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thelibrarbian · 4 years ago

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Rating: T

Chapter word count: 2384

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Movement on the upper floor made Papyrus look up, just in time to see the door to Sans' room open and his brother step out. Sans shuffled up to the banister and leaned against it, looking down into the living room. When his gaze landed on the two skeletons on the couch, his eyebrows shot up, but all he said on the matter was a small "huh".

"did he wake up? thought i heard you guys talking."

"He did - well, somewhat." Papyrus glanced down at Fell, who appeared to be deeply asleep once again. It was less alarming now he knew that Fell wasn't Falling Down, but it was a strange sight nevertheless. He didn't even twitch in response to the talking right next to him, and Papyrus got the distinct impression that he wouldn't stir even if somebody broke down the door and started supplexing the couch. He made sure to keep his voice low anyway. "But I think he will be alright." Eventually. "For now, I suppose he has earned his rest."

Sans gave a vague hum of agreement, leaning heavily against the railing.

Papyrus looked his brother up and down, frowning slightly. "Sans… I know this is a rare thing for me to encourage, but I think you, too, should try to sleep a little. It's still the middle of the night, and while I may not need to nap for such an excessive amount of time, I do believe you're used to your eight hours of snoozing."

Sans chuckled and shook his head before pushing himself back from the banister. "eh, it's fine." He began to shuffle down the stairs. "you keep telling me i should find hobbies other than napping, right?"

Papyrus raised an eyebrow. "That may be true, and far be it from me to curb your enthusiasm! But maybe we should postpone these plans to a time when you don't look like you're going to pass out standing up?" His quota for passed out skeletons this night was already filled.

"you mean i look bone tired?" Sans winked.

Papyrus let out a huff. "Do not attempt to distract me with your perpetual punning! That one was low even by your standards." He sighed. "But I suppose I can't be too hard on you today. How is Red?"

"still sleeping." Sans reached the bottom of the stairs and leaned against the banister. "and snoring like a chainsaw, that's why my napping's on hold."

Instead of pointing out that Sans usually had no trouble falling asleep even in the noisiest environments, Papyrus waved his brother over. He couldn't exactly give him a hug with Fell on his lap, so he settled for the closest alternative, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Sans raised an eyebrow. "you okay, bro? i mean, i'm not complaining about unprompted cuddles, but…"

Papyrus straightened himself. "Of course! I, the Great Papyrus, master of first aid and healing magic, am perfectly fine!"

Sans didn't look entirely convinced, which was absurd - after all, what reason did Papyrus have to not be okay? Everything was fine. Or would be fine very soon. No, Papyrus was more concerned about his brother - and he would have asked if he really was alright, but he already knew the question would just be shrugged off with another pun.

Setting that aside, though, there were currently two unconscious skeletons in their house, and even though everything was certainly going to be just fine, their unexpected guests would need something to help them recover both health and magic when they woke up. He shared the thought with his brother. "And as much as I would love to volunteer my culinary expertise, I am a little stuck here at the moment," he added. "So if you don't mind lending a hand again…"

"i gotcha, bro." Sans pat Papyrus' hand that was still on his shoulder. "and by that i mean, i'd get grillby's, but-"

Papyrus sighed. "But it's two in the morning," he finished the sentence for him. Grillby, too, belonged to the majority of monsters that slept at night, and therefore couldn't keep his establishment open around the clock. "Fortunately, because I can not in good conscience subject our guests to anything that comes out of that greasehole."

Sans chuckled faintly. "hey, you did like the milkshakes last time."

"The milkshakes are an exception! And do not distract from the issue at hand, brother! No Grillby's! You will need to make do with what we have. Such as…" Papyrus paused, mentally going through the contents of the fridge. Which was a rather small selection, now that he thought about it. Had he known that they would have visitors tonight, he would have moved his weekly shopping trip forward by a day. "Well, aside from your empty chips bag - which I am only tolerating because it's in your half of the fridge - there should be some spaghetti left over from yesterday…"

"oh. uh…" Sans looked aside, rubbing the back of his neck.

Papyrus was still waiting for the day when his brother would speak his honest opinion on his pasta, but today was not the time to have that conversation. He decided to rescue him. "I see what you are thinking, brother! Reheated pasta is not an appropriate meal for our recovering guests. It will be much better fresh, so we shall hold off on the spaghetti until I return with the groceries tomorrow."

Sans' shoulders visibly sagged in relief. "sounds great, bro."

"In the meantime, I believe we still have tomato soup in the freezer."

"nice." Sans gave an appreciative nod, the corners of his permanent grin rising up a little higher. "leave the tomato stuff to me, i got it."

"Thank you, brother." Papyrus gave Sans' shoulder another squeeze before letting him go.

It took a good minute before a realization struck him. "Sans!!" he whisper-yelled after him. "You are not going to put ketchup into that soup!"

All he heard in response was his brother bustling about in the kitchen.

---

It was hard to miss the exact moment when Red woke up. There was a thump and a muffled curse from the upper floor, then the sound of displaced air from a shortcut right next to the couch as Red appeared there, kicking a tangled blanket off his feet. The tension was practically oozing off of him, his eye lights darting once around the room before settling on his brother.

"is he…"

"He is going to be perfectly alright, yes." Papyrus made sure to inject as much sincerity as he could into the statement while still keeping his voice quiet. "He even woke up a little while ago, and I'm sure he will be on the mend in no time at all."

Red only gave a nod, his eye lights still fixed on his brother. Papyrus couldn't blame him.

"How are you feeling, Red? We were worried when you suddenly passed out - as comfortable as our carpet is, I do not think it was intended-"

"'m fine," Red interrupted him. The hollow tone to his voice, the dim eye lights, and the tense set of his shoulders told a different story, but Papyrus didn't press.

"My brother is making soup for all of us," he said instead. "Unless he has fallen asleep in the kitchen, that is. Which, while hardly surprising, would be rather ill-timed, not to mention a fire hazard…" He craned his neck to try and peer into the kitchen, hoping that Sans wasn't really asleep at the stove…

"nah, i'm soup-er awake over here," a familiar voice from the kitchen reassured him.

Red didn't even react to the pun. Instead, his eyes suddenly locked on the skeleton in Papyrus' lap with increased intensity, and Papyrus followed his gaze down.

Fell's sockets were open again. Maybe it was just Papyrus' imagination, but his eye lights looked a little brighter than before, even if he still didn't seem entirely aware. He wasn't trying to move, but the impression Papyrus got was more of a grouchy monster whose sleep had been disturbed rather than anything he really needed to worry about.

Red cracked a grin that was still looking strained. "heh. lookin' pretty cozy there, boss."

The only response was an unintelligible grumble and what seemed to be a weak attempt at a glare, although Papyrus couldn't tell for sure from his position. However, he didn't miss the way Red's shoulders sagged and his expression turned into something less of a tense grimace.

"Would you like to join us, Red?" Papyrus asked.

Red shook his head. "nah, 'm good. don't think ya two cuddle bugs have left enough space for my bony ass, anyway."

The pillow rustled as Fell lifted his head just slightly to look at his brother, and whatever Red saw on his face, it apparently made him change his mind. With a cautiousness Papyrus had never seen him use before, he shuffled over and perched on the very edge of the couch next to Fell's feet, settling a hand on an uninjured part of his leg. "there. happy?" he asked, the gruff tone to his voice not quite matching the care with which he was moving.

Fell gave a vaguely affirmative grunt and snuggled back into the pillows on Papyrus' lap, letting out a soft huff as his body relaxed again.

Red was watching his brother with a rare soft expression on his face that Papyrus had the strong feeling he wasn't supposed to see. He quickly looked away, occupying himself with rearranging the blankets.

There was a brief moment of silence before Red spoke up again. "y'know, i'd say sorry for dumping this on yer doorstep, but…"

Papyrus quickly shook his head. "Oh no, we're very happy to have you as our guests! I mean, I do wish we had you as our guests under different circumstances, but given the situation, I am very, very glad you came here!"

Red shrugged, leaning back against the arm of the couch. His hand remained on his brother's leg. "wasn't like we had much choice." His expression darkened slightly. "'t was either you guys or the doc, and who knows what she woulda…" He trailed off.

Before Papyrus could ask what the issue with their world's version of Alphys was, there was a familiar rush of displaced air as Sans appeared next to the couch, balancing a tray of soup bowls in his hands. "mornin', sleepybones," he greeted the latest arrival on the couch.

Red grumbled good-naturedly, grabbing a bowl before slumping back into his end of the couch, somehow without jostling Fell's legs in the slightest.

Sans unceremoniously plopped down on the ground with his own bowl after handing the third one to Papyrus. "bone appetit."

That particular pun was about as tired as Sans looked, but Papyrus still awarded the attempt with an eyeroll. He carefully took a sip - and yes, there was the unmistakable sweet tang of his brother's favorite condiment. "Sans…"

"'sup, bro?" He let his skull roll back against the couch, innocently grinning up at Papyrus.

"You know exactly what is 'up', brother." It didn't even taste bad, if Papyrus was completely honest, but it was a matter of principle.

"what, not a fan of the soup-prise ingredient? i think it tastes soup-erb."

Papyrus took the bait. "That's three times that you've used 'soup' in the span of five minutes!"

Sans shrugged. "what can i say, it's a classic. though i soup-pose i should ketchup on some new material…"

Papyrus let out a long-suffering sigh and turned to the other Sans in the room. "What about you, Red? Are you enjoying the soup? We can get you something" – he side-eyed his brother – "less ketchup-heavy…"

Red shook his head and gave a thumbs-up at the same time, emptying what appeared to be half the bowl in a single gulp. "nah, soup's perfect. gotta condiment yer cooking, comic."

"Don't encourage him!"

A snicker came from the ground next to the couch. "thanks. gotta admit, i've been stewing over it for a while, so i'm glad at least someone's relishing it."

Papyrus groaned. Quietly, of course, even though Fell seemed dead to the world again… no, that was a bad one.

Red's face suddenly split into a sharp-toothed grin that filled Papyrus with dread. "but ya know, i wonder if we could spice it up-"

"Please do not wonder!" Papyrus tried to cut him off, but it was already too late.

"say no more." With an equally wide grin, Sans got up and disappeared into another shortcut. He returned a second later with a suspiciously yellow condiment bottle and tossed it at his alternate on the couch, who expertly caught it.

"Do not think I don't see how you're fully exploiting the fact that I can't get up right now!" Papyrus whisper-yelled.

Red made full eye contact as he uncapped the bottle and, teasingly slowly, turned it upside down above his bowl. Somehow, his grin widened even further.

Groaning, Papyrus threw an arm over his eye sockets (albeit slightly less dramatically than he would have done without a sleeping skeleton on his lap) so he didn't have to watch him squirt an ungodly amount of mustard into his soup. "Why??" he lamented. "Why must I be plagued by the only two monsters in existence who will ruin a perfectly good tomato soup with condiments?"

He sensed more than saw the bottle flying past him and back to Sans. There was another squelch of mustard being squeezed into soup.

"I swear, you're only doing this to torment me!"

"hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it, bro."

"I don't need to try it to know that mustard has no place in a tomato soup!"

"nah," Red chimed in. "i think ya just haven't mustard up the courage fer it."

Papyrus buried his face in his hands.

"what's the matter, creampuff? can't take what we're dishin' out?"

Papyrus let out a perfectly silent screech to keep himself from smiling at the horrendous puns. Not to smile at the two Sanses' laughter that rewarded him proved more difficult, though. Playing along with their jokes was comfortable, familiar - and just for a little while, it was easier to pretend that everything truly was alright.

#undertale #undertale fanfiction #papyrus #sans #underfell sans #underfell papyrus #(although he's unconscious for most of the chapter)#platonic edgepuff #hurt/comfort #my writing #out of action fic

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spiders-hth-is-an-outlier · 4 years ago

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One of the weird things about TERF rhetoric to me is the business about “THEY want to force lesbians to like penises!” because -- idk this might not be universal (what is universal, really?), but -- I don’t assume from knowing someone’s sexuality that I automatically know their feelings about any genitals? Like, plenty of straight women aren’t super gung-ho about penises, on a scale from “overrated” to “barely tolerable.” Plenty of straight men seem to be vaguely grossed out by vaginas. I think queer people get a little bit of swag on and feel superior to the heterosexuals, like wlw are the ones who are supposed to really love pussy, and mlm are all cock-crazed, unlike those repressed straights, but in reality-land, that’s -- not true? Not consistently true, anyway. Some degree of ambivalence about genitals and genital sexuality is actually way more common than we like to think it is, either because of all the weird emotional baggage we tend to assign to that stuff culturally, or just because allosexuality and asexuality exist on more of a spectrum than we admit, and tons of people just kind of exist in the middle somewhere, feeling positive about handling other people’s genitals sometimes, but also sometimes less positive.

So like -- if I meet someone who tells me she’s a lesbian, my automatic thought isn’t “well, obviously she is severely repulsed by penises and gets extremely horny for vaginas!” I mean, maybe! And if you’re a lesbian and that describes you, rock on, I think you should probably have sex with the cis women who make you horny! But there are lesbians whose quality of life is like, fine without handling a partner’s vagina, and there are lesbians who could kind of go either way on handling penises, but are lesbians because they have strong non-genital feelings about women. Those people exist! (As well as full-stop asexual lesbians, of course.)

And because in my bones I’m basically the uptight Midwestern Protestant I was raised to be, I’m always like YIKES, WHAT? when I run into people who want -- unprompted! -- to share with me -- a stranger! -- exactly how various kinds of genitals make them feel. HELP, I DO NOT KNOW YOU. I love you, lesbian friends, but you are crossing a weird line if you just rock up on me like “I need you to know exactly what kind of genitals make me horny and what kinds make me go dry!” I didn’t ask!!! Nobody asked!

Being a woman is a social role, among other things -- it’s a pretty public affair. So if someone tells me they like women, that feels like a reasonable thing to have a public conversation about? I’m here for it. But if the next thing that person says is therefore I massively dislike dicks, my automatic reaction isn’t (solely) “oh, great, a TERF” -- it’s first and foremost, “I’m not the audience for this.”

Of course people are allowed to have “genital preferences,” it’s just that A) I’m begging you to stop disclosing them to me uninvited, and 2) they just aren’t synonymous and interchangeable with sexual orientation. In practice, among real people, they are not. And they’re really, really nothing to build your political identity off of; that’s weird and you should stop doing it.

But mostly A.

#of course there's an obvious irony posting this on tumblr #where oversharing is a way of life #but there are still *lines*

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years ago

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Idk if you do villain deku but how would it work out if villain deku and tomura loved the same darling

You must be new around here. For context, assume Izuku was taken in be All For One around the time the series would’ve started, and was groomed with Shigaraki to carry on in the villain world.

TW: Dehumanization, Implied Physical Abuse and Mentions of Kidnapping.

Brothers were supposed to be good at sharing.

They weren’t technically brothers, not biologically, but they’d had more than enough time to learn how to act as if they were. They’d already been leading the League of Villains by the time you joined, Tomura as the mastermind and Izuku as the dramatic flair that balanced out his much more bleak companion, so for all intents and purposes, they should get along amicably. They should, and they could if they tried, hell, it almost seemed like they were friends most of the time, as far as you could tell. But, there were some things they couldn’t seem to agree on, regardless of how much time they’d had the opportunity to argue their way to a compromise.

Early on, you hadn’t known whether or not to be honored or disturbed that you were that point of contention, that one thing they couldn’t seem to split evenly. You’d fretted over it, at first, concerned that this might affect the League’s end-goal or cause even more friction among its more volatile members, but now that you ‘weren’t allowed’ to leave either of their personal rooms, your feelings on the subject were much less altruistic.

Even now, you had to grit your teeth to keep from voicing your frustration as Izuku made himself comfortable beside you, his head resting on your chest and his legs splayed across yours, the boy content to entangle himself with you whenever possible. It must’ve been relaxing for him, considering just how much time he spent slotted against whatever part of you he could reach, rambling away about anything and everything that came to mind. You’d tried participating, earlier, wondering aloud about your old friends were doing and probing him for information on the world outside of his bedroom's walls, but you didn’t, anymore. He’d get so quiet, and then so angry… It was better to let him bring it up naturally. Or, failing that, try with Tomura, if he was in one of his better moods.

“Right, (Y/n)?” He asked, his voice drawing you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t heard the question, but you nodded regardless, earning a smile and a squeeze to the arm he was clinging to. He continued unprompted, your silence not seeming to bother him. It never had before, so why would it now? “I just think the Nomus could be so much more useful if we put a little more effort into maintaining their human appearances. Just imagine it! You’re taking a crowded train to work and then, out of nowhere, bam! Something’s attacking and no Heroes will arrive until everyone’s already dead or so hopeless, they might as well be.” He laughed, light-heartedly, his grin broadening with every other word. His expression alone could’ve made you sick, and the contents of his lecture certainly weren’t helping. “But, he doesn’t think it fits with our message. Like attacking people on the street is any different from--”

The door swung open without warning, cold steel colliding harshly with the neighboring concrete wall. The clash echoed through the small room, reverberating off non-existent furniture and forcing Izuku to stop, pursing his lips as he went quiet. He pulled away from you, slightly, positioning himself to face the occupied entrance, but his smile fell as soon as he saw the intruder, something wicked taking its place. Not a frown, no, a frown would’ve been kind compared to the disappointment spreading across his features, manufactured but just as painfully disinterested as any natural reaction could’ve been. Something he’d practiced especially for those he thought felt above him, his current victim no exception.

Tomura hardly bothered looking up from the floor, his scowl permanently fixed on the path ahead of him. “Have you seen…” He trailed off, his gaze darting anxiously upwards, only searching for a moment before his eyes fixed on to you. A bolt of something frozen and sharp ran up your spine, involuntarily, Tomura’s presence enough to make you uneasy on its own. His tone didn’t make anything better, raspy and low but authoritative, at the same time. The tone of an older brother who wanted something his younger sibling had already laid claim to. “It’s not your day. You were supposed to leave them in my room until I came back.”

“Oh, it’s not?” If Izuku was attempting to be playful, you couldn’t tell, the words coming out flat, annoyed. As if he had a million better things to be doing than indulging Tomura. “Must’ve gotten the schedule mixed up. Besides, Shigaraki,” He paused, making a point of detaching himself from you completely, stretching casually, only to sink back into your side, his arms now around your waist. “Don’t you think it’s mean to leave my poor little sweetheart in the lonely room of yours, all alone with nobody to keep them company? I mean, I know you still aren’t used to the way we do this kind of stuff, but I figured that’d be common sense.”

You tried to sit up, pushing Izuku away gently. For the sake of self-preservation, if nothing else. “That’s uncalled for, Midoriya. It is his turn--”

“You’re one to talk, you maladjusted little brat.” There was a chance he hadn’t heard you, but you couldn’t be that hopeful. Instead, you were left pushed against the barred headboard as Izuku took a defensive posture, crossing his arms and pushing himself to his feet, making himself seem as intimidating as he could. Still, Tomura eclipsed him easily, a head taller than his opponent and twice as off-putting, his stance only growing more overwhelming as he took a step close to the two of you. “I’m sure they’d rather be alone than stuck with a creep who doesn’t know how to keep it in his pants.”

Izuku responded with a hum, this time, the soft noise accompanied by a tilt of his head. He was smiling again in the blink of an eye, but it didn’t seem as careless as it had before. ‘Baring his teeth’ might’ve been a better description. “Do you think someone’s jealous, angel?” You recognized the petname, but he wasn’t talking to you. His concentration was utterly dedicated to Tomura, now. “If our valiant leader was having that type of problem, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? I’d hate for you to be neglected when I’m not around.”

Tomura huffed, growled, his hands balling into fists at his sides, each finger curled until his knuckles were nearly translucent. It was all you could do to tear your attention away as he started towards Izuku, his arm outstretched and looking for something to choke, but his target was unfazed, never faltering. Still, you knew what would happen if they made contact. They’d fight and yell and scream, and when they were sick of dealing with each other, both would be left to take their frustration out on something soft and malleable and captive. Something that couldn’t choose not to lay there and take it.

You were scrambling forward before you could think, stumbling off the bed and putting yourself between Izuku and Tomura. “You’re both fucking awful,” You said, the statement falling off your tongue before you could think of something more pleasent to say. “All you do is argue and insult each other and make me miserable. If you cared about me, actually cared about me, you’d try to get along. That, or you’d let me go and just beat each other to death, already.”

As soon as you finished, the tension returned, stronger and more unignorable than ever. When neither responded immediately, hope swelled in your chest, but it was smothered just as quickly, Tomura grabbing your wrist and squeezing. You didn’t doubt that he would leave bruises, but suddenly, soreness and aches were the least of your concerns. “Who told the bitch to talk out of turn?” Tomura spat, watching you squirm with a cold glare. “This is what happens when you spoil your pets. They start acting out.”

“Don’t use that kind of language,” Izuku muttered, but he didn’t disagree. Instead, he shook his head, letting out a drawn-out, exasperated sigh. “But… we should do something. The disobedience will only get worse, if we let it go on.”

Tomura nodded, and that was all the confirmation they needed before you were being dragged out of the room, your resistance was useless as it was desperate. In all the bickering and forced affection, you’d almost forgotten the one thing they did agree on.

You’d forgotten just how eager they were to put you in your place.

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lemonietrinket · 5 years ago

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Coward ||| Chan & Reader

Summary: you and your best friend that have been conjoined at the hip since you were little got into an argument 3 weeks prior, and you can do little to escape it Genres: Angst, but a happy ending with fluff Warnings: consequences of and therefore inferences to a big argument (actual events left vague), one explicit insult, poor language (2x f**k) Word Count: 2,099 Theme: Not a song, but this edit inspired the fic AN: guess how long I’ve had this here in my drafts? September 9, 2019. finally got round to writing it, even though I knew exactly what would happen this is my brain’s bs I don’t write angst super often so, I hope you enjoy!

High school/non-idol AU

~~~

With a sigh you let your chin fall onto your arms. You stared at your own muffled reflection in the glass as you sat on the windowsill, brain in a haze. The cicadas were chirping away below your hunched body, their chorus at its opening hook, and they would continue long through the night—much like the chaos next door.

You supposed, through the thicket of your thoughts, that you should be grateful that the swathes of bodies were just chatting loudly to themselves, instead of screeching to some awful trap beat like they’d been doing the week before. The speakers were playing full blast however, and it didn’t help a single bit that it was one of your favourite songs. In fact, that was part of the reason why you felt so heavy.

Had things been normal, you would have been there, dancing and smiling and joking with anyone who would listen. But you weren’t.

He hadn’t invited you. Your best friend. Didn’t invite you—his best friend—to his birthday party. Over something so petty too.

You could barely recall the intricacies of the argument. All you could remember was his terse scowl, his soft eyes going from sweet to sour in a second, and the words that cracked like a whip and branded you. Your best friend was so gentle, with a heart of gold—you had seen him at his worst once before, what you’d thought was his worst, and even then you couldn’t imagine he could even contain the spite that then flew from his lips. Even if there had been warning for what could come, nothing further still could have prepared you for it.

He’d become a sort of cold vicious, insults thrown carelessly that then cut deep as if they’d been heated in a bare flame. “How can you be such a fucking coward, Y/N?” had been the one that had twisted as it was pulled out. It still snuck up on you, pounced when you thought you’d calmed down, and then left you reeling in unsettled hurt all over again.

It never made you cry though. Not during the day. As night crept over the horizon however, it was a different story, and the cicadas’ call became a tepid siren.

You let the warm night air hold you, as if it would work as a suitable replacement, though you knew it would never come close. Breathing in the night air, you sank deeper into the arms of your jumper. It smelt of comfort, of home, of happiness, and the loose hairs there tickled your nose. It was as if your reactions were on a set delay, as it took you several seconds to realise that it was dog hair that was on your sleeves, and that scent was from the person that had taken the comfort away from you.

‘He doesn’t want you anymore,’ you had to remind yourself, ‘you shouldn’t spare a thought on him.’

But there you were, moping nevertheless, your thoughts practically consumed by him. You couldn’t blame yourself entirely for it, because even as soon as you tried to lift your head away from the memories embroidered in your sleeves, you were still hit by the realisation that you were sat by your bedroom window—the very one that he’d clambered through unprompted years before. He’d been so desperate to escape being forced to tolerate his uncle’s ramblings about roadworks and his pitch to him to get him to come and work at his business instead of music. “Silly songwriting,” had been what his uncle had referred to it as, and your best friend always got a kick out of impersonating the man’s wily poshness.

You used to chuckle every time your brain procured the memory randomly for you. Now, it just stung.

He’d always wanted to do music, and he refused to give in no matter what anyone told him. His parents had always been supportive, and you figured that was partly why he was so determined with it, though the sentiment wasn’t shared with his extended relatives that often visited. You’d always thought he was brave for standing up to them, it was something that you’d always wanted to do to your own for other reasons, but never found the words to.

You caught yourself in the loop, shaking your head miserably at yourself and the situation before you. How were you supposed to move on when everything around you seeped with him? The caps you shared were slung on the bedposts, the mess of homework scattered upon your desk, the guitar in the corner easing gradually out of tune. Even the night itself was his time. How were you supposed to hide away from the night when you’d spent pretty much every other one before with him.

The ember heat of anger rose in your throat, your thoughts spiking at the distaste of how no one seemed to take the jagged loss of a best friend seriously, at least to enough to help you. The heat grew wilder then; it was never directed at him.

With the sun set below the horizon you felt your lower lip quiver and you loathed its tenderness. You’d watched the sunset with him so many times, you could conjure the exact shades of gold and crimson in your head, it was just a hindrance that you couldn’t paint it without his messy dark curls in the corner.

A knock came from the front door, ad you found yourself counting its beats. Three, no sharps, just drawled pauses in between. You immediately questioned yourself on as to why it mattered. But you knew exactly why. Wishing one of your parents was home to go and answer it would not fix the problem no matter how much you yearned it to, and so you convinced yourself to trundle down the stairs to see who it was. It was probably only a delivery guy after all. Hopefully they wouldn’t try and talk to you unnecessarily.

Biting the inside of your cheek and settling your shaking lips into a firm scowl you swung open the door with a warning glare already in your eye.

To your surprise, it was no person holding a stack of pizza or a parcel of any kind, just a boy you knew too well, with his fallen-tipped eyes all downtrodden.

“Chan, what the fuck are you doing here?” you snapped, your hand itching to slam the door straight back in his face. The only thing that stopped you was his bitten lips. You hated how you knew him so well and that it left you vulnerable.

He drew a smile upon his face, but it was too tight-lipped to be convincing. You wondered if he thought you a fool to try and lie, but still you left the door open. “Too many people,” he finally managed, one fist curling in the cradle of the other’s palm.

“It’s your party!” you snarled, your heart’s leniency not transferring across to your words. You watched his lips hammer shut as his sad eyes glanced away, explanations or excuses—how were you to tell—pooling behind his barricade. You let him stew, the vengeful spirit seeking some joy in his utter discomfort and you didn’t have it in you to hold it back quite yet. The weeks he’d left you in turmoil etched across your mind, the insecurities he’d played on that he couldn’t use the ignorance-card for in the slightest too. You weren’t ready to forgive him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tag a ‘never’ no matter how much you tried.

His response broke through the blockade of his silence. “I realised that I messed up Y/N, and it’s not my party if you’re not there and,” his gaze came back to yours and you indulged him, meeting his eyes and how they glistened, “and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

The vengeful sprite vanished from your shoulder, and you were left without a clue as to what to do. You wanted to forgive him, and he seemed genuine. He’d never pulled a stunt like this before, and you’d known him ever since you were little. But neither could you put his words to bed, and the actions that followed. You’d been to every single one of his birthday parties, you’d been such a staple to him that this wasn’t actually the first time you strictly speaking hadn’t been invited—because there was no way you wouldn’t have been at his side to begin with. But this was a first, and it hurt.

You took in the sight of the boy that you’d refused to even look at for the past three weeks. He looked exactly how you’d left him, only emptier. His shadow grew in the flitting light of the dying day sky, much like the ones beneath his eyes had already done. He was closed in on himself, the subtle confidence he always oozed nowhere to be found. You couldn’t picture his high tone catching laughter tumbling from his lips like this. Neither could you hear those sharp edged words on them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean it, it all just happened and... and this doesn’t fix it—I made you cry, and I hate that I did! It... it’s my responsibility. I accept that it’s my fault, and I’m sorry, I really am—”

You stepped from your doorway and took him into your arms. Three weeks was too long of a time to be from them after all, and you couldn’t stand the way the tears threatened to spill over both your eyes and his.

He held onto you as soon as you fit against him as perfectly as you always did, hands clutching at your jumper while he nestled his head into your hair. Your tears dampened the collar of his sweater as you sighed, a staggered breath that only just pulled you back from crying entirely. You focused on him, just like you had done before, only this time it was less painful. You realised he smelt different than before, and it soon occurred to you that it was your scent that was missing. It surprised you to discover just how much of your perfume ended up all over him. It wasn’t like you were super affectionate and cuddly friends either. Your lips twitched into a smile without a single thought discarded.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, swaying before your wide open door as Chan slowly regained his stability. All the midges were probably fleeing inside but this once you didn’t mind. You had your comfort back, and even though things weren’t perfect, you could begin to move forward as things should.

“You better make it up to me,” you ordered, a feeble laugh filtering through.

He sniffed and its stunned you just how close to crying he’d been. “I know, I will, I promise.”

Rubbing his back soothingly, you eased him into swinging gently with the song. It earnt you a warbled laugh, but it meant his usual self was returning. “Do you want to play Mario Kart and see how long it takes for someone to notice?”

You pulled away gently hearing him chuckle awkwardly. Peering up you saw his pink tinged cheeks and wet eyes that he half-covered-half-wiped with his hand. He was the same old Chan you’d known for years after all. “Sounds perfect!” You smiled, helping him wipe his tears with the side of your finger which caused him to sheepishly smile and repeat ‘I’m ok, I’m ok...!’

Unsure how to handle the next part, you ended up leading him inside his second home with an awkward shimmy of your arms. It was meant to be a dance move, but it didn’t look much like one and it barely fit the theme of the song pummelling across the air. It didn’t matter to you though, it was really a test of the waters, and fortunately: it worked.

Your restored best friend giggled shyly as he followed, steadying his breath as he watched you shuffle through your front door. He would make all his words up to you, he vowed he would. They’d all been misplaced, all been resentments with himself that he’d sprung weakly on the first other he found, and of course that was going to be you. He was going to make it right, never let you down, help you with whatever you asked—no excuses—and maybe let you win a few times at Mario Kart. And maybe one day he would finally work up the courage to tell you the truth.

~~~

AN: i wrote a thing! go brain!

[edited: may 31]

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haikyuuscreaming · 5 years ago

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hello!! can you write something fluff with kenma, please? some friends to lovers if possible. loving your blog 💕💕

OH SHIT SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG SDFSDFJKD this is. 3.5k words roughly and im so sorry idk why my fics always come out longer than 1k words :((( <3 under the cut so i dont clog ur dash AHAi hope u enjoy :)

The first time you meet Kozume Kenma, he’s hiding behind the wall that is Kuroo Tetsurou and you’re both in your first year.

“Oh?” The Nekoma volleyball captain stares you down in the Chem class you share with him. “You’re [Surname]-san, right?”

“Yeah,” You say, never breaking eye contact with him but secretly eyeing the quiet boy behind him. He’s your classmate in a few other of your periods, but not this one. This class is an advanced Chemistry class, placing you conveniently with the second-years and a handful of equally smart first-years. “I need help with the homework and you’re my best bet. Could you help out?”

Kuroo narrows his eyes at you, which you don’t exactly appreciate but you don’t say anything. “You sure you don’t want me to just give answers?”

“I kinda need to understand this to pass the class, so no thanks.”

He hums in approval, like you’ve passed some test, and nods. “Sure thing. I wanted to teach Kenma this anyway.”

Oh, that’s his name… you think to yourself, and you noticed the mentioned Kenma doesn’t look up from his Nintendo Switch, even at the mention of his name. You watch Kuroo turn around to his companion, coercing him, “Kenma, get up, we’re learning Chem.”

“Can’t we do it later?” Kenma’s voice doesn’t hold anything akin to bitterness or complaint- it’s kind of devoid, actually, in a soft and cute way- and you try to tune out the sound of Kuroo scolding him but he’s so loud when he’s right next to you.

“C’mon, we’re about to go home now, we can stay after school a little longer. Plus, we get to teach this lovely lady about nuclei.”

“I’m right here, you know,” you roll your eyes lightly but before you know it, you’re defending Kozume-san. “We can always work it out, um… I dunno, maybe over lunch on Sunday? I mean, it is Friday and this thing’s due Monday and… we can have more fun studying this if we have food.”

Stupid fucking Kuroo only grins. “Oh, so you’re asking me on a date? Kinda bold, if I don’t say so myself, kouhai-chan.”

“Kuro, stop.” Kenma speaks up and his quiet voice somehow speaks volumes. “We can meet with her on Sunday to do it.” And just like that, he retreats to his Switch without another word.

Kuroo turns to you and shrugs indifferently, contrasting his previously provocative and shitfaced attitude. “The man’s laid down the law. How’s boba on Sunday sound?”

The second time you meet Kenma is on that promised study session.

He has inconspicuous earbuds in, his face illuminated by the glowing light of his DS. He has a DS, too? He still looks cute.

And there’s Kuroo of course, but he’s irrelevant to your case unless it has to do with your god forsaken chem homework.

“You want me to go order some drinks next door?” Kuroo quirks an eyebrow. “My treat.”

“Just a brown sugar milk tea, thanks,” You tell him gratefully. Thank god for men and their dead sense of chivalry.

“No boba? You’re crazy.” Kuroo scrunches his nose at you and you wish Kenma would start talking so you could avoid this big, annoying cat. “What about you, Kenma? Your usual?”

“Yeah,” is all Kenma says.

“Alright, see you nerds later,” Kuroo practically sings out, patting both of your heads like an old man, and takes something from Kenma that you don’t quite catch, but it makes Kenma glare at him.

As soon as Kuroo’s out of sight, you find it a little awkward to keep conversation with Kenma especially with his whole gamer complex, but-

Oh.

Kuroo took Kenna's DS.

“Kuroo-san’s pretty bothersome, huh,” you sigh out in an attempt to stir conversation. Lucky for you, Kenma goes along with the conversation without fight, his eyes peering over you like reflective pools of honey.

(They’re really pretty, you think.)

“Yeah,” Kenma slouches down a little bit more in his chair at the mention of his taller friend. “He’s kind of like my second mom… but not really. Always nagging me to do things.”

You laugh at his solemn, depressed answer. “It’s fun to have him around, though, right? He’s kind of funny sometimes-- the rest he’s annoying-- and he’s decently smart even though I’m pretty sure he’s got, what, three braincells.”

To your unprompted delight, Kenma laughs softly at you poking fun of Kuroo, and the conversation between you and him starts piling up into more, and more, and it all feels so short. You don’t even notice Kuroo coming back and hovering over the table.

“Eh? You and Kenma getting along without me? What a shame, you know. I really do get third-wheeled.” Kuroo lets out a wistful sigh akin to an old man and sits down, drinks in hand. “So, who’s ready to study?”

The third time you meet Kozume Kenma, it’s at your mall’s arcade.

You and your friends are playing one of those claw machines, trying to get that really cute Miku figurine and those adorable plushies, wasting all your coins on these sucker games like the dumb teenagers you are. But a glimpse of familiar, two-toned hair catches your eye.

“Hold on,” you tell your friends who’re still busy trying to get that stupidly gorgeous Sakura Miku figure. “I’m gonna be right back.”

You wander your way to the familiar head of hair, and gratefully, your instinct was right. “Kozume-san? What’re you doing here?”

Kenma practically jumps at the sound of your voice, turning around, eyes wide. “Oh. I just got lost from the team. You’re here too?”

“Mhm,” You smile, pointing at your screaming group of friends. “My friends and I are here just to chill out and have fun. You can hang with us if you want!”

He shakes his head, his hair gracefully framing his face. “Nah, I’m fine, thanks.. I’ll just hold out until Kuro sniffs me out or something.”

You furrow your brow- geez, this kid’s gonna get lost so fast-- and you gently clasp the phone he’s holding in his hand. “Can I give you my number? I’ll pick up immediately if you ever call, just give a ring.”

You fail to notice the surprise that flits over Kenma’s face, but he reluctantly hands you his phone and you tap in your number quickly. “See you around, Kozume-san. Don’t get into trouble.”

And Kenma smiles on his own accord, his face lighting up softly like a lamp under moonlight. “You too.”

The fourth time you meet Kozume Kenma, he’s at your house working on an Japanese Lit assignment.

“Oh? Kozume-kun!” You’re pleasantly surprised when your teacher pairs the two of you up. “Nice to talk with you again.”

“Yeah, “ Kenma blinks a little awkwardly and he shyly grins, which you find even more stunning than it already is because he’s usually held up such a calm, unaffected facade. “Uh. So do you want to meet up at… your house for this? So we can do the project.”

“Oh, yeah,” You wave dismissively, beaming at him because this is your chance to get closer with him. “My little brother’s a nuisance, though, so he might bother us. I hope you don’t mind?”

“No problem.. you can text me the address, because… yeah.” You find it cute how Kenma doesn’t want to mention that the two of you have been texting a lot more lately, and the slightest blush tints his cheeks.

“Of course!”

Flash to your house, the two of you are on the floor, slaving over a giant posterboard with paint and art supplies scattered about.

“I hate making movie posters, it’s so tiring…” You groan out, trying to paint Yukio Mishima’s face with the utmost care. “And this book’s so creepy… why would we wanna make a poster of it? He commits seppuku!”

Kenma grins a little bit and he looks really cute, with his hair tied up in the back and his gaze focused on the painting at hand. “You’re so easily grossed out.”

“But he made it so detailed! You're immune ‘cause you play all those gross horror games.”

He laughs quietly, and you think you're going to heaven. “You couldn't even handle Ao Oni, stop.”

You scowl at the mention of Kenma’s dumb horror games. “He’s this weird deformed grape, okay?? It was kinda scary!”

The two of you end up nowhere near finishing your poster, and you collectively decide to put it off for maybe another day. The rest of your day is spent-- c-cuddling? (no hetero, you reassured Kenma, although you were thinking otherwise)-- and playing more horror games, much to your chagrin.

(But it gave you a reason to hug Kenma tighter.)

You can’t even count the amount of times you’ve met up with Kenma now. You’re in your second-year of high school now and your bond with him as only strengthened.

He invited you eventually to walk to school with him, along with Kuroo, and you find out that it was Kuroo’s coaxing to do so. But you’re still delighted that Kenma agreed on, what, the second time Kuroo nagged him about it?

You and Kenma have gotten fairly close. You’ve vented to him, cried to him, he’s shown his emotional side, too. You’ve even gotten a little closer to Nekoma’s god, Kuroo Tetsurou (to which your friends always complain about- “you can’t take all the cute guys for yourself”). But, in your opinion, the most important part is that you’ve been getting closer to Kozume Kenma, who you once thought would always just be the quiet classmate to you. Who would always be your unattainable, close-guarded crush.

"Kenma!” You yell out, rushing over to him with your backpack practically bouncing off of you with each step. “Wait up, would you?! How do you get out of class so quick??”

"I was waiting for you either way,” Kenma mumbles and hunches his shoulders together. “Do you wanna go to my house? I have new games and Kuroo won't be bothering us.”

“Can’t we get snacks first?” You know you sound a little bit whiny, but you’re hungry as fuck, and Kenma’s smiling either way.

“I guess.. you’re paying, though.”

“That isn’t fair at all!”

Eventually the two of you walk to your nearest 7/11 and get chips and snacks before leaving promptly, with you holding your chocolate milk and Kenma sipping apple juice. The walk to his house is full of conversation, Kenma equally engaged as you are. But as soon as you arrive at his front doorstep, the hollow noise of an empty apple juice box makes its appearance.

“You drink your juice too fast!” You tease Kenma lightly as he frowns, unlocking the door.

“You just drink too slow,” he replies and shoulders the door open. The two of you make your way inside and flop onto the couch, Kenma crouching near the TV to boot up his newest game. “Damn. I’m still thirsty, too.”

“Language, Kenma,” You chide him, throwing a pillow at him as soon as he sits down next to you on the couch. “And-” it takes every ounce of your willpower not to turn bright red. “-do you want some of my chocolate milk?”

The silence that follows is very short (probably only, what, a second or two?), but it feels like hours of painful quiet. Kenma blinks at you and the pink that dusts his ears becomes more and more prominent each second.

“Yeah… sure,” Kenma finally says and you beam so wide that you’re sure not even the sun could battle the brightness of your happiness right now. You hand him your nearly untouched chocolate milk and his fingers brush against yours as he takes it, sipping at it cautiously like he was afraid something would happen.

(Oh my god he’s so cute.. he looks so cute… he’s drinking my chocolate milk!! He’s so-)

“Oi, Kenma! My mom told me to pick up some tomatoes from y-” The door bursts open to reveal Kuroo Tetsurou.

You freeze, since Kuroo just witnessed you passing a chocolate milk box to Kenma and the latter sipping at the straw. Kenma kind of flushes, his mouth still wrapped around the plastic straw with chocolate milk halfway up.

“Eh? Sharing drinks now?” Kuroo tsks and shakes his head, a smirk gracing his stupidly arrogant face. “You know, you two could get mono. Or any other communicable diseases. Kinda risky, you know?”

“Kuroo, stop!” You’re wildly embarrassed to be caught in this not-so-platonic situation (in your opinion, at least), before Kuroo lets out a hearty laugh.

“You know, that’s an indirect kiss!”

“Didn’t I say stop?!”

“Ah, youth. Indirect kisses! You put your mouth on the straw, then he did. Romance at its finest!”

You know, deep inside, Kuroo just likes to rile you up, but you still bite the bait. “Kuroo, shut up, please??”

And Kenma speaks up for the first time during the whole banter. “Kuro, the tomatoes are on the kitchen table. Go.”

The Nekoma captain quirks an eyebrow before shrugging and heading towards the kitchen. “Thanks. Don’t do anything risky.”

“Kuroo!”

You and Kenma awkwardly glance at each other-- you note he’s still sipping your chocolate milk-- and eventually he stands off to ward Kuroo off (who keeps chuckling for no goddamn reason).

You two are alone again, and his burnt-gold eyes stare into yours.

“Did Kuro bother you?” His ears are still pinkish, but you notice that he’s still comfortable, although you can see a sheen of sweat starting to form on his face.

“Nah... “ You force your voice to stay level. “Why does he keep doing this?? God, he’s so annyoing sometimes… it isn’t like- it isn’t like we’re dating or anything.” God fucking damn stuttering.

Kenma’s eyes widen for a fraction of a millisecond, and you almost miss it, before he clears his throat. “Yeah. Not like that at all.. let’s just go back to playing.”

The atmosphere morphs into the usual, playful one that is held between the two of you, and you’re becoming proud of how much better Kenma is at redefining conversations and shifting the mood whereas in the beginning he would struggle in topic changes.

You’re so proud of him.

(And you’re kind of in love with him.)

You have a group chat with Kuroo and Kenma, unsurprisingly.

It’s, what, midnight on a school day, and the three of you are texting. Kuroo offers a game of ‘truth or dare’, and you accept out of sheer boredom. Plus, dares are so much easier to do online because you can fake nearly anything.

kuroo >:/: kenma truth or dare

kenma :): i’m not playing

YOU: yea you are !! ur not getting out of this

kenma :): fine

don’t say anything stupid though

kuroo >:/: so whats it gonna b???

Kenma takes a good ten seconds to respond.

kenma :): truth.

kuroo >:/: you got a crush on anyone?

YOU: oooh spicy

kenma :): kuro why

Your heart races a little bit at the comment.

YOU: oh? kenma i thought we were besties :(( why wouldnt u tell me

kenma :): it isn’t that….

kuro you already know why are you asking me that here

kuroo >:/: for my favorite kouhai [name]-chan

YOU: fuck off kuroo we all know im ur fav bc i pay for ur boba

kuroo >:/: fair

You get impatient with Kuroo’s mindless banter, so you end up texting Kenma privately.

YOU: so who is ur crush????

kenma :): why do you assume i have one

YOU: i mean….u wouldve denied it if u didnt have one?

He leaves you on seen for two minutes and you’re about to text him and complain but his reply shoots back.

kenma :): it’s you

And your heart doesn’t skip a beat. No, it just beats even faster.

The blood is rushing to your face, you can feel it, and a smile tugs at your face subconsciously. Your brain’s running a mile a minute, and you’re so outrageously shocked and unprepared that the aftermath of it all hits you just about a minute later.

(What if he’s lying? What if someone made him say that? What if-)

YOU: fr?

YOU: kenma dont mess w me

kenma :): i’m not

kenma :): you wanted to know so yeah. it’s you

kenma :): i like you and idk kuro says it’s “more than just like” and maybe he’s right

kenma :): see u at school tmr

YOU: WAIT KENMA COME BACK ???

You cute little rat, you seeth internally, happiness still radiating off of you. Is this a dream? Oh my god. Kozume Kenma likes me.

… Kozume Kenma feels the same way I feel about him.

The next day, you anxiously wait for Kenma at your doorstep. You even woke up early and had gotten ready as soon as you could, just so you could catch Kenma ASAP.

You slept surprisingly well, despite your anxiety from Kenma, and your body was filled with energy. You check your phone every two minutes, glancing at his ‘good morning text’ and praying for another one.

kenma :))): gm i’m still walking to school with u if you want… i’ll pass by your house just in case

YOU: oh!!!! yea id love to walk to school w u :))

Silence fills your ears as you anxiously pace back and forth from your doorstep to the curb of your neighborhood. You can’t help but worry as your gaze flits across every house, begging for a sign of Kenma.

(What if you’re too late, you realize in panic. What if your efforts weren’t enough?)

But then the sound of quiet-paced footsteps snaps you out, and you look up to see Kenma, standing in front of your house, an adorably shy expression painted across his face.

“Kenma!” You hate how your voice comes out kind of squeaky and high-pitched but you don’t care right now. You practically launch off of your doorstep and bound toward him, settling by his side.

He gives you a shy, adoring look but you can see the anxiety in his eyes as he points forward in the direction of Nekoma. “We can talk while walking, right?”

You smile breathlessly and your fingers brush against his. He smiles at you, and you notice the same pink dusting his ears like when he was sharing chocolate milk with you.

Two hands intertwine and the conversation begins.

You’re in your third year of college now, out on a “boys (and girl) night out”, as Kuroo deemed it.

Kenma’s got it well-made for him, striking good on his company to which you supported him through the entire time, and Kuroo’s on his way to be the scientist he’s always dreamed of being even as a nerdy-jock kid. He claims he’s practically a professional volleyball player, too, just on the side, but both you and Kenma know better.

You and Kenma have been dating ever since your second-year in high school. Which makes it just about… four-ish years now that you’ve been dating.

(Kuroo claims that in your first-year, you and Kenma were basically dating each other spiritually, but you pay him no mind.)

The three of you are out on the beach on an autumn day. It’s pretty empty, despite the warm evening sun that casts a golden shine on the sand and ocean, so you’re all making epic sandcastles in peace.

“We should make a moat,” Kuroo says, already digging out a ring around the lopsided sandcastle.

“We haven’t even finished the castle itself!” You protest, pushing him lightly as you use your other hand to pat down the base of the castle.

Kenma packs sand into a small bucket and delicately places it on top of the half-finished sand “castle” to make a tower. You find it cute how he’s the only one putting in decent effort, so you help him out by packing in another bucket of sand. “Kuro would be a terrible architect,” Kenma comments.

“You right, you right,” You sigh out while Kuroo squawks in protest. Kenma leans on you, out of instinct you think, and you kiss the top of his head gently. Kuroo covers his eyes and complains about his youth and young love before Kenma haphazardly bumps into you. Which leads to the sand castle collapsing.

“Ah- Kenma!” you cry out in panic, sweeping the sand together in a half-hearted attempt to piece it back into a cohesive castle. “Be careful!”

“No, look,” he says quietly, a small smile gracing his face.

“You worked so hard on the base too, to make it big and flat- oh?” You sit up a little bit when you see a small velvet box in the middle of the sand pile.

Kuroo gasps very loudly and you stare at Kenma in shock.

Oh my god. What’s happening, what’s happening, oh my god-

You slowly reach out for the box in the middle of the mess and take it delicately, brushing off the sand clinging to it. Your fingers pry it open with shaking fingers and you feel Kenma place his hand on your arm gently, his gorgeous honey eyes staring at you. The same honey eyes you fell in love with.

You're also in love with the gorgeous, sparkling amber ring that sits in the middle of the cushioned box.

“[Name]. I want to be married. To you. Will you marry me?” Kenma’s voice is soft and sweet but you know with the convincing sureness in his voice that he’s been practicing this line for at least a month and he’s become confident in it.

You start crying immediately (god damn it, you think to yourself) your heart blooming with joy and your entire body feels like it’s about to explode of pure happiness.

You kiss him, full on the lips with tears streaming down your face and he kisses back, his arms wrapping around you and you realize he’s crying too. With the possibly happiest voice you’ve ever used in your life, you cry out, “Of course I will!” on the beach with Kuroo clapping in the background.

Two years later on that beach, you two become the happiest couple on Earth.

#kenma kozume x reader #kozume kenma x reader #kenma kozume #kozume kenma #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq x reader

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thetriggeredhappy · 5 years ago

Note

if ur still taking them... 28 pyroscout 🥺

pyro tf2 said trans rights and scout tf2 said disaster bi rights and the team said queer rights and that’s what’s up, sis. (warning for discussion of past transphobia and other queer issues)

#28: First kiss.

It wasn’t that Scout was all that surprised to have Pyro end up as basically his best friend. He’d secretly been hoping that he’d get to be friends with a few of his coworkers when he’d taken the job, and Pyro was pretty close to him in age and shared a few of the same interests as him so it wasn’t unreasonable to expect to get along. It was just…

Maybe it would be more accurate to say that it was a little bit of an honor.

They hung out in plenty of places—watching TV or playing card games in the common room, hopping into a car and heading into town to watch the latest movie once or twice (or like eight times if they both really liked it), sometimes out back to start a bonfire or something for the hell of it.

But Pyro’s room tended to be his favorite hangout location of theirs, because that was the only place where they were okay with taking off their mask and suit.

Pyro had tried very hard not to make a big deal out of it the first time they’d unmasked in front of Scout. He’d been confused about what they were doing unclasping the bottom of it, since they didn’t have any food with them or anything and that was the only reason they usually did that—to sneak bites of food beneath. But then they shucked the whole thing up and over their head, shaking their head to re-orient themselves, sending their hair—he’d never thought about what Pyro’s hair had to be like before, how had he never thought of that?—bouncing around their face loosely, half-flattened but clearly very naturally curly. Pyro had to take a moment to fish something else out of their mask, a cap of some kind, probably to hold their hair down, and they clearly were trying very hard to avoid eye contact, nervous.

Scout, for once, was at a loss for words, mouth flapping in a way that was probably pretty similar to a fish for something like thirty seconds straight.

“Hey,” he finally managed, pointing at his own face where assorted freckles dotted his cheeks. “We match.”

Pyro glanced up at him, a little startled, then barked a laugh, and it sounded so much better when it wasn’t muffled. They hesitated a few more moments before they pulled off their gloves as well and set all of the newly-shed pieces of uniform down on their cluttered desk, fidgeting severely. “I guess so,” Pyro confirmed, and Scout had never noticed before that they had a very slight accent, too light for him to pick out what it had to be. “I’d never, I couldn’t tell before. With the…”

They pantomimed something up near their eyes, words stalling on them. It took Scout a few seconds to get what they meant. “With the mask?” he asked for confirmation. They nodded. “Oh. Huh. So it’s kinda like your first time seeing me too, huh?”

Pyro laughed. “I guess so,” they repeated, scratching at their stubble self-consciously, or maybe just because they finally could, and then Scout made an effort to both just move on with the rest of what all they were planning on doing when they hung out and also with not staring too much.

The jump to stripping off their suit as far as the tank top and thick-but-tight sweatpants they wore underneath was done a few weeks later when Scout had demonstrated that he wasn’t planning on saying anything, and he was only a little surprised by the plethora of burn marks and scars dotting their skin. He’d noticed an awful lot of scars all over Pyro, and he figured it was probably from when Pyro had been working as a mercenary before Mann Co., something he was aware had happened but hadn’t been able to coax Pyro into talking about. But it was nothing heinous, nothing that he figured warranted a full-body suit to hide it.

He tried to work out how exactly to ask Pyro why they wore the suit without being weird or rude. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“I appreciate it, you know,” Pyro said one day unprompted, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. They were sat a foot or so apart on Pyro’s bed and drawing, Scout sketching out a dramatic rendition of a particularly funny pose he’d seen the enemy Sniper land in when he died and Pyro apparently drawing yet another unrealistically bright technicolor landscape.

“What?” Scout asked, glancing over at them, more obviously than he’d been occasionally doing the whole time they’d been drawing together. They tended to do this really adorable thing where they stuck their tongue out a little bit when they were concentrating, and Scout had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling every time he saw it.

“That you don’t…” They hesitated. “…I dunno. That you don’t try and guess, now that you’ve seen me.”

Scout tilted his head. “Huh?”

Pyro’s gaze flickered to him and back down again almost too quickly to see. “You keep… not calling me anything,” they said. “Except for dude sometimes, but, you call everyone that anyways. That you still try and use “pal” or “buddy” instead of “man” or “lady” or whatever.”

Scout blinked.

Admittedly, there had been a good month or two right after he joined the team where he didn’t know how to refer to Pyro, and had just gone with using “he”, figuring it would be the less offensive assumption for someone in a mercenary career. Then at some point Engie finally sat him down and explained things to him, and after about a week of stumbling he finally got in the practice of using “they” and other words that weren’t particularly for a guy or girl. He couldn’t say that he really got it in a lot of ways, but he’d worked hard to learn the rules on how to be polite, because he figured he owed them that at the very minimum, if nothing else.

“What do you mean?” he asked after a second.

Pyro turned the marker in their hand over and over again. “Back before I started wearing the suit,” they started to explain, gesturing loosely at the suit in question, laid down on the chair at their desk like a deflated second Pyro (and admittedly sometimes scaring the shit out of Scout when he forgot it was there and noticed it in his periphery). “I would try and tell people I worked with that I wasn’t a guy or a girl, and they’d say sure, whatever, who cares, as long as you can kill people. But they’d look at me and start referring to me as a guy anyways. Sometimes a girl, but not usually. And only as… as neither, or both, or whatever, when I corrected them and maybe for a little while after.” They scratched at their stubble again. It was getting longer, and they’d probably shave pretty soon, if Scout knew them. “And it’s just… I always wondered what it was. I’d try and go clean-shaven all the time, wax, I wore makeup once or twice even to try and balance it out, but all that did was make them refer to me as a girl more, or look at me weird. I couldn’t seem to find the middle. So eventually I just put on the suit so nobody would… get hints anymore.”

Scout frowned, but didn’t know exactly what to say. “That’s the fuckin’ worst,” he decided on.

“I know, right?!” Pyro gushed, as if the dam had broken and they were finally allowed to feel mad about it. They sighed hard, pushing their hair out of their eyes, even if they just bounced right back into place a moment later. “They always respected me professionally, but what’s it take for a person to get called the right name, y’know!? Did they want me to wear a stupid t-shirt with instructions on it!?” Another sigh, then they looked up at Scout with those deep brown eyes of theirs, the ones that flooded Scout with an inexplicable sense of comfort. “And I guess I just wanted to say thanks. For not… I dunno. Being weird.”

Scout nodded, hesitated. “So I’ve been doin’ that right?” he asked suddenly, unable to stop himself.

Pyro smiled at him warmly. “You’ve been doing great, probably the best job anyone’s ever done,” they assured, and Scout knew his own smile was probably goofy and stupid looking, but he couldn’t bite it back.

“Thanks,” he said, having to look away, and Pyro laughed.

“And, I dunno. There was also this weird thing where I tried to date for a while and people kept not taking me seriously, then one day someone finally gave me a shot but got all weird and just straight up asked me what equipment I had on the second date and it was the worst.”

“I mean, none’a their fuckin’ business is what unless they’re asking if they should pack a condom,” Scout scoffed.

“Right!? It just sucked because most people would say “oh, I’m just into girls” or try and like, swing it as if I’m a guy and therefore it was totally cool, and only twice did I find someone who would go for whoever and one got weird about it and the other one is the person I took on two dates. Only person who ever gave me any real respect about it could only go on one date with me, and she was only cool because she kind of had some special circumstances going on too, then she had a contract abroad and we had to cut things off. And I just—I dunno. I wish people who went either way would… I dunno.”

“Hey, I fit that bill, and I’d totally date you,” Scout said, and then realized what he’d just said out loud.

Pyro was staring at him openly, mouth a little agape. They tried to start talking twice without success before finally managing it on the third attempt. “You’re bisexual?” they asked, a little surprised.

Scout immediately began backtracking. “I mean, I, I dunno,” he said quickly, looking away, face on fire, “I, it isn’t like I’ve ever really even gotten to date any, anyone but a couple girls and stuff, and, I, thinking and doing are kinda two different things, and y’know, labels and, and…”

They raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, yeah, I think I’m bi,” he finally admitted. “But you can’t fuckin’ tell anyone, got it? The guys already get all up in my grill about callin’ me gay all the time and, and Medic asking when the coming out party is and, and Sniper going all “what’s with the pride meeting?” and shit like that, I just, I don’t need any more of that fuckin’ nonsense, okay?”

“You know half of them do those jokes because they’re not straight either, right?” Pyro asked flatly.

Scout blinked. “The Doc and Snipes are gay?” he asked, surprised.

Pyro gave him a look.

“…Okay, I guess that’s, that tracks,” he admitted. “But—how many, who all’s…?”

“Far as I know, just Medic, Sniper, Heavy, and Spy, and those last two are also bi or something like that, and I think Demo doesn’t really swing any way,” Pyro said. “You really didn’t know? I thought they were pretty out about it.”

“Nobody tells me anything!” Scout said defensively.

“That’s fair. But… I dunno, I’m obviously not gonna go out and break out the news with confetti and streamers for you, but… I think they wouldn’t really care,” Pyro shrugged. “If anything they’d just try and wingman for you more.”

Scout thought about that for a while. “Man, what are the odds that we’d get a goddamn queer collective out in the middle of a fuckin’ desert?” he asked suddenly.

“Have you maybe considered that the people who’d go out into a desert away from civilization might be queer people trying to be more themselves where they can’t get as much backlash?” Pyro suggested.

“…Shit. That makes a lot of sense actually,” he admitted.

Quiet for a few seconds. “Let’s circle back around to that part where you said you’d totally go for someone like me,” Pyro said suddenly.

Scout pulled his hat down over his face, feeling it go red again. “Shut the fuck up, dude,” he protested, annoyed at how whiny it came out. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

“Do you think about making out with me a lot?” Pyro asked, tone clearly teasing now, and Scout groaned.

“Oh my god, shut up,” he muttered. “I come out to you and you just start fuckin’ bullying me? That’s the play?”

“Duh,” Pyro laughed, and pinched his cheek, making him flush further as he batted their hand away.

“I’m just sayin’ that you’re good-looking and funny and anyone would be lucky to date you, okay?” Scout finally said, trying not to let more embarrassment flood through his voice.

That got Pyro to grin sheepishly, picking up their drawing again. “You’re sweet,” was all they managed to reply with, quieter now.

“The sweetest guy on the planet,” Scout agreed, picking up his own drawing as well, and Pyro elbowed him in the ribs, making him squawk.

He ended up coming out to Engie offhandedly during their lunch break about a week later, and he only even managed it because Pyro was sitting and eating next to him, their knee pressing into his own and bringing him enough comfort to broach the topic. Engie was immediately supportive, and ended the conversation with a pat on his shoulder and by saying he was proud of him for having to courage to say something.

That gave Scout a burst of confidence, and he ended up dragging Pyro around for the rest of the day as he came out to other teammates as well, first Demo and Soldier right after battle (Soldier needed an additional few moments of explanation but overall they were both glad to hear the news), then Medic and Heavy where they were sitting playing chess in the common room (once Heavy got past the language barrier, he offered Scout a solemn high-five in solidarity, which he accepted gratefully). Sniper was reserved for the next day, outside where he was setting up the grill to take his turn making the team dinner (he was a little awkward for a moment, clearly a bit confused and not having expected anyone to come talk to him, but once he caught on to what Scout was saying he offered one of his rare smiles and a few supportive words).

Oddly enough, Spy was the one that made him the most nervous for reasons he couldn’t pin down, maybe partially because he didn’t bring Pyro along, but he probably handled it the most easily, treating it as no big deal at all, simply pausing for a moment before giving a flippant “Alright. Was that all, mon ami?” and shooing him back out of his smoking room shortly after.

“Look at you,” Pyro said appraisingly when he showed up to hang out in their room, clapping him on the shoulder, clearly noticing the fact that he was practically glowing.

“Didn’t even get beat up or shoved in a locker,” he said cheerfully.

Pyro looked at him for another second or two before they finally just swept him up in a hug, squeezing him almost too-tight in their excitement. “I’m so proud of you!” they exclaimed softly, and he returned the hug, burying his face in their hair when he became sure that he wouldn’t get in trouble for it, surprised and delighted by how very nice it smelled. Vanilla-y and a little coconut-y, warm like everything else about them.

It was only through the combination of circumstances—riding the nervous high from being newly-out for the first time in his life, and being all wrapped up in a hug with his best friend, and his nose being greeted by the smell of the very appealing shampoo they apparently used—that he got the exact level of confidence to do what he did next. They pulled away from the hug finally to look up at him with that same proud smile, and he leaned down and kissed them square on the mouth.

It was three or four seconds before he pulled away again with a tiny, almost-inaudible little smeck. He smiled down at them, feeling the wildly spinning combination of euphoria and fear and excitement and apprehension and thrill and terror swirling around in his chest. Their lips were slightly parted, and they stared up at him with wonder. If he ever drew the moment, he would probably draw Pyro’s pupils in the shape of little hearts, the way they were looking at him just then.

“Oh,” they said breathlessly, and laughed a little. “So you were serious when you said you’d go for someone like me, then?”

Scout laughed, couldn’t stifle it, rising up through his chest alongside his heart. “Yeah, duh,” he said, voice tinted a little higher than usual.

“Well shit, then get back down here,” Pyro said, and tugged on his shirt, and he readily obliged.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #pyroscout #flashfire #shut up me #my fanfiction #everybody talks #that's the last request in my inbox lads!! we've done it!!

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elderbwrry · 5 years ago

Text

Jaskier has long hair and Geralt is o b s e s s e d. That’s pretty much it.

Wordcount: 5420

Rating: Pt.s 1 & 2 are general audiences, Pt. 3 is explicit so read with discretion.

Pt. 1

Geralt came trudging into town by the main road, pocket heavy with the reward of a job well done. The weather was a drudgy, overcast grey, but mercifully dry, and the promise of a night at an inn and a nice stable for Roach had him in relatively positive spirits. After day or two of rest and decent meals, and some new shoes for Roach, they could be off again.

The inn he dismounted in front of seemed suitably underpopulated, away from the town centre, but not so far that every traveller on the road would be staying there; it was usually better for him to stay at places such as this, happy for custom, even the strange kind, with fewer people for him to scare away. It looked clean and well-kept, and when he lead Roach round to the stables, she snorted and stepped into a pen eagerly.

“I'm glad you like it,” Geralt rumbled, patting her flank and heading in to find the owner.

The place was dry and warm when he stepped inside, a few patrons scattered around and the tuneful strums of a minstrel's lute somewhere just out of sight. The barkeep seemed wary of him, but was polite, naming a reasonable price for the room and board, which Geralt could respect. He was glad; Roach would have been grumpy if he'd had to move her after she had already gotten comfortable.

He retrieved his bags, lugging them up to his room before spending a little time removing Roach's saddle and brushing her down some. There was food waiting for him when he returned inside again, and he found an agreeable corner from which he could see the door and keep himself in shadow. The ale was good, the meat was good, and he felt himself start to unwind. Perhaps this spring would be fruitful.

So rapt by his meal was he, that he barely noticed as the minstrel struck up a new chord until they were well into a familiar song.

“...Where are beasts that stalk, and bite and scratch,

And live below the water,

He wades along the marshy banks...”

His ears piqued. That was definitely Jaskier's song – the bard had certainly bitched enough about how if he was going to get new boots he may as well get a song out of it at the same time – but at a glance, that person wasn't Jaskier. Geralt turned back to his food, wondering if he should say something. It wasn't as if he knew how musicians shared their work with each other, or who could use what. Then again, Jaskier had feuded with other bards before because they'd stolen his music.

Geralt huffed out a small laugh at the memory of one notable altercation away from which Geralt had to physically carry him. Idiot, he thought fondly.

Still, perhaps he should do something.

He turned to fix the singer with a glower, thinking that he could catch them after the inevitable discomfort of amber eyes burning out of the shadows had driven them to stop. However, when he looked at the singer properly, he did a double take. The minstrel really did look like Jaskier, except... the man had long hair curling just past his shoulders.

His locks were luscious and thick, practically that of a fairytale princess. As opposed to the somewhat mousy brown Geralt remembered on Jaskier's head, the man in front of him now wore a cascading crown of highlighted and chocolatey fronds. A strand slipped in front of his eyes and he gently flicked his head to move it away again, not pausing his song.

Geralt frowned and took a deep sniff of the air. That was Jaskier's smell; there was the lemon oil of the lute that by now had ingrained its way into the crevices of his fingers and the polishing handkerchief he always carried – the scrappy one, not the one for giving to ladies. There was the smell of the lavender soap he was so fond of. There was also the darker, more masculine scent of sandalwood sitting just under it, and of course the man's natural scent under that still.

The bard flashed Geralt a smile, giving him the sense that he had been noticed early on in his arrival, and that Jaskier was amused Geralt hadn't noticed him back. Truth be told, Geralt was surprised as well. Usually he was much better at taking stock of his surroundings. It was just so unexpected, he had dismissed the possibility out of hand, it being enough to know that there was a minstrel there without identifying exactly which one it was.

He turned back to the table. He hadn't seen Jaskier in... how long now? He stretched his fingers out in front of him where his wrists rested on the table, counting the months, boring his eyes into them as if they would give him the answer. He'd spent the most recent winter at Kaer Morhen, but he'd parted ways with Jaskier in mid summer some time, not long enough for Jaskier's hair to have grown that long. Unless... that had been the summer before? His mind reeled; the passage of time sometimes escaped him, having spent so many seasons going to so many different places and climes, but he had hoped he was better at taking stock of things than this.

The bard finished up his song with a long, sustained note, after which there were some words of praise and the metallic sound of a coin being flicked through the air and caught. “Thank you, everyone. Yes, I may find it in me to perform again a little later, but for now I am parched,” Jaskier said with his familiar lilt, and the next second, he plopped himself down in the chair opposite Geralt, absolutely beaming. “Oh, Geralt, it's wonderful to see you! Where have you been hiding yourself all this time?” he exclaimed.

As Geralt meet his eyes, he felts a pang of guilt in his gut. How had he not noticed how long he had gone without seeing Jaskier? And how could he possibly begin to make it up to him? “South,” he grunted out eloquently. Fuck. He could kick himself.

“Perfect, you shall have to regale me with tales of your exploits. Thank you, my good sir,” Jaskier accepted the ale the barkeep brought to their table, unbothered. The barkeep still looked wary, although this time Geralt sensed it was about the bard rather than himself. Geralt nodded at him by way of reassurance that he wasn't being bothered, although perhaps the man just had a face like that.

“I've certainly had an interesting time,” Jaskier began, taking a swig of his drink and plunging into the story of some festival or other where his honour was insulted or something. Geralt tried to pay attention, he really did, but his gaze kept being drawn back to the hair. It was just so bountiful, and... strange on Jaskier's face. Not wrong, per se, but unusual and new and... lovely. Quite unprompted, he wondered what it would be like to touch it.

Suddenly, Geralt realised Jaskier was looking at him expectantly. “What?” he asked, hoping it didn't come out too blunt.

“Are you alright Geralt? I don't think you caught a word I just said.” there was a little doubt on the bard's face.

Fuck, he cursed inwardly. He'd spent an inordinately long time without seeing his friend, and there he was, immediately being standoffish. “I apologise. I'm just,” his eyes flicked up to the little fringe Jaskier had cultivated. “Tired from the journey.” He tried for a smile, and it appeared to put Jaskier at ease. Geralt appreciated that Jaskier could read his stunted expressions so well.

“I should have known. Just back from killing something, I suppose? You certainly smell like it. And without me? The scandal!”

Perfect, Jaskier was straight back to complaining about his cleanliness.

Jaskier glanced around at the place. “I think I've travailed all the entertainment venues this particular outpost has to offer. When do you set out again?”

Geralt raised a brow.

“Well you can't just avoid me for a year and a half and then expect me not to join you again immediately. This is a long time coming, mister, I have ballads to write and there is no better ballad fodder than one white-haired witcher.” Jaskier stabbed a finger at him, but there was no attack behind his tone. Geralt wasn't sure there was a joke either, so he suspected things were exactly as Jaskier said they were; he'd run out of new material.

Unsure how he felt about the flippancy with which Jaskier had announced their renewed partnership, Geralt broke the eye contact he'd been holding, finding his focus back on the ends of Jaskier's hair.

“Anyway so I'm joining you.”

“Hmm.”

“Ah yes, there's that enthusiasm I remember.”

Pt.2

It has been a month of Jaskier being back on the road with Geralt. A month of hell.

Geralt had never considered himself particularly attracted to any one type of person or style. He could recognise it if someone was attractive, but usually anyone willing to share his bed was either deluded or had been paid, and he wasn't really around anyone enough for a relationship to present itself, so it wouldn't be an issue in the first place. As for Jaskier, of course Geralt had noticed he was attractive – his slim waist, carefree attitude and sparkling eyes would have taken care of that even if the bard wasn't always sending men and women swooning everywhere he went – but it had never occupied his thoughts quite so presently as it was now.

It's that damn hair, Geralt thought, slapping the boot he was polishing down harder than he intended.

Because the hair, Jaskier's hair, had been the bane of Geralt's existence. The man was always playing with it or tossing it or pulling it back and it was distracting, not least because of the smells it wafted every time it moved, but also because it was just gorgeous.

He was familiar with long hair, having it himself, and he supposed enjoyed the way it fell on others; the long tresses of the paid women he would spend nights with when money was easy, the firelight on Renfri's curls, the sleek cascade of Yennefer's as she worked her magic. Yennefer's, especially, he had previously thought to be entirely captivating, but nothing had prepared him for the way Jaskier's was occupying his thoughts.

At that moment, the bard was scratching around the clearing for herbs. They'd stopped for the evening, plopped down their bags and Jaskier had immediately stretched, arms pushing upwards and hair stretching down between his shoulder blades so sweetly. Then, he'd busied himself with laying out his things, thoroughly oblivious to how the golden light of the closing afternoon filtered through it like honey, and cast his face in gentle shadow.

It was at that point that Geralt had turned away, trying to ignore it all, but haunted by images in his own head of the way Jaskier's hair fell across his pillow when he was asleep, or how messy it looked in the morning, and how it would feel twined around his fingers-

He looked up again. This was no good.

Jaskier had stood up again, twirling a flower between his forefingers. A strand of hair slipped in front of his eyes, and he huffed and tried to flick it away. Then, he seemed to think better, letting the flower fall and searching in one of his pockets. A second later, he drew out a small strip of leather.

No, Geralt thought, eyes fixed, no, don't do that. It was as if watching a catastrophe unfold slowly in front of him, thoroughly unable to do anything about it.

Jaskier was gathering his hair up into a messy bun, catching up the stray pieces as they fell out from between his skilled fingers, raking it all up and back before tying it in place with the strip. By the gods, it tempted Geralt. It made his fingers twitch and tingle. It was a kind of loss of control that he was unfamiliar with.

Task completed, Jaskier picked up the flower again and examined it, oblivious to Geralt's turmoil. “Geralt, I think this is wild garlic. What do you think?” He turned, offering out the flower towards Geralt and started, met with what was probably a too-intense expression. “Oh no, have I picked up something poisonous?” His face fell. “Gods, I just hope it doesn't itch again. I can't stand the rash.”

“It's garlic,” Geralt grunted out, “you'll be fine.” Then, “Why did you grow your hair out?”

Jaskier stops for a second, frowning and doing that little move of his where he pulls his head back, like a bird. “I don't know. Felt like it, I guess. There's a bit of a style going around at the moment. And... do you remember Valdo Marx?”

“Never met him,” Geralt replied flatly, although Jaskier certainly mentioned him enough that it was a moot point.

Jaskier ignored him. “He cut his hair short and I did not fancy hearing about how similar we looked.” He shrugged, looking down at his flower again. Then, he smiled cheekily. “Why, do you like it?”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, finally breaking his gaze and starting the work of polishing his other boot.

“You do! Why Geralt, I'm flattered.” There was the sound of plants being ripped from their stems, and next thing Geralt knew, Jaskier was hopping over to him and laying his hands down on his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to put a touch of warning into his voice.

“No need to be so grumpy. I'm going to plait your hair,” the bard said, forcibly turning Geralt's head to face forward. If Geralt wasn't used to Jaskier's antics, he would be taken aback by the audacity.

“Jaskier,” he protested instead of stopping him.

“I've picked up some skills,” Jaskier informed him, “I spent the winter with some very lovely ladies and we did braid trains.”

“What?” he asked, but couldn't resist humming in pleasure when Jaskier took out the leather tie without pulling his hair at all.

“Braid trains. You know, you sit in a line and do the hair of the person in front of you.” Jaskier got to work, making sure to loosen Geralt's hair up before methodically pulling it back. It made his scalp crawl, but pleasantly, and he was forcing himself not to shudder with the sensation. This appeared to be yet another winning quality he hadn't known about hair. “So technically, I was there to teach the Lord's daughter music, but she spent most of the time trying to set me up with her older sister. Right little matchmaker, that one.” Jaskier prattled on as he went. “There,” he concluded, and the patch of his warmth from just behind Geralt was gone in a second. “It would have looked better with columbine, but needs must.”

Geralt's hands immediately flew to his head, feeling the way the plait criss-crossed from the crown all the way down to where it finished between his shoulders.

“Here,” Jaskier was offering him a small round mirror that he had just retrieved from his bag.

Taking a look at himself, Geralt realised it actually looked quite nice – somewhat feminine though it was – tightly woven strands except for two Jaskier had left twirling down from just by his cheekbones. There were garlic flowers woven in, a few of which he could catch when he angled the mirror just right, not the prettiest flower, but matched well in terms of colour; white like his hair but with that ever so slightly blueish tinge that he didn't know if Jaskier could even see with his human eyes. He hadn't ever imagined this kind of thing would suit him, but...

“You like it?” Jaskier asked with all the atmosphere of a cook just after serving dinner, breaking Geralt out of his reverie.

“Hmm,” was all he could find to say, and Jaskier nodded, a small, genuine smile taking up residence on his face as he went back to foraging.

Geralt watched him for a minute more, the descending sun still gently lighting Jaskier's movements gold, disappointment sitting low in his chest that with hands built for fighting, he couldn't return the favour.

Pt.3 - explicit!

Jaskier was killing it. The entire tavern was spellbound as he told his ballads and sung his songs and then performed them all again when they inevitably asked him to – not that he was refusing. He'd just sung the damned coin song for the third time, and probably would again before the night was over. The light cast all around the place from seemingly nowhere was orange and warm though it was well into the night, giving the room an otherworldly glow. There was a particular confluence of alcohol and something else that just meant that the place was in love with him.

Geralt, however, was just tired. It had been a difficult day of chopping things up, the nest he had been sent to deal with having been significantly larger than he'd expected. He'd had a few drinks himself, but he still smelled vaguely of monster guts and he had no desire to stay for much longer around such a rowdy group of humans. Besides, the air was thick enough with alcoholic fumes that he was probably halfway drunk already.

He stood, turning to wish Jaskier a good night, or at least signal that he was going to turn in, but the bard was far too entrenched, a maiden practically on each arm, leaving only enough space for him to strum the lute. Instead, he just squeezed through the heavily populated tavern to the staircase to the rooms above.

Their room – he only ever shared with Jaskier now, there was no point in even pandering to privacy – was two flights up, thankfully far from the ruckus the bard was causing on the ground. He lit some candles, casting the room in a gentle light which was kind on his tired eyes. When he went to take off shirt, however, he caught a whiff of exactly what he still smelled like, leaving no other option but to have some kind of bath.

Making his way down to the kitchen, it was clear everyone was far too busy to do it for him, so he silently got down to the task of hauling water up the stairs and into the tub situated in the small adjoining room to his. It didn't take too long, and tired as he was, the simple process of lifting and climbing and pouring and repeating set his mind at ease some.

He hadn't bothered to warm the water beforehand, instead casting a quick spell when everything was ready. He stripped off and lowered himself in the water, letting out a low moan at the warmth soothing his aching muscles. He got to work scrubbing the dirt off himself with soap, raking his fingers through his hair and rinsing until he was happy, before finally putting the bar down and reclining in the steam. Ah, the perks of magic.

Geralt couldn't be sure how long he'd been sitting there when Jaskier burst through the door into the room, drunk, hair all over the place, like it had had fingers run through it. Fingers that weren't his. “Geralt?” he said, plopping down the lute on the bed and looking confused when he didn't immediately catch sight of Geralt through the open adjoining door. “Oh, There you are,” he closed the door behind him over-carefully, before approaching.

On the whole, this wasn't entirely unusual; they shared spaces with each other like this a lot, and Jaskier had more than once taken forcing Geralt to have a bath into his own hands. They didn't bother with privacy. Jaskier had also been drunk before, and Geralt was no stranger to the traces the bard's adoring fans left on his person after one of his performances. It just so happened that this time it was tousled hair that had Geralt's fingers twitching.

“Oh, tonight was wonderful, truly one of my best performances,” the bard fumbled just a little over the word, waving a hand to dismiss the slip. “In fact, I should write about it...” He hummed a short melody and muttered a line about golden light.

Jaskier began removing his clothes, getting ready for bed, Geralt thought, until he was removed of that illusion by a hairy leg plunging into the water next to him as a fully naked Jaskier got in the tub. Water sloshed over the sides when he settled in, and Geralt had to hurriedly cross his legs in order to make room for him.

“This is rather toasty,” Jaskier commented, reaching for the soap and beginning to lather up his hands. “Since when do you take a bath without prompting?”

“Since when do you join me?” Geralt replied. His tone was more accusatory than he'd intended, and Jaskier pouted.

“Come now, there's no point in wasting good water.”

“Hmm.”

“We should stop somewhere with a proper bathing room,” Jaskier informed him, spreading suds over his body. Geralt did not fail to notice how the very tips of his hair reached the water and dipped under only to emerge again plastered to his chest. “I need a deep clean one of these days.”

“Do you want me to..?” It was out of Geralt's mouth before he even knew what he was offering, but his traitorous hand had already gestured to Jaskier's head.

The bard paused, mouth drawing into a thoughtful little circle. “My hair?”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier looked at the soap in his hand, then back towards Geralt. “Yeah, why not?” he muttered, before turning in the bath – sending more water cascading over the sides, of course – and shuffling up until he was sitting between Geralt's spread thighs, back to chest.

Geralt cursed internally. The water was warm, but Jaskier's skin was like a firebrand when his side brushed against Geralt's leg. He wasn't leaning back yet, but should he do so, Geralt would be forced to embrace him in order to do anything at all with his hands.

“Here's the soap,” Jaskier said, passing the bar back over his shoulder, but let it slip from his fingers just as Geralt reached up to retrieve it.

“Shit,” he hissed, peering into the water and descended to groping around, as the low light from the few candles flickering around them illuminated nothing. He finally found it, certain he had accidentally touched Jaskier's butt more than a few times. Worse still, his dick was getting... interested in proceedings.

To distract himself, Geralt got down to business, reaching for a cup that had been left on the side. He filled it with water and dumped it over Jaskier's head, causing him to splutter and elbow Geralt's knee. “Hey!” he protested, to which Geralt smiled, making sure to pour it more carefully.

Eventually, Jaskier's hair was wet enough that Geralt could start working soap through it and teasing out the knots. He hit a few snags, but he was careful – more careful than he ever was with himself – until eventually he had cleaned all of it. But he couldn't quite bring himself to stop touching it.

This was the hair that had been haunting him for months now, calling to him; here it was, wound through his fingers. This close, it was just as rich of a chestnut brown as it looked from far away. Some of it was straightened out, weighed down by the water in it, but other bits were curling a little as they dried, delightfully happy ringlets. He could feel also that Jaskier took very good care of it, something he knew from their travels anyway, but now he held the evidence.

Then, entirely separate, was the experience of being so close to a wet, naked Jaskier. For starters, the man was not nearly as tipsy as he was pretending to be, as Geralt could tell from his smell. He was warm, pleasantly relaxed and content, but it was due to the influence of something other than alcohol. Geralt could smell... longing, with just a hint of lust.

The revelation caused him to pause where he had been gently massaging Jaskier's scalp.

“No, don't stop,” Jaskier complained, leaning his head back into Geralt's hands. “That was really nice.”

Instead, Geralt picked up the cup again to begin the process of rinsing Jaskier's hair, but found himself unwilling to inundate Jaskier as he had before, lest he get soap in his eyes. He placed a hand on Jaskier's shoulder, guiding his back to lie across his chest. “Lay your head back,” he rumbled, and Jaskier glanced at him for only a second before complying, closing his eyes as he settled down into the curve of Geralt's arm.

Geralt let out a small exhale, gently placing his hand over Jaskier's eyes now to protect them from the water, and beneath him Jaskier drew a surprised breath, but did not stiffen or withdraw. Continuing his gentle actions, Geralt emptied two cups over Jaskier's hairline, rising out the soap.

When he lowered his hands, it was as he'd thought it would be before, with one arm wrapped around Jaskier's side, and the other resting on his stomach. When Jaskier didn't move away, he took up the soap again as an excuse to let his hands wander, over his chest, over his collarbones, down his stomach and then lower.

Still Jaskier didn't pull away. When Geralt checked, he was biting his lip.

“May I?” Geralt asked lowly, circling his finger over the part of Jaskier's hip that led down to his groin.

Jaskier nodded.

Forgoing any pretence of cleaning, Geralt dipped his hand further into the water and wrapped it around Jaskier's cock, which he found to be just as hard as his own. He stroked it a few times, absently lamenting that it was hidden beneath the water level, but far more interested in the sounds he was drawing from the bard, who was just melting into him, letting out little hums of assent and plaintive sighs when Geralt changed speed. It was funny though, he would have thought the bard would be more vocal.

“Mmm, Geralt,” Jaskier muttered, as if on cue.

Geralt hummed in a questioning tone, bringing his hand down to the base of Jaskier's cock and squeezing.

Jaskier whined. “Faster. Touch me, Geralt.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, bringing the movements of his hand back up to their previous speed and beyond. With his other hand, he pulled Jaskier so he was flush against his body – all of his body – before he lifted it up to thumb across one of Jaskier's nipples. That had the bard squirming in delightful ways, pushing his chest forward and his ass back, a breathless gasp escaping his lips.

“I've wanted this for – ungh, so long,” Jaskier forced out as Geralt continued to move his hand, swiping over the head of Jaskier's cock every few lengths. Jaskier's hand had found its way to Geralt's thigh, and was gripping it tightly. Words spilled out of Jaskier's mouth now as he climbed higher – Geralt could smell the beginnings of desperation on his skin – praises passing his lips unhindered – “Gods, Geralt, your hands,” – and Geralt hardly wanted to let Jaskier come, just so he could continue to hear them; but when Jaskier uttered a breathy, “Please”, he had no choice but to twist his wrist just so, and then Jaskier was coming, throwing his head back over Geralt's shoulder with a groan, breathing heavily.

Geralt stroked him through it, but removed his hand when he felt Jaskier might become uncomfortable. They sat like that for a long moment, and Geralt felt suitably uninhibited that he twirled his fingers through the thinner, drying ends of Jaskier's hair where it had fallen in front of his chest from his movements. Predictably, it didn't take too long before Jaskier spoke.

“I haven't come that hard from someone's hand since I was a teenager.” He shifted around to face Geralt better, a cheeky grin on his face, but with the movement realised that Geralt was still hard, his eyes dropping to get a look. “Do you need some help with that, Geralt?”

Jaskier placed his hands on Geralt's abdomen, and something about the pose put Geralt in mind of a nymph or a mermaid, his hair draped over him in a wild way that made him look more supernatural than human. The light of the candles glinted against his wet skin, but the twinkle in his eyes was all his, and Geralt was so captivated that he barely noticed the assenting rumble that rose up from his throat.

The bard leaned further and further forward, sliding his hands further and further downward, and the moment Jaskier finally touched him was the same moment he brought their lips together.

Geralt was already achingly hard, but Jaskier insisted on teasing him with light touches, following the initial deep kiss with several smaller ones, trailing his way along his jaw and nipping at his neck. The feeling was driving Geralt crazy – he wanted Jaskier's lips back on his, he wanted to get lost in the pleasure of his hands and the passion of his touch and the warmth of his kiss. A little growl escaped his throat as Jaskier traced the dip of his neck with his tongue, and he tightened his hold on Jaskier's hips. The bard wasn't far away, but he wasn't close enough.

All at once, he couldn't help himself, his hands flew up to twine in Jaskier's hair, manoeuvring him back down to kiss him again, biting his lips and growling as Jaskier's grip tightened. The bard groaned out a soft “Yes,” and returned the kiss fiercely, moving his hand faster. Geralt was getting closer, and, losing himself somewhat to pleasure, he tugged on Jaskier's hair until his head fell back, giving Geralt unrestricted access to his neck.

The pale column of Jaskier's neck had been much obscured to him these past months, and he relished its reveal – the return of the mole just behind his ear, the subtle line of muscle climbing from his shoulders, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed – Geralt attacked it all with teeth and tongue.

Jaskier, for his part, only moved his hand faster, giving out lusty sounds and encouragements that only drove Geralt further and further over the edge until, with one last stroke from base to tip pleasure coursed through him.

Geralt came with a growl, his grip loosening as blue eyes turned down to fix him with a fascinated gaze. Under scrutiny, he tried to keep his breathing even, dropping his head forward to breathe into the bard's shoulder.

Jaskier's fingers were playing delightfully over his chest as he came back down, tracing a long scar that crossed over his shoulder before moving onto the next. With the tail end of the high still washing over him, Geralt barely had time to wonder if he had potentially wrecked his relationship with Jaskier when he spoke up.

“What changed?”

Geralt frowned, finally raising his eyes to look up at the vision still kneeling over his lap.

“All these years and you could have done this any time you wanted. You've certainly looked me over enough times.”

Well, it was certainly true Geralt had cast glances in Jaskier's direction a few times in their travels – after all, the bard was not unattractive, and he liked him very well – he just hadn't been motivated to take action until...

“Your hair,” Geralt said.

“My hair?” Jaskier frowned in return. “You're saying my hair was what tipped the scale?”

Geralt shrugged.

“Well then. I should have grown it out ages ago.” Jaskier shook his head with an incredulous laugh. “We'll be taking advantage of it more I suppose?” Geralt grinned. “If you'd like.”

Jaskier widened his eyes comically. “My dear witcher, how dare you even doubt.”

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #the witcher netflix #my writing #long hair

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tiredcowpoke · 6 years ago

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TITLE: Holding Up PAIRING: Arthur Morgan x Reader, a needed dose of Charles as well. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: You had pitched the idea to go hunting—alone. Bringing back some of the bigger game up near Roanoke Ridge meant it would be a little more than a day trip, but selling pelts and bringing back food to the camp may have been worth it. Nature always put your mind at rest, anyway. However, as the days continued to pass, the concerns about your whereabouts turned out to be the thing that probably saved your life. WARNINGS: Pretty trigger heavy. Mentions of death, torture, gore, cannibalism, we’re talking about the Murfree Brood here. Some reunion angst as well. NOTE: I've had a rough go of it lately and this has been clunking around in my head a bit. Gender neutral reader again. This is long as hell, I'm sorry. lol

Exhaustion, unfortunately, was a familiar sensation.

You always had a habit of working yourself into it—helped you sleep, at least, when push came to shove. However, you weren't the only one that had been suffering from it. There had been a great change in the gang, considering the chaos that had sent you all out east. Attitudes had changed along with the scenery, and it was getting harder to ignore. It effected all aspects—general camp mood, specific relationships. You hadn't been in too much of a rush to label your relationship with Arthur, and it didn't seem like he was either—just some moments here and there. Fire side visits, close moments when the camp was filled with singing and jovial conversation, a few kisses here and there. There'd been...something, but that had been before the chaos of Blackwater resulted in the corpses of gang members and you'd been pushed out east with the law on your tail. It had been easy to dismiss some of the distance between the two of you with the changes, and you appreciated the isolation sometimes, but it eventually got to putting some questions in your head. (Maybe things had changed too much? Maybe you were too distant too? Maybe he wasn't sharing the same feelings anymore?)

It had been easy to come to the conclusion to leave camp for a bit—you never did too well with how closed in it was, anyway. As much as the scenery was nice, and much better than the bitter cold of Colter, you needed out. Hunting and tracking was something you were decent at, it seemed like a decent enough reason to get away for a while. Why you decided on such a long distance to travel, and alone no less? You weren't too sure. Still, it was worth exploring a bit up there and getting some of the bigger game would be worth it once you got back to camp. After you had given a bit of a cost estimate on what you wanted to bring back, you'd been allowed to leave camp for some time. Pitching the idea to Dutch was odd—you felt it odd that you wanted to report it to him, but someone knowing you were gone was good.

Really good, as it turned out.

Exhaustion was familiar, but it was nothing like this.

You had never felt an ache in your body like this, your arms extended upwards, the burning of the rope around your wrists almost as forgettable as the feeling of the clothing on your body at this point. That position was the tamer of the ones you had been through, your legs and gut screaming from trying to curl them into your chest when they had cruelly hung you over a small fire, the sensation of the flames licking at your feet not quite leaving. The Murfree Brood were bastards, that's all you could tell yourself at this point—cannibalistic bastards. Your stomach was screaming from lack of food too, and it wasn't from lack of them offering, wide grins on their faces. You'd let your stomach cave in before you ate anything they cooked—the man that had been alive in there with you had disappeared a while ago and you knew better than to ask. There was the beatings, the slicing—then they left you to hang limply by your wrists, legs too weak to even let you rest your feet properly on the ground. You would have been completely on the floor if it wasn't for the rope.

You needed to get out of there—you weren't too sure how much more you could take. You cursed yourself for being foolish enough to underestimate this gang, to run after the one that had taken some obviously misguided shots before running off into the bush. You had ran over the moment of the ground breaking away into a man-made pit over and over again. You ran over the conversation with Dutch—they knew you were up there but...lord knows if they felt it was long enough to send someone out to investigate. The Murfree Brood were keeping you alive for a reason, though you wouldn't doubt if it was just for some sadistic amusement. It was hard to keep the thought of nobody finding you from your mind at this point, the pain, exhaustion, and fear was hard to manage. Every new move they pulled made you shake and almost fall into a panic—you liked to think you were hard to shake, but this?

So, it was without much effort that you found yourself struggling to keep your breathing under control when one had wandered over and reached up to untie your hands. What was it now? The fire routine again? The beating? Were they going to hang you by your ankles this time? You could barely keep yourself upright as one of the men grabbed your arm, not too mindful of the gashes there on your shoulders from where your initial kicks and attempts to fight back had been met with knife edges. The bottoms of your feet screamed, it felt like walking on burning logs as you were dragged up the cave. Were...were you leaving?

This was it. You were going to die. They were going to kill you. They were going to set you up in one of those elaborate displays that set the folk of Annesburg on such edge. Your gang members would come out to find your mangled corpse—all those that knew you, Dutch, Arthur...god, Arthur. As much as you could feel yourself starting to panic, your body language and reactions going ignored as you were practically dragged outside, you could feel such a deep sadness. It was something that had come and go throughout this whole thing—the pain was terrible, horrific, but it was hard to focus on much else sometimes. Still...your last conversation with him hadn't been much to remember you by, tinged with bitterness and frustrated, and you regretted not saying something different in that moment. Hell, you could remember being almost excited to just get away from them all before all of this happened...

Now you'd give anything to say anything else to him—something you felt was worth remembering. A better memory. Really, you felt that you might weep at the sight of even a somewhat familiar face.

You were loaded up onto a horse, the cocky rider not even bothering to tie you down—you were too damn tired and injured to run anywhere on him. Momentarily, you panicked about where the hell you were off to now. You had gotten used to the cave, barely able to see anything outside of the firelight sometimes, sharp objects in the dark, laughter, cruel jabs and comments—it had blended together in your mind, but it wore you down to something you had never felt before. This had to end sometime—it had to. The ride was a blur, trees and branches whipping past. Minutes blurred into seconds, scenery changing before you found yourself in a clearing in the dark. The horse had slowed, hands gripping harshly as you were yanked off the back of the horse. Nothing but meat to them at this point. There should be some fight—just something to prove you were still alive at this point, but you were fairly limp as they yanked you along.

Your fears were turning out right—you were going to be put on display. A gruesome warning, scare tactic. As your muscles protested again at your hands being raised above your head again, you found some barrings. There was conversation—gleeful discussion about what to do with you, figures cast in firelight from a single lantern as you struggled to control your panicked gasps. As you felt yourself being secured to the small structure, you found yourself starting to struggle in general. Painful spikes of pain ripped through you as you twisted your body around, distressed noises escaping that you weren't sure were words. However, the glint of a knife and the sting of the the blade biting into the side of your neck stopped you, chest heaving as you stilled.

“—Please. Please...”

Your voice sounded miles away, from a different person, much as you could feel the words leaving you. Pleading was something you had already tried—stooped to, you had initially thought, but in the end it was all you had left. It went ignored as it usually was—they were talking about your eyes. No compliments, no fire side gazing, something much, much worse. You felt your eyes shut somewhat, staring out into the darkness through small gaps in your eyelids as you felt that blade removed from your neck and pressed just under your eye. It stung, but it wasn't a stab. Still, you let out a short yell despite yourself. It was dark out, you could barely see anything, but it seemed like they were ready to make that a certain reality for your last moments.

Two things happened at once—you could feel the blade press and tear, a pained yell escaping you, and the man next to your tormentor collapsed suddenly into a heap with a short grunt. Instantly, the sharp pain was gone, the pressure against your face lifting as the man in front of you whipped around, pulling a gun from his pants. He reached down to pick up the lantern, your eyes burning from the brightness for a few moments as he lifted it up. However, he didn't have much time to react before his head snapped back, dropping the lantern and casting the area into darkness. You heard a fading groan, the sound of a body hitting the ground, and then it was just your panicked breathing.

What the hell was happening?

You shook uncontrollably, your stomach tight as you let out gasping breaths into the silence of the area. There was nothing but the sound of nature for a few moments before you heard shuffling, and someone calling your name. You blinked—once, twice, before it registered.

“Ch—Charles?”

There was more rustling as your eyes started to adjust to the darkness, the moon casting a dull light but it wasn't much. However, you could see a figure making his way toward you, the voice registering as blissfully familiar and you found yourself letting out breathless laughs—borderline sobs.

“Glad I found you when I did,” he muttered, much closer than you thought he was as you felt him tug against the rope around your wrists, “I saw the lights, but your trail had faded. Soon as I saw the trap they made...well...”

“I'm...I'm glad, too,” you whispered, “More than I can explain.”

Finally, the rope gave way and your body dropped instantly. Steady hands gripped at your underarm to keep you somewhat upright, but your knees hit dirt as you let out a pained whimper as your muscles protested against the movement.

“Can you stand?”

You paused for a few moments, taking in some deeper breaths as you willed your breathing to slow before your head started to spin more than it did already. Finally, you nodded softly, but trying to stand seemed like an impossible feat in the moment.

“They...they burned my feet,” you muttered, “feels like hot coals. I just...I can get up but...”

“I understand,” Charles muttered above you, a part of you happy that you couldn't see his expression in the darkness just yet. Hell, you were scared to even see yourself in a mirror at this point, you didn't doubt that you probably looked like death walking.

“Okay...” you whispered, extending an arm up, despite the pain, to find purchase around Charles' shoulders. He followed your lead, carefully wrapping an arm around your back and under your free arm before he helped you come to a stand.

As you mentioned, your feet burned at having your weight on them, much as you shifted a good bit of it onto Charles. You walked a short bit, Charles mentioning his horse, the animal staring back at you two in the darkness. He helped you into the saddle before getting in behind you, wanting to make sure you didn't slide off the back as he started back out onto the road. You felt like you barely had the energy to keep your head upright, the motion making it bob and droop.

“Why did you travel out so far?” Charles asked, causing you to blink as you tried to focus on his words, “This is dangerous country.”

“Thought...don't know what I thought. I figured...figured I might find some bigger game out here...but I found Murfree instead.”

“It's a long ride back to camp, can you hang on?”

You just nodded your head, letting your eyes droop shut as Charles continued to ride. Slipping in and out of consciousness wasn't anything new at this point, reality becoming choppy and confusing. Which it did. You came to in moments where you were on horseback, moments where you were laying on your back as Charles helped put some water into you, back on the horse, laying back down in a wooden structure. It was well into late afternoon when you came to somewhat fully—an afternoon? You weren't even sure what day it was anymore. However, things were looking somewhat familiar—The Heartlands, Charles still riding along at a steady pace as you lifted your head to watch the trees by.

“I took you to a doctor,” Charles said over your shoulder as he noticed your stirring, “Didn't ask any questions, but he wrapped some of your wounds—especially your feet. ”

You let out a small huff, “Feels like a short nap.”

“We're almost at camp, just hang on a bit longer,” Charles explained, the relief at his words almost causing you to cry.

You took a deep breath, your shoulders aching from sitting upright with your head bobbing as you dozed, but it did put a tiny bit of energy back in you. Still, you felt...well, you felt like you were still stuck between sleep and that strange void of chopped up reality. You wondered if you'd fall asleep again and wake up back in the cave—which put an extremely sharp surge of fear into you, forcing you to keep your eyes open. Focusing on the trees, the trail. You were going to be safe soon. You weren't sure if it was minutes that passed, or moments, but things started to become very familiar. You could see the fallen tree that you associated with the camp entrance, Charles continuing to ride the both of you up until you saw the tents. Charles slowed his horse as he approached the hitching posts, keeping a hold against your lower back as he got off first. However, you found yourself dipping and sliding off toward him. You felt yourself landing almost on top of him, almost falling to the ground as you willed yourself to find your feet again. It still hurt, but marginally less. You could see the bandages around your feet as you stood, Charles still keeping steady at your side before the both of you started to walk toward camp. Voices chattered in around you, hard to grasp, though Dutch's rang clear as he stepped up toward your free side.

“What happened?” he demanded, Charles stopping to let you collect yourself for a few moments as you felt a gentle hand against your shoulder—Dutch's, someone else's, you weren't too sure.

“Murfree Brood,” Charles replied, “A nasty gang up in Roanoke Ridge—murderous, cannibalistic. We had to go to a doctor in Valentine—that was the only way we'd both make it back.”

“They had a trap, some sort of ground cage...” you muttered, “They tricked me, fell in and...”

“You're safe, now,” Dutch said, your gaze meeting his for a few moments as you nodded gratefully, that hand against your shoulder lifting before Charles slowly started to walk again.

“You need to rest—Arthur's not here right now, you can use his cot.”

Oh, you wanted to sleep so badly. The walk across camp felt like it took ages, but eventually you were eased back onto a cot under a familiar tarp. You could hear more noise around you, voices bleeding together as you felt your eyes roll somewhat, your eyelids dropping before the comforting embrace of sleep pulled you under once again.

Dreams and nightmares alike passed in both excruciating slowness and at such speed that you couldn't tell one from another. You dreamed that you were back in that cave—couldn't see anybody, just hanging there as your body burned. You had a dream about your horse, which likely was long gone by now, and the ride out there. That you had brought back a bounty, but the camp was gone when you got back. Everything seemed to pass quietly, pictures in your mind, before you found your eyes opening. The realization was slow, your gaze taking in the side of the familiar wagon, some of the camp chatter much clearer than you remembered it. However, your mouth and throat felt like sand, swallowing not being of any help. Slowly, you turned your head, realizing that your head was propped up by your jacket. The stiffness in your neck was very uncomfortable, but you managed to shift so you could see the area around you more. Arthur was slumped in a chair almost pressed side-by-side to the cot, his legs extended out in front of him as his head was drooped and leaning against one of his shoulders as he slept. Judging from the coolness of the air around you and the somewhat dimmed light, you could gather that it was either late evening or early morning, possibly the latter.

You were tempted to reach out to touch him, place a hand against his shoulder so you could make sure that the both of you really were there. However, you also didn't want to move. You could remember the pain you had been in, and the numbness of sleep hadn't left you just yet. However, you didn't get to dwell on that thought for two long as someone approached the wagon, Mary-Beth's eyes widening as she held a tin cup in her hands.

“You're awake,” she said in something that was barely above a whisper, a small smile touching her features, “You've been out for days...we were gettin' worried.”

You couldn't find your voice just yet, deciding to stare up at her before she seemed to realize the situation and approached more. She carefully moved around Arthur, holding the cup out toward you.

“It's just water,” she explained, “You need this more than I do. Do you want some help sitting up?”

You had went to reach for the water, but the pain in your side stopped you. With a small exhale, you nodded your head. Mary-Beth glanced toward Arthur for a moment before she moved in front of him and reached out to gently pull you up into a sitting position. You let out a small grunt at the action, your world swaying lightly as you were placed upright. You took down the cup in big gulps as the water soothed your throat almost instantly. You noticed a inhale from beside you as you finished off the last of the water, Arthur shifting his legs so he could sit upright more, rubbing the sleep from his face as you handed the cup back to Mary-Beth. She glanced between the two of you for a few moments before she offered you another small smile.

“I woke up early, thought I would check up,” she explained, “The rest of the camp should be up soon, too, if you need anything...”

“I'm...” God, your voice sounded rough. “I'm okay, Mary-Beth. Thank you.”

She gave a short nod before disappearing back into the still sleeping camp. Arthur didn't say anything as you sat, slouched slightly, on his cot as you watched after Mary-Beth. Slowly, you glanced back over toward him, his gaze off into camp as if intensely studying the empty air there. There had been a million things you had pictured saying to him once you got back, if you had gotten back. Yet, in the moment, you still couldn't find your voice beyond thanking Mary-Beth. You seemed to study him for a few moments, the tightness in his jaw and brow. Finally, you found yourself reaching out, despite the stiffness, to gently plant a hand against his shoulder. He tensed somewhat once you touched him, turning his head to finally glance toward you. There was guilt there, sure as day.

“I should've been there,” he muttered, looking over your face, “With Charles...”

Softly, you shook your head as you squeezed his shoulder somewhat, shutting your eyes for a few moments before answering.

“No...No, Charles almost found me as a corpse. Rather you see me bandaged up than...than like that. Don't do that to yourself.”

It was true. Much as you had wished to be picked up and taken away from there, and nearly crying in relief when Charles' voice cut through the darkness after he killed those two men—it was a state you never wanted anybody else to see. Charles had no choice. If someone hadn't found you, you'd be dead. Still, it didn't appear that Arthur was too convinced, but didn't press further. Your back really was starting to strain from sitting—it would be a while before you were up and walking, burns on your feet or not. However, in the moment, you just wanted to be close to him. You moved your hand to reach out to grab at his hand, pulling his arm toward the cot as an invitation to sit. After a few moments, he finally shifted to sit himself down on the cot behind you, gently placing an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. You leaned into him, letting out a soft exhale as you felt his hand press against the side of your face to hold your head against him. Everything felt secure. This was happening, everything before had happened.

Lord, it really did. All that pain, that torture, and you were just...just back.

“I'm sorry,” you muttered, fighting against the tingling behind your eyes. You felt Arthur shift, as if looking down at you, but you couldn't bring yourself to look up at him.

“The hell ya have to be sorry for?” he asked, causing you to shrug softly, almost uselessly, as he continued to hold you close. You could feel your heart racing, the tightness in your throat as you worked up a response.

“I don't know,” you muttered, voice shaking slightly, “Goin' up there in the first place. Furthest from camp, just by myself. Couldn't handle the pressure here, thought I'd...”

Just take off like you do. You bit back the thought, letting out a small sigh. You felt him do the same—didn't have to tell him, but you felt that he knew the meaning behind the pause. Still, you felt him press his fingers into your hair lightly, the action putting some ease in you. It felt like you were about to burst or pass out, whichever came first. However, with the tears threatening, well...

“Should be me apologizin',” Arthur muttered close to your ear, causing you to furrow your brow, “I lost track of everythin' 'round here, didn't find time to see how you were holdin' up—should've went with you, very least.”

“No, I was the idiot who wanted to go alone,” you corrected—if he'd been there, if you'd both got captured. You thought about the man who had disappeared further into the cave and never came back—didn't even hear a scream. “No...things that happened, what I saw...”

It happened. It all happened. It was over—it was over. You were back. Finally, realization sunk in like a stone flung down into a pond, heavy and fast. Down, and down—the memories reaching out for a few moments—before it hit the mark and you let go finally. You took in a sharp breath, vision blurring heavily with tears before they fell down your cheeks, the breath you let back out shaking before the sobs started to take over. Arthur's hold on your shoulders tightened somewhat, some burning there from a few healing wounds, but you needed him. You wrapped an arm around his back, pressing even closer as you cried.

“Yer safe right here,” he muttered into your hair, “Nothin's gettin' at ya here...”

“I thought...” you gasped out, “I thought I was dyin' and I...I just remembered that we'd just said goodnight to each other. That's it. That would've been last thing I said to you and I...”

“That ain't what happened, yer right here,” he replied, “Don't worry 'bout that—could've yelled at me for all I care, but you ain't dead.”

“I know...” you whispered, taking in another breath as the crying seemed to calm for a few moments, “Just remembered how bitter I was that night—wasn't fair. Should've told you I cared—that I knew you were carryin' a lot and...and that I cared.”

You did—much more than he thought he deserved, and you knew he thought that, but it didn't make it any less true. Coming back to camp, it filled you with such relief to see all those faces again, and you knew you had to thank Charles personally—he saved your damn life, but Arthur...well, that's really what you felt sorry about. Still, Arthur didn't really reply, you felt him exhale heavily, turning slightly as you felt him press his face into your neck, holding there for a few moments. You weren't sure you were going to get answer before he spoke up, lifting his head somewhat.

“Scared the hell out 'f me,” he muttered, “Showed up at camp, got some sympathetic stares and then you was just layin' there—thought you was gone.”

“...Me too,” you muttered, reaching a hand up to grab at his own that still rested off your shoulder, “But...it's done. I'm...I'm okay. I'll be okay.”

In time, at least. You knew your physical wounds would heal, but...well, time would tell. Still, you leaned back against him as you shut your eyes again, the position putting a strain on your back, but you didn't care in the moment. You were there with him, something you had thought wouldn't be happening again. Still, you rubbed his arm slightly as he continued to hold you.

“I slept in that chair the whole four days you was in an' out,” Arthur muttered into your neck, “Saw the color come back, yer on the way.”

“Yeah...” you muttered, “Yeah. It's...it's done.”

You felt him press a kiss to the underside of your jaw in response, a small smile settling onto your features at the gesture. You need to rest, and you knew the effects of this were far from over still, but in the moment you wanted nothing more than to suffer the body aches to stay close to him.

#my writing.#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #charles smith.

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quinlinkin · 5 years ago

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take it from me ( i’d be lost without you ) ↳ Q’s twdg writing challenge

character(s): mitch, louis ship(s): louitch ( louis/mitch ) word count: 1749 author’s note: ahhhhh, so i finally fell behind. but hopefully only for these couple of days! either way, this fic is based around a short louitch comic i started making in xnalara a couple of months ago that i never ended up finishing. though i do hope to get it done soon, esp if this ship starts to make some traction?? who knowssss

have a lil preview of that comic anyway!!

[ ao3 link ]

*credits to the wonderful @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale for creating this challenge! you can view the entire prompt list + further details here. happy writing!!

― ☼ ―

day fourteen ; night sky.

“Makes you feel small, huh?”

“Hmm…?”

“Like… the universe. When you really think about it, we’re just so- insignificant. A puny, meaningless speck that doesn’t keep everything else from existing. It wouldn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things if we all disappeared one day.”

Pulling his gaze away from the blanket of stars above them, Mitch quirks an eyebrow at Louis. It’s become somewhat of a routine for them to find themselves right here, seated upon the roof of Mitch’s house as they stargaze and talk endlessly. They’ve occasionally even stayed put long enough for the sun to begin to rise, peeking over the horizon as a startling reminder for Louis that he needs to get home before his parents wake up and realize he isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

A crooked grin starts to tug at his lips, and he can’t help but to lightly tease, “Jesus… Deep, much? Y’know, I think you’d better quit that damn drama class before it’s too late, it’s obviously starting to get to your head.”

Louis rolls his eyes and scoffs, yet the unmistakable signs of his own subtle grin are plainly visible in the moonlight. “I’m just saying. When you put things into perspective, it’s pretty wild to think about.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mitch shrugs, green eyes flicking back up to the inky black sky. Truth be told, he hasn’t spent a lot of time contemplating their existence like Louis apparently has. It didn’t really matter to him.

Except for aliens, of course. Aliens were real, the government are hiding the truth, and he’ll gladly fight anyone who tries to disagree.

“Well… What do you think, then?” Louis asks after a beat of silence.

Again, Mitch gives an offhanded shrug. “I dunno. Not much, I guess.”

He can feel Louis’ eyes on him without having to look. It makes his skin crawl, his cheeks tingle.

“No opinions on life beyond earth? No theories about our existence? Figured you’d be all about the conspiracy theory life.”

“I ain’t Shane Dawson.”

Louis laughs. “No, you’re definitely not.”

Mitch gives a breathy chuckle of his own, his elbows shifting against the shingles. “Yeah, I mean- conspiracies are fun to think about. But I wouldn’t go as far as… whatever all that was that came outta your mouth just now.”

“What, you didn’t like my awesomely philosophical speech?” Louis retorts. Mitch can hear the smirk present in his airy tone. “I should be offended.”

Mitch is forced to redirect his attention back to Louis’ face, where sure enough, that classic Louise-esque smirk is spread across it. His eyes linger for longer than intended. “I think you’re better off leaving all that shit to Aasim.”

With another brief, joined laugh, they both turn their attention back to the sky. It’s not uncommon for them to fall into comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes, Mitch will light up a cigarette that Louis always decline to share. Other times, they’ll take turns with a bottle of alcohol snagged from his father’s liquor cabinet until their heads are warmly fuzzy and boundaries become just a little bit thinner.

Tonight, however, there’s nothing but the two of them, no distractions or obligations to be anywhere other than right here.

It’s also not uncommon for Mitch’s mind to wander during these bouts of silence. He wishes he only held positive thoughts for this odd, indescribable bond that’s formed between him and Louis.

He’s unable to understand why Louis would ever want to show up whenever Mitch decides to text him late at night, why he ever gives him the time of day or humors him when they have just about nothing in common. While it’s no exaggeration that Mitch could produce quite the lengthy list of reasons why Louis is so great and interesting, he’s yet to find a single reason why the opposite would prove to be true.

Mitch glances at Louis while his focus is directed above them. There’s a gentle smile on his face, his expression blissful and carefree. He looks positively at peace, and Mitch doesn’t get why.

He suddenly feels guilty. He’d called him out of bed at nearly two in the morning, after all, and while Mitch never dares to admit whenever there’s an underlying problem that prompts him to want Louis’ company, he suspects that Louis already knows.

Louis makes him feel better, plain and simple. Perhaps it’s his shining personality or his positive way of thinking, though whatever the true reason, Mitch never fails to feel his mood lifting from as early on as seeing Louis typing back a message despite immediately regretting sending his own in the first place.

“You don’t have to be here, y’know,” he suddenly tells him. Out of context, it’s entirely unprompted, yet in Mitch’s mind, they’re words that have to be spoken.

Louis immediately turns his head to look at him, his brows pulled together with a keen mixture of confusion and compassion. It’s more than enough for Mitch to be quickly looking away, that too-sincere expression tugging at his heart in a way that makes him feel queasy.

“I know,” Louis speaks quietly, steadily. Careful, as if saying the wrong thing will cause Mitch to freeze up and bolt. It wouldn’t be the first time. “But… I want to.”

The outward confession instinctively draws Mitch’s eyes back to his face, just for a second, before he’s forcing them away again. His eyebrows furrow, searching for words well beyond his grasp to say.

Naturally, Louis picks up on his uneasy silence. “Do… you not want me here?”

“What?” Mitch’s head snaps back towards him, eyes slightly rounded before he’s firmly shaking his head. “No, I - of course I do.”

While he hadn’t quite expected Louis’ response, he supposes he should have. With his standoffish, blunt nature, he can only imagine that he must come off as disinterested in Louis’ company from time to time. He curses his unapproachable demeanor, wishes it wasn’t so difficult for him to open up.

Apparently, Louis decides to push things a little further. Mitch doesn’t blame him for wanting answers, though once again, he’s no longer able to look at him as his expression grows more sympathetic. His voice is incredibly timid when he speaks up, and Mitch feels even worse.

“Then… why say that?”

Mitch sighs. “Ah… I dunno, I just- most people wouldn’t want to, I guess. Most people… wouldn’t care.”

He can feel Louis shifting closer, trying to crane his neck in order to meet his eye.

It doesn’t work until he speaks again, barely above a whisper. “Well… I do. I care.”

Mitch simply can’t control the troubled look that crosses over his face, displaying his every conflicted emotion and his perplexed thought for Louis to see despite the fact he doesn’t want him to.

There’s nothing he can do to stop himself from asking, “But… why? ”

Louis instantly falls quiet. For a moment, Mitch regrets asking, assumes that there’s nothing that Louis has to offer in response to his question. Of course there isn’t, his mind bitterly taunts. He only said he cares to make you feel better.

He’s proven entirely wrong in the next second.

“Because…” he starts, seeming to choose his words very carefully until they’re spilling freely from his mouth. “You’re worth so much more than you think you are. Yeah, you’re a little devious, and yeah, you’ve got this whole ‘tough guy’ act nailed down. But under all that, you… you have a good heart, Mitch. I can see it all the time. Even if you don’t.”

Mitch blanks. There’s nothing that could ever describe the whirlwind of emotions that instantly overtakes him, no amount of understanding that could hope to make sense of it all. Impossibly, he feels gut-wrenching sadness and heartwarming inspiration at exactly the same time, a melting pot of conflicting feelings coexisting with each other, relentlessly battling for the top spot within his mind.

Ultimately, sheer disbelief wins.

“I… think you give me way too much credit…” he mumbles, a rather pathetic reply to Louis’ meaningful expression of his self worth.

Louis doesn’t miss a beat. “Maybe you just don’t give yourself enough.”

Mitch can feel Louis’ eyes practically boring holes into his skin as he grows distressingly silent once again, their shoulders brushing in a way that has him tensing up despite himself. Yet as undeterred as ever, Louis is piping up again before he knows it.

“I see you for who you really are. Whether you like it or not.”

There’s no denying the phrase sums everything up better that Mitch could ever express, himself. Yet he’s unable to think about it for much longer after those words are spoken, for in another, completely unexpected turn of events, Mitch can feel Louis shifting even closer.

A brief pause ensues, before Louis is leaning in the rest of the way. He kisses Mitch’s cheek, and Mitch is blown away how such as simple action can bring forth such an intense response. His heart ricochets inside his chest, his thoughts all but exploding inside his head. He can’t think, can’t speak, can’t breathe.

Then, he’s turning to gawk at Louis as if he’s grown at least five extra heads. Louis bears a similar expression, seemingly shocked at himself, leaving them both staring at one another like two deer within the glow of the same headlights.

“I - I’m sorry, I-”

Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe the rapidly multiplying emotions within him take over, blinding him and masking all the rational common sense he already lacks.

Whatever the reason, there’s no stopping himself, no controlling his own actions. He doesn’t care if Louis regrets it, if he’s apologizing because he didn’t mean to.

Mitch closes the distance between them again, and kisses him.

Louis freezes, but for only a second. Mitch thinks that same emotionally fueled instinct must be taking over him, too, for faster than his mind can process, they’re quite literally kissing each other senseless. It feels as if a slowly cracking dam between them has finally broken, and with it, everything comes effectively pouring out.

He doesn’t know how long the kiss lasts. All concept of time becomes lost upon him, and the only thing that eventually separates them is the burning need for oxygen.

And, as they pull away, in some cheesy, embarrassingly cliche passing thought, Mitch swears the stars above Louis’ dazed, smiling face shine brighter than they ever have before.

#twdgdrabblechallenge #twdg #twdg mitch #twdg louis #twdg louitch #louitch #Q writes

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Five People’s Thoughts on Adore and Bianca: Raven & Raja (3-4/5) (Biadore) - doctor bitchcraftt

A series of conversations between Raja and Raven, with appearances from Shangela and Mariah. Dialogue-driven rather than a narrative, because I live for Raja and Raven’s interactions. Also? Raja is a legitimate witch.

1. Courtney Act

2. Laganja Estranja

3 & 4. Raja & Raven

5. Trixie Mattel (WIP)

A/N: One of the more fun perspectives I’ve written from, particularly since Fashion Photo Review was one of the things that got me hooked on Drag Race. Raven & Raja are goddesses. Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

Raven leaned forward far enough to see past the shimmering curtains out to the audience.

Shangela was tearing up the runway, to everyone’s obvious delight. As she watched along with them, movement in the first row caught her attention.

Sitting pressed together from shoulder to knee, Bianca and Adore out of drag looked like any other couple enjoying an evening at Micky’s. Adore’s head dipped briefly onto Bianca’s shoulder, receiving an indulgent smile in response. Moments later and completely unprompted, Bianca casually reached over to squeeze Adore’s knee.

”Sure you want to stay back here all night?”

”Yeah,” Raja sighed, “too many people wanting the full Raja experience and it’s been forever since I saw you.”

Raven pressed a kiss to her cheek, and they fell back into comfortable silence.

“What are you looking at?”

Raja’s voice interrupted Raven’s voyeurism, and she turned to find her lounging lazily against the wall, wineglass held precariously in hand. Partial drag was a good look on her (any look was a good look for Raja, honestly), the natural grey of her hair setting off her painted eyes.

She gestured vaguely towards the stage with her drink.

“Bianca needs to wear more color. All of that black makes her look small.”

Raja breathed out a mellow laugh.

”She is small. How many of those have you had if you’re forgetting that?”

”Do you think-“ Raven started then paused, trying to get her thoughts in order while simultaneously checking the set list and blotting her forehead with a powder puff.

”Hmmm?” Raja handed her a napkin for the sweaty cocktail balanced on her knee.

They both applauded as Shangela finished her set, and Raven headed back on stage to introduce the next performer.

********

Half an hour later, she picked up the thread of conversation as if they hadn’t been interrupted.

“Ever think the two of them are together?”

”Who?”

Raven raised an elegant eyebrow, but Raja was too busy peering out into the audience again to appreciate the look.

”Bianca and her little drag baby.”

”Oh.” She didn’t sound surprised. At all. Actually…Raven thought she seemed more contemplative than anything else.

”Yes? Or no.”

”Depending on how you look at it, yes and no.”

Turning to face Raja fully, she waited for an explanation, keeping an ear out for the change in music.

“Well?”

“Bianca told me once that she didn’t do boyfriends because she didn’t have enough time to commit properly.”

Raven blinked at what appeared to be a tangential statement, but probably would end up being relevant.

“That bitch, out of everyone we know, could make time for anything.”

She waited patiently for a response as Raja took another sip of wine and waved at a local queen passing through.

”It’s complicated between them.”

”Obviously.”

”Bianca is almost as old as I am.”

Raven snorted.

”Don’t tell me it’s an age gap.”

Lifting her glass to punctuate the previous statement, Raja continued.

“There’s almost…It’s easy to forget that Adore is almost thirty. She’s still figuring out how to be completely comfortable in her skin. She’s so young in a lot of ways. In some ways, that makes the difference even more obvious. And Bianca has been at this for half of her life - and way more than half of Adore’s.”

“Well, she’s practically her drag daughter at this point. But,” Raven checked the stage again, “they’re way too comfortable for that to be a problem.”

“I wasn’t finished.”

A sweaty Shangela came off stage and ushered the local girl on before heading over.

”What’s the tea?”

Raven smiled and patted the bench next to her. “Sit down. We’re trying to decide if Bianca and Adore are fucking.”

”Raven thinks they’re fucking. I,” Raja deliberately flicked her hair over her shoulder, “was trying to explain that it’s more complicated.”

They both waited expectantly while she drained a bottle of water.

“My opinion?” Shangela dabbed at her forehead delicately. “Miss Bianca is too direct to not go for it if she wanted to. And Adore, well, god bless that horny little thing. She’d have jumped her if she wanted.”

Standing up, she air kissed them both and left in a cloud of neon fringe for her next costume change. Raven headed back on stage, and somehow they didn’t manage to finish the conversation before the night was over.

********

Another Monday at Micky’s. Adore and Bianca were once again seated in the corner near the beginning of the stage, clearly a few drinks in each.

”She’s got to be in total control, or else gets so drunk she doesn’t have to be,” Raja announced.

”What?” Raven’s glass was empty and she signaled a server for a refill.

“You know who. Bianca.”

“She’s a drag queen, drinking is part of the job. Fuck, no one I know can function as well as Bianca does when she’s drunk.”

Raja nodded slowly. Tonight she was completely her boy self, lending an air of casual chic to a slouchy deconstructed sweater and jeans.

"We were talking about Bianca and Adore.”

“Rave, you’ve known Adore for what, over a decade? Since she was a baby queen. And what’s her defining energy?”

“Messy slut?”

“I was going to say disorder, but that’s close enough. Mix that with Bianca’s control and you’ve either got the worst combination of opposites or two people that complement each other perfectly.”

“So opposites attract. It’s hardly news. We’ve seen how they look at each other on and off stage. And it sounds like most of the internet has too.”

“Half the net thinks we’re fucking, or haven’t you read the comments out there?”

Raven ignored the question entirely, watching as Bianca draped an arm around Adore’s shoulders without even looking as they carried on two separate conversations between sets.

"Bianca and Adore. Practically on each other’s laps. And that weird no-talking-but-I-know-right-where-you-are thing that they do.”

“We do that.” Raja drained her glass and set it carefully aside.

"You didn’t pay for me to fix this hairline. Or hang all over me all of the time when you’re sober.“

"That’s Martin’s job - ”

“You know,” Mariah’s voice cut in, “Adore made a whole video post about borrowing Bianca’s running shoes in Australia.”

Raven raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Couples share clothes,” she pointed out.

Raja gave them both a look over the rim of her now-full wineglass.

"Bianca loaned Manila two whole outfits for All Stars that she hasn’t given back yet. And I don’t think anyone thinks they’re fucking.”

"That’s drag. We’ve all done it,” Raven pointed out. “This is boy clothes.”

“Awww, you wouldn’t let me borrow your shoes?”

“Your raptor toes wouldn’t fit.”

“Ha ha. Whose side are you on anyway?” Raja demanded when Mariah snickered helplessly at Raven’s jab.

“Oh, most definitely theirs.”

“Gonna tell us what you know?”

Mariah grinned wickedly.

“Nope.”

********

“There’s more sexual tension between them than people who are actually fucking, then. Look,” Raven tugged Raja over until she could see. As they watched, Adore and Bianca laughed along with the rest of the audience at something the queen had done on the runway. Mid-laugh, Adore twisted in her seat to look at Bianca, head tilted and a soft look in her eyes.

“And?”

“Adore practically looks like one of those heart eyes emojis.”

Raja shook her head with that enigmatic half-smile that made Raven want to simultaneously hug her and shake her until she answered.

********

“It’s better than sex though, isn’t it?”

“…suuuuuuure." Raven didn’t sound convinced.

"Think about it.” Raja gestured eloquently with her free hand before settling back on the chair. “Can you see Bianca putting minimal effort into anything? She doesn’t let herself have the time to meet someone and direct her energy into a relationship, and you know how many race chasers are out there.”

”Bitch needs to get her dick sucked more often. Unless you finally agree that she and Adore are hooking up?”

Predictably, Raja continued down her original train of thought.

“Other than sex, she’s got all of the best parts in Adore already - best friend, someone to take care of, someone who understands what we do. And Bianca is exactly what Adore needs to stay grounded and let loose together.”

“You’re not convincing me that they aren’t fucking out their frustrations together.”

“It’s safe for them to love each other, because they’re never going to hurt each other like you do in a relationship. Sex is simple, but having the kind of bond they do? Worth way more, and I don’t care what you say, I’m sticking to that.”

Raven sighed, not sure why they hadn’t just asked the two of them rather than wading through Raja’s musings.

“Oh go ahead, I’ll just watch Bianca shade you into next week.”

She was positive she hadn’t voiced that thought aloud.

”I hate it when you do that.”

“No you don’t.”

”Raja,” she sighed again, “not everything is always profoundly spiritual.”

Raja set down the now-empty glass and fixed her with a look that said she was being incredibly dense. From anyone else, Raven would have bristled, but over the years she’d learned to trust Raja’s instincts.

Mostly.

“Give me your hands.”

With a bland expression, Raja folded her fingers around Raven’s, not squeezing but gently holding.

“…what-“

”Shhh, just concentrate.”

”On?”

A tingling buzz started to grow where their palms made contact. Raja’s energy manipulation was hardly surprising anymore, but she closed her eyes without being asked.

“This is what Adore feels like when you touch her.” The buzz grew sharper, brightness mixed with playful nudges of static.

“And this,” she murmured with a squeeze of their fingers, “is Bianca.” Immediately, the erratic frissons of energy subsided in her left hand. As Raja breathed out, the flow became regimented, controlled and steady with the impression of overwhelming power behind it.

Opening her eyes, Raven nodded and the buzz dwindled down to nothing. Not that she would be able to describe the feelings, but they nonetheless made sense.

“This,” Raja sounded mischievous, “is how it feels when you’re in lust.”

Heat filled her entire body and Raven was suddenly acutely aware of all of the sounds and smells surrounding them. A spark of pure fire raced up both palms, through her corsetted midsection, and settled just above her tuck.

”Very funny,” she muttered, shaking her hands free.

Raja didn’t look the least bit sorry. Recapturing her fingers, she continued.

”The kind of love they have? It’s like this.”

This time, the playful buzz in one hand and solid strength in the other met each other in the middle of her body, melting together. The sensation was warm instead of raging hot, gliding up her arms and settling in her chest. Her own heartbeat fluttered briefly before slowing into a hypnotically steady beat. Raven felt the tension in her shoulders relax as an undefined feeling of rightness descended. It was how she felt falling asleep cradling Martin, lazy afternoons watching tv while working on a new outfit, laughing with Raja in the basement at WOW Presents.

Raja gently released her hands, but the sense of safety and calm affection remained.

”Adore needs that kind of stabilizing energy. And Bianca needs to feel it’s safe to be loved, that she has permission to be vulnerable.”

Oh.

********

Later on, after Raja had recharged her witchy batteries with hugs and being social, Raven pulled her aside and smirked. "Think they just couldn’t figure out how to both be tops?”

“Bitch, like you’d know anything about it."

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #raja gemini #raven #humor #fluff #five thoughts #canon compliant #doctor bitchcraftt

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teecohenc · 7 years ago

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this is real .

WHO: Tina Cohen-Chang, Deputy Shuester, mentions of Rachel Berry and others. WHAT: It’s Tina’s turn to be questioned. WHERE: Double C Diner. WHEN: Friday afternoon. WARNINGS: None.

The hectic hustle and bustle of Double C Diner’s lunch rush had just started to die down when, from her space back in the kitchens, Tina heard one of her hostess’ call out for her.

“Tina? Phone!”

Cheeks and hair dusted with flour, she neatly ( albeit a bit reluctantly ) put aside the assortment of ingredients she’d intended to make a few pies with in the interim, wiped her hands off on her apron, and hurried to make her way out to the floor of the restaurant.

“Thanks Etta,” she replied with a gentle smile as she settled herself behind the polished wood of the front desk, and took the waiting phone from her friend’s outstretched hand. “Hello? This is Tina. How can I help you?”

“Ms. Cohen-Chang? This is Deputy Shuester of the Castleport Police Department. I’m sorry to call you during work hours, but I was wondering if you had a spare moment to answer a few questions in regard to the disappearance of Rachel Berry?”

Instantly, Tina felt her insides go ice cold — a horrible feeling of dread enveloping her as she processed the detective’s words. If they were calling to talk about Rachel — get information — then she’d been right. Rachel’s disappearance wasn’t another one of her overboard dramatic acts like they’d all thought. It was real. She was missing. Heart thundering hard against her ribs, she nodded her head in the affirmative to being questioned before realizing that there was no way the officer could see it.

“Y-yeah — of course, just . . . give me a minute, please,” and with that, without answering a confused Etta, Tina quickly put the call on hold and practically sped off toward her family’s side office while simultaneously attempting to collect her spiraling thoughts.

Why were they calling her of all people? Yeah, she and Rachel had gone to school together, but that was 10 years ago, and they’d hardly kept up conversation after graduation. What had been said or found that’d put her into the mix like this; as though she had any idea of where Rachel could be, or how she could help her? Letting out a low, somewhat frantic curse, Tina distractedly waved off the following concerned looks of her employees and, in a burst of quick thinking, grabbed for an unused waitress notepad to jot down the questions that were to be asked. She’d seen more than enough crime shows to know to always be careful with these kinds of situations, and a wariness of cops in general, all that aside. Once she was inside the privacy of her office’s walls, she made sure to lock the door behind her and sat on her desk chair with a heavy sigh before reaching out for the phone to press the line 1 button with a shaking hand.

“Okay. I’m back. Sorry about that.”

“It’s not a problem, Ms. Cohen-Chang. This won’t take long. Now, to start, would you say your interest in Ms. Berry’s disappearance was more than the usual casual concern?”

That made her pause — somewhat confused as to why that, of all things, was a question at all, or how it would help find Rachel. But still, she made to answer to the best of her abilities given the current circumstances.

“I’m worried about her, yeah. How could I not be? This whole thing has been insane. Have you heard anything new? Or found anything?” It was nowhere near as eloquent of a response as she’d hoped for, but it was honest ( she was too freaked out to be anything but ). Whether or not that was detectable over the phone was a whole other can of worms entirely. The brief silence on the other end of the call definitely didn’t help matters, either. What was he thinking? What was he doing? Was he documenting what she was saying? Was she a person of interest? The unknown of it all had Tina’s stomach twisted in tight knots from the overwhelming nervousness she felt searing through her veins.

“That cannot be discussed at current, I’m afraid. But do know that we’re doing all we can to find her, I assure you. But on that note, how close would you say you were to Ms. Berry? How would you describe your relationship? Was she easy to get along with?”

Shit. That was not at all an inquiry that warranted a quick or simple answer in the slightest. Her pencil tapped a jarring, uneven rhythm against the scant notes she’d scribbled down as memories of her time back in school flew through her head unprompted — of her standing by in the halls or in class, watching as Rachel got a good brunt of bullying from Santana, Quinn, and even her own boyfriend. There were a few times where she’d been tempted to step in and just say enough was enough, but at the same time, as awful as it was for her to admit, there were way more times where Tina thought it was somewhat deserved, with the way Rachel behaved. Did she regret it now? Absolutely, but there was nothing she could do about it — you can’t change the past.

“. . . I wouldn’t consider us all that close, no, despite sharing a mutual best friend. I mean, yeah, we were in Glee Club together and ran in the same social circles, but that was about it.” Tina worried at her bottom lip as she struggled to come up with an answer to the second part of the question that didn’t sound so nasty. “Honestly, most of the time I found her rather difficult to deal with. Our personalities didn’t mesh well, and, more often than not, I tried to keep my distance from her as best I could.” Rachel Berry had always been far too much for her tastes; too rude, too loud, and far too conceited to be bearable, despite her talent. But Tina would gladly take all that in spades if it meant that she was found and this entire, horrible mess was over with.

“I see. Well, I just have one more question for you, Ms. Cohen-Chang and then I’ll let you get back. Were you aware of any tension between the people you were close to, and Rachel? Any history of negative feelings, like say, towards Hunter Clarington?”

“Wait. What?” Tina blurted out, a sharp, incredulous noise tumbling from her lips as the last part of detective’s question resounded like a huge, warning gong in her head. “Why are you singling Hunter out?” It was not smart, she knew, snapping at a cop, but the underlying implications of that seemingly innocent implement of her ex-boyfriend’s name made fear rip and tear at her chest – shock clogging at her throat as she struggled to draw in air. “You don’t actually think that he had something to do with this, do you?”

“Ms. Cohen-Chang, we’ve found evidence of animosity between Mr. Clarington and Ms. Berry — we’re just looking for some kind of clarification for this case.”

“That was back in high school — a decade ago — and he wasn’t the only one who had an issue with Rachel either! She wasn’t exactly a favorite amongst most of her classmates.” Yes, Hunter and Rachel had their problems, that was obvious, and he could be a huge ass at the worst of times, but Tina knew him far beyond all that. He would never do something like this. He wasn’t evil, and she would be damned if this detective or anyone else said otherwise, especially with what was so clearly at stake.

“Ms. Cohen-Chang, please. We’re not implicating anyone. This is standard procedure in getting answers in this case.”

Standard, huh? Then why the mention of Hunter’s name at all? There was something off about all of this that didn’t sit right with Tina one bit.

“Like I said, Rachel had a lot of issues with a lot of people, but no one I know or am close to would ever do something like this.” That, she was utmost confident about.

There was another long pause over the line that made Tina’s pulse jump. What in the hell was going on?

“I understand. Thank you for your time and cooperation, Ms. Cohen-Chang. We’ll be sure to keep in touch. Have a nice day,”

It was an obvious dismissal if she’d ever heard one and it left a sour taste in her mouth.

“Yeah. . . you too.”

With that, the call ended with a loud ‘ click, ’ and no sooner had it done so did Tina grab for her cell phone to text Hunter. Yes, they were in a weird ass place at the moment, but this preceded everything. He needed to know what’d just happened, and shit, the rest of her friends did too.

#cporttask #cporttask02

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kennexara · 4 years ago

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fucking hate not understanding how i’m supposed to use tumblr now. for the longest time it was like ‘why would you make a post saying the exact same thing just to add on to it?? that’s basically plagiarizing just reblog op and put your thoughts in the tags!!!’

but now ppl throw hissy fits if you express thoughts in the tags! it’s like ‘can’t believe some people can’t fucking shut up i’m blocking basically everyone who reblogged my post with their tags, on this, the public blogging platform.’

sooooo, what, are we supposed to make our own post like ‘hey saw someone say x, it gave me the idea for y’??

like....i just don’t know. if i wanted to just share shit without muttering what it made me think of in the tags i would actually join twitter, you know? or the organizing use of the tags!! it is essential if you ever want to find a post again. but is that fine or a problem too?? and like sure i don’t have to write the tags but guess what you don’t have to read the notes either! you know how i know? because i never fucking do!!!! i also forget to read messages much less reply to them but that’s not the point!!

the point is i pay enough attention to notice ppl are pissy. but how many ppl don’t do that and are just using tumblr the way they always have. what are you gonna do, send them unprompted comments bitching about how they’re making unprompted comments??

like idk what the solution is. actually ideal solution is tumblr builds an option to stop fucking notifying ppl of your tags. but they won’t do that bc why would they do something functional.

i just...can we collectively decide on some best practice so i stop flip-flopping between ‘writing my usual long-ass stories in the tags’ and ‘worrying about whether my rant on how much dean and cas love each other, on a deancas gifset, will actually piss the maker off’

#ignore me #i just...i don't want to annoy ppl #but also if i wanted to keep my mouth shut on how i really think and feel i'd join normal social media with my real name

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shirlleycoyle · 4 years ago

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Tech ‘Unicorn’ Pacaso Is Turning Homes Into LLCs and Pissing Off the Neighbors

Earlier this year, the Malibu beach house directly between Bobby LaBonge and Lloyd Ahern’s properties sold for more than either of them would have expected, even considering that it sits along the famous Pacific Coast Highway. "There's no doubt they paid too much money," Ahern told Motherboard. "We thought, 'Oh brother, what kind of moron did this?'"

"We figured it was some wealthy family," LaBonge said.

The buyer wasn’t a single family. It was a company called Pacaso, a new San Francisco–based real estate startup that hopes to "democratize second-home ownership" by selling homes like the one between LaBonge and Ahern’s to as many as eight complete strangers. "We're going to make second-home ownership a reality for the top 20 percent of the world," the company's CEO, Austin Allison, has said.

The question is whether, in the process, Allison is going to make it harder or easier for everyone else to buy their first home—and whether Allison's idea will work out in practice as well as it does in theory. So far, the most certain thing is that he's making a lot of enemies in the largely wealthy communities where Pacaso is operating.

Allison was inspired, he's said, to start his new company after he and his wife purchased their own second home in Lake Tahoe. "My wife and I will never forget that first evening after closing, when we were sitting in front of the fireplace thinking about how appreciative we were," he said in a video on the company's website. He formed the company with Zillow co-founder Spencer Rascoff and the backing of investors, including former Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz. The company’s name is inspired by the Spanish artist Pablo Picasso, the namesake of a Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers song and .

“He is credited with co-creating Cubism, which brings together individual elements to create a new and innovative whole,” the company explains on its website. “We decided on Pacaso to honor Picasso's legacy of innovation.”

Since Pacaso launched last October, the company has burst onto the scene like a raging ball of flames. Within months, it claimed to have reached so-called "unicorn" status—meaning it had been valued at $1 billion—quicker than any other company ever. "If you were to talk to me a year ago and asked, 'Do you think this company will be a billion-dollar company someday?,' I would have said yes without hesitation, but I would have thought it would have taken five years instead of six months," Allison said at the time to dot.LA, a technology site co-founded by Rascoff.

Over that same period, though, Pacaso has also racked up an impressive number of opponents: mayors who say the company will ruin communities, neighbors who say it will worsen the housing crisis, and entire cities that say Pacaso is running illegal operations.

Got a tip for the the reporter of this article? Using a non-work phone or computer, you can contact Maxwell Strachan securely on Signal on 310-614-3752 or email [email protected].

The Pacaso model is nothing if not novel. The company buys a home, lightly fixes up and furnishes it, and then creates an LLC with eight ownership stakes. Pacaso customers then purchase at least one-eighth of a share of the home. After that, Pacaso essentially becomes a corporate property manager, handling repairs, cleaning, financing, and scheduling. People who own one-eighth of a Pacaso home can stay up to 44 days a year but no longer than 14 days at a time, and they can sell their share after 12 months. If they do decide to sell, owners independently set the price at which they sell and choose their own real estate agent, though the other owners get to be first in line to buy the share themselves.

Pacaso makes money by charging a 12 pecent fee at the time of closing and then a monthly $99 fee that covers “LLC oversight, ongoing owner support, and technology,” according to spokesperson Colin Tooze. “Home operating costs such as property management, maintenance, taxes, and repairs are passed along directly to owners transparently with no markup,” the spokesperson said.

"It's great for Pacaso," said Paul Grisanti, the mayor of Malibu, who has come out early in opposition to its local presence. "I don't think it's good for the schools, I don't think it's good for a sense of community."

"They're corporatizing our community. If this business model succeeds, then our town starts to become more and more like an adult Disneyland."

The day that Brad Day, 42, discovered that a tech startup had purchased the home across the street from him in Sonoma, he and the other neighbors gathered to have an emergency meeting. Soon after, they sprang into action, creating anti-Pacaso signs, writing op-eds in the local paper, and talking to members of the city council. They formed an organization, too: "Sonomans Together Opposing Pacaso," or STOP.

Like others in Sonoma and elsewhere, Day fears that the entrance of a company like Pacaso into areas zoned for single families will mean less real estate for potential full-time residents.

"They're corporatizing our community," Day said. "If this business model succeeds, then our town starts to become more and more like an adult Disneyland."

The Sonoma campaign gained attention, and Day started to hear from people in other areas where Pacaso was making inroads, he said. Similar anti-Pacaso contingents sprouted up across California, including in Healdsburg, St. Helena, Newport Beach, and Malibu. Some protests have proven successful already. In Napa, where Allison lives, the company faced fierce backlash after purchasing a three-bedroom home for $1.13 million. A company spokesperson told the Wall Street Journal that a Pacaso executive filed a police report after someone wrote in an online Pacaso listing that they would "burn down any home you buy in Napa."

Pacaso announced in June that it would sell the Napa home to "a whole home buyer,” as well as a number of other changes, including setting a price floor of $2 million for homes it bought in Napa and Sonoma counties. While Allison told news outlets that the company would learn from the experience, he remained steadfast in the company's core goals. The company said that thousands of residential homes in Sonoma are “non-owner-occupied and owned in a vehicle (such as an LLC or trust) that facilitates co-ownership,” and it claimed at the time that it bought homes in Napa and Sonoma counties for $4.1 million on average.

"Luxury homes in luxury neighborhoods make terrific Pacasos," Allison said then.

“They're aiming at people who want to pretend that they're wealthy. They're gonna rent the lifestyle,” said Grisanti, the Malibu mayor. The sniffy tone here captures what the loudest residents of the luxury neighborhoods where Pacaso is dealing make of the whole thing. But many of the people I spoke with said (unprompted) they did not consider themselves NIMBYs—the derisive acronym for people who say “Not in my backyard.” Instead, they often emphasized their concerns that Pacaso could exacerbate the broader housing crisis in California and make it even harder for working families to buy a home. "There are real concerns that these properties are removing housing stock," Trevor Rusin, the assistant city attorney in Malibu, told Motherboard. "I'm worried about family farms coexisting with Pacaso," said Yael Bernier, a farmer in the Dry Creek Valley in Sonoma County and the president of the Dry Creek Valley Association. "They are going after single-family homes."

“They're aiming at people who want to pretend that they're wealthy. They're gonna rent the lifestyle.”

Unsurprisingly, the people at Pacaso believe that all these local residents are looking at the problem the wrong way. The company now argues that it is helping to solve the housing crisis by steering eight potential second-home owners "away from homes critically needed by the local workforce" and toward a single "luxury" home. (For what it’s worth, Zillow lists the typical home value in Malibu as $3,777,824 as of this writing.)

Similar to arguments once used by rideshare companies like Uber and Lyft, Pacaso claims it is "creating more housing opportunities through better utilization." "Nearly 10 million second homes sit unoccupied for 11 months a year in the U.S.," the company states on its website. Pacaso homes, by comparison, reach a "90%+ utilization rate," a spokesperson claimed.

But the concerns of anti-Pacaso residents extend beyond the price paid for the home, and raise a different, more unflattering parallel to Uber and Lyft, which rely on creative approaches to regulation. Many feel the company is bypassing or even exploiting local zoning rules. Lisa Cavalli, a self-described "third-generation Sonoma girl," said people in her town "welcome vacationers" but want them to use hotels or Airbnbs, which pay the city's transient occupancy tax that helps fund local nonprofits. Bernier, the farmer, believes Pacaso has been able to "skirt" local rules limiting non-agricultural business by calling their homes single-family dwellings.

"If this exploitation continues, where will it end?” Bernier wrote in a letter to the local board of supervisors, which Motherboard reviewed. “Sonoma County could lose its character and valuable farm land [sic] the way Santa Clara Valley did—now developed into Silicon Valley."

In Malibu, many people similarly believe Pacaso has taken advantage of a "loophole in the regulatory scheme," said Bruce Silverstein, the city's mayor pro tem. Silverstein has asked the Malibu city attorney if he could look into whether there were any means by which they could "curtail this lawfully," he said, but he fears it might be difficult.

People throughout St. Helena have put up signs in opposition of Pacaso. (Photo credit: Connie Wilson)

Like a lot of people in St. Helena, Connie Wilson believes Pacaso's business model amounts to trying to get around local bans on timeshares in residential areas.

"We are not NIMBYs; we are against the idea that they can come in with this idea of their LLC and circumvent our local zoning ordinances," Wilson said.

The city agrees. In February, the city's attorney wrote a letter to Pacaso saying St. Helena had determined that Pacaso's homes were timeshares and therefore illegal. "Simply calling them co-ownership arrangements does not change that fact," he wrote.

Pacaso feverishly disagrees with all of this. People who buy into Pacaso homes “are not transients: they are people staying in homes that they own,” Tooze told Motherboard. “These families make a significant investment in their home, pay property taxes, and plan to return to their home time and time again throughout the year.”

"I'm worried about family farms coexisting with Pacaso. They are going after single-family homes."

In response to the St. Helena letter, Pacaso took aggressive action and sued the city. (The lawsuit is still pending, although a judge ruled partially in the city's favor in July.) Because so many cities have timeshare ordinances similar to St. Helena's, both sides seem to understand the stakes of the suit. "If they lose that, that blows up their entire business model," Day said.

In Malibu, Ahern and LaBonge have already found life next to a Pacaso home frustrating. The trash cans often don't get taken out, and the house has been left unattended with security gates open for days at a time, LaBonge said. Workers park on their property and leave equipment there too. ("One morning, I open up the garage, and there's a ladder right smack in the middle of my driveway," LaBonge said.) The three homes sit close together along the Pacific Ocean, and Ahern is worried about evidence of a hole in the Pacaso home's seawall.

"We're all intertwined with each other, and if you have one clunky neighbor, you're screwed," Ahern said. "If their seawall goes, my seawall goes, Bobby's goes, Billy's goes, Hilton's goes, Diane Warren's goes. Everybody goes because it's one contiguous seawall."

"You lose your seawall, you lose your septic tank, your septic system goes out on the beach, they red-tag your house, and then you can't live in it," he added.

Bobby LaBonge says the trash next door is often not taken out since it was purchased by Pacaso. (Photo credit: Bobby LaBonge)

Tooze, the Pacaso spokesperson, said inspectors assessed the property between Ahern and LaBonge, including the seawall; the company verified the “proper permits had been obtained for past renovation work”; and that Pacaso will continue to inspect the seawall and other major structural aspect of the house every year. (The company also said it “would not make sense” for them to overpay for homes like the one in Malibu.)

To deal with neighbors’ issues, the company recently decided to institute a "local liaison" who could serve as a "dedicated point of contact'' for residents near Pacaso homes. Pacaso said it hires "full-time, local employees” who “typically have 7-10 years experience in a service-operations role” to manage their homes and serve as a point person for neighbors. The company says these employees are available to the homeowners and broader community every day of the week.

For a long time, LaBonge had no idea who to contact because Pacaso never reached out to him, he said. The workers are young and drive Range Rovers and often tell Pacaso's neighbors that the company has "enough money to take care of any problem," Ahern said, which annoys him and LaBonge. "Money can't fix stupidity when the waves come in and you've got a hole in your seawall that should have been fixed,” Ahern said.

During the reporting of this article, Pacaso suggested Motherboard talk to customers the company provided to us, both of whom unsurprisingly expressed their satisfaction with the service. One of them, Chris Lim, ended up selling his property to Pacaso after a bit of synchronicity. One day at a coffee shop in Palm Springs, where Lim owned an entire second home, he saw Allison, whom he knows from working in real estate. Lim asked Allison what he was doing in Palm Springs, and Allison told him he was starting Pacaso.

"We are not NIMBYs; we are against the idea that they can come in with this idea of their LLC and circumvent our local zoning ordinances."

Lim had been renovating the property since he bought it in 2016 and was preparing to start opening it up to friends, and Allison asked him if he’d ever be interested in selling the house to Pacaso and keeping some shares for himself. He was. Since then, some of Lim’s own friends have bought shares in his Pacaso house, and Lim says traveling to his property has become much more relaxing since Pacaso employees took over the day-to-day maintenance.

“Normally when I go to a property, I end up working half the time,” said Lim, who also owns a second home in Lake Tahoe. “It's nice to actually be able to go and enjoy the home.”

Since Nkem Ogbechie, 42, and his wife closed on a share of Pacaso home in Malibu, they’ve had a positive experience as well, he said. The family’s full-time residence is in Santa Rosa Valley, about 45 minutes from the home in Malibu, and they decided to go in on the property after spending so much time traveling to various California beach towns during the pandemic. He said at least one other family has purchased a share of the home, but they’ve had “no meaningful interaction” with them outside of an introductory call. Cleaners tidy up in-between, and the property manager has been “very responsive.”

Ogbechie, who is an executive at a large public biotech company, has also enjoyed spending time with his neighbors, drinking wine, sitting on the beach, and talking about cars, he said.

Even still, the neighbors have made clear they’d prefer if a single family lived next door.

Grisanti, the Malibu mayor, has also been a real estate broker for over 40 years, and he foresees issues for the company that he expects might make it "doomed to failure."

"Partnerships don't tend to work very well, in my experience. There's always somebody who feels that somebody else has taken advantage and used everything up," Grisanti said. He said everyone has gone to a ski rental and found themselves frustrated by how the last tenant left it. (Not everyone has, but the point stands nonetheless.)

As with everything else, Pacaso has a response to that. In-between stays, the house is “thoroughly inspected and cleaned, and any maintenance issues are logged and resolved,” Tooze said. To help resolve disputes, Pacaso said it takes care of minor repairs like fixing a dishwasher and otherwise provides oversight. Trying to figure out how the many potential inter-owner dynamics are handled more specifically, I asked the Pacaso spokesperson if an owner was allowed to rearrange the furniture if they so pleased.

“Pacaso takes great measures to ensure that each home is professionally appointed with respect to functionality, durability, and design aesthetics,” Tooze replied. “If owners would like to change specific details about the home, such as redecorating, a change in design, or a home upgrade, they collectively vote on whether to make that change.”

And how many homes has the world's fastest-growing unicorn filled up entirely so far?

"We don't disclose this number, but I can tell you that hundreds of families across the U.S. are enjoying second-home co-ownership thanks to Pacaso," the spokesperson replied.

Tech ‘Unicorn’ Pacaso Is Turning Homes Into LLCs and Pissing Off the Neighbors syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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aroacehogwarts · 8 years ago

Note

Regulus Black is asexual - H

A knock on the door roused Horace Slughorn from his favorite pasttime: brandy, candy, and a good book.

“Good evening, Black! What can I get you? Pumpkin juice? A butterbeer? Some crystalized pineapple?”

“No, Professor Slughorn, thank you. I came to talk to you about something. Something important,” Regulus stepped into the smothering warmth of Slughorn’s quarters. The potions master clapped a hand on his back that rattled his bones and made him feel that he would fall apart before he could even attempt what he came to do.

“Yes, yes! You’ve finally broken through that tough Gryffindor skull of your brother’s! When will Sirius formally be joining the Slug Club? At the Christmas party?”

“No, sir. That… that isn’t what I came to see you for.”

“Ah, of course. The three scrolls on befuddlement draughts. Don’t worry, my boy, I’m happy to give you a few days’ extension–”

“That isn’t it either,” Regulus’ resolve began to crumble, as did his ability to remain genteel. He practically barked the words at Slughorn, sounding just like the family disgrace (who would have been out the door already with the answers he sought). The thought didn’t help Regulus in the least, and his professor was growing impatient.

“Well, out with it, Black! What could possibly warrant this evening intrusion if it has nothing to do with the Club or your classes?” Slughorn’s attention was quickly slipping back to his neglected book and brandy. It was now or never.

“Have you ever been in a relationship??” Regulus spat out the words before he choked on them. “Sir,” he added when he finally looked up and saw the look on his head of house’s face.

“What in Merlin’s name?!” Slughorn exclaimed. But his outrage quickly subsided when he saw Regulus Black, one of his best fifth years, nearly in tears. He took a deep breath, released it, and then ushered the boy to an overstuffed wingback chair by the fire. Regulus pulled a handkerchief from his robes to wipe his eyes and nose. Slughorn sat down opposite his student, beside his forgotten indulgences.

“What’s this about, Black? What’s wrong? It’s alright. You can tell me.”

Regulus sniffled several times, but when he looked up at Slughorn his eyes glistened without a trace of fear.

“You… Your from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family like me,” he began. “But so far as any of your students know, you’ve never married. Never had children. Is that true?”

“Well… yes,” Slughorn lingered over the yes and continued, unprompted. “I suppose it’s for a myriad of reasons. Too dedicated to my work. Too much enjoyment of my solitary evenings to seek out company. And, to be honest, too disinterested in relationships to commit myself to one.” When he looked back at his student the boys’ eyes were shining all the brighter.

“So, would you say you’ve never felt attraction to another person?” Regulus asked.

“I suppose so.”

An enormous, invisible load seemed to drop from the fifteen-year-old’s shoulders.

“My parents are already pressuring me to produce an heir,” Regulus hissed, “but I have no interest in that. It repulses me. I’m not even sure if I want to marry.”

“What about your older brother?” Slughorn asked, though he felt somewhat ashamed in doing so. “Shouldn’t the burden fall to him to produce a Black Family heir?”

“It should, but it doesn’t. Mother and Father have… given up on Sirius. Disowned him. And so the burden falls to me.”

Slughorn was shocked to hear of the discord in the House of Black, but he filed it away for later and patted his star pupil’s hand. “My boy, this isn’t your burden to bear if you don’t want it.” Regulus–hopeful but unconvinced–bit his lip, so Slughorn continued, “No one has the right to demand any kind of relationship from you. Your life belongs to you alone. You choose how to share it and who to share it with.”

Regulus thought for a bit, and when he looked up from the fire he smiled. Slughorn sat back.

“What’s more, Black, you’ve a sharp mind. You embody some of the best traits of our house. If I were a betting man, I’d put my galleons on you to achieve your goals without bending to others’ expectations.”

“Thank you, sir,” Regulus tucked his handkerchief back inside his robes. “Truly.”

“Anytime, my dear boy.”

“I’ll see myself out,” Regulus stood as Slughorn picked up his brandy glass. But before the potions master could raise it to his lips the boy in the doorway turned around.

“And sir? Thank you for the three days’ extension on the befuddlement draughts homework.”

Slughorn paused a moment before bursting into laughter. He raised his glass in salute and Regulus grinned wider. “A Slytherin through and through! No opportunity wasted! Yes, yes, I’ll expect your scrolls on my desk by Friday.”

“Thank you, sir. Good night.”

- Ravenclaw Mod

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ciaossu-imagines · 8 years ago

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Shouichi and Spanner for the sfw prompt 20 please?

Of course, my lovely anon! Thank you for the request and I hope you’ll enjoy!

who hogs the duvet: No one. The three of you were smart enough to invest in a large bed and to use multiple duvets and blankets to ensure that everyone is warm and as covered as they like to be.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going: both of them are pretty serial texters and you’ll carry on text conversations with one or the both of them throughout any given day.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts: Spanner gets very practical gifts but it’s always because he’s trying to take care of you. Shoichi gives more impractical, fun or sentimental gifts. Both of them really take into account what you’d like and use making them both creative in their own ways.

who gets up first in the morning: You would. The boys have either pulled an all-nighter (or several) and are still awake from the previous day or are crashed out after going without sleep for so long.

who suggests new things in bed: Spanner. While Shoichi wants to try new things, he’s usually too bashful to suggest anything. Spanner’s more open sexually and isn’t ashamed to share fantasies or suggest spicing things up with a new position or kink.

who cries at movies: It would have to be you. Shoichi hates sad movies and will get involved in an app or website on his tablet while ‘watching’ the movie with you so that he doesn’t have to be sad about the movie and Spanner finds it hard to concentrate enough on a movie to get really invested in it.

who gives unprompted massages: Spanner’s so touch oriented and physical that it’s no surprise that he’d just start rubbing and massaging his partner if they seemed they’d enjoy it or need it.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick: Shoichi’s a nervous wreck whenever either of you are sick and he definitely plays nurse. He’ll look up what to do on the internet or call his mother to find out. He’ll bundle you in blankets, insist on warm baths, and make you drink lots of fluids, all while freaking out just the tiniest, cutest bit.

who gets jealous easiest: Shoichi can have some issues with self-esteem and he’s always a little afraid that his partners will decide that they’d be better off without him. That’s why he can get a little jealous and sad if it seems his partner’s are neglecting him, spending a lot more time just the two of them, or if someone else seems to be moving in on his partners. However, he’s not one to act on his jealousy or make it known, though his partner’s would notice that something seemed ‘off’.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music: Spanner would, most likely. He really doesn’t listen to a lot of music but he does have every Weird Al song, so there’s that to be embarrassed about.

who collects something unusual: Spanner collects candy thermoters. He does go through them kind of fast, but not to the point where he needs twenty extra ones just laying around.

who takes the longest to get ready: Both of them too if it’s somewhere they’re not really excited about going or if they’re in a the middle of a project. It’s not even that they mean to be so long in getting ready - they simply get engrossed in a task or a job and they lose all track of time.

who is the most tidy and organised: Spanner is. He’s very organized and meticulous while Shoichi is a bit of a slob, with a semi-organized mess surrounding his areas of the house at all times.

who gets most excited about the holidays: Though he’ll panic and almost give himself a nervous breakdown over how best to celebrate and what to get his partners, Shoichi gets really excited about every holiday they get to celebrate as a couple.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Spanner is always the big spoon while Shoichi can be either, depending on what the others want or what feels most comfortable.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports: That’s definitely Spanner. He has a solid competitive streak, even with his friends or partners. He will give it everything he’s got to win but he’ll be the best sport about everything.

who starts the most arguments: Shoichi has a bit of a temper and it can flare up over the most unexpected things, which often create the arguments most of the time, though they’re mostly short-lived and kind of silly.

who suggests that they buy a pet: It would be you or nobody. Neither of them are huge animal people and, if you had to have a pet, they’d offer to build you a robotic dog or cat to keep you happy.

what couple traditions they have: There’s going to be a lot of time spent together in the garage or workshop, with them tinkering on a project and you either watching or assisting with small things, like handing them tools or holding something, things like that.

what tv shows they watch together: They watch a lot of Jeopardy and Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader reruns and compete to see who gets the most right. Mythbusters, How It’s Made, and Penn & Teller’s BS are also much-loved shows that they watch together with you.

what other couple they hang out with: honestly, no one. They’ll hang out with any other couple’s that are around. They’ll hang out with any friends that are single and around or they’re perfectly content with spending time with just the three of them.

how they spend time together as a couple: As said, a lot of time will be spend in workshops or garages. Since Spanner loves sweets, there’s a fair bit of baking together as well.

who made the first move: Honestly, it would have to be you. Spanner, while he might have thought about it, won’t make the first move, shrugging it off as just a silly thought, and Shoichi will be too embarrassed and shy to do anything more than immediately deny, even to himself, that’s he’s considered a polyamourous relationship.

who brings flowers home: Shoichi will, though only on holidays and anniversaries. His sister told him it’s the best romantic gesture so he always makes sure to get flowers for special occassions.

who is the best cook: Spanner makes the best sweet treats but you’re likely the best cook. Shoichi’s a little hopeless about it all.

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