarie wasn’t going to play the shouting game. She waited until her friend was close enough to hear above the chains. But Jen didn’t stop, was heading straight toward her now at full speed. Rose cringed, falling to one knee.

Jen hit the brakes and twisted the bike’s frame in just the right way to spring off the ground with the momentum, spinning three times horizontally as she flew over Rose, and landed with her bike across her shoulders like Jesus carrying the cross.

“WHAT THE FUCK JEN!?” Shouting after all.

“What? That was fucking sick. You used to like my stunts.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me!”

“I hope not? I’m still sorry about that, and I’ll say it as much as you need me to.” She dropped the bike and sent it rolling to rest by the building’s stoop with one hand. “I wub you, come on!” She went in for a hug.

“No!” Rose held her back with a talon-like finger. “You’re sweaty and disgusting.” She relaxed. “I’ll make you something if you want. But you need to shower first.”

“Bossanova.”

Suddenly out of the clear sky they heard a thunder crack and peal. It rumbled and dissipated. Strange notes played in the wake, like the brass section of the world’s worst marching band, but weak as if from miles away. They were both looking north to Seattle proper.

“Doesn’t look like a storm,” Jen said.

“Maybe they’re gonna drop the bomb. Come die with a full stomach, loca.”

***

Clark Upton was a fortunate man. He had lived a long life of excitement and romance as a dancer, dance instructor, and choreographer in some of the gayest cities in the world. But this was Seattle, and it was starting to feel like the end of his run. Although his coughing had cleared up since most of the people evacuated (had he just been allergic to exhaust all this time?), there was apocalyptic air about the events that precipitated the change.

And now there was an apocalyptic air in the literal air outside his apartment. It had been a sunny summer day one minute, and then clouds began to rapidly form - between the buildings themselves. He was below those clouds on the seventeenth floor, but he could see that there were apartments in taller buildings that would be above them. The thunder began as soon as the clouds had, as a rumbling vibration through all the buildings, through the bodies of those still living there. It was building to a climax of some sort.

“Thurston? Thurstooon?” He called for his friend, but couldn’t make himself release his grip on the balcony rail. This wasn’t right.

Thurston Connor was another gay dancer and friend, staying with him while in town. The tall beautiful black man with his perfectly shaved head did not come to his call. Clark began to fear he wasn’t even in the same dimension as the guy.

Then the thunder burst out in a great crescendo and red sheet lightning bridged the clouds and the bus tunnel entrance on the streets below. Something began spilling out of the bus tunnel. Dark forms, tumbling and spinning and leaping, shiny instruments in their grips. It was like someone had taken a paper bag full of different noxious species of insects, shook them up to instill anger, and dumped them onto the ground.

The thunder subsided into a rolling menace, but less deafening than its initial burst. And under that sound he could hear them. It was a marching band.

“Oh dear. I’m having a stroke.”

He laid down on the grate floor of his balcony, amid clay pots and chair legs, and he waited to die. It was a lonely feeling. As good as his life had been, he’d known many moments of loneliness and he did not love them. He wished that he’d had a husband - someone who would be there for this. But then, it was never in his character.

The wind whipped wildly below him, carrying the discordant notes of the hellish stroke band. What was that tune? “Inna Godda Davida”? Yes, it was definitely in there, scored with the skill of Souza and played with the skill of Bob Log III. But there were other tunes being played simultaneously - pure torture. Oh no. One of the tunes was Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

Clark made up his mind. Death was horrible, and he couldn’t stand it.

***

A thunderstorm had started in the north. Must be that summer thunder - not very common in the Puget Sound region, in Park’s experience. It didn’t look like there were enough clouds to cause any kind of rain, but it was hard to tell because it was very far away.

The headache was getting worse. He was in a previously vacant house they’d commandeered for barracks. Normally as evening began to fall, he’d be on the roof. He’d set up tall chair there so he could get a good view of the neighborhood and radio to get extra attention on anything suspicious. But this night, he found he was needing rest more than usual, and came down after just a few minutes.

For unit cohesion the guys were living with members of their respective agencies. All the Tacoma PD plus a few State Patrol and other local cops were sharing this house and the one next to it. More than half of them were on patrol or other tasks at the moment, leaving just a few guys behind. They were taking nightcaps and gambling in the living room.

“Hey guys.”

“You want in, Park?”

“Not right now. We got any good painkillers?”

“Legal or otherwise?”

“Watch it, Rickard.”

He ended up taking some Excedrin from one of the first aid kits on the kitchen counter, washing it down with a beer, leaning there under a bright kitchen light. He thought about joining the guys out there but really he didn’t want to play. He just wanted to hang out with Infante. He was afraid he’d made a bad impression earlier. Why was he being so weird? He shook his head, regretted it, then gulped more beer.

Infante came in, grabbing a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose out of the refrigerator. “Hey boss.”

“Hey, Infante. You don’t have to call me boss. Hell, I think we have the same salary.” He tried to smile but it looked like something crinkled and painful.

“Eh… It’s just easier.”

“I don’t recommend drinking that all by yourself. Gotta stay in fighting trim.”

“I know. I was gonna split it. We got glasses on the table.”

“Good man.” Why do I keep saying that? Christ. He had to get some air again, but up on the roof was too much tension, scanning the horizon for any sign of mischief. He went out the front door without saying goodbye.

The sky was getting dusky. People were having a lawn party across the street. A few children waved at him but mostly they didn’t like police. One even put his hand on the top of a baby’s head and turned it away from him. It didn’t bother him too much.

A dark-skinned woman in badly stained clothes staggered in the direction of the party. Her hair was long with puffy curls of varying sizes and shot through with little bits of plant matter. She was holding a hammer.

Park resisted the urge to pull his gun and quickly stepped between her and the party. “Ma’am, please. Stop.” Palms up.

She looked at his gun then looked at his face, scowling deeply. “I need to go.”

“That’s fair but maybe you should lose the tool and clean up a little. There are children over there. You’ll scare them.”

“Don’t care. I need to see Elijah.”

She started walking again and he hustled in front of her.

“At least give me the hammer. I’ll hold it for you.”

She looked confused, thought about it, picking up the hammer as if she’d forgotten she was carrying it, and then handed it to him. “I’m gonna need that back.”

He nodded and mutely accepted it, then followed about fifteen feet behind her. The hammer looked like it had been used to smash up a green compost heap. New, but recently rendered disgusting. He shook his head.

She walked up to one of the houses, stood at the porch for a moment scanning the crowd, then went inside. He hustled to close the distance and stood inside the door, trying to hold the hammer out of sight. Two little black kids played video games, but the house inside looked too nice to have children. Visitors. Park just watched her walking the house, looking for someone, listening to hear if she got in trouble.

Someone almost bowled him over coming inside. “Excuse me officer. Need more soda pop.”

“Elijah? Eliijah?”

The pop seeker yelled. “He ain’t here!”

She came back into the hall and stepped closer to her.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well what the fuck are you doing in his house?!”

“Hey! Calm down! There’s a cop riiight theeere.” She pointed at Park.

The messy lady was a little more clearly visible where the light of the kitchen came into the hall. She was thin, with thick and strongly curled eyelashes but thin eyebrows. She looked like she hadn’t changed clothes since the evacuations began.

“OK, fine!” She gestured angrily as she spoke. “Why are you and these boys in Elijah’s house? Why are those people on Elijah’s lawn?”

“He knows us. We’re just usin’ his food and nothin’ else. He wouldn’t mind.”

Park waved from the entrance. “We’re here but our priority is keeping people safe in the neighborhood. You’re not from around here, but you knew the owner?”

She scrunched up in impotent fury. “Yes I know Elijah. I don’t know her! I don’t know them!”

The boys didn’t like the look on her and jumped up, running past Park out to the lawn. The game beeped and yelled at nobody, controllers on the scuffed up old hardwood floor.

Park took a step toward her and offered a calming gesture, palm down. “You’ve been out there, right? Fighting your way here to find your friend? Listen. You can just stay in this house. Take a bath, wear some of his clothes, catch some real rest, OK?”

The soda hunter said, “Mm-mm, that’s between y’all. I’m just gonna get this soda pop and get, alright?”

The skinny lady blew past Park to head outside again. He turned to follow her. She started asking party goers. “You know where Elijah is? You know where Elijah is?”

Park held the hammer behind his back and offered a sympathetic look to the people. To a woman nearby, he quietly offered, “I can do something about her if you need me to.” She shook her head.

“Ippy. I know you.” A Q-balled thirtyish guy with strong arms regarded the skinny lady. Nobody turned down the music - some R&B diva going off the rails.

“I don’t know you.”

“We went to high school together. You me and Elijah.”

“I don’t remember you. Do you know where Elijah is?”

“Maybe he was at work when the shit went down, ended up evacuating before he got home. I haven’t seen him since it all happened.”

She shook her head slowly and looked stricken.

The bald guy looked kindly, “Aw girl, it’s OK. He’s probably fine.”

“I don’t have anyone.” She turned around and went past Park back to Elijah’s house.

The guy looked hurt. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

Park followed her into the house. In the living room, he got assertive.

“Ma’am, stop. Look at me.”

She stopped in the hall and slowly turned. Park did not like the look on her. He’d seen the expression on other people before - like they had their own lives, whatever was going on was the most important thing in the world, and that every cop in the world could blow away and they wouldn’t care.

“You don’t have to stay here, you can do what you want. But get a grip. Clean yourself up. I am not gonna let you have this hammer back unless you show me you aren’t unhinged.”

“Then keep it. Go away.”

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Iphigenia was glad to be rid of the cop. A chance to go cry in peace. She knew she’d never see her people again. Everyone died or left her behind. Her mind was spiralling the drain. She went to Elijah’s room and walked toward the bed.

There was a big dark shape there - another woman, old, sleeping? She had her eyes closed, head on a pillow. But her breathing was steady and easy - not the kind of racket the average person made in their sleep.

No, Ippy did not have time for other people, awake or otherwise. She went to the poorly maintained guest room. It had a bunch of half-folded laundry on the bed and she just flopped across the top of them in that slimy stinking condition.

Park had dropped the hammer in a garbage can on his way back to the cop house. Inside, he saw the poker game had ended prematurely. Only Infante and Rickard remained, sitting on the couch and looking through a book of DVDs.

“Wanna watch a movie now? What happened to the game?”

Rickard said, “I don’t know if I wanna watch something, really. Just...”

Infante said, “The game just got … not fun. We all started to get the creeps. Maybe just ‘cause somebody mentioned it, then we all started feelin’ it.”

“Huh. Yeah,” he looked at some kind of green stain on his hand from the nasty handle of the hammer, “It’s pretty creepy out there.” He looked back to them. “But that’s kinda strange. You guys alright?”

Infante dropped the book, leaned back, and looked at Park. “You alright? You look like you’re sleepwalking but somebody wired your eyes open.”

Park felt like he was blushing and looked away. “That bad, huh? Fuck it, I’ll try to go to sleep.” He made a few stops along the way, grabbing a harder beverage from the kitchen and looking around for more useful medicines.

There was still daylight coming through the windows and he shut the curtains as well as he could. He took off his gun holster and hung it near the bed with care, then stripped to a tank top and boxers. He turned off his radio, swallowed a ZzzQuil with a glass of ill-tasting rum, and settled down.

A few minutes later, still wide awake. It was like his eyes didn’t want to shut, were made of lighter material than that. He sat up, went to a corner and turned on a fan, then returned to bed. The white noise helped, and eventually the chemicals did too.

***

Maddy and Jason had to hike up a very steep hill to get out of that neighborhood. Exhausted, they took a rest stop at a lake. It was surrounded by private residences and they didn’t know which might have some paranoid lingering homeowners with guns, but there was also a senior care home on the lake, and it felt a bit more safe. There was just nobody in sight. Not a soul. Only a few ducks and geese wandered the surface, off in the distance. Jason felt like splashing some of that water on his face, but knew it would be full of bacteria - and he still had open cuts from the crash.

“A place like this has gotta have a nurse, right?”

“Safe to say she’s out of town, daddy.”

“Ah, but I bet she left some supplies in her office, right?”

“I don’t wanna break and enter.”

“It’s alright. Anyone would be understanding, given the circumstances. We can’t exactly motor on over to the nearest urgent care clinic and get patched up, can we?”

“I guess. But let’s do our best to not surprise anyone, OK?”

They knocked, they yelled, and they broke and they entered. The place was bereft of human life. Fortunately, as with most of their journey, there weren’t any corpses either. Safely evacuated. They improvised some medical treatment, ate some food, drank lots of water, and ultimately decided to call it a night.

In a room with two beds alongside each other, they laid themselves out. Maddy insisted to leave the light on, but they lowered the blinds.

“We’re doin’ good, hon.”

“Oh really? I don’t think so. I messed up pretty bad today.”

“I would’ve done the same thing at the wheel. Don’t think about it. Listen.”

“What?”

“We should steal a car tomorrow.”

“Whaaat? No!”

“It’s gonna be a reeeally long hike down I-5, Baby. We shouldn’t have to do that. You know I avoid talking about the … bad men, but do I have to remind you? The plan was to breeze by them. Eighty em’s pee aitch. Can’t do that on your Keds.”

“They’re New Balance and… I just don’t think it’s good. Everyone is going to come back, and lots of people are gonna find stuff stolen. We shouldn’t make anyone go through that.”

“Well listen then, I got an idea. When we take the car we write down the license plate and make, all that. And then we use the information to find the people, let ‘em know we’ll cover the damage. Right?”

“...I guess. I guess so.”

“OK, snuggle up buttercup. Let’s catch every Z and make ‘em our bitches.”

“*snrk* That’s horrible. Good night, Daddy.”

“Good night, Princess.”

Outside the blinds, outside the glass, the night air swirled in an unnatural miasma. The world was changing.

***

Ippy had cried herself to sleep, hugging Elijah’s clean laundry, making it filthy. But in the night, her eyes popped open. Somebody was mumbling. The old lady in the other room.

She sat up, felt like her body was turning into a statue and she interrupted the process rudely. It protested by making her movements embarrassing and stiff. She staggered into the hall, footsteps as light as she could manage, and leaned against the wall outside Elijah’s room, listening.

The lady’s voice was quiet as if she wasn’t talking to anybody, expecting anyone to hear. And yet, she said, ”Iphigenia. Come and hear.” Ippy’s body threatened to freeze solid, her eyes widened.

She went inside, feeling along the wall, not sure if she should turn on the lights. She decided not to. “Yes?”

“The Sibyls sing. Will you listen and understand?” Her body was still. A shape. She was breathing evenly between her quiet pronouncements. Eerie.

“Not like I have anything better to do.” Ippy almost choked on her words, but then she took halting steps forward, tried to bend her ear. The old lady was so quiet.

“They never mattered. You do. The murderers will come to you, come to die. They will break upon you like water.”

“What? How? What do you mean? How can I--”

“It doesn’t matter. They didn’t matter and their deaths will not matter. But you do, Iphigenia. If you only think of them you won’t understand.”

She was standing loose in a midnight blue void. No light, no understanding. “Fine, fine. What do I need to understand?”

“The murderers opened the door. What comes through will change the world. But you will decide. Your hand will decide what that means.”

“I don’t care what it means. Not now.”

“The die is cast. Alea iacta est.” She moaned louder than anything she had said, moved fitfully.

“Ah, are you OK ma’am? You need help?”

The moaning almost sounded like crying for a moment, but then faded away. She propped herself up. “Oh girl. Can you help me get to the bathroom?”

“Yes. I can do that.”

It wasn’t easy. The old lady was closer to four hundred pounds than three hundred, but she put in enough effort of her own to make the move possible. “Oh Honey,” she said. Her voice had dropped to the soft tone of her prophesying.

Ippy listened close in case there was anything else to glean. “Yes?”

“You smell really bad. God love you, but you need to wash yo ass.”

***

Park’s skull was a house and he was living inside. He had no curtains. The miasma of the changing world could pour right in if it wanted to. Maybe surface tension kept those clouds at bay. There was a light behind them as well, like the brightest sun trying to get through. He didn’t want to experience that sun. He knew it was going to hurt.

He sank into the bottom of his cranium, ass wedged into the dip where the brain stem passed the bony cage. He covered his eyes and hoped it would go away but the light was getting stronger. He dared to look and up above, his fontanelle was opening again.

The plates of the upper part of the skull were coming unseamed, a star-shaped light streamed through. The miasma didn’t reach up there, only that illumination. With the photons came sound waves, rippling through his body, pinning him in place. A ring of swarthy old white men stood at the edges of the opening, looking down on him. They were wearing various togas or standing nude but for sandals.

“What the hell? I’m trying to sleep!”

One opened his mouth, then another, then another. A humming sound increased. He began to know things. He knew they were the Oracles and that their light was going to consume him whether he wanted it or not.

The light, the knowledge, took shape. He beheld a vision. At first it was a relief to escape the weird scene in his head, but he still felt the vibrations and heat passing through his body, and knew it was just a vision of the future.

He was in a throne room. Infante was suspended from his wrists, stripped to the waist, sweating. A pale, smiling, red-haired white woman was seated on the throne towering above him. The throne itself was carved to resemble a camel, head snaking up from between her legs, and a massive bone crown sat above her heavily painted face. She looked ten feet tall, wide at the bottom with huge thighs, spoke in an unknowable voice. Every word she said caused Infante pain and he jerked on his chains.

Another creature was behind her, even larger, horned, cloaked in shadow. And then someone stepped in front of her, holding a familiar hammer. Park couldn’t see her face but he recognized her big black hair, her dark brown hands.

Then Infante began to scream, distracting him. He turned around and saw the young man’s body tense, muscled, dripping with sweat. And his face was taut, wracked. Something terrible was going to happen. Park felt his pain and his heart almost burst.

Snap. Back in his skull, then rolling out of bed. He hit the floor face first and hurt his mouth and ribs. Did he bite his cheek? No, but the inside of his lower lip was pressed between teeth and the floor enough to break skin. And he needed to go to the bathroom badly as well. He used the bed to climb up to his feet and staggered that way clutching his belly.

After finishing his business there but before cleaning up, the cop sat on the toilet, his head in his hands. Must’ve been the ZzzQuil. He’d never used that stuff before. But somehow he knew that wasn’t true - knew that he’d seen the future.

“The oracles sing,” he said quietly. “The story is already written.”

Somebody knocked on the bathroom door. “You alright in there?”

“It’s occupied, Rickard. Fuck off.”

***

Morning sun coming from on high in the east, streaming over the hill down into the valley of ghost cows. The red manure haze hadn’t been kicked up yet, fog still clung to stands of trees near houses and around the road.

Blood and glass covered the road like marble. Alongside the road, along and under. The mud was red. It could all be blood. There could be so much blood that it would mean somebody was surely dead, and you wouldn’t know because the mud was so red.

Tangled roots in the embankments just teased at a notion of escape but there could be none. They were too thin and the earth too loose to offer a sure grip. You’d just be pulling carrots too easily, like Bugs Bunny having a good day.

Maddy was in that muddy ditch again, but it was deeper and the car was more mangled. She was so worried about her father but he was hard to see through the spiderwebbed glass and maddening distortions of the twisted metal.

Plus she had the monster up on the road to deal with. What had it been? Had it lived? Would it come for them? She kept glancing up there, half sure she was seeing glimpses of it. No, she thought. She would get daddy out and he would be able to stop it. She knew he would be OK because she had already done this before.

“Just another minute, Baby. Gotta adjust my baby seat, haha. That’s all.”

He just kept making inane statements of blithe positivity. Things that didn’t even make sense. Was he crazy from blood loss and shock? Would he go into a coma?

“Nobody keeps a good man down. I’m like a rodeo made outta dynamite.”

“...I’m working my way up to it. I’ll get out of here and do a tap dance just to show you how OK I am. Or make a sausage outta one of these cows.”

“You never knew your mom as well as I did. She could turn a Vietnamese submarine into a pretzel with her nose. She was my queen, Princess.”

She banged and slapped the metal, shrieking, hoping he would hear her over his mad droning, knowing he wouldn’t. She left red handprints up and down the car doors.

Suddenly the car door popped free and open. She fell against the embankment, looking in at her dad with a sense of fear that she didn’t understand. He was just sitting there coyly, hands in his lap, thumbs together, smiling.

“Hi, snookums.”

“You have to… to get out...”

“I told you I could do it. Just let me stretch my legs for a minute.”

He started pushing himself free of the driver’s seat using only his legs. He kept his hands clasped over his belly, body leaning back in that casual pose. His legs finally popped him free of the dashboard and began lifting him into the air. They were too long, too thin - and covered in bark like birch trees.

Maddy woke in a panic, but settled down once she remembered where she was and once she realized she’d been dreaming. She composed herself and dragged Jason out of bed.

As she tried to penetrate his foggy morning demeanor, she became possessed by a worry that the longer they took getting to the Beacon Hill safe zone, the more things could go wrong - the worse the situation would get.

Jason kept up his sunny demeanor, but went along with her demand for urgency. They decided that cars from businesses or apartments would be less likely to have angry shotgun grandpas protecting them, and set to finding one.

At last they found a business with a garage that they were able to break into. The sun outside had just finally fully risen, but they were in relative darkness. Jason found the key that corresponded to the company car they were going to steal - a charcoal grey Prius advertising pest control on the doors - and pushed its buttons. With a beep the thing came to life, signal lights gleamed on their lowest setting.

“Paydirt. And the phone number for the owner is right on the side. How do you like that, Baby?”

“Thanks for listening, dad.” She poked around in the gloom for a button to open the garage door. They were able to get their bodies in through a side door, but would need the big one rolled up to get the car out.

Suddenly they both became aware of a sound growing, coming closer. A marching band? One so big it shook the earth. Maddy had found the switch she needed, but she didn’t dare flick it. Instead, she gripped an exposed structural beam for dear life, half expecting it to grow into an earthquake. She looked at her father and he looked at her face, etched in confusion and fear.

The rumbling definitely was coming from whatever was making that music. It was a cacophony of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” “March of the Gladiators,” and … Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball”? The sound and the vibration made it clear, this band wasn’t just marching down the thoroughfare - they were a line stretching from one horizon to the next.

At its horrid climax, the sounds were from all around them, they could hear bodies and metal slapping against the outside of the garage, hear feet running over the roof. Maddy jumped and collapsed as shadows began to fall in front of the nearest window - the players leaping down from the roof to continue their mad dash over the world.

And just when they thought it was for sure moving away, that their fear could diminish, they heard a joyous voice cry out - echoed by another a hundred feet away, and another.

“QUEEN BYMAAN WALKS THE EARTH. THOU ART HEREBY SUBJECT TO THE AUTHORITY OF EXALTED LUCIFER! YOURS IS NOW THE KINGDOM OF HELL!”

The voices died down, piping up again barely audible in the distance, following behind the line of the great unholy band.

“Baby, um… Oh no, Baby!”

She was collapsing under the weight of terror. He jumped over the car hood to get to her as fast as he could. Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape, head lolling. Jason took his daughter in his arms, kissed her sweaty temple, held her close.

“Don’t worry about that, Honey. It’s nonsense. Just some… nonsense...”

***

- Next -

#The Septagram

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